The King's Champion. Catherine March

she noted that he was certainly the most handsome man she had ever seen. His dark hair was fine and cut close to the neck and his level brows neither too coarse nor too thin. Her eyes roved over his face, noting his nose that would have been elegant if it had not been broken at some stage in his life, mayhap more than once. The slightly flared nostrils, and his square forehead and lean, hollowed cheeks were all very masculine. Her gaze lingered for a moment on his mouth, with its curved lower lip and narrow, well-disciplined upper. His eyes were a very dark brown, and now they narrowed.

      She felt his hands let go of her waist, yet they stared at each other for long moments, and then abruptly he took a step backwards, as though he had suddenly found himself teetering upon a cliff edge and sought to evade the danger.

      For a moment Ellie could not resist lifting her glance to look at his mouth, and the faint shadow of stubble upon his firm jaw. She wondered how it would feel to be kissed by him, to feel his lips on her lips, to feel the rough scrape of his chin, so very male, against her tender skin.

      Her emotions were obvious to him and he sighed, looking away from her lovely face and curious eyes. ‘I am of no use to you, child, so waste not your time looking at me in such a way.’

      Ellie felt a blush burn along her cheeks and she dropped her gaze, yet her pride goaded her to ask, ‘Am I so ugly that you would turn away from me, sir?’

      ‘Nay, you are not ugly. The fault is mine, not yours.’ He was not one to divulge his private affairs, but he took pity upon the doubts that shadowed her eyes and her tender, innocent ego, ‘You are a very beautiful young girl. One day you will make someone a fine wife.’ Then he bowed in farewell and his footsteps were a soft sound upon the ground as he left her.

      Ellie sighed, and watched as Troye de Valois departed, not at all sure what her reaction should be. Her confusion was mounting. She jumped with nervous guilt as another figure entered the tent, but it was only Rupert and she ran to him, glad for his company.

      ‘Oh, Rupert! Tell me, is Father still angry?’ She clutched at his arms in her anxiety.

      ‘Nay, he is full of remorse and is convinced that you must hate him.’

      She shook her head in denial, and then looked up at him with a puzzled frown, ‘They…’ She hesitated and then ploughed onwards. ‘They said such strange things last night, Rupert. Did you hear?’

      ‘Nay—’ his frown matched hers ‘—what do you mean?’

      Ellie shrugged. ‘Nothing. No doubt I misheard or misunderstood.’

      Rupert did not press the point, accepting that last night she had indeed been confused and upset. ‘How are you this morn, Ellie? Still sore?’

      She nodded. ‘It will pass. At least he did not strike me in the face.’

      ‘Father would never do that.’

      ‘Nay. I suppose not.’ But suddenly her childhood had evaporated and she was no longer certain of anything. ‘How was your day? Did you fare well in the joust?’

      He smiled. ‘Aye. But tomorrow I must face de Valois.’

      She shuddered, at once fearful and yet not wishing to break her brother’s confidence by admitting that she did not think he could best de Valois.

      ‘Don’t worry, little sis, even I do not expect to beat the King’s champion in my first season. ’Tis only a learning experience. Come now,’ he chivvied her in a cheerful tone, ‘the king has invited almost everyone that is anyone to the palace for a night of feasting and merrymaking. We will dance and I will find you some of your favourite marchpane sweetmeats and we will forget all about this unpleasantness. How about that?’

      Ellie smiled, and nodded, yet sadly aware that she could not easily forget the burning flicker that had been ignited in her heart and threatened to burst into a sweet flame that would consume her.

      Chapter Three

      They went by barge to the Palace of Westminster, and Ellie welcomed the cooling breeze that whispered off the River Thames, the waters dark and smooth and lapping gently as the sun waned on this late summer’s evening. The sky was burnished a vibrant coral-pink, a colour that matched the silk of her close-fitting gown, the sleeves and bodice edged with gold embroidery and seed pearls. She had dressed carefully, hoping to see Troye and that he would notice her appearance. The clinging folds of the gown draped her slender yet feminine hips and full bosom, the colour a perfect background for her auburn hair that hung loose and rippling to her hips, her head covered with a filmy organza veil held in place with a gold circlet.

      She sat a little apart from the others as the barge rowed down the river, gliding with little more than a splash of water as the oars dipped into the river and the prow pushed its gradual way towards their destination. Her father had come to her earlier and made his peace, and she had accepted, yet in her heart she knew that all matters between them would never be the same. She watched him now, sitting with his casual grace beside her mother, his arm loosely about her waist and laughing at some jest Uncle Remy made. Aunt Beatrice leaned back in the circle of his arms, and she looked radiant in a gown of dark green velvet. Ellie envied them, these four, these two couples, and she felt the bitter pang of loneliness for the first time in her life. She felt that she no longer belonged within the family circle, and that knowledge disturbed her.

      The embankment at Westminster was lit with pitch torches, flaring small pools of golden light as the passengers from many river barges and gondolas drew up and alighted.

      ‘Stay close,’ whispered Lady Joanna urgently as they climbed the stairs and traversed the deeply shadowed lawns edging the palace.

      The great hall was brightly lit and already noisy with music and laughter and the hum of cheerful chatter. Ellie looked about, seeking her brother, who had promised to meet up with them later when his duties were done. Jousting in tournaments was for his amusement and training, as it was for many other knights, but not his living. He had just recently been placed in the cadet corp of the King’s personal bodyguard and his duties were to serve the knights who guarded the King from all harm. The King’s Own were men harvested from the most loyal families in the kingdom, fighting men who had proven their valour and skill upon the battlefield, amongst them Austin Stratford, Sylvester de Lacy and the King’s champion, Troye de Valois. She kept a look out for her brother, for where he was Troye would be too, both of them in service to the King.

      Ellie was fascinated by the colourful gathering of people, brightly clothed in rich fabrics of velvet and silk, and the snippets of conversations that she overheard, laced with rumour and gossip and bawdy jokes, before her mother or aunt hastily moved her away. The crowd laughed and drank, dancing and feasting, with all the merriment and intensity of those who knew the King was footing the bill for this jollity.

      Rupert sent a message with a pageboy to say that he would be off-duty at the tenth hour. Ellie danced with her father and her uncle, and once with a group of girls similar in age, but mostly her family kept her within the close confines of their protection at all times. Ellie chafed at the restriction, for she knew that Troye must be here somewhere and she longed to see him, to speak with him.

      She could scarce concentrate on anything at all, as her gaze winged its way about the hall, to the King’s dais, hoping to catch a glimpse of Troye de Valois, yet it was so crowded and such a distance away she could not see him.

      Rupert appeared then, holding one hand over her eyes and with the other depositing an object in her hands.

      ‘Guess,’ he commanded with a laugh.

      Long familiar with his teasing games, Ellie exclaimed, ‘A white kitten with a black tail!’

      ‘Nay, goose.’

      ‘Um…’ Ellie pretended to be flummoxed and agonised over her choices ‘…a dove? A silk scarf? A handful of London air?’

      Rupert released her with a heavy sigh, and Ellie opened the wooden box, prettily decorated with mother of pearl, and murmured her thanks at the sight of plump marchpane sweetmeats nestling