A Perfect Knight. Anne Herries

ladies to walk with her in the palace grounds. Alayne was of the party chosen, and as she strolled in the sunshine, chattering idly with her friends, she thought about de Froissart. He had won the last three tournaments, which was of course why he had suggested a tourney. She knew he hoped for a prize other than the bangle she had offered, but she was not sure of her feelings towards him.

      It was true that he sometimes made her heart race when he teased her. Occasionally he would let his hand brush against hers, and he had recently twice helped her dismount from her palfrey. She had sensed that he wished to kiss her, and when he talked of fine love she knew that he meant he wanted to make love to her in the manner the troubadours sang of, with gentle wooing and languishing looks, the touch of a hand, and a stolen kiss—but for how long would he be satisfied with such privileges?

      She could not allow the ultimate intimacy for which he longed. By the rules of courtly love it was for her to allow or to deny; this was her privilege as the lady in the affaire. To be kissed, touched with reverence, courted as an object to be admired and worshipped from afar—yes, she could accept and even welcome such a love. But in her heart she knew that that would not suffice for long. Allowed such privileges, a lover would want more and she could not. She could not!

      ‘What troubles you, sweet lady?’

      Alayne jumped as the man who had been uppermost in her thoughts caught up with them, matching his steps to hers as she strolled in the gardens. She glanced round and saw that the Queen had turned back with her ladies. She had been dreaming and not realised that they were returning to the palace.

      ‘I was thinking,’ she said and smiled at him as he reached for her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it lightly on the back. The look he gave her seemed to bathe her in warmth and a little tingle of pleasure ran down her spine as he released her hand. He was gentle and courteous, and it was pleasant to be courted in this way. If she had not experienced her husband’s vile baseness, she might have welcomed de Froissart’s courtship. ‘So it seems you will have your way over the tourney, my lord. Are you pleased?’

      ‘It is a matter of sport only,’ he said and for a moment his eyes met hers and there was no laughter in them. ‘Do not fear that I shall press for more than you wish to give, my lady. You are beautiful and you must have guessed that I languish for love of you—but I would not have you less than willing. I may win the tourney, but it gives me nothing I had not before.’

      Alayne’s heart beat faster. He was charming and she found him pleasing, but still there was a reserve in her. Besides, he did not arouse that restlessness in her that the English knight had done with just a look!

      ‘I have given a bangle as your prize, Sir Knight, but you have not won it yet.’ Her eyes teased him. It was pleasant to idle in the sun and talk this way with a friend. ‘There may come a challenger to unhorse you.’

      ‘I wish it might be so,’ he said and sighed, and for the first time Alayne saw the truth of his heart, realising that there was more to this knight than she had previously imagined. ‘I grow stale and bored at this court, Lady Alayne. It is only your presence that keeps me languishing here.’

      ‘Then perhaps you should go,’ she suggested. ‘Where would you go, my lord?’

      ‘To England,’ he replied. ‘I have heard that there are unruly barons there that plague the King and I would take service with him.’

      ‘You do not think of taking the Cross again?’

      ‘I have been to the Holy Land,’ de Froissart replied. ‘I paid my dues to the church. In truth, I have thought of other things…’ He shook his head. ‘No, the time is not right. Forgive me, lady. I know this kind of talk does not please you.’

      Alayne stared at him in surprise. His words seemed to hint at something she had not suspected. She had thought he teased her merely in the hope of becoming her lover, but it seemed he thought of deeper matters. She turned away from him, walking back to join the Queen and her ladies as they went into the palace.

      ‘Where have you been?’ Marguerite asked her. ‘Her Majesty says she will sit in the walled garden this afternoon with her tapestry. She wants you to sort her silks for her because you have the best eye for colour. I gave her the wrong blue last time and we had to unpick the stitches.’

      Alayne nodded. She would be glad of something to occupy her mind. She had thought herself safe to indulge in a mild flirtation with de Froissart, but if he wanted her as his wife… She shook her head. No, she did not want to be his wife. She did not want to be any man’s wife!

      ‘I was dreaming,’ she answered her friend. ‘And de Froissart stopped me. I did not realise you had turned back.’

      As they entered the palace, she turned round to glance back. There was no sign of Baron de Froissart, but she saw the English knight looking at her and he was frowning again. Why did he always seem to frown at her? What had she done that made him so disapproving?

      Alayne’s heart jerked and then raced wildly, her breathing becoming almost painful. His eyes seemed to penetrate her mind, to seek out her thoughts, to strip her naked to his gaze. And he did not appear to be pleased with what he saw. Oh, what did it matter?

      And why could she not simply dismiss him from her thoughts?

      Ralph set out to follow de Froissart a few moments after Alayne had disappeared inside the palace with the other ladies. He had not meant to listen to their conversation, but what he had chanced to hear had made him realise that the lady had little to fear from that knight. It seemed that he had misjudged de Froissart; he wished to marry her and that would be the best thing that could happen to her. Once she was safely wed, she would no longer be at the mercy of unscrupulous rogues who sought her for her fortune. De Froissart was in love with her and he had an adequate fortune of his own.

      There was no doubt that it would be a good match for Alayne. She needed an iron hand in a velvet mitt to tame her, for there was fire in her though she pretended to modesty. The baron loved her and was therefore the best person to be on the watch for her safety. Besides, Ralph had been thinking about that whispered conversation and he suspected that whoever had been thinking of entering the lists against de Froissart plotted some mischief. It would be as well to warn the baron of his own danger and Alayne’s.

      He was out of sight of the palace and at the edge of the forest when he heard the shouts and sounds of fighting. Someone was being attacked! Ralph was wearing court dress and no armour, but he did have his sword at his side. He found it wiser to have his weapon to hand at all times when outside the palace.

      Running towards the sounds of the struggle he saw what he had half-expected to find—the Baron de Froissart was surrounded by six ruffians. They were not knights but stout fellows armed with cudgels and were laying about de Froissart as if they meant to kill him. Giving a cry of outrage at such knavery, Ralph charged into the fray, his sword drawn. As they heard his battle cry the men turned, looked startled, and then fled as one into the forest.

      Ralph did not bother to give chase. De Froissart was lying on the ground and, from the moans issuing from his lips, Ralph knew that he had not arrived in time to save him from injury. He knelt on the ground at his side, turning him over gently and frowning as he saw the blood on his head and more seeping through the sleeve of his tunic.

      ‘Forgive me, I should have come sooner,’ he said as he helped the baron to rise and heard his muffled cry of pain. ‘What harm have those scurvy knaves done you, sir? I think you have suffered a wound to your arm, but what more?’

      ‘A few blows to the head, but I think my right arm is worst. It may be broken.’ A moan of pain broke from the baron, but he gritted his teeth and allowed his rescuer to tend him.

      Ralph gently rolled back his sleeve and examined the arm with gentle fingers, then he nodded his head. ‘Yes, I believe there may be some damage, but not, I think, a serious break. Let me help you back to the palace and summon a surgeon, my friend. I think you will mend in time for I have seen much worse wounds than this recover.’

      ‘I thank you for your help,’ de Froissart said, swaying