Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Madeline Martin

  Ralph bowed over their entwined hands, clutching her gift, and then turned, leaving the same way he came in, by climbing out of the arched window, without a second glance.

  Gwen stared and stood in the empty, silent space, as a rush of tears filled her eyes.

  Tears?

  No, she would not allow these feelings that she had long forsaken to rise once again.

  A knock at the door made her jump, breaching her miserable reflections. These futile worthless emotions that caused nothing but regret and misery. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand quickly and pasted a ready smile on her face.

  ‘Is that you, Brida?’ Thank God her voice sounded measured and light. ‘Come in.’

  Her friend walked into the chamber, closing the wooden door behind her. ‘I did not wish to intrude but I thought that mayhap now... Oh, Gwen, what has happened?’

  She sat on the edge of her bed and sniffed. ‘Nothing. I’m perfectly well.’

  ‘You do not look well, my lady. Did you and Sir Ralph quarrel?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that. We talked and, well...that was all.’

  Yet it was more than that. Gwen had shown him some of her most valued earthly possessions and spoke in detail of how she created them and the small pleasures they evoked.

  ‘You told him?’ Brida asked slowly. ‘You told him everything?’

  ‘No, no...of course not. Our conversation, thankfully, never dwelled there—in that terrible, awful darkness.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ She looked a little confused. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Truly, it’s nothing, Brida. I am just a little fatigued.’ And disheartened, desolate as well as so many other things she would rather not contemplate.

  Hopes and dreams...

  Well, hers had all but faded, replaced with revulsion coiled and knotted in her stomach for ever.

  Brida sat beside her. ‘It must be very difficult seeing him, knowing all that you have lost.’

  ‘Yes, more than you can imagine.’ Gwen leant her head on her friend’s shoulder.

  ‘Then why do you not tell Sir Ralph everything? Trust that he might understand,’ she said softly, as they both stared at the fire spit and crackle in the hearth.

  ‘No,’ Gwen choked out, screwing her eyes shut. ‘I cannot do that.’

  ‘But he may just surprise you.’

  ‘I do not want his pity.’ Never that... ‘Besides, this is not about any possible concern I may have relating to Ralph’s feelings once he finds out the truth and what happened after he left Kinnerton. Only how it all affects me...still, after all this time.’

  Gwen stood up and walked to the stone wall, leaning the back of her head against it. ‘I can never countenance the terrible event from that time, only to acknowledge that it did happen and somehow I lived with it.’ She rubbed her forehead and exhaled through her teeth.

  ‘I can only imagine how hard it must have been. But never forget that you helped a good man escape certain death.’

  ‘Oh, Brida, don’t you see that, despite knowing that what I did back then helped Ralph get away, I still allowed Stephen le Gros to touch me, defile me, mark me. I would always carry that stain with me because I let him, Brida. I allowed that man to do it.’

  Her fingers touched the base of her neck where Stephen had left the now faint scar that never failed to torment her. A permanent reminder of that harrowing time.

  ‘It was a sacrifice that you were forced to make, Gwen. You would do it again, too, if it meant you had to save Ralph de Kinnerton. Would you not?’

  Yes, God help her, she would. In a heartbeat. Even though it meant that she would then live with the shame in perpetuity. As she was now.

  ‘I would,’ she whispered.

  It had almost destroyed her before when she thought that it had all been for nought. When she had believed Ralph to be dead. Terrible as her actions had been, it had given Ralph a chance to get away...to live. To survive. And she had tried so much in vain to forget what had happened.

  ‘And you are still a maid, my lady. Stephen le Gros did not take that from you.’

  ‘Not for want of trying.’ Gwen’s lips twisted in disgust. ‘And thank God, otherwise the man’s claim on me would have been far greater and harder to refute. It was only by the grace of God that that did not happen and I managed to escape Kinnerton with the help of a few locals, otherwise the situation would have been far more dire.’

  Yet Stephen had taken much from her. So much more than Gwen would ever care to examine. ‘Either way, Brida, I do not want Ralph to know the sordid reasons why I must take the veil, however understanding he might or might not be. I cannot have him know the shameful side to what happened all those years ago. I could not bear it.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  With all things considered, it might have been better if Gwen had not agreed to Ralph’s escort to the safe confines of the convent walls in Ireland. It had been her pragmatic side that had conceded the need for more caution as well as the necessity for a strong warrior to accompany them. Had she known, however, that these unwanted emotions would once again resurface, she would not have agreed to Ralph’s offer. Either way, Gwen must push them away, for his sake and her own.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The following morn, after a restless night’s sleep, Gwen found herself nervously watching the knights’ procession before the start of the mêlée à pied in the royal spectators’ dais. She wrung the material of her kirtle tightly in her hands in anticipation, knowing that it would commence soon. The dull thud in her chest quickened as she caught a glimpse of Ralph in full armour acting as Sir Thomas, in among the de Clancey knights. From afar, he seemed to have spotted Gwen as he inclined his head in her direction, raising his sword arm for her to see the narrow length of the token she had given him, tied firmly around the hilt of his sword. Why that gesture made her heart soar she did not wish to consider. She only knew that it did—very much.

  Gwen had been so caught up in her musing that she had not realised Stephen le Gros’s approach.

  ‘My Lady Gwenllian, I hope I find you well on this bright morning?’

  Yet she should have detected his reprehensible stench anywhere. ‘Sir Stephen,’ she managed to say, hoping for something akin to a composed courtesy when in truth she wanted to rage at him as she always did when he was close to her.

  ‘I came in the hope that I could gain a favour, a token from such a fair lady before the start of this mêlée.’ He knelt on one knee below her, to her utter dismay.

  Gwen knew that this performance was as much for her benefit as it was for the royal court in attendance, but the very idea that she would willingly give anything that belonged to her to this man was repugnant.

  ‘I beg pardon, sir, but I sadly have no favours to give,’ she said, the smile brittle on her lips. ‘However, I hope you find success in...your endeavours.’ She lowered her head, hoping that Stephen would now go and ready himself for the mêlée, but instead he crept a little closer.

  ‘Do you? Well, I must say that is good to know.’

  Her jaw clenched so tightly that she almost ground her teeth together. She snapped her head away, ignoring him, hoping he’d leave, but it was wishful thinking. His very nearness made her want to retch violently. He always had this effect on her, making her feel the need to cleanse every part of her that came into contact with him.

  He pinched her chin, turning her head around to face him again. ‘Careful, Gwen. You wouldn’t want anyone to think that you are opposed to your intended.’

  ‘You are not my intended, sir.’

  ‘Ah, but you very soon would be.’

  She jerked her head away, not wanting his hand anywhere near her. She must not allow herself to rise to his jibes, knowing that was what the man craved.

  ‘Come now, my dear. Anything would do.’ Stephen grabbed
her hand, clasping it tightly in his.

  ‘I have nothing to offer you, sir, as I have explained.’

  ‘Oh, but you must have something. No need to be coy.’ His laughter seemed to turn into a snarl.

  ‘I do not think so, sir. My conscience would never allow it,’ she said through gritted teeth, trying to pull her hand free.

  ‘Oh, would it not?’ His fingernails dug into her wrist. ‘You really are a tease, my lovely Gwen. Any other man might wither and run with their tail dangling from the legs, but not I. I find that your animosity and this reluctance to see sense, although beneath you, strangely heightens my desire for you.’ He pulled her towards him, making it seem that they were having a quiet private moment. ‘And you know I cannot wait until I bed you properly. Such a shame we were disturbed before.’

  Gwen bit down on her lips hard, in the attempt to stop herself from screaming at Stephen. ‘Unhand me. People are watching.’

  ‘Let them.’ He shrugged. ‘It matters not since you shall soon belong to me anyway. But I’d wager that they believed we were having a more amorous discussion with our heads bent together so, anyway.’

  ‘Stop this, Stephen. You are making a fool of yourself.’

  ‘Alas, I always seem to, fair Gwenllian. Especially when it comes to you.’ His grip on her tightened once more. ‘But be warned, my dear. It has not escaped my attention that you seem a little enamoured of Thomas Lovent. Your eyes follow his progress whenever he is near. And while I may be a patient man, far more than most, I am not one to be averse to jealousy...but of course that may be your intention.’

  The beat in her chest hammered faster. God, but she could not allow Stephen’s notice of Sir Thomas otherwise he might soon realise the truth. That he wasn’t whom Stephen le Gros thought him to be. It would be a disaster if he found out about Ralph before he should and Gwen would not endanger Ralph’s plans for the world...

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Your imagination has run away with you.’

  ‘I do hope so, Gwen, for you would not want me to wreak my foolish jealousy on that young knight.’

  ‘I hope that you are not threatening Thomas Lovent?’ She narrowed her eyes.

  ‘No.’ He kissed the back of her hand before standing to his full height. ‘Just a warning...for now, but heed my words, my sweet.’

  * * *

  Ralph could sense from a distance that all was not well with Gwenllian. She had sat with her back rigid, her jaw set and her face devoid of any colour. But it was only when Ralph spotted his deplorable cousin that he knew instantly the reason of her distress.

  By God, but Ralph had had enough of the bastard’s menacing, possessive behaviour towards Gwen. He would take any necessary means to stop Stephen if he did not cease with his intimidation.

  Ralph pushed forward towards the dais in long strides when he saw that the man had moved away, to his relief, otherwise he would have had to see to Gwen’s comfort and damn the consequences. The uneasiness that Ralph felt was still raw, still palpable.

  There was something not quite as it should be with Gwen and his cousin. Oh, her revulsion and dislike of him was both visceral and intense, matching his own, but there was something else—a strange familiarity that revealed something far darker and more potent. Whatever it was, Ralph was determined to find out the truth in the hope he could somehow help alleviate Gwen’s anguish. Stephen le Gros would not assert and impose himself on her even if he did believe himself to be her betrothed. Either way, it did not matter what Stephen believed, but Gwen would not be harassed and threatened by the man. That he would swear to. He had, after all, sworn he would protect her. Ralph would think about the situation again later, now that his cousin had moved away from her.

  First, the challenge of this mêlée. Ralph turned his head towards what he was about to face and took a deep breath under the metal helmet. Yes, he needed all his focus, strength and resolve if he wanted to succeed here. He rubbed the fabric of Gwen’s token between his thumb and forefinger, hoping to extract some luck that she had imbued before tying the gloves to his wrist.

  He stepped forward and sent a silent prayer to the heavens. He would give it everything that he had, this was his...his tourney to win. And the time was nigh.

  * * *

  The triumphant celebrations extended in the de Clancey tent later that evening. This time, however, his friends could honour his victory properly without the pretence of congratulating the acclaimed knight Sir Thomas Lovent in front of King Henry’s court.

  Soon, however, very soon Ralph would step out from behind the guise of his friend’s armour...as himself. But for now, he would bide his time for just a little longer.

  Ralph scanned the small space and smiled faintly to himself. It was a moment of shared merriment—eating, drinking with a gratifying sense of satisfaction, tinged with relief. He had won today and gained considerable loot in the takings, even after distributing some silver to Tom and their young stable lad. From ornate silver shields and expensive swords to a young foal and even ransom money. He took a sip from his mug and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But he could not have done any of it without the help of his friends and mentors whose belief in him exceeded his own and who went to exceptional lengths to support and aid him.

  It humbled him to think that they did this for him, not that he understood why, nor that he really deserved their esteem, but even so... Words could never truly express the extent of Ralph’s gratitude.

  ‘You seem a little pensive, Ralph.’ Isabel sat beside him on the small bench.

  ‘Do I? I’m little taken aback by today’s success, that is all.’ He shook his head, sighing.

  ‘Believe it, for you deserve this more than anyone I know.’

  He covered her hand, giving it a squeeze in gratitude. ‘My thanks, Isabel.’

  Yet there must have been something in his manner as a furrow appeared in the middle of her forehead. Ralph knew too well that nothing much escaped Isabel de Clancey’s perceptive eye.

  ‘Come, this is an agreeable moment. A good moment. One you have worked hard for,’ she said softly.

  ‘It is,’ he said absently, his voice sounding a little gruff.

  ‘There is something else, is there not?’

  An unfathomable feeling of desolation engulfed him, however hard he tried to shift it. It made him uneasy, detached even in such a congenial company of friends. He sighed and shook his head.

  ‘No, all is well, I promise.’ It was better to convince her that all his concerns centred around the reason for their celebrations, despite the win today. ‘I cannot lose sight that this is just one mêlée, Isabel, even though it certainly helps towards covering some of my previous losses.’

  ‘Yes, and from here on you can strengthen and build on your success.’

  ‘I shall certainly try.’ His smile became a little solemn. ‘I want you to know that I couldn’t have done any of this without any of you. You have stood by me when anyone else would have walked away. I’ll always be indebted to you.’

  ‘Please.’ She waved her hand. ‘I vowed from the moment I set eyes on you that I would do everything I could to help you after the way in which you were attacked and left to die. So, no, you owe neither me nor Will anything.’

  But that was not true. He would always be honour-bound, his allegiances forged to Isabel, Will and every person here.

  ‘Listen to me, Ralph...’ she sighed ‘...you are close now. So close to getting everything you’ve set out to achieve. It is within your grasp, if you just reach out and grab it.’

  Was it? He wasn’t so sure. But there was also another who had always championed and believed in him.

  Gwen...

  He had not seen her properly today. Not since before the start of the mêlée. She had also been absent from the banquet, which had sent darts of concern through him. There had been something ab
out her demeanour when she had spoken with his cousin that troubled him. Still troubled him.

  Notwithstanding that, Ralph could not help but feel a little restless, a little hollow despite this achievement. It was always the same for him on occasions like this when he had a moment to reflect and ponder about his life, the past, present and also future itself. It left him morose, somehow bereft and unsettled, when he should be far more buoyed by the win. Damn, but he wasn’t even certain what his future might hold. Not with any clarity. But it would be one without Gwenllian ferch Hywel. That much was certain.

  She might not have married as he had expected her to, but had still chosen a different path for herself. One that she still intended to pursue and which did not include him. Ralph knew he should not care, not after all this time when so much had changed, and yet...

  There had been a discernible closeness that seemed reassuringly familiar yet surprisingly different when Gwen had invited him to her chamber.

  ‘Tell me your hopes and dreams...’

  He had regretted asking her that nonsense. Yet, when Gwen had showed him her elaborate penwork on the parchment, she revealed much about herself in the process. The way she had held on to his hand, gently guiding him to align the marks he was making to her proficient ones. It was a glimpse through her eyes to the very heart of her enjoyment, the pleasure she gained. It had been fleeting, but it had been a window into Gwen’s heart in some small way.

  His eyes fell to his sword perched against the bench beside him and to the small length of woven green fabric—Gwen’s token that she had made and embroidered. And that she admitted imparting a little of herself in her creations. And this...this small piece of her now belonged to him.

  Ralph stood, with a sudden tangible desire to be alone, to ride somewhere away from here. Above all else, Ralph wanted...nay, needed to see her.

  To see Gwen. To get the answers he so desperately sought.

  ‘Yes. It is within my grasp, Isabel. And I hope I can take your advice and grab it.’ He bowed with a real smile spreading on his lips. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lady.’