Mad About You by Ella J. Quince

Author:Ella J. Quince
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 2016-11-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

T he crowd roared, the sound was muted by his helmet but was still almost deafening. Louder still, his heartbeat reverberated in his ears and inside his chest. It raced in time with the hooves of the horse, closer they moved, but in his mind, it was almost slow. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, this feeling, this delirious rush of purpose and destiny. He would never be the same after today. His target barreled toward him, as did his future. This was the final battle.

Wood splintered, metal groaned and whined as bodies were thrown and twisted in the aftermath of the strike, Jonathan blinked, vaguely aware he still sat on his horse, but his opponent, a blur as he charged by, was in the air.

He was flying—no—he was falling.

Victory screamed inside him. He reined his horse to a stop, the crowd cheering and jumping. Phillip, Davey, and Banks ran from the side, whooping like young boys, grinning and hollering like mad men. Jonathan swayed drunkenly. The men pulled him from the horse and pulled off his helmet.

“You did it!” Banks cheered.

“You knocked that bloody sod to his back!” Davey shouted.

Jonathan was smiling as they jostled him about.

He looked around the lists and absorbed the cheering of the crowd. Then he looked in the direction of his prey, his defeated dragon, and felt a bit of panic.

He wasn’t moving.

A growing crowd was gathering around him, including the doctor.

“You killed him.” Phillip gasped.

“He killed himself. Any sane man his age would no better than to joust,” Davey muttered.

Jonathan watched and held his breath when they removed Lord Berett’s helmet. Dr. Sweeney now blocked his view, and the crowd had grown silent. The doctor moved, and Lord Berett was pulled into a sitting position. Jonathan took a deep breath with relief. The elderly lord was alive. He was batting away the hands of the servants as they tried to remove his armor.

“Thank God,” Jonathan muttered.

Banks helped him to the side to remove his armor. Wearing it was a task of its own. His limbs felt like they were stuck in sand every time he moved. He nodded in thanks to the swarm of well-wishers that gathered around to congratulate him. All he really wanted to do was jump into a cold stream. He could feel his shirt clinging to his skin under the padding, and drops of sweat continuously rolled down his forehead. He took a towel from Davey and wiped his face.

“I don’t think my heart has ever raced so fast,” Jonathan admitted. “I feel intoxicated.”

“Victory is intoxicating. Especially when it’s won over such an opponent,” Davey said.

“What do you mean?” Banks asked.

“It’s glaringly clear Rigsby is competing for the hand of Miss Prescott. Miss Worthington has kept me apprised of all the gossip. Lord Berett has an understanding with her father, but Rigsby seeks to steal her away.”

“I’m not stealing her,” Rigsby scowled.

“I’m not judging, well, I am, but not for the reasons you suspect.” Davey smirked.

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