by Jody Hedlund
Firmin had coated Roland with charcoal to turn him into a black horse. In spite of the disguise, I feared Christopher, who would be standing alongside the list with some of the other knights, would see through my charade and stop me. I could only pray I had the chance to show a little of my strength and prowess before he unmasked me.
“Are you ready, my lord?” the squire asked as he placed the oak lance in my gauntlet glove. While I’d wanted Firmin to be at my side, I’d realized such a move would cause suspicion. Instead, I’d used Lord Vaughn’s squire.
I gripped the weapon and nodded, refraining from speaking so he wouldn’t hear my voice. The squire knew I wasn’t his master, but I’d disguised my true identity. I hadn’t wanted my gender to interfere with his devotion to me, which had increased with every battle I’d won. He’d taken extra care to make sure my horse was well shod and outfitted, my weapons readied, and my armor in perfect condition.
Even now, I sensed his awe and respect for my skills.
With my spurs jangling and Roland’s armor clanking, I rode to my end of the list just as my opponent did the same. At the sight of us, the crowds broke into exuberant cheering and whistling.
Out of my narrow eye slit, I caught a glimpse of the king and queen and their courtiers seated within the royal pavilion at the center of the corded off field. Several other smaller, yet no less elaborate, pavilions provided seating for the nobility. No one expected the queen of Mercia to be in attendance since tonight I was due to make my first grand appearance at the ball the king of Norland was holding in my honor. One of my new gowns was finally complete, and I needed to return to my chambers with all haste to allow Lady Sybil and the others to begin preparations for the big evening.
I could sense the gazes of the other knights upon me and my opponent, sizing us up, likely placing wagers on which of us would win. I guessed Christopher was doing the same, and although I was tempted to glance in his direction, I forced myself to stare straight ahead. I didn’t want him recognizing me before the first round began and chance his interfering with the competition.
Instead, I focused on my rival and whispered a prayer: “God, You know what I have longed for—a discerning heart to govern the people and distinguish right from wrong. I have not asked for wealth or strength, only wisdom. May You grant that wisdom today.”
As my opponent lifted his lance high into the air, I did likewise to signal my readiness. Then I couched my lance into my armpit and prepared for the ride.
A bugle call silenced the crowds and was our signal to begin the joust. Roland lowered his head and moved forward with a fluidness I loved. I bent into him, giving in to the oneness I felt with him during these moments. His pace quickened, and I focused on his rhythm, making it my own.
I trained my sights on my challenger’s cuirass, the part of his armor above his heart. I secured my lance and urged Roland to move faster. From the steadiness of my rival’s charge coupled with the bulk of his frame, I guessed I required more speed if I had any chance of winning.
My breath quickened, and I braced myself for impact. With his long arms, my opponent’s lance hit my chest first. In the moment of his collision, I thrust hard against him, letting Roland’s speed provide the momentum I needed.
Splinters flew into the air even as I jolted backward. My head snapped, my bones jarred, and my teeth rattled. I felt myself slipping to one side of my saddle. As if sensing my dilemma, Roland swayed in the opposite direction, which gave me the ability to right myself upon my saddle.
By the time I reached the end of the list, I was firmly in place, the reins gripped tightly in my hand. Only then did I turn and notice that my opponent and I had both split our lances and yet had remained upon our steeds, which meant we were tied.
Out of my eye slit, I caught sight of my squire racing toward me with a fresh lance. At the same time, I detected a commotion among the knights along the side of the list. “No!” one of them was shouting. “Do not give her the lance.”
It was Christopher, and he was calling to my squire.
My heart dropped. He’d seen past my disguise. From the frantic nature of his calls and the worry creasing his face, he was obviously determined to stop me from riding again.
All around him, the other knights were watching in confusion. If I didn’t act immediately, Christopher would soon be standing in the middle of the list and would have the attention of the entire gathering, including the king and queen.
I nudged my steed toward the squire, grabbed the lance from him, and raised it all in one motion. Thankfully, my competitor already had his new lance. At my readiness, he lifted his as well. Even as the bugle rang out, I kicked Roland with a force that contained all my desperation.
He thundered forward faster than our usual pace. But I was too eager to complete this round, and I refrained from slowing him down. It would be my last joust. Somehow I sensed it. And since it was my last, I’d unleash Roland and myself. We’d hold nothing back.
This time, my lance hit my challenger before he could get near me. The driving force shattered my lance and threw him from his horse in one move. He landed a dozen feet away on his back and laid motionless.
The crowd erupted into cheers, heedless of the injured knight on the ground. I, on the other hand, veered Roland around and cantered to my rival. I was off my horse and beside the man before his squire could reach him. At the sight of the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the crazy gallop of my heartbeat steadied. He was alive.
He shifted enough that I could see into his eye slits while he blinked as though attempting to stay conscious. I offered him a hand. He took it and allowed me to help him to a sitting position. By then his squire was at his side.
The cheers of the crowd told me I needed to acknowledge my win. I stood, straightened, and then raised my hand.
The multitude roared their pleasure. Amidst the cheers, I crossed the list to the king’s pavilion. Beneath my helm, my hair stuck to my cheeks and head, and sweat fell into my eyes. The padding underneath my armor was suffocating, and I ached from the blow I’d received. Nevertheless, I walked with confident steps, knowing this was one of the most pivotal moments in my life, one that would define me as queen not only to Mercia but quite possibly to the rest of the world.
When I reached the cord, I realized Christopher was waiting for me there. Through the opening in my great helm, his eyes met mine. Anger blazed in their honey brown amidst flames of fear. Later I would explain my actions. But for now, I silently pleaded with him to trust me.
After an instant, he nodded.
Without further hesitation, I positioned myself below the king and queen of Norland, straightened my shoulders, and saluted them with my lance. The onlookers shouted their approval again. At that moment, I knew it was time.
I lifted the great helm, let it drop to the ground, and then quickly untied the padded coif, letting it, too, fall to the grassy field. A shake of my head released the long strands of hair I’d carefully tucked into the coif. Waves of blond fell over my armor and down my back. With each passing second, the silence lengthened until the only sound was the king’s standard at the top of his pavilion flapping in the sea breeze.
At the sight of my face and the realization of my identity, King Draybane stood, the shock in his expression mirroring that of the other royals and nobility surrounding him.
“I am Adelaide Constance Dierdal Aurora, the true queen and heir of the house of Mercia.” I’d spoken loud enough that my voice carried over the entire gathering. At the gasps and ensuing commotion, I knew my words had their desired effect. The crowds had not expected a woman, much less a queen, to win the tournament.
The king’s reaction moved from surprise to curiosity to interest. He studied my face with more care than he had the night we’d arrived. Then he glanced to Christopher before returning his attention to me. He raised his hand, and the crowd hushed again.
“As the winner of this tournament,” I continued, “I ask for only one thing fro
m the king of Norland.”
The king’s red brows rose high on his forehead, touching his fiery red hair.
“I do not ask the king of Norland and his people for gold or supplies or fighting men.” I paused, enjoying the surprise that again rippled across the king’s features. I had no doubt his advisors had already been diligently at work attempting to figure out how much Norland was willing to risk in my pursuit of Mercia’s throne. To be sure, they were eager to see King Ethelwulf ousted after years of defending their borders against his attacks, costing them countless lives and resources.
Precisely for that reason, I understood what the king of Norland and his country longed for more than anything else.
“I ask for only one thing,” I repeated, raising my voice so it could be heard far and wide. “In the spirit of King Alfred the Peacemaker, I ask Norland for peace.”
Murmurs rippled around the field and through the royalty and nobility in their pavilions. The king sat back in his cushioned chair speechless, staring at me with a respect that hadn’t been there previously.
“As the rightful queen of Mercia, I promise I shall never ask for anything I am not willing to give. And since I ask you for peace, I vow to offer it in return.”
I could feel Christopher’s presence next to me. What did he think of me now? Was he still upset that I’d jousted even though he hadn’t wanted me to?
King Draybane raised his hand, calling for silence. When the chatter faded, he stood again and addressed me. “I have seen many rulers who excel at either war or peace. I have yet to meet one who can excel at both.” He paused and swept his sights over the people listening to him with rapt attention. “Until today . . . Today the queen of Mercia has proven she is not only a skilled warrior full of valor and courage and strength, but she has also proven she is peace-loving.”
The nods and murmurs of affirmation warmed my heart. Although I’d have much to prove in the days and years to come, I prayed my words would solidify King Draybane as my ally, not merely because of our mutual dislike for King Ethelwulf but because he respected and trusted me as a ruler.
“Long live King Draybane!” Christopher called out. Then, before I realized what was happening, he reached for my hand, lifted my arm high in the air, and shouted, “Long live Queen Adelaide Constance!”
He shouted the accolades again, and this time the onlookers joined in, chanting the words louder until the crowds were on their feet in a frenzy of cheering. I stood with my back straight and my chin high and silently offered a grateful prayer. God had granted me wisdom this day, and He was the one who deserved the praise.
Christopher squeezed my hand through my glove, and I peeked sideways at him. Still chorusing with the others, he gave me one of his endearing lopsided grins, his eyes shining with pride. Later, he’d chastise me sorely for putting myself at risk in the jousting tournament, but at least for now, I’d made him proud.
My chest swelled with gladness, and I smiled back. For a long moment, our eyes held. The joy of triumph mingled with something infinitely sweeter, something that made my heart flip.
As our connection broke, I caught King Draybane watching our interaction with narrowed eyes. I tried to pretend I didn’t care if he saw my affection for Christopher. But Christopher’s words of caution came back to me—the reminder my affections were not my own, that I would be expected to form alliances out of need and not love.
After all I’d gone through over the past month, I realized I was willing to sacrifice much for Mercia. But I wasn’t sure I could relinquish the one thing that mattered most to me: Christopher.
Chapter
24
Christopher
My fancy court clothes made my skin itch. The blue cotehardie was tight with a high collar and trimmed with a thick gold braid. My wool hose were form-fitting and uncomfortable beneath my knee-length breeches. And my chaperon hung from my head at an odd angle.
Without my chain mail and armor, the only part of my attire that felt familiar was my belt, low on my hips and holding a long gold dagger with a jeweled hilt.
“You keep looking at the door,” King Draybane said through a mouthful of sweetmeats. The servant positioned next to his throne on the dais held a silver bowl of the sugared nuts and dried fruit.
“I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty.” I gave the king my full attention once again. The tantalizing aromas from the feast had drifted into the great hall—roasted wild boar, jellies, puddings, and dozens of other dishes that servants would bring out during the five courses. My stomach was rumbling with hunger. But my hunger wasn’t the distraction this eve.
No, like everyone else in the crowded hall, I was waiting for the queen of Mercia to finally make her appearance at court. My nerves tightened with the need to see her and be with her. I wanted nothing more than to feast my sights upon her beautiful face.
“I take it you have made your decision,” the king stated.
“My decision?”
King Draybane lifted his goblet. A squire standing near the buttery raced forward with a jug. Once the squire had poured the wine and moved to refill others, the king took a sip and then spoke again. “You have decided not to marry Princess Violet.”
My attention shifted to the king’s youngest daughter, sitting at the head table next to the queen. She was a lovely woman who was much more reserved than her father but still resembled him with her goodness and kind spirit.
The king was right. I wouldn’t marry her. Even if I couldn’t have Adelaide. “Your Majesty, I am indeed honored with your offer. It is a great privilege for a man like me. But I had planned to speak with you and let you know that regretfully, I must decline—”
“Then you admit you love the queen of Mercia.” He spoke matter-of-factly without a trace of anger.
Even if he wasn’t upset at my refusal of his daughter, I wasn’t ready to confess my love for Adelaide to anyone else, at least until I had the chance to discover her true feelings. “I do care for the queen,” I replied, carefully choosing my words. “She is a good friend—”
“Anyone with eyes in his head can see you look at her as more than a friend.”
One of the qualities I appreciated about King Draybane was his bluntness. He never refrained from sharing his thoughts. But in this case, his directness made me squirm. Was my attraction to Adelaide that obvious? Did others see and recognize it as well? “I am quite sure many men will desire the queen. I am not the first, nor shall I be the last.”
King Draybane paused with a handful of sweetmeats halfway to his mouth. “Is there another nation vying for a union with her?”
“None yet except Ethelwulf, who would marry her to his son, the crown prince. But once she secures the throne and her fame spreads, I have no doubt every foreign king will send ambassadors with their princely proposals of marriage.”
“Aye, she will soon be in demand among nations.”
His words echoed the warning I’d uttered all along. The queen must marry royalty. Who was I to consider having any kind of relationship with her except that of a loyal servant?
The king stuffed the handful of honeyed treats into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Now that the queen has vowed to be at peace with Norland, I have no wish to jeopardize those plans.”
Adelaide’s request of King Draybane at the tournament had been brilliant. After the years of turmoil and unrest Norland had experienced, she couldn’t have offered anything more desirable to the king than peaceful relations. Where my talks with King Draybane and his council thus far had netted nothing secure, in that single act she’d won his admiration and devotion and perhaps even his support in our efforts to fight Ethelwulf.
“The queen will remain true to her vow,” I assured King Draybane. “She is a woman of her word.”
“Her intentions might be noble. But intentions cannot always withstand reality, especially with other nations involved and her husband exerting pressure upon her.”
“The queen will not be easily influenc
ed.” While Adelaide was reasonable and teachable, she was also a strong woman and wouldn’t be moved by the whims of her advisors or a husband.
King Draybane crossed his arms over his portly stomach and assessed me with the astuteness I liked about him. “She listens to you.”
“Not always.”
The king chuckled. “What woman always listens to the man she loves?”
Man she loves? My pulse tripped. Did the king know something I didn’t? Before I could voice my question, the double doors at the front of the hall opened wide.
A bugle call silenced the room and was followed by the announcement, “Adelaide Constance Dierdal Aurora, the queen and heir of the house of Mercia.”
I straightened to my full height and refrained from scratching my neck beneath the collar. Instead, I held myself stiffly, hoping I appeared worthy to introduce the queen on behalf of Mercia.
As she entered, she stopped for a moment within the doorway, which acted as a frame for the regal portrait she made. All functions within my body ceased and all thoughts within my mind fled save one: she was beautiful, exquisitely so.
Attired in a new gown of the richest ruby, her pale skin glowed with radiance. Fitting her to perfection, the dress revealed her to be every inch a woman in a way her armor had not. Her hair was piled on top of her head in glorious cascading curls of gold, surrounded by a simple diamond-studded crown.
When she started down the long center aisle that led to the king’s throne, I couldn’t tear my sights from her.
“Breathe, my good man,” King Draybane said with a chuckle. “Breathe.”
Only then did I realize I had indeed been holding my breath. I expelled the pent-up air but couldn’t stop my pulse from pounding like a drumbeat.
“You must marry her with all haste,” the king said. “Before anyone else can win her.”
At the unexpected words, I shifted my stare from Adelaide to the king.
