Lavender Vows by Colleen Gleason Read Free Book Online Page B

But I vow that you’ll have naught to worry you on this eve, for Ralf will be in no shape to raise a hand to you.”
     
    ~*~
     
    Sweat trickled down his back and along the sides of his cheeks as the noon sun beat down upon him. Bernard shifted the heavy, straight lance in his hand, testing its weight even as he reined back Rock from his eagerness to leap forward.
     
    A roar of approval rose from the crowd that lined both sides of the jousting lists as a lance found its mark on a second pass, dumping an unfortunate jouster onto the dusty ground. The victor raised his lance and galloped along the front of the stands, kicking up more dust and causing a greater shout from the crowd.
     
    “Lord Bernard of Derkland…challenged by Sir Marven de Hanover.”
     
    A thrill of anticipation shot through him as Bernard wheeled Rock forward to take their place at one end of the list. His squire, Rowan, handed him first his helm, then his shield. Bernard glanced briefly at the crowd, in hopes of locating Joanna, but did not place her before the signal to commence was given.
     
    Bernard did not know Sir Marven, and he did not care why the man challenged him—’twas likely for no other reason than the opportunity to gain a greater purse. He looked down the list at his opponent, noting that he was a solid, well-built man who rode a passable mount. Though size was helpful in most competitions, in jousting it was not as important as skill and balance. A large man could easily be unseated by a skilled jouster, regardless of whether the opponent was of his size or nay.
     
    Bernard snapped to attention as the signal sounded and dug his heels into Rock’s straining body. The destrier was ready for his first action of the day, and leapt forward, taking one bounding step where the opponent’s mount took three. Wind rushed over him, cooling Bernard’s sweaty face and neck, as he positioned the lance, aiming it for his opponent’s right shoulder. One good hit with the blunted lance, which not meant to injure, only to unseat, and Sir Marven would tumble to the ground.
     
    The lance lay across his thigh, pinned firmly under his arm and held in place by Bernard’s left hand, while the other slanted his shield for protection. When the lance struck his opponent’s shield, the long wooden pike barely moved, so true was its aim. Marven fell neatly off his mount and onto the ground.
     
    Bernard turned Rock to ride back again, glancing at the man to assure himself he’d attained no injury, and then along the line of spectators, still hoping to see Joanna. He was rewarded this time, for he saw her, sitting next to Maris near the middle of the stands. He nodded in the general direction of the crowd, but when he placed his hand over his heart, and the hidden favor that rested beneath his tunic, ’twas meant for her.
     
    He galloped back to where Rowan and his father waited as the next challenge was announced.
     
    “Fine job, son,” greeted Harold as his son wheeled up to him, removing his helm. “It wasn’t a sufficient test of your abilities, but ’twas over quickly and simply.” Coughing and waving the dust out of his eyes, he looked up with a smirk. “Do you not wear the favor of your lady?”
     
    “Aye, that I do—but ’tis not for your eyes, Father.” He handed the lance and helm to his squire and swiped an open hand over his damp curls. “And do not give me a look with that smugness, for you have no reason to believe your machinations have come to fruition.”
     
    Harold’s thick brows rose up a high forehead. “Oh, aye? And did I not see you with mine own eyes head-to-head with Lady Maris last eve, and did I not see you follow in her steps out of the Hall? You can not fool me with such protestations, as I saw where your eyes led over yonder.” He gestured toward the spectator stands, and still the satisfied smile curved his face.
     
    Bernard’s response was lost as his name was again announced, coupled with a