Page 74 of My Hero
Garth’s heart pounded, and he felt his own shoulders tense as he watched the knights whirl and slash at their opponents. Of course, none of them were fit to polish the armor of his magnificent brothers. Duncan and Holden could have taken on the entire Wendeville fighting force without a scratch, he was sure. But that didn’t curb his enjoyment of the spectacle, and before he knew it, he was yelling out insults and encouragement along with the rest of the crowd.
It was a friendly melee. When it was over, the victors held out their hands to their fallen foes and clapped them on the back for a battle well played. Blunt blades were used in the sword duels. The jousting, as well, was done with coroneled lances…which was why the accident came as such a shock.
Garth had taken a cup of wine from a passing maidservant and was eyeing the pennons of the visiting knights to see how many he recognized when a collective gasp from the crowd drew his attention. He turned his gaze at once to the field of the lists. One of the jousters had fallen, which was nothing surprising, but he lay silent where he fell for a long while…too long. And when the helm was pulled from his head, it was obvious the unconscious knight was only a lad.
Garth swore under his breath. His brothers had done their share of filching armor as boys and fighting in tournaments for which they had neither permission nor experience to participate. But then, they were destined to be the finest knights in England. This boy was clearly…a boy.
The men on the field had removed his breastplate and were slapping at his cheeks now, trying to rouse the lad, to no avail. Lord, if they didn’t hurry…
Garth dropped his cup to the ground, heedless of the wine that trickled onto the sod. He hoisted up his cassock and leaped over the palisade on one arm, charging forward as soon as his feet hit the ground.
Cynthia gathered her skirts and lunged forward without thought. A lad lay unconscious on the field. She had to help him.
She heard some vague protest as she left—Philip, no doubt, concerned for her safety. But she rushed off anyway, half-conscious that her betrothed dogged her every step.
“Back away!” she snapped at the knights as she flung herself to the ground beside the fallen jouster. “Give me room to work.”
Behind her, Philip gasped. “Cynthia! Surely you’re not going to…” he began, likely appalled by the sight of his bride-to-be squatting like a peasant in the dust.
“Let her be.” Cynthia’s ear caught on the soft, deep voice above her. It was Garth. And in that instant, as he stood so close that his cassock rippled against her surcoat, an unexpected breath of desire blew past her like wind from a warm and faraway land.
“But…she can’t…” Philip sputtered.
“Let her be.” Garth spoke quietly, but with enough force to silence Philip. Then he caught her eye. “Will he live? Can you save him?”
Gazing into his solemn green eyes, she was transported back to the monastery. She’d asked that very same thing as Garth lay languishing in his cell.
“Save him?” Philip asked. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you need?” Garth asked, demanding her gaze.
Philip intervened. “Chaplain, I must protest. This is no place for—”
“Tell me,” Garth ordered.
Cynthia nodded and began rubbing her palms together.
Behind her, Philip protested. “What the devil?”
“Not the devil,” Garth murmured. “It’s God’s work.”
She hadn’t used her gift since Philip had arrived, and it returned reluctantly, but with such strength that she was scarcely able to control its power. Bolts of current seemed to shoot up her arms and through her legs, skewering her between earth and sky like lightning. Her skin crawled with prickles of fire. Quivering with trepidation, she stretched forth her hands and placed them lightly upon the lad’s forehead.
An image clapped into her brain like the flashes of a night storm, swift and sharp and clear. But it seemed so strange, so perverse…
She frowned and opened her eyes, snatching her hands back. The image made no sense.
“What is it?” Garth asked.
“Cynthia, I must insist you come away,” Philip said.
She ignored them. Wetting her lips, she closed her eyes and tried again, placing just the tips of her fingers upon the boy’s temples. There it was again. The same aberrant picture. It couldn’t possibly be right. And yet what choice did she have? The lad grew paler by the moment, his skin cooling even as she wrestled with her thoughts.
Garth’s heart raced. If Cynthia didn’t make quick work of it, if she couldn’t decipher the cure soon…
Suddenly she emitted a small moan of confused frustration. Then she inclined her head toward the lad’s. For a moment, it appeared as if she intended to kiss him.
Philip cursed. “What in the name of—”
