“What of Elora?” Mace asked.
Edward’s jaw clenched tight. “I will deal with her.”
Mace sighed softly and shook his head before moving along the stands toward where Julian had exited the field of honor.
“I expect word will travel of this Sir Julian,” Thomas said.
Edward scowled as he watched Julian dismount across the field in the grassy area. A group of knights had surrounded him, congratulating him on his accomplishment. Most likely, they were trying to secure his loyalty for the upcoming melee after the jousts were over.
“Apparently, word already has.” That was disturbing, but not as much as Elora giving him her favor. How did she know Sir Julian? When had she met his adversary? Edward aimed to find out.
Chapter Eleven
After navigating through the crowd of knightsgiving their congratulations, Julian finally managed to make his way back to his camp. Some of the knights he recognized and a few he didn’t. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his lips. He was proving to be a skilled jouster, and others were noticing. Yet, something inside of him was calling for caution.
As he and Gilbert approached their camp, Julian saw a horse he didn’t recognize standing outside his tent. He glanced questioningly at Gilbert as he dismounted, his chainmail coat clinking with the movement. Something was amiss. He could sense it. “Where’s Baldwin?”
Gilbert shrugged and took Storm’s reins.
Did this horse belong to another knight coming to commend him? Julian composed himself, taking a deep breath as he brushed the tent flap aside and stepped inside. He came to an abrupt halt.
Inside, Baldwin waited near the side of the tent wall near his straw mattress, his arms crossed, and his brow furrowed harshly. “You have a visitor.”
Across from him in the center of the small tent, Lord Luther stood with his hands on his hips. His face was clean-shaven, and his gray hair fell to the shoulders of his impeccable knee-length outer tunic.
Julian’s gaze swung back to Baldwin. “Are you all right?”
Luther laughed softly. “What do you think I would do to him?”
Baldwin grumbled in contempt and brushed by Julian to leave the tent.
Luther grimaced as he followed Baldwin’s departure with his eyes. “He only stole my son.”
“A son you wanted nothing to do with,” Julian corrected with animosity.
“That’s not true!” Luther exclaimed, sighing in resignation.
Julian didn’t believe him. His jaw clenched. “The last thing you said to me was, ‘you’ll never be a worthy knight.’”
Luther shook his head. “I was only trying to encourage you.”
“You had a poor way of showing that. What do you want?”
“Can a father not come by to congratulate his son on his victories?”
Ah! He was here because he’d seen Julian win the joust. And now, he was afraid Julian would beat Osmont, his favored knight, in front of all these knights and nobles.
Julian answered bitingly, “Not when that father had nothing to do with those victories.”
Luther placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, son.”
“Where is Osmont?” Julian asked accusingly.
Luther’s hand dropped, and he was silent for a moment before he took a deep breath. “You’ve always been jealous of him.”
“You made it clear he was the son you wanted. The son you could be proud of.Youtold me that. What did you say? Ah! ‘Not blood, better.’ I believe you said he was everything I was not.”
“You misunderstood me.”
