Hard Day's Knight (41 page)

He lowered his mouth to me and licked up every last atom of raspberry goodness. I arched up, wrapping my legs around him, giving myself up to the magic of his touch. The lightning within me turned to a fireball and exploded in my belly as his fingers joined his mouth. Without realizing I had let go of the belt, I clutched his head with my still-bound hands and shouted his name.

Before the echo of it had died, he lunged upward, spreading my thighs and thrusting into me with one smooth move that left him surrounded by my still-quivering muscles. My wrists were bound behind his head as he captured my mouth, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his hips, his chest sliding along my breasts, the lotion providing a wonderful friction as his body moved with mine, the two of us joined so tightly there was no end of him and beginning of me; we simply were, together, one.

“I love you,” he said, his quicksilver eyes burning as his hips moved faster, short, hard moves that sent me soaring a second time without even having come to earth. “God, how I love you. I want you now. I’ll want you tomorrow. I want you in my life always, arguing with me, yelling at me, driving me crazy. I want you forever. Now do you understand? I love you so much it’s killing me.”

“Yes,” I gasped, tasting the salt of his neck as I bit him when my orgasm swept over me, an all-encompassing wave of wonder and joy and rapture that I knew had its origins in the man I held in my arms. “Forever and always.”

We slept with arms and legs and other raspberry-scented parts entwined, but before I drifted off I told Walker things were going to be different from here on out.

 

“Good morning, Three Dog Knights,” I said as I strolled into camp bright and early on the thirteenth day of competition.

“Pepper, good morning,” Butcher said, jumping up from a folding chair and offering it to me.

“Latte?” Bliss asked as I settled into Butcher’s chair. “I’ve been keeping it warm for you.”

“Thank you.” I accepted the offering with a sunny smile.

“I brought you the pastries you like,” Vandal said, hurrying over with a paper plate of the lemon turnovers I’d quickly grown addicted to.

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Graciously I took a pastry and the proffered napkin, giving Vandal a smile in return. He beamed back at me.

“Day looks like it’ll be another nice one,” Bos said conversationally. “Perfect for jousting.”

I glanced up at the cloudless blue morning sky overhead. “Perfect.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you’re all making me sick,” CJ snarled, kicking a clod of dirt at me. “How can you can stand having her queen it over us because we made one tiny little mistake in judgment—”

I pointed at CJ. “That’s it, cousin or no cousin, I’ve had enough of your lip. Off with her head!”

Everyone in the camp froze, staring at me with mouths open in horror. Vandal’s eyes widened as he slid a glance at his twin, who was just offering me a bowl of freshly washed grapes. “Can she do that?”

CJ rolled her eyes. “Of course she can’t do that! All this groveling has gone to her fat head.”

“Hey!” I said.

“Why do you do it?” CJ was facing the team now, hands on hips, glaring at even her beloved Butcher. “Why do you act like she’s some princess who has to be kowtowed to?”

“We have to,” Vandal said in a near whisper. “We treated her badly.”

“We didn’t believe in her,” Butcher said. “We grossly misjudged her.”

The others nodded.

“I didn’t think she’d done it, but Vandal convinced me she did,” Fenice said, punching her brother in the arm. “We were wrong to think Pepper would sabotage us.”

“For which we’ve all apologized,” CJ pointed out.

I sat back, grinning, knowing the days of Walker’s team treating me with kid gloves as penance for their wrongful assumptions were drawing to a close. It had been an enjoyable two days; there was no denying that.

“You look like Moth after he’s stolen my lunch,” Walker said as he strolled into the cluster of people, the aforementioned cat draped like a great furry orange-and-white stole over his shoulders. He clamped a protective hand over Moth as he bent to kiss me, his fingers trailing a gentle caress on my cheek. “What are you smiling about?”

“Well, there’s the two hundred grand you won by beating Veronica and Farrell to the Realgestech and French titles, for starters.” I waggled my eyebrows as everyone laughed. “I like a man who can keep me in style.”

“Knowing you, that won’t go very far,” CJ said sourly. “Besides, Walker’s wins were easy. It was Butcher’s third place that was hard-won.”

“And my fourth,” Vandal said, raising his latte to Walker. “Our share of the pooled money should go far in paying off the mortgage.”

“I told you before—we’ll pay off the mortgage first, then divide up what remains,” Walker said, giving Vandal a meaningful look.

“We can’t accept that,” Vandal protested.

“You can and you will,” Walker said, all manly and determined and every inch a knight. Everyone voiced their agreement. Vandal gave in with a relieved nod of his head.

“And let’s not forget Bliss and her amazing tie for second yesterday when she went head-to-head with Farrell,” Bos said.

She held up her hand, now encased in plaster. “It’ll be a long time before I forget it. If only the blasted vamplate hadn’t been bolted on, I would have taken Walker next, and he would have found his arse on the ground—”

Everyone groaned as the familiar argument had started as to whether or not Bliss would have been able to take Walker if she hadn’t broken her wrist in her last run with Farrell.

I glanced up at the man who filled my days with happiness and my nights with wonder. There was something about his eyes that had me suspicious. “What?” I asked while the others argued about Bliss’s chance in the list with Walker.

“
What
what?” He raised an eyebrow in an attempt to look innocent, but I wasn’t fooled. I set down my latte and got to my feet, sliding a hand up the scarlet-and-gold tunic, the familiar rush of excitement giving my smile a wicked glint as I examined his face. His lips were their usual seductive selves, slightly curled up on the ends, his chin just as bluntly obstinate as ever, and his eyes . . .

“Uh-oh, I know that look. It’s the ‘I bought something new at Bern the Barbarian’s and want to show it to you’ look. What are you up to?”

“About eight inches, if your measurements last night were accurate.” His voice was a soft growl in my ear that sent ripples of awareness down my chest.

I pinched his arm. “I didn’t measure you to pump up your ego; I just wanted to look into having one of those satin codpieces made for you, and it was hard to tell if you needed the plain old beefy model, or the roomier stallion one. Now spill whatever it is that’s making the corners of your mouth curl up in the way that makes me want to rip off all your clothing and molest you shamelessly.”

With a grand gesture Walker bowed to me (without spilling Moth, who had learned he could hook his claws into Walker’s chain mail without fear of repercussion), and pulled from under his tunic a piece of paper.

“Fair ladies and scurrilous gentlemen, I give you this, the last day of competition’s match schedule.”

“Oooh, who does Geoff get in my place?” Bliss asked, elbowing Vandal and Butcher aside. “Tell me it’s someone good!”

Poor Geoff turned pale at the thought of having to joust. He’d jousted only a couple of times before he decided he didn’t have the stomach for it, but according to the rules, if a team member or his designated alternate didn’t joust, the entire team was removed from competition.

“I got Tomas again, ten thirty this morning.” Vandal handed the sheet to Butcher, grinning as he rubbed his hands together. “Good, I’ll be able to take care of him easily, and still have time to meet with the delectable Hanson twins.”

I gave Geoff a reassuring smile. He was clutching onto Bos’s good arm looking like he was going to be sick.

“Don’t worry, Geoff; it’s not that bad. If I can survive jousting after only a week’s instruction, so can you.”

“You came in dead last both days,” CJ pointed out.

“Yes, but the point is I survived,” I said, giving her a look that should have stripped the hair from her head, but it had little effect on her. My looks seldom did. “Despite being burdened by the requirement of jousting for Veronica the Villain, I did my best, and survived the last few days. And I finished forty-fifth yesterday, so I wasn’t dead last.”

“That’s only because the other jouster had a concussion and had to be taken away to the hospital and couldn’t complete his matches,” she countered.

Butcher looked up from the sheet of paper, his lips pursed. “I drew Farrell. Two o’clock.”

“Goody! Your turn to cream him, lamby-pie. Oh, but that means Walker won’t get him.”

“There’s always the melee tomorrow,” Butcher replied. “Walker can finally show Farrell that a little thing like five years out of the list hasn’t affected him.”

I glanced back at my brave knight, who was watching me with that curious half smile on his face. “What? Don’t tell me I drew you?”

His lips curled even more as he shook his head. “I’ve already told you that wouldn’t happen. They match jousters together by skill level. They’d never put a new knight up against an experienced one.”

“Okay, then, who did I get?”

“Let’s see . . . four o’clock, Pepper Marsh and Candy Roman.”

I frowned for a second as I thought. “Candy . . . oh, she’s Aussie, isn’t she?”

He nodded.

“Good draw,” Bliss said matter-of-factly. “She’s new at it, too. Her husband jousts, so she thought she’d take it up. She leans to the left, Pepper. If you keep that in mind when you hit her, you
might
just end up beating her.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. All right, then, if it’s not me, it’s got to be you. Who are you jousting? Butcher says he drew Farrell, and there’s no one else. . . . Oh, no!”

Butcher, holding the sheet, started to laugh. “Here it is, four fifteen. It’ll be the mister versus the missus.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and thinned my lips at him.

“Erm . . . that’s mister versus the ex-missus.”

“Thank you. I bet Veronica’s thrilled,” I said, watching Walker. There were no more shadows in his eyes, no more signs that he was caught on the self-destructive path he’d started down five years ago. He certainly had jousted brilliantly the last few days, aggressive but not wildly foolish, and he was well on his way to winning not only the hat trick of all three individual jousting titles, but the big one, the whole enchilada, the title of tourney champion. All that remained after today’s joust was the free-for-all melee tomorrow, and then the points would be totaled and the champion named. “Just watch yourself with her, and don’t be nice like you were the last time. She has a serious emotional problem where you’re concerned, and won’t stop at anything to beat you.”

He leaned forward, his lips a warm if too brief caress on mine, his eyes liquid with happiness and love. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I think I might just have a little flutter on the wild man,” Butcher said. “It’s a sure thing he’ll beat that she-witch and take the Southern Italian title as well.”

“Oooh, excellent idea, I’m good for a hundred quid,” Bliss said.

“Me too,” Vandal jumped up. “We can pool our money and lay down a big wager on him.”

“You’re jousting, stupid,” Fenice pointed out.

Vandal grinned. “I know a sure thing when I see it. Don’t worry, big sister, I won’t bet against myself . . . I’ll just bet on Walker.”

I turned my back on them as Fenice tried to make Vandal understand that the two things were the same.

“Have I told you today how madly in love I am with you?” I asked, sliding my arms around Walker.

“Three times, which means you owe me twenty-two more,” he answered, the low, silken rumble of his voice thrumming deep within me as I offered up my lips in wordless penance.

The wonderful warm glow that wrapped around me whenever I was near Walker remained with me during the day. Geoff went down after two runs, but didn’t get seriously hurt. Vandal defeated his opponent in all three runs, moving up to joust against the winner of the following joust. Butcher and Farrell tied twice, finally going to a third tie-breaking match, which Farrell won, only to be defeated by his next opponent.

It was a glow heightened by the excitement of the last day of competition. The Faire was at capacity crowds, each jousting run getting the entire audience on their feet yelling and screaming for their favorites. Everywhere we went there were people, kids with snow cones, babies in strollers, dogs, a couple of cats, parrots, and even one goat. It was wall-to-wall people, everyone gawking, taking pictures, asking for autographs, and just generally having a good time. The Faire folk geared up to accommodate the crowds, donning their brightest, flashiest garb, sunniest smiles, and hammiest acting tendencies.

The horses were equally gorgeous, brushed by the squires until they were glossy, each horse decked out in beautifully decorated finery, everything from jeweled headstalls and caparisons to metal and leather warhorse armor that was as impressive to look at as the mounted knight’s armor.

Despite my reticence to joust, somehow I had been caught up in it all. Although I had as little to do with them as possible, the excitement of Veronica’s team and support staff was contagious. Sukey, a sweet eighteen-year-old art major who was acting as squire, shined up my new armor until it was almost blinding under the big arena lights. I still wasn’t used to wearing an additional twenty pounds of armor strapped to my arms, legs, and chest, but I had to admit that the armor did cushion the falls a bit.

“You remember everything I told you?” Bliss said as she walked me and Tansy, one of Veronica’s horses, to the rider’s entrance of the arena. I was in my armor, the cream and green of my surcoat covering the plate armor matching Tansy’s headstall (a fancied-up bridle), saddle cloth, crupper (crisscrossed leather straps over her hindquarters, painted green and cream), and a jeweled peytral, or breast strap. I felt pretty spiffy in my duds, but Tansy positively sparkled. “Candy leans to the left, so it’s important your hit is accurate. None of that wild scything that you did yesterday. Use the saddle and your legs, and for heaven’s sake, don’t forget to drop the reins before the strike!”