The King's Champion

His friend seemed uneasy, ‘She don’t speak much like a whore, maybe she is a lady—’

‘A lady!’ snorted the other. ‘What would a lady be doing down here? Nay, it’s just a game, isn’t it, lovely?’ With a grunt of triumph he wrenched open his breeches and reached for the hem of Ellie’s gown.

She gave another scream and struggled wildly as she felt his knee jerk her legs apart and his fingers sought the linen loincloth that she wore. Her silky white hose dislodged in the process, sliding down in undignified folds about her ankles, and her heart hammered at the dreadful prospect of what was about to be done to her. She felt dizzy and with sick despair she turned her head away and closed her eyes, raging with impotent fury at her fate.

Then suddenly a black shape hurtled through the darkness and the man crouched on top of her went flying backwards. She glimpsed the blur of a fist as it smashed once, twice, three times into her abuser’s face, with swift and brutal efficiency. Blood spurted from his nose and he spat broken teeth upon a gurgle of shock and pain, before he was grabbed by the scruff of his tunic and thrown a goodly distance away from Ellie. Her rescuer then turned to deal with the other man, but he had already seen who it was meting out justice and fled with all speed into the darkness.

Panting slightly at his exertions, the knight knelt at her side. Ellie stared at him, too shocked to utter a word of thanks. She felt nauseous and the world spun in a whirling circle before her glazed eyes. She shuddered as again she felt male hands move beneath her skirts—but his were impersonal, quickly investigating hands that touched her loincloth briefly and then pulled up her hose and refastened her garters. He murmured soothingly, reassuring her in a deep male voice that he meant her no harm.

‘You are still intact.’ He breathed a sigh of relief. Then she felt his fingers cup her face and turn it to the distant glimmer of firelight, ‘What are you doing here, a little maid with no escort?’

She sat up and stared at him, niggled by a faint sense of recognition, but it was too dark and she could not see his face in the shifting firelight and the faint moonglow. She felt so alone and lost and very foolish. Suddenly, without warning, she burst into tears.

‘Shh,’ the male voice commanded, ‘you are safe. I will protect you from all harm.’

His arms went around her slender back and she leaned against him, sobbing upon his hard, warm chest. He let her cry for a few moments, and then wiped her tears with his thumb and persuaded her to rise.

‘Come, let me escort you to your family.’

With angry impatience at her own female weakness, she dashed away the tears from her eyes and muttered, ‘Thank you, sir, for your help, but I will find my own way.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I doubt that! And you have not answered my question. Why are you here amongst these rough knights? ’Tis no place for a maiden.’

‘I am looking for my brother. Rupert Raven.’

‘Ah, I see. So you are indeed Ellie.’ He led her between the pavilions and the light from a nearby fire illuminated them. ‘You have grown since I last saw you, little knight.’

Troye de Valois! Ellie gasped. She felt the hot tide of a blush sear her neck and cheeks, at once both elated and mortified. How perfect, how fine indeed that Troye should be the one to rescue her, and yet how terrible to meet again in such shameful circumstances! Ellie could not think of a word to say to him and they walked in silence as he led her between the tents. She realised that she had been completely off course, until at last he lifted the striped yellow-and-red flap of Rupert’s tent and they entered the golden glow within.

The tent was not solely occupied by Rupert, who sat lounging on a cushion with a young woman sprawled upon his lap, her frothy petticoats hitched well above her ankles and her bodice immodestly low cut. Eleanor stared, taking in her brother’s two companions as they reclined in various postures of debilitated drunkenness, a stench of wine fumes emanating from the empty bottles cast upon the ground.

Rupert looked up from a ribald conversation with his friends, and then suddenly leapt to his feet as he spied his sister, spilling the doxy to the floor.

‘Ellie! In God’s name, what are you doing here?’ With a guilty start he tugged together the open neck of his tunic, where the harlot had been exploring his chest hairs with her accomplished fingers.

Her rescuer spoke for her, giving Rupert a stiff bow and a disapproving glance. ‘She was looking for you and—’

‘I became lost!’ interrupted Ellie swiftly, her eyes, as she lifted them to the tall man at her side, suddenly pleading. She quelled a sigh as in the glow of lamplight she looked upon Troye’s face that featured in so many of her dreams, both waking and asleep. Yet now, in the cold hard light of reality, his eyes looked at her in an impersonal way that she had not anticipated.

‘You should take better care of your sister, Raven, for she was wandering about the camp alone. ’Tis no surprise she was attacked.’

Ellie cast her eyes to the ground at this revelation, embarrassed beyond measure by his words.

‘I am sorry,’ he said to her, noticing her expression and pursed lips, ‘but such an incident as I have just witnessed cannot be hushed up. I must report it to the constable and the men who nearly raped you shall be caught and punished.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Rupert.

‘Aye,’ confirmed her rescuer, ‘two men attacked her. I have no doubt one shall be easily identified, by his broken nose and two missing teeth.’ Then he turned to Rupert and made a deeper bow. ‘I trust you will escort your sister safely homewards.’

Rupert replied with a bow of his own, ‘My thanks, sir.’

Troye paused as he turned on his heel to leave, and smiled gently down at her, ‘Did I not warn you once that your female strength would be no match for a man’s?’

Ellie was forced by good etiquette to reply, ‘Indeed. I thank you, sir, for your assistance.’ But the words did not come easily, forced in a barely audible whisper from the constriction of her throat.

Troye threw a stern glance to her brother. ‘I would suggest that you keep a closer eye on your sister. This is no place for maidens.’

A vivid blush stained Ellie’s cheeks and then he turned and silently left, a dark, lithe shape that moved with all the ease and swiftness of a shadow.

Rupert apologised to his friends and the doxy, for whose services he had paid for the next two hours. It irked him sorely to be deprived of them, but he latched on his sword. With gruff impatience he took his sister by the elbow and dragged her in his wake as he left the tent.

‘What the hell did you think you were playing at?’ he demanded harshly, striding fast and unerring through the rowdy campsite towards the quieter domain of the family pavilions.

Rupert was easily head and shoulders taller than herself, and she struggled to match his long stride. As they hurried a drunken reveller stumbled into their path, but with a growled oath of unusual viciousness Rupert easily threw him off with one sweep of his forearm.

Ellie stared at him from the corner of her eye. All their lives they had always been close, and had spent much of their childhood playing and getting up to mischief in each other’s company, yet she had the uneasy conviction that this Rupert, the man, she did not know.

‘I wanted to speak with you,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I wanted to hear from you how it was riding in the lists.’ Sudden tears crowded in her throat and pricked the back of her eyes, her heart confused and hurting by both her brother’s anger and her meeting with Troye. The tears threatened to fall at any moment.

With a sigh, glancing at her woebegone face, Rupert halted, his hands gently gripping her arms and turning her towards him. He bent his head and stooped to peer at her downcast eyes. ‘Listen, de Valois is right about one thing. We are no longer children. We are not free to run about as we did then. You are a young woman now, Ellie, a very pretty young woman, and there are men that, given half the chance, would eat you whole for breakfast.’

She sniffed, and wiped the heel of her hand over her damp cheeks. ‘I meant no harm. I just wanted to talk with you.’

‘I know.’ Relenting in his anger, he hugged her and patted her shoulder as he felt her slender frame shudder with racking sobs.

‘Oh, Rupert…’ she pressed her cheek to his tunic, her fists clenched to her bosom as she folded herself into his comforting embrace ‘…I was so frightened! I thought I could fight them off. I’ve never feared anyone in my life, but I was so helpless!’

‘Thank God for de Valois.’ She was silent and he looked down at her, adding, ‘You were less than gracious in your thanks to him.’

She shrugged, uncertain of the tumult of emotions that Troye de Valois had awoken in her, and for a moment wondered if she could confide her secret yearnings to her brother. But the moment passed, as Rupert gave her a little hug and then briskly walked on. She had no choice but to follow in his wake.

‘Come, let us hurry,’ declared Rupert. ‘No doubt Mother is beside herself with worry, and God knows what havoc Father is wreaking in his search for you.’

They exchanged a glance and in silence continued on. When they reached their cluster of pavilions, Lady Joanna spied them and with a heartfelt cry of relief picked up her skirts and ran to meet them. Ellie stumbled to her mother and gratefully surrendered herself to her fierce embrace.

‘Oh, wretched, wretched child!’ exclaimed Lady Joanna, holding Eleanor away from her and smoothing her auburn hair back from her brow. ‘Where have you been? Your father has gone to call out the guard in search of you.’

Rupert groaned and quickly despatched a serf with a message that Eleanor had been found, and then quailed as their uncle approached, striding towards them with a thunderous frown upon his brows.

‘Where in God’s name have you been, girl?’

Ellie faced her uncle, throwing a conspiratorial glance to her brother and hoping he would not betray her as de Valois had. ‘I only went to see Rupert, but then I got lost. But we found each other in the end.’

‘Stupid girl! Don’t you realise that a tourney campsite is no place for a lone female? Why, ’tis teeming with mercenaries and harlots and thieves and all manner of lowlife that you would have no wish to encounter!’

She hung her head in guilty silence, casting a surreptitious glance to Rupert from beneath her lashes.

‘Calm yourself, uncle,’ soothed Rupert, ‘she has come to no harm and I am sure…’ he glanced down at the bowed head of his sister ‘…very sure that she will not make the same mistake again.’