A Prince For Sophie (13 page)

“Your Majesties.”

Hannah turned with her husband to encounter Telford Gaynor.
The man is certainly tenacious enough
. The only thing that really bothered her about him was that he seemed to be trying too hard. Surely the man didn’t need to bow quite so low, or so eagerly. But, she sighed inwardly, she might feel that way because she wasn’t used to being accorded the honor. Hannah smiled politely and left the conversation up to Alex.

“Ah, Mr. Gaynor. We hope you’re enjoying your time in Boisdemer.”

“I am, Your Majesty. May I compliment you on your lovely daughter?”

“Which one, sir? I now have five lovely daughters, and they are all in attendance tonight.”

“Indeed, sire, I stand corrected. I meant, of course, the beautified Princess Sophie.”

Alex tilted his head to one side.
“That’s an ill phrase, a vile phrase.
Beautified is a vile phrase.”

At the last moment, Hannah was able to turn her laugh into a cough. She couldn’t believe Alex had
said
that. Seeing the look of real consternation on Mr. Gaynor’s face, she quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

“You must forgive the king, Mr. Gaynor. He thought you were a fellow Shakespeare aficionado, and so was trading quotes with you.”

The man was quick, she’d give him that. In only took a moment for his frown to clear. “Ah yes, of course. From
Hamlet
.”

“Indeed.” In an attempt to steer his interest away from Sophie, she said, “The king and I are both very grateful to you for your generous contributions to the children’s charity fund. Aren’t we, Alex?”

She was proud that despite the fact she knew Alex was on the verge of boisterous laughter, he was able to contain himself. “Indeed, we are. Are you planning to actually compete in the tournament tomorrow, Mr. Gaynor?”

“Oh, absolutely, sire. I realize that it isn’t enough to ‘make a donation of cash’ in order to win the fair Sophie’s hand. I must prove myself in the lists, as well. But don’t worry. I’ve been jousting for a hobby for many years now. I’ve even won some championships. They don’t call me the man with the Midas touch for nothing. I’ve never failed at anything I’ve set my mind to. I don’t imagine I’ll start, now. I fully intend to win.”

“The donation was for charity.” There wasn’t a trace of amusement left in Alex’s voice. “Our daughter is not being offered, not in any way. If and when she marries, it will be to someone of her own choosing.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I understand completely. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Did that man just wink at me?” Alex demanded as Gaynor walked away. It took all of Hannah’s strength to hold him back from following the other man and demanding an answer.

“He did. Relax, love.”

But he wasn’t relaxed, of course. Beneath her hands, he was rigid with indignation.

“I don’t care if he’s got more money than God. Bloody dotcom mogul. That man is
not
going to marry our daughter.”

“Of course not, love.”

“I must apologize to Sophie at once. She’s been upset for days, and I’ve been placating her with bland assurances. If this is the kind of pig-headed attitude she’s been encountering, no bloody wonder she’s been upset. I’ve a mind to have him tossed into the dungeon. Let him dotcom his way out of that. And why are you smiling at me that way?”

Hannah couldn’t help it. She went up on her toes and placed a laughing kiss on Alex’s lips. “You may be like an ordinary man in some ways, but in others, you’re one of a kind, Alex. And, thank goodness, you’re all mine.”

* * * *

Floating just near the ceiling in the ballroom, Gwendolyn was humming along with the music. It was something light and flirty. There were many things about this modern age she didn’t care for, but the music entertained her.

She glanced over her shoulder to tell Eugenia just that, then widened her eyes in concern as she took in her sister’s appearance.

“My goodness, Eugenia, whatever is wrong? Why, you look as if you’re exhausted!”

“Well, I am tired, sister. This has been a long assignment, don’t you think? Perhaps we’ve overextended ourselves.”

“What an odd thing to say. I feel full of energy, not tired at all.” Gwendolyn frowned, then surveyed the ballroom. She let her mind recount all that had been happening in this tiny kingdom over the last several days. Slowly, realization dawned. Her eyes narrowed.

“Sister, you’re clearly suffering from a depletion of magic. Is there something you’d like to share with me?”

“Um…”

Eugenia’s stumbling attempt at an answer was a first in Gwendolyn’s experience. Eugenia, as the eldest, had always been the one to lead, to be the steady influence. Oh, Gwendolyn knew she could be flighty sometimes. But it had never seemed to matter, for she’d always had Eugenia to rely upon. She could always count on her older sister to be a calming influence against any inappropriate whims she might have.

But now…

“Sister, what have you done?”

“Oh, dear. I looked and looked, but there weren’t any real crown princes or kings, you see. So I searched and searched and found Mr. Gaynor. He’s tall, rich, and handsome. As rich as Midas. In many ways, he
is
a modern day king. I thought he’d be a good match for our Sophie. Much better suited to someone of her genteel ways than that rake, that wastrel Prince Stephan. The Playboy Prince indeed.” Eugenia practically huffed in indignation, but she wouldn’t meet Gwendolyn’s gaze.

“That explains the presence of Mr. Gaynor. But your magic is far too gone for just him. And what about the others?”

“Well, I had to make sure that playboy prince didn’t touch our Sophie again. It hasn’t been easy, as they both seem rather determined to be together. As for the others, they…were a slight miscalculation. I think it may be possible that I don’t understand this modern world as well as I thought I did.”

“Oh my. All those kings, who aren’t
kings
at all.”

“I tried to take it back—”

“But you can’t. We’re only allowed to do so much.”

“We are, indeed. I guess we’ll just have to wait and hope for the best.”

“Yes, sister, I think that’s all we can do.” She patted her sister’s hand, not necessarily displeased to be the one with the level head, this once. “There is just one thing, though.”

“Yes, Gwendolyn?”

“You’re wrong about Prince Stephan. He really is a nice boy.”

Sophie had prayed for a thunderstorm. What she got was the most beautiful late summer day anyone could imagine. A brilliant blue sky cradled only a few white, incredibly fluffy clouds, and the sun bathed all in golden light and warmth.

Last night had been a trial. Used as she was to formal state functions, the ordeal of the ball had drained her.
Thank goodness for Stephan
. His timely actions, dragging her to the family salon for breaks, cutting in when one particular dance partner tried to grope, had saved her sanity.

So where the hell is he now
? Sophie shook her head as that question echoed in her mind. She’d managed very well on her own all her adult life, until the last couple of weeks. The very idea that she wanted him beside her now as she prepared to host the tournament was counter to everything she’d ever believed about herself.

She had decided that she would live her life alone even before her mother died. As she’d matured, as that decision had become a part of her, she determined that truly, she didn’t really need a man for anything, especially since becoming a wife and mother were totally out of the question.

Yet here she was, dressed as a medieval princess, wishing for one man in particular to stand by her side. If she were going to be fanciful, then she’d want him there dressed in full battle armor, all in white, and charged with the duty of guarding her from mere mortal men.

The trumpet fanfare pulled her back to the present. Although her father and Hannah sat behind her, she was the official hostess for the tournament. A huge cheer went up from the crowd. Sophie had never known so many people to gather here before. Clearly, tourists had come from all over Europe to watch this event. She let her gaze track to the right. Cramped up along the fence, the media had assembled en masse. Shaking her head over all the fuss, she turned her attention back to the rider who alone had left the stables at the far end of the field and was trotting his horse toward the royal box.

She recognized Robert. Dressed in the medieval regalia of a Knight of the Citadel, and carrying a lance at parade rest, he stopped his horse before her. Bowing his head first to the king and queen, and then to her, he raised his voice in salute.

“Your Highness, twelve knights have assembled to prove their worth on this field of challenge. With your permission, they would present themselves to you.”

“They have it, sir knight.”

Robert again bowed his head to her, and then backed his horse up until he was no longer directly in front of the royal family. Turning, he raised his lance and yelled, “Send in the knights!”

Another fanfare trumpeted across the field. As the crowd cheered, riders on horseback emerged from the stables.

Leading the pack was a man dressed in the shiniest silver armor Sophie had ever seen, wearing a helmet that had a long white plume atop it. The mane of his horse had been groomed and decorated with white and blue ribbon. The very blue, Sophie realized, as was in the family’s coat of arms.
Cheeky bastard at least knows how to ride a horse
. Gaynor’s armor looked brand new, with not a ding or mark upon it. Judging by his serious expression, the man was intent on winning the day—and Sophie. In his right hand he carried a long pole atop of which was a pennant of some sort.

“Well, that’s telling. His company logo instead of the flag of his country.”

Michael’s comment nearly made Sophie laugh.

“I thought you liked him as a prospective brother-in-law.”

“No, I was only teasing you. Peter tells me this is something that one is supposed to do to one’s sister.”

Sophie managed to bite back an uncharacteristically scathing comment.

The knights that followed Gaynor in the procession wore less splendiferous armor. Unlike Gaynor, each carried their national flag. Sophie shook her head as she saw France, Italy, Germany and even the United States represented. The knights were to canter their horses in a lap of the inner playing field, so that all the spectators could get a good look at each one. Then they were to line up facing the royals. As the last knight reached his place, a murmur rose up from the crowd. Sophie saw the spectators closest to the royal box looking and pointing toward the stables.

Wondering what had so captured their attention, she looked beyond the assembled knights and their restive mounts to the stables across the field.

A horse and rider had emerged and stood motionless under the collective scrutiny. They were so still, so perfect, it was as if they were cast in stone by a master artist.

The animal, a beautiful black, held its head slightly high, an equine exclamation of superiority, Sophie thought. Its chest looked powerful, the muscles rippling in well-defined swells under the glossy, shiny hide. The rider, also dressed in black, sat tall and proud, and though his head was covered with a cowl, with only holes for his eyes and mouth, he might have worn a superior expression as well, for it showed in every line of his form. He carried a lance, but no flag.

“Robert said twelve,” Sophie said quietly.

The man in black would make thirteen.

“So he did.”

Even as her brother’s words echoed in her ears, the rider nudged his horse into motion. At an indolent pace, the creature walked toward the royal box.

“According to the laws of Boisdemer, a knight may enter a tournament without application, provided he pays the fee of thirty pieces of gold before the banner has been dropped.”

That charge, delivered by the unknown knight, was delivered in flawless French. Sophie felt her temper spark, because the arrogant man had not addressed her, but her brother. Michael, a shocked expression on his face, got to his feet in time to catch the pouch the man tossed to him.

“The law does so state,” he agreed.

There are entirely too many outdated laws in this country
. Sophie made a mental note to speak to her father about the problem. But every thought left her head when she felt the black-garbed knight’s eyes on her. Sophie shivered as the man’s gaze raked her body in a deliberately insolent way. Her hand brushed the skirt of her gown, reassuring herself that she was indeed clothed, and not totally naked before him.

“Who are you? What are you called?”

She hadn’t meant to ask that, at least, she mentally amended, not in such a quivery voice.

The knight gave a slight nod to Michael, then clicked his tongue to his horse, rudely turning his back on her. Sophie thought that perhaps he hadn’t heard her questions.

Halfway to the middle of the field, he turned just slightly, and pinned her with another arrogant stare.

“What I am called is of no consequence. You may refer to me as the Black Knight. As to who I am, I thought,
highness
, that it would be obvious.

“I am your champion.”

* * * *

The tournament consisted of four basic competitions. The first, archery, set the tone for the afternoon, with Gaynor competing first, the Black Knight last. The two men were well matched, and at the end of three rounds had left the rest of the competitors far behind, matching each other point for point.

The second contest involved the horses, with the knights attempting to snag four progressively smaller circles onto their lances while galloping their mounts at full speed. This, too, had three rounds. At the end of the final round, Gaynor was ahead of the Black Knight by one point—with no one else even close.