Page 93 of An Enchanted Spring

“Showoff,” Emma murmured, a bubble of joy enveloping her. She let out a breath.

“I’ve never seen him thusly.” Nioclas gave Emma a benevolent smile. “You’ve enchanted him thoroughly. We’ll either see his poorest showing to date due to his distraction with your beauty, or he’ll win the entire tournament to prove his worth to you.”

“There’s Monaghan!” Bri noted, as another man in chain mail vaulted into the stands across the field.

Emma watched with amusement as Shane offered a flag of green to Brigit, who curtsied before accepting it. She clasped it to her chest, and he tipped his cheek toward her. She leaned forward and gave him a very chaste kiss, and the Muskerry and Monaghan clans cheered.

Brianagh gave her a tight smile.

Aidan shifted,ignoring the sweat under his chain mail as he stood next to his horse. He placed a calming hand on the beast’s neck, murmuring to it as he watched a rival clansman land in a cloud of dust.

Aidan hadn’t jousted in almost ten years. It used to be his favorite sport; unseating a man from atop his horse gave a feeling of triumph like no other. Of course, being unseated gave a feeling of pain like no other. He remembered nursing a very sore backside for the better part of a se’ennight during his training years.

“Do you remember how the healers here set a broken bone?” Reilly asked from behind him.

Aidan’s horse snorted and danced a couple of steps away, and Aidan patted the beast reassuringly. He murmured to the horse, “Aye, he’s an arse. That’s exactly how I feel about him, too.”

Reilly leaned against the stable wall, watching the now-hobbling warrior make his way off the field. “No one’s been able to unseat Monaghan.”

“Or perhaps they’re allowing him a good show for his soon-to-be bride,” Aidan responded as he swung into the saddle.

The recently unseated clansman made his way into the stable, holding his wrist and swearing.

“Is he that good, then?” Reilly asked the defeated warrior.

The man breathed hard and nodded. “Is the healer nearby?”

“I believe she is down there,” Reilly replied, pointing. “Back of the stables. Get in line.”

He limped off, muttering about fools on horses and hurting his sword arm.

“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Reilly asked in his most uninterested voice. “Because—and this is important, so keep those ears open, lad—I wouldn’t want you to forget that you’ve still got to unseat me to get to your lady. ’Tis a long and lonely life in the Middle Ages without companionship.”

Aidan slammed his helmet down and dug his heels into the horse’s side, spraying a satisfactory amount of dirt into Reilly’s face.

If Emma was stuck here, Aidan would ensure her happiness. He would make her smile every day, show her how important she was to him, show her how much he loved her.

The realization wasn’t as shocking as he thought it might be, as he turned it over in his mind while he set up for the joust. She was stronger than perhaps she even realized. She was smart, and kind, and intrigued him daily. She refused to be a doormat, and she knew when she needed help, though she wasn’t exactly graceful about accepting it. That, he could well understand, though.

But he knew she might choose the future over him. The thought twisted like hot metal in his gut. Could she love him back? He wasn’t sure how to know. Last night, he’d panicked when he’d heard the detachment in her voice about being handfasted. He sought to arm her with the knowledge that she wasn’t being forced to do anything, but she’d taken his comment about marriage entirely the wrong way. And as the conversation wore on, Aidan realized that he loved her enough to let her go…and that she didn’t love him enough to stay. Not that he would ask that of her—he knew exactly what she would be giving up.

But a part of him wished she might want to give it up for him.

And his jealousy, and his callous comments…he vowed to spend the rest of his life making up for those.

The crowd, as expected, went crazy when he galloped out, and he waved his MacWilliam flag as he sized up his first competitor. Monaghan had already bested four of the nine, but he showed signs of fatigue; his posture wasn’t as straight, and he was rolling his right shoulder to ease the pain.

The horn blew, and Aidan cleared his mind of everything except Monaghan’s sore shoulder. The two men brought their horses to their respective ends of the track, and at the second horn, they took their positions. Aidan hefted the long, blunt-tipped lance from the squire. He tucked the handle tightly against his side and raised his shield, and steadied the horse with his knees.

The third horn blew, and the horses charged, one on either side of the beam. Aidan urged his horse to a breakneck speed and, just before impact, he raised the lance slightly, loosened his grip on the handle, raised his shield to meet Monaghan’s lance, and braced himself for the impact.

His lance hit Monaghan squarely in the shoulder, on his bone. Monaghan toppled from his horse, unable to hang on. He rolled when he hit the dirt, indicating that he was not seriously injured, and Aidan slowed his own horse.

Aidan dismounted and walked toward Monaghan, who, despite the hard fall, was standing on his own. They reached out and shook hands, more gently than they would normally, and Monaghan grimaced and called him a foul name.

“To the victor, my friend,” Aidan said. They both glanced up toward Emma, who was hugging herself and watching them silently. Her golden hair, piled atop her head in acomplicated pattern of braids, highlighted her beauty, even as she stood in the shade of the laird’s box.

“This isn’t over,” Monaghan replied evenly.

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