A Knight in Central Park (28 page)

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded.

It was true what they said about “it not being over until the fat lady sings“ because the fat lady stood up again and shouted, “For the love of God, tell her how you feel!”

The crowd clapped their approval and the woman smiled and then bowed before taking her seat again.

Joe did his best to pull himself together. “I confess my love to you now, this moment, my fair lady. And if loving you is a sin, than I am a sinner, for I cannot stop myself from loving you any more than I could stop my heart from beating. And even then...I would never stop loving you.”

All was still.

Alexandra released a faint soft sigh. “I, too, love thee,” she said, “and it is the truest, deepest, most sincere of loves that aids me in making the choice I must make. God, the All-Merciful, would never wish to come between a love such as ours. Thus, I am leaving the nunnery. He would want it so.”

Every man seemed to gasp while most women in attendance released a wistful sigh, making the hairs on the back of Joe’s neck stand on end, for he interpreted Alexandra’s words to mean that he should leave his other life behind and stay with her forever. And she knew better than anyone that he could not stay. Would not stay.

“My lady,” he said, drawing her close so that he could whisper in her ear, “that’s not how the tale ends.”

“Today it ends my way,” she whispered back. “Mayhap on the morrow it will end your way. Now kiss me, and quickly, before the crowd revolts.”

Joe stood, pulling her up with him. And before the audience could grumble further, he leaned low and covered her mouth with his, eagerly finishing the kiss they had begun in the hallway. For one moment, one tranquil moment, he forgot all else but the woman in his arms.

Moments passed before they parted. Joe took a bow as the crowd clapped their approval, cheering wildly for an encore.

Joe spotted Garrett immediately. He was with a young lady who wore a tightly fitted bodice with dipping waistline and fur trim on the sleeves of her dress. Instead of looking like a woman who had spent three weeks in a dungeon, she gave the impression of being nobility—in dress and in manner. She also looked nearly identical to Alexandra. Her eyes weren’t as bright, but her hair...her hair was definitely the same.

Something overcame Joe in that moment when he looked upon Alexandra’s sister, something good and decent, making him feel whole and satisfied. They had done it.

Together, they had crossed the untamed wilderness and rescued her sister, a damsel in distress. But then why, he wondered, was Garrett standing out in the open with her? And why did Alexandra’s sister look so furious?

Joe shifted his attention back to Alexandra. An animated smile lit up her face as she spotted Garrett and Mary.

Gasps from the crowd drew Joe’s attention. Two men were shoving and pushing their way through the masses. The hooded man was making his move, heading straight for King Henry. Sebastiano was just about to close in on the assassin when King Henry’s protectors stopped him in his pursuit, setting their blades to his throat.

The king’s men failed to see what was happening.

Joe didn’t stop to think, he just jumped, leaped off of the stage like a madman and landed smack on top of the killer who managed to break Joe’s fall quite nicely.

Joe and the assassin rolled across the floor, taking an innocent Duke with them, the Duchess screaming as her husband was sucked into the middle of the chaos. People parted like the Red Sea, and then someone managed to pull the Duke to safety. Chairs and benches were broken as they went. Joe felt a scorching pain as he was knocked into a wall, pinned there long enough for them both to catch their breath.

The man’s hood fell back and his vulgar smile revealed a row of discolored teeth, his breath like rotted meat. Before the man broke free, Joe slammed his foot into his gut, pushing him backwards and giving himself enough time to get to his feet.

Joe saw blood on his shirt, but he had no time to worry about whose blood it might be. He staggered slightly before someone at his side helped him keep his balance. It was Garrett. A spasm of horror crossed the boy’s features.

Joe spun around.

The assassin was coming for him, his repulsive face lit with bitter triumph as he held his dagger outward, ready to lunge it into Joe’s heart.

He felt sad that it had to end this way.

“Take this you rat infested scum,” Garrett said as he raised a hand and sprayed pepper spray squarely into the man’s eyes. The man’s dagger dropped to his side, giving Joe time to lay a hard and fast fist on the man’s face, sending him staggering backwards and into the hands of the king’s guards.

Another of the king’s men stepped forward and Joe recognized him immediately as Udolf. “’Tis the man in tights who wishes the king harm,” Udolf called out.

“He lies!” Alexandra cried from the stage. “The man who calls himself your protector is the very man who paid this killer to take your life.”

“She speaks the truth,” Sebastiano chorused, still held back by too many strong arms. “I am one of many sent to find you and warn you of the impending danger. ’Twould seem Perkin Warbeck is up to his old tricks again. He has escaped prison and has raised a small army of rebels.”

The king laughed at hearing Warbeck’s name, as if the man who plotted his murder was merely a thorn in his side. King Henry snapped his fingers. “Release the young man. Allow him to bring me the message he speaks of.”

Sebastiano jerked his arms free, smoothed his hair back, then pulled the rolled parchment from his satchel. He unwrinkled it as best he could before handing it to His Majesty. Sebastiano fell gently to bended knee, waiting with bowed head for the king to read the scroll.

His Majesty looked up when he was done. “What have you to say to this?” the king asked Udolf, who now stood pale and rigid before him.

“Surely you do not believe a mere goliard over your own protector?”

“Your Majesty,” Sebastiano cut in, “I beseech you to check the birthing records of this so-called protector and his malevolent companion, George. You will find that they are related to the earl of Warwick, son of the duke of Clarence.”

“And what of them?” the king questioned, waving toward Joe and Garrett. “What is their place in all of this?”

“’Tis a long story, Your Majesty, but I can well assure you that this man who plays the lovesick troubadour is as brave and chivalrous as the men I served in London. His name is Sir Joe McFarland, otherwise known as the Black Knight.”

The crowd murmured and gossiped, delighted to have witnessed such an exciting event, especially now that the king was safe.

“He is humble, too,” Sebastiano went on, “for he believes himself to be naught more than a simple scholar from afar.”

The king lifted a brow at Sebastiano. “And in payment for his protection and brave deed you suggest...”

Sebastiano was impressed by the King’s receptiveness.

“Sire,” another man called, interrupting the exchange.

“What is it, Sir Richard?” the king asked impatiently.

“Before you decide such an important matter, I have a question for the monastic maiden.” Sir Richard gestured toward Alexandra. “If I am not mistaken, she is my wife’s own sister.”

“Well, by all means let us find out,” the king said.

Sir Richard did not at all resemble the man Joe had envisioned these past few weeks. Standing at an unlofty height of about five foot eight inches, a few inches shorter than the king, he looked downright harmless. His long reddish-blonde hair touched at the metal plates covering his shoulders, and he wore a fascinating breastplate attached with straps and buckles to a lower plate. A gold cross hung about his neck and clanked against metal when he moved.

Mary came forth before Sir Richard could continue, Garrett close behind. “Alexandra,” she said, “Garrett tells me you are here to rescue me. Whatever for?”

Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. “Because you were taken by this wicked man,” she said, jabbing a finger toward Sir Richard, “and we are here to save you from a life of turmoil.”

Mary’s face paled. “Did you not receive my message?”

“Nay,” Alexandra said, a murderous look in her eyes. “What foolishness do you speak of, and be quick to answer, for your obvious happiness upsets me to no end.”

“As you well know,” Mary began nervously, “Sir Richard and I had met on more than one occasion prior to his men coming to take me away.”

Alexandra tapped her foot impatiently to the floor. “And I sent him away.”

Mary chewed on her lip. “On this particular occasion, you were not about. What I failed to tell you previously,” Mary went on, her face pinched, “and had every intention of doing so, was that I had fallen in love with him.”

Alexandra gawked in disbelief. “How could you fall in love with a man who watches idly by as hard times befall those around you?”

“He knew not of the people’s strife. ’Twas Harig’s doing when Sir Richard left to do the king’s bidding. I do not know when I fell in love with Sir Richard exactly,” Mary squeaked, wringing her hands as she spoke. “Love is not an emotion you can turn on and off at will. ’Tis just there like the air we breathe.” She gazed lovingly into Richard’s eyes. “There is naught that can cure the heart of its grasp once love has taken hold.”

Alexandra rolled her eyes. “How could you love a man who snatches you unaware, leaving your house a fire. Grandfather could have been killed.”

Mary looked devastated by the news.

Richard frowned. “Harig was not ordered to stay behind and destroy your property. Message of the mayhem and destruction he caused came to me only days ago. Harig will be well punished for his deeds.”

Sir Richard turned pleading eyes to Alexandra. “Mary confessed her love for me months ago, and yet she refused to come with me because of you. I felt I had no choice but to take her by force. But I swear before the king himself that I never intended for any harm to come to you or your family.”

“So, this is my fault?” Alexandra said through gritted teeth. “This man,” she said to her sister, jabbing Joe in the arm, “risked his life to save Grandfather and me from the fire. If it were not for him who knows what Harig would have done to our brother. I shudder to think of it.”

“I did not know,” Mary said, reaching out a hand to her, “I swear.”

“’Tis my fault,” Sir Richard declared boldly, “and I shall send a dozen of my men to Brookshire to rebuild. Tell me what I can do to make this up to you?”

Alexandra crossed her arms. “You can begin by putting a stop to the overtaxing of our people. They work their fingers to the bone, and for what? They can hardly keep their children fed or clothed. What of that?”

Once again Sir Richard appeared genuinely appalled. “I had no idea. Clearly I need to visit my holdings more often. The matter will be remedied, I assure you.”

Alexandra’s features softened as she placed her arms about her sister, whose tears were streaming freely now.

“I should have told you of my feelings months ago,” Mary told her, “but you were always so busy. ’Twas never the right time.”

Alexandra shook her head. “I never gave you the chance, so obsessed was I with the crops and whether or not the wheat would provide us enough money to send you off to London to be well schooled.”

“I failed to realize your intentions,” Mary said.

“’Twould seem you are not the only one who was keeping secrets,” Alexandra admitted, realizing she should have spoke to Mary of her plans.

Mary wiped her eyes before she reached out and pulled Garrett into their tight circle, giving him a warm squeeze, making him both wince from pain and blush from embarrassment.

“It might cheer you to know,” Mary said to Alexandra, “that Richard has provided me with many skilled tutors. Since arriving, I have devoted myself seriously to my studies. Not only have I learned the abacus, dear sister, I have made the acquaintance of geometry! And who would have guessed there to be such a long line of poets, orators, and philosophers?”

Alexandra looked to Joe.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

Her gaze fell to the blood staining his clothes, and then back to his pale face. His legs wobbled just before he crumpled to the ground.

I
t wasn’t easy, but Joe sat up in bed. Somebody had dressed him in a long-sleeved tunic. The garment was soaked through with perspiration. He pulled it over his head, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his well-bandaged arm. The bed was layered with too many fur covers. He was thankful for the cool air coming through the arrow slits across the room.

For an instant before waking, he thought his miraculous travels nothing but a dream, but then everything came back to him in a flash.

He moved his legs over the feathered mattress, his bare feet brushing against the stone floor. He remembered the malicious look on the assassin’s face as they rolled on the ground. Joe was lucky to be alive. Moonlight filtered in through the arrow slits and narrow windows. His mouth was dry. He needed water. He stood, wobbled slightly as he set off to look about in the semi-dark for a pitcher of water. “Ow! Damn chair.”

Somebody moved within that same chair. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark as he reached out blindly. He felt strands of silky hair...a woolen blanket...a shoulder. “Alexandra?”

Startled, she jumped to her feet, the top of her head hitting his chin. Joe rubbed his chin and held back the curses begging to come forth.

“Sir Joe, is that you?”

“What’s left of me,” he managed.

Her hand reached out for him in the dark, brushing against his groin, thigh, abdomen, arms. “You’re cold,” she said. “You best return to bed so I may check your wound.”

“Another minute under all those furs and I would have been roasted alive.”

She bent over to retrieve her woolen blanket and once again brushed against what was now his full-fledged erection. “God’s teeth, I am sorry,” she said, leaving the blanket. She cleared her throat and said softly, “I did not realize you carried a weapon whilst you slept.”