Chapter 20
Jonathon hurried over to the nobles’ platform, hoping to talk to Raven, telling her his plan. When he got there, the herald was already announcing the knights who would fight in the first round of the hand-to-hand combat using their swords.
“Raven. Lady Raven,” called Jonathon, waving, trying to get closer to the platform.
Raven and Lark had just seated themselves next to her parents when she heard Jonathon calling out to her from the crowd.
“What does he want?” whispered Lark.
“I don’t know, but we need to get rid of him before it’s my turn to compete again.”
“Raven? I think your friend Jonathon is trying to get your attention,” said her mother.
“I see him,” she said, waving back, just to be polite.
“Why don’t you invite him to sit up here with us to watch the competition?” asked Devon.
“An armorer, on the nobles’ platform?” asked her father, overhearing their conversation. “Nay. It’s not allowed.”
“I think after all he’s done for us lately, you could make an exception, dear,” Devon told her husband.
“Nay. Father’s right,” interrupted Raven. “It wouldn’t look good. Besides, he’s acting as Rook’s squire in the tournament so he’ll be busy.”
“Aye, that’s right. He’s busy,” agreed Lark.
“Father, why is Rook even competing?” asked Raven.
“Yes, that is a little odd, considering the winner is to marry Raven,” agreed Devon.
“I didn’t know he was competing,” said Corbett. “I’ll put a stop to this at once.” He got up, but just then the sword-fighting began and he sat back down. “Mayhap I’ll send a squire to find him. I don’t want to miss this.”
“I’ll find him,” said Raven, using this as an excuse to leave.
“Nay, you’ll miss the sword-fighting competition,” said her father. “You already missed the archery since you were at the garderobe so long.”
“Nay. I saw it,” said Raven.
“You did?” Her father turned to face her. “How?”
“From down there,” she told him, nodding with her head. “I wanted to get a better view, so I stayed down there. I’ll watch the sword-fight from there too, as soon as I find Rook.”
“Raven, you sit back down and stay here,” ordered Corbett. “The knights are competing for your hand in marriage. It doesn’t look good if you keep disappearing.”
“But I–”
“I said, sit!”
“Yes, Father.” She sat back down, just as Jonathon came up to the front of the raised platform.
“Raven, I need to tell you something. Hurry,” he said, waving her closer.
“What is it?” she asked, feeling trapped, aggravated, and anxious right now.
“Lean forward. I don’t want everyone to hear this.”
Just as she leaned forward, Rook walked up.
“Jonathon, come on. I’m up next,” he said, urgency in his tone.
“Rook? What are you doing competing?” growled Corbett.
“I have a good reason, Father. I’ll tell you later.”
“What reason could you possibly have to enter this tournament?” he asked in challenge.
“I-I can’t say. Not right now.”
“He’s probably only doing it to embarrass me somehow,” spat Raven.
She needed Rook out of the way if she was going to win.
Her brother was better at sword-fighting than she was, and she worried he might beat her.
If so, she’d be forced to compete in the joust, and that couldn’t happen.
Not if she valued her life. “Father, tell him to withdraw from the competition right now. I don’t want him in it. He’s going to ruin everything.”
“Nay, Raven,” said Jonathon. “You don’t understand.”
“You need to call her Lady Raven. Use her title, armorer,” snapped Corbett.
“Lord Rook will fight against Sir Whitehead now,” called out the announcer. “Gentlemen, make your way over to your spots to compete.”
Corbett stood up and called out. “My son, Rook, withdraws from the competition. Carry on without him.”
“Father, nay!” shouted Rook. “You need to let me compete. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“There is no reason in the world why you need to be out there. This tournament is to find your sister a husband, not for you to show up every one of the competitors. Now sit down and be quiet. Your place is up here with me.”
“I-I will be back,” said Raven nervously, having no excuse to leave now.
“Nay. You’ll stay right here, too,” said Corbett. “The competitors need to see you.”
The herald announcing the competition spoke up. “Since Lord Rook has withdrawn from the games, Sir Whitehead will compete against the next man in line instead.”
“Raven,” said Jonathon, pulling at the hem of her skirt from the ground. She leaned forward to look over the edge of the raised dais and to hear him. “Your brother was going to win the competition so you don’t have to marry a noble. He can’t do that now.”
“What?” she asked, not able to hear him clearly with all the noise. She thought he said something about Rook wanting to help her?
“Rook knows everything that went on between us. I told him,” continued Jonathon.
“Nay! Why the hell would you do that?” she spat, having no idea why Jonathon would do such a stupid thing. It could only hurt them in the end.
Everyone clapped and shouted as Sir Whitehead made his way to the center of the field, holding his sword high over his head.
The announcer continued. “Sir Whitehead of Liverpool will fight Sir Nevar of Lyon, France. Sir Nevar, take your place.”
“Oh!” Raven’s head snapped upward. She needed to get to the shed to change and get out to the field before she was disqualified.
“Who is that Frenchman?” asked Corbett. “Rook, did you invite him to compete?”
“Nay,” said Rook. “I don’t know him. I thought you invited him, Father.”
“Excuse me, I’m not feeling well.” Raven stood up and bolted from the dais.
“Where the hell is she going now?” growled her father. “I told her to stay here.”
“I’ll get her,” said Lark, running after her.
“I will make sure she returns,” said Jonathon, following, trying to see the women through the crowd. Unfortunately, he lost them. He wandered over to the practice yard where the sword-fight was about to begin.
“Sir Nevar, come to the field,” called out the announcer. “You have one minute to show up before you’re disqualified.”
“No one can beat me,” called out Sir Whitehead, holding his sword in the air and getting the crowd to cheer for him again.
Jonathon already despised this man who thought he was so important. He dreaded the thought that Raven might actually have to marry him.
“Sir Nevar, this is your last call,” yelled the herald.
“I’m here,” came a strange voice from behind Jonathon. A small man darted past, knocking into him. He wore a long cloak and oddly enough his hood was pulled up over the helm he wore on his head.
“Excuse me,” said Jonathon, knowing he needed to apologize since he was only a commoner. Even if it wasn’t his fault, he needed to show respect for all nobles.
The knight didn’t answer, and neither did he even look at Jonathon. He was very rude.
“Sir Whitehead will now compete against Sir Nevar,” called out the herald.
Jonathon watched the small Frenchman pull his sword from his scabbard, to fight the huge man that towered over him. Jonathon had never seen such a small knight in his life. He looked thin and frail.
As their swords clashed together, the Frenchman’s hood fell, exposing his helm that shined in the sun. Jonathon couldn’t see it clearly from where he stood, but the craftmanship of the piece seemed exquisite.
Then he heard Whitehead heckling the French knight.
“You are no match for me. No knight with roses and hearts on his helm is going to best me in a fight. I will beat you into the ground.”
“Roses? Hearts?” Jonathon repeated, pushing his way to the front.
“God’s eyes, nay!” cried Jonathon, gripping the wooden fence that held back the onlookers.
He realized now why the knight was so small, and also why the helm caught his attention.
It was the helm he made. That was Raven in disguise, fighting Whitehead!
“Jonathon, did you find my sister?” asked Rook, coming to join him. The onlookers moved out of the way since Rook was a noble.
“Unfortunately, I did,” he mumbled, his heart racing and his eyes focused on Raven as she fought with Whitehead. She was good, but how long could she keep it up, fighting a strong man twice her size? This was ludicrous and he needed to do something to stop it.
“Where is she?” asked Rook, looking around.
“You’re watching her fight Whitehead,” said Jonathon.
“What are you saying?” asked Rook, confused.
Jonathon turned to face Rook. “Your sister is in disguise as the Frenchman Nevar.”
“Huh?” Rook looked over to the men fighting. “You’re wrong. That is not Raven.”
“Do you know the Frenchman?” asked Jonathon.
“Nay,” said Rook, shaking his head. “Neither does my father.”
“And doesn’t it seem suspicious that the man’s name is Jonathon Nevar?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“She used my name, and spelled her name backwards for the surname. Plus, she is wearing the armor I made her. Raven joined the competition in disguise for some odd reason, but she is going to get hurt or even killed.”
“She’s holding her own for now, but you’re right,” agreed Rook. “If she has to joust, she will get killed. She can’t compete against trained men. Not in the joust. I’m going to end this right now.” He started forward, but Jonathon stopped him.
“Nay. You will embarrass her as well as your father,” said Jonathon.
“Why is she doing this?” asked Rook.
“My guess is that she is trying to win the tournament so she won’t have to marry one of the nobles.”
“My sister is a fool! I’m going to strangle her, I swear.”