‘’Tis better to laugh than to cry.’
‘Go away!’ She shifted then and rolled to her side, wincing as pain shot through the back of her thighs and buttocks.
Troye frowned. ‘I heard that your father beat you.’
‘Aye, and how I wish I was a man, like Rupert, for I would strike him back! But I am only a weak female and have no choice but to allow men to overwhelm me.’
‘’Tis not weakness,’ he admonished in a whisper, glancing quickly over his shoulder to the shadow of Rupert as he kept lookout, ‘but respect for your father. He was afraid, and that is why he lashed out.’
‘Afraid of what?’
Troye shrugged. ‘That I am not sure of, but I implore you, little maid, to get up and stand firm, as any knight would.’
Ellie sighed with heavy exasperation, goaded by a niggling dislike for the way he spoke to her, as though she were just a child. ‘Very well.’ She rolled awkwardly and rose with stiff and aching difficulty to her feet. She swayed a little, light-headed from weeping and lack of nourishment, and then gasped as his arm went about her waist and steadied her. She laid a hand on his chest, at first to hold him back and then out of curiosity as her fingers splayed and she felt beneath their tingling tips his warmth and hard muscles.
She tipped back her head and looked up at him, for though she was not as small as her Aunt Beatrice, who was tiny and dainty, neither was she as tall as her mother. The top of her head reached to his chin, and with her eyes wide and wary she noted that he was certainly the most handsome man she had ever seen. His dark hair was fine and cut close to the neck and his level brows neither too coarse nor too thin. Her eyes roved over his face, noting his nose that would have been elegant if it had not been broken at some stage in his life, mayhap more than once. The slightly flared nostrils, and his square forehead and lean, hollowed cheeks were all very masculine. Her gaze lingered for a moment on his mouth, with its curved lower lip and narrow, well-disciplined upper. His eyes were a very dark brown, and now they narrowed.
She felt his hands let go of her waist, yet they stared at each other for long moments, and then abruptly he took a step backwards, as though he had suddenly found himself teetering upon a cliff edge and sought to evade the danger.
For a moment Ellie could not resist lifting her glance to look at his mouth, and the faint shadow of stubble upon his firm jaw. She wondered how it would feel to be kissed by him, to feel his lips on her lips, to feel the rough scrape of his chin, so very male, against her tender skin.
Her emotions were obvious to him and he sighed, looking away from her lovely face and curious eyes. ‘I am of no use to you, child, so waste not your time looking at me in such a way.’
Ellie felt a blush burn along her cheeks and she dropped her gaze, yet her pride goaded her to ask, ‘Am I so ugly that you would turn away from me, sir?’
‘Nay, you are not ugly. The fault is mine, not yours.’ He was not one to divulge his private affairs, but he took pity upon the doubts that shadowed her eyes and her tender, innocent ego, ‘You are a very beautiful young girl. One day you will make someone a fine wife.’ Then he bowed in farewell and his footsteps were a soft sound upon the ground as he left her.
Ellie sighed, and watched as Troye de Valois departed, not at all sure what her reaction should be. Her confusion was mounting. She jumped with nervous guilt as another figure entered the tent, but it was only Rupert and she ran to him, glad for his company.
‘Oh, Rupert! Tell me, is Father still angry?’ She clutched at his arms in her anxiety.
‘Nay, he is full of remorse and is convinced that you must hate him.’
She shook her head in denial, and then looked up at him with a puzzled frown, ‘They…’ She hesitated and then ploughed onwards. ‘They said such strange things last night, Rupert. Did you hear?’
‘Nay—’ his frown matched hers ‘—what do you mean?’
Ellie shrugged. ‘Nothing. No doubt I misheard or misunderstood.’
Rupert did not press the point, accepting that last night she had indeed been confused and upset. ‘How are you this morn, Ellie? Still sore?’
She nodded. ‘It will pass. At least he did not strike me in the face.’
‘Father would never do that.’
‘Nay. I suppose not.’ But suddenly her childhood had evaporated and she was no longer certain of anything. ‘How was your day? Did you fare well in the joust?’
He smiled. ‘Aye. But tomorrow I must face de Valois.’
She shuddered, at once fearful and yet not wishing to break her brother’s confidence by admitting that she did not think he could best de Valois.
‘Don’t worry, little sis, even I do not expect to beat the King’s champion in my first season. ’Tis only a learning experience. Come now,’ he chivvied her in a cheerful tone, ‘the king has invited almost everyone that is anyone to the palace for a night of feasting and merrymaking. We will dance and I will find you some of your favourite marchpane sweetmeats and we will forget all about this unpleasantness. How about that?’
Ellie smiled, and nodded, yet sadly aware that she could not easily forget the burning flicker that had been ignited in her heart and threatened to burst into a sweet flame that would consume her.
Chapter Three
T hey went by barge to the Palace of Westminster, and Ellie welcomed the cooling breeze that whispered off the River Thames, the waters dark and smooth and lapping gently as the sun waned on this late summer’s evening. The sky was burnished a vibrant coral-pink, a colour that matched the silk of her close-fitting gown, the sleeves and bodice edged with gold embroidery and seed pearls. She had dressed carefully, hoping to see Troye and that he would notice her appearance. The clinging folds of the gown draped her slender yet feminine hips and full bosom, the colour a perfect background for her auburn hair that hung loose and rippling to her hips, her head covered with a filmy organza veil held in place with a gold circlet.
She sat a little apart from the others as the barge rowed down the river, gliding with little more than a splash of water as the oars dipped into the river and the prow pushed its gradual way towards their destination. Her father had come to her earlier and made his peace, and she had accepted, yet in her heart she knew that all matters between them would never be the same. She watched him now, sitting with his casual grace beside her mother, his arm loosely about her waist and laughing at some jest Uncle Remy made. Aunt Beatrice leaned back in the circle of his arms, and she looked radiant in a gown of dark green velvet. Ellie envied them, these four, these two couples, and she felt the bitter pang of loneliness for the first time in her life. She felt that she no longer belonged within the family circle, and that knowledge disturbed her.
The embankment at Westminster was lit with pitch torches, flaring small pools of golden light as the passengers from many river barges and gondolas drew up and alighted.
‘Stay close,’ whispered Lady Joanna urgently as they climbed the stairs and traversed the deeply shadowed lawns edging the palace.
The great hall was brightly lit and already noisy with music and laughter and the hum of cheerful chatter. Ellie looked about, seeking her brother, who had promised to meet up with them later when his duties were done. Jousting in tournaments was for his amusement and training, as it was for many other knights, but not his living. He had just recently been placed in the cadet corp of the King’s personal bodyguard and his duties were to serve the knights who guarded the King from all harm. The King’s Own were men harvested from the most loyal families in the kingdom, fighting men who had proven their valour and skill upon the battlefield, amongst them Austin Stratford, Sylvester de Lacy and the King’s champion, Troye de Valois. She kept a look out for her brother, for where he was Troye would be too, both of them in service to the King.
Ellie was fascinated by the colourful gathering of people, brightly clothed in rich fabrics of velvet and silk, and the snippets of conversations that she overheard, laced with rumour and gossip and baw
dy jokes, before her mother or aunt hastily moved her away. The crowd laughed and drank, dancing and feasting, with all the merriment and intensity of those who knew the King was footing the bill for this jollity.
Rupert sent a message with a pageboy to say that he would be off-duty at the tenth hour. Ellie danced with her father and her uncle, and once with a group of girls similar in age, but mostly her family kept her within the close confines of their protection at all times. Ellie chafed at the restriction, for she knew that Troye must be here somewhere and she longed to see him, to speak with him.
She could scarce concentrate on anything at all, as her gaze winged its way about the hall, to the King’s dais, hoping to catch a glimpse of Troye de Valois, yet it was so crowded and such a distance away she could not see him.
Rupert appeared then, holding one hand over her eyes and with the other depositing an object in her hands.
‘Guess,’ he commanded with a laugh.
Long familiar with his teasing games, Ellie exclaimed, ‘A white kitten with a black tail!’
‘Nay, goose.’
‘Um…’ Ellie pretended to be flummoxed and agonised over her choices ‘…a dove? A silk scarf? A handful of London air?’
Rupert released her with a heavy sigh, and Ellie opened the wooden box, prettily decorated with mother of pearl, and murmured her thanks at the sight of plump marchpane sweetmeats nestling within a bed of satin. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and kissed her brother’s cheek, ‘Thank you, but you should not have wasted your coin.’
‘I didn’t.’ He grinned. ‘I, er, charmed them off a lady-in-waiting.’
She punched his arm in mock-admonishment, and then quickly set aside the box as he whirled her off into a prancing set. The evening picked up its pace and seemed to fly by, as her parents could little object to her dancing in a group when her own brother was part of it and looked on with a careful and watchful eye.
During the dances they swept past the King’s dais and there, at last, she found Troye. He stood behind the King, to his right, alongside four other trusted and experienced knights who would guard the King from all harm and lay down their lives for him if necessary. Troye watched the gathering but, hard as she tried, she could not seem to catch his eye.
The music for a particularly lively rotundellus had just come to a halt, the drums ceasing in their banging and the reedy notes of several recorders and a twanging rebec had stilled when a sudden shout from the yeoman guards ranged about the hall went up.
‘’Ware! Arms!’
Into the hall whirled five black-cloaked and hooded figures. A collective gasp bounced to the rafters from the gathering of guests and they jostled themselves out of the way, tripping and bumping one another, skirts rustling and heels tapping in their haste. Then the black apparitions flung off their cloaks and five acrobats were revealed, dressed all in white, with black ruff collars and their faces painted to match the black-and-white theme. Laughter and a sigh of relief echoed from the crowd, and the rasp of steel as swords half-drawn from their scabbards were now slotted home, the King’s bodyguard retreating from its protective phalanx about their liege.
‘It’s only a disguising!’ cried Aunt Beatrice, peeping out from behind her husband’s broad back, where he had thrust her at the first hint of trouble.
It was a common enough form of entertainment, to run into a hall disguised in dark cloaks, and then throw them off, make their performance of either singing or dancing, charades or acrobatics, and then run off again. Ellie emerged from behind her brother and watched with interest the tumbling, white-faced acrobats, and clapped along with everyone else before the disguisers picked up their cloaks and ran out of the hall.
The moment of tension had not blighted anyone’s enjoyment of the revelry. Indeed, to face the uncertain prospect of violence, and possibly death, had only served to whet their appetites for more pleasure. The noise levels rose to a roar, strong Gascon wine flowed freely from casket to goblet, and sumptuous offerings of food crammed on side tables were soon consumed.
‘Oh, look, it is a line dance! Do let’s join in, Rupert.’
On either side of the hall the guests formed a line, each couple on opposites sides. When it was their turn they skipped the dancing steps into the middle and then down the length of the hall, until halfway, where they were met by a couple from the other end of the line. In the middle the two couples danced together, and then swapped partners. It was one of Ellie’s favourite dances, being very lively, and gave her a chance to dance with new partners. And to pass in front of the dais. And perhaps to make Troye a little jealous as she danced with other men?
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed brightly as her feet tapped out the intricate steps, with a smile on her berry-red lips. She danced with a very dark man, who had a hook nose and shaggy brows and whose name she did not know, but he held her hand lightly and smiled at her, a gold earring glinting in one ear. She thought he looked like a pirate, and then they separated and she skipped away to join the end of the line.
The dance required stamina, and it was some long moments before she reached the head of the line again, in front of the King’s dais, where he sat back, looking on with a bored expression upon his face. She tried to see if Troye de Valois watched her, but his face was just a distant blur. She smiled across at Rupert and it was just about to be their turn to go down the middle when again came that warning cry.
‘’Ware! Arms!’
There was a brief titter this time, and the dancers scarce halted in their bobbing as five cloaked intruders ran into their midst. Ellie stayed where she was, their entrance blocking her path, and she looked on with a faint hint of expectation on her face, which quickly evaporated as the disguisers threw off their cloaks and drew swords from their scabbards, the scraping sound echoing a warning about the hall.
The royal bodyguard reacted immediately, the hiss of steel as they drew their own swords and surrounded King Edward spurring the guests into a collective scream. The floorboards suddenly shook as heels drummed in their haste to run from the impending conflict. There was no doubt this time that the King was under attack, yet Ellie stood rooted to the spot, aghast and mesmerised by the skirmish that erupted before her very eyes.
She had lived her entire life sheltered behind castle walls, protected and cosseted. She had heard tales of battle and only envisaged it as a playground for the exploits of valour and chivalry. Now she was stunned as silver blades arced through the air and cut through flesh and bone, blood spurting in a crimson fountain and spraying across the floors, the walls, and her gown. The masked attackers were no match for the knights, who had honed their skills for years in battles and tournaments for just such a moment.
Steel clanged on steel. There were guttural shouts and coarse oaths shouted as the King’s bodyguards fought off the five masked assassins. The hall had erupted into pandemonium. Hundreds of people shoved and grappled to squeeze their way through the already crowded doorways to flee from the danger. Ellie was knocked to the floor. She looked up to see Troye de Valois standing over her as he parried the less-than-skilful swordplay of one attacker. As she cowered she watched him bludgeon his opponent with swift strokes, knocking him to the ground and then forcing him to relinquish his weapon. With one quick thrust Troye stabbed the man in the heart and he gurgled an instant death.
The dead man lay only a few feet away from her and now Ellie began to scream, as blood spattered her and she recoiled. Rough hands seized her arm and dragged her off the floor.
‘Get out!’ shouted Troye harshly.
She scrambled to her knees, and then to her feet, crashing against the solid rockface that was Troye’s chest as he jerked her backwards with one hand and fought off an assailant with the other. Her heart pounded as sword blades flashed so close to her head that her veil lifted and shivered in the breeze of their wake. Following the urgent insistence of Troye’s hand gripping her arm, she tried to flee, but her heel slipped in a greasy pool of blood and she
fell to her knees, her screams of horror rising to piercing intensity. Troye tugged her up again and pulled her along, throwing her with some force towards the crowd of people scrabbling for the exit.
‘For God’s sake, get out!’ he shouted at her, and then he turned away, leaping once more into the fray as he and his men quickly dealt with the remaining intruders.
‘Eleanor!’
She started at the sound of that familiar voice, and with a sob flung herself into the open arms of her Uncle Remy, burrowing into the massive, protective width of his broad chest. Being head and shoulders taller than most people, he managed to force his way through the crush, and soon had her out into the cool dark of the evening air. He hurried to where the rest of the family waited, half-carrying Eleanor as her knees suddenly buckled and refused to hold her upright. Her mother gave a desperate cry at the sight of her.
‘It’s all right,’ Remy hastened to reassure them, ‘it’s not her blood. No harm has come to her.’
Ellie sank into the warm embrace of her mother’s bosom, while her Aunt Beatrice used her veil to wipe the blood from her face, both women making soothing sounds as Ellie stared blankly with shock.
‘Let us depart,’ suggested Lord Henry.
There were swift murmurs of agreement, yet Rupert hung back, knowing full well where his duty lay. ‘I must return to the hall.’
Lord Henry stretched out a hand and clapped his son on the shoulder, ‘Fare thee well, Rupert. We will see you on the morrow.’ With a rueful glance thrown at his womenfolk, he concluded drily, ‘Our duty lies elsewhere. The fight is yours.’
Rupert nodded, and melted away into the dark shadows of Westminster without a backward glance as his family hurried across the lawns to the stairs leading down to the embankment and their waiting barge.
It was a silent journey, punctuated only by the clunk and splash of the oars as they rose and plunged through the oily black waters of the river, and by Eleanor’s hiccups as she sniffed, a violent shivering now taking hold of her as shock set in. She could scarce believe what had happened, and through it all she could only see the crimson of blood and the face of Troye de Valois. Never in her life had she seen such an expression upon a man’s face. Such grim determination, such brutal ruthlessness. Again she shuddered, as goosebumps flared across her skin. And yet her heart had been thrilled, for he was her hero. Her heart had spoken, saying aye, this is the one, the other half that would make the emptiness within her complete, and no counsel from her head would alter her heart’s desire.
The King s Champion Page 4
