Innocent's Champion. Meriel Fuller

how our mother suffers. It’s only that I’m so worried about this baby...’

      ‘I will stay with you as much as I can.’ Matilda patted her hand. But to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow. There was so much to do at Lilleshall at this time of year; although the crops had been planted and were growing well in this hot weather, she now had to turn her attention to the early harvests.

      ‘Can they see me?’ Bunching her skirts about her knees, Katherine made her way awkwardly into the undergrowth behind the tower, bristly thistles scratching at the delicate embroidery of her skirts. Butterflies fluttered lazily through the wild, verdant growth: the feathery purple grass heads, red sorrel gathered in scrappy clusters, the yellow-fringed hawkbit flower.

      ‘Wait. Let me check.’ Leaving her sister, Matilda placed one foot on a crumbling staircase that ran diagonally upwards across a section of wall, and peeked out at their escort. Two of the servants had taken the opportunity to sit on the dried earth, setting their tired backs against the framework of the litter. One chewed idly at a piece of long grass, drawing the freshness from the end of the stem. She caught a ribald chuckle from one of the knights, his head bent as he listened to the other, no doubt telling some bawdy tale.

      ‘They can’t see us.’ Matilda laughed softly, tripping gracefully back down the steps. ‘We’re well hidden here.’

      Squatting down, Katherine closed her eyes in relief.

      Matilda helped her to her feet and Katherine adjusted her gown. ‘How do I look?’ Katherine asked once she had straightened up, her eyes narrowing across the bulk of her belly.

      Matilda set her head on one side, a teasing smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘How do you look? You’re asking me?’ she declared in mock horror. ‘Since when do you trust my judgement on appearance?’

      Katherine drifted one wan hand across her forehead. ‘Don’t tease, Matilda. You know how John likes me to look my best. Is anything amiss?’

      ‘You look perfect, as always,’ Matilda reassured her. Her sister’s sable hair maintained a neat, rigid parting, twisted into two identical knots either side of her head. All the buttons that secured the tight neck of her gown were in place, straight. Not a speck of dirt, leaves or travel dust stained the finely woven red material of Katherine’s gown. It was a source of constant surprise to their mother that, despite being so physically similar, the two sisters could not have been more different in character and their approach to life. Where Katherine was neat, Matilda was messy, untidy. Where Katherine was demure, simpering, Matilda was argumentative, stubborn.

      A shout split the air: the outraged roar of a man.

      Shocked by the harsh, guttural sound, Matilda grabbed Katherine’s arm, listening intently.

      Then came a sickening sound of splintering wood, of clashing metal. From the other side of the river, the knights cursed, rough voices raised in alarm.

      ‘Oh, God!’ Katherine sagged in Matilda’s hold, her eyes wide and fearful. ‘What’s going on?’

      Through the dry, heavy air came the distinctive whirr of an arrow. Then another, travelling straight and true. Matilda knew the sound, was familiar with it. Icy fear slicked her heart.

      ‘Wait here!’ She skipped up the steps once more, cloak and gown trailing behind her, the lightweight silk dragging against the coarse-cut stone. From the vantage point at the top, leaves casting dappled shade across her pale, worried face, she watched in horror as one knight toppled sideways from his horse, gripping his shoulder in agony. Blood poured from between his fingers, soaking his surcoat. Wheeling his horse around, the other knight drew his sword, flicking his eyes around, searching for their attackers. The servants, realising what was happening, started shouting and running around haphazardly, delving frantically in the litter for the one or two weapons they had brought to defend themselves.

      ‘Matilda...? What is it?’ Katherine was on her feet now, standing at the bottom of the steps, one arm bent protectively around her stomach.

      ‘Ssh! Stay down!’ A horrible weakness sapped the strength in Matilda’s knees; her fingers drove into the shattered limestone of the tower, searching for purchase, for equilibrium. She spun away from the open space that had once been a window and flattened herself against the wall, heart thumping in her chest. ‘The knights... They’re being attacked!’ she whispered urgently. ‘Katherine, get away from here! You need to hide!’

      ‘But you...?’

      Matilda held up her bow. ‘I will hold them off as long as possible. You must get away from here, Katherine. Now. Find somewhere safe.’

      * * *

      With a practised flick of the reins, Gilan, Comte de Cormeilles, slowed his gleaming destrier to a walk, urging the animal towards the group of knights gathered at the river’s edge. Beneath the heavy metal breastplate, his skin prickled with sweat. He longed to rip it off. Steel plates dragged at his muscled arms; his fingers itched within his gauntlets. Pulling them off, he threw them to the ground, then lifted his hands to unstrap his helmet, resting it on the horse’s neck. The quiet breeze sifted through his hair, lifting the bright, corn-coloured strands, cooling his hot scalp. His piercing, metallic gaze swept the area where they had stopped, eyes set deep within thick, black lashes.

      ‘Fancy a swim?’ Henry, Duke of Lancaster, strode towards him across the soggy, hoof-marked mud, his short, stocky body moving with an unexpected grace. Several knights had already divested themselves of their armour, the glinted steel discarded messily on the ground amidst the horses. Now they plunged into the fast-flowing river with shouts of glee, scooping up handfuls of clear, sparkling water and splashing each other, like children.

      Gilan handed his helmet down to one of the soldiers. The burnished metal glowed in the afternoon sun. He frowned down at Henry. ‘Are you certain we have time? There are still several hours of daylight left.’

      Henry grinned. ‘The men are tired, Gilan. Not everyone can keep going as long as you can. And by my judgement it will take only a couple of more days to reach our destination. Let’s rest here tonight and move on in the morning.’

      Gilan shrugged his shoulders, nodded. Whatever Henry’s decision was, it made little difference to him. Eventually, he would have to go back to his parents’ home, but he was happy to delay that return as long as possible. Unconsciously, he kneaded the muscles in his thigh, trying to ease the ache in the scarred tissue. He swung his leg over the horse’s rump, dismounted.

      ‘You push yourself too hard,’ Henry said, clapping his friend on the back. ‘Most of my men are not in as good a shape as you. I have to make sure you don’t run them into the ground, so they are useless when it comes to finding King Richard.’

      ‘As long as we keep our wits about us, Henry.’ Gilan watched the knights in the water through narrowed silver eyes. ‘This is hostile country, remember.’

      ‘How can I forget?’ Henry replied, the smile slipping from his face. He stuck one hand through the russet-gold strands of his hair. ‘Banished to France by my own cousin, the king, just so he could grab at my fortune with his grubby little hands.’

      ‘Which is why we are here.’ Gilan grinned, white teeth flashing within his smile. ‘To grab it back.’ Gathering up his reins, he moved towards the water’s edge, pushing aside the jostling, sweating horseflesh to gain access. His stallion’s head nudged at his shoulder, keen to reach the water. Some of the knights had moved out into the middle of the river now, swimming properly in the stronger, deeper current, but others had climbed out, undergarments dripping around their knees, drying themselves on the large squares of linen extracted from their saddle-bags. Farther along the river, where the flow narrowed between higher banks to cut through the meadow, swallows flicked low, catching at the flying insects above the water.

      The wet mud at the water’s edge darkened the travel-stained leather of Gilan’s calf-length boots, oozing up around the soles. Henry appeared at his side, barrel chest clad only in a white shirt, loose drawers flapping about his legs. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to