by Anne Herries
He had hoped that once she was back at Banewulf she would begin to relent, to see that he had done only what was right, but she seemed determined to avoid him, to shut him out of her life.
There were moments when he felt like walking away, from Katherine, his home and all that he knew. Bryne had returned from France with the news that Grunwald was little more than a shell, its walls fast crumbling into dust, much of it carried away by the peasants to build their cottages and cow byres. Perhaps if he were gone Katherine would marry Bryne and be happy.
It might be better for them all if he just accepted that she hated him. And yet there was a part of him that would not, could not, give her up.
She was his and somehow he would make her love him again.
Katherine was disappointed if she imagined that Alain would leave at once. He lingered for two days and she was forced to bear the silent accusation in his eyes every time he looked at her.
‘I thought you meant to go to London, sir?’ she said when he came up to her when she was walking alone in the gardens.
‘I have sent word ahead,’ he told her. ‘It is perhaps not as important as I thought. Ravenshurst has little money and no friends. We are safe enough here in my father’s house, Katherine. I have decided that we should get to know each other a little better before our wedding. I have had little time to court you, which was unfortunate.’ Had she known him better, she surely could not have thought him a man of Ravenshurst’s ilk?
Katherine’s eyes flashed with pride. ‘It is too late to speak of courtship.’
‘Do you say so?’ Alain’s eyes were intent on her face. He had never seen this woman. Where had his little brown bird gone? She was neither the shy maiden she had been before she was abducted nor the child he had first thought her, but a proud woman—and she enchanted him. Yet it seemed impossible to break down the barrier between them. ‘Would you have me come to your bed as a stranger, Kate? It might be better for you if we could at least be easy with one another.’
Her eyes flashed with temper. Did he care nothing for her wishes?
‘I wish you would not come to me at all. Since you say we must marry I have no choice, but I shall not be a loving bride. If you ever cared for me, sir, let me go to the Abbey.’
‘Nay, I do not think you suited to the life,’ Alain said and reached out to touch her cheek. The touch of his fingers made her jump as if she had been scalded, her breath coming faster. He moved towards her, his eyes transfixing her like a rabbit caught by a stoat. She could neither move nor resist as he drew her into his arms, kissing her with a fierce passion that left her shaken when he at last released her. He let his fingers trail down her throat, his hand lingering for a moment in the sweet valley between her breasts, his thumb moving over to caress the nipple beneath her gown. His touch in such a sensitive place made her shiver, though she hardly knew whether it was for pleasure or fear. ‘I have longed to love you, Kate. You have haunted my sleep for many nights—many more than you might guess. You shall be my wife and I shall take my rights as your husband and then we shall see…’
She looked at him, her eyes blazing with a passion from deep within her, and in that moment she had a beauty she would never realise was hers, nor the effect it had upon her betrothed.
‘You are mine, Katherine,’ he said huskily and she saw that he had been as affected by that kiss as she. ‘I do not intend to give you up, nor shall I leave you again before we are wed. I shall tell my father to bring the ceremony forward and the business with Ravenshurst may wait…’
‘No! I do not want…’ She knew that she lied even as the words left her lips. Despite all, she had felt a stirring of desire as he kissed her. She knew that if he wanted her she would never have the strength to leave him. ‘This is not chivalrous, sir. I do not want to wed you.’
Turning, she fled away into the garden, leaving him to stare after her.
Alain was determined that the wedding should go ahead with no delay. His mother pleaded with him to give her more time to prepare, but he would not listen.
‘Katherine is vulnerable until she is my wife.’ He answered his mother’s pleading in a curt tone that brooked no defiance and she sighed over the loss of the sweet, gentle man that had been her son before he left for the Holy Land. ‘We need only our family and close neighbours about us to witness our vows. We shall be wed in six days and that is my last word upon the matter.’
‘I do not know what has come over him,’ Lady Alayne said to Katherine. ‘He was never like this—so angry and harsh. I swear I do not know him.’
‘I fear he may be angry with me,’ Katherine told her. ‘It is not you who has angered him, Mother.’
‘Why should he be angry with you—is it over that cup you placed in our strongroom?’
‘In a way, yes,’ Katherine said and decided that she ought to tell Alain’s mother the whole story. She spared no details, telling of her love for Alain from the beginning, and the revulsion she had felt at seeing him with blood spattered all over his face, clothes and hands. ‘My father’s discovery had caused so much grief already. Alain thinks we should take it to Rome, and that was my wish also at the start. I thought it too precious to give into the hands of anyone but the Holy Father—but since then I have come to think that it may be cursed, that it is not a holy relic but something of the devil’s forging.’
‘Yes, I can understand that,’ Alayne agreed. ‘My son did what he had to do to rescue you, Katherine. I know how you feel, and I think you must try to forgive yourself for having brought suffering on others—but the matter of the cup is different. If it is cursed as you say, then perhaps we should destroy it ourselves. Alain is certainly changed. He took the cup with him when he came to rescue you, but it is back in Sir Ralph’s strongroom now. I wonder…’
‘It is but a fragile thing,’ Katherine said. ‘We might destroy it easily…’
‘I shall fetch it,’ Alayne said decisively. ‘We will take it to the chapel and place it on the altar and pray for guidance. If it truly hath powers, either for good or for evil, they will surely manifest themselves in such a place.’
‘Yes,’ Katherine said, looking at her seriously. ‘If, as you say, it is God’s wish that the cup should go to Rome, we shall surely feel it.’
‘Go to the chapel and wait for me there,’ Alayne told her. ‘I will fetch the cup and bring it to you.’
Katherine agreed and they parted.
The sun was warm as Katherine made her way through the courtyard, watching men hard at work in the small craftshops that made up a part of the manor; bakers and carpenters, stone masons and farriers were all hard at their daily tasks. And at the far end of the courtyard some of Sir Ralph’s men were training with their swords and weapons.
Katherine turned her face from the sight, the sound of metal upon metal bringing back the horror of that night at Rotherham. Would she never be free of it? Sometimes she thought she could forget, but then it would return, her memories crowding in on her.
It was cool and dark inside the chapel, and she knelt before the huge silver cross on the altar, her head bent in prayer as she asked for guidance, quite unaware of the man who lingered in the shadows watching her.
When Alayne entered the chapel some minutes later, Katherine got to her feet and turned to greet her. She was feeling a little comforted by the peace all around her and, when Alayne handed her the small cloth bag in which the cup had been carried all the way from the Holy Land, she suddenly felt at peace.
‘Place it upon the altar,’ Alayne said. ‘We must both pray for guidance, Katherine. What you do now is important, and we must be sure that whatever you choose is the right thing.’
Carefully unwrapping the cup, Katherine placed it on the altar cloth. It looked small and insignificant against the ornate silver goblets that were used during religious ceremonies. And yet Alayne drew a sharp breath as she saw it and sank to her knees.
‘We ask Your forgiveness, Lord,’ she said. ‘And we pray that You may g
ive us guidance and the strength to carry out Your wishes concerning the cup.’
Katherine joined her in silent prayer. After that terrible night of bloodshed at Rotherham, she had wanted to be rid of the cup, believing it evil—but now she understood that it was men who were evil. Evil men had sought the cup for its value in gold, for there were many that would pay to have such a precious thing for themselves.
‘At last…’ The triumphant cry startled both Katherine and Alayne and they opened their eyes, jumping to their feet as a man appeared out of the shadows and moved towards the altar, sword in hand. ‘At last it is mine…’
‘How have you come here?’ Katherine whispered.
How could he have passed the guards? Yet looking at his dress, no one would take him for the Lord of Ravenshurst. He looked more like one of the beggars who often came to Banewulf for charity. He must have mingled with the village folk as they entered on their lawful business.
The two women rose to their feet in alarm, for it was obvious that the man was dangerous. His eyes glittered with a fanatical fervour, his hair and beard were wild and matted and he seemed as if he had lost all reason.
‘No!’ Katherine cried as he moved towards the altar. ‘You may not take it! You are steeped in the blood of innocents and your touch would defile it. I forbid you to touch the cup. It must be given to the Holy Father and kept in Rome where all may see it.’
‘Who are you to defy me?’ Ravenshurst advanced on her menacingly, his sword at the ready. ‘You are nothing—a beetle I shall crush beneath my feet. No one shall stop me taking what is rightfully mine.’
Katherine moved away from him, her eyes never leaving his face. He was surely insane? His desire to own the cup had driven him out of his mind. He was determined to have it at all costs, to kill or die for it, and she in her foolishness had brought it here to this place where he could see and touch it.
Suddenly, she knew that he must not have it. No matter what it cost she must keep him from taking something that was so precious it belonged in a safe haven where the greedy men of this world could not use it for their own ends.
‘You shall not have it,’ she said in a strong voice and stood in between Ravenshurst and the altar. ‘No matter what you do, you shall not take it.’
‘Let me by or it will be the worse for you, Katherine.’
‘No.’ She lifted her head proudly. ‘You shall not pass…’
‘Then I have no choice.’ Ravenshurst lifted his arm, his sword glittering in the candlelight. ‘Prepare to meet your death…’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Stand back from her!’
Alain’s voice rang out and suddenly he was there beside Katherine. She glanced at him and saw that he was unarmed, wearing only a short tunic and braes, his feet softly shod in leather slippers. Yet there was about him a determination that she had seldom seen. Fear gripped her—she knew that without his sword and armour he was at a disadvantage. Beneath his beggar’s robes, Ravenshurst wore his chain-mail, and a tunic still splattered with the blood of that night at Rotherham.
‘You must not fight him,’ she said to Alain, for without his sword and suit of chain-mail he was vulnerable. ‘Please, Alain, do not.’
‘I do not forget my promise to you,’ Alain said harshly, but his gaze never faltered as he looked at Ravenshurst, who was moving towards them, sword in hand. ‘Stand away. Go back to the house with my mother and leave this to me.’
Katherine shook her head. She could not leave him, knowing that he must be killed if she did not find some way to help him, but she moved to one side, looking about her for some weapon.
‘Come away,’ Alayne urged, but she shook her head stubbornly.
‘You go. I shall stay.’
‘I’ll fetch help.’
Katherine did not turn her head as Alayne went swiftly from the chapel. She was watching as the two men circled one another in what was clearly meant to be a dance of death. Ravenshurst yelled fiercely and struck at Alain with his sword, but he dodged back, nimbly avoiding the blow. Then he picked up a wooden stool and began to use it as a shield to defend himself from the furious onslaught as Ravenshurst charged at him, slashing wildly to left and right.
There was a long wooden pike standing at one side of the church where a display of armour had been set upon the wall as part of a thanksgiving for some long-ago victory. Surely Alain would snatch the weapon and drive his opponent back? But he had ignored it, his expression grim but unflinching. Her heart lurched as Ravenshurst made a series of wild lunges at Alain.
She watched as he used his stool, seeming to bait his opponent, making him lunge angrily and miss his target time and time again. Yet he made no attempt to strike back, merely defending himself from the Baron’s attempts to wound him.
Why did he not strike back? Why did he not avail himself of the pike, which would have given him the advantage? She puzzled over it, but then suddenly the answer came to her as in a blinding flash. He was honouring his promise to her!
He would keep Ravenshurst from harming her or taking the cup—but he would not fight back. He would not kill the man who was trying so hard to kill him, because of his promise to her. If need be, he would die for his honour! And she had accused him of being no better than the man he fought. How cruel and wrong her accusations had been. So much did he value his honour that he would not do more than defend himself.
Oh, the foolish, foolish man! Katherine felt like screaming aloud in her frustration, but she dare not distract Alain, for one stumble would bring him down. He was trying to contain Ravenshurst until someone came to help him. Oh, let him not be killed before that help came!
She could barely hold back her scream as she saw the Baron’s sword rip through the sleeve of his tunic. Fresh blood spurted and ran down Alain’s arm.
‘Arm yourself,’ she murmured, but so softly that none could hear. ‘Oh, my dearest love, do not die for my sake. I was such a fool to think so ill of you. God forgive me for hurting you as I did.’
She seized a heavy candlestick from a small side table, holding it at the ready as she saw that Alain’s wound was hampering him. He was still keeping the Baron at bay, but only just. She moved closer, waiting for her chance, and then seeing that Ravenshurst had his back towards her, she brought her weapon crashing down across his shoulders. He gave a shout of anger and turned on her, thrusting at her with the blade of his sword. In that moment, Alain brought his stool down hard on Ravenshurst’s sword arm; there was a cracking sound as a bone splintered and with a grunt of pain he let go of the sword, allowing it to fall unheeded to the ground.
The Baron snarled like a wounded beast and moved away from them, his eyes moving from side to side as if he thought Alain would close in for the kill. Backing away from them, he reached the altar, and picking up the cup, he held it aloft.
‘I have it now and defy you to take it from me.’ He laughed demonically, a sound that made Katherine shudder. He must surely be mad, for he had lost all reason. ‘I call upon the power of this cup to strike you down, de Banewulf, and all your…arghhh…’ His eyes bulged suddenly and sweat stood upon his brow as his body was gripped by terrible shudders that racked him from head to toe and the cup seemed to fly from his fingers to the stone flags of the chapel floor. It smashed into twelve pieces. Ravenshurst sagged to his knees before it, covering his face with his hands, his body shaking as he cried out in fear.
Neither Katherine nor Alain could move. It was as if they were rooted to the spot, able only to observe. The Baron stayed where he was for some minutes, and gradually the shudders subsided, and then at last he stood up and Katherine was struck by the look on his face. It was as if the madness had left him and a new calm had descended on the man who had been willing to kill ruthlessly only seconds earlier. Yet it was the calm of a man with the mind of a child.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, looking at Katherine but not seeing her as he stared into the darkness beyond her, ‘if I have harmed you, lady. I shall go now and cau
se no more trouble to you or yours.’
Katherine turned her head to watch as he walked unsteadily from the chapel looking neither to left nor right, a man broken in spirit and body. Then, as she turned back, she saw that Alain had knelt by the broken pieces of the cup, but even as he reached out to gather them, they began to glow and shimmer with a warm yellow light.
‘Do not touch them,’ Katherine warned. She knelt by his side, watching as the light grew brighter and brighter until it almost blinded her and she had to cover her eyes. It was then that she seemed to hear the voice, and in the voice was love and peace, telling her all she needed to know.
When she was able to open her eyes again she saw that the light had gone and the cup was once more in one piece. Looking at Alain, she knew that he was as stunned by the miracle they had witnessed as she had been.
‘It is a miracle…’
‘It is whole again…’ Alain breathed, a look of wonder in his eyes. ‘It broke into twelve pieces—one for each of the disciples—and then it healed itself.’
‘It cannot be destroyed,’ Katherine said in an awed tone. ‘It is the reason it was there for my father to find after more than a thousand years. It must truly be the Holy Grail, Alain.’
‘Yes…’ He turned to look at her, giving her his hand to help her rise. ‘Do you realise the power this cup has—the source of good or evil it might be for those who possessed it?’
‘But Ravenshurst could not touch it…you saw what it did to him. He was like a child…an innocent. He will never be a man again in the true sense of the word. He is helpless…’
‘It was his punishment.’ Alain looked solemn. ‘Better that he should seek succour from the monks or live a life of penitence rather than bring harm to others.’
‘It is a fearful thing to posses, Alain.’
