Page 72 of Picking Up the Gauntlet

“Nay. Of course not, my lady. However, they need things done before the tournament starts,” he explained.

“I need my armor done by then, too, I told you that at the start.”

“I thought you no longer wanted or needed it, since you realized ladies can’t joust.”

By the look on her face, he realized he shouldn’t have spoken his thoughts aloud. It only made her angry.

She leaned in close to him this time, speaking directly into his ear in a low voice. “The deal was, you make my armor, or I tell my father what we did.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “Nay, that’s not right. It was so you wouldn’t tell him we kissed,” he corrected her.

“Well, you wouldn’t want him to find out anything else, either. Would you?”

“I don’t believe you’d tell him... everything,” he said, not thinking she was that bold or dumb.

“Are you willing to bet on it?” she asked, making no sense to him at all. Why the hell would she want to tell her father she made love to a man right before she was about to be betrothed? Still, with Raven, one never knew, and he couldn’t take the chance that she might not be bluffing.

“Are you... pregnant?” he asked, holding his breath while waiting for her answer.

“Nay!” Her eyes opened wide. “Or at least, I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he said, almost thinking she was and that was what she planned to tell her father.

“Now, about my armor?”

“I’ll make the helm next, as well as the pauldrons,” he told her, talking about the helmet and the shoulder coverings. “I’m not sure I’ll have time to finish the gauntlets or sabatons though. That’s the gloves and shoe coverings,” he explained, when she looked confused.

“I know what they are,” she spat.

He was sure she knew what a gauntlet was, but didn’t think she knew the term of sabatons. She obviously just didn’t want to admit it.

“Will that be a problem, my lady?”

“Nay. I don’t need them. Just do a good job on the rest of the pieces, please.”

“I will,” he said, curious as to why she was making such a stink about getting her armor. After all, once she was married, she’d never even have a chance to use it. No knight would be daft enough to let his lady wife even dress that way.

Unless it was him, he realized sadly, more than eager to see Raven fully dressed and wearing his creation.

Chapter 17

Raven sat in the corner of the ladies’ solar later that day, sewing a phony crest onto a surcoat that she would be wearing for the tournament in the guise of Sir Jonathon Nevar. She decided the crest would be a raven with a sword in its claw. The irony of it made her silently chuckle. It kind of reminded her of a combination of herself and Jonathon. She was the bird and he represented the sword, being a swordsmith, or blacksmith, or armorer, or whatever he was calling himself.

“Raven, ye canna do this. Now please stop before it’s too late,” begged Lark, embroidering a pillow covering. The rest of the noblewomen worked on pieces while making small talk between them, however they were at the other end of the room.

“I cannot just stand by and watch my life go up in flames,” said Raven.

“It’ll be in flames when the truth comes out. Ye canna deceive yer father nor the noblemen competin’ for yer hand in marriage.”

“Well, it’s not like I can tell them the truth of what I did, either.” She pushed the needle through the tunic and pulled the long thread. She didn’t normally sew and wasn’t that skilled at it. Most of her time growing up had been spent practicing with her weapons or watching her father and brother fight the other knights. “If I did that, my life would be ruined. I’d have a bad reputation and no one would ever want me. I’d be like–” She stopped short, looking up at her cousin.

Lark’s eyes became glassy and she looked like she was about to cry. “Ye’d be like me. That’s what ye were goin’ to say, wasna it?” She put down her stitching and got up.

“Lark, you know I didn’t mean anything by that. It just slipped out.” Raven cursed herself inwardly for not using more discretion when talking with Lark. The poor girl had a hard life and was very vulnerable. Raven just wasn’t used to keeping her thoughts to herself.

“I’m goin’ for a walk,” said Lark. Her tone was a cross between anger and humiliation with a little sadness thrown in.

“I’m sorry, Lark. Please don’t go. You’re not angry with me, are you?”