The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(181)
“Come on,” he murmured again. “Do it! Do it this time, damn you!”
The two knights gave their mounts the spurs. Hooves thundered. The lances lowered until they were pointed straight forward. Lord d’Altavilla realized he was clenching the reigns of his horse so tightly it hurt, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Do it, damn you! Just do i—“
Crash!
Sir Geralt von Grimmsbach was lifted off his horse, hurled through the air, and slammed into the ground with an ignominious clatter.
The curse that Lord d’Altavilla uttered made his squire shrink away in shock.
~~*~~*
Sir Reuben was on a roll. Well, actually, he was on a horse, but he was constantly winning, so who cared? He certainly didn’t.
Crash!
Oh, how he loved that sound…
“And another win for Sir Reuben!” proclaimed the herald. “This concludes the joust for today!”
Protests rose from the crowd, but the herald remained steadfast. “So many brave knights have come to measure their skills against each other,” he called out, his hands raised, “and the day is already ending! Go home, good people. Get a good night’s rest, and tomorrow, you shall witness the best of the best fight for the crown of the champion!”
Reuben didn’t even pretend to pay attention to the herald or his fallen foe on the ground. In the light of the setting sun, he turned his mount and galloped back towards the Emperor’s box. Ripping off his helmet, he gazed up at the beautiful figure of Salvatrice, who was surveying the battlefield beneath her as regally as any queen.
“I vanquished this one for you!” he called up to her. “As I did with every single one that came before him today and I will do with every single one I face tomorrow!”
The people in the stands, some of whom had already started to rise, froze in place. All eyes instantly swiveled to the scene unfolding before them. Well, to be exact, all female eyes moved instantly. The male ones were a bit slower, but they got there, eventually.
Reuben lowered his lance reverently in front of the Lady Salvatrice, the same way he had done in front of the Emperor himself at the last tournament. Soft “oooh”s rose from the crowd. Up in the box, Salvatrice leaned forward, and a slight smile played around her beautiful lips.
“I am yours, Milady. Your obedient slave. I would conquer the world for you. Will you not give me a sign of your favor?”
There was a moment, suspended in time, hanging from a washing line somewhere in the land where all romantic moments live. One could almost hear the soft music playing in the background, the birds chirping, the hearts thumping in perfect synchronicity. Lady Salvatrice didn’t move. Everyone held their breath.
Then, slowly, very slowly, she leaned forward, withdrew the bright green cloth from the end of her hat, and let it fall. It sank through the air, graceful as a dove, fluttering this way and that, but going inexorably towards its destination. Everyone watched, spell-bound, and so everyone saw when Reuben’s hand surged up and snatched it out of the air, clutching it to his chest. Lifting it to his face, he took a deep breath of the intoxicating perfume that clung to it, and another sigh rose from the ladies in the stands.
Reuben held up the piece of silk.
“I shall treasure this like I treasure my own life—or, better yet, like I treasure yours, beautiful Salvatrice. Tomorrow, when I win the joust wearing this, you will know that I am yours and only yours!”
~~*~~*
“She gave him a token!”
“Um…yes, Milord.”
“She gave him a goddamn token!”
“Indeed she did, Milord.”
It was nighttime. They were ensconced not in Lord d’Altavilla’s chambers this time, but in the stables, far away from the prying ears of the main palace. That alone should have given the servant a hint that the purpose for their meeting was less than savory. But he was too busy nervously studying His Lordship to realize or care.
“It’s all because she’s an orphan!”
“Pardon me, Milord?”
“An orphan! She’s an orphan and, technically, a ward of the Emperor. But he doesn’t care two pennies about what she does! He’ll let her have her own choice when it comes to picking a husband!”
“Scandalous!”
“And he shoved her into the path of that Reuben just to spite me!”
“Absolutely horrific, Milord.”
“If she were under the care of a sensible father or guardian, none of this would be happening! No sensible man would choose a penniless stripling like that Reuben over a wealthy and respected Lord such as myself.”
“Assuredly, Milord.” The servant cleared his throat. “But…”
Lord d’Altavilla’s head snapped up. “But what?”
“You asked me to inquire into the pedigree of this Sir Reuben.”
“Yes, I did. And?”
“He speaks the truth, Sir. I sent messengers north when he first began to interfere with Lady Salvatrice. They returned earlier this evening and gave me a description of the son of the Duke Heinrich. He is indeed tall, black-haired, with fierce gray eyes, and, ehem…”
D’Altavilla took a step forward. “Yes?”
“He seems to have a certain talent with the ladies.”
The Sicilian lord’s eyes blazed. “Is that so?”