Eliza Knight - The Rules of Chivalry Read Online Free
Author: A Knight's Victory
speak to her, make eye contact. Perhaps, if he were so lucky, even gain her favor for his upcoming competitions. It wasn't uncommon for a married lady to bestow courtly love and tokens upon favored knights.
But what had his blood jolting through his veins the most was, if he were to win the tournament, he would be closer to her.
The prize… Aye , the prize.
He pushed Black toward Fletch and took off on foot to get a better look at the earl’s tents. One glance to show him that all he was doing was worth it. The sight of her would be forever burned in his memory. He pushed past groups of milling knights and squires, ignoring their remarks. This whole business had really changed him, and he looked forward to the end of the tournament when he c ould be himself again. Normally he would stop and rib the other men, taunt them as they would taunt him. But he couldn’t—not now. Not with all that was at stake. He had to see her. Even if only for a moment. While he charged his opponents on the field he would see her face in his mind and know he fought for honor.
The earl’s tents were crowded and the sounds of reverie could be heard within.
“A mug of ale to celebrate, sir?” A half drunken servant tripped, sloshing ale on his Michael’s sleeve. The servant righted himself, and shoved the mug toward Michael’s chest.
So as not to draw attention to himself, Michael gripped the mug and downed the contents.
“Many thanks,” he muttered as he continued to scan the area with his eyes, shoving the mug back into the man’s groping hands.
Michael’s stomach growled at the scents of delectable food items coming from the tent a few feet away. Goose, venison, mutton, pies, puddings and fresh baked bread. He and his men had travel ed light, eating jerky, rock hard cheese and stale bread. Occasionally he’d hunt for fresh game, but even that meat did not compare to the scrumptious spread being presented to the earl.
Was she inside the tent? Would she dine with him, taste the foods he offered her? Or would he offer at all?
“His lordship and the lady are not within, Sir Knight.” The teetering servant somehow managed to keep his footing.
Michael frowned and gritted his teeth. Perhaps if he walked through the merchant’s area on his way back to his tent, he’d see her. He still had so many questions. The cryptic missive had not given him much information at all, and what if he’d been misinformed? What if all his worry was for naught and Elena was happily married? What if returning to England, seeking a new elite position and wholeheartedly changing his entire life had been a mistake?
Something in his gut told him he wouldn’t regret it. He knew she would never mislead him. Some women, aye , but her, no. She was the most honest woman he’d ever known. If she had a friend send him the missive, it was the truth.
“Ballocks!” he muttered under his breath. Why was he letting this whole situation eat away at him?
But he knew the answer. He’d let her down first, years ago, and now he intended to make up for it.
*****
“ M’lady .” A knight from her husband’s entourage assisted Elena in dismounting from her horse.
She ignored the leer he gave her, a shudder of disgust shivering up her spine.
Riding a t a leisurely pace from the castle, she and her servants and had only just arrived. The tournament was in full swing, but she knew none of the actual jousts would have started yet. Not without her and her despicable husband present.
“Thank you,” she said, extricating her hand from the eager knight’s grasp. Thank the Lord in Heaven she was wearing gloves—even still she wiped away the man’s touch onto the skirts of her gown.
Her ladies-in-waiting quickly stood around her, six in all. They proved to be a perfect barrier for her, as her husband detested all women. Despite the delicious aroma of decadent dishes, her stomach roiled with nausea. She sucked in a deep calming breath and entered Lord Kent’s
But what had his blood jolting through his veins the most was, if he were to win the tournament, he would be closer to her.
The prize… Aye , the prize.
He pushed Black toward Fletch and took off on foot to get a better look at the earl’s tents. One glance to show him that all he was doing was worth it. The sight of her would be forever burned in his memory. He pushed past groups of milling knights and squires, ignoring their remarks. This whole business had really changed him, and he looked forward to the end of the tournament when he c ould be himself again. Normally he would stop and rib the other men, taunt them as they would taunt him. But he couldn’t—not now. Not with all that was at stake. He had to see her. Even if only for a moment. While he charged his opponents on the field he would see her face in his mind and know he fought for honor.
The earl’s tents were crowded and the sounds of reverie could be heard within.
“A mug of ale to celebrate, sir?” A half drunken servant tripped, sloshing ale on his Michael’s sleeve. The servant righted himself, and shoved the mug toward Michael’s chest.
So as not to draw attention to himself, Michael gripped the mug and downed the contents.
“Many thanks,” he muttered as he continued to scan the area with his eyes, shoving the mug back into the man’s groping hands.
Michael’s stomach growled at the scents of delectable food items coming from the tent a few feet away. Goose, venison, mutton, pies, puddings and fresh baked bread. He and his men had travel ed light, eating jerky, rock hard cheese and stale bread. Occasionally he’d hunt for fresh game, but even that meat did not compare to the scrumptious spread being presented to the earl.
Was she inside the tent? Would she dine with him, taste the foods he offered her? Or would he offer at all?
“His lordship and the lady are not within, Sir Knight.” The teetering servant somehow managed to keep his footing.
Michael frowned and gritted his teeth. Perhaps if he walked through the merchant’s area on his way back to his tent, he’d see her. He still had so many questions. The cryptic missive had not given him much information at all, and what if he’d been misinformed? What if all his worry was for naught and Elena was happily married? What if returning to England, seeking a new elite position and wholeheartedly changing his entire life had been a mistake?
Something in his gut told him he wouldn’t regret it. He knew she would never mislead him. Some women, aye , but her, no. She was the most honest woman he’d ever known. If she had a friend send him the missive, it was the truth.
“Ballocks!” he muttered under his breath. Why was he letting this whole situation eat away at him?
But he knew the answer. He’d let her down first, years ago, and now he intended to make up for it.
*****
“ M’lady .” A knight from her husband’s entourage assisted Elena in dismounting from her horse.
She ignored the leer he gave her, a shudder of disgust shivering up her spine.
Riding a t a leisurely pace from the castle, she and her servants and had only just arrived. The tournament was in full swing, but she knew none of the actual jousts would have started yet. Not without her and her despicable husband present.
“Thank you,” she said, extricating her hand from the eager knight’s grasp. Thank the Lord in Heaven she was wearing gloves—even still she wiped away the man’s touch onto the skirts of her gown.
Her ladies-in-waiting quickly stood around her, six in all. They proved to be a perfect barrier for her, as her husband detested all women. Despite the delicious aroma of decadent dishes, her stomach roiled with nausea. She sucked in a deep calming breath and entered Lord Kent’s
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