A Witch's Tale (23 page)

Madeline
looked stunned as she saw Gavin stiffen at his announcement. Rohan looked
positively gloating and blew her a kiss.

“I
shall be your eager bridegroom, sweet Madeline,” Rohan said before he walked
away. Gavin stared after him murderously.

“It
would appear you have all the incentive you need now, de Mortaine,” the king
said affectionately and clapped him on the back. “This should prove to be
interesting.”

Madeline
was led away and gazed back at Gavin in stunned amazement, unable to understand
how she became a lady of the tourney in that moment. Thoughts of her marrying
Rohan made her recoil in denial, knowing it was indeed a fair match now.

The
better man would win. Whoever that was could be her husband if the king
demanded it. Her eyes clung to Gavin’s livid face as she was led back to the
king’s box. She could hardly sit still as she took her seat, hearing the
chatter of the queen’s ladies about her, all sighing over both her choices in
mates. She hardly heard them, her eyes never leaving Gavin. She prayed he won,
no matter the outcome.

Lady
Lucinda looked outraged to learn another lady was to be offered. Knowing her
future as Countess of Rivenhahl was hardly assured, her round face grew red
with anger.

“This
is an outrage, Your Grace!” she fumed to Queen Anne, her gaze cutting to Madeline
in fury. “What does His Majesty mean by having two serve as lady of the
tournament?”

“I
think it obvious, my dear,” the queen said in amusement. “He will choose the
victor’s bride, the other goes as consolation. Do not worry of it. Both are
fine specimens.”

Lady
Lucinda was hardly pleased to know she could wed a penniless knight by the
outcome here today, fuming and sending Madeline hateful looks.

Madeline
watched Rohan as he grinned at her from her vantage point. He turned and went
to the stable to retrieve his mount. Gavin returned to his horse and mounted
up, looking at her gravely before he lowered his visor. She could see her favor
still hung upon his lance and hoped it did what it was meant to. She didn’t
think she could bear to watch as Rohan rode his horse into the arena.

Hay-ho
for Hallowe'en!

And the
witches to be seen

Some
black, and some green,

Hay-ho
for Hallwe'en!

~Anonymous.

Alastair
held the reins to Cyrian. His expression was delighted to learn of the changes
in his absence. Learning the victor would marry whoever the king chose didn’t
appear to bother him as it did Gavin.

“You
can win this, Gavin. Just concentrate on the prize.”

“How
can I concentrate knowing that man could walk out of here with everything I
ever wanted?” Gavin demanded and fairly growled as he snatched up the reins.

“Think
of it as enough incentive to keep him from doing just that, my lord,” Alastair
replied and grinned. “It’s quite brilliant getting you to win as the king has
done. He knows you won’t lose.”

“Do
not remind me how he manipulates me in this, please?”

“Think
about Madeline bearing Rohan’s towheaded brats if you have to,” Alastair teased
unmercifully. “Whatever it takes to give you the edge to win, use it. Don’t
think he won’t do the same.”

“Is
that supposed to help me?” Gavin glared down at him. “That makes me wish to
take my sword to him now.”

“You
must focus, my friend. Think of nothing but getting everything you could ever
want by the end of this day. Think of Sir Gregor and win, my lord.”

Gavin
nodded and took his lance from Alastair. He took his place at his end of the
wooden dividing rail. He gazed at Madeline and saw she was sitting at the edge
of her seat, hardly pleased by this new development. While Gavin was pleased
Strathmore’s daughter was not the only one offered; he couldn’t stomach the
thought of losing Madeline to Rohan today.

His
father’s words came back to him then. Gavin was twelve. His father informed him
he would learn to joust. Gavin had laughed at him, unable to think how that
would be valuable in the Scottish highlands, surrounded by warring clansmen.

That
day arrived. He would need every bit of what his father taught him. He saw the
stands were now filled. His men all looked sober and raised their hands to him
as he looked over at them. He could see the dismay in all their faces to know
he could lose their favorite witch this day. All the men adored Madeline. He was
shaken to know all he worried to lose at that moment was her. The trumpets
began to blare.

****

Madeline’s
heart beat furiously, drowning out the trumpets and pageantry as the tournament
began. The heralds read the feats of both men. Rousing cheers came from both
sides of the stands and beyond. She was encouraged Gavin was cheered as loudly
as Sir Rohan, seeing the crowd was divided on both men. The queen was a shy
quiet lady and patted her hand, her eyes filled with understanding.

“Sir
Gavin cannot lose, my dear Madeline,” the queen consoled her with a gentle
smile. “You must have faith in him now.”

“Thank
you, Majesty. You’re very kind,” Madeline said, aware of the stir her presence
caused within the royal box. She was getting more than enough speculative looks
than she could bear.

“Sir
Gavin will win the day,” Queen Anne said with a knowing look in her brown eyes.
“The man comes from a long line of determined men.”

Madeline
was glad to take her mind off the match for a moment. “You knew Sir Gregor?”

The
queen smiled warmly. “Truthfully, the man was my favorite at court. A pity we
saw him so rarely. He came only when he had to.”

Madeline
could hardly blame Sir Gregor after she learned what Queen Elizabeth did to the
man out of jealousy. She was curious about Sir Gregor, wanting to understand
his struggle.

“Sir
Gavin has great respect for his father, as do his men.”

The
queen smiled widely. “It was well deserved. His only fault was his honesty. It
angered my husband on occasion. But when counted upon; Sir Gregor was known to
speak the truth in all things.”

“Was
he innocent of what he was banished for?” Madeline asked hesitantly. A part of
her still believed the man did what he had to then to be with his family.

The
queen measured her words and her lips tightened slightly. Madeline could see
the lady was irritated with her question and regretted the asking.

“Anyone
who knew Sir Gregor would have never asked that, my dear. Does that answer your
question?”

“I
meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” she rushed to say. “I just couldn’t blame the
man if he saw such a way to be with his family.”

“My
husband’s cousin had years to break him and she couldn’t. Sir Gregor was
unjustly accused. Today he will be exonerated when his son receives all back
that was taken,” the lady went on to say and regarded her with twinkling eyes.
“Does it please you to marry Sir Gavin if my husband gives you to him?”

“I
had not thought it possible,” Madeline admitted and looked down at her hands.
“It pleases me.”

“Either
man would make you an exceptional husband. Do not rule out Sir Rohan. He
impresses my husband as a man who also has much honor and integrity.”

Madeline
stiffened, unwilling to think Gavin would not win, but in those moments she
realized he could lose. She could marry Sir Rohan. Those gleaming black eyes
taunted her in such a way that made her feel overpowered and unsettled. The
thought of him as her husband made her clench her hands in her lap, knowing the
matter was now out of her hands.

Minerva
would have cackled uproariously at that moment to see where her granddaughter
sat, elbow to elbow with a queen and her ladies. If it weren’t too incredible
to acknowledge at all; she might have felt proud at that moment to have such
two valiant knights fight to claim her.

For
a common born witch used to ruling her own destiny, it was torture to watch the
men take their places, lances and shields poised. Not a sound was heard before the
flag was lowered. Madeline did what no witch would have dreamt to do at that
moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch her fate played out on the
field below.

****

Gavin
felt Cyrian fly beneath him as he met the charge. His eyes squinted beneath the
helmet, glued upon the opponent who flew at him on the gleaming gold horse. The
adrenaline roared in his veins in those moments.

Sir
Rohan met his advance without veering to the left or right, as he was known
for. This time he charged direct, his lance hitting Gavin’s shoulder, his own
glancing off his opponents shield to deflect the full impact.

He
ignored the roar of the crowd as he made the pass and took his place at the
other end of the field, his concentration fierce as he watched the flagmen run
out onto the field. Cyrian pawed the dirt, snorting. He tensed the reins, sweat
running in rivulets beneath his helmet. The silence was broken as the flag went
down once more.

Gavin
dug his heals into Cyrian’s sides and the horse bore him down the field. Gavin
caught a glimpse of Madeline out of the corner of his eye, seeing her clenching
her hands, her head down. He knew from all the studying he’d done of Rohan’s
jousting style, the man would either veer to the left or the right at the last
minute. What little he knew of the man was he always did the unexpected. He
anticipated his drive with the lance would be another direct hit to the center
trying to hit his breast plate.

Sir
Rohan’s lance came up and stabbed down center at the last, giving Gavin the opening
he needed to jerk his lance higher and deflect the blow, his own shattering
into the man’s shoulder plate, knocking him backward slightly, but not
unseating him.

The
crowd was standing at that moment, much shouting and cheering to see they were
evenly matched now, point for point. They took their places once more. Alastair
replaced his lance, looking pleased. Gavin looked to the king’s box and saw
Madeline’s expression filled with all the encouragement he needed.

He
leaned his hand down and touched the ugly, reeking favor for luck, seeing her
smile at the gesture before he took his stance. Silence fell across the stands.
All still stood. The flagmen noted debris from one of their lances and a boy
ran out to clear the field.

Gavin
cleared his mind of everything at that moment. All the faces of those that
depended upon his winning faded. One more turn would decide his destiny and Sir
Rohan’s.

 He
squinted at Sir Rohan at the end of the field. This one last point decided it
all. They were evenly ranked in the other skills throughout the competition
except this one. Gavin trailed him by a few mere points throughout.

All
he need do is knock the man off his horse and gain the points. Easy enough to
do if none but Rohan faced him. He closed his eyes and uttered a prayer to
Madeline’s Goddess for the sheer hope that particular deity was listening.

The
flag went down and Cyrian ground his hooves into the dirt, sending up clumps of
it as they bolted into the fray. What decision he made at that moment he was
never quite clear on later. Sir Rohan’s shield and lance lowered a degree at
the last, alerting Gavin he would once more drive to the center. With nothing
more to lose, Gavin met him head on, his lance splintering and cracking down
the middle as it hit Rohan’s breast plate dead center.

Gavin
watched in slow motion as the knight fought to recover his hold on the horse’s
pommel; his body flying backward from the force of the blow. The screams and
shouts that greeted him as Sir Rohan tumbled backward off Goldwyn were
deafening. The man hit the dirt sending up a cloud of dust, his lance flying
from his hands.

Cheers
resounded in his head. He was dazed from the noise, his eyes filled with
stunned amazement as he saw Sir Rohan roll to his feet, unharmed, though stiff.
His gaze went to Madeline. He frowned to see she’d fainted into the arms of the
queen. He grinned, wondering if witches fainted very often.

Soon
the field was filled with his men and the many spectators, all wishing him
well. He doffed his helmet and handed it to Alastair. The man had tears
glimmering in his gaze as he took it, his dark eyes filled with pride.

“Your
father would be proud today, my lord,” he said and lowered his dark head,
overwhelmed to know Gavin was once more his lord, in fact. “Go get your prize.”

Gavin
swung Cyrian about and galloped to the front of the king’s box, his eyes upon
the dazed redhead whose wide blue eyes met his in stunned amazement. He raised
his gaze to his king and the man smiled widely as he stood.

“Lord
Rivenhahl, may I present your bride?” the king acknowledged with a smug smile.
A silent look passed between both men for a moment. The king’s pleasure to give
the title and the lady to him was obvious. “Lady Lucinda of Strathmore is
yours, my lord.”

  Gavin
sat atop his horse in stunned denial at the king’s pavilion, amid cheers. His
green eyes met Madeline’s filled with regret as he heard Lady Lucinda squeal
with pleasure. Sir Rohan arrived on his mount next to him.