Page 37 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

T hey took positions, and Wallace’s heart pounded hard and slow.

He felt this before, often in fact, when fighting, training, or jousting.

His thoughts became focused.

His hearing, sharper.

His mount pawed at the ground, as muscles bunched beneath him, readying, yearning for the fight he’d been trained for.

The sounds of the crowds, screaming and clapping their excitement, muted, as he lined his horse into position.

He gazed down the field at Sir Rupert, their slitted gazes meeting, though from the distance, he could make out neither color nor emotion.

He ground his teeth, his hatred of the Dinsdales narrowing to the one target.

A bugle signaled.

Wallace dug heels into the destrier’s flanks, his horse reared, before springing forward.

As his mount picked up speed, Wallace balanced himself, lowered his lance, and roared as he lined up, same as he’d done a thousand times before, to hit the other man square in the chest, even as he leaned so that Sir Rupert’s weapon glanced off him.

The wooden pole slammed, shattered, jarring his arm as satisfaction blasted through him.

It was a direct hit, a good one, yet, when he looked back, somehow Dinsdale managed to keep his seat, weaving drunkenly atop his horse before pulling himself back into position.

Cheers from the crowd were deafening.

Hooves thundering, Wallace rode back into position on the opposite side.

His heart pounded hard as he set up again, eyeing his opponent across the field. Sir Rupert straightened, rolled a shoulder, still feeling the force of the blow.

Sir Thomas brought a new lance, and Wallace hefted it, still watching his enemy.

He’d aim lower this time, get the man on the ground and end this, once and for all.

Sir Rupert leaned slightly to the side and bent forward, but he slowly straightened back into position and his squire handed him a lance.

The bugle sounded and destrier and man lunged forward, his hate for this family rising to the fore.

They’d killed his father. Stabbed in the throat.

They had taken Wolfsbane properties, power, position.

Left his mother and sisters all but destitute, ruining their futures.

A growl erupted from between Wallace’s clenched teeth as they surged toward each other and crashed, bodies jolting hard, wood splintering, crowd roaring their approval.

The blow took his breath, but not his will, and he turned to see Sir Rupert still upon his mount!

This would end now, and he would end it.

The misery, uncertainty, bitterness and anger all surged, his world narrowing to the necessity of seeing this through.

Both of them set up, a bugle blast, and Sir Rupert surged forward, Wallace racing to meet him, the striking of hooves resonating as the distance closed.

Wallace aimed, and struck true. Hard.

Sir Rupert took the hit.

Wallace turned in the saddle so he could look back, only to see Rupert still clinging, somehow.

The man was going to force him to win by points.

The crowd cheered for Sir Rupert, some chanting his name as both of them moved to opposite ends and set up.

Sir Thomas rushed forward with a new lance, Favian at his side. “My lord? What do you need?”

Without a word, he exchanged his shattered lance for another, hefting it in his hand, feeling its weight, the moment the horn blasted, digging his heels into his mount for another run.

What he needed was to win.

The firm wood of the lance, gripped tightly in his fist, the taste of the dirt, swirling in the air, the roar of the crowd, the beat of his heart, all of it coalesced into a focused moment in time.

He couched the lance directly over the high pommel of his saddle and braced himself against stirrups, anticipating the moment of impact.

His world exploded.

He hit Sir Rupert square in the chest, even as Sir Rupert hit him, and pain erupted in his left shoulder.

He grabbed hold of the pommel to right himself, even as Sir Rupert toppled over backward onto the ground.

Wallace swung his horse around so all could see he was in complete control, before dismounting, tossing his helmet, and raising his hand to catch the sword Sir Thomas threw toward him.

Wallace waited until the other man gained his feet to show his king what honor looked like on a battlefield, rather than out of consideration for Dinsdale.

Sir Rupert’s squire rushed to give him his sword, and Wallace waited, while he struggled, gasping for breath, trying to remain standing.

Wallace had but to plunge his sword into the other man’s gut to end this, but again, good sportsmanship stayed his hand.

The Dinsdale family acted without honor, Wolfsbanes did not.

His mother, sisters, and lady were here to witness his strength, and the regaining of their lost power, and he would be damned if he did it without honor.

Sir Rupert finally steadied himself enough to lift his sword, and Wallace moved forward.

They circled each other, looking for an opening, and Wallace felt a surge of satisfaction as Sir Rupert held one arm to his chest, his breathing harsh and ragged.

He didn’t see any blood, but he’d bruised the other man’s sternum, mayhap even breaking bones.

The Dinsdales’ reign was over, finished, and Sir Rupert swung his sword, easily blocked, the weakness displayed proof that he lacked strength.

Not that he would let his guard down, as Dinsdales were a sneaky, sly and murderous lot.

Another swing from Sir Rupert, easily deflected as Wallace’s breathing evened out, even as the other man stumbled back.

The crowd, whipped into frenzy, screamed for blood, cheering for their favorites.

Sir Rupert lunged again, Wallace easily countered, and Sir Rupert grasped his hood and tore it off, revealing damp blond hair, a pale face, and wild eyes. “Blast you! Cease toying with me.”

Wallace tore his hood off as well, quickly, so as not to put himself at a disadvantage.

He cared naught for Dinsdale, but wanted the Wolfsbane name vindicated once and for all, without the taint of foul play.

But Sir Rupert was right. He’d given the man every opportunity and it was time to end this.

He let go of the hold on his rage. “You and yours killed my father!” He struck at Sir Rupert, who defended himself, the flat edge of his blade fending him off.

Wallace pressed forward, striking repeatedly. “You murdered him, poisoned him, stole his life.” He struck repeatedly, wishing to expose this family, and have his say.

Sir Rupert struck against the attacking blows, impressing Wallace against his will.

“Left my mother a widow, left my sisters without his protection. And, when that was not enough, stole his lands and properties from his rightful heirs!”

Wallace’s voice carried, and as many in the crowd quieted, heard his words, it grew quieter still.

He punched Dinsdale in the face, giving him no option but defense. “You were content to take and take with no thought that there would be consequences?”

He struck again, and this time Sir Rupert defended himself with more strength, displacing Wallace’s sword with the flat of his so it slipped down. “’Tis not true! Your father spoke out against the king!”

Wallace struck at him with more fury. “He never did such. I knew him better than any man, and would have known of such a plot. It was lies told by your father. My sire was loyal to the king to his last breath.”

In a fury, Wallace repeatedly struck, pushing Sir Rupert back, forcing him to defend himself, to counter-attack Wallace’s sword arm.

They moved apart, came together, swords straining as they tried to push each other backward. Sir Rupert could not hold against Wallace’s rage and strength and his footing slipped against grass and dirt until Wallace gave a mighty shove, and Sir Rupert landed on his back, and tried to scramble away, using feet and elbows, while still gripping his sword, pulling it with him.

Wallace could have ended it then, but did not, letting Sir Rupert scramble onto his knees, until he made his feet, whirled, his sword coming between them once again.

“I had no hand in harming thy father or his reputation.”

Looking into Sir Rupert’s eyes, death imminent, Wallace half-believed him.

He was no doubt a pawn of his father, the same as Wallace, who well knew of Lord Dinsdale’s capacity for treachery.

Sir Rupert lunged, apparently regaining some of his strength, because there was force behind the blow, forcing Wallace to defend himself, knocking him back a few feet, and he staggered.

Rage rose within him. He should have ended it when Sir Rupert was at his weakest, but feeling the man’s renewed strength at the end of his sword, only brought on anticipation.

In the crowd as well, as they expressed their approval.

Wallace returned his blows, pushing Sir Rupert back, forcing him to swing away, and he moved in a circle, slicing at Wallace’s leg, forcing him to jump back.

The man’s skills were improving steadily and more in line with what Wallace expected before Sir Rupert’s fall.

Wallace’s own shoulder was throbbing, but he ignored it, watchful, waiting for a last mistake.

Wallace finally lunged, battering at Dinsdale, driving him backward, until Sir Rupert swung under his arm, slicing downward once more, forcing Wallace to move his leg, or suffer injury.

When Sir Rupert’s momentum swung him around, Wallace’s fist shot out and he broke the other man’s nose, the resulting crunch a satisfying sound.

Sir Rupert’s head snapped back and blood immediately gushed down his face and off of his chin.

As cheers rang out from the crowd, Sir Rupert’s smile was bloody. “Well done. I’ve won many a fight with that move.”

“Not against me,” Wallace told him.

They circled each other, Wallace lunged forward and would have skewered him had he not jumped back. Wallace followed with a clash of swords, and Sir Rupert retreated at such a fast clip, he stumbled and fell.

Wallace was upon him, his sword at his throat, his hand grasping the other man’s wrist as he fought to swing his sword against him.

“Your father?” Wallace demanded. “He told you that mine was a traitor?”

Sir Rupert was breathing heavily, and he seemed like he might answer, and then changed his mind. “Just get it over with. My blood for your father’s. I will consider it a fair exchange if the man was not a traitor, after all.”

“He was not.”

He’d said what needed saying and looking into the other man’s blue eyes, seeing his defeat, he thought to do him the favor of ending it quickly.

“Nay! Please! Wallace, cease!”

Wallace stilled his hand, recognizing his sister’s voice. He pressed his knee and his weight harder into Sir Rupert’s stomach as he glanced up.

“Wallace, you’ve won! Please, let him live!”

Everyone stood, the king’s eyes shining with excitement, the queen gazing at his sister in sympathy.

Cara had a hand to her chest and his mother looked stoic.

Lord Dinsdale stood off to one side, amusement on his face as he looked between Amelia and Wallace.

Amelia turned to the king, her hands pressed together. “Please, Your Majesty, I beg of you. Please let him live.”

The crowd went silent.

Wallace breathing heavily, arm taut, knew a quick slash to Sir Rupert’s throat could end this now, before the king made a decision, but some of his hatred and rancor had bled out of him.

Sir Rupert was probably as much a pawn as any of them in the sick game his father played.

The king glanced around, seeming to read the unsettled crowd.

“We have quite the dilemma, do we not? Is everyone aware that Sir Rupert of Dinsdale, having lost and forfeit his life, is betrothed to Wolfsbane’s sister?”

There were gasps in the crowd.

Wallace held still, and Sir Rupert did not so much as twitch.

Wallace’s gaze went once more to Cara, and found her shaking her head at him.

“That could indeed, make for awkward relations, do you not agree?” The king asked the crowd at large.

People were murmuring, talking to each other, looking to where Sir Rupert lay underneath Wallace’s sword.

“What say you?” King Henry asked, seemingly to no one and everyone at the same time. Then he looked directly at Wallace. “Mercy, or death?”

Amelia, cried out, her gaze going between the king and those crowded around them. “Mercy, please, have mercy, brother! I beg of you!”

Even Wallace could see Amelia made the most tragic of figures. A beautiful young lass, her eyes desperate and wild, as she pled for the life of her love.

He snorted at the thought of it. They barely knew each other. But he knew that’s what the crowd would see.

He glanced down at Sir Rupert, and saw a sort of hopeful disbelief in the other man’s gaze.

There were a few chants for death, but overall, the crowd leaned toward mercy, and moment by moment, the pleas to the king rose.

“Mercy! Mercy!”

His sister, hands clasped, gazed wide-eyed at the king.

His mother looked resigned.

The queen, smiling, said something to the king, and Wallace knew it was over.

“You lucky puss-bucket,” he murmured the words to Sir Rupert. “Fortune shines upon you this day.”

The king raised his hands in the air to quiet the crowd and said, “Lord Wolfsbane, you have fought well, but it seems there are many here who would like mercy granted this day. What say you, Lord of Wolfsbane Castle?”

At the emphasis on his name, he knew the king was telling him to forgo his vengeance, and claim his name once again.

Relief surged up, shackles thrown off, and he dug his knee harder into the other man’s stomach, causing him to grunt before Wallace removed the sword from his throat and stood.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Wallace met Lord Dinsdale’s gaze, letting the other man see the satisfaction in his own.

He’d won.

He’d finally won, and though Dinsdale still had his son and heir, Wallace was Lord of Wolfsbane, and all her properties, once more.

* * *

Cara’s heart pounded and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

Wallace had almost killed the other man. It had been so close, a hair’s breadth away.

She stood, watching Wallace, who watched her, and the oddest feeling of fate, or destiny, seemed to snap into place, as if right inside her soul.

Fine tremors of tightly leashed emotion twisted inside her.

He’d won.

Everything had changed.

Whatever thread she’d broken when she’d tumbled into the past, ruining Wallace’s life, had been restored.

His life was back as it should be, and if she went home, right now, she doubted very much that she’d be working on a movie set tentatively called Rupert the Brave.

Or if she was, the ending would certainly play out a little differently this time.

Wallace walked toward her and she drew a shuddering breath as she watched his large, strong body cover the distance, her entire world narrowed to him.

Strong, capable, warrior.

He touched something deep inside her, some feminine part that thrilled to be the focus of the male who’d won, conquered, defeated.

As he neared, he lifted his arms and she took a step forward and melted into him as he lifted her off the dais, and hugged her close for a moment, before lowering her to the ground.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked, unconsciously echoing her earlier sentiments.

She could go home now. If she had the necklace, or even Gillian’s ring, she could go home now without regrets for the role she’d played in ruining Wallace’s chances.

She knew he wasn’t talking about her home, but his. The newly reacquired Wolfsbane Castle that he’d spoken of with such passion and longing.

The one that was even further away from Stirling Castle, or even Marshall Keep, both places her ticket home if only she had the correct key.

Or rather, necklace.

“What is it?” he asked.

What was she supposed to tell him? That she felt free to go home now that her debt was repaid?

Only, if she was honest, she wasn’t sure she could leave him, knew she couldn’t without having major regrets.

Wallace looked at her as if the sun rose and set with her. But her parents … she just couldn’t do that to them. They’d spend their lives, all they’d worked for, to find her. She knew they would. They’d never really be happy again.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just … it’s just everything keeps changing so quickly, that it’s taking me a moment to catch up.”

He finally nodded. “Of course your feminine sensibilities are disturbed. We’ll head to Wolfsbane Castle on the morrow, and when the excitement recedes, you shall feel more yourself again.”

He smiled broadly, looking happier than she’d ever seen him. He picked her up, spun her in a circle, set her down and then kissed her.

“Oh, ho, what have we here?” The king interrupted, and they jumped apart, guiltily, like two kids caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Um —” The crowd of aristocrats pushed their way forward so they might hear, every eye fixed upon them.

The king smiled graciously. “Now, now, do not concern yourselves,” he said. “’Tis normal to get caught in your emotions after such an event.”

With all eyes upon her, she blushed.

The king chuckled once more, giving Wallace a man-to- man look, and said, “I fully intend to keep my word, and as the winner, your land is returned to you forthwith.”

He looked pointedly at Lord Dinsdale. “Dinsdale,” his voice was cold. “I will have my way in this, and you will remove thyself from Wolfsbane land, or I will force you to.”

Lord Dinsdale nodded at the king. “Majesty.”

Cara simply felt triumph at the man’s defeat.

“And you, Wolfsbane, I will expect my taxes forthwith, as well.”

Wallace bowed his head. “Of course, my liege.”

The king clapped his hands together. “Excellent, most excellent. You know, do you not, that Lady Cara must care for you a great deal, to have stood for you the way she did?”

Wallace glanced down at her, and Cara felt herself blushing yet again.

“Do you intend to wed the girl? If so, you’d better do so quickly, before the queen decides to keep her as a lady-in-waiting.”

“What say you, Lady Cara? Will you have me?”

And with every single eye upon her, awaiting her response, what was she to say? That she wasn’t sure she could live here, camping in the past, without her family, friends, and career?

She looked into his earnest face, raised her hands and he was quick to grasp them in his own. “Cara?” His voice was soft, deep, and did something to her insides, melted them just a little.

She wanted to talk to him about her doubts, but now was not the time or the place.

Still, she knew her role, and played her part to the end. She gave him a frozen smile, the best she could do. “Will I have you? Yes, of course I will.”

As the crowd cheered, something must have shown in her expression, because though he smiled as well, and raised her hand to his lips, something died in his gaze.