The Maiden and Her Knight

by Margaret Moore

  “What, let the king decide?”

  “No. God.”

  Aghast, Rennick stepped back. “You are suggesting trial by combat?”

  As Connor had suspected from the first, DeFrouchette was a coward. Without some means to ensure the outcome he desired, he was terrified. “Yes. If I am right, you will die. If I am wrong, I will.”

  Allis rose, beautiful and proud, lovely and wonderful. “Your Majesty, Sir Connor injured his shoulder in our tournament. It would not be just if he were to fight today.”

  His poor, beloved Allis, who did not know that even if he lived today, a part of him must die.

  Isabelle, surprisingly, also got to her feet. “That’s true, Your Majesty. Brother Jonathan can vouch—”

  “Here, sire!” the little man called out. He bustled forward, at once deferential and determined. “Sir Connor’s shoulder was forced out of joint.”

  As Connor’s heart swelled with gratitude that they cared, the king held up his hand to silence them. “Sir Connor, you did not tell me of this injury.”

  Nothing would prevent him from freeing Allis, not even pain like the fury of hell. “It is of no consequence, sire. I am ready to fight.”

  “Good,” Richard replied. “I would have this settled today.”

  “But sire—” Allis objected.

  “I would have it settled today.”

  She looked desperately at Connor. This time, he met her gaze, willing her to see that he had to do this.

  Her brow furrowed slightly, and then she slowly sank back into her chair.

  “This is but another means to try to steal my bride, sire,” Rennick protested despite the king’s inexorable command. “He doesn’t care about God’s judgment and your safety. He is only thinking of himself and the woman he wants.”

  “That may very well be true, Rennick,” Richard replied. “However, it may not. Indeed, I think he must be acting out of some concern for me, because he promises he will not marry the Lady Allis if he wins.”

  Connor heard Allis’s gasp and it was like the stab of a dagger in his heart. He did not look at her. He could not. He had to be strong and watching her as the realization of the meaning of his promise penetrated her understanding would destroy him. “Yes, Baron, that is what I have promised my king. I have given my word, as a knight of the realm.”

  “Your word.”

  “Yes, Baron, his word—and that is more than enough for me,” Richard said. “Unlike some of my subjects, he has always been an honest man—perhaps too much for his own good, but that only makes him all the more trustworthy.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Allis rise again. Oh, God, please, he prayed. No more. Let it be done. Let me fight him now and give me victory.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, “the conspiracy against you encompasses more than Rennick DeFrouchette and Lord Oswald.”

  At her accusation, there was a sudden commotion among the spectators. Sir Auberan de Beaumartre had fainted.

  Connor realized he should have suspected Auberan’s complicity, too.

  “Attend to that man,” Richard ordered. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the benches. “Where is my lord Oswald?”

  He was not there. He had disappeared while everyone’s attention was elsewhere.

  “Find him!” the king commanded, and several soldiers hurried to obey.

  Richard rose and approached DeFrouchette. “This is looking very bad for you, Baron. You and he have been friends for many years.”

  DeFrouchette’s gaze darted from the king to Connor to Allis, then back to Richard. “Perhaps he felt ill, my lord.”

  “You are looking rather ill yourself.”

  “I am,” the baron said. He unexpectedly squared his shoulders and looked Richard in the eye, and suddenly Connor saw the warrior DeFrouchette might have been. “I am sick of you, Richard. I am sick of the way you play favorites. I am sick of your taxes and paying for your vainglorious adventures. Nor am I the only one. We are many, Richard, and if you were less arrogant and vain and selfish, you would realize that. England is not your storehouse, waiting to be plundered and made barren.”

  Then his hand moved toward the dagger in his belt.

  Chapter 27

  “Assassin!” The word burst from Connor’s lips as he lunged forward and shoved the king out of the way. Then he drew his sword in one fluid motion as he faced the baron.

  Rennick pulled his sword from his scabbard. They both crouched, watchful, their weapons at the ready.

  “You of all people should have let me kill him, Welshman, for your family and your country,” Rennick growled as Richard got to his feet.

  “Whatever I think of Richard and what he has done, he is my rightful sovereign. He will be dealt with accordingly—by God, who is sovereign of all.”

  Richard’s men had drawn their swords, but Richard held up his hand as he moved back, so that only Rennick and Connor were in the center of the courtyard. “Sir Connor has offered to discover the truth in a trial by combat, and I agreed.”

  Happy in a way, Connor smiled his dangerous smile as he circled his opponent. “If I must be miserable for the rest of my life because I must live without Allis, I will have your death to comfort me.”

  “You are a lying Welsh bastard,” Rennick jeered, sweat glistening on his face. “You don’t care about Richard. You just want Allis.”

  “You heard what the king said, DeFrouchette. I will never have Allis.” Connor raised his sword. “But she will be free of you.”

  Rennick moved swiftly out of the way, and once again they faced one another, circling, each waiting for the other to make a move or present an opening.

  “Not good enough, DeFrouchette,” Connor said. “How long has it been since you faced a man in honest combat—or have you ever?”

  Terror and desperation surged in Rennick’s eyes as triumph sang in Connor’s blood. Finally, all the years of training and fighting, of harsh warfare and death and blood—finally they were going to mean something.

  Rennick lunged—not for Connor or Richard, but for Allis. He grabbed her and pulled her against him, his sword at her neck.

  “Let me go, or by God I’ll slit her throat!” he snarled.

  Rage, fierce as a mad dog, hot as the sun, consumed Connor as he faced the coward. He took a step closer, staring at Allis’s wide eyes and the trickle of blood running down her neck.

  By God, DeFrouchette would pay! But for now, he willed Allis to have faith in him, and as he looked at her, complete confidence in him shone in her eyes, and he was strengthened.

  “I mean it, Welshman,” DeFrouchette cried like the trapped creature he was. “I’ll kill her rather than give her up.”

  The whole courtyard seemed to hold its breath as Connor replied. “A very strange sort of love, that.”

  “She would have loved me one day if you had not come, just as Richard was realizing his error in not taking me in his retinue.”

  “The guardianship of Montclair would have been your second chance, Rennick, as I gave Connor a second chance,” the king declared from the other side of the open space. “Had you performed that duty well, I intended to reward you.”

  Tears of anger and frustration gleamed in Rennick’s eyes as his grip tightened on Allis. “I shouldn’t have needed a second chance! I had never done anything wrong!”

  “Except be too sly, too malicious and therefore, I feared, untrustworthy. I see my fears were well founded.”

  What in the name of God was Richard doing, goading his enemy while he held a defenseless woman as his hostage? Connor inwardly cried.

  He was being Richard—thoughtless, arrogant, with no regard for anyone but himself.

  Awaiting his chance, Connor kept his eyes on DeFrouchette and the dangerous tip so close to the vein throbbing in his beloved’s throat.

  “Only because you rejected me! You play with me even now, Richard. You say you would have rewarded me, but how do I know that’s not a lie?”

  Connor
saw his chance. Making a sudden lunge, he dropped his sword and grabbed DeFrouchette’s arm, wrenching the sword from his grasp. He heard the sound of his own shoulder coming out of joint as he tugged Allis away with his left hand, but paid no heed.

  Allis stumbled backward, out of danger. DeFrouchette tried to regain his balance. Not fast enough. Connor grabbed his sword and plunged it into his chest.

  His eyes wide, blood staining the front of his tunic, Rennick looked down at his wound as he slowly backed away. He fell to his knees and looked at Allis with pleading eyes, already glazing over with death.

  “I did love you,” he whispered, panting. “I did. I tried…” He looked away from her, to Richard. “Rot in hell, my liege.” Then his body pitched forward, and with one last gasp, he died.

  The courtyard remained silent as Connor went to Allis and gathered her to him with his right arm, holding her close. Safe from DeFrouchette, she was still lost to him. How he craved one more day to be with her. One more hour. One more moment.

  Richard came toward them and put his hand on his shoulder, and he had to let her go. “Well done, Sir Connor. You have saved the lady, and your king.”

  “No thanks to you, Your Majesty,” Allis declared.

  Connor stared at Allis, who clutched his hand as if determined never to let him go.

  For so she was, as she faced the stupid, arrogant man who could have gotten them both killed. “It is hardly the proper time to upbraid an enemy when he holds a sword at someone’s throat.”

  Richard was clearly as shocked as Connor, but she would not be silent. She had been silent too long, about too many things. She would speak, like her brave, glorious lover, because like him, she was right. “Was the life of the lady of Montclair of so little consequence? I think you owe me an apology, and Connor some sign of your gratitude for saving your life.”

  “You do, eh?” the king demanded, his brows lowering.

  She didn’t care. She had just had a sword at her throat—and she was right. “Yes, I do.”

  Suddenly, the king smiled and bowed regally. “My lady, forgive me for speaking without more thought, as a certain knight once addressed his king.” He turned to Connor who, she realized, was pale to the lips. “Sir Connor, of course you must be rewarded for saving my life. You may have the reward you want best, the hand of Lady Allis in marriage.”

  Joy filled her to hear his words. Now all would be well, and nobody could speak against their marriage if the king approved.

  Connor blinked as if trying to clear his vision and began to sway. “Sire, I gave you my word—”

  “By my sword, Connor, you are the most stubbornly honorable man I have ever met. You deserve the girl, and the wealth that goes with her. I will not hear another word. I must say you are both the most outspoken people I have ever had to endure, too.”

  “Sire, I thank you…I thank you with all—” Connor began.

  Then he fainted.

  When Connor opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Allis sitting on the cot beside him, looking down at him with love and concern shining in her beautiful brown eyes. A single candle burned upon the table beside them, casting a small pool of golden light like the glow of happiness he felt within. From the herbal scent in the air, he knew they were in Brother Jonathan’s dispensary. A fitting place, for with Allis beside him, their troubles over, he could truly heal, the wounds of the past as well as his shoulder.

  He lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her wrist. The first time he had done that, she had shied like a skittish horse. This time, she gave him a glorious smile. “You frightened me, fainting like that.”

  Although she spoke cheerfully, the shadow of fear lingered in her eyes. He would once more make her smile, a task he would gladly accept for the rest of his life. “I daresay I should feel totally humiliated, but I don’t, perhaps because I’m much too happy.” She still didn’t smile with her eyes, so he abandoned levity. “And you? How are you? Did DeFrouchette hurt you?”

  Whatever the baron had done, no matter how he had abused her, he would cherish her and do his best to make her forget.

  “He didn’t rape me, Connor.” She briefly told him what had happened while he was gone, and it was a good thing DeFrouchette was already dead, or Connor would have taken great delight in beating him with his bare hands until he cried for mercy.

  “If I had known what was going to happen—!”

  “If you had somehow become a mind reader and discovered I was going to come to you that night,” she interrupted, grasping his hand tightly. “I should have sent you a message, but I feared it would be intercepted, and I didn’t dare come to you myself. I am as much to blame as you in that regard, so please don’t feel any guilt. You saved me, after all.” She tilted her head to regard him. “I must say, though, that I never thought you would go to Richard.”

  “Nor would I have, had I not been desperate,” he confessed. “I had to act, and quickly, and the best way was to go to the king. My pride mattered nothing when your freedom was at stake.”

  She pressed a tender kiss to his lips, and instantly, passion flared. He teased her lips with his tongue, skimming their surface until she parted them. Then his kiss deepened as he gently thrust inside and his hand slid slowly up her bodice to her breast.

  With a gasp and a maidenly blush, she broke the kiss. “I think you must be feeling better, Sir Connor.”

  “I am.” He went to raise himself, until a pain stabbed his shoulder and he fell back. “In heart and mind, at least.”

  She brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead and it became a caress. “You hurt your shoulder again.”

  He turned his head and rubbed his cheek against her soft palm. “So I gather.”

  “You will have to be careful and give it longer to heal before you ride for hours at a time.”

  He continued to move his head until he could kiss her palm. Her skin was so warm and welcome against his lips, and now that he was free to do so, he enjoyed the wonderful sensations even more. “I had a very important reason for doing that, and I have a very important reason to stay.”

  “Connor,” she whispered, his name little more than a sigh as delightful excitement blossomed as she remembered all his lips and hands could do. “Connor, we are—”

  “In love. Lovers.” His eyes gleaming with desire, he reached up with his right hand to cup her head and draw her close. “I think there is much more I could do, my lady, if you will join me.”

  “The dispensary is no place for what you are suggesting, sir,” she murmured, letting her yearning take her.

  “But I am already half naked.”

  How much she wanted to kiss him, to feel his mouth on hers, teasing forth passionate delight…“Yes, I can see that.”

  Behind her, Brother Jonathan loudly cleared his throat. “How are you, Sir Connor?”

  Allis sat back abruptly, blushing furiously. She had not heard him enter.

  Connor, however, seemed not a whit disturbed. “I have never been better.”

  Brother Jonathan smiled indulgently. “I mean, are you in any pain?”

  “My shoulder does ache a little.”

  “But not worse than before?”

  Connor’s hand wandered toward hers, and she took it, reveling in that simple act. “No, Brother.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Did you set my shoulder? Or”—he glanced up at Allis, his eyes bright—“did my future bride?”

  She was going to be his bride! Happiness trilled along her limbs and burst into chorus in her heart.

  “I did, sir. It was easy because you were unconscious. And I must say, it’s a good thing Richard caught you as you fell, or you might have hit your head upon the cobblestones and done some serious harm. As it is, you will have to take more special care of your shoulder.”

  “Mercifully I do not think I will be called upon to defend my king or my bride any time soon.”

  “And no more tournaments, or your shoulder may be permanently in
jured,” she warned. She brushed a light kiss along his wrist. “You don’t need to do that. After all, you are going to have your bride’s dowry.”

  Not unexpectedly, for he was a proud man, a small frown creased his brow. “I am not marrying you for your money.”

  She widened her eyes as if surprised. “Alas, sir knight, Edmond, the king and I have decided the matter and the amount.”

  He had the sudden sensation that he had been out-maneuvered, like the time Isabelle had beaten him at chess. He looked at Brother Jonathan, but the little priest spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness—and then he grinned. “As a physician and considering the state of your shoulder, I must say anything that keeps you from injuring it again is bound to meet with my approval.”

  “I don’t see why you’re looking that way,” she said, making the kind of pout Isabelle had likely used with devastating effect on the hapless Auberan. “Most men would be pleased to get a lady’s dowry.”

  Her lip thrust out so temptingly was having quite an effect on him at the moment. He had to shift, lest he be embarrassed by his body’s blatant desire in front of the priest. “All I want…all I need…is the lady.”

  “But the king himself—”

  He didn’t care if Brother Jonathan was there or not. He wrapped his hand about her neck and pulled her down to capture her lips in a fiery kiss.

  “Ahem.”

  He ignored the priest.

  “Ahem.”

  Allis pulled back, panting, her face red, and her eyes shining with desire. And frustration, too. Grinning, he said, “So you are telling me I have no choice but to surrender?”

  “Yes…no…”

  “Then I must agree. Now if the good brother will excuse us, I believe my bride and I have business to discuss.”

  The priest’s brows rose. “Business, you say? I assure you, my son, I was not born in a monastery.”

  He had gone too far. Again.

  Then Brother Jonathan smiled broadly. “But as you are an honorable knight, I shall take my leave of you. Do have a care of that shoulder and remember that you are not yet joined by the holy bonds of matrimony.”