Her Banished Knight's Redemption--The follow-up to award-winning story the Rebel Heiress and the Knight

by Melissa Oliver

  When she had been sent at such a tender age to live with her betrothed and his family, she had not expected to marry the man until she was older. Well, she was certainly old enough now. And the one man who could possibly find her after all this time was here—if it really was him. Either way, she had no idea whether he was friend or foe.

  Her instinct was to find out if the stranger was William Geraint and welcome him here, since she could never forget what he had done for her. But no, that was not a good idea.

  Isabel watched with incredulity as she realised that the man must have assumed that Heloise was in fact her. It was frustrating that even when people were sent specifically in search of her, she was still overlooked. William Geraint, or whoever the stranger was, really wasn’t to know, but was Isabel so inconsequential, so invisible, just as she had been as a child to her real family, to her real father?

  Well, just because her father suddenly wanted her found to resume her duties after twelve long years, it didn’t mean she had to go back, did it?

  No...

  She certainly did not want to give up her precious freedom, but, more importantly, she dreaded having to face the dangers from her past. A past that she hoped would never find her.

  Yet it, apparently, had.

  Isabel could not leave the feast yet as her early departure might be remarked upon. No, she had to behave in her usual, customary manner and not give rise to any suspicion and pray that this stranger would leave once he was satisfied that she was not here. The stranger who was possibly William Geraint...

  The boy who had once saved her life.

  * * *

  Will pinched the bridge of his nose and expelled a breath in frustration.

  Not again.

  He seemed to have reached another impasse. There was something wrong here, just as there had been at every place the trail had led to, where every other young woman had tried to convince him that they were indeed the lost lady.

  Just like this woman before him.

  He didn’t know what it was, but something about Heloise Meunier didn’t feel genuine.

  Damn!

  He had been so hopeful that in this little village he would finally find Lady Isabel de Clancey after months of searching, but again he had hit a wall. A very beautiful and attractive wall...but a wall, nevertheless. And yet he was obliged to find out for certain.

  ‘Forgive me, but if you are the Lady Isabel, why do you not remember anything that happened when I rescued you?’

  ‘It was all such a trying experience. I must have blocked it out,’ Heloise said, sniffing and placing her hand over her forehead.

  ‘I would have thought it was a little more “harrowing” than “trying”,’ he said, narrowing his gaze. ‘Surely you remember something?’

  ‘My memory is not so good and, as you say, it had been such a harrowing experience!’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said in a flat voice.

  ‘All I remember was your kindness, messere, in taking me to Abbaye aux Dames and that, after a few years, I came to the local priory here and from there to the family who looked after me—the Meuniers.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But I have always known that you’d come back for me, messere. I have always known that I was special,’ Heloise said, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘That I would lead a life different to the one that was thrust upon me.’

  Hell’s teeth!

  No. This girl could not be the little girl Will remembered. She was another pretender, just like the others.

  He shook his head absently. God, but he was tired after the long journey in search of Lady Isabel, which was frankly going nowhere. This commission, which he hadn’t particularly wanted, but was nevertheless drawn to, was beginning to take its toll after many long months in the summer heat. He had continually examined the reason why he had eventually agreed to take it on, because it certainly wasn’t just the silver.

  No, it was more than that. It was a way to appease his conscience about a scared little girl whom he had been forced to leave at a monastery many years ago, when he was just a boy. He had often thought about her in the intervening years, hoping that she had somehow survived against the odds.

  The search had been arduous, but he’d also had to endure the ignominy of being followed from La Rochelle—in all likelihood by Rolleston’s men.

  Damn their impudence but, whoever they were, Will had made sure that he lost them.

  It wasn’t like Will to admit defeat, but he had to concede the lost heiress might possibly have eluded him. He had visited the Abbaye aux Dames, the convent that Father Clement had said he would take the young girl to, but they hadn’t kept any record of the girl and his aimless search for her had continued with only false leads.

  This, apparently, was another.

  The mother was still talking. ‘Yes, cherie, very special. That’s why we took you...well, both of you,’ she said, nodding her head.

  Will lifted his head. ‘What did you just say, madame?’

  ‘Well, that we...we took both girls.’

  That got his attention. ‘Both, you say?’

  ‘Yes, both Heloise and... Adela.’

  Adela? Adela was the name of Lady Isabel de Clancey’s mother.

  Interesting...

  ‘And exactly where could I find Adela? Is...is your other daughter here tonight?’ he said impassively, not betraying his curiosity.

  ‘I believe so, although my eyesight is extremely poor. Heloise, have you seen your sister?’

  ‘No, and I’m not sure I understand your interest in my sister, messere.’

  ‘Quite.’ Will darted his gaze back to the busy square, which was now crowded with many more people. He turned and inclined his head. ‘I bid you a good evening and I hope we can continue this discourse on the morrow.’

  ‘I look forward to it, messere,’ the girl said and inclined her head in return, but Will had already walked away.

  Well, now... Adela?

  Could it be her...? Could it be Lady Isabel de Clancey?

  He knew it was wishful thinking on his part—he wanted to be done with this commission so he could get back to his solitary life—but this seemed more than just a coincidence.

  He shuffled along, nodding and smiling at the villagers who returned his greetings reservedly. Will stopped next to a young girl leaning against the edge of the stone column, clapping along to the music that had started to play. She turned and gave him a pensive smile.

  ‘Apologies, little one, but have you seen Adela? Only her mother doesn’t know if she has arrived at the feast and wouldn’t want her to miss it.’

  ‘Oh, yes, she’s arrived.’ She giggled. ‘Adela is there dancing.’

  Will swung around in the direction the little girl had pointed.

  ‘My thanks, little maid.’

  He walked towards the group assembled in the dance and watched on the sideline of the area, surveying each young woman who passed him.

  He hoped that this time he’d found her. That one of the women among the dancers was her...

  Will edged closer and closer to them before an opening for him was made. He was ushered to join them, since they were a man short for the estampie dance. Good. Now he could interact with each of the dozen or so young women and find out if ‘Adela’ really was, in fact... Lady Isabel de Clancey.

  * * *

  Good grief!

  It was an unmitigated disaster to have remained at the feast. Isabel should have left the moment she had laid eyes on the stranger and now he was dancing the estampie with them. She hoped that if she kept her head low and avoided making eye contact with him, he would move on somewhere else. But every time she caught his gaze, he was looking at her in a shockingly open manner, scrutinising everything. She felt her cheeks getting warm.

  Isabel tried to diffuse the tension in her body
and act nonchalantly, even nodding at him with civility, but she was all too aware of him: his height, his broad shoulders, his powerful presence and raw masculinity. There was something about him that sent a frisson of awareness through her.

  She circled around him, noticing that his demeanour and physical bearing of a honed and skilled warrior seemed at odds with the fluid, graceful moves of the group dance. She pushed down her apprehension as she moved next to him again. The best thing to do was to continue the dance without giving a hint of whom she was and then to slip away afterwards.

  Yet, the more he studied at her the more the fear of discovery gave way to annoyance. She knew she should keep her mouth shut and not allow this man to rile her, but eventually she couldn’t help herself. ‘You are staring at me, sir, in a wholly inappropriate manner.’

  ‘Apologies, I had not realised there was a more appropriate way to do so.’

  Isabel blinked at his outrageous response. She was trying to think of a rejoinder, but cautioned herself at being taken in by his brazen behaviour. If there was to be conversation, it would be better to keep it sedate, dripping with uninterest.

  ‘You are not from around here, messere?’ she said casually, hoping she sounded indifferent.

  ‘No, I am not.’ He swerved around her so they were back to back, rising on one foot and then lowering down again, taking a step back to his partner.

  Soon enough he passed Isabel again. ‘And you have come among us here in this village to improve your dance technique?’ She knew she was now being uncivil, but really, the stranger made her feel uneasy about things she would rather forget.

  ‘I don’t believe I have any need of improvement there.’

  ‘You’re very sure of yourself, messere.’

  And to prove her point, he switched partners with such an air of presumption and self-assured ease—standing beside her, holding one of her hands gently in his, as if she had always been his partner—that something inside her snapped.

  ‘You are very forward, messere! And I would ask you again to refrain from staring at me in that impertinent way.’ she hissed under her breath, as she moved past him with a fluid click-heel step.

  He raised a brow. ‘Apologies, I do not mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Do you not?’

  He smirked. ‘No.’

  Isabel had to admit that there was something quite appealing about him when he smiled like that, with a sudden, unexpected spark of humour in his azure-blue eyes.

  ‘Well, what were you doing then, messere?’

  They moved past each other in the circle and looped around the other couples before pivoting around to stand side by side, the length of her arm against the solid warmth of his. She felt slightly breathless being in such close proximity to the man.

  ‘I’m trying to ascertain whether you are someone I met briefly a long time ago.’

  ‘Oh? But I have never seen you before in my life,’ she said too quickly as they parted again, thankfully, and danced a few steps with different partners before returning to face each other.

  ‘I’m not so sure. There is something about your eyes that looks familiar to me.’

  Dear God!

  Her hazel-green eyes would have to give her away. They had always plagued her for being so strange...so uncommon and different. One eye had a dark patch across it, which meant that people always believed her eyes to be of two separate colours, even going as far as to call her names. Even her own father believed she was cursed because of this affliction.

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  He tilted his head as he watched her. ‘Pity, since I am starting to think differently.’ He took her hand and swung it up and above her head, allowing her to twirl around and under their joined hands.

  For goodness sake. ‘Pity, since you are mistaken.’

  ‘I don’t think so. The more I look at you, the more I believe that it is you.’

  They parted again and moved to the opposite side of one another, weaving around one couple and then coming together in a large connected circle.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, frowning.

  ‘William Geraint at your service, but my friends call me Will.’

  ‘You and I are not friends, messere.’

  ‘Cruel heart,’ he said, shaking his head and smiling. ‘You wound me.’

  ‘Do I?’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘How very thoughtless of me.’

  ‘Indeed, yet it begs another more puzzling question about you.’

  ‘Oh, and what might that be?’

  ‘Your apparent disinterest in why I might have come to your village.’

  They held hands in the air, far too close for Isabel’s comfort. ‘My disinterest is very real, believe me.’

  ‘Ah, well, I cannot account for your look of trepidation then.’

  ‘Since I know you to be mistaken about any previous acquaintance, however brief, there really isn’t any interest. Why would there be?’

  ‘Why indeed? Yet for my part, I would have to disagree again, I’m afraid.’

  His teasing tone was beginning to make her exasperated. It was as though he was purposely provoking her to reveal more. ‘You may do as you choose. It has really no effect on me.’

  ‘In that case, would you humour me?’ He raised a brow as she moved around him. ‘You see, twelve years ago I rescued a girl surrounded by horrific carnage.’ He paused to watch her a moment before continuing. ‘The girl was naturally frightened, but she was left in the security of a local convent... She gave me this,’ he said, pulling out the pendant from under his tunic. ‘In thanks, and in...friendship.’

  Isabel swallowed and licked her dry lips. ‘That was a kind thing to do, and I’m sure the girl, who must now be a woman, if she is alive, was incredibly grateful if she gave you something so precious. However, I fail to see what it has to do with me.’

  ‘Do you not?’ he whispered in her ear as they passed each other in a circular flourish. ‘You see, I believe that girl was you...my lady.’

  She almost faltered.

  ‘What?’ she scoffed. ‘I assure you, messere, I am no lady.’ She realised her mistake as a slow smile spread on his face. ‘I meant that I am just a miller’s daughter and not the kind of lady you’re looking for.’

  His smile deepened. ‘Oh, and what kind of lady would that be?’

  Isabel felt like stamping on his feet. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the kind of woman who would inspire a man to traipse all the way to a remote village in Aquitaine in search of some long-lost lady, whom he saved when she was eight years old.’ She lifted her head as the music slowed.

  His eyes glittered with bemusement. ‘I don’t believe I mentioned how young the girl was.’

  ‘Didn’t you? How remiss of me to guess then,’ she ground out. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe this dance has finished.’

  Isabel yanked her hand from his and strode off in a different direction. Anywhere but near this man who had, in a matter of moments, managed to shake the foundations of her carefully constructed existence.

  He thought he knew who she really was.

  Well, he was wrong. That part of her life was gone and she did not want it back...did she?

  Isabel loved being Adela, the ordinary daughter of a miller, who toiled all day so she could have a moment or two to learn everything there was from Sibylla. Oh, God, how she loved her simple, uncomplicated existence. She chose it, she lived it and she cherished it.

  She liked the pretty peaceful village, enjoyed her adopted family—even Heloise—and appreciated her friends, especially Ralph, who would not always be here and would eventually move on, but still...

  Still...she did not want to go back to being Lady Isabel de Clancey and once again be a pawn. To be used for whatever gain her father sought. She didn’t want to be ba
rtered and trussed as some proscribed paragon of deferential noblewoman.

  Yes, Isabel missed her family—she missed her real mother desperately and even her older brothers—but that family had sent her away, abandoned her and had all but forgotten her. She had had to learn to suppress those feelings.

  The hurt.

  The loss.

  She was obviously too inconsequential and unimportant because they had never come looking for her...until now.

  Isabel had cried herself to sleep night after night as a child, alone in the world and longing to be home, but determined to keep her promise to her father. And she had—she had never revealed her true identity to anyone, frightened by what would happen to her if she had. Fearing her father’s wrath and fearing the unknown entity that had threatened her life on that day so long ago. But gradually, those tears had dried up as she remembered pieces of her old life that made her feel uneasy. And eventually, with the passage of time, she had gained some peace.

  She had made a new home, with a new identity, and forgot about the old. She became stronger—and, yes, happier.

  Was it now going to be snatched from her?

  William Geraint had saved her a long time ago, gifting her the chance of the hard-fought-for freedom she now had. Now, after all these years, it seemed as though he was going to try to take it away.

  Well, she was not going to let that happen.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, are you even listening to me?’ Isabel expelled an irritated breath as she tried to catch her sister’s attention. ‘Heloise?’

  Her sister threw a dismissive look over her shoulder as they walked along the pathway. This was bad. This was very bad indeed, especially as Heloise was simply ignoring everything she was saying.

  Ever since the dance, Isabel’s sister was determined to make William Geraint believe that she was the Lady Isabel de Clancey. And Heloise was nothing if not single-minded when there was something she wanted.

  Isabel tried again. ‘This is nonsense. You cannot take the place of someone you are not.’