Hard Day's Knight (38 page)

“Farrell, please, no hair similes. We’re here to practice, remember?”

“Are we?” Farrell smiled, picking up my free hand and bestowing a kiss on my fingers. I fought the urge to clench those very same fingers and smash his nose. No matter how much my heart was breaking, no matter how miserable Walker was making me, I had a job to do, and the only way to salvage the shreds of our future was to do it. Successfully. Which meant Farrell didn’t get a knuckle sandwich. “I thought perhaps you were simply trying to be discreet in your pursuit of me.”

I stopped walking, retrieving my hand to hoist Moth higher on my hip, glaring against the setting sun to pin Farrell back with what I hoped was a stern, unbending, meaningful look. I may have had to make nice with him, but it didn’t mean I had to let him slobber on me to find out what I needed to know.

“Just so you know, I’m madly in love with Walker. I like you, Farrell,” I said, not even stumbling over the untruth, “despite the fact that you’re as nasty as you can be around Walker, but don’t expect anything from me other than friendship.”

“Really?” Curiously, Farrell looked interested rather than put out by my statement. “So it’s the real thing then, not just a little Faire fling?”

He turned toward the collection of Team Joust! trailers rather than the small practice ring. I followed without protest, figuring I could get more out of him in a casual situation than on the back of a horse.

“No, it’s not a fling. Just out of curiosity, how long have you known Walker? I mean, how many years did you two compete together before Walker’s . . . hiatus?”

“Two years. Claude! Where the devil are—Oh, there you are. Here, take Pepper’s cat for a stroll, will you?” Farrell plucked Moth from where he was snuggled up against my side, thrusting the big cat and his leash into Claude’s arms. “Pepper and I want to be alone for a bit.”

“He really does like to go for walks,” I told the startled squire, ignoring the innuendo Farrell had tossed out. “Just don’t let him eat anything but grass. He’s had his dinner, and if he eats too much, he barfs. And try to keep him from chewing on his horns. He ripped the last pair up thinking it was some sort of odd-shaped toy.”

Claude looked in horror at the cat overflowing in his arms. Moth gave him a long, considering look.

“Come, let us have a little wine before we get to your
tutoring,
” Farrell said.

I ground my teeth against the urge to let him have it, instead gritting out a smile as I climbed the stairs into the trailer.

“Two years isn’t very long for you to be carrying so much animosity toward Walker,” I said, blatantly steering the conversation where I wanted it. “I thought you said he beat you only once, and that your other jousts together ended in draws?”

“There were only two draws,” Farrell said easily, fetching a bottle of wine from a tiny refrigerator built into the wall of the RV. “The truth is, Walker is so consummately the whipped dog, he takes all the fun out of baiting him. You wouldn’t know it from his present demeanor, but we used to have a very lively relationship. We made quite the show out of our rivalry, building on it until the fans were screaming for us to have a match—but that was in the days before he crippled Klaus. After that, the heart seemed to go out of him, and he went from Walker the Wild to Walker the Whipped.”

I clutched the stem of the wineglass he handed me, slowly, finger by finger, loosening my hold so I wouldn’t snap the delicate glass. “He’s not whipped, Farrell—”

“Oh, not in the sense you think I mean, no. The light was gone out of that marriage long before the accident. Of course, there were those who found it more than a little suspicious that it was the man Veronica had left him for whom he crippled, but I knew Walker hadn’t destroyed him for that reason. He was simply going after a target, nothing more. The fact that it was Klaus really was nothing but coincidence.”

I stared at him in openmouthed surprise. “The guy whose neck was broken was Veronica’s . . .”

“Lover?” Farrell nodded and settled himself back against the plush burgundy couch, his blue eyes amused as he sipped his wine. “One of many, I’m afraid.” He must have seen my eyes widen as I digested this information, because he gave a little laugh. “Oh, yes, the lovely Veronica has never been one to keep her favors for just one knight. She even tried to share them with me.”

Absently I sipped at the cold white wine, embracing its mellow burn down my throat as I tried to readjust my mental image of Veronica and Walker of five years ago.

Farrell rubbed his chin, his face thoughtful as he leaned forward. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what Walker meant with that comment about history repeating itself.”

There were so many pieces to the puzzle, I was having a hard time seeing the big picture. “Oh,” I said absently, shuffling and moving around the facts until they fit together. Sort of.

“For some reason, Walker took it into his head that Veronica ran to me rather than Klaus. I assume that all these years he’s thought I was her partner in infidelity, but the truth is, I wasn’t. Still, it’s an amusing thought that he imagined himself cuckolded by me when I never laid a finger on the lady.”

His words penetrated the cloud of abstraction that held me in its confusing grip. I gave up fact shuffling to focus on the here and now. “What? Why not?”

“Why
not
?” he asked, setting his glass down in order to sprawl back against the velvet cushions. “I prefer my women warm and willing. Veronica’s taste ran heavily to revenge, and that, my sweet, is a bitter dish, indeed.”

“Fine words from a man who’s made it his raison d’être to revenge himself against Walker.” My chest was tight, as if iron bands had been tightened around my lungs.

“Me? Oh, no, I’m not the one who wants revenge—I just want another chance at jousting against Walker. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

I stared down at the glass of golden wine, the puzzle pieces of information I’d been trying to force together suddenly looking all wrong. “But . . . but . . . you’re always saying mean things to Walker—”

“It’s called goading, darling, and if that man of yours had a shred of dignity, he’d throw down the gauntlet and accept my challenge, but since that day five years ago, he’s ignored every attempt I’ve made to get him into the list with me.”

“You just want to joust with him,” I repeated, now staring deeply into his blue eyes. He held my gaze easily, not even the faintest whiff of deception present. “My God, if it’s not you who’s after Walker’s blood, then it must be—”

“If anyone is trying to seriously harm him, it would probably be ex-Mrs. McPhail. You look shocked, Pepper. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about the streak of revenge in the lovely Veronica? Lord knows it’s a mile wide. How can you be working for her and not know of it?”

“I . . . I . . .” I shook my head, too overwhelmed to know what I was thinking. “I didn’t know! Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things? Life would be so much easier if I didn’t have to pry every single fact out of everyone.”

“How could you
not
know? Everyone knows!”

“I didn’t! No one said a word about her. I’ve got to tell Walker. . . .” I started to stand up, setting the glass of wine down on the tiny table.

Farrell pulled me back onto the curved couch, shaking his head sadly, as if I had disappointed him. “Walker knows all about her.”

“Don’t be silly, he can’t know. If he knew, he’d be doing . . . something . . . about . . . oh.” The penny dropped.
At last.
“That’s why he said he knew he was the real target of the attacks. Damn him, he knew it was her, and he didn’t tell me!”

I stood up again, intent on finding Walker, poking him once or twice in that wonderful chest of his, and asking how he dared keep something so important from me.

Farrell was still shaking his head. “I doubt if it will do any good, not with Walker. Especially in the light of your defection.”

I stopped at the door, flinching slightly as if the words themselves had struck a blow.
Defection
. No wonder Walker was so angry with me—he thought I had gone to join the woman who was bending all her energies to destroying him, repeating the pattern of his past.

And why wouldn’t he think that? In his eyes, I had trodden the very same path she had. All the team probably thought the very same thing . . . that would account for Fenice’s coldness earlier, during the games. I cursed myself for not explaining my plan to Walker earlier, but deep down, I knew I hadn’t because he would never allow me to investigate. All I wanted was to be part of the team, to belong, really belong, and now I’d blown what I suspected was my only chance.

In the midst of that horrible contemplation, Farrell spoke. “As a rule, I don’t take other men’s leavings, but if you find yourself without a bed for the night, you’re more than welcome to mine.”

I spun around and walked quickly back to him. He must have thought I was going to belt him, because his head jerked back when I reached for him.

“Underneath all that ego, there’s actually a nice guy,” I said, pressing my lips to his tanned cheek. “Thanks, but no thanks. If I can’t have Walker, I’ll just spend the rest of my life miserable and lonely, rattling around my mother’s big old house until the neighborhood starts to refer to me as Crazy Old Lady Marsh who talks to herself and lives with a gazillion cats.”

Farrell raised an eyebrow and gave me a dashing smile. “I thought you didn’t like animals?”

“Yeah, about the same way you don’t like Walker.” I smiled and started toward the door.

“So I take it you’re not interested at all in having me tutor you at the quintain?”

“Do I need tutoring?” I struck a pose next to the entrance, the very picture of a jouster so naturally talented, she didn’t need anything so mundane as instruction.

“Hell, yes!”

So much for my wunderkind status. I gave him half a smile as I opened the door. “Maybe later, after I superglue together the shattered remains of my life. Thanks for everything, Farrell. You really helped me out when I needed it.”

Claude was lurking around outside the trailer, frantically trying to dab at the bits of blood welling up on the scratches on his hand, while at the same time amusing Moth with a frayed piece of rope. “You’re going to work the quintain now?” he asked, his voice all but weeping martyrdom.

“No, that’s off. Moth! Bad kitty!” Moth flattened his ears, both at the scold and the fact that I rubbed his nose on Claude’s injured hand. “Bad! We do not injure those who take care of us!”

“It’s all right,” Claude said lamely. “I’m kind of used to being—”

“Abused?” I asked with a nod toward the trailer.

“Taken for granted,” he suggested.

“Really?” I gathered up Moth and his leash. “Then why do you put up with it? I’m sure there’s any number of people who’d welcome an experienced squire on their team.”

Claude shrugged and rubbed the back of his hand with a less than pristine bit of tissue. “It’s part of my apprenticeship. I want to be trained by the best. Walker wasn’t accepting students, so he asked Farrell to take me on as a squire. Since he’s the second-best jouster around, he was the best choice.”

“Walker
asked
Farrell to take you on?” I asked, astounded by that fact, then surprised that I was astounded. No one was turning out to be who I thought they were.

What does that say about the wisdom of falling in love with a man you don’t really know
? Evil Inner Pepper asked.

I ignored her.

“Oh, yes. They go way back.”

“Well, poop, why didn’t anyone tell me it was all just a display?” I grumbled to myself as I nodded good-night to Claude before heading out into the soft purple haze of the falling evening.

My talk with Farrell was anything but warm and fuzzy, but it left me feeling hopeful, if a bit naïve about what everyone else knew. I formulated a plan of attack as I walked quickly through the tent city, greeting people whom I’d come to know over the past ten days, turning down invitations to dinner, ale tasting, a singalong of medieval ditties, and the chance to see if I could French-kiss a jouster for five minutes straight without passing out (that offer came from the Norwegians). It struck me as I was wending my way in and out of the pools of light around each tent that I was strangely comfortable with these people, enjoying not only a sense of camaraderie, but something that made me feel like I was walking up the path to my mother’s house after a long journey.

Ironic that in the middle of a different country, surrounded by people I’d just met, I felt a fragile sense of kinship. I just hoped I hadn’t destroyed the same with Walker and his team.

“Hey, guys, wait up. Where are you going?”

The entire group of Three Dog Knights—minus the head knight—was heading off toward the parking area. CJ and Butcher, bringing up the rear, stopped as I ran up with Moth. CJ waved Butcher on before turning toward me.

“It’s Bliss’s birthday. We’re taking her to dinner at the steakhouse in town.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit hurt that no one had mentioned the birthday dinner to me. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve got plans, but—”

“It’s a secret. No one is supposed to know,” CJ said, her gaze avoiding mine. “We don’t want people to know that we’re all going off. For security reasons, you know.”

“Oh. Security. Yeah, I understand.” It didn’t lessen the pain that no one had thought of clueing me in to the plans, though.

Evidently something of what I was thinking must have shown, because CJ suddenly looked away. “I would have looked for you to join us, but I assumed you were busy with your new boss.”

“She’s not my boss, but . . . er . . . I can’t come anyway. I’ve got some things to take care of here, first.”

“He’s not here,” CJ said flatly, looking back at me with an unusually hard stare. “He went off God knows where, saying he wanted to be by himself.”