Page 25 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

E veryone was tired by the time they finished supper.

Lady Helena ushered the girls back to their tent, and Wallace left to go and greet others.

“I’ll go with you.”

Wallace looked distracted as he glanced around at the many tents set behind the keep and around the edge of the castle wall. “Nay, you stay here. I’ve business to attend to.”

A twinge of hurt speared through her at his dismissal as she watched him walk away.

She sighed. This had to be stressful for him, and she didn’t want to get in the way.

Besides, she was tired from traveling all day, anyway.

She went inside the tent to join the others, and someone had made up a bed of blankets and furs that the girls were sitting on, and there was another in the corner for Wallace.

Any hope she’d had for getting a comfortable bed in the castle was dashed, though she could see they wouldn’t have spare rooms with all the people packed into the place.

Lady Helena moved around her, parted the tent, and called Favian over and handed him a blanket. “Run this to Sir Brooker.”

“My lady.” The kid took off like a shot.

“Mother, can we go keep company with the others?”

“Do not be absurd. The sun is setting, and naught but bad happens after dark.”

She couldn’t fault Lady Helena’s decision, though looking out the tent flap, she had to admit it did look exciting. People, mostly men, stood around torches that were randomly stuck in the ground, here and there. Tents dotted the area, and with the castle wall snaking around in the background, it was picturesque.

She wouldn’t mind wandering between the tents herself, and getting a better look around.

“But, Mother,” Amelia protested.

“Hush now. There will be plenty of time on the morrow to see and be seen. I want you looking your best in case the queen makes an appearance. Now, ready for bed, and be quick about it.”

Cara supposed that meant her, as well, and gave one last look around the area. People were gathering, chatting and laughing, and it seemed ridiculous that she was being ordered to bed along with the teenagers.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to walk around seeming like an idiot on her own. With Wallace at her side it would have been different.

With a sigh, she let the tent opening drop, and using what little sunlight was left, they all changed into sleeping gowns.

Cara, wanting to try something new, took the time to plait Amelia’s hair into tight braids.

“Ow,” the younger girl said when Cara pulled too hard.

“Beauty is pain. Never forget it,” she responded cheerfully while Dori laughed at her older sister.

Afterward, she carefully folded her dress and then rolled it up to use as a pillow.

She wanted to be at her best tomorrow as well. If she got the chance to talk Wallace up to anyone important, she’d do it.

When she went back, because engagement or not, she was still going back, right? When she did, she wanted to know she’d done her best to right the wrong she’d done him.

Actually, she wanted to clear his name.

Surely, the aristocracy couldn’t be so different from the Hollywood elite? And she’d successfully navigated that crowd for years, hadn’t she?

Lady Helena was right. They all needed to look their best, be at their best, if they wanted any favors from the king.

They all needed to be beautiful, charming, and most of all, entertaining if they wanted to get ahead in this business.

Or whatever it was.

It was a good thing she knew so much about swimming in a world of prima donnas.

* * *

Wallace could not help but note as he walked through the crowd, that he did not have many friends left.

He’d never been sociable, did not have the talent of it, preferring his actions to speak for him, but when his family had power, many had flocked close, and at least he’d allies.

Now, he thought that perhaps they enjoyed the way the mighty had fallen.

He was glad for Lord Marshall’s friendship, but he also needed new friends and supporters. Perhaps enemies of the Dinsdales, who mayhap did not care aught about Wallace, but would be glad to see the other man fail.

Surely, they’d not been the only ones the man targeted?

He approached a group of men, laughing and chatting, and took a place among their circle. “Hawthorne, Bishop,” he greeted two of the men he knew.

“Wolfsbane, I wondered if you would show up.” Hawthorne took a drink from his mug and then lifted it to the others. “What think you, men, are we to see another spectacle during the wedding?”

The men chuckled, but uneasily, as they watched Wallace. “Do not mind him,” Bishop said. “He has been in his cups for a while now.”

“Nay, ’tis not that at all,” Hawthorne said. “I am only saying what everyone else is thinking. So, what say you, Wolfsbane? How do you like your manor house?”

Wallace punched him in the throat.

The man gagged and staggered until he fell on his backside. He clutched at his throat, and Wallace smiled pleasantly at the other three men. “How was your travel?” he asked as the other man gagged on the ground. “Any troubles on the way out?”

The three men agreed in unison, that travel had been pleasant enough.

Wallace gave a nod and continued on his way, as two of the other men quickly went to help their friend.

Lord Bishop came after him. “You need to watch thyself. You’ve not many that see the need to befriend you at court as you’ve naught to offer but a strong arm, and an unruly temper.”

Wallace crossed his arms, and looked down at the shorter man. “Then I’ve naught to lose, either, have I?”

Bishop laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I suppose not. Come with me. I doubt Hawthorne will remember any of this on the morrow.”

Wallace followed Bishop, and they went from group to group chatting with men, and eventually the subject would arise that Wallace was, in fact, looking for another fight with Dinsdale.

The consensus was the king would not agree.

“And if the king decides to confiscate your lands when Dinsdale targets you next?”

No one wished to hear.

Wallace felt more and more hopeless as the evening proceeded, until he finally sought out his bed.

It took a long while for him to fall asleep,

There had to be a way to capture the king’s favor, but he didn’t know what it was.

* * *

“You’re sure?”

“Aye, my lord. They are here. They’ve set their tent up at the back of the keep.”

His man, his spy, opened a piece of material and showed Paul the jewels that lay within.

Paul took them and studied them in the candlelight, turning them this way and that as he watched them gleam before covering them once more. “No one saw?”

“Nay, my lord. I was able to reach under the tent, and pull her dress out with no one being the wiser.”

“Excellent.”

The man bowed himself out of the room.

She was here. And he had bested her once again. Lord Paul Dinsdale, Baron over Lady Helena’s former holdings, felt an almost gleeful happiness rise up within him.

The emotion wasn’t a part of his personality, or rather, it had not been, until the last year.

Lady Helena and her family sleeping in a common tent on the hillside while he and his son had been given a room inside the castle made his heart lift with pleasure.

He would wager she wished to be married to him now, didn’t she?

Her husband dead.

Her son disgraced.

He couldn’t wait to see her upon the morrow.

Would she attempt to get back in his good graces?

He snickered at the thought of it, but knew she would not.

Even now, the woman had pride, grace, and should have been the mother of his children. His!

He rubbed at the long scar on his face. In the end, he’d won, hadn’t he?

He couldn’t wait to see her face when she learned that he’d petitioned the king to marry her eldest daughter to his son.

The king had thought it an excellent idea, had commended Paul for his generosity and foresight in keeping the Wolfsbane blood among their former property.

Their grandchildren would finally have the blood they were meant to carry.

God was obviously on his side in all of this, because the only thing he’d not been able to control, was the joust at Stirling, and by rights, his son should have been dead.

He’d received strength and brawn from him, and taken after his mother in beauty, which was a benefit, but, unfortunately, also in temperament, which was not.

The boy could fight, but he wasn’t a match for Wallace Wolfsbane.

And yet, here they were. His son still alive, Paul still in possession of the Wolfsbane fortune, the wrongs against him set right.

A satisfied smile played about his mouth as he looked at the jewels in hand once more, before carefully covering them and putting them in a drawstring bag, tied around his waist, hidden within his clothes.

He didn’t get where he was without being careful.