Page 5 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

F ear drowned out everything as she gasped and took three steps back, only to realize there was a second horse coming in the opposite direction.

Instinct lifted her right arm into the air though she knew it was pointless.

Her eyes shut tight against her impending death, as every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation of being mowed down.

The shrieking scream of a horse had her opening her eyes and she fell backward as the beast, controlled by the knight on its back, reared, pawing near enough to her face she felt air stir.

The huge rider gripped the horse with muscled thighs, his hand drawing on the reins, pulling the horse up onto its back legs to somehow keep her out of harm’s way.

From her position on the ground, the furious horse and rider seemed monstrous, the red and black material covering the horse, waving wildly.

The knight finally got the animal under control, and turned the horse to the side so it landed on all fours, scant feet from her, leaving her unharmed as the rider turned the horse away.

He dropped a lance on the ground as she gasped for air, choked on dust, and tried to make sense out of what just happened.

She slapped the ground with an open palm. “What is wrong with you?” She hadn’t even known there was a horse like this one on set.

At her words, the beast turned, gnashing its teeth, and she scampered back, looking over her shoulder at the second animal, now stopped just behind her, a long rope the only thing separating them.

Her heart pounded as she glanced around at the medieval crowd, looking for a familiar face, even Nate’s would be welcome at this point.

The guard was nowhere to be seen.

There was a dais, filled with royalty on one side, the rest of the field surrounding them jammed with people.

With her elbows on the ground behind her, she choked on more dust and tried to work out where they’d all come from so quickly?

How had she not realized she’d walked right into the middle of a scene?

The man in front of her slid off his horse, lifted the helmet off his head and shot her an evil glare before throwing the reins to a young man standing by.

She watched him tramp over to the stage filled with colorfully clothed aristocracy, and belligerently demand something of the king.

At least she’d put on the medieval gown, because if they somehow were able to salvage this footage, hopefully she wouldn’t end up getting sued or something.

She knew she’d been upset, but to wander right into the middle of a joust?

It was almost unbelievable.

She really hadn’t seen it.

She doubted, after their confrontation, the director would believe her, so she decided to simply slink away, and hope for the best.

She raised a hand to her throat, and exhaled, relieved to find the necklace still in place.

If she’d lost it, her life would be ruined.

She certainly didn’t have a million dollars to replace it.

She looked around the outskirts of the crowd, searching for the guard. At this point, she’d had the humiliation scared out of her. She didn’t care anymore. She just wanted the necklace off and into the guard’s custody.

She didn’t want to be responsible for it.

Stumbling, she found herself moving toward the peasant class, looking beyond, for the black-suited guard.

No one was in the area but the well-dressed actors. Whoever did the makeup for the peasants, did excellent work. She saw dirty faces, missing teeth, subservient expressions and wild-eyed fear as she approached.

Wow. Well done.

She glanced further afield, where a sword fighting scene was taking place, and realized the cameras must be pointed in that direction.

She still wasn’t sure how all this had happened.

Had she blacked out while running? Her shoulders hunched a bit, as the yelling near the royals became louder and more furious.

She kept waiting for the director to call cut on the scene, but he must be letting it play out, hoping he could use the footage in the movie.

She eased her way into the crowd before turning around to watch the rising action and was almost overwhelmed by the smell of unwashed masses.

These guys were taking method acting to the extreme.

She checked for her cell phone, and realized it was missing, left with her things in the trailer.

Great.

The knight who’d almost killed her was in a rage, his back to her. She couldn’t make out the words, but could hear the tone, see the clenched fist, and the pointing finger.

Whatever he said wasn’t gaining favor, because those listening looked on with contempt, whispered, turned away, and outright sneered.

She searched for Patrice, or even Jackson.

This felt like it would be such a pivotal scene in the movie that the two main characters would be front and center.

The second knight who’d almost run her over from behind took off his helmet and his golden hair shined in the sunlight.

That had to be Sir Rupert Dinsdale, which would make the dark knight Lord Wallace Wolfsbane, the villain of the piece.

But Rupert was played by Jackson Harrington. And the blond was decidedly not Jackson.

She looked from person to person, carefully scanning the faces of everyone in the vicinity.

As a makeup artist, she’d come into contact with many of the actors, both famous and unknown.

She didn’t recognize one single person.

Disbelief rolled through her as she continued to scan faces.

Lightheaded and dizzy, she gripped the necklace at her throat. It was the only thing that seemed real at the moment.

She watched as the dark knight turned away to scan the crowd.

Fingers pointed in her direction, and soon those closest to her called out. “She’s here! Over here!”

He was looking for her?

She backed away, tried to, anyway, but helpful hands shoved her forward until she was at the front of the crowd.

She was suddenly afraid of both the knight, and that she might ruin the scene again, as she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

The knight strode toward her, his rage unabated.

The dizziness she felt escalated until her vision blurred and her knees weakened. She could feel blood drain from her face and found herself falling forward.

Was she fainting?

Harsh hands gripped her, and she was thrown over a broad shoulder.

Her last thought?

She was in so much trouble.

* * *

The lady was in a dead faint.

He’d never hauled a female like a sack of grain, but didn’t spare a moment of sympathy.

She had much to answer for, and answer she would.

As he strode back toward his mount, the focus of every eye, he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Everything he had worked for, every favor called in, every scheme concocted to get his revenge, now ruined.

His head throbbed with pent-up fury. The Dinsdales were beyond his reach for the moment, and this woman, no doubt their collaborator, was directly responsible.

He didn’t know her connection to his enemies, but would find out.

The queen’s niece was to marry at Newcastle next week. He’d not planned to attend. He’d thought to be busy getting his estates back under his control. But mayhap he could go and speak to the king there.

He could petition for a private audience.

King Henry condoned the rematch once, and might again if Wallace did not wait too long. If the king returned to London, Wallace didn’t know when he might get another chance.

The weight of the female hanging over his shoulder, her arms swinging behind him, barely registered.

That this small piece of fluff should have spoiled his plans was beyond grating.

He would not have thought to question her until it was too late, and she’d disappeared, but with the king’s permission, his suggestion, no less, she was now under his authority. He would not release her until she revealed aught that she knew.

He handed her to the squire he’d borrowed upon his arrival. The boy was well-trained, and had already loaded his saddlebags and gear, no doubt anticipating Wallace’s hasty retreat.

His jaw tightened. The boy wasn’t wrong.

The female was transferred back to him and he held her with one arm, her face pressed to his chest as he rode out of the crowd.

When he finally reached the edge of the fairground and moved toward the trees, he looked down, registering for the first time that she was a beauty.

Flaxen curls spilled about her shoulders, contrasting with the brilliant red of her gown. With her eyes closed as if asleep, he could see her lashes were longer than any he’d seen.

Her parted lips were a shade too dark for the color to be natural, her cheeks lightly brushed with color.

In short, the lady looked to be a painted harlot, like many of her aristocratic ilk.

The necklace she wore gleamed in the sunlight, obviously of great value. Her payment for using him ill?

If so, she’d certainly been well rewarded and had earned it.

He couldn’t help but wonder at the Dinsdales’ plot. The lady throwing herself in front of his destrier had been more likely to achieve her death, than not.

And yet here she was, completely unharmed, so he couldn’t say their plan hadn’t been to their favor.

With so many against him, and with no chance of saving his honor this day, he headed for home.

He had few friends in this crowd, no one to stand beside him, and was afraid if he stayed, he’d end up doing murder.

He should have run the female over.

Barring that, she was the only one left for him to take his anger out upon.

His lips set in a grim line. Once she’d told him all there was to know, he’d take her riches, strip her of pride, and set her to work in the kitchen.

Until he could have his vengeance restored to him, she would pay the price for her treachery.

Mayhap it would inspire her to turn against the Dinsdales.

Whatever she was to his enemy, she could become to him.