Publisher's Synopsis
1348 AD - The Black Death is ravaging Europe and now knocking on England's door when what would be the last tournament in London for many years is ending. Standing against the rail, Marji leaned forward to make sure she could see her Knight as he was declared the Champion and received his prizes. It was the first time the Knight she picked won the tourney, and she didn't want to miss any part of it. She hadn't seen him before and had won the largest bet with her father. "Damn it, Kenneth, get me out of this blasted armor!" Brandon groaned; it was growing more difficult to breathe. "We can't without hurting you more, Brandon," Franklin told him. "I know, but I'm hurting anyway," Brandon replied, his voice constricted from pain. "Brandon, you need a surgeon," Daniel told him after seeing the bruises spreading on his chest and sides. "We can't afford one," Brandon moaned. "The armor is damaged from the last strike, we'll lose time while you repair it, Franklin, and now we have four horses to feed." "Papa, Sir Brandon must be hurt badly," Marji said when she saw him being helped to stand before the Lords podium. "Aye," Arthur replied, wincing as he saw the man's painful movements. He remembered all too well the excruciating pain he suffered when he participated in tournaments. "He's a poor Knight and probably can't afford a surgeon." "Papa, that's awful!" Marji exclaimed, unable to bear him not being taken care of, especially after his exceptional performance. "Papa, you must send Phillip to examine him." An act of kindness that would change their lives forever.
