“He’s hurt,” Edward observed, confirming Elora’s fears.
She turned to Edward with a worried look. She snapped her stare back to Julian’s retreating form. That must be the reason he’d left so abruptly. It explained why he didn’t take a victory lap and the rigidity in his posture. Her throat constricted. She desperately wanted to go to him, but she dared not with Edward so close. Her breathing came in quick gasps. She clutched her hands tightly until her knuckles were white.
Mace raced up to Edward’s side, out of breath as if he had run the entire way from the citadel. “Did you see that? He knocked Osmont off his horse!”
“Those were your lances, were they not?” Edward asked.
Elora glanced at Edward, confused. Why would Julian need Mace’s lances?
Around them, nobles shifted, exiting the stands as others entered.
“I loaned him a few,” Mace admitted. “His squire said his lances were destroyed.”
Shock shot through Elora, sending prickles up and down her spine. “Sabotaged?”
Mace shrugged, holding his palms up. “It doesn’t look to matter because he won anyway.” He punched Edward in the shoulder playfully. “You may finally have the competition you wanted!”
“Osmont will not like that you gave him your lances,” Edward warned.
“Apparently, it didn’t matter,” Mace replied. “Osmont couldn’t even hit him when he had no shield! I’m beginning to really like this knight.”
Elora looked out over the field of honor, her eyes following the path Julian had taken toward his tent. She gently bit her lower lip. She had to get to him but couldn’t because Edward would never allow it. Elora squeezed her hands together before her.
The Grand Marshall had announced the two knights for the next joust, and one of them was racing his black destrier onto the field. The crowd joyously roared. Elora’s stare was locked on the path Julian took to retreat. He had defeated Osmont, as he had promised. Her fear of Julian’s suffering eclipsed the joy she should have felt. She needed to find a way to get to him.
“Mace,” Elora said, straightening. “Will you escort me back to the citadel?” She glanced at Edward and whispered, “Womanly items.”
Edward nodded in understanding.
“Of course,” Mace agreed and offered her his arm.
Elora hooked her hand through Mace’s elbow. “I shall return later, Edward.”
Edward stood aside to let them pass.
Elora and Mace strolled from the stands, making their way through the crowd of spectators to finally emerge on the well-trodden grass path to the citadel. Elora cast a worried glance toward Julian’s tent. Maybe once Mace returned her to the citadel, she could find Sarah and…
“You really are taken with him, aren’t you?” Mace asked.
Shocked out of her reverie, Elora snapped her gaze to Mace. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Mace grinned. “I may not be the brightest knight or the most educated, but I know women. I’ve seen that look in a woman’s eyes many times before.”
Her stomach dropped, and her hand curved over his arm. “You are mistaken.”
“Am I?” He chuckled softly. “That’s the third time you’ve looked toward his tent since we left the stands. You haven’t shown your own cousin nearly as much concern.”
She lifted her chin. “Osmont doesn’t deserve it.” She stopped and faced Mace. “You’re a chivalrous knight. May I have your word you will not repeat your suspicions to Edward?”
Mace smiled; his eyes twinkled. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
She chewed on her lower lip in indecision. She didn’t know whether to tell him the truth or to stick to her story. She couldn’t risk Edward finding out. She looked toward Julian’s tent again. “Do you think he was badly injured?”
He beamed. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“You’ll go to him?”
“I’ll takeyouto him.”
