Unveiling Lady Clare. Carol Townend

bright as copper in the winter sunlight. Again a shiver of recognition ran through him.

      Who is she? I have not met her, yet I know those eyes. Who is she?

      * * *

      By the time the Queen of the Tournament rose to her feet to award the prizes, Arthur had worked out where he had seen the young woman before. He had seen her at Geoffrey’s funeral.

      Sir Geoffrey had been one of Count Lucien’s household knights and, before his untimely death, Arthur had known him well. The lad had been killed, ostensibly while protecting Lady Isobel, at a tournament held at the Field of the Birds. The young woman on the ladies’ stand had attended Geoffrey’s funeral. The last to leave after Geoffrey had been interred, she had stood, head bowed over the grave, a slim auburn-haired woman in rough homespun. Throughout the funeral rites, she had looked as though she had been on the verge of making a run for it. A nervous, shrinking violet, Arthur had thought. He had not been near enough to notice her odd eyes at Geoffrey’s funeral, so it must have been her hair that had given him that sense that he had met her before. It was the same girl, no question. According to Lucien, she wasn’t related to Geoffrey. Had she and Geoffrey been lovers?

      The peculiar exchange Arthur had seen earlier pushed into his mind. What had that merchant said to her? It had clearly upset her. Had the man been threatening her? If so, why? Arthur would give a day’s pay to know what had passed between them. Was it in some way connected with Geoffrey’s death?

      Count Lucien harboured doubts as to Geoffrey’s honesty. Before Christmas, he had mentioned that he suspected Geoffrey of involvement in the theft of a relic from the Abbey. Arthur hadn’t paid much attention at the time and he should have done. A gang of outlaws was known to be working the area. This girl could have links with them. If so, as Captain of Count Henry’s Guardians, it was very much Arthur’s business. Count Henry wanted Champagne cleared of outlaws. The Guardians had been established for that very purpose. Arthur’s first duty was to keep the roads and highways safe for honest folk.

      The Winter Fair was over and tomorrow the town would settle down after the tournament. It was the perfect chance to root out the thieves, once and for all. If the girl had any connection with them, Arthur must know of it. As soon as he might, he would seek her out and judge for himself whether she was involved. Count Henry would expect no less of the Captain of his Guardian Knights.

      A trumpet blast cut through the babble of the crowd, jerking Arthur out of his thoughts. The field was awash with blue pennons and Countess Isobel was preparing to hand out the prizes. Her husband, Count Lucien, had won the individual prize and his team—the Troyennes—had won the team prize.

      As Count Lucien rode towards his countess in her glittering crown, Arthur lifted his voice along with the rest. It was good to fight on the winning side. He and Gawain would be celebrating when they visited the Black Boar.

      * * *

      Late the next morning, Nicola was dozing on her cot by the fire. Clare had sent Nell to deliver another batch of wool to Aimée and the child had been gone some while. No more than mildly concerned, for Aimée had two girls of her own and Nell enjoyed visiting them, Clare glanced through the shutters to see if the children were out in the street. Nell usually reappeared in time for the noonday meal.

      She caught movement on the left, a quick flash of green. Someone was approaching the house. Her fingers curled into her palms, and although she was braced for it, the sharp rap on the door had her leaping out of her skin. Heart jumping, Clare set her hand on the planks and peered through a knot-hole.

      ‘Who’s there?’

      A cream-coloured tunic stretched across a wide chest. A silver cloak pin held a green cloak in place. ‘Good day, ma dame. Sir Arthur Ferrer at your disposal.’

      Nell’s champion. Clare glanced at Nicola and heard a light snore. Nicola usually had trouble sleeping and Clare was loathe to disturb her. Sir Arthur was surely no threat. Last night she had learned that he had indeed been sworn to Count Lucien before he had taken charge of the Guardians. Sir Arthur had known Geoffrey. She could surely speak to him outside the house, it would only be for a moment. Telling herself this knight couldn’t possibly know what had brought her to Troyes, she lifted her cloak from its peg and unlatched the door. She was unveiled—no matter, this wouldn’t take long.

      ‘Good morning, Sir Arthur.’ She gave him a quick curtsy. Sir Arthur’s hair was brown, thick and glossy. He was wearing his sword, but there was no sign of his squire or the grey destrier. At a guess, he had walked from the garrison as it wasn’t far. ‘My apologies for not inviting you in, sir, but there’s only one chamber and Nicola is sleeping.’

      ‘Geoffrey’s mother?’

      ‘Yes, she sleeps so poorly, I don’t want to wake her.’

      Clare paused, hoping he would state his business at once. With a sinking heart, she saw his dark gaze shift from her eyes to her hair. Swiftly, she pulled up her hood. Lord, but her looks were such a curse. If there was anything that proved that God must love irony, it was her colouring. He gives me every reason to want to escape notice and then curses me with dramatic red hair and odd eyes.

      ‘Did Count Lucien ask you to visit, sir?’

      His eyes held hers. ‘What is your name?’

      ‘I am called Clare.’ If Clare had ever been christened, she had never known it. Clare was the name she had chosen for herself after she had fled Apulia.

      ‘Clare,’ Sir Arthur murmured, studying her eyes. He shook his head. ‘I thought your name might mean something, but...’

      ‘Mon seigneur?’

      A muscle flickered at the side of his jaw. ‘I am a knight, mistress, not a lord.’

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘Never mind.’ His thumb tapped the hilt of his sword. ‘Your accent is unfamiliar, you were not born in Troyes.’

      ‘No, sir.’

      The dark eyes looked at her. Then, to her astonishment, he crooked his arm at her. ‘You will walk with me a while.’

      Clare hesitated. She was reluctant to walk abroad with a knight from the garrison, she didn’t trust men, but she recognised a command when she heard one. Telling herself that a knight once sworn to Lord d’Aveyron would hardly carry her off in broad daylight, she laid her fingers lightly on his arm and he drew her down the street, towards the square. She began to pray.

      Dear Lord, let Paolo have been mistaken. If the slavers were in town and saw her...

      ‘I cannot be long, sir. Nell might come back and—’

      ‘Nell?’ The handsome face relaxed. ‘The little girl who gave me her favour?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘We won’t go far. There is a matter I must discuss with you out of earshot of Geoffrey’s mother.’

      There was a thudding in Clare’s ears as her fears rushed in on her. Was this about Geoffrey? Or had Sir Arthur discovered her secret? Had her master in Apulia discovered her whereabouts?

      Slavery was not permitted in Champagne. It was the reason Clare had come to Troyes. But she had learned from what had happened to Geoffrey that injustices still abounded. She lived in dread of the knock on the door, of the moment when she learned that the slaver known as the Veronese had found her.

      I will never go back. Never!

      ‘Sir Arthur, you...’ she took a deep breath ‘...you are Captain of the Guardian Knights, are you not?’ Nicola had told her as much last eve, when Clare had brought an overexcited Nell home. The child had talked non-stop about ‘her knight, Sir Arthur’. It was a wonder any of them had got any sleep.

      Sir Arthur nodded and Clare kept telling herself that she had nothing to fear from him. It wasn’t easy convincing herself. This man was a stranger and, until Geoffrey had brought her to his mother’s house, strangers hadn’t shown her much kindness.