Florida Knight (27 page)

“There’re still some eggs out there,” Lady Daphne, the hunt’s organizer, declared. “We’ve got two prizes left, including the big Easter Basket. I think some of the men must have gotten too creative.”

“Afraid so.” Cat grinned ruefully, wondering if Michael was one of those guilty of hiding eggs in strange places.

“You go along now,” Lady Daphne said. “I can handle the trickle that’s left.”

Gratefully, Cat escaped, wandering down toward the lake to get her emotions under control before she entered the day’s Lyst. She strode past the Assembly Hall, the swimming pool, and kept on going straight onto an irregular-shaped grassy peninsula that stuck out into the lake. At the far end, there was a cluster of bushes, a drooping
Florida
willow and a medium-sized live oak. A good place to contemplate the world and lick her wounds.

She sat on the bank of the lake, hugged her knees to her chin. Life was hell, so what else was new? Maybe she’d truly reached a turning point, the Big Event she’d felt coming these past few months. It wasn’t Michael, she assured herself. She’d been experiencing unease, dissatisfaction
before
Michael Turco exploded into her life. She had to face it. She’d begun to question whether she really wanted to go on as she was. Forever alone.

For years she’d been living in a vacuum. Taking the course of least resistance. She was so terrified of Life, she’d shut it out. If she wanted the family life she’d seen around her this morning, she was going to have to get up off her duff and rejoin the world. No matter how much it hurt, it couldn’t be as bad as seeing all those bright-eyed children and knowing that none of them were her own.

A sound whispered across Cat’s thoughts. A whimper? A word? The call of a bird? She scanned the lake. It was calm and empty. Jumping to her feet, she surveyed the narrow peninsula.

“Help!” A thin wail.

“Where are you?” Cat called, moving toward the sound, still seeing nothing.

“Here. Over here!” A tired young voice took on the renewed life of hope.

Cat circled the bushes along the bank of the lake, sucked in her breath. A boy of about nine or ten was lying flat on a limb of a live oak that stretched out over the lake. She recognized him. He was practically the only local LALOC child known for being a discipline problem. At the moment, however, he was genuinely terrified. Cat said the first thing that came into her head. “What on earth are you doing out there?”

“There was an egg up here,” he retorted with a touch of his customary belligerence.

“Not way out there over the lake,” Cat countered.  And what idiot knight hid an egg on a tree limb at the end of a peninsula?

“Yeah, well, I got the egg, ‘n’ then it seemed like fun to crawl on out.”

“And you got stuck.”

“Yeah.” One dark brown eye peered at her, daring her to call him a coward.

Cat surveyed the branch. No way would it take her weight. She peered into the opaque tea-colored waters of the lake. No way to judge the depth either, but she’d seen the water level gauge by the dock. Due to the long drought, the lake was down by several feet.  Cat eyed her two hundred dollar custom-made boots. “Okay, hang tight a minute longer. I’m not going wading in these boots.”

The boy grinned. He might be known for paying no attention to his mother’s weak commands, but evidently he had more respect for a LALOC knight. He was now confident of being rescued.

Cat removed her boots, tucked her tunic into her leather belt, and waded in, protected by nothing more than her black tights. A northener probably wouldn’t have called the water cold, she told herself. Obviously, she’d lived in
Florida
too long. She didn’t bother to hide her grimace. Let the little monster realize his escapade was turning her to ice. In spite of the low water, by the time Cat was under the outer portion of the branch where the boy was clinging, she was up to her shoulders in water. The limb was about three feet above her outstretched fingertips.  “Okay, I’m here now,” she said. “Start inching back. I can catch you if you fall.”

For a long moment nothing happened.

“What’s your name?” Cat asked.

“Sean.”

“Okay, Sean, I’m supposed to be on the Lyst field, fighting. You don’t want me to lose out, do you?”

“My mom’s boyfriend says you think you’re a hotshot.”

Cat drew in a deep breath. In another minute her teeth were going to begin to chatter.

“I win more than I lose,” she conceded. “But I’m going to get the booby prize today if you don’t start moving!”

“Is there any candy left?”

“Yes. And a couple of prizes too.” Cat only hoped that was still true.

“I don’t want no stuffed bear.” The boy’s voice was so indignant Cat sank her forehead into her hand.

“I’ll find you some candy if I have to drive into town and buy it. Now move!”

Sean starting inching back, his hands clutching the rough bark as if he were over the yawning pit to hell. “That’s it!” Cat encouraged. “Keep moving. You’ve got it now. Just a little farther.” She moved backwards beneath the branch, keeping pace, her voice never stopping. “You’re almost there, just a few more inches . . . “You’ve got it!” she shouted as Sean reached the broad trunk of the live oak. “Stay there. I’ll be right up.” Using bushes which overhung the bank, she hauled herself up. As water ran down from the soaked folds of her tunic, she suddenly thought of Raven, the absurdity of their water fight at the Ren Fair in
Largo
. The warmth of the shower at his condo. The comfort of his arms, his body.

Cat shook herself, the vision faded. She raised her arms, lifted Sean down. “How on earth did you get up there in the first place?” she demanded.

“There’s a fallen palm on the other side.” He was nonchalant now, an agile monkey who had never faltered.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ve got to change before I can fight.” She’d almost said his mother would be looking for him, but Sean would have recognized the glib adult lie as fast as she had.

“What about my candy?”

“We’ll see Lady Daphne. I pretty sure she has some left.”

“Okay.” Sean ducked around the far side of the live oak, returned with a net bag full of eggs. He then hauled the egg which had caused all the trouble out of the pocket of his full brown pants and added it to his bag. “I got lots,” he declared proudly.

Cat sighed. So this was what being a mother felt like. No wonder some people had a hard time with it.

As if he’d read her thoughts, Sean said, “My mom’d be having a fit, screaming and yelling. I’m glad you found me,” he confided.

Did this mean she was cut out to be the mother of boys? Cat wondered. Visions of stair-stepped sons, all with black hair and midnight dark eyes suddenly replaced Sean’s fair features. Silently, Cat swore. All her feminine instincts seemed to be making a comeback. Sneaking through chinks in her armor, widening the gaps until she was flooded with emotions she had thought to put aside forever.

She was still moving in a fog when they entered the Feast Hall to find Lady Daphne patiently waiting for stragglers. “Don’t ask!” Cat warned, as water dripped onto the vinyl. Sean not only received one of the leftover bags of candy, he had the egg that held the number for the grand prize, a large cellophane-wrapped Easter Basket with all the traditional goodies including a large chocolate bunny rabbit. The triumphant grin on the boy’s face was worth her probable disqualification from the morning’s tournament, Cat decided. As she turned and sloshed off toward her tent to change her clothes, she could hear Sean’s mother—suddenly appearing from some mysterious realm—oo-ing and ah-ing over his success.

If she only knew . . .
A moral dilemma, Cat realized as her heart plunged. To tell or not to tell? She had little choice. Although she would downplay the danger, she would have to have a talk with the boy’s mother. If she’d been keeping an eye on him, this almost-accident wouldn’t have happened.

By decree of the Lyst Marshal, Cat was allowed to enter the Lyst in Round Two. At Court, later that afternoon, as she strode forward to accept her award as Champion of the Lyst, Michael sat on an out-of-period metal folding chair and glowered.

Chapter 1
6

“Your Majesty!” The Kingdom Herald’s words, addressed to Queen Eilis, boomed over the elegantly clad audience. “Representatives of the household of Baron Eifan von Wicksmar beg to approach.” A wave of the king’s hand, a gracious nod from the queen, and a procession started down the aisle of the small assembly building where Court was being held. Since Raven was making a particular effort not to glare at Cat who had just returned to her seat beside him, he concentrated on the people approaching the low stage on which their majesties were holding Court. Arrayed behind Corwyn and Eilis, who were seated on their high-backed wooden thrones, was their elegantly garbed retinue, including, Raven noted sourly, the door-slamming twerp. Their majesties’ crowns gleamed above their dark heads of hair, their eminence enhanced by long sweeping cloaks of white satin trimmed in some kind of fur. Fake, Raven decided, but highly effective. The LALOC royal majesties played their roles to the hilt.

Raven supposed the middle-aged man leading the procession down the center aisle was Baron Whatsis; the others, the hangers-on expected to attend nobility of any degree. The baron was a bit of a dandy, Raven realized, or maybe his full-flowing velvet tunic was designed to cover his paunch. A medieval knight probably would have termed the baron the ancient equivalent of a wuss. When the baron knelt before the Queen, was he going to be able to get back up?

Raven willed his face to expressionless as the baron’s knee hit the floor in the first of the required two ceremonial genuflections. It was touch and go as Sir Eifan struggled to his feet. Behind him, wary eyes on their wavering leader, the baron’s retainers laid their weapons on the floor so they, too, could approach the queen. The portly Sir Eifan strode forward until he reached the edge of the stage directly in front of Queen Eilis. Once again, he went down on one knee. Raven couldn’t hear Sir Eifan’s words, but the baron offered the queen a package
slightly larger than a shoebox
, wrapped in gold paper and tied with a glittering bow. The queen made a short but gracious speech, the baron’s retainers bowed. A surreptitious hand reached out from his followers to help Sir Eifan to his feet.

The queen delivered a gracious acceptance speech, then studied her gift-wrapped package, felt its weight—evidently light—, shook it, said a few laughing words to King Corwyn. At the urging of her ladies-in-waiting, she untied the bow and began to unwrap the gold paper.

“The king and queen get gifts at nearly every Court,” Cat whispered in Raven’s ear. “Illuminated manuscripts, leatherwork, jewelry. Just as if this were truly Medieval times and the
givers are
trying to curry favor with the monarch.”

All eyes turned toward Queen Eilis as the gold paper fell away from the box. Raven suspected LALOC courts might actually be more quiet and respectful than the courts of old where, surely, there had been people whispering in the corners or plotting intrigue behind their hands. Here, there was nothing but deferential, and interested, silence. With the white cardboard gift box laid on her lap, the queen lifted the lid.

All hell broke loose. The box went flying as the queen shot to her feet, leaped from the stage and charged down the aisle, the arms under her white cloak flapping so hard she appeared to be gathering enough momentum to fly. Deafening shrieks filled the small hall as the queen’s
female
attendants dove after her, a few nearly trampled by Baron Eifan and escaping male members of the king’s retinue. As the queen fled down the aisle, Raven thought he caught a glimpse of something black on the back of her cloak.

The King’s Guard, however, stood fast, their gleeful shouts punctuating the shrieks of the ladies-in-waiting and the LALOC members seated nearest the stage, who were also scattering away from the throne area, scrambling so fast chairs were toppling in every direction. The king’s knights charged about the stage in erratic movements, two of them wildly swinging their wooden staves. A third wielded a huge wooden battleaxe never intended for anything other than ceremonial purposes. A fourth held a metal sword in both hands, slinging it into walls and floor with such remarkable enthusiasm that Raven felt he was more in danger of damaging his fellow knights than exterminating whatever he was trying to attack.

King Corwyn was also among those who stood fast. He grabbed a spear dropped by one of his fleeing retainers and joined the fray, tilting back the queen’s chair to cautiously look under it. Bubba leaped up on stage, joining the fray. He promptly began to use his huge booted feet as weapons, dashing across the stage, stomping down, missing whatever it was, giving chase. So what the hell had happened? Raven wondered. Obviously, the box contained something other than a hand-crafted gift. But what? Except for Raven’s fleeting impression of something on the back of the queen’s cloak, he’d seen nothing to cause such hysteria.

And hysteria it certainly was. Queen Eilis and her ladies were huddled in the back of the hall, occasional screams followed by violent flurries of movement punctuating their sobs. All were brushing at their clothes, turning their backs to be inspected by others. Horror predominated. Raven was beginning to think he’d been dropped into a Stephen King movie.