He did not stop. He opened the door and let the two men out, then signaled for Sarah to leave. Sarah cast a quick, concerned glance at Elora before departing.
Elora swallowed past a lump in her throat. Her entire being shook. Her world crumbled around her. She inhaled a ragged breath. “You don’t know him,” she whispered, and her voice echoed through the room.
“I know his kind,” Edward replied and shut the door, sealing her in the fire-lit darkness.
Chapter Twenty Two
Julian lay awake in his tenton his back, his hands tucked beneath his head, staring at the roof. Soft snorts came from Gilbert, where he slept across from Julian.
The canvas at the top lit up in a flash, followed by a distant boom of thunder. A storm was coming.
Storm whinnied softly. Julian had moved him into the tent so he wouldn’t be out in the rain.
Julian’s destiny lay before him. The joust with Sir Edward was on the morrow. But that was not what was keeping him awake. He shifted his stare to the empty spot where Baldwin had slept. A flash of lightning filled the tent, and Julian could almost see his mentor’s sleeping form stretched there. Except Baldwin was gone.
Julian sighed softly and looked back at the roof. Give Elora up. Julian still couldn’t believe Baldwin had asked that of him. Why did he have to choose between winning the joust and Elora? Why couldn’t he be the championandhave Elora? He shook his head slightly, bitterness in his mouth.
Elora.The image of golden hair and beautiful blue eyes filled his mind. A clap of thunder jarred him. At least she believed him to be worthy, even if Baldwin didn’t. He ground his teeth. He should get some sleep. His joust with Sir Edward was in the morning.
He had been waiting for this moment for his entire life. To face an undefeated champion. Tobecomean undefeated champion. Nothing else should matter.
Elora stared out the open window toward the campgrounds. A fork of lightning flared through the sky, illuminating the colorful pavilions dotting the field. Her heart cried out for Julian.
A gust of wind swirled in, lifting the ends of her hair, and flinging them from her face. Her eyes burned with the thought of never seeing Julian again. Her heart broke. She had known it would come to this, but somewhere deep inside of her, she had hoped Julian would find a way to win her hand. She had hoped, and wanted to believe, he would win the tournament, proving himself worthy to Edward.
Now all hope was dashed.
A wall of rain started at the forest and swept across the landscape, consuming the tents and then the citadel in its deluge.
The next morning, Julian circled Storm as he waited for his turn to enter the field of honor. Thick mud sucked at the horse’s hooves. The rain had transformed the dirt from the previous day to sludge. The joust would be dangerous and unpredictable. Yet, it was finally here. It had all come to this, his joust with Sir Edward. He lifted his gaze to the stands but quickly remembered not to look for her. There could be no distractions from this joust.
He glanced at Gilbert, who rounded his shoulders against the consistent rain. He looked miserable. His brown hair hung around his face in strands, his clothing soaked.
Julian had not donned his helmet, and the torrent saturated his head. Rivulets of water ran down his back under his gambeson.
He peered at the field. Puddles dotted the mud of the lists. Flags drooped in the unending stream from the skies. However, even the constant rain could not keep the villagers away. The spectators huddled in small dry spots near the stands.
Calm filled Julian. Remarkable calm. He had prepared for this moment his entire life. He was ready. Even his shoulder didn’t ache. He knew what he had to do. There would be no mistakes.
Edward took the field first amidst a chorus of drowned cheers. His large destrier trudged through the mud and kicked off muck from its hooves as it cantered. Edward’s squire ran before him, holding a long pole with a flag of the Kingston heraldry, a deep red background with a black phoenix. It sagged in the deluge of rain. The squire’s foot slipped, and he fell to his knee but fought to keep the flag upright.
Edward said something to him, and the squire righted himself to walk to the end of the field.
Julian glanced at Gilbert, who grimaced and shrugged.
Julian looked back at the arena. His destiny. He took a deep breath and urged Storm forward. As he entered the field of honor, another round of muted cheers rose from the huddled spectators. He lifted his fisted hand as if in victory and rode down the field. He passed the stands and looked right at Elora. She was pressed up against the side of the wooden wall to keep dry. Their eyes locked for a moment before he moved toward his side of the field.
Elora’s stomach churned, tensing. A consuming sadness swept through her; her chest was heavy as if a ton of boulders weighed it down. She would never be with Julian again. Even though Julian was not as brightly colored as Edward, nor as eloquent and conserved, he was more dashing and magnificent than Edward ever could be. His dark hair flapped with every step of his horse like a wet flag. She clenched her hands, taking a deep breath. She fought to keep the tears from her eyes.
A bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed by a large boom.
Elora jumped.
Julian’s horse reared slightly.
It was a bad sign for Julian. Edward’s destrier had not moved. His steed was as calm as he was.
The rain pelted the wooden side of the stands, sounding like the soft but maddening beat of her heart. She gripped her damp, slick hands tightly. She was so angry and disappointed in Edward that every part of her being hoped Julian won.
