Alexander’s soft laughter came to her. “You were always good at distancing yourself. I’d forgotten that.”
She whirled. “Distancing myself?”
He moved to the door. “You live in a world all by yourself. Where you rule alone. It would be nice if you let someone in. Someone to help you.”
Before she could answer, he was gone.
The day was overcast; clouds filtered the sun. Jaclyn sat on the dais with other nobles, watching the day of skill. The top five knights receiving the most points would advance to the joust. There were many challenges. The knight who raced his steed down the field of honor and collected the most rings on his lance received points. The knight who charged down the field and speared a target got points. Paul did not have to compete in this part of the challenge since he was hosting the event. He was automatically included in the top six who would participate in the main jousting event.
Jaclyn watched the skilled knights gallop down the field in an attempt to catch the small ring on their lances. Blaise didn’t miss one. He was confident and skilled.
Alexander had improved since she had seen him joust the last time. He was just behind Blaise in points. But where Blaise quietly and efficiently completed his event, Alexander played to the crowd, calling for them to cheer him on. The crowd loved him.
She smiled. Who could resist loving him?
The spectacle wasn’t over until almost sunset. Five knights —Blaise, Alexander, Lord Mantel, Sir Brickenden and Sir Hartley received their accolades. They were in the field of honor and the Master of the Games was announcing the winners when a voice rang out in the field.
“Wait!”
Jaclyn turned. Paul stumbled onto the field, tenaciously leading his horse who pulled back on the reins. He almost lost the reins but mumbled something and caught them up in both hands. “Wait!” he hollered. “I haven’t had a chance. It’s my turn!”
Jaclyn gasped, dread inching its way through her body, and slowly rose, her hand gripping her chair arm tightly.
Paul held onto his horse’s saddle and tried to pull himself up.
Jaclyn moved to the edge of the wooden dais. Panic welled inside her as Paul put his foot in the stirrup and the horse moved forward, knocking him off balance. He hobbled, bouncing on one foot where the horse led him.
The crowd chuckled as one. The knights scoffed and stared in disdain.
Jaclyn looked around the field until her eyes met Alexander’s.
Alexander dismounted his steed. He reached Paul’s side as the horse sidestepped and Paul’s free leg fell behind him, his other foot still in the stirrup.
Alexander grabbed the horse’s bridle and stilled him. He leaned in to whisper something to Paul.
Paul looked at him in perplexity.
Alexander nodded.
This seemed to appease Paul and he went to take his foot from the stirrup. But it was all the way through and he struggled to get it free. Laughter speckled the bystanders.
Finally, Alexander pushed Paul’s foot free of the stirrup.
Paul fell to the ground.
Laughter rang out through the field. Everyone laughed. Everyone except Jaclyn. She watched in a numb dread. Her brother was humiliating her family, her name, her plan! She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream at him. But she could only put on a concerned face.
Alexander reached out and grasped Paul’s hand, pulling him to his feet.
Paul steadied himself and then raised his hands in the air as if he had just won.
The crowd around the fence cheered.
Jaclyn’s gaze moved over the field. The knights were not cheering. They glared at him with venomous stares. He had embarrassed them, also.
They would never believe that the Mistletoe Knight could win.
“This way,” Alexander said, leading Paul down the hallway. Paul’s arm was across his shoulder and he was all but holding him up. He kicked open Paul's chamber door and hauled him inside. Alexander had never seen him this way. When he had left years ago, Paul was fond of drinking, but never allowed himself to be drunk senseless.
“It’s embarrassing,” Paul mumbled, slurring his ‘s’.
“A man needs to hold his ale,” Alexander agreed. “Or perhaps not drink as much.” He dropped Paul on his bed. “Don’t you have a squire?”
Paul shook his head. “Used to. But Jaclyn said I couldn’t keep ‘im.”
Strange, Alexander thought as he moved to the bottom of the bed and pulled one of Paul’s boots off and then the other. When Alexander straightened, Paul grabbed his arm.
“It’s good of you to come back,” Paul said. He ran his hand sloppily over the side of Alexander’s face. “You’re a good friend.”
“Aye,” Alexander agreed. “I should get a bloody castle of my own for this. Now lay down.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“Sleeping?” Alexander asked.
“Jousting! But I’m a good jouster. I could beat the lot of ‘em.” Paul fell back onto his bed.
“Aye,” Alexander chuckled and stood. He walked to the door. “Of course you are the best. You’re the Mistletoe Knight.” He began to shut the door.
“That’s what she wants you to believe.”
Alexander froze. He opened the door. “What did you say?”
Only darkness answered him.
Jaclyn did her best to hide her disillusionment at the feast. She congratulated each of the five victorious knights and pushed her disappointment aside to host like a proper lady. When Blaise approached, she wanted to hide. Surely, he suspected Paul could never beat him.
“I know,” Blaise whispered, taking her elbow and leading her to a side wall for relative privacy.
Dread gathered in the pit of her stomach. “Know what?”
“I know why he didn’t compete. I know why the Mistletoe Knight disappeared.”
Jaclyn waited for him to continue; her stomach tightened with dread.
“He cannot control his appetite for ale.”
Jaclyn wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry with relief. She nodded and averted her gaze. “That is a problem,” she agreed.
“Surely he does not expect to joust on the morrow. Lord Mantel will destroy him. He doesn’t have a chance. He should withdraw.”
“If he is not drunk, he is a master.”
“I have yet to see that side of him.”
His words wrapped around her like a cold, bitter breeze. What was she to do with Paul? She lifted her chin. “He will joust.”
“He will be made a fool of,” Blaise insisted. “You must not let him take the field.”
Shock speared her body and then understanding. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Then you would win.”
Blaise inhaled slowly. “My intention at the suggestion was not to win, but to save you further embarrassment.” He ran a gentle finger along her chin.
Jaclyn lowered her face, breaking contact. “Thank you, but I assure you Paul has no intention of withdrawing.”
Blaise was silent for a long moment.
When Jaclyn lifted her gaze she saw his jaw was tight with resolve.
“So be it.” He spun and stormed away.
Jaclyn watched his retreating back. So straight, so proud, so arrogant.
“You must have said something he didn’t like.”
Jaclyn whirled. Alexander stood leaning against the wall only steps from where she and Blaise spoke. “You really should stop spying on people.”
Alexander chuckled as he drew closer.
“He wanted Paul to withdraw,” Jaclyn murmured, glancing after Blaise again. She looked back at Alexander. “What do you think?”
Alexander’s brows rose. “Me? I don’t think it’s my choice. You should be asking Paul what he thinks.”
“Paul?” She huffed, shaking her head. “Why is it that no one wants to know what I think?”
“You just asked my opinion.”
“Because you are...” Her words faded. What was he? She still
remembered his kiss and her gaze dropped to his lips. Their relationship had changed. He used to be a friend, someone who shared a past with her and her family. But now, he was more than that. Every time she saw him, her heart did a strange flutter. She shook herself. He was an opponent. She should view him as she did Blaise. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She longed to confide in him. But it was so dangerous.
“Brilliant?” he encouraged her to continue. “Wise beyond my years?”
His smile was contagious. Jaclyn rolled her eyes and turned. “And here I was going to say a good kisser.”
Alexander followed her. “I’m delighted to hear you say so. We should try again some time.”
She would like that. But it was all a game to him. He took nothing seriously. “You’ve had too much practice. How could I compare to all those women you’ve kissed?” She made her way through the crowded Hall.
Alexander followed her. “Just like jousting, one becomes good with practice.”
“I think my future husband should teach me, don’t you?” She inclined her head in greeting to lord Williamson as she moved past him.
“It depends who your future husband is. Now, if it were me --”
“You?” she whirled on him. “You, lord of Fainsworth?”
He straightened, insulted. “I am in the competition. I could win.”
“You said that Blaise was a better jouster than you.”
He held up a finger. “Ah! What I said was that he always wins. I never said he was better.”
Jaclyn scowled. “But if he always wins, doesn't that make him better?”
There was a sly look in Alexander's twinkling blue eyes. “It's all a game, my love. Say for instance your brother defeats him, I am confident I could defeat your brother.”
Jaclyn narrowed her eyes. “You truthfully believe you can defeat the Mistletoe Knight?”
Alexander cocked that half grin at her. “I said I could defeat your brother.”
Shivers of apprehension slid through her entire body. It was the way he said it. Did he know? Did he know the truth? She turned and continued out into the hallway.
Alexander grabbed her arm and pulled her into an alcove. “You’re hiding something,” he said in a low voice.
She began to shake her head.
“Don’t give me that look. I’ve known you long enough --”
Jaclyn stiffened. “You used to know me. But you haven’t been around for a long time.”
Alexander dropped her arm. “That’s unfair, Jacie. I couldn’t come to you.” He had nothing to offer her. There was a reason he had left all those years ago. He had been determined. “You wouldn’t have wanted me.”
“Don’t tell me what I wouldn’t have wanted.” She embraced her arms and turned away from him to look out the window. “You ran away.”
“I didn’t run.”
“You did,” she whirled to face him. “You were afraid of what you were feeling for me. You thought I might put a crimp in your womanizing.”
Alexander was stunned she had been so astute. He had run. From her. But not for that reason. Anger boiled inside him. All of this, all the jousts, all the strategy... And she blamed him for enjoying women. He began to smile a crooked grin. “You think you meant something to me? That this castle meant something? You think I was afraid of it? Of you?” He laughed softly.
Her face fell.
“I wanted something more. I wanted something bigger. My father was a tailor. I didn’t want to live that life. I wanted adventure. I wanted a challenge. You should have known that from all the games we played.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“The joust. The purse. The coin. The game.”
Tears rose in her eyes before she could hide it behind anger. “It’s always a game for you. It was always about pretending. Well, for some of us, this isn’t a game. It’s our lives! I won’t let you win.”
“You have nothing to do with it.”
Her chin rose. “I’ll make sure Paul is ready for the joust on the morrow. I’ll make sure he wins. Just so that you don’t.”
“That boy could not mount a horse let alone joust. If you pull that off, the game will be yours.”
“That’s what I intend.” She stormed away.
Alexander watched her. Prickles peppered the nape of his neck. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but she had pricked his pride. And he had wanted to get information. The only thing he may have gotten was a dangerous opponent.
Jaclyn marched down the hall to the only sanctuary she knew she had. She threw the door open to Paul’s room and entered the darkness. It was all a game to Alexander. He hadn’t changed! Not one bit.
Then why was she fighting to keep her tears in check? Because the reason she had believed he left was a lie. Nothing more than a tale she told herself when she was lonely. That he had left because he was afraid of his feelings for her. But it was a lie. And she was lonely. So lonely. She had believed he could help. She had believed she could confide in him. She was glad she hadn’t told him!
She paced the dark room, mumbling to herself. “Horrible man. The joust. Coin.” She whirled, clenching her fists. “We will trounce him good.” She stopped before Paul’s bed. “Oh, Paul. He wants to take it all away. He wants it for himself. He was never our friend.”
Paul’s snores drifted to her.
Hopeless, she dropped onto his bed in despair.
Alexander watched the joust from the fence, leaning his hands over it. Blaise stood beside him with his arms crossed over his chest in disapproval.
Lord Mantel was seated on his horse on the opposite side of the field, waiting for the Mistletoe Knight to arrive. Paul was late. Many were not surprised. Alexander was one of them.
His gaze swung to the dais. Jaclyn’s seat was empty.That did not surprise him, either.
Then a trumpet blared across the field of honor and the sound of a horse galloping could be heard coming down the road from the castle. Alexander wasn’t surprised. Not in the least. In the last tournament Alexander had seen him participate in, the Mistletoe Knight had done the same thing. Come in late and left immediately after the joust. It was the joust where he had defeated D’Sayre.
The Mistletoe Knight entered the field of honor amidst cheers. Paul was the favorite. And he should be. These were his people, his castle.
The Mistletoe Knight didn’t acknowledge his people nor the visitors. He rode to the side of the field away from them.
"About time," Blaise grumbled.
The Master of Games, an elderly knight with a large girth and balding white hair, came onto the field. He lifted his hand and lowered it to signal the start of the joust.
A boy handed the Mistletoe Knight his lance as the Master of Games jogged from the field. Instantly, the Mistletoe Knight kicked the horse. As if everyone was there just for him. With no ceremony, with no fanfare, his horse charged down the field. His armor glistened in the noon sun. His helmet and closed visor concealed his face.
Mantel was already heading toward him, his lance held at the ready.
Tingles raced along the nape of Alexander’s neck; his fingers curved nervously over the top plank of the fence.
The Mistletoe Knight struck a solid blow to Mantel’s shoulder, jarring Mantel’s attempted strike and causing him to miss entirely. He tossed down his used lance.
The two jousting knights rode to the other side of the field, passing each other.
The Mistletoe Knight did not even look at Mantel. He rode with easy grace and amazing confidence. When he reached the other side of the field, he took a new lance from the boy and swung his steed around, heading down the field again.
Mantel matched his movement and the two charged toward each other. Small plumes of dust rose behind their horses.
The Mistletoe Knight leaned forward in his seat just before the impact. His lance struck Mantel hard, square in the stomach. The impetus lifted Mantel from the saddle where he hung in midair for a moment before crashing to the
ground.
The Mistletoe Knight received nothing more than a glancing blow as he rode past. He rounded the field, heading toward the other side. But he didn’t stop. He rode from the field and disappeared down the road toward the castle as the crowd cheered. A quick entrance, a quick victory, and a quick exit.
God's blood, Alexander thought in amazement. He was very good. Alexander glanced at Blaise. His teeth were grit, his arms hanging at his side, fists clenched. Alexander shrugged. “Looks like he didn’t have any ale this morn.”
Blaise cursed quietly and walked toward his tent to get ready for his joust.
Jaclyn sat on the bed. Her breeches itched as she swung her legs back and forth. She wore a dress over her breeches and long sleeved shirt in case anyone came in.
Paul lounged on the bed beside her. He stared at the ceiling. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest.
He had been strangely quiet all day. Jaclyn looked at him. “Paul?”
“I think I should have a chance to joust.”
Jaclyn groaned silently. “We’ve talked about this.”
“No. You talked and I listened. You never let me try.”
Jaclyn knelt on the bed to face her brother. “We can’t afford to lose. Not this time.”
“I won’t lose!”
“Paul --”
“I won’t.”
“When was the last time you took up a lance? For that matter, when was the last time you rode a horse in a tournament?”
Paul scowled. Then, he raised a finger in triumph. “Two years ago. The last time we jousted. I received an award.”
“You fell off your horse.”
Paul looked away. “That was one time.”
“That was when you started drinking. Father was furious, remember? Remember how he marched up and down the room, muttering and swearing under his breath?”
Paul grinned. “I thought he was going to draw and quarter me.”
“I would never let him do that. Not ever.” She leaned closer. “Do you remember how this all started?”
Paul snorted. “You were always better than me.”
A Merry Medieval Christmas: Historical Romance Holiday Collection Page 14
