Free Chivalrous by Dina L. Sleiman Page A

most of all, give me wisdom and peace to accept if your plans are not the same as mine. . . .
    A chorus of trumpets sounded, snatching his attention. Allen’s head snapped up. The time had come. He mounted his horse and filed into line with the rest of the knights, festooned in a rainbow of colors and branded with crests of hawks, lions, horses, and the like. Many of them were followed by squires carrying banners and pennants.
    A pretty serving girl offering a cup to a particularly hulking knight on horseback caught Allen’s gaze, but the awful fellow backhanded her across the cheek just as quickly and sent her sprawling backward. “I have no time for silly refreshments.”
    She hid her face in her hands.
    The procession moved forward before Allen could say a word in the maiden’s defense, but he hoped he might have a chance to put the abusive fellow in his place today. He supposed not every knight could be chivalrous, even in a place called Edendale.
    They entered the tournament arena, surrounded on each side by tiered galleries, their walls festooned with colorful coats of arms. As the knights paraded past the crowd, common folk cheered and waved kerchiefs, hollering and stamping. Children hopped up and down and climbed upon their parents’ shoulders for a better view.
    A better view of him. Sir Allen of Ellsworth. Son of a peasant farmer. Now a hero of the realm. He would say he had dreamed of this moment his whole life, except that he had never daredto until a few years ago. Until fate had turned him an outlaw, and an exceptional woman named Merry Ellison had turned his life topside-turvy.
    He had never even seen a tournament until he was twelve and his father had taken him to the nearby town of Farthingale. Pain sliced through Allen at the memory. How he missed his father and his brother, who had been so cruelly butchered by King John, and his mother, who had died years earlier of a fever. How he wished they could see him now. But he must do this thing without them.
    His pulse pounded in his ears. As his eyes scanned the frenzied crowd, his head grew light and swishy. For a moment he thought he might waver upon his horse, but he managed to gather himself together. He had trained long and hard for this moment.
    After passing three-quarters of the way around the field, he fell into line alongside the horse that had been in front of him and faced the grandstand. Its more formal galleries, like open-air rooms, featured gatherings of noble men and women dressed in bright silks and furs.
    Exquisite young ladies draped themselves over the ledges to wave and throw kisses to their favorites. One tossed a kerchief to the ground, which a fine-looking knight lifted with his lance. He flicked it into the air and caught it as the crowd went wild once again.
    Over the din came the cry of the herald. “Hear ye! Hear ye!”
    The noise settled to a quiet roar.
    The herald continued. “I give you our beloved duke, His Grace, Justus DeMontfort of North Britannia.”
    A hush fell over the crowd.
    Then a man in understated clothing stepped forward. He wore his golden brown hair and beard trimmed short. The duke lifted his chin and surveyed the arena. Allen liked the look ofhim. Old enough to exude wisdom and experience, yet young enough to offer an air of vitality. Kind, yet in perfect command.
    â€œMy dear and faithful servants of North Britannia.” The duke swept a hand from his right side to his left. “My esteemed guests.” He nodded to the noblemen on either side of him. “And most importantly, our valiant knights who shall fight today.” He actually bowed to the knights before him, lowborn Allen of Ellsworth included.
    Pride and humility, confidence and insecurity waged an epic battle inside Allen’s chest. He could hardly fathom he was here. Before the duke. A handsome knight on a fine steed.
    The duke reached back to squeeze the hand of a striking woman with dark