My Noble Knight Read Online Free Page A

strands from his eyes. “Sir, your shoulder–”
    “It will be fine,” Griffin insisted. He was grateful those pesky physicians had departed.
    He looked up to see Lord Dinkleshire hurrying across the grassy plain toward him. Short and stocky, the host of the tournament reminded Griffin of a nervous rat. He wrung his hands as he approached. “Sir Griffin!” he called. Other participants of the joust followed him, with a crowd of onlookers behind them.
    Vultures, Griffin thought with distaste. Wanting to see what punishment would be levied.
    “I am truly sorry about this. I–”
    “As you should be,” Griffin interrupted.
    Dinkleshire puffed up his chest. “This shall be remedied immediately. I shant stand for such insult in my tournament. You shall be proclaimed winner and the purse shall be yours.”
    Griffin nodded, but he couldn’t get past the fact he had not won.
    Dinkleshire urged a small boy on with a quick wave of his hand, and then followed the child as he scampered around the tents. Four armed guards followed the boy.
    With a scowl, Griffin joined the crowd, moving up to Dinkleshire’s side. Around him, he recognized some of his opponents. Their jaws were tight, their brows furrowed. Some mumbled about hanging.
    Prickles raced across Griffin’s neck. This could quickly get out of hand. Dinkleshire wasn’t strong enough to command this rabble. They were angry and wanted retribution. When Carlton joined him, he whispered, “Bring my sword.”
    Carlton disappeared immediately, racing back to the tent.
    The small boy they were following burst through the edge of the forest. “There!” the boy shouted, pointing his slim arm. It was obvious which tent was theirs. It was the only pavilion being pulled down. Dinkleshire marched up to the tent, his fists clenched at his sides. The crowd followed behind him.
    Two men who had been yanking the tent fabric down looked up at the crowd. They stopped their work and the one with dirty blonde hair stepped forward.
    “Where is she?” Dinkleshire demanded.
    “She?”
    “The woman who injured Sir Griffin. You know women aren’t allowed to joust.”
    “Of course I know that,” the man replied.
    “Then present her this moment.”
    Griffin was impressed at the manner in which the nervous little Dinkleshire ordered the man. He had seen this knight at other tournaments. He was the elder brother. There were two Fletchers that jousted, he vaguely recalled.
    “Lord Dinkleshire, what my sister did is unforgivable. She did it without my knowledge,” the Fletcher brother said.
    “It is not my concern that you cannot control your family. Where is she?”
    A moment of heavy silence spread through the clearing.
    Griffin glanced over his shoulder at the crowd. Scowls of disapproval, and even anger, marred more than one man’s brow. One knight had his hand on the pommel of his sword. Where was Carlton with his weapon? When he looked back at the dismantled tent, he saw her, the woman he had seen leaning over him in the field of honor. Long brown hair hung in waves down her back. Her nose was pert and delicate. Black leggings fit snugly over the womanly curves of her thighs and lower hips. Her torso was covered by a green tunic. The whirlwind who had slammed into him before the joust. He stared at her face, looking at her large eyes, wanting to see if they were truly so blue as he remembered, but she was gazing at Dinkleshire. Griffin’s gaze swept her again. She was so young. But it was her, there was no doubt in his mind. Griffin’s surprise and distress only added to his anger and humiliation.
    The crowd around him grumbled as one, their voices crashing over him in a sea of displeasure.
    A younger boy stepped beside her.
    She hung her head and a lock of her hair fell forward.
    “Lord Dinkleshire, I take full responsibility for my sister,” the eldest brother stated.
    This drew the gazes of the rest of the Fletcher siblings.
    “As you should, Sir Colin,” Dinkleshire