Hard Day's Knight (22 page)

“I’ve decided that I like you in regular clothes,” I told him as he came out of the store bearing two cases of beer, assorted barbecue fodder, and ten cans of Moth’s favorite food. I had stayed in the car with the air-conditioning on because it was too hot to leave an animal unattended. “You’re still handsome and dashing, but not so gorgeous that I’m worried about other women throwing you to the ground and wrestling your chinos off. I approve of you.”

Walker looked startled for a moment, then gave me a once-over. I was back in jeans and a lightweight gauze shirt. “I approve of you, too.”

“Good,” I said.

“Good,” he agreed.

Forty minutes after we had parted at the parking lot, I held up both hands. “Fine, I surrender. You win.”

Walker’s eyebrows rose as he looked beyond me at the portable toilet from which I had just emerged. “Win what?”

“Win your campaign to follow me around and try to make it look like an accident that we keep bumping into each other.” I untied Moth’s leash from the door and allowed the big cat to jump into Walker’s arms. “Go ahead; say it: You can’t resist me, and every hour spent away from me is a eternity.”

A tiny little smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “I’m beginning to think I can’t resist you.”

“That’s a start. I’ll accept it.” I plucked Moth from his arms (much to the cat’s obvious unhappiness) and gave Walker one of my special wicked smiles. “The sooner I have you groveling on your knees before me, the happier I’ll be.”

I turned to walk away from him (for a change), but he called me back with one low, velvety brush of his voice. “Pepper?”

“Hmm?”

His mouth was hot on mine—arousing, enticing, everything wonderful that was Walker, hot and fiery, and spicy just as he was. Desire and an annoying bubble of happiness welled up within me as his tongue danced through my mouth.

“I never grovel,” he growled against my mouth; then he was gone.

“Holy garbanzo beans,” I breathed, watching him walk away, my mind fogged with the need I felt within him, a need that exactly matched mine. As soon as I gathered my wits together I realized what he had said. “Oh, you don’t grovel, eh? We’ll just see about that!” I bellowed after him, much to the delight of three passing Ale Wenches.

 

“Shield up and a little more to the left,” Bliss called.

I adjusted the wooden shield strapped to my left arm so it was slightly angled away from my body. “Are you sure this lance is okay?”

“It’s one of ours, so stop fussing and lift the shield. You must learn to present it properly, else you’ll have points deducted.”

“Points? Who said anything about points? I thought I was just learning how to do this to prove to Farrell that I could?” Cassie tossed her head in protest of the tightened reins. I loosened them up, giving her shoulder an apologetic pat, which she answered by trying to eat my left foot. “Bliss, much as I appreciate you giving up your time to teach me how to joust, I have to admit that I think it’s a waste—Argh! Bliss! Not now, I’m not ready!”

“A jouster must always be ready to run her course,” she called as she spurred her horse forward, avoiding a large ditch in the field.

We were out in the distant reaches of the fairgrounds, the auxiliary parking lot that consisted of a bumpy grass field. Bliss had rounded me up during the two-hour lunch break between qualifying rounds and dragged me out to the field to teach me how to conduct a jousting pass at a live opponent. The first half hour was spent with us walking our horses toward each other, attempting to touch the lance tip on a specific part of the shield. Or, in my case, any part of the shield. The results were just as abysmal when the practice was accomplished at a trot—I just could not seem to hit the shield. I aimed, I watched the target carefully, but every time I hit Bliss’s arm, her leg, and twice her saddle. I refused to think about the times I struck nothing but air.

“This is so stupid,” I muttered as I dug my heels into Cassie. “I’m going to fall; I just know it.”

Before I had time to aim, Bliss was on us. I lowered my lance and prayed that I wouldn’t strike her or Miss Loretta, the pretty roan she was riding. It might not hurt her to be struck at a walk, but at a canter . . .

“Hiya!” I yelled as the lance tip connected with Bliss’s shield, shattering at the impact. I felt the shock in my lower back more than in my arm as I was thrown backward against the high back of the Paso saddle. This was no quintain, giving way easily under my blow, as both my right wrist and forearm were willing to attest. Bliss’s lance struck my shield at the exact time I struck hers, leaving me surprised to find the received hit was not as hard as I thought it would be. Her lance tip shattered as well, and I was able to push the shield out so the rest of her lance slid along the curved front.

“I did it!” I yelled as Cassie cantered by Bliss. “Can you believe that? Hot damn! I did it! This could be addicting!”

Bliss laughed as she turned her horse and started back toward me. “Welcome to the world of contact jousting, Pepper.”

Cassie happily turned toward our designated starting area. I grinned, feeling more than a little bit cocky and sure I was the next jousting wunderkind.

Bliss quickly took care of that notion. “This time keep your heels down, your head up, your shield more to the left, and for God’s sake, don’t close your eyes just before your lance strikes! You could have disemboweled me or Miss Loretta!”

And so it went. For a half hour or so I was fine—successfully striking her shield at a canter, but missing every single time when we went slower. Bliss gave up trying to figure out why and concentrated on showing me how and when to strike the shield.

It wasn’t until the lunch break was almost over that I realized I wasn’t any sort of wunderkind—Bliss had been holding back. That became sadly apparent when I went sailing off the side of Cassie, one moment sitting firmly pressed up against the high back of the saddle in anticipation of my lance striking her shield, the next feeling as if I had been hit by a Mack truck, one that ripped my shield from my left arm and flipped me up and over Cassie’s right shoulder.

“That’s what we call doing a face plant,” Bliss said calmly as I raised my head and spit out a mouthful of grass. “Are you all right? How do you feel?”

“Like I was run over by a train. Ow. Dammit, horse, stop slobbering on me!” I sat up slowly, flexing my fingers and arms as I did a quick check on all available body parts. Everything radioed back as being in working order. “What happened? One second I was fine, and the next, whammo!”

“You weren’t paying attention,” Bliss said complacently as I pushed Cassie’s face away and got to my feet. “That’s a cardinal sin in jousting. One moment’s distraction, and it’s all over.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I shook my arms, pushing away the horse again as she tried to snuffle me. “What
is
her problem?”

“We train them to get treats when we fall. It makes them easier to catch if they’re not running about the ring loose. She’s waiting for you to give her a treat.”

I ripped out a handful of grass and offered it to the horse. Cassie snuffled my hand for a moment, blowing a disgusted snort when she realized all I had was grass. I wiped my hand on my skirt, looking over to where Bliss sat on the roan. “Are we done for the year? ’Cause I think I’ve just about had enough jousting.”

Bliss’s face went blank and I realized just how whiny I sounded. “Very well. We have twenty minutes left, but if you wish to quit—”

“No.” I sighed, gathering up my skirt and grabbing at Cassie’s reins. “I’m not a quitter. We’ll do a few more runs, and I promise I’ll pay attention.”

“It makes no matter to me,” Bliss said stiffly as she turned and directed Miss Loretta to the opposite end of the field.

“Of course not, that’s why I’m out here eating the ground,” I said softly, then swore and dismounted to pick up my fallen lance. I plucked one of the remaining three lances from where we had leaned them up against a nearby horse trailer, and resumed my training.

By the time I went to retrieve Moth from CJ, my entire body felt as though it were made up of one gigantic bruise.

“Took a few falls, did you?” Butcher asked.

“Only about a thousand,” I groaned as I slid into the bench attached to a wooden picnic table. “Why, does it show?”

CJ giggled and waved her roast corn on a stick at me. “You’ve got grass stains on your chemise, and dirt in your hair.”

“Classic signs of someone who’s taken a tumble or two,” Butcher said with a kind smile. “How did it go?”

“Um,” I said noncommittally, looking over the line of food vendors. “I’m so wiped out I don’t even think I can make it to the Dragon Wing tent for some hot wings.”

“Then don’t, my lady. Allow me to have the immense pleasure of providing you with sustenance,” a smooth voice spoke behind me.

I didn’t need to see the mask of indifference slide over Butcher’s face, nor CJ’s sudden interest in the foil that had wrapped her turkey leg, to recognize just to whom that voice belonged.

“Hello, Farrell,” I said politely.

“And greetings to you, beauteous lady of mine.”

“Surely that will come as news to Walker,” CJ mumbled into a glass of spiced apple juice.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Farrell said as he slid onto the bench next to me.

“She didn’t say anything,” I answered with a bright smile, determined not to let Farrell bait me into admitting anything. It was because of him and his misbegotten ego that I was all banged up, after all. “So how are you? How is the qualifying going?”

He smiled. Up close, I could see the tiny little lines that networked from his eyes, the sign of someone who spent too much time in the sun. Even with that, I had to admit to myself that he was gorgeous—his eyes dancing merrily, his teeth white against the tan of his skin, the sun all but kissing his long golden hair, the black and white of his tunic showing off his physique . . . he was perfection all wrapped up in a manly package, and it left me colder than a three-day-old pile of horse poop.

“The qualifying is almost over, and I am pleased to say that every member of Team Joust! has qualified thus far, which, I believe, is something that cannot be said about the Three Dog Knights. Having a bit of difficulty with your alternate, Sittow?”

Butcher gave Farrell a cold, indifferent glance.

“Now, now, play nicely or we’ll have to ask you to leave our table,” I said, not wanting Farrell to get going with any digs about Walker.

To be honest, my concern had less to do with not irritating Butcher than with easing the ache around my heart. The morning’s Realgestech qualifying rounds had been held—without Walker. No one had seen him for the three hours during which the morning qualifiers were run. No one knew where he was, and no one said a word as the morning passed with us in the bleachers, watching jouster after jouster qualify for the competition. Bliss qualified with no trouble, Butcher qualified after just one match by unhorsing his opponent all three times, and even Vandal qualified after being unhorsed by two different opponents. When the last pair of jousters finished up the qualifiers, the collective mood in our section of the bleachers was bleak. Even Moth seemed fretful and unhappy, periodically reaching out with sheathed claws to slap at my hand.

“Does this mean it’s over?” I had asked earlier as everyone but team 3DK filed out of the arena for the lunch break. No one answered me, but they didn’t have to. The hopeless looks in their eyes said it all. And now here was Farrell, gloating over the fact that Walker had not come through for his team.

“My dear lady Pepper, you cannot mean to tell me that you wish to associate with the sort of jousters who show the cowardice displayed by this team?”

“These people are my friends,” I said evenly. “I’ll thank you not to call them cowards.”

He eyed me for a moment. “Very well, I withdraw the comment.”

“Thank you. Now if you don’t mind—”

“I should instead say that the leader of this team is a coward.”

“Farrell!” I said, outraged on Walker’s behalf.

Butcher growled an oath under his breath, his hands fisted as he half rose from the bench at the insult. CJ clung to his arm and murmured soothingly in his ear.

“That’s unfair, and you know it,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation despite the fact that I wouldn’t have minded seeing Butcher plant one of his big fists right on Farrell’s nose. I gave him the same sort of curious look he’d given me. “You really are jealous of Walker, aren’t you?”

“Jealous? Me?” Farrell laughed a hard, brittle laugh.

“Yes, jealous, you. As in, you can’t stand it that Walker is such a good jouster. Tell me, did you ever joust with each other?”

The laughter faded from his face, his eyes going a bit hard. “Yes, we did.”

“Ah.” I toyed with the end of Moth’s leash, savoring for a moment the pleasure of what I was going to say next. “And since Walker is undefeated, I have to assume that he beat you.”