The Knight's Conquest

by Juliet Landon

  ‘Fate! Ah, well now, I believe in that, too. Come, Lady Eloise, I’d like you to meet the Princess Isabella. She is only a few years your junior.’ He beckoned to a graceful fair-haired young lady of nineteen whose smile was as alluring as her father’s. Her shimmering gown was a riot of primary colours that would have swamped her delicacy except for the softening effect of white fur that trimmed every edge of the surcoat. Her fingers sparkled with jewels.

  The princess waited for Eloise to rise, and pouted prettily at her father. ‘My gracious father takes some persuading,’ she said, ‘that we women know the state of our hearts better than men do. But we are given little choice in the matter, Lady Eloise.’ Surprisingly, she took Eloise by the shoulders and placed a light kiss upon both her cheeks, whispering close to her ear, ‘Trust him.’

  It was meant to be reassuring, but Eloise had come here to insist on her own choice of husband and to persuade the king that she was the best one to say what she required. Surely he would see the difference between herself and his daughter.

  ‘I thank your Highness,’ she said.

  ‘Well,’ the king said, looking from one to the other, ‘you two should have plenty in common, being so choosy about husbands. But there are more matters at stake here than preferences, lady. Your father has been more indulgent than most, and your brief marriage to Sir Piers Gerrard was not entirely his first choice but yours, so I understand. It’s tempting to see that tragedy in terms of Fate, but a more realistic view of it might be appropriate, in this case.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. But it is hard to be quite so realistic when tragedy strikes from a hundred or more miles away. So I have come to the opinion, if I may be forgiven, that my future would be best served by heeding my own advice rather than others, however well-meaning. I hoped you might allow me the chance to prove it, this time.’

  With the change in tone, the hushed murmurings of the men stopped, turning them towards the serious exchange of opinions. Princess Isabella glided gently backwards, leaving the three to debate alone but with an audience of attentive ears.

  ‘And what about your Sovereign’s advice, my lady?’ said the king, releasing her hand. ‘Isn’t it my turn next? You are still young to be given a free rein in this, you know.’

  ‘I am young, Sire, as you say. But I am not inexperienced, and I can do as well as any to keep an estate in good order.’

  ‘Is that so? Then you’d do even better with a husband.’

  ‘Yes, Sire. I have a good man in mind for that position.’

  The king smiled, tolerantly. ‘I might have known it. You have come well prepared. Who is this man?’

  ‘His name is Master Stephen atte Welle, Sire. He has been my steward for the past year.’ She looked directly into his eyes, hoping to read his response, but he gave nothing away. This man was used to dealing with kings and high churchmen; a mere woman would find no easy path through his mind. ‘He is a good and reliable man, as well able to care for your property as the noblest knight. He has my good intentions at heart.’

  The king’s mouth stayed in an obediently straight line, though his blue eyes twinkled. ‘I’m sure he has, my lady. But then, so have I, and my intention has never been to pass my lands into the hands of estate stewards, however reliable. I have to be sure, you see,’ he said, not unkindly, ‘that my tenants-in-chief marry nobly. I need men who can fight with me and lead others in time of war, who can pay me knight-service and, in your case, who can breed more of his kind. You must see that that does not include low-born men. The title you bear and the lands you hold must remain in my gift, Lady Eloise, and that includes you. You are far too valuable to me to lose in the way you suggest.’

  She had fully intended, at some point, to tell the king what she had told her father: that there would be no children to complicate matters of property after her death. Now, however, things had happened that made any denial impossible, and now she was left floundering in the face of the king’s obvious determination.

  ‘And what,’ said the king, ‘do Sir Crispin and Lady Francesca have to say about this decision of yours, lady?’

  ‘I have been made aware of their disapproval, Sire.’

  ‘Then it’s time someone took a firmer hand in the matter. You have been given a twelve-month in which to grieve and to sort out your affairs, and now it’s time to take up your duties according to my wishes. As a titled lady of wealth. As a wife. And as a mother. Your assets are valuable. There are many noble knights who have already shown an interest in a connection with the de Molyns name. Your father has an excellent record and his son’s wife is about to provide him with a fourth grandchild. Isn’t it time you did the same?’

  The room became suddenly oppressive; its raftered ceiling of green and gold stars began to bear down upon her. Her case was slipping inexorably through her grasp, her control of her future disappearing before her eyes. She passed the warm woollen cape to her father, stripped off her gloves and removed the bundle of charters from under his arm, avoiding the pity in his eyes. She had played a lonely game. She had known it would be difficult.

  She held the charters towards the king. ‘The charters to my most valuable lands, Sire. I understand that you have occasionally allowed widows to buy their freedom to remarry. I would not wish to do so without your approval, and so I have—’

  ‘Lady Eloise, one moment, if you please.’ The king made no effort to take the charters or to have one of the clerics remove them from her, but took a deep breath, looking at her with eyes as hard as flint. ‘Are these the properties your late husband held in dower for you? The ones you have fought for the past year to regain control of through the courts?’

  ‘Yes, Sire. They are.’

  ‘And now you are willing to forfeit them? For your…your steward? Forgive me if I sound incredulous, my lady, but this man must hold some special place in your heart to be worth so much to you.’

  ‘Then I fear I must have expressed myself badly, your Grace. Stephen atte Welle is of an ancient and loyal Staffordshire family, but he holds no place in my heart, only in my bid for a say in the running of my own life. It is that freedom which I prize above all, which is worth all this to me, and more.’

  ‘More?’ His eyes of flint sparked, greedily.

  ‘Yes, Sire. More.’ Her hand was ready to open her pouch, to show him, but he stopped her before she could undo its buckle.

  ‘No, my lady. This has gone far enough. Stop. I do not need to know what more. Give those charters to your father and listen to me.’

  Her heart sank, dragging her well-prepared case with it. Perhaps it had never stood a chance. Perhaps it had all been decided beforehand. Shivering with panic, she did as she was commanded, touching her father’s arm for a last vestige of comfort. ‘Is there nothing else, Father?’ she whispered. ‘Nothing?’

  Sir Crispin pursed his lips. ‘It’s for the best, love,’ he said.

  Eloise had never been short of courage, but this was her life they held like dice, tossing it to win a point for their posterity, and her courage came close to dissolving at that moment. As she turned back to the king, she caught the tail-end of his signal, the shortest eye-contact to one of those in the group of men whose firm footsteps and the sharp clink of spurs approached and then stopped at some point behind her left shoulder. She would not turn to look. The king spoke directly to her. ‘Lady Eloise Gerrard, I have had numerous applications for your hand since the unfortunate death of Sir Piers. The first of these is here now, a man of the highest integrity whose offer is being made for the second time, so I understand, and who I see no reason to refuse. Would to God he’d been more successful on the first occasion or we’d not now be going through this performance to get you wed after all these years. You know each other well enough.’ His bald statement wrapped around her heart like a sheet of ice, numbing her response. She turned to look.

  ‘You! No, Sire!’ she whispered, half to herself. ‘You cannot mean it!’

  Sir Owain’s expression, arrogant and unre
lenting, was easier for her to read now than it had been only a few days ago, for she had discovered how to interpret the steady grey warning in his narrowed eyes as a cover for something deeper. He stood tall and apparently unconcerned by her denial, looking down at her, and far removed from the naked lover who had spent a night in her arms only recently. He would have stood out in any group had he not been keeping himself well concealed, for his gown was of the finest pale gold silk-velvet trimmed with grey squirrel. His cloak was the same that he had lent to her one evening, violet, clasped with gold at one shoulder.

  The room swayed. ‘There is…has been…must be a mistake,’ she said to the king. ‘Sir Owain knows I cannot…Sire. With respect.’

  The king was never one to bluster. Indeed, he appeared almost to expect her objection. He looked from Sir Owain to her father with a wry smile. ‘I can see the problem,’ he said. ‘The lady has ever been a handful, I suspect. Time for a change of ownership, Sir Crispin, eh?’ To Eloise, he said, ‘Sir Owain tells me, my lady, that he believes you can, with a little persuasion. If you are referring to what took place at Windsor a year ago, you need not be concerned by Sir Owain’s involvement. I have accepted his explanation of exactly what happened on that sad occasion, and Sir Phillip Cotterell’s also. I have no doubt that they will explain it to you in due course.’

  ‘Nevertheless, your Grace…’ Eloise found her voice from somewhere ‘…I regret that I cannot accept your recommendation.’

  Trying hard not to smile at this continued intransigence, the king glared at the curious clerks whose hands had been stilled this last five minutes or more. ‘Then I have a solution to the problem that might ease your conscience, lady. We have a tournament planned for tomorrow, a late celebration of Princess Isabella’s birthday on the sixteenth. I suggest that we decide the question there. You will take Sir Owain as your next husband if he wins the contest. If he does not, I shall choose one of the other applicants for you. There, that’s settled then. Do you think that fair, Sir Owain?’

  ‘Indeed I do, Sire. Nothing could be fairer.’

  ‘Then you’d better win, lad, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Sire. I intend to.’

  ‘So take her off somewhere quiet and start your taming of her now, or you’ll have bought more than even you can handle. I suspect her father is all set to put her into a nunnery.’

  ‘By your leave, Sire,’ Eloise said, blushing at his stinging remarks, ‘that’s where I would prefer to go.’

  He swung back to her, clearly unused to being answered back by any woman except the Queen. Taking her chin in his hand, he spoke quietly, though all the room could hear. ‘No, my lady, that you will not do, either. This time you will marry whom I choose. I want to see a pride of Whitecliffe cubs with dark red hair and courage to match their parents. Be at the tournament tomorrow. You will be the guest of the Princess.’ Lifting her chin up higher, he kissed her on both cheeks and then on her lips, ignoring the tears of anger that glistened, ready to fall. His message to Sir Owain was much less ambiguous than Eloise supposed it to be, consisting only of a murmur of approval and a thoughtful glance at his favourite jouster. But Sir Owain had seen the look before and knew its significance as well as Eloise’s father did.

  Chapter Seven

  Unable to trust herself to utter the polite and accepting words of a noblewoman, Eloise had intended to keep her lips tightly sealed until she was well away from the royal apartments. But on this occasion, the training of her noble youth counted for nothing in the face of this latest episode that had culminated in the upsetting of all her well-laid plans. Anger, reproach and indignation, humiliation and bitterness spilled over and found targets in both her father and her erstwhile lover who, to those watching, appeared to be guarding her against some self-imposed injury.

  She rounded on them, spitting with fury and turning to walk off in the opposite direction so that they were forced to catch her on the rebound. ‘You knew!’ she snarled. ‘You knew, both of you! Since it was settled well before this, why not simply send a message? It would have saved me a journey and it would have saved you having to…ah, no! Of course. You’d not wish to forgo that pleasure, would you, Sir Owain? The applause…the…’ Her arm was wrenched round, swinging her back into her previous stride.

  ‘Enough! That’s enough!’ Sir Owain held her, his eyes like cold steel. ‘Sir Crispin, would you forgive me if I asked you to give us a few moments in private? We’ll be in the garden sir. Thank you.’

  Sir Crispin was already yards away, eager to escape, a wave of his hand dispensing with fatherly courtesies.

  ‘Father!’ Eloise whispered, her face contorting with tears.

  ‘Come, my lady,’ Sir Owain said, gripping her arm. ‘This way.’

  Tears now flowed, choking her, preventing even thoughts from presenting themselves in an orderly fashion. Her eyes swam through a blur of arches and stone steps into a green-lit enclosure that chirruped with birdsong and the water from a fountain. A stone bench hit the back of her knees, and she fell with an undignified thud on to its cold slab.

  ‘At great risk to my best velvet cote-hardie,’ she heard him say, ‘I am prepared to soak up your tears upon my chest.’

  Taken into his arms, her mental and physical resistance were at odds. ‘I don’t…don’t want you,’ she sobbed, relaxing against him.

  ‘What you want is no longer an issue,’ was the unsympathetic reply. ‘It’s now down to what the king wants and what I want. And what your parents want, for that matter. You’ll get used to the idea.’

  She found that any reply she might have made was stopped at source by a kiss so effective that her tears were halted.

  ‘Well?’ he said, holding her face in his hand. ‘When are you going to stop trying to resist, woman? Can you not see even now how your intransigence merely makes things more complicated than they are already? Or do you relish the idea of men fighting for your hand? I could have managed without it, you know, in spite of what you think.’

  Eloise frowned and wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. ‘You believe I wanted that?’ she croaked. ‘Of course I didn’t. I wanted him to reconsider, to see that I meant what I said. But if I’d known it was all decided beforehand…’

  ‘Well of course it was! What d’ye think your father and I have been trying to tell you for the past few days? You wouldn’t listen, would you? And now look where it’s got you. And me, too.’

  ‘That’s most unfair!’ She leapt away from him in fury, hurling the mulberry-coloured cloak at him to stave him off. ‘It’s you who won’t listen to me! If I were a man my wishes would be heeded and none of this…this nonsense would be happening. But because I’m only a woman I can be passed on to whoever makes the best offer, sold to the highest bidder. So it appears you got your bid in first, Sir Owain, though why you could not have told me remains a mystery.’

  He caught up with her well before she could see through her tears how to evade him. ‘And what good would it have done to tell you,’ he snapped, placing himself in front of her, ‘when you were so set against any plans except your own? Would you have listened to mine? I gave you the chance, remember, but you turned it down. God, woman, but the king was right. You do need a new master.’

  ‘No, I would not, sir. Nor do I want to speak to you again. Ever!’

  ‘Yes, and I expect you were just as determined you’d never sleep with me, weren’t you? And that you’d never accept a Whitecliffe. But you’ll do that, too. Do I make my point, or have I missed something?’

  ‘Oh, indeed you do, sir. Clearly. Did you win your wager, too?’

  Angrily, he took her by the arms. ‘My wager?’ he whispered. ‘And what does that refer to, exactly?’

  Regretting it immediately, Eloise looked away, refusing to show him how his grip pained her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but you hurt me sorely when you left again without a word, so why should I not take the chance to hurt you?’ Her words lost themselves in new tears. ‘It was unforgi
vable!’

  His hands slid across her back, pulling her into his arms. ‘Shh!’ he said. ‘No more tears, sweetheart. It was not done to hurt you. Never that. The very fact that I was here before you is the reason I had to leave so soon. The king had sent for me as well, you see.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me, then? You said nothing of it.’

  ‘No. I was as intent on keeping my movements from you as you were on keeping yours from me. If you’d known, you’d have done all you could to stop me, wouldn’t you? I didn’t want to take that risk. I’ve waited too long, sweetheart.’

  ‘Not as long as I’ve waited for my plans to work, sir.’

  He smiled at that and led her back to the stone bench, taking her hands in his and kissing them, recalling where they had been only a few nights ago. It was time to tell her of his waiting. ‘Listen to me. My plans may not be quite as controversial as yours, but they are far more mature. I was first to offer for you as soon as you were widowed last year. July, to be precise. I wanted you before Gerrard did, and I was angry when he won you and I wasn’t going to let that happen again. So I bypassed your father and went directly to the king. It was his doing that put me out of the running the first time, so he was hardly surprised. What’s more, I’ve had a rather surprising confession from your half-brother, Rolph.’

  ‘How so? Did you threaten to break another rib?’

  He grinned, melting her knees. ‘Not exactly. He told me that it was he who intercepted my letter to you when I went away. He asked my forgiveness. Oh, yes, I asked him why,’ he said, answering her silent question, ‘but he said it was something to do with his loans to your late husband. He didn’t seem to want to go into details and I didn’t press him, poor chap. Perhaps we’ll find out more one day when he’s up to it. But you can see why I put my bid in without consulting you, can’t you, and why I didn’t want you to know that the king favoured my offer? I tried to warn you, as your father did, but that’s as far as I dared go, my sweet.’