A Perfect Knight

‘It is in their nature,’ replied Queen Eleanor. ‘And a true knight is brave in battle. I have always admired Saladin, despite his infidel beliefs. He is a true man and a clever soldier—but most men are faithless and we do well to remember it, Lady Alayne. Happiness lies not in the personal life, but in power, especially if you are a queen.’

Alayne sensed that the Queen was angry, but before she could ask her what had occurred to arouse her ire, she saw that a man was approaching them. It was the man she had seen standing in the shadows of the great hall when she returned from hawking. He bowed low before the Queen, his eyes dwelling on her for a moment and seeming to register both approval and admiration.

Eleanor of Aquitaine was a handsome woman with nut-brown hair and dark eyes, but there was much more than beauty to this woman. She was clever, proud and spirited, more fitted perhaps to kingship than some men. Alayne had heard it said that she took a keen interest in matters of state, not only in her own province but in England, encouraging her sons in defiance of their father. At the moment, her eyes were flashing with annoyance and something in the way she looked at the stranger told Alayne that her anger had something to do with him.

‘So, Sir Ralph,’ she said, ‘I trust my servants have made you comfortable? You have your own chamber?’

‘Why yes, your Grace,’ he replied. ‘I did not need so much. A place to sleep by the fire in your hall would have been sufficient. I do not expect to remain more than a few days.’

‘My husband has asked weighty questions in his letters,’ Eleanor returned a little harshly. ‘It may be some weeks before I am able to find the time to answer them as I would wish. In the meantime I would not have his messenger given less than a warm welcome to my court. You must make yourself at home here, sir. We live comfortably, as you will find; there is food in plenty and entertainment. Indeed, my knights have planned a tournament in this lady’s honour. Lady Alayne will be Queen for a day and receive all the honours due her. Perhaps you might care to join in the tourney? It will help to pass the time while you wait for my answer.’

Sir Ralph bowed, his dark eyes narrowed as they centred on Alayne’s face. For a moment he was silent and she felt her cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny as he seemed to measure her. Had he found her wanting? His cold manner seemed to indicate that he had and she lifted her head proudly in response, stung by his seeming contempt. He had no right to look at her that way!

‘I have heard much of the lady,’ he said and his voice was deep and soft, sending a little shiver down her spine. ‘It is said that she has a heart of stone and cannot be won in such a contest.’

Alayne met his look without flinching, knowing that he had heard her laughing challenge to Baron de Froissart. It was disapproval she had seen in his eyes more than once, she was certain of it now! Did he think her vain, a heartless flirt who enjoyed having the knights risk life and limb in a vain effort to win her favours? For even though the contest would not be to the death, as was sometimes the case when knights sought revenge or a redress of honour, there was always a chance that they might be badly hurt or wounded.

‘I have promised no more than a token to the winner,’ she said, a look of pride on her face. She little knew how her eyes sparkled or that anger enhanced her beauty. It was a part of her witchery that she was truly unaware of the power she held over men’s hearts and bodies, the power to make them burn for desire of her. ‘It is a foolish idea, but their own. I would have no one fight for me, Sir Knight. I would advise you to ignore the challenge, for it is mere nonsense.’

‘I thank you for your advice, lady,’ he said and made her what she thought a mocking bow. She little knew that the stranger had felt the sensuality of her beauty despite himself, his body responding to her in a way that he had not felt for many years. His frown of displeasure was for himself, his own weakness, rather than for her. ‘It is many years since I took part in such a tourney and I fear I would not be a worthy challenger. You must, I pray you, excuse me.’

He bowed to the Queen once more and walked on, leaving Alayne smarting. Who was he to dismiss her in such a way? She felt as if he had thrown water in her face. She was insulted by his manner and resolved to have nothing more to do with him.

‘English manners,’ the Queen remarked wryly as he moved away. ‘You must not mind him, Alayne. The English are often arrogant and too sure of themselves. I met many such as de Bane-wulf when I resided in that land; they are as cold as their climate—though some are good men. Loyal if they give their heart to a cause, though not always with their ladies.’

It was King Henry’s infidelity that had caused her to quarrel with her husband and leave England.

Alayne was thoughtful. ‘I have heard that Sir Ralph mourns the wife he lost five years since.’

‘Yes, I have heard that too,’ the Queen said. ‘I believe I remember Berenice. Her father brought her to my court once. She was a gentle, shy girl, and fragile. She might have been better in a convent than married to a man like that.’

‘What do you mean?’ Alayne asked. ‘Is he cruel and unkind?’

‘No, I think not,’ Eleanor replied. ‘But there is passion there beneath the ice. Do not be fooled by that cold manner, Alayne. Sir Ralph is a lusty man and his wife would need to match him. I think Berenice would be too gentle, too easily crushed—poor child. She was but fourteen or so when they married, fifteen when her son was born, and delicate. She could not survive the strain of giving birth to a child and never recovered. She was struck down with some kind of wasting fever, I have heard, and died in terrible pain.’

Alayne crossed herself. ‘Poor lady. I fear there are many who die in such case, your Grace. The birthing of a babe can be a dangerous thing for women and too many are taken by a fever.’

‘It happens, particularly when the woman is too slight and fragile, but for a strong woman it is not such a terrible thing. I bore sons and lived, Alayne—and I believe you would too. If that is your reason for fearing marriage?’

Alayne shook her head, her cheeks crimson. ‘No, your Grace. I told you my story. I would have gladly given my husband a son if—if he had been other than he was.’

‘Well, well, I shall not embarrass you,’ Eleanor said and patted her cheek. ‘You know that I shall not allow you to be forced into an unhappy match, but one day you may change your mind, and then I shall be happy to give you to the man you choose to wed.’

‘I do not think that day will come.’

‘Is there no one here to stir your heart, Alayne?’

‘None that I would take to husband.’

‘Ah, then perhaps there is someone you would choose as your lover?’ Eleanor laughed as she saw her flush. ‘No, I shall not tease you. There, I release you now. Mingle with the company and send Marguerite to me. I have something I wish to say to her.’

Alayne made her curtsy and went to find Marguerite. She passed on the Queen’s message, then glanced around the large chamber, which was full of ladies and their knights, intent on making merry. A troubadour was singing a love song to a small group of ladies, who seemed entranced by his words. Several other ladies were taking their ease on banks of cushions; others sat more primly on hard wooden benches or stools, listening to conversation. The art of witty conversation was greatly prized at Queen Eleanor’s court. Alayne debated whether to join one of these groups, but decided to take one of her solitary walks instead.

She liked to walk alone in the evening air. At this time of year it did not grow dark for some hours yet and the air was warm.

As she went out into one of the many sheltered courtyards, she caught the perfume of night-scented blooms and inhaled with pleasure. A little stream tumbled over an artificial fall of rocks into a pool where tiny fish swam and Alayne stood for a while, watching them, before a slight sound behind her made her turn. A man was standing there, watching her, and the sight of him made her heart jump, though somehow she was not afraid of him, as she sometimes was of others.

‘It is late for you to be here alone, Lady Alayne.’

‘I often walk alone, sometimes in the evenings. I do not fear it while I am under the Queen’s protection, sir.’

‘There are some men for whom that would mean nothing,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘No matter how innocent the lady, some would violate her given the chance—I have seen men of that ilk here this evening. Even if you think no harm to make mockery as you do, lady, you would do well not to give them the chance to take cruel advantage of you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her heart had quickened and now she was afraid of the intensity she saw in his eyes. He seemed to be accusing her of deliberately inciting the men who courted her. What could he mean? ‘Are you…?’ Her breath caught and she could not go on as she saw his hands clench at his sides.

‘Nay, Lady Alayne,’ he replied. ‘You have no need to fear me, for I would not violate any lady, whether she be innocent or the wickedest wench alive.’

Something in the way he was looking at her made Alayne think that he disapproved of her and she raised her head proudly. ‘You seem to criticise me, my lord. Do you think me a wicked wench because I laugh when the courtiers try to court me?’

Again, she didn’t know how tempting she was as she stood there, her head tipped back, challenging him. Had he been young and carefree, he would have been tempted to crush her in his arms and tell her that she was the most desirable woman he had ever seen—but that way lay only pain and grief and he had been burned before.

‘How can I think you anything when I do not know you?’

‘I know you heard Baron de Froissart asking me what would win my heart earlier this afternoon. I gave him no reason to hope, nor have I encouraged others. It is the way of the court to jest over such things.’

Sir Ralph bowed his head. Was it possible she was that innocent? It hardly seemed likely. She had been wed before and must surely know her own power? Once again he felt the overwhelming desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, but crushed it ruthlessly. It was madness! She was not for him.

His manner was stern, seeming to disapprove as he said, ‘I beg your pardon if I have misjudged you in any part, Lady Alayne. I am a stranger here and your ways are not my ways.’

‘No. Therefore you should not judge.’

Her eyes sparkled with defiance as she met his chilling gaze. She was not used to such brusque manners from the knights who courted her with sweet words and songs—and she did not care for it.

‘You are very right,’ he agreed and inclined his head, a faint, rueful smile about his mouth, softening it so that she was suddenly aware of a foolish desire to be kissed. But not by him. No, certainly not by him! ‘I have clearly insulted you, which was not my intention. I would say only that my advice holds true. It is not wise for a woman as young and lovely as you to walk alone, either at night or during the day.’

Sir Ralph bowed to her once more, turned and walked away, leaving her to stare after him in frustration. She thought him cold and arrogant, though his assurance came from within and was not the posturing of a fool. He was a man who knew his own power and authority, and lived by it. Yet beneath the ice she had sensed heat, a passion that had seemed to burn her, touching a place within her that she had believed no man could reach.

No, no, that was nonsense! She had merely found him interesting, a complex character. It was not as easy for her to read his mind as some other knights, who showed their feelings openly. What was it that he wanted to hide? And why had he chosen to warn her that she might be in danger? Was it true? Was she in danger even here?

She shivered suddenly as a chill touched her spine. Surely he was making too much of the risks? No one at court dare disobey the Queen, for she would punish them heavily if they did, especially if they flouted the rules of chivalry that she had set for her courtiers.

Alayne had always believed herself perfectly safe wherever she went at court, but now the shadow in the corners became menacing and she retraced her steps swiftly towards the hall, the light of the smoky torches and the laughter of her friends.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Baron de Froissart called to her as she made her way towards a group of ladies. ‘We wondered where you were, lady. Sir Jonquil has prepared a poem for you—will you hear him?’

‘Yes, yes, you must hear him!’ clamoured a dozen voices. ‘We want to hear his poem!’

Alayne smiled, her confidence restored in the familiar atmosphere of laughter and teasing. She was foolish to let the brooding of that strange English knight upset her!