Béatrice hugged her tight, murmuring congratulatory praise as she kissed both her dampened, grinning cheeks.
Balancing his weight on his good foot, Gabrielle’s father crushed her in a regal bear hug, then turned to face the jubilant throng. As he raised his arms over his crowned head, the ermine trim of his blue velvet cloak parted with magnificent royal splendor.
Bastien sheathed his triumphant blade and dashed from the tournament field to stand before the royal grandstand where King Guillemin silenced the exuberant crowd.
“Sir Bastien de Landuc, as champion of the Yuletide Joust, I hereby grant you my daughter Gabrielle’s hand in marriage. And bestow upon you her royal dowry. The kingdom of Finistère!”
Amid spectators’ riotous cheers, shrieking shouts and frenzied applause, musicians began playing a triumphant refrain.
Gabrielle dashed down the stairs and threw herself into Bastien’s outstretched arms, squealing with glee as he spun her in a circle, lifting her high in the air.
He placed her back on the ground and wrapped his chain mail clad, chiseled arms around her waist. Pulling her against his heaving chest, he claimed her lips with his own. “Mine.You’re all mine. My beautiful bride.”
An eerie, ominous horn blared, like the piercing howl of a monstrous, predatory beast.
Atop his warhorse, Ugolin le Clou clutched a cone-shaped, intricately carved ivoryoliphanthorn as he and a bevy of armored knights rode audaciously into the center of the tournament field. Summoned by their lord’s bellowing blow, dozens of soldiers surrounded the royal grandstand, the tented pavilions, and the perimeter of the castle. Archers with nocked arrows targeted the king.
As Bastien stepped protectively in front of Gabrielle and unsheathed his sword, Ugolin le Clou halted his destrier in front of a panting, puffing Sir Tréguier. With a derisive sneer, he roared, “You failed!”
And beheaded the beleaguered Black Knight.
Amid gasps of shock and shrieks of fear from the petrified, stunned crowd, Gabrielle cast a calculating gaze over Ugolin’s mounted, armored knights.
Viking warrior and Valkyrie, she astutely assessed the enemy.
She knew that Gaultier had positioned the castle archers behind the château near the lake. Lancelot had stationed his men in the dense woods to the north, and Esclados had placed his knights from Landuc near the moor where she had always trained with Bastien.
“King Guillemin,” Ugolin shouted from the field atop his warhorse beside the bloodied, butchered corpse of his horrifically humiliated champion. “Your castle is surrounded.” With a swooping, panoramic gesture, he indicated the multitude of armored knights that awaited his command. “The choice is yours. One way or another, I shall have your daughter. And her royal dowry. The kingdom of Finistère.”
Gabrielle glanced back at her father, standing proudly among his royal guests. Loving, paternal eyes met hers as his noble face crumpled in despair.
“I’m an impatient man, King Guillemin.” Ugolin leaned forward in his saddle, his gaunt face a grotesque mask of greed. “The Yuletide Wedding was scheduled for tomorrow. But I insist on marrying the princess today. At once. Either peacefully….or by force.”
Metal sang as Ugolin’s knights swiftly unsheathed their swords.
Shrieks of terror shot from the crowd. Spectators on the sidelines dove into their tents. Frantic nobles in the grandstand tried to shield themselves behind Gaultier, Cardin, and King Guillemin’s royal guards.
Gabrielle quickly weighed the odds.
Prince Kaherdin had brought at least two dozen armored knights. Lancelot’s soldiers fromla Joyeuse Gardelurked among the jousting contestants near the competitors’ tents. Gaultier, Cardin, and at least a dozen guards defended her father and his royal guests. And, among the thirty contenders of the Yuletide Joust and the numerous participants inles commençailles, not one favored Ugolin le Clou.
A brilliant plan dawned in her valiant Valkyrie mind.
“Follow my lead,” she whispered in Bastien’s ear. “Trust me. I have an idea.”
Stepping out from behind a protective Bastien, Gabrielle strode a few feet toward her armed assailant, deliberately averting her eyes from Sir Tréguier’s decapitated corpse sprawled ignominiously amid gruesome gore.
Ugolin le Clou sat his magnificent horse, eyeing her with malevolence, mistrust, and malice.
“Ugolin Cauchon, I wish to avoid bloodshed at all costs.” Her clear, regal voice carried on the winter wind. “As the future Queen of Finistère, my primary concern is the sanctity of my people.” Despite the quivering of her limbs and the twitching of her clenched stomach, Gabrielle stood tall, shoulders back, head high.
And mustered every bit of her ancestral Viking valor.
“I shall concede to your demands and agree to marry you. But I ask that you first grant me one royal request.” Long red tresses whipped her cheeks, stinging in the salty spray.
Ugolin scanned the perimeter like a hawk sensing its prey. Seemingly satisfied with his superior strength, he grinned snidely at Gabrielle. “My beautiful bride, I wish to please you. What is your royal request?”
“I wish for you to allow the frightened spectators to depart at once from this tournament field. Please honor your future queen by ensuring the safety of her beloved people.” Under her emerald gown, Gabrielle shook as adrenaline raced in her warrior veins.
