All gone.
Before Gwen knew what had happened, she had been bundled away to live in Kinnerton, in England—a foreign land whose heir she was one day to marry. Gwen had only been a young girl, but that didn’t matter, not when arrangements had been made by her desperately ill father and the ambitious Marcher Lord of Kinnerton. She was a pawn to be used for an important and strategic alliance.
But then something remarkably unexpectant happened. Something that managed to banish the hollow pain from the loss of her father...
Gwen found a friend in the young Ralph de Kinnerton.
A friend who would come to mean more to her than anyone had before. A shy, young reticent boy who was teased mercilessly for not being good enough, not being tall enough, man enough or even strong enough. But he was or rather he had been. He had been enough...for her.
Once again, however, the cruel hand of fate had dealt her a devastating blow as Ralph had also perished.
That elusive happiness was, somehow, always out of her reach and never to be hers. Now she no longer looked for it or even expected it. All she wanted was some semblance of peace in her solitude.
Gwen lifted her head and her breath caught in her throat.
There it was, the magnificent, sprawling, ancient tree. She blinked and adjusted her eyes more to the darkness, looking around to see who it was that she was supposed to meet, but there was no one.
So she waited...and waited. And waited some more.
But then she felt it. That strange feeling creeping up her arm, warning her that she was no longer alone. She swallowed, nervously.
‘Who goes there?’ She bit her bottom lip and let out a nervous breath. ‘Show yourself. I know you are there.’
Again nothing, yet she felt that presence as if it were sliding down her body.
Then someone did speak.
‘It’s me, Gwen... It’s Ralph.’
Chapter Four
Gwen felt as though every drop of blood had drained from her body. The world seemed to spin around her as she leant back against the trunk of the tree, her fingers digging in, seeking some sort of support. Her breathing became laboured. Her head was in a state of confusion. It could not be true, could it?
She 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 as though 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 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.’
‘I... I can’t believe this. It seems so unreal.’
‘Nevertheless, it’s the truth, my lady.’
He sounded so formal. So distant, yet somewhere close by.
‘Where...where are you?’ she stammered as she opened her eyes and looked in every direction.
‘That is of no consequence. All you need to know—all that is important—is that you need not concern yourself about me. Not any longer. I am hale. I am alive. And, thank God, in one piece.’
That was all she needed to know.
The man talking might have sounded like Ralph, but his words were so unlike anything the boy she once knew would ever utter.
‘Where are you?’ she repeated, but was soundly ignored as Ralph continued with his speech. He seemed to be in a hurry to finish whatever he needed to say.
‘The truth is that, after I saw you for the first time in so many years, I felt compelled to give you back your ribbon. But I then realised you also had a right to know the truth about me.’
‘You!’ Her brows shot up. ‘You gave me back the ribbon?’
‘I did.’
She frowned. ‘But I thought... I thought that that was Sir Thomas Lovent.’
‘You were meant to think that, Gwen.’
Oh, God, mayhap she was still dreaming. She edged away from the tree and frantically stumbled from one direction to the next, trying to locate where the voice was coming from.
‘Why would you need to pretend to be another knight?’
‘It’s best that you do not know that,’ the voice murmured.
‘Why would you not correct the assumption that you are dead?’
‘You do not need to know that either.’
‘I see that there’s much I cannot be privy to,’ Gwen bit out.
‘Just so, my lady. It is for the best, believe me.’
Gwen frowned in confusion. Believe him?
She had a sudden impulse to laugh, scream or cry, whichever came first. Here was this man proclaiming to be Ralph de Kinnerton, presumed dead and actively courting danger by pretending to be someone he was not, with the added issue of his devious cousin also being present at this tournament. But far, far more than that was the way her heart was tumbling over itself from this incredible disclosure. Ralph de Kinnerton was alive and hale from all accounts. And somehow among the obvious joy that arose from this possibility was the sadness and hurt from everything that had happened between them in the past. In particular, how they had said so many harsh untruths before they parted ways that awful night in the woods outside Kinnerton. And with this, the bitter memory and subsequent guilt after learning of Ralph’s demise. But that demise was not so, apparently.
Gwen moved slowly around the tree, chasing the shadow, hoping in vain to catch something more tangible...something that could confirm that he was real and much more than just a rumbling voice that rippled through her. Yet, each time she felt close to finding him, the shadow would shift and disappear.
‘Why will you not show yourself to me?’
‘It is better this way.’
‘Is it?’ She stopped momentarily as she dragged her palm across her clammy forehead, frustrated at having to play cat and mouse. ‘I cannot see why. If you are truly whom you say you are.’
‘You doubt me?’
‘What am I supposed to believe when I cannot even see you?’
‘It would be simpler if you did not.’
‘How can I be assured that you are who you say you are then?’
There was no response. A hushed silence wrapped around her in the moonlight, making her shiver. And just when she was convinced that he was no longer there, he spoke again.
‘Very well, as you wish.’ The shadowy figure stepped out of the darkness and made Gwen take a step back and gasp. His braies and hose covered long, honed limbs and a short, dark cloak with a wide hood covered his head, his face invisible beneath it. Strapped to his back he carried two swords sheathed within its scabbard, criss-crossing his body.
‘Well? Are you satisfied, my lady?’
She rubbed her eyes several times and felt her jaw drop, unable to believe that the man still shrouded in darkness was Ralph de Kinnerton. This man was huge in every sense—an embodiment of a powerful warrior and nothing like the long-limbed skinny boy she once knew. She took a step back, suddenly feeling more unsure about being in the middle of the woods with this...stranger.
‘It is me, Gwenllian.’ He sighed deeply, without making an attempt to come closer or revealing anything that she might recognise.
He remained in the near darkness, the outline of his tall frame the only part of him that was
visible. There seemed to be a wide chasm between them as they stood some distance apart, facing each another.
‘How can I be certain? You look nothing like the Ralph de Kinnerton I knew.’
She had expected him to move forward, to show his face, so that she would believe that his voice and this man—Ralph—were one and the same.
Instead, he stood pinned to the spot and took an exasperated breath before he spoke again. ‘What would you like me to say, Gwen? Shall I recount that first time you came to Kinnerton, or remind you how you got that tiny little scar above your left eyebrow, in the brook not very far from here? Or what about the many times we would sneak here to Pulverbatch Castle, here to these very woods...to this very tree?’
‘Oh, Lord, it...it is you.’ Her hand shot to cover her mouth.
‘Yes.’ He expelled a deep breath. ‘And after I saw you, I believed you also had a right to know the truth about me.’
Gwen suddenly found this—being in these woods with this version of Ralph—so unreal.
‘I still cannot believe you’re alive,’ she whispered, pushing down a sudden wave of unfettered longing.
He shook his head. ‘I very nearly wasn’t. For quite some time it was debatable whether I would survive.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘You need not concern yourself about me any more, Gwen.’
She blinked, puzzled at the cool detachment in his voice. It seemed that this was all the information she was to be offered. Yet, had she expected more because of courtesy? Familiarity? The friendship and love that they once shared? That no longer seemed to apply to their connection, after all this time. That, she was sure, she had quashed six years ago anyway.
Gwen gave her head a little shake as though clearing it. ‘I see. Well, I’m glad that you have seen fit to allow me to know the truth, sir.’
‘Just so.’ His stance was so rigid as he stood with his legs apart, his back straight. ‘Especially since your curiosity made you seek Thomas Lovent with more and more questions.’
Ah, so this was what this was all about. Her persistent inquisitiveness about what had happened to Ralph after the ribbon was given back to her risked the exposure of whatever scheme Ralph and his friend had devised.
Something else suddenly occurred to her. ‘You are his squire, the man who followed Sir Thomas into the hall?’
‘Indeed.’
She suddenly felt ridiculous that she had cared. That she had grieved over this man, who seemed more like a stranger now. God, but she barely recognised him.
‘I should have realised there would be a reason such as this for you to tell me now.’
‘I regret that my perceived demise caused you such anguish, but know this—once I saw you again, I knew that you had a right to know about me.’
‘But not immediately, however.’
Gwen’s jaw set, realising that he had seen her a few times and yet waited before informing her on this night. She could not help but feel a twinge of hurt, knowing that he had not done so until this moment in these woods, steeped in so many memories from their past. God, when she thought of the tears that she had shed, when she believed him to be dead. How she had mourned Ralph de Kinnerton and all this time—all these years—he had been alive, but had chosen not to tell her.
‘You were obviously there, listening as I spoke to Sir Thomas, while I was still grief-stricken, believing you to be dead.’
He could have prevented the anguish, guilt and sorrow that had filled her heart when she had believed he had perished in a faraway land, but had chosen not to. Had she meant so little to him and been so inconsequential that Ralph could not have informed her earlier than this? Had their friendship, connection and love counted for nothing? Evidently not.
‘I’m sorry for that, but it was a shock to see you again as well. I should possibly have said something earlier, but in truth I can trust so few people in my life that I wasn’t sure that I should.’
Gwen could not help feel that somehow Ralph’s reasons for withholding the truth all this time stemmed from the manner in which they had parted and his belief of her indifference towards him. This had been something she had painstakingly brought about, in order to get him to flee without her. God help her, but she had never fully considered the implications of the devastating wound she was inflicting on both of them.
‘Even me?’
‘Even you.’
‘Well, then you honour me, sir.’ She lifted her head. ‘Yet not enough to tell me what it is that you are doing here?’
‘No.’
‘I see.’ She felt a coldness trickle through her. ‘Although I can only guess that this has something to do with the prospect of gaining coin through this tournament, so you can get Kinnerton back?’
‘Can you blame me for trying?’
‘Of course not. But in this highly furtive manner, when you’re still presumed dead? While pretending to be another knight?’
‘Never you mind about that.’
‘Very well, but I imagine you believe that you’re doing your duty.’
She could hear his quiet, hollow laugh. ‘Oh, yes, and you know very well about that, Gwen.’
‘What are you implying?’ She suddenly felt sick in her stomach as it twisted tightly.
‘Nothing, my lady. Only that the decision you made, when we last saw one another and parted ways, forced me to realise the importance of where my duty should actually lay.’
‘Did you believe that the choices I took were easy?’
‘You misunderstand me, Lady Gwenllian,’ he said in a clipped tone. ‘However, I cannot claim to know why you made the decisions you made.’
Gwen felt as though she had received a blow to the stomach. Where once they had known and trusted one another, her actions had made Ralph doubt and question everything about her.
‘Yet, it was made with great difficulty, sir.’
‘I can believe it was and I hope to relieve you now from whatever those difficulties may have been.’
Her smile felt brittle. ‘As easy as that?’
‘We can only do what we believe to be right, after all.’
‘And did you?’ She exhaled, unsure whether she wanted to know. ‘Did you believe what I did was right? To stay behind here in England?’
‘That is not for me to answer, my lady. Not now...after all this time. Besides, it was a good lesson for me...a necessary lesson in the changes that I had to make if I were to be the man my father had wanted me to be.’
Gwen closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. She felt bereft and saddened by this admission that Ralph had made. Had these changes that he had deemed necessary pushed out every last vestiges of the old Ralph? Indeed, did that side of him, the one she once loved and cherished, even exist any more?
‘Tell me something, sir—why did you give me back the ribbon?’
He stepped back further into the darkness before answering. ‘I could no longer lay claim to such a gift and the meaning behind it. I wanted you to have it back.’
‘I see.’
But, no, she did not see.
It was the only part of his behaviour that seemed to conflict with the indifference Ralph now presented and the singular ambition that he pursued. Not that it really mattered now.
‘Well, there’s nothing further to say then.’
‘No,’ he muttered, allowing that single word to fill the silence for a moment. ‘If I...if I may ask whether I can count on your secrecy regarding everything you have learnt tonight?’
‘You may be assured of that. Your secret is safe with me.’ She swallowed as she took a step back as well.
‘Thank you.’
Gwen rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. She suddenly had an overwhelming need to get away from here. From the secrets, the revelations, the lost hope. And a boy who had become a
man. A man who was a stranger to her now.
She flicked her head to face him one more time. ‘You have changed, sir.’
‘I have,’ he said, bitterly. ‘In more ways than you’ll ever know.’
Oh, yes, those old wounds seemed to be far deeper than she could have ever imagined.
Chapter Five
Ralph bent his head, ignoring the metal digging sharply into his neck from the back of his helmet. It penetrated through the many layers he was wearing underneath, making a visit to the blacksmith, who had taken temporary residence in the outer bailey, a necessity in order to fix the problem and smooth out the rough edges. Or it would once he had finished his training.
Ralph brushed his hands up and down his horse’s glossy mane. ‘We can do this...’
He squeezed his calves and heels against his faithful black destrier’s lower flank, flicking the reins, making the animal sprint ahead.
Ralph held off until he got closer to the makeshift target of round, hollow, metal rings that had been suspended from a long-erected stand, until he lowered his lance. He shifted the angle of the lance as he clutched it firmly in his left hand, his eyes narrowing.
Closer. Closer. Closer, still...
And then it was there—the target swinging back and forth in the breeze. Ralph tilted the pointed sharp metal end of his lance towards it as he thrust through the hollow centre and caught it, making it slide down the pole.
He heard clapping to the side and knew it would be Tom, but as he glanced over, he spotted his mentor, William Geraint, standing with his arms crossed beside him as well.
‘That was excellent, Ralph.’ Will smiled, nodding at him as he rode towards them. ‘Much better than your attempt yesterday.’
‘My thanks—the technique of awaiting the target until I had it on sight was probably what made the difference.’
Will shrugged. ‘That’s really Hugh’s gem of advice but it’s a good one, nevertheless.’
Ralph passed the lance to Tom. ‘Indeed, it is.’
The Return of Her Lost Knight Page 5
