My Noble Knight (29 page)

Griffin stared into the fire. The last time he had been home, Richard had been a capable leader, charismatic and loved by the people. He had to admit that Richard had come to him seeking his guidance and advice many times. Still, that did not prove Richard was not a capable leader. “Then why haven’t you stopped it?”

“Me?” A fit of coughing took over his father’s words and he stopped to wipe his mouth. “Richard does not listen to me. I have told him to be rid of that pack of wolves, but he scoffs at me. I’m just an old man.” He wiped the spittle from his lips again. “No. It must come from you.”

Griffin leaned forward, his arms on his thighs. He wouldn’t tell Richard that his own father wanted him to step down. No. He knew how being second best in your father’s eyes felt and it was not something he would do to his brother. “I can not tell him what to do.”

His father sighed softly. “It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

Griffin looked at him. His father watched him with those aged eyes, eyes that seemed to be able to see into his soul. Griffin looked at the fire. His father had not shown him so much interest in all of his life. Why now? Wariness tightened the muscles across his neck. “What girl?”

“Richard’s wife.”

“Jacquelyn?” Griffin asked in disbelief. “She means nothing to me.” And then he straightened, snapping to a sitting position with realization. He was searching for some way to control him, to manipulate him. He rose. “No. There’s nothing you can give me that would make me change my mind.”

“There is something. And I will find it.”

L
ayne sat outside of the
tent, looking at the starry night. The stars twinkled like coveted diamonds in the darkness. Colin, Frances and Michael all slept inside the pavilion.

But sleep would not come for her. She didn’t want to wander far from the tent. She knew Osmont had packed and left Woodstock after his embarrassing defeat. But there were others that felt the way he did. She still needed to be cautious.

She lifted her gaze to the moon. It was almost full, but there was a little piece missing. Ever since she had jousted, their luck had changed. They had only needed one more tourney to win. One more! And all their problems would have been gone. But she had to go and joust. She had to take Frances’s place. That had been when all of their troubles started. That had been the reason Michael had lost his fingers, the reason the other knights had turned against them. It had all been her fault. Somehow she knew Colin’s injury was her fault as well. Osmont had gone at him with a ferocious level of misplaced vengeance.

She bowed her head between her knees. Maybe she should have stayed home with her father and let her brothers handle the jousting. Would it have been so bad to be embroidering all of the time, under her father’s watchful eye and guidance so he could seek out the right husband for her? Having her aunt tell her to stand up straight, to agree with what the men said, to be docile and complacent? And never, ever, complain or roughhouse or sword fight or joust. Would it have been so bad?

It would have been horrible. It would have been unbearable. But she would have done it. She would have endured all of it if to give Michael back his fingers, to forgo Colin’s injury.

A crunching sound made her lift her head. She scanned the area in front of her, but didn’t see anything. She was sure she heard something. Like the crunch of leaves or a branch. She slowly turned her head. It was hard to distinguish if someone was there in the dark. She saw Griffin’s white tent just down stream of them.

Nothing.

Then she saw a shadow moving toward Griffin’s tent. What could someone want at such a late hour?

She straightened. The saboteur! It had to be!

She shot to her feet. She had to stop them. Indecision plagued her. She could rush over and confront whoever it was, but she knew there could be several men involved. She was afraid she might not be able to stop them by herself. She ducked back into her tent. Frances would help her. She moved to his mat and reached out for him, but felt only blankets. He wasn’t there. He must have been relieving himself or unable to sleep. She glanced back at the tent flap. She didn’t have time to find him.

She looked at Colin. He wouldn’t be able to help. Not with his leg injured.

She glanced at Michael. She would never risk his life again. Nothing was worth that.

Layne stood, placing a hand over the dagger in her belt. She would have to stop him. She ducked back outside and quickly moved toward Griffin’s pavilion, being careful not to make any noise. As she approached, she couldn’t see anyone there. Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe it was just another knight walking back to his tent.

Maybe.

Layne moved closer. She crouched, careful of her steps, placing one foot delicately forward and then the other.

Against the white of the tent, she saw a shadow sit up.

Layne squatted down and froze. She was about halfway between the tents. She watched the shadow. He was doing something near where Griffin’s weapons were.

She moved slowly forward, continuing to crouch as she moved. She had to come up behind him. She had to surprise him.

She circled around, keeping the shadow in her line of sight. She had no doubt it was a man. Carefully, she slid the dagger from her belt. She moved on the tips of her toes, silently, careful to move her foot from spot to spot until she was behind him.

Suddenly, he stopped and lifted his head, looking around from side to side like a deer in the line of a hunter’s bow.

She crouched down, and hid the dagger in the folds of her tunic so it wouldn’t reflect the moonlight. After a long moment, he cautiously returned to his work. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out in a slow exhale. She licked her lips and began to move in a bent position. She was almost upon him. What she intended to do when she reached him, she had no idea.

Her heart beat madly, pounding like a drum in her chest. She stood over him, holding the dagger. What could she do? Stab him? Call out?

In the end it was the moonlight that betrayed her. Her shadow washed across the ground and he whirled.

She lifted the blade. The same light that had betrayed her now guided her as it washed over familiar features. She gasped, “Frances!” and immediately lowered the blade.

“Layne,” Frances whispered. “Thank the Lord! I thought it was Wolfe. Help me.”

Layne stepped up beside her brother, looking over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Griffin’s weapons lay before him, but they were untouched. Frances held leather reins in one hand. He put a dagger to the reins.

Layne grabbed his elbow and jerked his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“It’s the only way,” Frances said, shrugging her hand off of him and putting the blade to the leather. He began to saw.

“Stop it!” Layne said. “You can’t do this. It’s wrong!”

“Wrong? It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is that I win. I can’t lose!”

She held his arm. “This isn’t the way. We’ll practice all night, if we must. But you can’t sabotage him.”

He shoved her away. “I have to,” he growled. “You saw him! I can’t beat him. I can’t defeat him. And I have to! I have to.” He turned back to the reins.

“Frances,” she said firmly. “This isn’t the way. I beat him. You can, too.” And then the realization hit her. A chill of doom shrouded her and she shivered. “You did it. That was why I was able to defeat him. You cut the leather stirrup.”

Frances grit his teeth. “Yes. You won because of what I did. And now, I have to win. So I have to do this.”

Layne shook her head. She hadn’t defeated Griffin fairly. She had known deep in her heart that she couldn't have beaten Griffin, but she had never thought her brother had sabotaged him. “Stop,” she said and grabbed the reins. “You can’t do this.”

“Can’t do this? Are you thinking of the family or are you thinking of Wolfe? I saw the way you look at him. Even dressing in a dress to get his attention. Where are your loyalties?”

Surprised and hurt at the truth in his words, she pulled her hand back. “This isn’t honorable, Frances. What would Colin say?”

Frances looked at her. His expression was cold and distant. “He told me to do it.”

Shocked, Layne stepped back. What was happening? This couldn’t be! Not Colin, too!

“He knows where his loyalties lay. The family is all that is important now. We have to win this joust. Any way we can.” Frances began to saw his dagger into the reins.

These were the reins that guided the horse, not the cinch or the stirrup leather. If Griffin couldn’t control Adonis, he might be seriously hurt or thrown and injured that way. How could she just stand there and let Frances do this? It was as good as cutting the reins herself. She opened her mouth to stop him. But how could she? They had to win. They needed this purse to buy the small farm where they could all live in the winter. They would have food, shelter. Warmth. Michael and her father would be taken care of. They would all survive. Where were her loyalties?

She closed her mouth.

Finally, Frances rose.

Layne stared at the reins on the ground, cut and damaged. Tears rose in her eyes. Every instinct in her being cried out at the injustice of it all. To sacrifice Griffin for her family wasn’t right, but what could she do? What could she do?

Her stare shifted to Frances; he was just a dark shadow now. She could just make out the outline of his face, darker shadows against lighter ones. The saboteur. All this time. He had been right beside her. Her mind screamed at the dishonor of it. And yet, he was her brother. It wasn't right!

She should tell Griffin.

Frances walked away, back toward their tent.

She looked at Griffin’s tent. Indecision plagued her. She should tell Griffin about the cut reins. But that was how this all started. With her doing something she had no place doing. By taking the field of honor, she had set this all into motion. And now, it was time for her to undo that.

She stood for a moment longer, torn. It wasn’t her place. It wasn’t a woman’s place to warn a man that the saboteur had struck. She turned to walk away. Griffin had tried all this time to teach her a woman’s place. A woman’s place was not in the affairs of men. Tears stung her eyes, wavering the darkness before her.

He had tried to teach her that women should not know about swordplay or jousting or any of the concerns of men. That women were just docile and amiable and compliant.

She froze. But he had failed. He had failed because she was not like that. And she would not stand by and let this happen.

She turned back to the reins. This was wrong. It was not the right way to win. And everything inside her, everything she was, could not let this happen. Not even if it meant losing the joust. Not even if it meant spending the winter in the open.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she lifted her chin in determination. Because she knew what she was going to do. It was the only thing she could do.

Layne glanced over her shoulder looking for Frances, but he was all the way across the clearing, almost to the family tent. She saw his silhouetted form moving toward their tent. She waited a moment more until he ducked beneath the flap and disappeared into the tent.

Then she bent down to the reins. She ran a hand across her cheek, wiping away the tears, and picked up the reins. She ran her finger along the flat side until she found the cut. She looked at it. Yes. It was just like before. Cut enough so that it would fail and rip and be mistaken for a tear. But Griffin knew of the sabotage. He knew. Would he have caught this if she left it? It didn’t matter. Because she had no intention of leaving it.

She stood and turned...

...to find Griffin standing there. The moonlight shone on his face dully, making him appear pale. “Layne?” His gaze dropped to her hands. He took the reins from her limp and trembling fingers. He inspected them, running his hand along them until they snagged on the cut.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to pin her to the spot. It was like a physical slap. She stepped back.

His brow scowled and he lifted dark eyes to her. “It’s you. You are the saboteur.”