Gwen closed her eyes tightly in an attempt to test whether this might be a dream, her imagination playing tricks on her.
After all, she was here again by this magnificent tree, with echoes of her past all around her. Could she have conjured up something she wanted to be true?
“Lady Gwenllian?”
Seemingly she had not. The voice that carried in the soft breeze did appear to be one that resembled Ralph’s. Only it rumbled a lot lower, a lot deeper and belonged to a man.
Yes, it seemed very real.
Oh, God! Her knees felt like they might buckle beneath her.
He was filling in the silence as he continued to explain. “I did not mean to distress you. I know this must come as a huge surprise but...it became imperative that I had to tell you about this myself.”
Gwen still could not find her voice, as her head swirled around trying to comprehend this new discovery.
“Is it really you?” she whispered.
“It is. Yes.”
Author Note
Medieval tournaments were imported from France in the twelfth century and formed a significant part of strengthening a knight’s command and prowess that he could later adopt in warfare.
They were also a great form of entertainment for both commoners and nobles alike, as they watched mounted and armored combats, or melees, fought in both one-on-one contests and in team events over several days.
Tournaments sponsored by rich nobles were also a way to make silver, provided the risk of injury was acknowledged, since many knights were wounded. This was the main objection to tournaments by clerics and some monarchs, including Henry III—although not at the beginning of his reign, when this book is set.
The pageantry of tournaments also allowed the ideals of courtly love to be expressed, when ladies would gift a favor or token to their chosen champion. It is this, or rather the reverse, that occurs in this book when Ralph de Kinnerton returns a token gifted to him by his old love, Lady Gwenllian ferch Hywel, and inadvertently opens up the heartache from the past.
Can they find a way back to each other?
I hope you enjoy their story.
MELISSA OLIVER
The Return of
Her Lost Knight
Melissa Oliver is from southwest London, UK, where she writes historical romance novels. She lives with her gorgeous husband and equally gorgeous daughters, who share her passion for decrepit old castles, grand palaces and all things historical. When she’s not writing, she loves to travel for inspiration, paint, and visit museums and art galleries.
Books by Melissa Oliver
Harlequin Historical
Notorious Knights
The Rebel Heiress and the Knight
Her Banished Knight’s Redemption
The Return of Her Lost Knight
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com.
To my beautiful mother, who is always in my heart.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Excerpt from The Marquess Next Door by Virginia Heath
Chapter One
1221—outside Castle Pulverbatch,
near Shrewsbury, England
He saw her then. The woman who had broken his heart all those years ago.
Ralph blinked beneath the iron helmet and felt his pulse quicken. He felt the blood drain from his face and not because of apprehension over the punishing exercise about to commence in the clearing. No, it was from the shock of seeing the familiar woman, with flaxen hair covered with a gossamer-thin veil, sitting in the spectators’ area.
A lump formed in his throat, almost choking him.
Lady Gwenllian ferch Hywel of Clwyd.
He would have recognised her anywhere, but she was here at this tournament, outside Shrewsbury, after all this time. He hadn’t seen her for six long years—the woman he had been betrothed to. The woman who had been his companion and to whom Ralph had thought he’d be bound for ever.
But it wasn’t to be.
God, but he had hoped to have forgotten it all. And for a time he had. After he had been attacked two years ago, near the small village of St Jean de Cole in Aquitaine, and left for dead, Ralph had temporarily lost his memory, but everything had come back to him, with a flourish. The loss of his father, the loss of his castle and surrounding demesne lands. And the loss of the woman he had loved. All gone within a heartbeat, leaving devastation and heartache in its wake.
‘Is everything well?’ His friend, Sir Thomas Lovent, acting as his squire, glanced at him from beneath a deep hood with barely disguised concern as he passed his shield and the blunt sword Ralph used for practice for a tournament such as this. Tom pulled his hood over his head to conceal his face further, but managed to give him a sly look, raising his brow as he waited for an answer.
‘Yes, all is well.’
Ralph watched the assembled group of knights from the retinue of William Geraint, Lord de Clancey—of which he was a part—pitted against another lord’s group of knights. They were all making last-minute preparations, flexing their arms before the tournament ceremony began with an exhibition in combat, where knights could test each other’s mettle.
Suddenly, Ralph’s head felt the weight of the encased heavy iron. He felt the tension around his jaw twist and tighten over the mangled scars on his face, making it ache. These he had acquired during an attack in Aquitaine two years ago that had left half of his face and his right hand and arm bloodied and cut in the frenzy.
‘Can you loosen the leather ties around the neck of the hauberk, Tom?’
He felt Tom loosen it, making breathing a little easier.
‘Better?’
‘Yes.’
No. Nothing was better. Not now that he was back near the place he grew up in...so close to Kinnerton Castle. So close to home. And he certainly didn’t feel better about seeing Gwenllian again after all this time. He’d hoped he would never lay eyes on her again after everything that had happened that last fateful night he had laid eyes on her outside Kinnerton Castle.
‘Watch de Fevre’s upward strike, Ralph. He bends low when he strikes, so remember to anticipate him in the way Will Geraint instructed us. And the man has chosen his favourite weapon, the mace, so be careful.’
‘This is supposed to be a combat exhibition, Tom.’
‘I know, but it doesn’t mean that many of the knights here would view it that way. This would be the first time for you to be able to gauge the calibre of many of your opponents.’
Ralph scanned the clearing, before frowning behind his helmet. ‘And what in heaven’s name are they all doing now?’
‘Ah.’ Tom smirked. ‘Naturally to gain a favour from a fair maiden, with the royal court here.’
They watched as a few of the knights, including a couple from their own retinu
e, sauntered towards the spectators’ area and gallantly received a token of a piece of material or a length of ribbon from young maids in the crowd, to huge raucous cheers.
Before Ralph knew what he was doing, he stepped into the clearing.
‘What’s this? Are you following their example?’ He heard Tom’s laughter from behind as he marched towards the raised canopied area reserved for their royal patron—the young King Henry, who was in attendance and on tour in this part of England. The noise from the crowd merged with the roar in his head and the incessant drum beating within his chest.
A ribbon...
It was the first thing he had seen once he came to after the attack in Aquitaine two years ago. He had remembered it to be of great importance to him, as he tried in vain to recall what it was that made the blue and purple woven ribbon so significant.
And then gradually, he did. He remembered...everything.
But now, the faded purple ribbon he’d constantly worn around his wrist felt as though it was burning into his skin. And he wanted it gone and the memory of Gwenllian with it. He threw down his sword, the shield and took off his metal mittens, untying the ribbon, as his fingers shook.
Unlike the other knights Ralph didn’t take off his metal helmet. It might be construed as lacking in courtly manners, even a slight, but Gwenllian ferch Hywel didn’t need to know that it was him under the armour. She didn’t need to know that he wasn’t actually dead, even though he had so nearly perished two years ago. Nor did she did need to know that he was here pretending to be another knight—pretending to be his friend Sir Thomas Lovent, so that he could try to scramble together the exorbitant feudal relief tax that hung over Kinnerton, his ancestral castle, which had been seized by the Crown after his father’s demise. That was if he could win enough silver in this tournament.
No, she didn’t need to know any of it. Why would Gwen care after all this time, anyway? She had made her feelings perfectly clear to him the last time he saw her.
All that mattered to Ralph was his need for retribution and justice from men who had done him wrong—men like his cousin, Stephen le Gros—and to get back what was rightfully his. Besides, it had been six long years since he had seen her—Gwen was likely to be married now. Even if she wasn’t, she was no longer of any importance to him.
Ralph took a deep breath and stepped forward in front of the dais where she sat and stretched out his arm, his fingers clinging on to the ribbon. He saw her properly the moment she lifted her head and his chest clenched tightly. Gwen looked the same, if a little older, and as achingly lovely as ever. But it was her blue eyes that almost made him gasp. They seemed lost, forlorn and strangely lifeless. As though she wasn’t actually there.
He watched, transfixed, as a spot of colour rose in her cheeks, her brows furrowed in the middle as she recognised the ribbon he was holding out to her. A spark of heat shot up his arm as her fingers tentatively touched his when she reached out to take it from him, confusion etched across her forehead.
Even from where he stood, he could see the small faint scar above her eyebrow from that time, so long ago now, when they had gone for a swim. It reminded him of another time and another place, when there was the promise of those few treasured moments together.
The last time Ralph had seen Gwen was in the woods outside Kinnerton after his cousin had betrayed him and seized control of the castle. Ralph had had to make his escape quickly, fearing for his life, but Gwen had refused to go with him. She had maintained that it was impossible for them to be together since he would no longer be the next Lord of Kinnerton and told him that she had to put honour and duty first.
Ralph shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t linger there, drunk on the sight of Gwen. He needed to make a good impression here. This whole tournament could determine his very fate. Now that he had returned the precious token she had once gifted him, Ralph was resolved to forget Gwen. Forget everything about her and their shared past. He didn’t want any reminders of the promise of a future that had been ripped apart.
It was his turn to put honour and duty first. He had bitterly learnt his lesson about where his priorities should lay. He bowed and turned away. He could no longer think about Gwenllian ferch Hywel. Those ties had been severed, a long time ago.
* * *
Gwen stared at the purple ribbon in her hand and let out a slow, shaky breath. She traced the surface with her fingers, remembering how she had carefully dyed the wool. Blending the colours to get the exact shade of the twilight hour at which she would meet Ralph de Kinnerton for their snatched moments together.
When had she gifted the token to him? Six, seven years ago, possibly longer. A lifetime ago...
Oh, Ralph...
She had refused to leave Kinnerton when Ralph had pleaded with her to go with him and had insisted that he left in haste. But only for his own protection. Not for him to perish far from home.
She knew only too well that had she gone with Ralph, then his devious, older cousin, Stephen le Gros, would have come after her, as he’d sworn he’d do, and kill Ralph. She could not have risked that and had stayed at Kinnerton Castle, biding her time before getting away a few days later, when no one was watching her movements too closely. Thank the saints!
Gwen remembered that day at court, some years later, when she had learnt of Ralph’s death and pretended it had meant nothing to her. God, but she had felt his death on her conscience ever since. Yet, leaving England had been his only chance of survival. She’d had no choice other than to do whatever she could to get him to leave Kinnerton after everything that had unravelled around them so quickly.
Gwen remembered the first time she had met the sensitive, gangly boy who would become her best friend, and later the only person she trusted. The boy she was betrothed to marry, one day.
From the very first moment she had seen how caring Ralph was. The lives of ordinary people interested him far more than the complicated politics that he would one day inherit as a Marcher Lord, much to his father’s chagrin.
It was this that the conniving Stephen had exploited for his own ends. His insidious words, constantly but casually undermining Ralph’s character. Gradually, Stephen’s ruthlessness created a wedge, not just between Ralph and his father, but the Kinnerton garrison and many powerful men in the neighbouring areas.
Worst of all was Stephen’s unwanted obsessive attentions to her and his promise that Gwen would one day belong to him. And in hindsight, Gwen should have foreseen what was to come and warned Ralph. Had she done so events might have turned out very differently.
At least Gwen had managed to manipulate her way out of Stephen’s clutches in the aftermath and get away from Kinnerton. He hadn’t counted on that or the fact that, in the middle of the Barons’ conflict with King John, the Crown would accuse Ralph’s father, Lord de Kinnerton, of treason and seize both Kinnerton Castle and its land, as well as her wardship, to gain for necessary profit. Stephen had not expected that the accusation would be later quashed, even though Lord de Kinnerton had died on route to plead his case. With him dead, the Crown had settled a feudal relief—an impossible sum—that Ralph, as his son, would have found incredibly hard to pay off.
It was all so immaterial now, anyway. Ralph was also dead. The pain of his loss had been her only constancy.
And now she was back. So close to the place she had left six long years ago, with all its terrible memories. An area never normally granted licence for a tournament such as this, but then the powerful Earls of Chester and Hereford had petitioned the young King Henry, reminding him that his Uncle Richard, King before his father John, had meant the rules around tourneys as guidance only.
Not strictly true, but along with the fact that Henry was touring the region meant that he eventually acquiesced. And Gwen along with a few other ladies at court had been requested to accompany them.
But it was no mere coincidence that she had been dragged h
ere. Her Welsh kinsmen had been putting pressure for Gwen’s situation to be resolved. And with the huge burden of the feudal relief still hanging over Kinnerton, the possibility of being once again face to face with Stephen le Gros was highly likely, here, at this very tourney. After all, the tax still had to be paid and this tournament was an opportune way for him to try to raise the silver he needed, so that he could finally lay claim to Kinnerton Castle...and her.
The man had had to bide his time all these years, as the Crown profited from Kinnerton, and her wardship, without successfully reversing their decision. But now Stephen would be more ambitious than ever. Bile rose in her stomach at the thought.
Gwen was not a fool. Knowing the reasons why she had been brought back here, she had to be very careful about what she did to get out of this mess. She had already put many of her meticulous plans into motion and had been saving the meagre silver that the Crown had given her as an allowance for years, knowing it might be needed one day.
Now, more than ever, there was a need for caution and patience.
Even before Gwen had arrived back in Shropshire, she had already secured her place at a convent where no one, including Stephen le Gros, would ever find her. And if the Crown were to finally grant the man her lands and wealth, then she’d happily bequeath them and renounce her claim to it all to avoid being tied to a man like Stephen le Gros.
She glanced at the ribbon again, her eyes brimming with tears. She brushed it against her lips and screwed her eyes shut, thinking once more of that awful time when she had last seen Ralph. She never properly explained the real reasons why she had not run away with him, and now she never could. He was lost to her for ever and all she had left of him was this...this ribbon.
Gwen snapped open her eyes and forced herself to focus on the exhibition tourney that had started in the clearing.
‘Is everything well?’ Brida O’Conaill, her companion and friend of three years, was smiling serenely beside her, acting as though it were an everyday occurrence for a strange knight to present a lady with a token. ‘You seem a little out of sorts.’
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