by Anne Herries
If she could but think of a way to delay their journey! But, remembering the bitterness in Stefan’s voice when he had spoken of the Lady Isobel the previous night, Elona realised her self-imposed task might be impossible. If Stefan had been disappointed in love, it might be that he had no wish to marry anyone.
There were moments when he looked at her when she was certain that he desired her, others when she was just as sure that he felt nothing more than the common concern he would show to any lady.
‘Why so sad, my lady?’
Elona smiled at Dickon as he came to stand beside her as she looked out over the water. The river seemed to sparkle in the sunshine, looking temptingly cool. ‘I was thinking that we must soon be on our way and I shall miss the friends I have made here.’
‘But Lady Alayne comes to court with her son from time to time,’ Dickon said. ‘She will surely bring you with her, and your husband, when you choose to marry, may decide to live here.’
‘Perhaps…’ Elona sighed. She could tell no one the true reason for her wish to linger here just a little longer.
She turned her head and her heart missed a beat as she saw that Stefan was watching her. That old, brooding look was back in his eyes and he seemed almost angry, but then as their eyes met she saw something else that made her heart catch. A slow, burning heat began deep down inside her and she felt a yearning need for something she only vaguely understood. Ladies were not supposed to be aware of desire. An unmarried girl should be pure and innocent of heart and mind, but how could she not be aware when her whole being seemed to demand union with his?
Her cheeks heated as he came towards her. What would he think of her unmaidenly thoughts? But she knew! He would think her wanton—a wicked, immodest wench—and turn from her in disgust.
‘Are you not enjoying yourself, Elona?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, feeling a little breathless. The nearness of him, the scent of him, cedar and leather and his own personal musk that she found so intoxicating, but she must not let him see how his nearness affected her. ‘Too much, I fear. Constance begged me to stay on as her guest and—and I almost wish we could.’
‘For myself, I would soon weary of the life,’ Stefan confessed, a frown creasing his brow as his eyes dwelled on her face. ‘But I suppose it might be arranged for you to return after you have visited your kinswoman. There is as yet no betrothal between you and Alain, though it is your father’s wish.’
‘My father merely wishes me married and safely beyond the Baron Danewold’s reach.’ There was a note of near panic in her voice. She turned away, hiding the tears that stung her eyes. He did not truly care for her! Had he done so, he could not have spoken so calmly of her marriage to another. ‘I could find a husband at court as easily. Indeed, I know that…’ She faltered and held back the words. What would it avail her to marry Sir Basil rather than Alain de Banewulf? Neither of them was the one she wanted. ‘Oh, what does it matter? No one cares what I feel.’
‘Why do you say that?’ She moved away, but Stefan caught her wrist, detaining her. She felt his strong fingers curled about her wrist and knew that he could break it with one deft twist if he chose, but he was taking care not to hurt her. ‘Are you so unhappy, Elona? Do you dislike the idea of marrying my half-brother so much?’
‘Yes! But what does it matter how I feel? I am merely a woman. My hopes and wishes mean nothing.’ She was close to tears, his touch having disturbed her. How could he ask such a question? Did he not understand? If he cared for her, he would know that she would be unhappy to marry anyone but him.
She broke away from him and this time he let her go, staring after her broodingly. The barge had returned to the river bank and the ladies were disembarking, others ready to take their place on board.
Elona walked away from the chattering, laughing crowd, wanting to be alone. She had thought she might be happy here, but suddenly she knew that without Stefan by her side she would feel alone wherever she was. Oh, how had it happened? She had begun by hating him, thinking him cold and harsh, but now she knew that it was but a mask and that beneath the ice lay the heat of passion. There was gentleness in him, though he kept it hidden as much as he could, almost as though it were a weakness to be ashamed of.
She turned as Dickon came up to her.
‘My lord sent me to warn you not to stray too far from the others,’ the youth said. ‘These woods are dense, my lady. You could easily lose yourself in them.’
Elona had loved to walk in the woods surrounding her father’s home, but she had known them so well and she knew that the warning was well given. Even so, the command irked her. Why must Stefan always be so watchful? Why could he not simply trust her to be sensible?
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at her young squire disarmingly. She would send him away and then do whatever she pleased! A walk in the woods would be pleasant. ‘Would you fetch me a glass of cool water, please, Dickon? I am thirsty…’ Her words died away as her gaze was drawn to Stefan once more. He was talking to Isobel de Montaine, arguing with her. He looked so angry! Now he was saying something, walking away from her. Elona’s heart raced, pumping wildly as she saw the lady cry out something to Sir Gavin and sensed danger—danger for Stefan!
It all happened so swiftly that afterwards Elona could not recall what had begun the ugly incident. One moment Stefan seemed intent on coming to her, Elona, and the next Sir Gavin was calling out his name in a loud, strident voice that all could hear.
‘You, Sir Stefan! Are you a knave or merely a coward that you insult a lady? Turn and face me, for I defend her honour.’
A terrible silence fell as Stefan halted. For one agonising moment that seemed to drag on forever, it seemed that Stefan would ignore him, and then he turned slowly to face the knight who had challenged him.
‘You are a brave knight, sir, but you know not what you say. Since I bear you no grudge I shall let the matter go.’
‘Nay, not if you would keep your honour, sir. You have insulted the lady. I say again, I defend her honour.’
Watching, Elona caught her breath, all thought of foolish defiance gone as she felt the fear turn her limbs to stone. She wanted to cry out, to stop what was happening, but she could not move nor yet speak. Sir Orlando was standing nearby. She saw him reach out to touch Stefan and urge caution, but it was already too late; she knew that as she heard their next words.
‘Then you are a fool.’ Stefan’s icy, clipped tones drew a gasp from the onlookers. ‘The lady hath no honour. It was lost long since, as you well know.’
‘You will answer to me for that!’ Sir Gavin challenged. ‘You insult the woman I love and will fight me—a fight unto the death for one of us.’
‘I refuse your challenge,’ Stefan said. ‘There is blood enough on the lady’s hands…’
‘What does he mean?’ Elona looked anxiously at Dickon, her face pale with fright.
Dickon lowered his head to speak against her ear. ‘It is whispered that she conspired to have her husband killed; though ’twas in a tourney and none can prove the blow was meant to kill him.’
Elona felt a spasm of nerves in her stomach as she watched the terrible scene unfold. How could Stefan refuse such a challenge? He would be branded a coward if he did not meet Sir Gavin in single combat.
‘You are a cowardly knave. You no longer have the stomach for a fight, it seems. Has your blood turned to water?’
There was silence as Sir Gavin’s jeers died away and the crowd waited with bated breath to hear what Stefan would answer now.
‘You are a fool, sir,’ he repeated at last and it was as if the words were forced out of him. ‘Your death will be on her hands, not mine. Let all here bear witness that I did not wish to accept your challenge, but you leave me no choice. The fight takes place tomorrow in the presence of your chosen witnesses and my own. Isobel de Montaine will not be present, nor any other lady. That is my condition.’
Silence gave way to a round of applause and the ladies cried out words
of encouragement to Stefan as he strode away. Elona would have run after him—he must not do this thing!—but Dickon held her back.
‘Let him go, my lady. You cannot change it. He had no choice but to take up the gauntlet. Had he not done so, his reputation would have been tarnished.’
‘But he may be killed!’ Elona cried wildly. Her eyes were wide, her face pale with anxiety. How could she bear it if Stefan were killed in such a cause?
Dickon shook his head, a wry smile on his mouth. ‘Have no fear. My lord will win and easily. I have seen Sir Gavin fight and I know that he could not hope to win in such a fight. Why do you think my lord did not enter the tourney? He did not wish to fight mock battles. He has killed too many men and had no desire to do so by accident. He is a fearsome warrior. Sir Gavin has only fought within the rules of a court tourney. He cannot know what he has taken on. My lord will win, though he has no stomach for it.’
‘Then Stefan should not fight. You heard what was said—’tis to be a fight to the death. Stefan will surely take it hard if he is forced to kill his opponent?’
‘My lord will let Sir Gavin live if he can. Once he has the victory, he may offer mercy if he chooses—and if the loser accepts.’
Elona looked into the squire’s face. ‘And if Sir Gavin refuses to accept mercy?’
‘Then my lord will have no choice and must do as the law and custom demands.’
‘He should not fight,’ Elona repeated. Something inside her was telling her that it was wrong. Stefan did not want to fight, especially over a woman he so clearly despised. She sensed that, whether he won or lost the fight, she would lose him. He would retreat into that icy silence she dreaded and this time she would not be able to reach him.
Stefan cursed himself for allowing the quarrel to happen. He ought to have guarded his tongue, given Isobel no chance to claim that he had insulted her, but her barbed words had made him lose his temper.
‘You have become soft, Stefan,’ Isobel had taunted, her eyes mocking him. ‘Dancing like a tame bear after that milk-and-water wench. I thought you more of a man than to hanker after Elona de Barre—that passionless thing.’
‘The lady is as pure and innocent as you are evil, Isobel. Pray refrain from using her name with your tainted breath. I want none of your spite, serpent.’
He had turned away from her, meaning to go to Elona and reassure her that she had nothing to fear. He was duty bound to take her to Banewulf, as he had promised, but he would not allow her to be forced into a marriage against her will. Rather than that…but all thoughts of another life had vanished with the day. He had been forced to accept Sir Gavin’s challenge and that meant he must kill or be killed, for he did not imagine the knight would accept mercy from his hand.
Gavin Tremaine must be mad with love for Isobel to have challenged him! Surely he must know of Stefan’s reputation? He had won every tourney he entered for years before the sport palled on him. It was the last battle he had fought for real that had soured him. The siege of a fortress that Duke Richard had ordered razed to the ground. The knight to be so punished, a man of ill repute who had aroused the Duke’s anger.
Stefan had fought many such battles during his long career, for the nobles were a quarrelsome, fearsome breed, always falling out and fighting with one another, and Duke Richard had sought to subdue them to his will. Stefan had served him long and faithfully, but something about this last affair had turned his stomach.
‘Sir Robert de Champagnier is to be brought back in chains to me,’ the Duke had ordered in a thunderous voice. ‘He will be an example to all who defy me.’
Stefan had known the punishment intended for the rebellious knight. He would have been paraded though the streets for the people to jeer and throw rubbish at and then shut in an oubliette and left to die a slow and harrowing death. It was a cruel death and one that made the strongest man weep.
Robert de Champagnier had known his fate too. When it was clear that his fortress could not stand against Stefan and the Duke’s army, he had challenged Stefan to single combat. Stefan had granted him the privilege and killed him. His lifeless body had been chained and taken to the Duke, who had had it placed in a cage and hung above the city walls as a warning to others that would defy him. However, Stefan’s disregard of his orders had displeased him, and it was shortly after that that Stefan had set out for the Holy Land.
He had no doubt that Duke Richard had meant to punish him by sending from the court, but in fact it had been a healing journey, and one that had revealed many things to Stefan.
He had not known that the death of Robert de Champagnier would haunt him! It was perhaps one too many on his soul, or more likely that he had admired the bravery of the man. The knight had, in his opinion, been more foolish than evil. Stefan had discovered later that his quarrel with Duke Richard had been a personal one, and he wished that he had been able to show mercy. His friends told him that the quick death he had delivered was merciful, but it still haunted him. It was one of the reasons he had left the Duke’s service after his journey to the Holy Land; the other was Isobel de Montaine.
Now it seemed that he must kill again because of her. He had refused her bribes to murder her husband, but she had found other willing fools to do her bidding. Sir Gavin’s blood would be upon her hands. Yet Stefan knew that he would carry the guilt on his soul.
He would spend the night in prayer. Ask that he might be forgiven for his sin before it was committed.
‘Oh, I wish there was something we could do to prevent this fight,’ Elona said to Constance and her father later that day. Stefan had gone off immediately after the incident, without speaking to her, and they had taken her to their home, because she was upset. Tears stung her eyes and she felt desperately unhappy, but several people had told her that nothing could be done to prevent it happening. ‘It will prey on Stefan’s mind if he is forced to…’ Her words of protest died away as the tears came. ‘Forgive me. I should not…’
‘I do not like to see you in such distress,’ Sir Basil said as she dabbed at her eyes with the end of her veil, which covered her lovely hair as it hung from a cap of silver. ‘Pray do not weep, lady. I think I may be able to do something to help you.’
‘What can you do, Father?’ Constance looked at him in surprise. ‘The challenge has been given and accepted—it cannot be stopped. Even the King could not prevent it happening.’
‘The fight must take place,’ Sir Basil agreed, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at his daughter. ‘No, no, I shall not tell you, daughter. But I think I know how to make sure that the end Elona fears is circumvented.’
‘Tell us!’ his daughter demanded, but he only shook his head and walked off, smiling to himself.
‘What did he mean?’ Elona looked at her friend, hope beginning to dawn in her eyes. ‘Can Sir Basil really do something to help?’
‘My father has certain powers at court,’ Constance said. ‘I have no idea what he means to do—but if he says he will do something, then you may be sure he will.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Elona said. ‘I do hope he can prevent this terrible thing becoming worse—and now I thank you for your kindness, but I must go home.’
‘Why not stay here with us tonight?’
Elona thanked her for her kindness, but refused the offer. She wanted to be at her home in case Stefan should come to see her, though she did not believe that he would. For the moment she was the last thing on his mind!
But he filled hers as he filled her heart and she knew that if he died life would be over for her. To live on when he was gone would be a pointless existence, for he had become everything to her—her friend, comforter and protector and she loved him.
Elona could not sleep that night, try as she might. Every time she closed her eyes her thoughts were so terrifying that she started up in fear. In the end she gave up all hope of resting and sat curled in a window embrasure wrapped in a cloak, watching as the dawn spread its rosy fingers over the dark streets of t
he city.
Now she could hear the sounds of people beginning to stir, but, instead of abating, her anxiety increased with every moment that passed. Would Stefan have fought with Sir Gavin yet—and, if so, what had happened? Was Sir Gavin dead? A worse thought still was that Stefan might have been killed. Everyone was so sure that it could not happen, but a cloud of agony and fear that it might shadowed Elona.
At last she could stand it no longer. Summoning her women to help her to dress, she was on the point of leaving the house when there was a sharp knocking at her door and then Constance was admitted.
Something had happened! Elona felt so faint that she caught at the nearest thing to steady herself, which happened to be a heavily carved oak coffer, her head spinning as she fought to compose herself.
‘Tell me at once—is there news?’
‘Yes,’ Constance cried. ‘I do not know whether it is good or bad, Elona—they have both been arrested. The lady Isobel de Montaine also.’
‘Arrested?’ Elona stared at her in stunned disbelief. ‘When did it happen? Who ordered their arrest? And why?’
‘They were arrested in the King’s name,’ Constance said, ‘but I think my father interceded with him to order it. It happened only after Sir Stefan had vanquished his opponent, but before he could offer mercy or refuse it. As to the reason—it stands on a suspicion that one or both knights could have been involved in the murder of Isobel’s husband.’
‘But I was told that it could not be proven to be murder, because it was in the heat of battle,’ Elona said. She did not know if her overriding feeling was one of relief or anxiety. Stefan had escaped one dire fate to be caught in another.
‘Nor can it,’ Constance said. ‘My father knew that and it was a part of his plan. There will be an investigation, but Sir Stefan was in the Holy Land when the incident took place, and Sir Gavin was not the knight who delivered the death blow to Isobel de Montaine’s husband in that tourney.’
