A Perfect Knight. Anne Herries

eyes, but he had learned not be moved by a woman’s tears and looks of reproach. Berenice had been young and foolish, but the Lady Alayne was very different. Any man foolish enough to let himself be caught in her toils would surely rue the day he had met her!

      Ralph had heard much of the fabled Court of Love and of the rules of chivalry surrounding it. Such nonsense would no doubt appeal to vulnerable young women, who thought it amusing to tease and arouse the men who courted them, but Ralph knew too well that all men were base. It was dangerous to walk too near the edge with men in whom the beast lived near the surface—even he had been tempted to taste the honey Lady Alayne’s lips seemed to promise and it was unkind memory, not chivalry, that had held him from the brink. If it were not for the memory of another woman’s tears… His thoughts were diverted as he heard voices, close by but in the shadows.

      ‘De Froissart wants her. If he has his way, she will be his lover and perhaps more ere too long has passed.’

      ‘He plays games. She is not to be won so easily. She ignores my tributes as she ignores me. She has set her face against marriage and cannot be reached.’

      Two men were arguing, their voices sour and heated, and Ralph sensed instinctively that they were discussing the Lady Alayne.

      ‘But if she were to change her mind?’ the first man said. ‘This tourney in her honour may win her. You know how the ladies love to watch good sport, and she will be the Queen of the day. Her head may be turned by all the excitement. De Froissart is a past champion. There are few that could succeed against him. He will win the right to court her and, if she yields to him as a lover…’

      ‘You think her father would demand marriage as the price of her honour if he knew?’

      ‘The Baron de Robspierre seeks power and fortune. De Froissart is rich enough and popular at court. I have heard him speak of winning honour at England’s court. The lady’s father would welcome such a match.’

      ‘I would see him dead first!’

      ‘Then you must enter the lists against him. You must receive her favour. Gain her confidence and make her like you. All the ladies love a brave warrior. Many a wench has fallen into my arms after watching me fight. Take her while she is hot for you! Once she is yours, you may find a way to tame her.’

      ‘I have not the skill to defeat de Froissart in a tourney. Others, yes; I believe I might prevail with them, but de Froissart is a mighty warrior.’

      ‘Play the coward’s part and you will lose your chance.’

      ‘I have a plan…’

      The voices were growing fainter, as though the men had walked on. Ralph strained to listen, but he could no longer hear what they said and was unsure which direction they had taken. He did not know the voices, but recognised the greed and evil that drove them to their wicked plotting.

      Ralph had made inquiries concerning the Lady Alayne earlier that evening, for she intrigued him and he knew that she was wealthy in her own right, but she was also her father’s heiress for he had no other children and no brothers or close kin. It seemed that Alayne was even more vulnerable than Ralph had first thought. Her beauty and that way of smiling, that hint of pleasure that lay deep in her eyes, that warm, sensual allure she exuded without being aware of it, were all potent and enough to make her a prize for any man even had she not been wealthy.

      His warning, delivered in a moment of anger, though more with himself than her, had been against violation of her person and her trust, but now it appeared that she was in danger of losing much more: her freedom and perhaps even her life one day. For such men as he had overheard were ruthless and she would be but a pawn in this plotter’s game.

      Something deep inside him rose up to deny such an eventuality. No, they should not harm her! Not while he lived. The next moment he gave a harsh laugh at his own reaction.

      What was it to him? She had shown her feelings openly. She did not like him. She had been angered and insulted by his advice earlier. If he tried to warn her of this plot, she would probably not believe him. Besides, what did he really know?

      He had heard two faceless voices speaking in the dark, discussing the tourney. No doubt many of the knights had spoken in similar terms of their chances of winning the lady’s favour. One of those he had heard wished to gain the lady for himself, most likely because of the rich lands her father owned and the fortune her husband had left her. Her father and husband had clearly thought to unite their lands through the lady’s sons, but she had none and was therefore the greater prize for unscrupulous men. Once married, her husband would own all that was hers, and if her father should die soon after a vast fortune would be the husband’s for the taking. She would be her husband’s possession, his chattel, to use as he would. That thought turned Ralph’s stomach sour and made him scowl in the darkness.

      Ralph scorned the greed that spurred such men, but he knew it to be a powerful vice. He had married for a far different reason, and yet he had brought Berenice nothing but pain and a cruel death. He was as base as any other of his sex, though he had strived to be better, to earn back his self-respect, and he had suffered for his carelessness.

      He could not stand idly by if the Lady Alayne was in some danger, for he would be as guilty then as he was of Berenice’s death. If he had acted differently that day…if he had only taken the trouble to try and understand his wife…but that way lay only madness. He could not give Berenice back her life, but he might help Alayne.

      Should he speak to the Queen about what he had heard? Ralph knew that Eleanor had been angered by the tone of Henry’s letters and what she had heard of her husband’s infidelity. It was unlikely that she would listen to anything Henry’s messenger had to say, especially as he could offer no proof.

      He would be foolish to try. Ralph wrestled with his thoughts. He was not responsible for Lady Alayne’s safety! She was nothing to him, nor could she ever be. Yet something about her had stirred feelings he’d believed long dead, buried beneath a mound of grief and anguish.

      He had been bidden to languish here at Poitiers until the Queen was disposed to answer her husband’s letters. That might be a matter of days, weeks, or months. The time would hang heavy on his hands, yet he would use it to discover what he could about the men who plotted to use Lady Alayne for their own ends. Perhaps if he had proof, the Queen would listen if the lady would not?

      Until he had overheard that whispered plotting, Ralph had considered Baron de Froissart the lady’s greatest risk amongst the knights. He was clearly enamoured of her and meant to seduce her if he could with sweet words and brave deeds, but these other, secret plotters were a more potent danger. They planned to take by stealth what the lady would not give willingly, and that was something no true knight could ignore. He was bound by his oaths of sacrifice and chivalry to protect the innocent and punish evil.

      Ralph decided that he must do what he could to save the lady from the evil that threatened her, even if he earned naught but her scorn for doing so. Perhaps if he could help an innocent lady—for in his heart he believed her thus, despite her flashing eyes and enticing smiles—he would in some small way repay his debt to Berenice.

      Alayne and Marguerite helped each other undress. They both had serving wenches to care for their clothes and wait on them when they required service, but they often sent the girls to their pallets of straw early out of pity. It was a hard life at the palace for serving wenches. They spent their time fetching and carrying from dawn until dusk, snatching food in the kitchen from the remains of what was brought to the nobles’ table, and avoiding the clutching hands of both the serving men and their masters. There were a brood of their children somewhere about the palace, born in corners and hidden by their mothers until they were old enough to become of use in the kitchens or stables.

      ‘Sir Ralph spoke to me,’ Marguerite said, a flicker of pleasure in her pretty face as she unfastened Alayne’s intricate headdress and removed it for her, laying it on an oak coffer beneath the narrow arched window. It was dark outside now, for a cloud had passed across the moon. ‘He seems a very perfect knight, chivalrous and kind. Did you chance to meet him, Alayne?’

      ‘Her