Page 17 of A Knight To Call My Own
The dance ended and the couple broke apart, to Rolf’s great relief, although ’twas not long afore another took Ian’s place. Rolf had already had the pleasure of his victory dance with Lynet so he knew there would not be another opportunity to have her in his arms. He was about to retire to his chambers when he noticed Lynet’s current partner risked much, considering the placement of his hand.
Rolf was about to intervene on the lady’s behalf when Dristan rose and took care of the matter himself. Mayhap, that, too, was for the best. He was afraid if he had had to deal with Lord Broderick, the man would be missing a much needed limb for having placed his hand lower than Lynet’s waist. At least, that would have ensured one less man vying for her hand in marriage.
He took delight when the lady of his musing noticed him leaning up against the wall and waved. He returned the gesture with a slight nod of his head and was pleasantly pleased when she began weaving her way through the crowd to join him. A servant was passing by and Rolf reached out for a chalice of wine, which he offered to Lynet when she came abreast of him.
“My thanks, Sir Rolf. I am most parched,” she whispered breathlessly.
He continued to gaze down upon her, but said not a word. Her flowery essence assaulted his senses, as if to mock him of what he would never have to call his very own. Still he could not, for the life of him, help himself from inhaling the scent of her and enjoying this brief moment to treasure for all of his days.
“Rolf?” His name echoed inside his head, and he realized she must have been speaking to him, but he was ignorant to what the lady had been saying.
Clearing his throat, he looked down into the bluest eyes he had ever beheld and was once more lost. “My lady?”
She gave him a slight smile. “I had asked if you are enjoying the festivities this eve.”
He returned her smile with one of his own. “I am now,” he replied and watched a most becoming blush rush up her cheeks.
She appeared as though she was struggling for something to say. ’Twas a first, since speech between them had never been difficult. “Rolf, I-” she began, only to have her words stumble into silence, once more.
Her unspoken words tore at his heart, knowing the cause. She did not need to speak them, for ’twas perfectly clear to whom her affections truly belonged. Yet, ’til she settled the matter between them, Rolf would continue to fight for her hand and hold out some small measure of hope she could still be his.
Lynet reached out and fingered the edges of the ribbon placed on his arm much as he had just recently done. “I am most pleased you still wear this, Rolf,” she murmured. “You know I do care for you, do you not?”
Afore he could mutter some form of a reply, Dristan called to her, for another was ready to claim his victory dance. Lynet murmured a barely audible hasty farewell and departed.
With a heavy heart, Rolf left the festivities to retire. He may not have much of a chance to win the lady’s heart, but by God, he would die trying, if he must.
Chapter Ten
“Yield!” Ian called out to the knightbeneath the point of his claymore. He waited with his heart hammering inside his chest ’til the man at last nodded his confirmation Ian had won the match. A round of cheers went up from those seated in the stands, who had been watching for what seemed like hours whilst men continually hacked away at each other with their swords.
Ian lifted the visor of his helmet and made his way to bow afore Dristan and those surrounding him. His eyes lingered on the young woman who had barely acknowledged his existence in the past several days. Today was no different, as she all but ignored his presence. He took off his helmet and glared at her ’til she at last peered at him in a sideways glance. She flushed a becoming shade of red. He smiled at her obvious frustration to remain uncaring. With a blush like that painstakingly plastered on her comely face, he knew he had her undivided attention, whether she willed it or not.
His point made, he gave her a low courtly bow, despite the heavy metal encasing his body. “Mylady,” he said, loud enough that all within hearing heard the emphasis on his claim to the beautiful Lynet.
“Harrumph!” Lynet gave an off handed reply, all but raising her pretty, little, pert nose at him.
He chuckled whilst calling for ale and left the field ’til the next poor sorry excuse for a knight rose up to challenge him again come the morrow. The array of opponents had been falling like rain drops from the grey skies ’til only the best of the best now remained for him to fight to claim his prize. Since Dristan had made it perfectly clear these rounds were not to be challenges to the death, many had grumbled their complaints as they had fallen victim to better adversaries. From the sneers that followed him through camp, Ian had made plenty of enemies by advancing through the ranks to win Lynet’s hand in marriage.
Ian bestowed a brief glance over his shoulder at Angus and Connor, who he knew guarded his back, as he made for his tent to take his ease. Although Killian had made room for him in the Garrison Hall, he preferred to be outside of the keep walls, not trusting himself to restrain the urge to throttle the very lady he was trying his best to win.
The little vixen!How many nights, as the victors celebrated in the Great Hall, had she all but told him with her eyes that she hated him? Their kiss, however, told him differently, and ’twas the reason he continued to maintain the advantage in the matches he entered. ’Twas sheer goading on his part each time he bowed down afore her as he won, again and again. He looked forward to the day when he would become the last man standing. There was no doubt in his mind Lynet would be returning with him to Urquhart.
Still, he had to give her credit in her resolve to attempt to prove to herself, at the very least, that she cared not for him. Ian had watched, one fair morning at the beginning of the games, when she bestowed yet another favor on Rolf’s armor, as if the first one she had given him had not been enough. Once the deed had been accomplished, she had peeked directly at him through lowered lashes ’til he gave her a mocking salute. If she thought to make him jealous, she would shortly come to the realization she would not win at her game. She should have heeded the warning he had already given her that such a ploy would not be to her advantage.
She had done Rolf no favor that day, however. The ribbon, once placed in front of all those competing for her hand, had all but floated on the breeze, as if daring and waving a bright red flag at a charging bull to come and take it from his arm. Rolf had taken a fair beating that morn, and yet, he still remained one of several combatants to fight another day. As one of Dristan’s guards, Ian would have expected no less of the man.
In the evenings, Lynet had been forced by Dristan to dance with those who had won their matches each day ’til ’twas quite clear the lady was not enjoying the music. Coming to claim her for a dance after she had just been partnered with her distant cousin, who apparently now called Lorn his home, Ian had bristled as she had started to leave him standing alone on the floor ’til he had made a grab for her arm. He had spoken not a word as he had all but dared her to continue her departure. She had chosen wisely that night, and he had been pleased to watch her breathing elevate each time their hands touched or came in contact with one another as they went through the pattern of the dance. He remembered, in mild fascination, when the pupils of her blue eyes had dilated, and he had known then and there she wanted him as much as he wanted her. His only wish had been to sweep her from the room, thoroughly kiss her stubborn pride from her lips, and have her admit she still cared for him.
“My laird…” Angus’s voice interrupted his musings, and Ian wondered how long the man had been holding back the flap to the entrance of his tent whilst his laird reminisced on a tiny slip of a girl.
Ian entered and went to a nearby pitcher. After pouring water into the bowl, he cupped his hands and splashed the cool liquid on his face to remove the sweat of a hard day’s labor. Angus handed him a drying cloth, and he took it gratefully, along with a tankard of cool ale to take the dirt from his mouth. He gulped the spirits ’til the cup was drained. “Help me get this damn armor off,” Ian drawled, as exhaustion began to seep from his body. Only now, away from the prying eyes of others, would he give in to the need for rest.
“I told ye we should ’ave brought a lad. Look at us…reduced tae the duties o’ squire!” Connor complained. Ian shot the man a piercing stare that silenced any further words of complaint. “Sorry, me laird.”
Ian grunted some form of reply and managed a sigh of relief as the armor that had been weighing him down all day was slowly removed from his body. The chain mail was to be removed next. Bending forward, he allowed the weight from the heavy links to do the work for him as the mail slid from his chest onto the floor. Any energy Ian may have still possessed drained from him as if water running through fingers. Angus lifted off the padding he had worn so the metal would not rub his skin, only to reveal a path of blood that had been trickling down his side for some time.
“Yer injured,” Angus stated the obvious as he began poking the stab wound in Ian’s side.
