Chivalrous by Dina L. Sleiman Page B

chest.
    He held back a grin as the full realization of what Lord Linden had done washed over him. Ward to a nobleman! The unexpected gesture of kindness bolstered his spirits. Yes, he could do this. And well he deserved this opportunity.
    â€œMost of the men you’ll be competing against are seasoned knights. Are you certain you don’t wish to wait a bit? You wouldn’t want to make a fool of yourself.” The scribe stared straight into his eyes with a devilish grin.
    Allen rankled and stared back, unwilling to waver. “Indeed, I do not. I wish to prove myself worthy to be a knight in the realm of Duke Justus DeMontfort.”
    The man’s wary gaze shifted to one of admiration. He tipped his quill pen to Allen before adding his name to the growing list. “Sir Allen of Ellsworth, in that case, welcome to North Britannia. Return tomorrow morning just as soon as the city gates open.” The man offered the letter back to Allen.
    Sir Allen of Ellsworth. It was the first time a stranger had spoken his new title aloud. Taking the precious piece of parchment, Allen turned and let the smile that had been itching at his lips for the last few minutes fully emerge. Tomorrow would be his big chance. If all went well, soon he would be a knight of North Britannia.

    As the tall, broad-shouldered knight before Gwen turned, his brilliant smile nearly swept the breath right from her lungs. Joy spilled from his handsome face like sunbeams through the clouds. It surged through her in warm waves. She felt somehow buoyed upon it. For the briefest moment, weakness overtook her knees.
    She turned to watch his strong profile and the waving sandy brown hair that grazed his surcoat as he sauntered past. How had she failed to notice him during her long wait? Perhaps she had been too nervous that she might be detected. That some gesture, some tenor of her voice might give her away.
    A tug at her sleeve caught her attention. Rosalind, dressedlike a male squire with a hood hiding her hair, shot Gwen a warning look and gestured to the table.
    â€œI said, name.” The scribe glowered at her.
    Remembering to lower her voice and infuse it with a French lilt so she would sound like a foreign knight, Gwen answered, “Sir Geoffrey Lachapelle.”
    She had sold a family heirloom and put both herself and Rosalind at considerable risk to acquire her forged patent of nobility. She could not ruin things now. Her blue-and-white nobleman attire was perfect, her long braid well-hidden beneath her cap, and her stance and speech must remain perfect as well.
    Rosalind handed the required document to the man.
    â€œSir Geoffrey. Your reputation precedes you.”
    Cold fear froze Gwen to her spot. She dared not shoot a glance to Rosalind, but the girl stepped closer in a show of support.
    â€œI’m so glad you finally made your way across the channel to grace us with your presence.”
    Whew! So the man had never met the knight she impersonated. She managed to shift her stance and lift her chin in acknowledgment of his statement.
    â€œYou shall find excellent competition here. Although, for the first round I must warn that you shall be paired by entry position alone. So you’ll either be facing the fellow who just left or”—he twisted his face in disdain—“that one behind you.”
    The man added her purchased name to the bottom of the list.
    Gwen studied the entry preceding hers and managed to make out the upside-down script. Sir Allen of Ellsworth. She must remember that title. Although he appeared rather formidable as a potential foe, he seemed a pleasant sort. Perhaps she might look for him at the feast after the tournament.
    Shoving aside memories of Allen’s heavenly smile, she turnedto assess the man behind her—shorter than her by an inch or two, with a slight build for a man and a rather dim-witted look to his dull brown eyes. Yes, that fellow she could take. She nudged Rosalind, who