Page 87 of Picking Up the Gauntlet

“I think mayhap she doesn’t want to marry the winner because she already has her eye on another man.” Devon looked over at Raven and nodded. “Raven, is there anything you’d like to say to your father? Now might be a good time to do it.”

“Shhh, not now,” said Corbett holding up his hand. “The joust is about to begin.”

“Raven,” said Lark, leaning over and whispering. “What are ye goin’ to do? Ye canna really joust.”

“I have no choice,” said Raven, looking from the sides of her eyes at her father. “We have to go.” She got up to leave, but stopped when she saw two knights riding out to the tiltyard.

“W-who’s that?” she gasped and pointed.

“I told you, that is Sir Whitehead and Sir Nevar,” said Corbett. “Haven’t you been paying any attention at all?”

“We have to leave. Right now,” whispered Raven, not knowing what was going on. She needed to get into her armor and out to the tiltyard so she could win this competition.

“Raven, look,” said Lark, grabbing her arm. “They are both ridin’ this way to ask for yer favor.”

“Get your sleeve or ribbon ready,” said Corbett. “You can give your favor to whichever one you want to win, but remember, it still doesn’t mean a thing. You will be wedding the winner.”

“My lady,” said Whitehead riding up with his helm in his arm and holding out his lance to hopefully win her favor.

“My lady,” repeated the imposter, riding over and holding out his lance to her as well. This man was wearing a helm, covering his face. He also wore the tunic with the phony French crest on it that she’d constructed. Who was he?

“Raven, you must give one of them your favor so the joust can begin,” said Devon.

“Before I do, I want to see Sir Nevar’s face.” She untied a ribbon from her hair and waited.

“Please, Sir Nevar,” said Corbett. “It seems no one here really knows you, and I’d like to see your face too.”

“Damn it, Raven,” she heard the imposter mumble from beneath his helm. Her heart jumped. Then the man raised his visor, but looked at Raven only.

Lark saw Jonathon’s face as well. “Raven, that’s–” started Lark, but Raven dug her nails into Lark’s arm. “Och, that hurts.”

“I’ve seen enough, put your visor down, Sir Knight,” she said, hurriedly slipping her ribbon over the tip of Jonathon’s lance. “Go now and joust. Go. Shoo,” she told the men, waving her fingers. They slowly turned and rode back to the lists.

“Raven! That was rude,” said her father. “These men are our guests, so show them some respect. Especially since one of them will be your husband.”

“Raven,” whispered Lark. “Are ye goin’ to let Jonathon joust?”

“I don’t have a choice,” she answered. “He’s my only hope now. I assure you, he has a much better chance of winning than I did.”

“Raven?” It was her mother. She moved away from Corbett and sat down next to her. “I tried to give you a chance to tell your father about Jonathon and you didn’t do it. That means you will have to marry one of those two men out there.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” said Raven. “However, I only want one of them, Mother.”

“What are you saying? I thought you wanted to marry Jonathon.”

“I do. And if he wins the joust, I’ll be the happiest girl ever.”

Devon slowly turned and looked at the two men preparing to joust. “Oh, Raven. Don’t tell me that Frenchman that no one seems to know has been your lover all along.”

“Nay, Mother. For the last two rounds I was Sir Nevar.”

“You?” Her mother’s brows raised and then she scowled. “How can you do this to your father? Do you realize the position you will put him in if Jonathon wins?”

“Aye. He’ll have to let me marry him. Those are the rules.”

“On the contrary, he will have no choice but to throw Jonathon in the dungeon and make Whitehead the winner.”

“Nay!” said Raven. “He wouldn’t do that.”