The Lady of the Garter, page 1
Table of Contents
THE LADY OF THE GARTER
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
THE LADY OF THE GARTER
MARISA DILLON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
THE LADY OF THE GARTER
Copyright©2014
MARISA DILLON
Cover Design by Victoria Vane.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-652-8
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To my one and only true love, Jim.
Acknowledgements
The author would like to thank:
The professionals: author Terri Valentine, who mentored me to publication; Violetta Rand, my editor, whose direction and vision I trusted; Karin Shah, who lighted the path to publication; and publisher Debby Gilbert, who signed me with Soul Mate.
My family: son Zach, who always asked, “Mom, how’s the book coming?” He never doubted my weekend musings would become a book; son Jamie, who gave me his creative support in so many ways; my parents Alf and Celia Hansen, who took me all over the world as a young girl, influencing my storytelling today; my brother, Eric, writer and author; my supportive sister, Carina; my Aunt Linda, who encouraged me to start writing in her Cape Cod retreat years ago and told me I could do this; and my husband, Jim, my modern-day knight.
My friends: so many to thank, but particularly Robin Michaels, who never doubted; Melissa Johnson, who helped me in more ways than I can count; and my advisor, Jeff Bruce, whose guidance was essential.
Without all of their support, this book would not have been written.
Chapter 1
Warwick Castle, Warwickshire
1486
The new King of England had taken the throne only yesterday, but not all were loyal to Henry. That wasn’t what troubled Lady Elena as she raised her hood and quickened her pace. She skirted around two squires dragging a dead knight by his boots from the tournament field. When she reached the weapons pavilion at the end of the castle’s lower bailey, she pulled the flap open and went inside. Thankfully, the thick cloth filtered out some of the noise coming from the jousting arena, the cheers and clashing metal.
It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the dim. Already desperate to find her brother, Elena searched the enclosure. Lances, longswords, buckler shields, and battle-axes lined the walls. She approached the center of the space unsure of what made her feel so uncomfortable. Lack of sleep? A general discomfort for what she was expected to do today? That’s what disturbed her—the lie she was about to live, the secret she was expected to keep.
An imposing figure turned abruptly, then came toward her.
She screamed.
“Elena, it’s all right,” a familiar voice called.
She sighed with relief, glad to have found her brother, her anxiety quickly turned to anger. “William,” she said, jerking off her winter cloak. “I cannot honor our promise.”
He waved an impatient hand. “Sir James is next on the field. There’s no one else to squire. He needs three able bodies to assist him. Jacob, me, and you. There’s no time to discuss your doubts and hesitation. You will do this.”
So this was the way of it? Her feelings were unimportant?
“I—I cannot go through with it.” She wanted a chance to explain, but didn’t know where to begin. If she waited too long, he’d choose for her. It had been a foolish idea from the start.
“Elena, you will honor our arrangement. You made a vow to God. I was there to witness it, remember?” He was losing patience. He walked to the rear of the tent, ignoring her, then began rooting through the lances in the corner.
She fisted her hands and found the courage to voice her opinion. Although intimidating, she wasn’t really afraid of her brother. Besides, oath breaking bothered her more than his hulking figure.
“Hear me, Brother, tis all your doing. I only wished for a chance to see James again. But not this way.” She eyed the ugly boy’s clothing she was wearing with disgust. William still paid her no attention, so she grabbed his arm.
He wrenched free, studying her appearance with a smirk.
She wore a loose-fitting linen tunic that hid her breasts. Baggy, tanned leather knickers concealed the rest of her figure, completing the masculine disguise.
He nodded with approval. “Tis time, Elena. You are ready. Admit it. Once I confirmed Sir James’ entry for the tournament, you jumped at the chance to be here,” he accused her. “You concocted this scheme.”
“Me?” she said, glowering. “No, I wanted training, not this.” Elena dug into her pocket, then presented a handful of her dark brown locks.
He scowled. “That’s only further proof of your guilt. You can’t blame me. I didn’t hold you down to shear you like a lamb. You volunteered. We’re equally guilty. Admit it, and quit complaining.”
Tears stung her eyes. She threw the hair to the ground.
He shook his head, his dark brown eyes as unreadable as always. Then he reached into his nearby satchel and produced a blue wool cap, which he immediately threw at her. “Here, you’ll need this.”
She glared at him while she tucked her now shoulder-length hair under the cap.
“No more delays. You are now squire to Sir James. I gave my word. Take hold of this.” He tilted a lance toward her.
Elena sighed, grabbing it the way she wanted to hold on to his throat. She was getting nowhere with him. “Where you go, I suppose I must follow,” she grumbled. No one challenged her brother. He was large and tall like their father, with curly dark hair, worn in a tail at the nape of his neck. Although bearded, he still possessed a youthful face.
Now he provoked her with a tug of the weapon and a laugh, dragging her outside. She followed him silently through the large crowd. The tournament had drawn visitors from most every shire in England. The new king was celebrating his marriage and his assent to the throne with a lavish commemoration.
Elena had to trot to keep up as her brother wove through the throng. Peasants, clergy, knights, and nobles alike were on their way to the tournament stands and didn’t care about who or what they were today—only the chance to watch the fights. And Elena dared not protest. A woman dressed as a lad would draw unwanted attention, and likely get her into trouble.
Chivalry remained much disputed in the realm, and today’s pas d’armes was an attempt by the king to settle the debate. The War of the Roses had raged on for more than thirty years between the houses of York and Lancaster. Loyalties had been tested, ambitions questioned. Heirs remained unconfirmed. With Henry’s victory over Richard the III at the battle of Bosworth Field, under the banner of the Red Dragon, he’d assumed the crown. Demanded it. Instead of warring, today the contestants would fight for the pleasure of the people.
So was the intent.
It didn’t take long to reach the field and the list area roped off for the competition. They headed toward the closest palisade fence that separated the knights from the onlookers.
Without warning, William stopped at the first list, knocking Elena on her rump. Laughter erupted from the crowd. Her cheeks burned as she stood an
She couldn’t see much of anything above the multitude that had gathered. Regardless, her heart quickened as she pushed through the narrow path between the stands and tiltyard. She swore under her breath as she climbed the palisade fence, trying to spot James.
A group of boys, full of more than mischief, nearly knocked her off her perch before she found her knight on the field.
Her breath caught when she eyed the too familiar golden mane of hair. It whipped wildly in the wind. Sitting atop his warhorse in full armor, he did not disappoint. He was everything she’d imagined and remembered. He radiated courage, strength, nobility, and pride. She pitied his opponent.
Close enough to catch his attention with a shout, the temptation passed quickly. Instead, she would admire his handsome features. With a square jaw, a narrow straight nose, and a wicked smile, he represented everything she’d always been attracted to in a man. He was exquisitely made. She’d seen tapestries of the Greek Gods and even they could not compare. Oh yes, and those steel-blue eyes, the same color of the three lions emblazoned on his shield. His black destrier wore matching marks on its ornamented trapper and pawed the ground impatiently, as ready for action as his esteemed rider.
William startled her when he grabbed her by the waist and attempted to pull her off the fence. She resisted, slapping at his hands. No, she didn’t want to take her eyes off her knight. Not yet. Never. She’d waited too long for this moment.
“You there, Squire,” a noble shouted to William above the fray, “who are the knights that take up their arms on the tournament field?”
William let go.
“God’s teeth, didn’t you check the lists?” William answered. “Tis Sir James and Sir Hugh, both Garter knight champions. With King Henry in attendance, will make for a fine competition.”
“No. I just arrived at Warwick Castle from the north,” the man explained. “I ask not about these knights now,” he said, pointing toward the jousting area. “Who was the champion just leaving the field? The victor with the bloodied lance?”
“Sir Nicholas, the king’s cousin,” William answered, then leaned against the railing behind him. “What is the importance?”
“The man’s brutal style of fighting. I thought this tourney was in honor of the king’s marriage. Why the excessive violence?”
Elena could have answered. Her father had warned her about Sir Nicholas Luttrell. Although relatively unknown in Warwickshire, his sordid family history wasn’t. The man lived beyond the law. And now that he was part of the new House of Tudor, uniting the Yorkists and Lancastrians, he made his own decrees. Yet, this newly appointed Earl of Dunster, still lived in obscurity. No one outside the royal family had seen him in years, until today. And even then, he’d been helmeted while on the field.
A trumpet blast interrupted Elena’s thoughts. It also silenced the crowd. Everyone watched as the next competitors prepared to enter the field.
Elena eyed her brother’s friend, Jacob, the third squire who was assigned to James. He would manage the armor and was ready with the lances. She wouldn’t be needed until later, affording her time to watch the match from the sidelines.
She laughed nervously as James struggled to tame his wind-blown mane before covering it with his helmet. Now fully dressed, he took the lance from Jacob. With all the ceremonial decorum completed, the knights’ restless mounts were released.
Elena squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of what was to come. But the sounds of snapping lances and snorting warhorses forced them open again. Damn her curiosity.
The knights rounded their barriers, retrieving fresh weapons after dropping the broken ones. By the time their horses reached the center of the field again, the lances smashed together. Wood splintered in all directions, even hitting some spectators low in the stands. James’ horse reared up.
Then both dropped their lances. Sir Hugh waved his arms wildly, as if he was trying to grab an imaginary rope to steady himself. He let his shield fall. The crowd cheered as the knights struggled to stay seated.
Unfortunately, James hit the ground first, bucked violently from the saddle. Elena gasped. Her knight was motionless and silent. Was he dead? She prayed not. Then her gaze slid to Sir Hugh, whose efforts to stay mounted were in vain. He too tumbled off his horse.
For a moment, neither moved.
“El—Edward, to the champion’s tent,” William shouted. “You are the squire assigned to remove the armor. We need you at the ready.” He hurried out to the main field.
Ignoring her brother’s command, she climbed through the tilt ropes that separated the combatants’ lanes instead. She wanted to get closer to James, needed to see he was still alive.
“Oh, Lord . . .” She rushed forward. “He must live.” She had just found him again.
She held her breath as William lifted him to a sitting position. Two other boys offered their help. To her surprise, Sir Hugh moved on his own, moaning in pain. His squires managed to set him on his feet, and he waved at the mesmerized crowd.
“Take the helmet off first, Squire,” a man shouted to William.
To Elena’s relief, a field surgeon joined her brother. Determined to help too, she snapped into action.
“William,” she pleaded at his side, “I’m here.”
“Edward, was my command not clear?” He glared at her, his jaw twitching. “Go.”
She jumped back as if bitten. “To the tent? B-but.” She couldn’t think clearly. There was no use arguing now.
Her gaze dropped to James’ limp body. It took every ounce of control she had to keep from getting on her knees to comfort him. Then, realizing she shouldn’t be there, she walked away. This wasn’t what she had expected. She’d watched her four brothers in competitions before. Yet, after all these years, seeing James beaten down struck a deep fear in her.
She entered the pavilion and waited impatiently for her brother to arrive. How in God’s name had William convinced her that any of this was right? She had agreed to the scheme with the intent of meeting James again. Five years had passed since he’d left her to become a knight. Promises he’d made to her were never kept and she wanted to know why. Regardless, she must keep a clear mind if she was going to achieve her goal.
A commotion erupted outside. She looked at the entrance just as someone burst through. “Squire, get this blasted armor off.”
James? She couldn’t move. This was the first time he’d spoken to her, the first time she’d been so close to him since she was a young girl. Her heart raced as she stared at him, speechless.
“Squire,” he shouted again.
He’s alive. Praised be the saints.
His rage-filled, blue gaze locked on her. Where was William?
“My lord,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. She lowered her chin, shielding her face with her cap. “I shall make quick work of the armor. Let me start with the leg braces.”
