“To win the joust.”
“You have one lance. Julian! Julian!”
One lance was enough to win. He would not forfeit. Not to Osmont. He charged across the grassy area toward the field of honor. It made sense Osmont would have been the one to destroy his lances. But it also made sense for Edward to do it to protect Ellie and help his family.
Either way, Julian was not giving up. He would not lose.
As he approached, he heard the cheers and applause from the spectators. The joust before his was concluding. He needed to shake off his anger. He had to focus on the joust and winning. Julian paused before the field in time to see a knight taking his victory lap.
Instinctively, he searched for Ellie in the stands. It wasn’t hard to spot her. Her golden hair gleamed in the sunshine, and even the blue veil she wore could not hide its brilliance. He shook himself. He shouldn’t be searching for her. He should be looking for Osmont. His gaze slowly swept the field of honor. Many knights stood along the wooden fence near the stands watching the spectacle.
Finally, he spotted Osmont mounted on his warhorse and speaking to someone close to Ellie. Sir Edward. Rage burned through his veins at the mere sight of Osmont. Julian forced it down even as his fists clenched. One of them had destroyed his lances. He had less coin than they did. Whichever one did it had known that he could not get more lances. They laughed together, and it was more than Julian could take. He rode onto the field.
Applause and shouts of encouragement from the spectators arose.
Osmont and Edward stopped laughing and turned to look at him. Where they surprised? His muscles quivered with fury beneath his gambeson.
Osmont rode across the field to him. “Where is your squire? Where are your lances?”
Julian clenched his teeth. He knew. “There’s been an… incident. My lances were destroyed.” He clutched his lance. “I have this one lance.”
Osmont’s brows rose. “One lance?” he scoffed. “Then, you’ll forfeit.”
“Never,” Julian growled.
“How can you joust with one lance?” Osmont demanded.
Julian turned Storm in a circle as the horse danced nervously beneath him. “I will have to unseat you in one pass.” He leaned forward. “I did it before. I can do it again.”
Osmont glared at him, his upper lip curling, and yanked so hard on the reins of his horse that the animal reared slightly. He charged down the field to his side.
Bitter anger swept through Julian as he watched Osmont. He remembered when he was a boy, witnessing Osmont ride away from him as he lay in the dirt. He recalled looking at his father. Disgust had coiled his father’s lip as he snarled at him. Julian would never forget that feeling of failure. He had vowed long ago never to feel it again. He hefted his lance and turned Storm toward his side.
One pass. If he destroyed the lance without an unhorsing, he was finished.
Julian cantered Storm down the list to his side—his empty side. No squire. No Baldwin. No lances. He hadn’t even brought his shield. He had rushed into this unprepared. As he positioned Storm, he saw Ellie over Osmont’s shoulder. She was clutching Edward’s arm. Did she know about the lances? The traitorous thought festered in his mind like an open wound. He couldn’t think of her now. He shifted his gaze to Osmont. He had to concentrate on his opponent.
Osmont pulled his helm over his head and spurred his horse down the list.
Julian matched his movement, grateful he at least had his helmet, and charged Storm forward. The cheers of the crowd faded; the brightness of the sun dwindled as it moved behind a cloud.
Osmont couched his lance, pointing it toward Julian.
Julian had defeated Osmont before. He knew how Osmont jousted. But something was different this time. As Osmont charged toward him, he lifted his shield, covering his left shoulder. Left shoulder? Osmont’s weakness was his right shoulder!
The split second of confusion almost cost Julian the tournament. He barely had enough time to lift the valued lance and lean away from Osmont. As it was, he felt the brush of the lance against his left shoulder. But it was not a hit.
Julian turned Storm, cantering to his side of the field. Stunned silence filled the arena. As Julian rode passed Osmont, he heard one spectator shout, “You can’t even hit him when he has no shield!”
Julian smiled in the darkness of his helmet. He was certain Osmont was not grinning. Trotting down the field, Julian noticed Gilbert racing toward him, balancing two lances and his shield. He exhaled with relief.
Gilbert almost tripped as he hurried to Julian’s side.
“Where did you get them?” Julian demanded.
“Mace.” Gilbert gasped for air as he handed Julian his shield.
Julian positioned the shield on his left arm. Mace? Why would he help him? He cast the thought aside, as he couldn’t think of the consequences right now. He glanced back at Osmont, who reached for his own lance.
