Page 14 of Picking Up the Gauntlet

Or mayhap she did, since she was a noble.

“Raven, that was no’ nice,” scolded Lark under her breath. Even the Scottish girl knew this was inappropriate behavior.

This job was already souring his disposition. Jonathon would rather be sweating to death over a hot forge, pounding out his frustrations with a hammer on an anvil, than to be standing here silently right now taking this. He felt suffocated in this attire, and it was getting harder to hold in his true feelings, being verbally attacked. Biting his tongue to keep himself from responding to her was almost more than he could take.

“Raven, stop it,” warned Rook, coming to his aid now. “That kind of talk to anyone will not be tolerated here.”

“Brother, don’t chastise me.”

“Father has hired Jonathon,” Rook explained. “He’s here for security reasons, and knows how to fight. I thought it would be better if he dressed that way, so he has my permission to do so.”

“Oh. He’s here for the tournament then.” She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him up and down. “That’s not for another three weeks yet,” she told Jonathon straight on. “I’d suggest you go home to your little shop, Mr. Armstrong, and come back when you’re really needed.”

“I was told I’m needed now, my lady,” Jonathon answered, trying his best to keep from giving her a piece of his mind.

“Now?” She laughed and looked over toward her cousin Lark. “He must think the horses or goats are in danger and need protection.” She chuckled. “Come, Lark. I’m going to the practice yard where I can do something productive instead of wasting my time with this nonsense.”

She started to leave, but Rook reached out and stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Nay, Raven. Father and two noblemen are waiting for you in the great hall. You’ll need to change quickly and go greet them as is expected of you.”

“I will not,” she retorted. “I don’t care what is considered proper, I’m not going anywhere but to the practice yard, and that is final.” Jonathon noticed her hand lower to the hilt of her sword as if she were wanting to thrust it at someone—probably him or her brother.

“Nay, you won’t. Jonathon will escort you back to your chamber to change and then to the great hall for the meeting,” said Rook. “Now, hurry.”

“Jonathon will escort me?” Her forehead creased and her brows dipped. She chuckled as if she were completely amused. “Why on earth would I go anywhere with the likes of him? Besides, no guard, and especially not a commoner pretending to be a guard, is allowed anywhere near my chamber.”

“Raven, he’s been hired as more than security for the tournament,” Rook told her with a sigh, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

“Really?” She glanced over at her brother in a quizzical manner. “Oh, I understand. You brought him here early to fix and clean all the knights’ armor to prepare for the upcoming joust. Good idea.”

“True, I am also the temporary castle blacksmith, but nay, that is not what your brother is referring to, my lady,” Jonathon answered before Rook could reply.

“No? Then tell me what in the name of the devil you two are talking about, since none of this makes a bit of sense,” she said in frustration.

Jonathon couldn’t play this addled game any longer. He needed to come out and just tell her the truth. Or most of it, leaving out the part of him spying on her, of course.

“I’m your... I’m your... personal guard,” explained Jonathon, holding his breath, waiting for the girl to explode.

“My... personal guard?” She looked back at Lark again and started laughing. Lark remained quiet and didn’t even smile. “Surely you jest. I’m sure you wouldn’t even know how to protect me if someone did this to me.” In one motion, she drew her dagger from her side, bringing the sharp edge up toward his neck.

Jonathon’s reactions were instinctive. He didn’t need a weapon to stop her. He grabbed her hand and twisted her wrist, pulling her body backwards and up against his. Her dagger went clattering to the floor as he pried it from her fingers.

“Let go of me!” she yelled, struggling in his hold, trying to elbow him in the ribs but Jonathon held her tightly, not giving her the chance.

“Watch your feet,” mumbled Rook just as Raven’s foot swept out, meaning to knock Jonathon to the ground.

Jonathon released her quickly, and took a step backwards. Her foot missed him. However, the action set her off balance.

“My lady,” he cried, as she started to fall. He grabbed for her, and when he did, she reached back and pulled him along with her. Jonathon had been fooled. He tried to keep her from getting hurt, and because of it, they both fell prone on the floor. He landed on top of her, trapping her body beneath his. Rook burst out laughing, while Lark gasped and held a hand over her mouth.

“This isn’t funny!” spat Raven. “Get off of me, you fool.” She pushed her hands against his chest.

Jonathon looked down at Raven and lifted up his chest so he wouldn’t smash her with his weight. His long hair made a tent around their faces. This close up he could see Lady Raven better than he ever had before. She had beautiful silver eyes that sparkled with tiny flecks of gold. They looked almost birdlike, and magical, even though she was angrier than hell. Her thick, long black lashes curled upward like a flower opening to the sun. She blinked twice in succession. Surprisingly, she stilled long enough to look directly at him. Their gazes interlocked. For Jonathon, time momentarily stood still. He felt as if he were looking into the eyes of an angel. That is, a rebellious, defiant angel.

The girl’s cheeks were flushed and her mouth, even though it was pursed, looked like a little bow, and ever so beautiful to him. Her cute little turned-up nose made her seem more like a kitten than the fierce lion she was trying to portray.

“Did you h-hear me?” she asked, breathing heavily, which only made the swells of her breasts move up and down beneath him. The oversized tunic had fallen to one side and he couldn’t help but notice her cleavage showing. As his eyes roamed over to it, he breathed in her sweet, exotic scent. She smelled like lilacs or wildflowers on a warm summer’s day.

Her long ebony tresses were loose instead of braided or hidden beneath a wimple. A few curly ringlets framed her heart-shaped face, while the rest fell around her shoulders like water cascading down a mountain. She was very enticing this close up, and not frightening in the least. The wench was actually alluring. When she wasn’t fighting or chastising him, she almost seemed like a real lady. His eyes went to her lips that were so close to his that all he had to do was lean forward and he’d be able to kiss her.