Innocent's Champion. Meriel Fuller

her chin, she called out to her sister. Her clear, bell-like tones cut across the torpid languor of the afternoon. ‘Katherine!’ she shouted, holding up her weighty skirts so she could manoeuvre over the stones. ‘You can come out now, we’re safe!’ Or safer than we were, she thought, casting a hunted, sideways glance at the stranger. The knight rode with Henry, Duke of Lancaster, a man who had the potential to make their situation far worse.

      ‘Do you think she might have run into the forest?’ Gilan suggested. The maid’s hair, silken and lustrous, sagged precariously. Hairpins stuck out at all angles from the plaited rolls on each side of her head. He wondered what her hair would look like when it was unpinned. Would those curling ends brush against the enticing swell of her hips?

      Matilda twisted around to face him. ‘She is incapable of running anywhere... Katherine is pregnant, you see.’

      ‘Ah.’

      She sensed the irritation running through his lean, muscled frame. He stood there with the stance of a fighter, legs planted firmly in the swishing grass, cloak spilling down over his shoulders, the dark blue fabric framing the burnished steel of his breastplate. Beneath the armour he wore a hooded tunic, a thin material that reached the middle of his thighs, split at the sides for ease of riding. Driven into a leather belt around his hips, the jewelled hilt of his sword flashed in the sun. The formidable power of his body was plain to see; she was in no doubt that he was a force to be reckoned with. She had to get rid of him before he realised they supported King Richard, before he had a chance to punish them for that loyalty.

      Glancing across to the packhorse bridge, she saw with relief that all the servants were safe, the gang of ruffians driven away. Even the soldier who had fallen from his horse was propped up against the litter, conversing quietly with the other household knight, hand pressed up hard against his bloodied shoulder.

      Matilda drew herself up to her full height, which annoyingly, seemed only a shade above this disquieting man’s shoulder. ‘Please don’t let me, let us, keep you from anything,’ she intoned formally. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded jerky, too precise. ‘I’m sure there is somewhere that you would rather be.’

      ‘There is.’ He inclined his head to one side, a gesture of agreement. ‘But the laws of chivalry prevent me from leaving a damsel and her sister in distress.’

      His hair was quite an incredible colour, thought Matilda. Pale gold, like washed sand on a deserted shoreline. The strands glowed in the sun with a bright star’s incandescence. A heated flutter stirred her stomach, coiling slowly; she ducked her eyes, toeing the ground with the damp, squishy leather of her slipper.

      ‘Oh, I don’t believe in all that chivalry nonsense.’ She waved one white hand at him airily, attempting to keep her tone light, practical. ‘Katherine doesn’t, either. Look, our servants are fine, and I think our knights will live. So we really don’t need you any more. Thank you for what you’ve done, and...and everything.’ Her sentence trailed off at the end, lamely.

      He was being dismissed. Gilan watched her hand flick through the air at him, as if she were shooing away a fly. A small, insignificant fly.

      His eyes gleamed. ‘I’ll help you find her, at least.’

      Matilda’s shoulders slumped forwards, a visible sign of defeat. Why did she object to his presence so much? Most women would be clinging on to him by now, weeping on his shoulder about the outrages of their attack, begging him to help, but this maid? Once she had realised he was no threat to her, her whole demeanour moved to the defensive, indicating in no uncertain terms that she wished him to disappear.

      ‘Don’t feel you have to,’ she tried once more. Her voice was limp.

      ‘I want to,’ he lied, knowing this would annoy her even more. Her abrasive manner intrigued him; he couldn’t remember a woman being quite so stubborn, so ungrateful, as this pert-nosed chit. His lips twitched at the disgruntled set of her shoulders as she turned away from him, intending to head into the woodland behind the tower. His fingers reached out, snaring the soft flesh of her upper arm, stalling her. ‘I suggest you remove your cloak. The wet fabric will slow you down,’ he said.

      Matilda whisked around, glowering at him, then wordlessly raised both hands to the pearl-studded clasp at her shoulder. Her frozen fingers struggled with the intricate fixings.

      ‘Here, let me,’ he offered, exasperated, tough fingers dealing quickly, efficiently with the stiff fastening. One rough knuckle brushed the sensitive skin of her neck, below her ear, and she gasped out loud. A sweet, looping sensation plummeted straight to her belly. Astounded by her response, she staggered back, her mind draining of conscious thought. Her breath disappeared. The cloak slithered down her back, over her slim hips, pooling into loose folds around her ankles.

      ‘There,’ he announced. ‘Now we can get on with the business of finding your sister.’

      Hating the man at her side, this stranger who dogged her steps, who refused to go away, Matilda strode into the woodland, her skirts swishing angrily through the drifts of spent cow parsley, across collapsed bluebell stalks, sweeping her gaze across the shadowed green beneath the spreading beech, searching for the blotch of colour that would be Katherine.

      ‘She’s wearing a red gown,’ she chewed out grudgingly. The sooner they found Katherine, the sooner this horrible man would be on his way. Her hand crept up to the spot below her ear, still throbbing from his touch, amazed at her reaction to him. Her fall into the river had obviously shaken her up more than she realised. Men did not often have the power to affect her in such an adverse manner.

      ‘Easy to spot, then,’ Gilan replied mildly. For some reason he could not explain, he was quite enjoying himself at the maid’s expense. Something about the chit drew him, her truculent manner maybe, the fact that she didn’t want him around. It intrigued him, made him determined to linger, despite knowing that Henry would be wondering where he was.

      ‘There!’ Matilda pointed.

      Braced by a large trunk, Katherine’s ebony head lolled against the ridged bark. Her eyes were closed, her mouth partially open. A faint snore emerged from between her lips.

      ‘She’s asleep!’ Matilda blurted out in surprise, working her way steadily through the undergrowth towards her, arching brambles snaring the fine silk of her gown. How could her sister have possibly fallen asleep, with all that had been going on? ‘I think you should stay here.’ Matilda held up her arm to prevent Gilan moving any farther forwards.

      A tightly buttoned sleeve, unbelievably tiny small pearl buttons, encased her narrow wrist, the material reaching to her knuckles. Her ringless fingers wagged bossily in front of his face and he wondered again at the temerity of the maid. What or who gave her the right to order him about like this? She was obviously unmarried, so had no protection or guidance from a husband. But maybe her father or a brother had been so lax or indulgent in her upbringing that it had given her a misguided sense of her own authority.

      He shrugged his shoulders. It, or rather she, was none of his concern. Should the need arise, he was perfectly capable of putting the maid in her place. But at the moment, he relished her display of wilful bossiness, her grumpiness at his continued presence, enjoying the easy diversion to the afternoon and his normal rigid, constrained existence. His gaze slid to the woman at the base of the tree, endeavouring to keep his expression neutral. The girl had not been lying about her sister’s pregnancy. From the size of her stomach, she looked like she was about to go into labour there and then. He raised his eyes heavenwards, sent up a silent prayer.

      ‘Katherine! Wake up.’ Matilda bent over her sister, jogged her elbow carefully.

      Katherine opened her eyes, a small smile crossing her face. ‘What?’ she murmured hazily. ‘I was having the most wonderful dream, about the baby...’ she smoothed one hand across her stomach ‘...and what he would be like when he was born and...’ her eyes drifted over to Gilan’s tall figure, standing in the shadows ‘...and...who is that?’

      ‘Don’t let him alarm you,’ Matilda said, as she helped