Part 7
Elizabeth watched the Sheriff lead Maxwell of Huntington towards her, her heart in her throat.
From the moment she had laid eyes on him, she had known that their meeting was not chance. It was fate, was meant to be. His winning of the archery competition only reinforced it, seemed to be telling her, this man is your destiny, your future.
But now that the moment was upon her, she was frightened.
Elizabeth had urged Max onto victory, every part of her being had concentrated on sending positive energy in his direction. She knew, without any doubt, that he had even heard her thoughts at one point. His last shot had been THEIR shot, had been fate telling them that everything that followed that one flying arrow was meant to be...and it was terrifying.
But also exhilarating.
She realized that the Queen was speaking to her. She forced her eyes away from Max, who was now only steps away.
"He is a very handsome young man. Every girl deserves to be kissed by a man like that once in her life." Elizabeth smiled at her guardian warily. Queen Eleanor was eyeing her, a speculative gleam in her expression.
"I don't know what you mean your Grace." Elizabeth twisted her hands in her lap nervously. Eleanor just smiled serenely and lifted a brow.
"Do you not?" Elizabeth swallowed with difficulty, slowly turning back to see the Sheriff leading Max to stand in front of the nobles' gallery. Michael of Huntington and the hooded Martin of York followed behind. Martin of York's head was still bowed. Michael of Huntington was grinning like he knew something the rest of them did not. His smile made Elizabeth nervous.
The crowd was still cheering wildly. The Sheriff raised his hands for quiet and the spectators gradually complied. "Long live Queen Eleanor!" The crowd cheered again. The Sheriff and the three archers sketched bows to the Queen Dowager, who acknowledged their tribute with a wave of her hand.
Elizabeth noticed that Max's eyes never strayed from her face. It did not seem odd, because she could not seem to stop staring at him either.
The Sheriff rose and looked at Elizabeth. "Will the Lady Elizabeth join us please?" The crowd erupted again, on the edges of their seats in delight, awaiting the romantic moment that was to follow.
Elizabeth wondered briefly if her legs would support her. The Queen was pushing her out of her chair, a wicked twinkle of amusement in her eyes. As Elizabeth carefully descended the wooden stairs, she noticed everything and yet, strangely, nothing. It was all just fleeting images that she would look back on later in her reflections.
Sir Kyle was staring at her sullenly from near the corner of the gallery, annoyance and embarrassment plain on his face.
Alexander was leaning against the fence, a wide grin of amusement on his handsome face. He was not looking at Elizabeth at all, but rather at Sir Kyle.
Elizabeth had known from the moment "he" had entered the field that Martin of York was Mary and had felt a little bad that for Max to win her dear friend had to lose a competition that was most important to her. Her friend's head was still lowered, but she was beginning to watch the scene unfolding with interest rather than disappointment.
The Sheriff still looked astounded by the whole business, disappointed in his son but impressed despite himself by the caliber of the archery that had won the day. He stood stiffly beside Max, the golden arrow cradled in his arms, ready for Elizabeth to present it to the champion.
She also noticed the two girls Max had joined earlier, after saving her - the astoundingly beautiful blonde and her smaller, but equally attractive counterpart pressed up against the fence, pride and wonder on the face of the former, bewilderment and dawning concern on the visage of the other. Kyle had called them Max's sisters when she had asked her betrothed about them earlier, but there seemed little doubt that the smaller blonde was something quite different from being Max's sister. Elizabeth wondered briefly what she was to him.
But then she was standing in front of Max and all other thoughts fled her mind. He was gazing steadily at her with his soulful dark eyes, shyness evident, but triumph as well.
And possession.
Elizabeth knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was claiming her today, before all these people, whether they were aware of it or not.
She was his - mind, body, soul.
She accepted this without a shred of uncertainty, for just as she was his, he was hers.
He was hers, betrothal, duty and tradition be damned.
The Sheriff handed Elizabeth the arrow and she approached Max shyly. The crowd was eerily quiet, all not wanting to miss a moment of the event about to take place.
"I..." Elizabeth faltered, licking her lips, and raising her voice. "I would congratulate you good sir on your impressive victory." She extended her hand, as was proper. Max gently enclosed with his own, bringing it to his lips. Her heart stopped.
She stepped forward slightly. "Claim your prize." She whispered to him, so softly it might have been the breeze.
Max did not hesitate. He brought his hands up, cupping her face tenderly, gently pushing back her veil and the tendrils of dark hair that had started to escape her coiffure. His dark eyes were bright, locked on hers, telling her more than a thousand troubadours could tell her in a thousand ballads.
And his lips were on hers.
It was a gentle kiss, but one full of promise.
It promised thousands of more kisses exactly like it, and thousands more nothing like it.
It made her heart race, her skin tingle, made her want more - things she had never dreamed of wanting.
It sealed the covenant of fate.
It was a beginning....
Part 8
As Michael watched Max kiss Lady Elizabeth, the grin he had been wearing gradually began to fade.
He had been a little upset that his brother, whom Michael ALWAYS beat at archery, just as Max ALWAYS beat Michael with the sword, had won the contest. But he had also not been particularly interested in kissing some snooty noblewoman - particularly one he had heard somewhere today was betrothed to the arrogant Sir Kyle DeValence.
It had been clear to Michael that Max had wanted to win though - more than he had ever wanted anything before. It was the first time Michael had ever seen his brother display any sort of selfish impulse and it had been refreshing. Not to mention, the teasing mileage he was planning to get out of the whole affair would keep him going for months. It was not often that the stoic Maxwell DeHarding displayed any sort of weakness and he obviously had a weakness for Lady Elizabeth.
But as Michael watched his brother, a knawing worry began to work it's way into his belly. The way Max had gently touched her face before claiming her lips, the way the girl had gazed at him starry-eyed, the way neither of them had been aware of the crowd at all - it was disturbing.
And very, very unlike Max.
Michael saw Max break the kiss, his eyes opening slowly, a loving smile spreading across his face as he took Lady Elizabeth's hands in his. Max was still leaning very close to her. He was not saying anything that Michael could see, nor was she but there was no question that something unsettling was happening between them.
Michael became aware of Martin of York when the other archer shifted the weight on his feet. His hood was still up, which Michael realized was a little odd. The sun was shining brightly and Michael could feel it's heat although he was using his powers to keep his own body at a moderate temperature. A regular human would have been sweltering.
The Yorkshireman had definitely impressed Michael with his skill during the competition. If Max had not gotten so damn lucky with that last shot, it was entirely possible that Michael might have had to concede the event anyway. He decided that he should shake the man's hand. It had been a good contest.
But just as Michael was about to address the other man, Martin turned on his heel and strode away. That man is very strange. He reflected. And very short...
He was distracted as the crowd began to leave the stands, milling on the tournament field, trying to get close to Max to congratulate him. Lady Elizabeth was still standing at Max's side, her hand on his sleeve. Michael's eyes narrowed.
Suddenly Tess and Isabel were at his side, both staring stony-faced in the same direction as he. What is going on with Max?" Isabel demanded, her tone not concealing from Michael her concern about the reckless way Max was behaving.
"How should I know?" He snapped back, rudeness his usual defense against Isabel's snootiness. Tess stuck her nose in the air in the manner of only which she was capable.
"Well, I'm going to get him. If we're not back at the castle before sunset, Lord Edmund will know for sure that we left the keep." Michael and Isabel watched her push her way through the crowd to Max's side. Tess grabbed Max's arm, the one that Lady Elizabeth did not already occupy and pulled him aside, quite obviously giving him a tongue-lashing. Tess will set him straight, Michael grinned to himself.
He turned back to Isabel, who was staring off into the distance, a perplexed expression on her face. "Michael, look." She pointed into the shadows past the nobles' gallery, her curiosity clear.
Martin of York was skulking near one of the tents, looking right and left, obviously doing everything in his power to not be noticed. Behind him, an urchin was sneaking up, clearly intent on robbing him.
"Wait here Bella." Michael told Isabel. For once his betrothed complied, clearly warned by the tone of his voice.
Michael made his way carefully through the crowd, keeping his eyes on the small archer and the villain gaining on him. Just as the urchin was about to attack Martin, Michael grabbed Martin and pulled him out of harm's way. The screech emitted by Martin was the most piercing Michael had ever heard. The urchin took one look at the expression on Michael's face and beat a hasty retreat.
"Let me go!" Martin was trying to push Michael off him, when his hood fell to his shoulders revealing a head of short, tousled blonde curls and a face that decidedly did not belong to a man.
She had the loveliest face Michael had ever seen. Her lips were full, her nose pert and her eyes the shade of blue of the sky. She stared up at him in horror for a full minute, her mouth hanging open.
"If you don't close your mouth, you're going to catch flies." Michael told her wryly. The girl's mouth snapped shut and she glared at him.
"I suppose you are going to tell the Sheriff about this?" She demanded indignantly. "You could not leave well enough alone could you?" Michael felt his temper beginning to rise.
"I just saved you from a pickpocket! You could show a little gratitude." He snapped. She lifted her chin, her eyes disdainful.
"There is nothing in my pockets to pick you knave! I could have easily dealt with him." Michael realized that he was still holding the girl by her arms. He quickly let go, causing her to stumble into him. He grabbed her again and set her straight, letting go as quickly as possible. His hands felt as though they had been burned. He used the only defense he could - sarcasm.
"Oh really? And I suppose you would have arrested him as well and handed him over to the Sheriff?" She pursed her lips in disgust.
"No, I would have reasoned with him."
Michael raised his eyebrow, amused. "I see."
The girl stomped her foot in annoyance. "You are most trying. Now please let me pass before anyone else sees me dressed like this. The Queen will murder me for certain if she catches me."
"The Queen? What does she have to do with you?" Michael demanded, more roughly than he intended.
"She is my guardian if you must know." She pulled herself up to her full height, which Michael realized was not significant at all. She barely reached his chin. "I am the Lady Mary DeLucie of Whitfield." Michael raised his eyebrow again.
"Impressive." He muttered, his tone such that he made it clear he was anything BUT impressed. It was designed to infuriate her and it worked.
"Ohhhh! You beast!" Lady Mary slammed past him, getting ready to stomp away. She whirled abruptly as she was about to enter a nearby tent. Michael had watched her depart in her fury, impressed by her quick temper. She reminds me of myself. "And you better not tell anyone about this." She threatened him. "My brother can have you arrested and thrown into the Sheriff's dungeon."
"Your brother approves of this?" Michael indicated the boy's attire she was sporting and the bow swung over her shoulder, evidence of her entirely inappropriate behavior for a lady. She stiffened.
"I'll have you know that Alexander is a progressive man. He believes that woman are capable of anything men are." Suddenly she smiled and Michael blinked, momentarily stunned by her sudden change of mood. "And besides - don't forget that a woman almost beat YOU today."
With that she turned again and sauntered away. Michael stared after her, his eyes bright, impressed despite himself.
Mary DeLucie of Whitfield was no ordinary woman.
Elizabeth watched the Sheriff lead Maxwell of Huntington towards her, her heart in her throat.
From the moment she had laid eyes on him, she had known that their meeting was not chance. It was fate, was meant to be. His winning of the archery competition only reinforced it, seemed to be telling her, this man is your destiny, your future.
But now that the moment was upon her, she was frightened.
Elizabeth had urged Max onto victory, every part of her being had concentrated on sending positive energy in his direction. She knew, without any doubt, that he had even heard her thoughts at one point. His last shot had been THEIR shot, had been fate telling them that everything that followed that one flying arrow was meant to be...and it was terrifying.
But also exhilarating.
She realized that the Queen was speaking to her. She forced her eyes away from Max, who was now only steps away.
"He is a very handsome young man. Every girl deserves to be kissed by a man like that once in her life." Elizabeth smiled at her guardian warily. Queen Eleanor was eyeing her, a speculative gleam in her expression.
"I don't know what you mean your Grace." Elizabeth twisted her hands in her lap nervously. Eleanor just smiled serenely and lifted a brow.
"Do you not?" Elizabeth swallowed with difficulty, slowly turning back to see the Sheriff leading Max to stand in front of the nobles' gallery. Michael of Huntington and the hooded Martin of York followed behind. Martin of York's head was still bowed. Michael of Huntington was grinning like he knew something the rest of them did not. His smile made Elizabeth nervous.
The crowd was still cheering wildly. The Sheriff raised his hands for quiet and the spectators gradually complied. "Long live Queen Eleanor!" The crowd cheered again. The Sheriff and the three archers sketched bows to the Queen Dowager, who acknowledged their tribute with a wave of her hand.
Elizabeth noticed that Max's eyes never strayed from her face. It did not seem odd, because she could not seem to stop staring at him either.
The Sheriff rose and looked at Elizabeth. "Will the Lady Elizabeth join us please?" The crowd erupted again, on the edges of their seats in delight, awaiting the romantic moment that was to follow.
Elizabeth wondered briefly if her legs would support her. The Queen was pushing her out of her chair, a wicked twinkle of amusement in her eyes. As Elizabeth carefully descended the wooden stairs, she noticed everything and yet, strangely, nothing. It was all just fleeting images that she would look back on later in her reflections.
Sir Kyle was staring at her sullenly from near the corner of the gallery, annoyance and embarrassment plain on his face.
Alexander was leaning against the fence, a wide grin of amusement on his handsome face. He was not looking at Elizabeth at all, but rather at Sir Kyle.
Elizabeth had known from the moment "he" had entered the field that Martin of York was Mary and had felt a little bad that for Max to win her dear friend had to lose a competition that was most important to her. Her friend's head was still lowered, but she was beginning to watch the scene unfolding with interest rather than disappointment.
The Sheriff still looked astounded by the whole business, disappointed in his son but impressed despite himself by the caliber of the archery that had won the day. He stood stiffly beside Max, the golden arrow cradled in his arms, ready for Elizabeth to present it to the champion.
She also noticed the two girls Max had joined earlier, after saving her - the astoundingly beautiful blonde and her smaller, but equally attractive counterpart pressed up against the fence, pride and wonder on the face of the former, bewilderment and dawning concern on the visage of the other. Kyle had called them Max's sisters when she had asked her betrothed about them earlier, but there seemed little doubt that the smaller blonde was something quite different from being Max's sister. Elizabeth wondered briefly what she was to him.
But then she was standing in front of Max and all other thoughts fled her mind. He was gazing steadily at her with his soulful dark eyes, shyness evident, but triumph as well.
And possession.
Elizabeth knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was claiming her today, before all these people, whether they were aware of it or not.
She was his - mind, body, soul.
She accepted this without a shred of uncertainty, for just as she was his, he was hers.
He was hers, betrothal, duty and tradition be damned.
The Sheriff handed Elizabeth the arrow and she approached Max shyly. The crowd was eerily quiet, all not wanting to miss a moment of the event about to take place.
"I..." Elizabeth faltered, licking her lips, and raising her voice. "I would congratulate you good sir on your impressive victory." She extended her hand, as was proper. Max gently enclosed with his own, bringing it to his lips. Her heart stopped.
She stepped forward slightly. "Claim your prize." She whispered to him, so softly it might have been the breeze.
Max did not hesitate. He brought his hands up, cupping her face tenderly, gently pushing back her veil and the tendrils of dark hair that had started to escape her coiffure. His dark eyes were bright, locked on hers, telling her more than a thousand troubadours could tell her in a thousand ballads.
And his lips were on hers.
It was a gentle kiss, but one full of promise.
It promised thousands of more kisses exactly like it, and thousands more nothing like it.
It made her heart race, her skin tingle, made her want more - things she had never dreamed of wanting.
It sealed the covenant of fate.
It was a beginning....
Part 8
As Michael watched Max kiss Lady Elizabeth, the grin he had been wearing gradually began to fade.
He had been a little upset that his brother, whom Michael ALWAYS beat at archery, just as Max ALWAYS beat Michael with the sword, had won the contest. But he had also not been particularly interested in kissing some snooty noblewoman - particularly one he had heard somewhere today was betrothed to the arrogant Sir Kyle DeValence.
It had been clear to Michael that Max had wanted to win though - more than he had ever wanted anything before. It was the first time Michael had ever seen his brother display any sort of selfish impulse and it had been refreshing. Not to mention, the teasing mileage he was planning to get out of the whole affair would keep him going for months. It was not often that the stoic Maxwell DeHarding displayed any sort of weakness and he obviously had a weakness for Lady Elizabeth.
But as Michael watched his brother, a knawing worry began to work it's way into his belly. The way Max had gently touched her face before claiming her lips, the way the girl had gazed at him starry-eyed, the way neither of them had been aware of the crowd at all - it was disturbing.
And very, very unlike Max.
Michael saw Max break the kiss, his eyes opening slowly, a loving smile spreading across his face as he took Lady Elizabeth's hands in his. Max was still leaning very close to her. He was not saying anything that Michael could see, nor was she but there was no question that something unsettling was happening between them.
Michael became aware of Martin of York when the other archer shifted the weight on his feet. His hood was still up, which Michael realized was a little odd. The sun was shining brightly and Michael could feel it's heat although he was using his powers to keep his own body at a moderate temperature. A regular human would have been sweltering.
The Yorkshireman had definitely impressed Michael with his skill during the competition. If Max had not gotten so damn lucky with that last shot, it was entirely possible that Michael might have had to concede the event anyway. He decided that he should shake the man's hand. It had been a good contest.
But just as Michael was about to address the other man, Martin turned on his heel and strode away. That man is very strange. He reflected. And very short...
He was distracted as the crowd began to leave the stands, milling on the tournament field, trying to get close to Max to congratulate him. Lady Elizabeth was still standing at Max's side, her hand on his sleeve. Michael's eyes narrowed.
Suddenly Tess and Isabel were at his side, both staring stony-faced in the same direction as he. What is going on with Max?" Isabel demanded, her tone not concealing from Michael her concern about the reckless way Max was behaving.
"How should I know?" He snapped back, rudeness his usual defense against Isabel's snootiness. Tess stuck her nose in the air in the manner of only which she was capable.
"Well, I'm going to get him. If we're not back at the castle before sunset, Lord Edmund will know for sure that we left the keep." Michael and Isabel watched her push her way through the crowd to Max's side. Tess grabbed Max's arm, the one that Lady Elizabeth did not already occupy and pulled him aside, quite obviously giving him a tongue-lashing. Tess will set him straight, Michael grinned to himself.
He turned back to Isabel, who was staring off into the distance, a perplexed expression on her face. "Michael, look." She pointed into the shadows past the nobles' gallery, her curiosity clear.
Martin of York was skulking near one of the tents, looking right and left, obviously doing everything in his power to not be noticed. Behind him, an urchin was sneaking up, clearly intent on robbing him.
"Wait here Bella." Michael told Isabel. For once his betrothed complied, clearly warned by the tone of his voice.
Michael made his way carefully through the crowd, keeping his eyes on the small archer and the villain gaining on him. Just as the urchin was about to attack Martin, Michael grabbed Martin and pulled him out of harm's way. The screech emitted by Martin was the most piercing Michael had ever heard. The urchin took one look at the expression on Michael's face and beat a hasty retreat.
"Let me go!" Martin was trying to push Michael off him, when his hood fell to his shoulders revealing a head of short, tousled blonde curls and a face that decidedly did not belong to a man.
She had the loveliest face Michael had ever seen. Her lips were full, her nose pert and her eyes the shade of blue of the sky. She stared up at him in horror for a full minute, her mouth hanging open.
"If you don't close your mouth, you're going to catch flies." Michael told her wryly. The girl's mouth snapped shut and she glared at him.
"I suppose you are going to tell the Sheriff about this?" She demanded indignantly. "You could not leave well enough alone could you?" Michael felt his temper beginning to rise.
"I just saved you from a pickpocket! You could show a little gratitude." He snapped. She lifted her chin, her eyes disdainful.
"There is nothing in my pockets to pick you knave! I could have easily dealt with him." Michael realized that he was still holding the girl by her arms. He quickly let go, causing her to stumble into him. He grabbed her again and set her straight, letting go as quickly as possible. His hands felt as though they had been burned. He used the only defense he could - sarcasm.
"Oh really? And I suppose you would have arrested him as well and handed him over to the Sheriff?" She pursed her lips in disgust.
"No, I would have reasoned with him."
Michael raised his eyebrow, amused. "I see."
The girl stomped her foot in annoyance. "You are most trying. Now please let me pass before anyone else sees me dressed like this. The Queen will murder me for certain if she catches me."
"The Queen? What does she have to do with you?" Michael demanded, more roughly than he intended.
"She is my guardian if you must know." She pulled herself up to her full height, which Michael realized was not significant at all. She barely reached his chin. "I am the Lady Mary DeLucie of Whitfield." Michael raised his eyebrow again.
"Impressive." He muttered, his tone such that he made it clear he was anything BUT impressed. It was designed to infuriate her and it worked.
"Ohhhh! You beast!" Lady Mary slammed past him, getting ready to stomp away. She whirled abruptly as she was about to enter a nearby tent. Michael had watched her depart in her fury, impressed by her quick temper. She reminds me of myself. "And you better not tell anyone about this." She threatened him. "My brother can have you arrested and thrown into the Sheriff's dungeon."
"Your brother approves of this?" Michael indicated the boy's attire she was sporting and the bow swung over her shoulder, evidence of her entirely inappropriate behavior for a lady. She stiffened.
"I'll have you know that Alexander is a progressive man. He believes that woman are capable of anything men are." Suddenly she smiled and Michael blinked, momentarily stunned by her sudden change of mood. "And besides - don't forget that a woman almost beat YOU today."
With that she turned again and sauntered away. Michael stared after her, his eyes bright, impressed despite himself.
Mary DeLucie of Whitfield was no ordinary woman.