Michael stared into Jervis’s eyes. “I
am here for the same reason everyone else is, to claim Queen Gwen.”
Slowly, deliberately, his gaze shifted to Gwen.
Watching them stare at each other as if
mesmerized, Lance felt a vast discomfort. Silent message seemed to
pass between them, a private communication from which the rest of
the world was excluded. Even Lance himself.
Gripping his reins. This was his Gwen,
and had been since childhood. Never, not even during her long stint
in Boston, had he imagined another man could look at her so
intensely, so intimately.
“
This is absurd, “he cried
out, thinking no further than that he must cut the link between
them. “The competition is over. Gwen, my darling, hand me the
crown.”
She turned to him, blinking rapidly as
if to break free of a trance, before looking blankly at the gold
crown in her hands.
“
I say we let him compete,”
her father announced, reaching out stay her arm. “Let’s give these
people what they came for.”
“
And I say the tournament
has already been won.” Jervis stood, staring down at his brother as
if daring him to argue.
“
Don’t you think this is a
matter for the judges to decide?” Edith spoke quietly. Nodding at
the crowd, watching avidly from the viewing areas, she added, “in
private.”
“
Good idea.” John turned to
Lance and made the shooing motion with his hands. “You go on now
and leave us to our decision.”
Stunned and outraged that he had been
dismissed, Lance spoke without thinking. “Don’t I have a say in
this? I’m all but family.”
“
You are not one of us yet,”
John said loudly.
Lance might yell, but he could say
nothing. He could ill afford to further alienate this man, while
John’s still held the reins to the Willows.
Trotting off after Michael, Lance told
himself he had no need to worry. Hadn’t they design the panel to
every decision would fall in his favor? He could rely on Jervis’s
support, and after the night spent entertaining Edith in the
stable, she would give him the victory, too. Irrationally stubborn
John might stand against him, but then, his daughter had the
deciding vote.
An easily, he remembered the look she
had exchange with Michael. He ould count on Gwen... Couldn’t
he?
***
One listened to her vocal protests that
it was too late, while Edith insisted it wasn’t Michael’s fault,
but the words barely registered. She kept thinking of that adage,
careful what you wish for, and oh, how she wished now that she had
never asked or more excitement.
What is Michael doing
here
? Her mind kept asking. This was not,
she felt certain, another mirror case of nostalgia.
Shivering, she thought of his intense
gaze as he rode toward the grandstand. The closer he had, the more
her heart had thundered, for Michael made her feel as if he had a
claim solely for her-as if he had no other mission than snatch her
up and carry her off.
Dauntingly enough, it had not been
right that set her heart pounding, but rather
anticipation.
It was not enough looked at Lance,
breaking the hold he had over her. If she should have known that
that she saw how foolishly she had let her thoughts wander. She
should have known that if Michael had come on a mission, it did not
include her. His casual stance, his lazy defiance, all betrayed the
enjoyments he derived toying with Lance. He meant to out manipulate
them, to take charge of the competition and keep her.
He meant to have his
revenge.
Shuddering now, he saw what she should
have understood the instant he had made his appearance. Michael had
not come to win her hand; he meant to reject it. By not claiming
her, by spurning her in front of her neighbors, he would make
certain no one else wanted her, either. If Lance not win this
competition Gwen might as well start planning her life as a
spinster.
This can’t be
happening
, he thought, shaking her head in
denial.
“
Gwen is against it, too,”
she heard Jervis say suddenly, apparently taking the gesture as her
vote. “That leaves you, Edith.”
Her ousin looked across the field, her
expression grim. “I know you want me to decide with you and all,”
she told her father hesitantly. “But truly, daddy, how can I do
that to Michael? I’m the reason he’s late. Besides, what will
everyone think if we don’t let him compete? I mean, its right there
in the rules that we have to include him.”
“
She’s right.” John sat back
in his chair, grinning. “There will be one nasty stink, if you try
to keep him out now. Come on, let them play. Lord knows this crowd
is starved for entertainment. With all the yawning I have been
doing, I look forward to a little excitement myself. Even if it’s
only watching Lance get hot under the collar.”
“
I can’t see what harm it
can do, “Edith added primly. “Look at him. The man is a nobody.
What chance has he at besting the finest horsemen in
parish?”
Gwen seized that little scrap of
optimism. Of course Michael cannot outright Lance. Few men could
outshine her Lancelot on the field. Yet, glancing at Michael,
finding him remarkably calm and unruffled, her small shred of hope
withered away.
“
We have a new challenger,”
daddy shouted to the crowd, taking the decision out of everyone’s
hands. “Let the competition continue.”
“
It took five passes for me
to get this far,” he said through grinding teeth. “Now this… This
person comes in late and I am force to start over?”
“
I am willing to make five
passes first, “Michael said, riding up behind him. “I see no
problem with starting out even.”
“
You shouldn’t be allowed to
compete at all. You-“
“
What is your title, sir?”
John asked Michael, completely ignoring Lance. “The Herald needs to
announce you.”
Michael looked at Gwen. “You can call
me Arthur. Of Camelot.”
“
What gall,” Lance spurted,
looking from him to Gwen. “All that black you’re wearing, you might
better call yourself the dark Knight.”
“
Either way.” Michael
shrugged again, then smiled, as if determined to be pleasant.
“Makes little difference to me.”
Gwen knew it made a great deal of
difference. Arthur was Gwen’s King and husband, entitled to her
favor, whereas in their childhood games, the dark Knight had also
been called the Despoiler, the evil villain for knights must
vanquish. Arthur would protect his queen to the death, but the
Despoiler meant only to destroy her.
“
If you gentlemen will
please take your places,” daddy said beside her, “perhaps we can
finish this sometime today.”
Gwen held her breath as Michael bent
down to murmur to Mr. Perkins. She wished she could hear which
title he chose, for then she would know what role he meant to play
in her future.
She did not have long to wait. “Now
entering the lists,” Mr. Perkins called out, “is Arthur, of
Camelot.” Even as Gwen exhaled relief, the Herald added, “the dark
Knight.”
And excited titter moved through the
crowd as they sensed the drama about to unfold. Next to her, daddy
sat up in his seat, and even Gwen found herself leaning
forward.
Bowing to the crowd from atop his
horse, Michael tilted his weapon in her direction. With dismay,
Gwen recognize the white square tied to the staff. It was her
handkerchief, the token of her favor that she’d never wrangled back
from him.
She bit her lip, turning her attention
to Lance. Stiff backed as he watched from his mouth, he was
obliviously pouting. Wait until he learns who gave Michael his
token, she thought with a sinking feeling. She didn’t for a moment
doubt Michael would tell him, not when taunting Lance would give
him the advantage. With the mood Lance was already in, a jealous
rage could make all the difference in his performance. And indeed,
as Michael rode out, making one a good pass after another, it’s
became clear that Lance would need the performance of his
life.
After five rings have been neatly
captured, Michael turned his horse and, with a mock bow, once more
pointed his weapon at Gwen. Staring at the fluttering white square,
she realized it was not just Lance meant to taunt.
Lance was called to compete, and though
he took the ring with the necessary pretense, she saw less
conviction in his stride. Nor did he prance about the arena when he
was done. Returning to the starting line in businesslike fashion,
he seemed to be summoning all his concentration to bring the
contest to a swift and satisfactory end.
Muttering that the heat in the dust
left him parched, that he stood up suddenly to declare that he had
seen enough. After one last, final run, they picked themselves a
champion, so everyone could go home for a drink.
Gwen cannot see how her father could be
thirsty; he had been pulling from the flask all afternoon. As if
knowing this, Homer had appeared some time ago Standing behind his
chair, ever ready to prevent his master from missing his step. It
would be an utter miracle if they got through the day without being
humiliated in front of the neighbors.
Win and win now,
she silently pleaded with Lance, leaning forward
to lend him the added encouragement.
You would need it, for his horse seem
skittish as Michael sailed through the poles, the ring all but
leaping onto his weapon. When it was lances turn to charge, his
mount still had not calmed. Speeding forward, the horse reared at
the last moment, and while Lance still managed snare the ring, the
effort was enough start many in the crowd snickering.
“
A weak performance.” Daddy
leaned back in his chair, his own humor playing on his new rude
face. “I say we give the crown to the newcomer, this
Arthur.”
“
No”
Gwen had not known she’d spoken out
loud until she saw her uncle smile at her. “I vote for Lance. And
you, baby girl?”
Edith slowly shook her head. “How would
it look?” She asked again. “Everyone saw Lance stumble. Forgive me,
but I fear I must decide with Uncle John.”
Gwen gaped at her cousin. She was
voting against Lance? All at once the pieces sifted into place. Her
jealousy, the spiteful things she had said-either had not meant to
be cruel; she merely wanted Lance for herself.
Jervis, oblivious to his daughter’s
feelings, pressed on. “It’s would seem we have a tie,” he said
grimly. “According to the rules, up the queen to decide she will
marry. What say you, Gwen? Will it be your Lancelot, or this
stranger?”
Gazing at the competitors, Gwen wished
the decision need not be left to her. Her conscience said Michael,
for he had one convincingly, but Lance was the man of she had
chosen, the one she had expected to marry. Lance had promised to
love her, protect her, while Michael meant to use his victory as
revenge. There was no logical reason for her hesitation.
Blurting out Lance’s name, she told
herself she felt nothing but sheer relief at having it over and
done with, yet she cannot stop squirming in her seat as Jervis
called both men over.
As he pronounced Lance Champion, a
groan went up from the crowd.
When expected Michael’s rage, for he
had every right to complain, yet he faced them all calmly. “Pardon
me,” he said, as if he had just found a surprise, “but I’d like to
raise it points of order.”
“
It’s is too late.” Uncle
stood, pointing to Gwen’s crown. “The Queen has made her choice.
The competition is over.”
“
You folks seen any hurry to
end this.” Michael looked at Gwen as he spoke. “But if you check
the rules, you’ll find I’m entitled to a challenge.”
Lance open his mouth to protest, but
uncle waved him off. “What are you getting at?” He
snapped.
Gwen leaned forward, curious in spite
of herself. Having no idea what Michael was talking about, she
glanced at the list of rules beside her father’s chair. Maybe she
should snatch them up and read them.
“
The joust,” Michael said
pleasantly, forestalling the need. “I am sure you remember. Winner
takes all?”
Lance and uncle exchanged worried
glances. Why include a joust’s in the competition? Gwen wondered.
What man had the training, or even equipment, to engage in such a
dangerous sport?
Sitting straighter in his saddle, Lance
sneered at Michael. “Cannot joust without the proper armor. Do you
wish me to cripple you?”
“
Don’t worry about me,
Lance. Worry about them.” Michael gestured at the audience gathered
at the rails. “After all, we want to give the crowd their money’s
worth in entertainment.”
“
Can’t disappoint the
crowd,” daddy offered.
“
It is in the rules,” he
chirped behind him.
Uncle looked to Gwen, as if expecting
her to put a stop to this, but her father gave no opportunity.
“Perkins,” he shouted, gesturing the Herald closer. “Announce that
we will have a short intermission. The men need time to
prepare.”