Her Banished Knight's Redemption--The follow-up to award-winning story the Rebel Heiress and the Knight
Page 1
Isabel finished the last stitch and made a secure knot.
She rubbed a salve liberally over the wound, her fingers lingering over the smooth, taut skin, then fetched lengths of clean, dry linen and wrapped it a few times around his broad chest, which of course brought her tantalizingly close to him.
His lips were only a fingerbreadth apart from hers, and as his eyes dropped to her lips, she licked them without intending to.
Oh dear... Her stomach flipped on itself and her breath hitched, stuck in her throat. They both stared at each other for a moment, neither of them moving. There was a question in Will’s gaze, a question that she was only just beginning to understand. He wanted to kiss her and, to her shame, she wanted him to...very much.
He edged near, his lips hovering just above hers, his breathing coming in shallow breaths.
“I shouldn’t, Isabel,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble.
Her heart was pounding against her chest. “I shouldn’t allow you to.”
Will cradled her cheek with one hand, running his thumb across her bottom lip. “No...you mustn’t,” he whispered as he dipped his head, pressing his lips to hers lightly.
Author Note
The First Barons’ War began in 1215 in England, after King John reneged on the Charter of Liberties (Magna Carta). It lasted two bloody and bitter years, yet much of the troubles and deep divisions in the country had been brewing for most of King John’s reign.
However, the king’s timely death in October 1216 and the decisive win for the men loyal to him at the Battle of Lincoln a year later meant that the country could start to heal under the stewardship of William Marshal—the Earl of Pembroke and Lord Protector of England (the newly crowned Henry III being too young to rule).
In the aftermath, old wounds were still raw. As was the case for Sir William (Will) Geraint, the hero in this book.
It was a time when young noble girls could be sent to live with their betrothed’s family to strengthen ties. Which was what almost happened when Lady Isabel de Clancey, the heroine, was a little girl.
Will and Isabel embark on the most important journey of their lives, but can they discover a treasure that guides them home? Or do they find more than they bargained for?
I hope you enjoy their story!
MELISSA OLIVER
Her Banished Knight’s Redemption
Melissa Oliver is from southwest London, UK, where she writes historical romance novels. She lives with her gorgeous husband and equally gorgeous daughters, who share her passion for decrepit old castles, grand palaces and all things historical. When she’s not writing, she loves to travel for inspiration, paint, and visit museums and art galleries.
Melissa Oliver won the Joan Hessayon Award for new writers from the Romantic Novelists’ Association in 2020 for her first book, The Rebel Heiress and the Knight.
Books by Melissa Oliver
Harlequin Historical
Notorious Knights
The Rebel Heiress and the Knight
Her Banished Knight’s Redemption
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com.
To my three treasures—Bella, Scarlett and Sofia. Always and forever.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Excerpt from Resisting Her Enemy Lord by Helen Dickson
Prologue
AD 1206—the remote outskirts of La Rochelle, Poitou region, Aquitaine. A region still part of the English Crown.
She was going to die today. Now, at this very moment...
Isabel opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. It was as if her voice had frozen, owing to the unspeakable horrors she had just witnessed. She wanted her mother to comfort her, soothe her and make this all go away, but that was not possible.
Mama was far away from here.
Her whole body shook violently as she lay on the ground, gawping at the bad man hovering over her. He had caught her easily as she had run away into these woods, trying to get away from the carnage that he, along with the other bandits, had inflicted. It had all come to this: staring death in the face. Isabel drew in a shaky breath and screwed her eyes shut, thinking that she had let her father down, through no fault of her own.
Oh, please, God in heaven, let it not hurt...please let it be over quickly, she said over and over again in her head like a prayer, as she wrapped her small hand around the pendant dangling from her neck.
But nothing happened. Instead, the man made strange, unexpected noises. Isabel slowly opened her eyes and saw the bad man swaying from side to side, his eyes rolling to the back of his head before he fell with a thud on to the ground. It was then that she saw him...a boy, several years older than her, eyes wide and holding the blade of a sword, the hilt pointing down. He must have surprised the bad man and struck him from behind using the heavy metal hilt. The boy had hit him well because the man was lying motionless.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ he said gently. ‘My name is Will Geraint and I’m here to help. He didn’t hurt you, did he?’
It was a nice voice, with so much warmth that she was instantly put at ease after what she had witnessed and almost endured.
Not that she knew whether the voice belonged to someone that she should readily trust. Isabel cautiously shook her head as the boy moved forward to help her on to her unsteady feet.
‘You’re safe now, but it’s best if you don’t look back there,’ he said, pointing towards the smouldering wagons, which were shrouded by an eerie silence. All the people she had been travelling with were now dead, as she would have been, if it had not been for this boy.
‘Do you know what happened here?’ He was watching her. ‘Who did this?’
He seemed to be about the same age as her eldest brother, twelve or possibly thirteen, and his eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen. They were kind eyes.
But she couldn’t answer. She dared not.
‘Was it an ambush?’
She nodded slowly, suddenly shaking uncontrollably.
‘Can you tell me your name?’
Again, she said nothing as she tried to compose herself.
He exhaled as he dragged his fingers through his matted hair. ‘Very well, but you can’t stay here. You’ll have to come with me and I will ask Sir Percy what is to be done with you.’
She stilled before taking a step back. She couldn’t go with him! Who was his lord? For all she knew he could be another enemy of her father’s.
As though he sensed her apprehension,
he tried again, ‘Whoa, easy now. Sir Percy is a good man and he’ll help, I know he will. Besides, you really can’t stay here. It’s not safe.’
No, she really couldn’t stay in this place, with the carnage all around her, the repugnant smell of burning flesh. Oh, God, it was all too much. She turned and retched violently, emptying the contents of her stomach on the ground. The boy patted her gently on the shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing for you here any more, miss,’ he whispered. ‘Come, I’ll take you to safety.’
She hesitated for a moment before grabbing her satchel, which had fallen beside her, and tentatively took his outstretched hand. His lips curled into a friendly, placid smile. He nodded and led her through the woods to his horse, which had been tethered far away from it all. They mounted the huge animal, riding away from that horrible scene. She nestled against his shoulder, feeling a huge sense of relief as anxiety slowly drained from her body to be replaced with overwhelming exhaustion.
The drum of his beating heart and the pounding of hooves against the ground lulled her into a deep sleep, one that she did not wake from until much later.
* * *
It was dusk and Isabel was no longer on the back of a horse, but instead lying on a hard, lumpy pallet.
She opened her eyes and sat up, looking around the small crypt to see a fire crackling in the hearth. She rubbed her eyes, her vision adjusting to the darkness and it was then she saw him—the boy, Will. His back was to her as he stood at the doorway, leaning against a stone wall, talking to someone, but he turned, as if sensing she was no longer asleep. He took two big strides into the room and knelt beside the pallet.
‘I waited until you were awake to take my leave and wish you well before I go.’
No, please don’t leave me here!
She threw herself against him, clutching on to him as tears streamed down her face.
‘You must be brave, little maid, and stay here with Father Clement. He’ll take you to a convent nearby where you will be looked after and...’
Was she to be abandoned again? She thought she could trust the boy, she thought she was safe but, no...she had no one to rely on except for herself. She sobbed desperately as Will Geraint grimaced.
‘Come on, miss, I’m sure you will do well here.’
Isabel shook her head, unable to get the words out.
‘You could tell me your name?’ He raised a brow. ‘We could then find your kin and send a message so that they could come for you?’
She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it firmly. No, she couldn’t tell him her name. She had promised Papa not to tell anyone about who she was and where she was going, no matter what the circumstance. Father had made her swear on the holy bible.
Will Geraint’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, God, unless they were the ones who perished back there.’ He pulled his fingers through his hair, looking uneasily at her. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
They might not have been her blood relatives, but the people she had travelled with had all been part of her father’s household retinue, accompanying her to France, where they had met their grisly demise.
She shook her head again, wordlessly pleading with him as she tightened her grip on his arm.
‘I cannot take you with me, miss. Sir Percy only allowed a little time for me to bring you here,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘And anyway, I’m only a squire, but I am training hard to be soldier and, one day, God willing, a knight.’ He smiled at her. She stopped crying and sniffed as he untangled himself, pulling her up to her feet. ‘I must go, but promise me you’ll be brave. As much as I will have to be.’
She nodded slowly as more tears dropped on her cheek. He brushed them away and sighed.
‘Have faith and courage, miss. One day you will overcome this. I know it. And don’t forget that you will always have a friend in me,’ he said, thumping his chest. ‘In William Geraint.’
Please don’t leave me here! she wanted to scream.
Isabel knew there was nothing she could say or do to stop Will Geraint from leaving her here, unless she informed him of who she was. Yet she had made a vow to her father and he would be so disappointed if she let him down again. She hated that she always seemed to disappoint him...
Papa had specifically told her not to trust anyone.
‘There are too many enemies circling around us. Trust no one. Do you hear me, girl?’
‘I do, Papa.’
‘Good, now don’t forget. A vow is a solemn promise. One that can never be broken.’
Her shoulder sagged in resignation. Yes, it seemed her destiny was to stay here, wherever that was. Anyway, her father would likely come looking for her and then she could go back home.
Oh, to be back home...
Isabel looked about the sparse, cold room. How everything had changed for her in a matter of days, in a matter of moments. The boy was probably right and she would be safe here, but before he left there was something she wanted to give him.
A symbol of her gratitude.
As he turned to leave, she quickly unfastened the leather cord from the back of her neck and allowed the heavy pendant to fall into her lap. She pulled the sleeve of his tunic a couple of times and dropped her silver and ruby pendant into his hand.
He shook his head. ‘You really don’t have to give me anything.’
No, but she liked giving things to people. And he did have kind eyes. Besides, it was dangerous to keep the two identical pendants together and, since she had found the other one in her satchel earlier, this one could be given away. She hoped her father would be proud that she had thought of it all by herself, but he was so difficult to please. She wrapped her small hand around Will’s and squeezed it, nodding in encouragement when he hesitated. He had to keep it. The pendant was her present and no one ever said no to a gift. Mama would say that it was bad manners.
Mama... Oh, Mama...
She gulped and sniffed, hoping she would not start crying again. Her brothers always used to get annoyed if she cried.
‘Very well, if you want me to have this,’ he said dangling the pendant from his hands, ‘then I will thank you and always treasure it. I must leave now. Good luck, little one.’
She kept her eyes fixed on the stone floor, but knew that the boy had quietly left the chamber. With no one now there, she covered her face with her hands and started to weep once more.
Chapter One
Spring 1218
Will Geraint spotted him the moment the old peacock stepped inside the tavern. The older man was not the usual customer who frequented the dirty, dubious establishment that Will liked to call his home away from home.
Instinct made Will lean back and sink into the shadows, clasping the hilt of his dagger underneath the wooden table as he watched the man scan the room. His beady eyes settled near the area where Will was sat and he gave a decisive nod before walking over.
Who the hell was he? And, more importantly, what did he want?
Will tightened his grip around the hilt as the man flung his feathered hat on the table and sat opposite him, his eyes studying Will closely. There was something about the man’s presumptuous manner that he didn’t particularly like.
‘Mind if I sit here?’ The stranger spoke French, but Will realised instantly that he was English. A fellow countryman—a courtier, no less. His senses were further alerted to the man’s every movement, aware that he might not be here alone, might have any number of accomplices waiting somewhere outside.
The fact the older Englishman had come to this godforsaken tavern in a remote part of France made it obvious he had meant to seek Will out, especially since the tavern wasn’t particularly busy and he could have sat anywhere else.
Will ascertained the various ways he could leave expeditiously without using the front entrance and without the man being able to follow him in any capacity.
‘That is not my intention. However, I was told that I would find a man here whose talents with a sword were—and still are—legendary,’ he said, brushing non-existent dirt off his shoulder. ‘A man whose reputation precedes him, even if he does seem to prefer living in such obscure places, as he has these past two years.’
‘There is no man of that description. Not here.’
‘No? What if I could give this man a chest full of silver and a pardon so he could return home to England?’
Hell’s teeth!
Will had to tread carefully here. He had been living in France as a mercenary, a sword for hire, in the shadow of exile for the past few years. The truth, however, was that since King John’s death he had worked tirelessly for England’s new regent and Lord Protector, William Marshal, gathering important information for the Crown under the guise of being a disgraced man. A disgraced rogue knight. Not that many knew. Not that this man knew.
‘And what would you want with such a man? If one were to exist.’
‘I’d need him to find something—rather, someone. Urgently.’
Will smirked dismissively. ‘I cannot think of who you would mean. You have the wrong place.’
‘No, I don’t think so. I have been making a lot of enquiries, both here and in England and I’m certain I am in the right place, talking to the right person. You are Sir William Geraint,’ the man said as his lips curled into a sneer.
Will tightened his grip on his dagger and spoke in a low voice. ‘If I were you, stranger, I’d leave and go back the way you came. That is, if you want to hang on to your life.’
‘Peace, Sir William, peace.’ The man held out his hands, palms facing outwards, and swallowed. ‘You have not been at court and so have not been privy to the whispers and rumours about how you, along with the knight you squired for, Sir Percival of Halsted, saved a young girl’s life more than ten years ago.’