Unveiling Lady Clare. Carol Townend

under the weight of a huge bucket, slopping water as he went.

      ‘Were you married to Geoffrey?’ Sir Arthur asked, bluntly.

      Clare blinked. ‘No.’ Geoffrey had been good to her, more than good. He had offered to marry her, thinking marriage to him would protect her in the event that the Veronese ever found her, but he had understood her reluctance. Marriage was, to Clare’s mind, only a small step above slavery. In any case, Sir Geoffrey of Troyes had no business marrying a runaway slave. Even if she had wanted to marry Geoffrey, she would have refused him. As she would refuse any man. Marry? Never.

      ‘He was your lover?’

      Squaring her shoulders, Clare met that dark gaze directly. ‘I fail to see why I should answer that, sir. It is none of your affair.’

      His lips twitched in amusement and her breath caught. When he lost that stern expression, Sir Arthur was heart-stoppingly attractive.

      ‘Perhaps you are in the right. My apologies, ma dame—or should I say ma demoiselle?’

      ‘As you wish, sir.’

      ‘Ma demoiselle, it shall be then, ma demoiselle Clare. At yesterday’s tournament, a man approached you at the stands. Would you care to tell me what he said?’

      ‘He... I...I do not know him well, sir.’

      ‘That tells me nothing.’ The dark eyes never left her. Sir Arthur drew his eyebrows together. ‘It seemed to me you were afraid of him.’

      Clare bit her lip. Instinct was telling her that she could trust this knight, but that didn’t mean she was ready to confess to being a runaway slave.

      And it certainly didn’t mean she was ready to tell him what had happened between her and Sandro...

      ‘I believe the man to be a merchant from abroad,’ Sir Arthur was saying. ‘I would be grateful if you could tell me what he said.’

      ‘His name is Paolo, Paolo da Lucca, and he is indeed a merchant. He said nothing of note.’

      Sir Arthur’s face became stern. ‘Ma demoiselle, I should like you to tell me what you know of him.’ The broad shoulders lifted. ‘Otherwise, what must I think but that you are hiding something?’

      Briefly, Clare closed her eyes, but when she opened them Sir Arthur was still there. Watching. Judging. She scuffed a stone with the toe of her boot, and wished she were a convincing liar. ‘I am not hiding anything.’

      ‘Does this Paolo da Lucca know of Sir Geoffrey’s involvement with thieves?’

      ‘You are speaking of the relic?’ Clare asked, as it dawned on her that she might have misinterpreted the motives behind Sir Arthur’s questions. His questions had nothing to do with the fact that there had been slavers in Troyes—he suspected her of having dealings with outlaws!

      ‘Indeed.’ The dark eyes narrowed. ‘Was he threatening you?’

      ‘No, sir.’ Taking a deep breath, Clare lifted her eyes to his. ‘I...I have known Paolo for some months. He is a kind man and he was not threatening me.’

      ‘What did he say?’ The dark eyes were thoughtful. ‘I know Geoffrey was in touch with thieves.’

      Clare felt herself frown. ‘Count Lucien swore he would keep that quiet. Sir, you must understand that Nicola can’t find out, she is so proud that her son was knighted—it would kill her if she learned of his fall from grace.’

      ‘Never fear, Count Lucien has been discreet. And, apart from last eve when I brought the subject up with him, this is the first time I have questioned him on the matter. The Count made a point of stressing your wishes that Geoffrey’s good name should not be tarnished.’

      They were facing the tavern on the far side of the square. The Black Boar. It had a dubious reputation. One of the tavern girls was sitting on a bench outside, a bright yellow cloth over her knee. She was sewing, or pretending to. In reality she was displaying her charms, of which there were many. Her eyes sparkled, her smile was bold and her lips had been coloured in some way. The neck of her gown was subtly laced to reveal full breasts. She dimpled at Sir Arthur and deftly inched up her gown to display a slender ankle and a shapely calf.

      ‘Good morning, Sir Arthur.’

      Sir Arthur grinned. ‘Good morning, Gabrielle.’

      She knows him?

      Gabrielle’s gaze washed over Clare. ‘Will we see you later, sir?’

      He lifted a dark eyebrow, still grinning. Clare didn’t know where to look. Despite her shameful past, she was innocent. In truth, her flight from Apulia had been precipitated after her owner’s son, Sandro, had attempted to force himself on her. She shivered and stared at her hand, half-expecting to see it stained with Sandro’s blood. She could never act the whore, not for any man.

      Sir Arthur cleared his throat, replaced Clare’s hand on his arm and steered her firmly past the tavern. ‘Ma demoiselle, I should like you to tell me what you know of the thieves. Count Henry is determined to run them to earth.’

      Clare tipped back her head to meet that dark gaze, and was conscious of a faint stirring in her stomach. It wasn’t strong enough to be fear, but Count Henry’s Captain did make her nervous. Her mouth was dry.

      ‘I know next to nothing.’ Clare’s mind whirled as she wondered how much to tell him. She had best say as little as possible—enough to make him go away and leave her in peace. ‘Geoffrey kept things close, but I know he wanted to make amends. He was ashamed of what he had done.’

      ‘And so he should have been. It’s a disgrace that a knight should have dealings with thieves.’

      Clare bit her lip. Sir Arthur was one of Geoffrey’s peers and she wanted him to understand what had driven Geoffrey to lose his honour. He had not done it lightly. ‘Count Lucien may have told you Geoffrey’s mother, Nicola, is ailing. Medicaments are costly.’

      ‘Money ran out?’

      Clare nodded. ‘Geoffrey loved his mother, he wanted the best for her.’

      Sir Arthur swore. ‘Damn it all, the lad borrowed money from me before, he could have done so again. I wouldn’t have refused him.’

      ‘He didn’t like being indebted.’

      ‘Pride?’ Sir Arthur sighed. ‘That rings true, Geoffrey hated admitting to any weakness.’

      ‘There’s nothing more I can tell you, sir,’ Clare said, looking pointedly back the way they had come. ‘If that is all, I should be getting back. I can’t leave Nicola for long.’ And if slavers are in town, I can’t risk being seen!

      ‘All in good time, ma demoiselle. I haven’t finished. It’s likely you know more than you realise. For example, when Geoffrey spoke of the thief, did he mention any names?’

      Clare drew her head back. ‘Sir, I fail to see the point of this. I thought the thief had been killed? Count Lucien said he was murdered.’

      Sir Arthur nodded. ‘So he was, but he was unlikely to have been working alone. Who killed that thief? Why did they kill him?’

      Clare’s stomach knotted. She didn’t want to think about this, she had enough to worry about with how she was going to look after Nicola if the Veronese had come to Troyes. How was she going to get to market? The Veronese might see her! She glanced over her shoulder—the last thing she needed was to be drawn into Geoffrey’s troubles. Geoffrey was dead, for which she was deeply sorry. But so was his murderer.

      ‘In my view, justice was served when the thief was killed,’ she said, quietly.

      ‘And that’s enough? What if more people are hurt? Do you want that on your conscience?’

      The determined glint in Sir Arthur’s brown eyes warned her that he was not going to let this rest. The good Captain suspected that she could help him and