Just A Kiss: (The Frog Prince) (Tangled Tales Series Book 2) (5 page)

Chapter 6

Arnon stood in the long queue of knights, cursing himself for getting there so late that he ended up at the back of the line. He hoped he could beat the baron in every event, because the first time he didn’t, he’d be out of the running.

A fanfare of trumpets sounded, and the herald announced the arrival of the baron to the jousting yard. Arnon looked over his shoulder to see his brothers and father sitting in the lists, watching from behind the short, white wooden fence. Then came more blaring trumpets and the herald made another announcement which took every man’s attention.

“Lady Freya has arrived and will now join her father, the Baron of Slapton, to watch the competition from the royal box.”

Arnon heard commotion from the crowd and tried to see over the heads of the dozens of knights in front of him, wanting to get a glimpse of the Lady Freya. He was unable to see a thing until she started to climb the stairs to the raised dais. Suddenly the knights parted and at least half of them turned and made their way off the jousting field in a hurry.

“I’m not going to marry the strumpet, even if her father is a baron,” said one of the knights as he left the field.

“She’s addled and needs a good swift kick to the backside, she does,” said another as the crowd dissipated.

“She looks like a witch,” said yet another.

“Wait, come back,” he heard the baron shout out, but by now most the men had left the field, and there were only about a dozen left. Once the crowd cleared, he saw why. Freya sat down next to her father, looking like – he wasn’t sure what she looked like. Her long black hair was standing out in all directions, frizzy and matted, and she had no headpiece to cover her head as was proper of a noblewoman. Instead she wore a band of black lace around her forehead that was framed by a few skinny braids thrown up and curled around the top of her head like a crown.

She was wearing a black gypon made of leather that you’d normally see on a knight. And under it she had on a dark, black velvet gown with odd black-laced sleeves. She was not at all dressed like a proper lady. Or at least not like a lady that any knight would be in a hurry to marry and call his wife.

To make matters even worse, her face stood out very stark with the white powder caked upon it. She had the colors of bright purple and black framing her eyes that reminded him of a cat. Her plush lips were dark blood red and she wore a little smirk on her face that told him she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Actually . . . he liked a spunky wench, it made life exciting. This wench was different, and Arnon was different than most too, now that he’d lived the past year as a wolf.

He pushed up to the front of the line, wanting to get a closer look. He boldly walked up to the edge of the raised wooden platform that held the nobles where he could see her just fine now. She was strikingly beautiful up close, even with all the colors painting her face.

“Get back to the bedchamber and change into something proper anon, and wash that filth off your face,” the baron ground out to his daughter.

“I’ll not go,” she said, and made a big show of fixing her fingerless lace gloves and fluffing out her drab gown before she sat down.

“You look like you’re a strumpet in mourning,” he said. “No one is going to want to compete for your hand in marriage now, or was that your plan all along?”

Arnon looked around. Everyone mumbled behind their hands and the knights that were left all congregated in a circle and talked amongst themselves.

Freya looked the other way and didn’t answer.

“I can’t let them leave.” The baron  jumped to his feet. He nodded to the herald who would announce and conduct the competition. “Go ahead and start.”

The announcer bowed slightly and raised a hand in the air as the trumpets sounded once more. “All those interested in competing for the hand of Lady Freya in marriage please line up in front of the dais as the competition is about to begin.”

More mumbles were heard from the crowd of competitors but no one moved forward. Arnon was the only one standing there, and he rather liked the idea of having little or no competition.

“This is a farce!” The baron slammed down his hand on the wooden railing and started to leave the dais.

“Are we to start with archery or mayhap the sword?” Arnon called out to get his attention. “I’m very good at the joust, so you’d best be on your toes, my lord.”

“What?” The baron made a face and glanced over at his daughter. She looked up and her eyes interlocked with Arnon’s but then she looked downward and wringed her hands on her lap.

“Who are you, Sir knight?” asked the baron.

“My name is Sir Arnon de Bar of Babeny, my lord.” He nodded his head as the baron walked down the wooden steps and came toward him.

“De Bar?” he asked. “Are you related to the late Lucio de Bar?”

“Aye,” he answered. My brothers and father – I mean, the earl of Tavistock are here to watch me win the hand of your beautiful daughter in marriage.”

“Are you saying . . . you still want to marry my daughter though she looks like . . . that?” He squinted his eyes and pointed a finger at the girl sitting atop the dais.

“I do, my lord. And I am ready to show you that I would make a worthy husband for Lady Freya.”

“Nay, the competition is off,” he said with a wave of his hand. “My daughter does not want to marry and that’s why she’s humiliated me in front of everyone. Go home, everyone, there’ll be no knight competing against me today.”

Arnon felt the air knocked from his lungs by the baron’s announcement. He was so close to having a wife and a future of everything he wanted. This would have been an easy challenge to win. He knew he could beat the old man in any competition with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. He was sure people didn’t live as long as the baron and it would only be a short matter of time before he died and left his castle and lands to whichever man was married to his daughter. But now, that was never going to happen.

He turned to go, but stopped in his tracks as the voice of an angel cried out. “Let him compete!

“What?” He turned to see Freya slowly standing up, and this time her intense stare almost bore a hole right through him.

“Unless you don’t think you can beat the baron.” Her eyebrow lifted and her lips twisted into a small smirk again. “Can you?” She’d thrown down the gauntlet between them and he was only too happy to pick it up and pursue the challenge.

“I do, my lady. And if you and the baron will just give me the chance, I will prove it to you.”

“Father?” Lady Freya looked over to the baron and waited for his answer.

Arnon was afraid the man was going to deny the request, but then he nodded and looked out to the crowd. “Let the competition begin.”

Freya gripped the wooden railing of the list, barely able to stand she was so anxious. The handsome knight she’d seen by the swamp was here and saying he wanted to compete to win a chance at marrying her! Even after the way she’d dressed. She’d scared all the suitors away, but nothing seemed to frighten or repel this brave, determined knight. She liked that in a man. It intrigued her.

She watched from the stands as Sir Arnon beat her stepfather in first the archery competition, then the dagger throw, and now was competing in the hand-to-hand combat with a sword.

The crowd clapped and cheered when Arnon’s sword clashed with the baron’s, and he ended up unarming him in the end. Her stepfather didn’t look happy. His self-image had been shattered to realize he wasn’t the best archer or swordsman in all of England as he’d thought.

“Prepare for the last competition – the joust,” called out the herald.

Squires trudged over the ground, dragging the center lists that would section off each competitor’s area in which they would ride. Each of the men were prepared in their armor, being helped by squires of their own. Once they were atop their horses and in position with their lances and shields ready, the herald raised his hand, ready to give the signal to ride.

Sir Arnon turned and his eyes met with Freya’s, and he nodded. Then with a quick motion of his armored hand, he flipped down his visor with a snap. The long trumpet sounded and he charged his horse forward to joust with the baron. Hoofbeats echoed off the hard earth as they charged toward each other. Then came the sound of splintering wood as they met in the middle. The cheers of the crowd filled the air as the baron was rewarded two points when Arnon’s lance splintered. Arnon, however, was awarded one point for hitting the baron’s chest.

“Oh!” Freya’s heartbeat quickened as Arnon’s lance was replaced by his squire. They would make three passes, and only continue further if the score was tied.

The horn sounded and once again the two opponents charged at each other. The earth rumbled and stands shook from everyone stomping their feet and shouting in anticipation. This time the baron’s lance broke, but not before he was able to hit the center of Arnon’s shield. Two points were awarded to Arnon and one to her father.

“The score is tied!” Freya shouted out, no longer able to hold back her excitement. One last pass, and the results could seal her fate one way or another.

This time both men broke their lances, and Arnon fell back against his saddle, and looked as if he were going to fall from his horse.

“Nay!” Freya jumped to her feet and gripped the rail. If he fell, the joust would be over and her father would win.

“It looks like the baron is about to win, so you won’t have to worry about marrying one of the knights after all, my lady,” said her handmaid from her side.

“Oh, Carine, I think I’ve changed my mind. I believe I would like to marry this knight, Sir Arnon, after all.”

“You would? Really?” Carine didn’t bother to hide her surprise.

“Yes, I think I would, but now I’m afraid he is going to lose and I’ll never see him again.”

“Then do something about it m’lady. Give him motivation to want to win.”

“Yes, I’ll do something to let him know I want him to win after all. But what?” She looked down to her gown, wanting to give him a tippet to wear on his helm as most ladies did to show which knight they favored. But she didn’t have the long flowing sleeves used for this. With the odd gown she chose, she only had tight black lace sleeves, and wasn’t sure any knight would want to wear that. Still, she had no choice. Sir Arnon had the look of defeat on his face, and she needed to give him some encouragement quickly.

“Sir Arnon,” she called out, getting his attention as he accepted a fresh lance from his squire, preparing for what could be the final round. He looked up and she motioned with her hand, calling Arnon over to the rail.

Arnon couldn’t imagine why the odd wench was calling him to the lists at a crucial time like this. Still, she was the lady of the castle and to ignore her would not be a chivalric gesture, so he motioned with his hand to the herald for a respite. Then he directed his horse to the noble’s dais where she was seated.

“Aye, my lady, did you beckon me?”

“I did.” She reached to her shoulder and ripped hard at her black lace sleeve. It came off her bodice and she removed it from her arm and held it out to him. “I’d like you to wear my sleeve atop your helm, Sir Knight.”

Arnon wasn’t quite sure what to do. He thought of what a laughing stock he’d be to his brothers as well as his father if he were to tie the seductive black lace atop the metal spike of his helm as she was insinuating. He hesitated.

“Don’t you want it?” Her dark red lips turned into a pout and her hand holding the lace sleeve fell slightly.

He looked back to the crowd, and then over to his brothers and father who just watched with intensity in their eyes, trying to understand what was happening. Then he turned back and lowered his head and pointed the tip of the spike atop his helm toward her.

“I’d be honored my lady, if you would tie it on my helm for me.”

Her mahogany eyes lit up and her face took on an air of satisfaction. She quickly tied the lace sleeve onto his helm and then leaned way over the rail. He looked up to see what she was doing, and before he knew it, she’d pressed her lush lips against his. He felt a new surge of energy flow through him from her kiss.

“What was that for, my lady?” he asked with a grin.

“’Twas just a kiss,” she answered. “Mayhap it’ll bring you luck in winning the joust.”

“Would you truly like me to win?”

Their eyes interlocked once again, and he saw danger, mystery and seduction in her painted orbs.

“Isn’t that what you’re here for?” she asked, instead of answering directly.

“It is, my lady. And now with your favors I’m sure I’ll win your hand in marriage after all.”

The herald blew the horn signaling that the respite was up, and the last pass of the joust was about to begin.

Arnon felt new hope, and knew he could win now. When her lips touched his he felt alive again for the first time in the past year. Being trapped in the body of a wolf for so long had changed him, and he thought he’d never feel like a man again. But now a beautiful, eccentric young woman wanted him and he was not going to let anyone take that from him.