Page 21 of Promise of a Knight
Alex swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. He wanted a favor fromher? Her tongue seemed to grow thicker in her mouth and she couldn’t form words. All blood drained from her body.
Alaric shifted his horse closer to Alex. He reached for her with a gauntleted hand, and she took hold of it, brought it to his lips, kissing her gently on the knuckles. She shivered, recalling each and every time his lips had touched hers. Remembered the feel of his fingers threaded in hers. She wanted to tug off his gauntlets and place her hand in the center of his large palm.
“A token, my lady?” he murmured, his eyes meeting hers.
If Alex could have given herself to him then and there, asked him to ride away with her to a place where neither of them had any obligations for the remainder of their days, she would have. Instead, she nodded, tugged the linen handkerchief she’d embroidered herself with thistles from her sleeve and tied it around his lance.
“I am ever in your service, my lady. I vow to honor you and protect you.” His words were softly spoken, quiet enough that she was the only one to hear.
That was as much of a confession to keeping her secret as she was going to get, but it went beyond that. Alex’s heart warmed, her belly did a little flip. Was it possible that Alaric felt the same for her as she did for him? His words, declared in a moment of heated anger, frustration and passion on the stairs two days before flashed back to her mind.
Theirs was a friendship steeped in more than just honor, duty and protection. There was more to it than that. She could feel it in her gut. In her heart.
Slowly he backed his horse from the tent, then trotted toward his starting place on the field.
Alex scooted to the edge of her seat as a Scottish warrior came out on the opposite end, following in Alaric’s wake. He asked for a favor from an English lady. It looked as though Sir Alaric had started a trend and it would be interesting to see if it stuck. A chivalric gesture to the Scottish King and his English bride. A thistle and a rose.
The trumpets blew and each of the men on horseback sat on their chargers at their starting points, waiting for the final horn. Alex gripped her hands tightly in her lap.
Margaret leaned over and patted Alex on the forearm. “Sir Alaric is the best jousting knight in all of England. I have faith he will win this competition.”
Alex nodded, giving a small laugh of agreement, though in her mind she wasn’t so certain. The Scots were brutal, much more so than the dignified English. That was one of the reasons they’d been able to win so many skirmishes. The Scots fought dirty. Being that they were her own people, she didn’t normally have a problem with that, but now, with Alaric on the receiving end of that dirty way of fighting…
The final horn blew and the men lunged forward on their mounts, their jousting lances held aloft, pointed ends toward each other.
Alex chewed her lip, kept her eyes wide, afraid to even blink.
Alaric was one with his horse, the lines of his body synching with the movements of his mount. Back and forth, and then—wham! The two warriors rammed each other with their lances. Wood splintered, the sound echoing loudly across the field.
The Scotsman jerked backward, losing his grip on his reins. His lance fell to the ground. Alaric, too, shifted slightly, but kept his grip and his seat.
“English!” shouted the herald, regaling the winner, though Alex would have liked the man to have said Alaric’s name.
She gulped in air, not realizing she’d ceased breathing throughout the fight. Her eyes burned from keeping them open, tearing with joy at his win. Alaric leapt down from his horse, sifting through the shattered wood and grabbing hold of something white that he waved in the air.
Her handkerchief.
Alex’s heart soared. She wanted to leap from her perch, run across the field and throw herself into his arms.
“Oh, my,” Margaret mused. “I do believe you have an admirer, Lady Alexandra.”
Alex’s face colored as her chest warmed and her stomach did a little flip. Alaric may admire her, but he was not the only one who admired someone. Every time she looked at him, she found herself falling deeper and deeper under his spell.
“’Haps,” she said modestly, then bit her lip to keep herself from smiling too broadly.
Margaret leaned close. “He is my father’s favorite.”
Alex wasn’t surprised, he was loyal and strong and so many other good things. But what did the princess’ comment mean? Was it a warning to stay away from Alaric? A reminder that Alex was Scottish and a love affair or union between the two of them could never be? Or was it praise the princess hoped would appeal to a Scottish lady?
Alex had no idea and her head was starting to pound from the fright of watching Alaric fight and from the emotions somersaulting through her.
As she gazed around at the cheering people, the cohesiveness of the court, the way the English and Scottish on the outside, just for this one gathering, all seemed to be getting along well. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the handsome, fearsome knight sauntering straight for her. Alex knew, without a doubt, she would go against her parents. She would never be able to go home for contradicting their orders, but she’d never be able to respect herself again either.
And sometimes, a lass just had to choose herself first.
Before now, there had still been some part of her struggling with her choice. Not now. Conviction flowed hot in her veins.
“My lady.” Alaric bowed before her, the handkerchief gently swaying as an offering.
