Eliza Knight - The Rules of Chivalry (6 page)

Raelyn
,
handed her slices of apple and Elena absently munched as Michael continued to dominate the field. She dared not think about what this could mean. He would have won had he downed the most knights, but to down them all? Her husband was bound to be impressed with that, just as she herself was. It appeared his childhood dream of becoming a most revered knight had come true. Even if he didn’t end up being so successful on the morrow, was there a chance that perhaps, Kent might offer him a position anyway?

Not one for chewing on her nails, she had the impulse to thrust her fingertips into her mouth. Perhaps her ladies knew her better than she thought, for each time she had the urge some little snack was thrust into her nervous fingers.
Apples, cheese, crusts of bread, grapes.
If they didn’t stop soon, she’d be stuck in the chair, and not of her nerves doing.

At long last he defeated all fourteen knights. Elena sighed heavily. After hours of sitting stiffly, worry overcoming her, she would need a hot bath.

Kent nodded to her as Michael approached, removing his helm and gauntlets. She bristled inside, how she hated needing his permission to do anything. She well understood the duties of a lady to her noble husband, and had it been any other man she wouldn’t have minded. But this cruel husband of hers was more than she could take.

“My lord, my lady,” Michael said, bowing low. When he was again sitting straight
upon his horse,
he smiled
broadly.

Elena’s
heart skipped a beat as she took in his sweaty form. Even looking so disheveled and well-worked she found him utterly devastating.

Elena couldn’t help returning his infectious smile. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Even better was his personal nature. She knew him to be strong and fierce, but he was also chivalrous, especially with her. How she wished she didn’t have to be so formal in giving him a prize for such an awesome feat, but if she were to stray from what her husband had told her to say, not only would she be punished, but so would Michael.

“Sir Devereux, we are most proud that you’ve competed fairly and shown your superior skill this afternoon. We bestow on you today this golden horse and hope that you will dine with us for the evening meal.” Her hand brushed his as he took the
solid gold
horse from her. Elena felt just that tiny touch as if he’d gripped her whole-heartedly. “We wish you luck
with the remainder of the tournament
.
If you continue your winning streak, you may gain the ultimate prize—
a position within Kent Castle as Captain of the Guard.”

And much, much more.

Chapter Four

E
lena stepped from the bath her ladies prepared for her. Muscles relaxed, but mind whirling with thoughts. Her stomach tightened in anticipation. While she would be seated on the right of her husband, Michael would be seated to her right as was his honor for having won the feat. She wasn’t sure she would be able to handle having him so close to her all through the meal. There was sure to be much celebrating and the meal could go on for hours.

Her maids,
Mary and Beth
,
approached with a linen towel, helping her to dry, before the other ladies stepped forward and helped her into her chemise.

“Which gown should you prefer this evening, my lady?”
Raelyn
held out her deep blue gown with silver trimming, and another of dark green with gold embroidered flowers.

“Blue shall do.” She dare not say she preferred the plainer of the two gowns, hoping to go as much unnoticed as possible.

Raelyn
helped pull a linen chemise over her head, and tied the laces in place over her breasts. Next
came
the tight stays she never went without.

“My lady, I don’t know why you insist, if I may say, in wearing this contraption,” Beth wheezed as she tugged
Elena’s
stays into place.

“You know very well why,” Elena said, only too aware of how odd it was indeed for her to wear them as the stiff thing wasn’t in fashion at all. Those who did wear them did it to accentuate a tiny waist and thrust their breasts high for all to see, but Elena had hers fashioned another way. The stays came up high, flattening her breasts, and did little to accentuate her waist at all. In fact, it was wholly unflattering,
just as she hoped it would be. She appeared to have a square boyish figure, and it pleased her well to look as such. Her husband’s men chased after her like bo
o
rs trying to stake their claim enough as it was. What would happen if she did indeed show her ample breasts? They’d all be salivating at the mouth. She shuddered in disgust.

Deep sighs escaped all of her maid’s mouths, for they did know exactly why,
all of them
having been victims to Kent’s men’s advances. Elena prayed there was some thread
holding tight
, however thin it may be, that kept her husband’s men from going the last
bit
it would take to rape her completely. For now, they seemed to settle on groping, grabbing, or brushing against her. A few forced kisses. Her mouth went dry; a bitter tang assaulted her tongue at the memories.

“Enough talk about it. I have to attend the eve meal,” she said dully.

The ladies continued their work, brushing out her hair, and braiding it into a long rope down her back. Her gown in place, silver girdle around her hips with her dining knife in its sheath, she folded her hands nervously as she gazed at the entryway of her tent. Now it was time to go.

She closed her eyes a moment, took a deep breath,
held
her head high. She squared her shoulders as her six companions formed a V behind her, and then left the tent. Boisterous noise came from the dining tent. Music, laughter, shouts, the clanking of jugs of ale, floated through its opening. While she’d prepared to attend the meal, the men had obviously imbibed on plenty.

As always, her ladies formed a circle around her as they entered. Elena did not know how she could ever repay these women. They took it upon themselves to protect her. The things they did had never been ordered or even suggested by her. When one of Kent’s men reached out to grab Mary, Elena grasped his hand and glared at him. Not
that it would do any good, but she’d rather have the wrath rained down on her. Poor Mary had already been through enough.

“I’d watch where my hands strayed, sir knight.”

The man leaned back, yanking his hand away and snickered. “I’d mind my tongue if I was you,” he threatened.

Elena pressed her lips together and turned from the vile man, her ladies following in her wake as she continued to make her way to the dais. Her husband’s eyes were on her, disapproving as ever. She would hear about her bold behavior later tonight. A chill swept through her, as she was sure it would not be pleasant. It never was.

Slowly she let her gaze drop and through her lashes she spied Michael already seated at the table on the dais. His head rested lazily in one hand as he studied her. For all his outward bored appearance, his eyes were sharp. He didn’t miss a thing, and she wished at that moment she could hear his thoughts, see his reactions.

When she reached the dais, he stood. Painfully obvious was that her husband did not stand. In fact he turned the other direction giving her the cut direct. In earlier days she would have been crushed, but now his anger and resentment no longer mattered. Her heart was numb, ice cold, hard.

“My lady, may I?” Michael pulled out her chair.

She smiled demurely and took a seat. Her hand brushed over his when she placed it on the armrest. A sizzling torrent of delicious sensation surged from her fingertips and through her body, settling in her middle. Shocked, she yanked her hand away and folded it in her lap.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she grappled awkwardly with her pewter cup to gulp some ale.

A quick check showed her husband was still engaged with one of his men in conversation and did not witness her reaction to Michael. But the hall was filled with his men.
Someone was sure to notice. She had to make sure she didn’t make any more mistakes this eve, or there would be trouble.

She set her cup down and stared down at her plate, unsure how to proceed. She desperately wanted to talk to Michael. Wished that Kent did not exist and she could call Michael her husband as had been their plans so many years ago. They’d not had a real conversation since she’d left Ireland. She missed him, missed how he made her laugh.
Missed his touch, his kiss.
The whisper of his soft breath on her cheek.

“My lady?”
His deep smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. He held a platter of roasted mutton up for her.

Elena took a small piece and put it on her plate, without looking at him.

“Perhaps a bit more?”
His voice held a teasing edge, catching her off guard.

Elena glanced up. His face was a mask of non-emotion, but where his mouth lacked any sort of hint to his mood, his eyes sparkled with humor.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

What was he doing? He would capture the attention of every person in the room if he continued. Flashing him a frown, she grasped another hunk of meat and placed it on her plate. He chuckled under his breath and settled himself in his chair.

“I am not fond of mutton, Sir Devereux,” she said under her breath.

Elena scooped a bit of braised pears onto her plate. The sweet aroma wafted to her nose, and she licked her lips hungrily. Unable to wait, she speared a slice with her knife and placed it on her tongue. The sweetness of pear juice, honey, and cinnamon melted in her mouth.
Delicious…

“No mutton for the lady, noted.” He leaned closer as if to examine what meager eats she had on her plate, and
whispered in her ear. “What the princess wants, the princess gets.”

She bit her lip to hide her smile and quickly glanced about the room. No one seemed the wiser to Michael’s inappropriate behavior. Oh, how happy she was to have him by her side, even if it may not be permanent. Her happiness was only shortly lived. She was unprepared for the onslaught of emotion his words elicited. Her heart beat erratically. Her hands
trembled
. Tears stung the back of her eyes.

Princess.
There’d been a time in her
life she did feel adored, cherished
.
But not anymore.
The past few years had been wrought with fear, anger,
resentment
. Whatever amount of self-esteem she’d once held, had sunk the moment her husband first degraded her, and little chunks had been ripped from her every day since, until finally she felt nothing.

What the princess wants, the princess gets.
If only it were true! She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into Michael’s arms and be carried away from the madness of Kent Castle, the madness of its master. She wanted to be carried across England to the salty shores and then thrown back to Ireland.
A time when she was safe, a place she felt secure, and with the one person in life who deigned to call her special and loved her for it.

Without looking at him, she knew Michael’s eyes were on her, trying to decipher her feelings. The weight of his gaze penetrated her soul. She blinked back her tears, and turned slightly toward him, offering a small smile. She had nothing left to give but that. Pain emanated her entire being. Her soul was like a caged bird begging to be let free, yet her mind held a stick, whacking it away from the enclosing bars. If only she could be as carefree as Michael made her feel. If only she’d never left Ireland…

*****

Michael wove his way around people and erected tents until he came to his own, his heart heavy, his mind full.
Elena’s eyes haunted him. At once sparkling and jubilant, they’d turned to hollow orbs. Every once in a while he’d see a fleeting twinkle of the woman she’d once been, but then tears pooled in their depths, and she quickly shielded her face from him.

All he’d heard was true. Her pleas for rescue weren’t the exaggerations of an unhappy wife, but a cry for help, nay,
a
shout for a savior. He knew his job here was one not to be taken lightly, but it wasn’t until he’d seen the sheer pain and even fear in his love—dare he say betrothed?—that Michael knew how important it was.

She’d retired early for the night, and only after following her to her tent and safely seeing she was guarded, did he retreat. Their goodbye had been bittersweet. So many words left unsaid. The tension crackled between them. Her eyes had been lowered, her words whisper soft as she thanked him for the escort. Her ladies surrounded her like a shield and he well knew why. But he wasn’t Kent or one of Kent’s men. The brief touch of her hand on his arm had been like lightning striking his soul. He’d reached out to take her hand, kissed her soft knuckles, and then she was gone, her ladies closing the flap of the tent.

What utter horrors had she and her ladies seen, experienced?

Kent was a menacing man.
A beast.
His men disgusting pigs.
When he won the tournament, he’d turn these men around. Teach them to respect a lady. Show them the ways a chivalrous knight should behave. Bitterness burned a path from his stomach to his throat. He spit angrily on the ground.

Elena had shown true courage when she’d chided the knight who’d dared touch her lady’s maid. Michael had been surprised when her husband said
nothing,
the man even had the audacity to glare daggers at his wife, as if the women were there to be touched by the men. Defiled, abused. He gritted
his teeth.
Bastards, all of them.

On the morrow, when he was in the field, he’d imagine each and every one of those brutes when he fought sword to sword with the other knights.

He shoved aside the flap to his tent and stalked inside. Darkness greeted him. Thank goodness he’d told his squires to go off for the evening and entertain themselves. He was itching for a fight and if any of them had been in the tent he was sure to persuade them into training to get his frustrations out. He let out a breath, not realizing he’d been holding it. Stumbling around, he found a candle and lit it with a flint. Shadows danced across the tent.

He made quick work of disrobing, thrust hi
s dagger
under his makeshift pillow and standing only in chausses, he flopped onto the cot his men had put together for him. The cool night air seeped through invisible slits in the canvas walls, and he welcomed the reprieve. He felt on fire from the physical exertion of the day and the emotional turmoil he’d experienced with Elena. Outside, the sounds of jovial shouts and camaraderie filled the nighttime air. A tournament was a fun time. A time to celebrate prowess, and even those who lost today would still be celebrating, for they’d lived.

Oh, how he would have loved to enjoy this night with Elena. Danced with her to the tunes of the minstrels and singers, fed her a hunk of meat from
his own
dirk, and then stolen a kiss from her as he bid her goodnight. He could still smell the faint essence of
honeysuckle
that surrounded her, imagined her floating in a tub of steaming water, the little white petals of the sweet flower floating amid oil and her smooth skin.

Would that he could just whisk her away.
He’d longed to return to England all his life, but suddenly he had an almost uncontrollable urge to flee to Ireland—with Elena in his arms. He’d never really felt like it was home until now. Perhaps he should steal her away in the night, secure a boat
and paddle them to the Emerald Isle himself.

Knowing her husband was such a mean and evil fool, surrounded by a vicious pack of dog-knights, was the only thing holding him back. The man would tear Heaven and Hell apart to find her,
Michael
had no doubt. He may show her disdain and appear to wish her gone from him, but Kent had pride, and pride could be a dangerous, deadly thing. No, staying on, becoming the leader of
Kent’s
pack of animals and whipping
them
into shape was the only way. But then again, even if he did turn the men decent, there was still Kent to contend with. He would still be Elena’s legal husband, and there was nothing Michael could do to help her behind closed matrimonial doors.