Hard Day''s Knight

  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.

  Chapter Nineteen

  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!”

  “I will. Bliss?” I leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Do me proud, girl,” she said in a gruff voice. “You’ve got it in you to be a world-class jouster if you just stick with it.”

  I glanced over to the right to the practice ring, where Walker and a couple other jousters were warming up their horses. He raised his hand high in a victory sign, turning Marley to leave the ring. I waved and started up the long ramp into the arena, stopping at the gate. Veronica was talking to one of the competition officials, the long-haired, bearded man who was acting as list marshal, her hands gesticulating despite the fact that she was in full armor. The official protested something, but she cut him off, spinning on her heel to walk over to Gladiator, the sharp-tempered Friesian who was Tansy’s twin as far as caparisons went. To the left was the Aussie I was going to joust against. I gave her a friendly smile and nod, which she answered just as happily. Inside the arena the crowd roared as one jouster took down another.

  “Don’t drop the lance until the last minute, aim a bit high and to the left—no, wait, to the right; she leans to the left—and remember to drop the reins,” I muttered to myself, more than a little bit nervous at the upcoming joust. It wasn’t the first one I’d done without the familiar shield to take the blow—Bliss and Walker had been working me for long hours the last couple of days—but it was the first time I had jousted Southern Italian with a stranger, someone who didn’t give a fig about setting me down gently rather than just blasting me off the horse.

  Tansy moved to the side as the two jousters exited the ring. I looked behind me to see Walker waiting at the bottom of the ramp, talking with Butcher, but watching me. I reminded myself that although he wouldn’t stop loving me if I were so nervous I barfed in the middle of the arena, I really didn’t want to end the competition on a note of vomit.

  “Save the lance till the last minute, aim high and to the right, and drop the—Huh?”

  The voice of the announcer, tinny and somewhat drowned out by the buzz of the crowd, was supplemented by a crier who stood outside the entrance, bellowing the names of the next combatants.

  “Candy Roman, of Joust for Fun, and Veronica Tyler, Palm Springs Jousting Guild, in the arena, please.”

  “Veronica?” I asked, looking at the crier, then back at Walker. He was too far behind me to hear, and obviously didn’t know what was going on, but I knew. Oh, I knew—Veronica had somehow convinced the list marshal to switch our positions. I was willing to bet everything I had that there was some sort of weird rule allowing team members to switch spots—which meant I’d have to joust against Walker.

  My mind balked at the thought of just what that would mean.

  “I won’t let that happen,” I swore. “I will not destroy him now that he’s
finally found his feet. She will not beat us!”

  Veronica gave me a horrible smile as she waited for Candy to ride into the arena. Unsure of what she should do (and no doubt terrified of the thought of going against the much more experienced Veronica), Candy remained poised at the entrance.

  Her husband raced to the judging area and began arguing vehemently with the marshal, but he was having none of it, waving the Australian off as he strode toward the center of the arena. The Aussie looked at his wife helplessly for a couple of seconds, then ran after the marshal to try again.

  “Second call for Candy Roman and Veronica Tyler.”

  Candy looked around nervously. I turned Tansy’s head and nudged her over to where Veronica sat on the handsome black. “Tell me, Veronica, just what sort of blackmail did you have to resort to in order to get us switched?”

  “Blackmail is such a harsh word,” she said with another sharky smile. “I prefer persuaded. It’s all perfectly legal, you know. As the team captain, I have the power to change the order of jousts should I feel one of my team members is in a position to move up the ranks. Congratulations on your promotion.”

  “You heartless bitch,” I said softly, without any heat.

  “Third and final call for Candy Roman and Veronica Tyler. If you do not enter the list now, ladies, your match will be forfeit and your teams disqualified.”

  Candy bit her lip, hesitated for a second, shot Veronica a look of loathing, then urged her horse into the arena.

  “Have a lovely joust, dear,” the she-witch of Palm Springs said as she followed Candy.

  I turned in the saddle to gesture to Walker, but he was bent to the side, signing autographs for a crowd of teens and a couple of squires. He was too far away to hear me over the noise of the arena, and the squires and grooms dashing back and forth blocked my path so I couldn’t turn Tansy and ride to him.