Suzanne Robinson by Lord of the Dragon Page B

knights of highest rank, Javain de Marlow, Earl of Ravensford, and the Sieur de Valence. Next came Vail D’evereux, Baron of Durance Garde, and Sir Robert Beckington, followed by Richard Welles and Simon Reynolds, Baron of Green Rising.
    Juliana saw none of them, only Gray de Valence. Resplendent in an emerald-green surcoat emblazoned with the de Valence dragon in gold, he rode with his helmet under his arm and his lance aloft. From it streamed a sleeve of azure silk, several scarves, and a stocking. Juliana scowled momentarily, for she recognized that stocking. It was Laudine’s. She cast a glance of concupiscent irritation at Laudine, but her sister was leering at another of her suitors.
    The procession was nearing the central lodge. Already the ladies were calling out to the knights, draping favors across lance tips, urging their favorites on to victory. Juliana’s palms grew damp, and her skin felt as if a multitude of ants scurried beneath its surface. De Valence and the Earl of Ravensford approached. They paused to salute the countess and Havisia.
    Laudine startled her by calling out to that French knight with the mocking blue eyes, Lucien, but Juliana managed to remain still. A welcoming smile flitted over her lips. That great black destrier began to walk again.Her vision filled with wide shoulders clad in chain mail and emerald silk. She curled her fingers around the cloth of silver kerchief. Yolande would be hurt, but she was young and would forget.
    Watching the tip of that favor-shrouded lance, she was ready when it began to dip. Her body craned forward toward the railing that separated her from him. She let her hand edge forward, holding the gossamer silver. The tip of the lance sailed gently down, past her shoulder, slightly out of reach. In that brief space of time, she caught herself before her hand could reach out to pursue the weapon. Jerking it back, she thrust it into her lap and watched the lance tip point at the girl beside her, Yolande.
    Had all the blood drained from her face? Her mouth had frozen into a smile; of this she was certain. Drawing her shoulders up, she scooted back, as if she had been changing to a more comfortable position. Her gaze shifted so that she stared ahead. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Yolande blush and let her finest embroidered sleeve fall over the lance of Gray de Valence.
    The procession moved on. Lances saluted, dipped, sailed up draped with colorful prizes. Juliana smiled and offered her congratulations to Yolande and her sisters for the number of favors requested of them. She laughed at Laudine’s jests, whispered judgments of the prowess of various knights. It was the most difficult thing she’d ever done—harder even than surviving Edmund Strange’s repudiation of her.
    De Valence hadn’t wanted her favor. He’d never intended anything so honest as an open tribute. Why had he spoken to her as he had if he didn’t want her favor?
Fool, for a base reason even you should have suspected, though you’re unaccustomed to such attentions being directed your way
. No, she wouldn’t think of it. She had tosurvive this hell-spawned tournament with her pride intact. She hadn’t betrayed herself, had she?
    Even as she affected her pretense, mortification and pain suffused her, then gathered and settled in her chest somewhere. Was it in her heart? Her throat ached from the effort to stifle a sob, but she would rather suffocate than shame herself by bursting into tears. Later, when she was alone, she would flay herself with rebukes for believing the lies of another rooster knight. Then she would let the hurt out in tears. Now she would save her pride.
    No one, especially not de Valence, would suspect she’d been so foolish as to hope for a suitor. The tournament progressed around her, although she paid no real heed to any of the jousts. Hugo had declared that arms of peace be used, so lances and sword points were blunted. Sword blades were dull, and lances were