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

by Melissa Oliver

  ‘Here, give me your hand, Isabel,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Quickly.’

  She placed her hand in his and he hauled her up to crouch beside him.

  ‘My thanks,’ she said as he nodded. ‘What now?’

  He looked above and back to the trusting woman beside him. ‘Now we climb, my lady.’

  Thank heavens she didn’t argue, although he could see her visibly gulp. Will clambered up the stone roofs and held out his hand, grabbing hers and pulling her up. Repeating this, they continued upwards, gaining footing to balance their weight until they landed on the flat roof at the top that he had observed earlier. They dashed to the end of the building, catching their breaths and scanning the area for the best way to continue to their destination. They both turned as they heard another person climbing up the building in pursuit of them.

  The distance between this building and the next one was too far.

  ‘What are we to do?’ she said, panting and out of breath.

  ‘Isabel, do you still have the rope you used to climb down from your room in St Jean de Cole?’

  ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘Hand it to me, please...now.’ He watched as she fished for the rope in her satchel, her hand shaking as she passed it to him.

  ‘Will, he’s on the roof...he’s on the roof!’

  ‘No need for panic, my lady.’ He looked around and settled on a stone stump post the original builders had obviously forgotten to break down, tying a couple of knots around it, and pulling it several times to test that it could take their weight. ‘Come, let’s go, Isabel.’

  He held out his hand and grabbed hold of her just as the pock-faced man staggered towards them. Isabel put her arm around Will, holding on to him for dear life, wrapping her body around him as he swung from one building to another. He slipped as they reached the other building, making them swing back.

  Will pushed against the wall and this time when they swung over to the adjacent building, he managed to get a foothold on the ledge of the roof. He held on to Isabel, making sure that she was steady before he grabbed his knife and started cutting the rope.

  ‘I’ll get you another one,’ he said, noticing Isabel’s dismay and nodded at the pock-faced man with a grin, before guiding her away.

  This roof was not flat, but pitched instead, making it incredibly difficult to manoeuvre their way around.

  ‘Careful now...easy,’ He muttered. ‘Use your hands and feet to grip for dear life. Imagine you’re a cat, clambering on a roof.’

  ‘I’m trying to.’

  ‘And doing wonderfully well, my lady.’ He had to keep her calm, as one false move and she would fall down—and this time no one would be there to catch her. ‘By the way, you were magnificent back there. If anything, I hope all of this has shown you that you are indeed very courageous.’

  ‘I would never think of myself as such, if it weren’t for you.’

  ‘We make a good team.’

  They continued round until they came to where the slope gave way to a flat base, which they stood on, gingerly. The wooden planks were not too secure, a few were missing and some altogether broken through.

  Holding hands, they felt their way across, pushing their feet down on each length of wooden plank to test whether it was secure enough to hold them. Slowly, slowly they got across and jumped across the small gap to another building. They made their way down towards ground level gradually, Will checking both directions to make sure it was safe before jumping down and lowering Isabel. He held her for a moment longer than necessary.

  ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered between breaths as he rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘Oh, my God...but you’re not! Will...’ Isabel lifted her head, her eyes wide, staring at her outstretched palms that had been resting on his chest. They were covered with his blood.

  He shrugged, making a face. ‘This is not nothing to be concerned about, Isabel.’

  ‘I disagree, this is very much something to be concerned about.’

  He chuckled softly, shaking his head. ‘Let us get out of here. Then I’ll welcome your ministrations, my lady.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll promise to be brave.’

  * * *

  They had managed to get to the farmhouse without attracting any more unwanted attention, thank the lord. After paying coin to the farmer, they’d mounted their horses without their provisions—having lost them in the skirmish—and left the blasted town.

  By sundown they had managed to ride through to a vast, thick forest, their intent one of concealment since it was now plainly evident that they were being pursued.

  Eventually, after halting their progress for the day, Will made a fire and saw to the horses before finally being able to see to his injury from earlier. He went for a wash in the nearby stream, cleaning away the grime from the day’s riding and all the dried blood down his front from the wound on his pectoral muscle. It stung like hell and the wound was bigger than he had anticipated. He submerged his head in the freezing water, welcoming the icy coldness as it sluiced down his aching body.

  Will had difficulty containing his anger as well as his concern for their situation, knowing it had all been far too perilous. Far too bloody close. One thing was certain—that bastard Rolleston was not going to stop trying to renege on their agreement. He couldn’t help the nagging feeling that Isabel might be right.

  Could it be that the pendants were significant somehow?

  He trudged back to Isabel, who had been busy laying out blankets and her herbs, salves and other supplies, ready for his return.

  She lifted her head and beamed at him, making him stop momentarily. God, she really had been remarkably fearless earlier. She was far more resilient and determined than she believed and the fact that she had put all of her trust in him to get them out of that difficulty humbled him.

  Will returned her smile as he continued to walk towards her.

  ‘Sit here, please, and I shall take a look at your wound.’

  He crouched on the blanket in front of her and winked. ‘I’m all yours.’

  What the hell was the matter with him? Even Isabel, who had been concentrating on the wound, froze, flicked her eyes to his and blinked several times before attending to his small slash.

  Her small hand squeezed over his skin. ‘Does it hurt?’

  He pressed his lips shut in case he made any more half-witted, improper remarks and nodded instead.

  When had Will become like this? When had his easiness around women—something that he was known for—become so difficult? Not that Isabel de Clancey was just any woman...

  ‘I’m afraid this is going to need stitching,’ she muttered, the tops of her fingers grazing his chest. ‘First, though, I will clean it with a salve made to Sibylla’s recipe.’

  ‘Whatever you think is best, my lady.’

  ‘I’ll try not to hurt you.’

  He grinned. ‘I know—’ he leaned forward slightly, ignoring her alluring fragrance ‘—but I must tell you that I have been stitched up more times than I care to remember.’

  ‘Ah, then I have much to live up to.’ She raised her brow. ‘I hope I exceed your expectations.’

  Isabel just had to say those words just as she brushed past him, making him inhale sharply. God, but his reaction to her was wholly inappropriate. He should not be admiring her in any capacity. His destiny lay in a lifetime of solitary existence, doing his duty for the Crown and atoning for his sins. Sins that had cost him dearly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Will, I shouldn’t jest. It must hurt after such a long time in the saddle without any due care. We should have stopped much earlier than this.’

  She had noticed his reaction, but misconstrued it to mean something quite different. Thank God!

  ‘Possibly, but we had to put distance between us and Rolleston’s men.’

  ‘Even
so, I cannot help but think that your wound is worse because of it.’

  ‘I’m fine. All I need is to drink a good measure of ale, so if you’d be good enough to pass my flagon.’

  Will took big gulps of the glorious drink, hoping it would help numb the pain that would surely come.

  ‘Shall we begin?’

  He nodded, taking another big swig. ‘Do it, my lady.’

  Chapter Nine

  Isabel cleaned the area of the flesh wound with a swab drenched in the same ale that Will had consumed. She then continued cleaning the deep gash with an unguent made from honey she had brought from St Jean de Cole. Threading a sharp needle with a fine catgut suture made using the intestines of sheep, she coated the thread with the unguent. She then plunged the metal of the needle into the flames of the fire, as she had watched Sibylla do countless times before.

  Taking a deep breath, Isabel started on her task, her fingertips resting on the hard muscles of Will’s chest. She had to forget whom she was tending to, forget the strong, rippling muscles of his hardened warrior’s body, forget his skin glistening with moisture after bathing. Heavens above, but he smelt...delicious. She had to forget that too!

  Isabel gave herself a brisk shake of her head, furious with the direction of her musings. The poor man was probably hiding his agony from the pain induced by such a wound and here she was pondering his manly scent. What on earth was wrong with her? Just because Will gave her the confidence to be able to do all those amazing things she had done earlier—things that she would have thought highly improbable only days ago—did not mean she had to lose sight of what she was doing here. Not just the sewing of his wound, but the fact that she would soon become the eponymous Lady de Clancey. And these unwelcome feelings for her escort were not only distracting, but imprudent and unwise. She had to remind herself that he could be nothing more than a friend.

  Isabel fixed her concentrated gaze on making the first few stitches with precision instead. He inhaled sharply through his teeth.

  ‘I am sorry, Will.’

  ‘Whatever for? It was not you who struck me, now was it?’ His face contorted with a sting of pain making Isabel work a little quicker, with small, deft stitches.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Do you still maintain that those men are only interested in breaking whatever agreement you made with Rolleston?’

  ‘Possibly.’ He looked at her strangely before giving in to a sigh. ‘And do you still believe that all past and recent events have been as a result of a conspiracy against your family?’

  ‘Yes. Mayhap even more so.’

  ‘Why even more so, my lady?’ He was looking so intently at her that she stopped for a moment before answering him.

  ‘I have been pondering on a memory that struck me this very morning.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘On the eve of my departure to La Rochelle all those years ago I was... I was apprehensive and looking for assurance and for comfort. In truth, I was looking for my mother. Instead, I stumbled on my father in the bower of Castle de Clancey...and someone else.’

  ‘Go on...’

  ‘The man my father was conferring with had his back to me so I cannot remember who it was, but it was what they were talking about that I now recall—that is, where I heard my father explain that the two pendants could never be kept together.’

  She finished the last stitch and made a secure knot. ‘There, I’m all done here, but do not move as I’ve yet to apply a special comfrey and hyssop salve to help heal and soothe the wound.’

  ‘I’m much obliged.’ He smiled faintly.

  She rubbed the salve liberally over the wound, her fingers lingering over the smooth, taut skin. ‘But that wasn’t the only thing I remembered,’ she continued, flicking her eyes up to meet his.

  ‘Oh, what else was there?’

  ‘Something about giving one of the pendants to me—as part of my dowry. Of course, I’ve always known about that, but, you see, the second one must have been placed in my satchel quite by accident.’

  ‘By accident?’

  ‘It all happened a long time ago, Will, and the words are all such a muddle. However, I do remember that when my father referred to the pendants, he also mentioned the words well matched and corresponding.’ She sighed. ‘Although, the more I think about it, he could frankly have been referring to my betrothed and I.’

  She fetched lengths of clean, dry linen and wrapped it a few times around his broad chest, which of course brought her tantalisingly close to him.

  ‘Quite,’ he whispered, his lips only a fingerbreadth apart from hers. His eyes dropped to her lips and naturally 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 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.

  Just as she felt something pulling her tantalisingly closer to him, they suddenly both heard an animal’s shrill sound.

  Will jerked away, getting to his feet and expelling a breath as he dragged a shaky hand through his hair.

  She blinked, feeling a little awkward, knowing that the promise of a kiss had ended. ‘What...what was that noise?’

  ‘I believe that may be a wild boar.’ He frowned, tying his sword belt around his waist. ‘I had hoped to avoid this forest, since it’s famed for having an abundant supply of them, but we were left with little choice. Go and mount your horse, Isabel.’

  Isabel watched as Will retreated and absently touched her lips with shaking fingertips.

  ‘Where...where are you going?’

  He didn’t meet her eyes. ‘Hunting.’

  * * *

  It never came to that. The forest was riddled with wild boar and Will deemed it too dangerous for them to stay there overnight. They had no choice but to pack up and start back on their journey again, riding animals that were too tired. In truth, Isabel was far too tired as well. It had been a very, very long day yet they needed to keep moving—needed to push ahead.

  But, oh, God, Isabel felt as though she might actually fall off her young palfrey. Though, at this moment, she would gladly receive a knock on the head for her foolhardy behaviour towards Will and her bewildering reaction to him. She must try to contain her ridiculous and unwarranted attraction to the man and ponder on something else instead. Something surely of greater importance and significance. She could not afford to get close to him. Will was her escort back to England and nothing more.

  As her horse pounded the dry ground, trotting to a monotonous beat, her mind turned to her father’s words, spinning them over in her head, again and again.

  * * *

  Eventually they came upon a dwelling belonging to the local forester. After waking the man and paying him silver, they secured a draughty chamber which had dirty rushes strewn on the floor. But it was a chamber, nevertheless, with a bed, which, thank the lord, was clean. Will bid her goodnight, insisting that he would sleep outside the door, sparing her blushes. Not that Isabel was surprised after what had happened—after they had kissed—even if it had been fleeting.

  Lucky for her, Isabel was far too tired to consider that disconcerting episode and soon fell into a deep yet troubled slumber.

  She was running through dark woods. Shapes and shadows, whispers and mu
rmurs. Scarred, faceless men chased her until the storm clouds gathered. Until she was suddenly on the roof of a tall, dark building and she couldn’t get off. She was alone and she felt trapped, but she had to get away, had to keep on running as the faceless men followed her, getting closer and closer. But then she fell, hurtling down into darkness, with no one to catch her...

  ‘Isabel?’ a voice muttered. ‘Isabel, wake up.’

  She stirred before opening her eyes abruptly, her breathing laboured.

  ‘I think you must have been dreaming,’ Will’s voice calmly coaxed her back into consciousness.

  Isabel blinked at Will who was sat on the bed, rubbing her arm. She jerked back, feeling a little embarrassed at exposing herself in such a way.

  ‘I...yes.’ She rubbed her forehead, feeling the dampness. ‘I’m well. It was just a dream.’

  ‘Yes, but sometimes even a dream can be surprisingly distressing.’ Will sighed and drew her into his arms as she nodded. ‘There’s no shame in admitting that, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she muttered, not knowing what else to say. She felt surprisingly at peace cocooned and protected in his big, strong arms.

  ‘What was it about?’ he murmured, stroking her hair.

  ‘The usual thing of being chased, but this time I was on top of a roof, running for dear life.’

  ‘That is understandable after what happened yesterday.’

  After a moment of the tranquil stillness, she pulled away slowly. ‘Is it time to leave yet?’

  ‘Rest a little while longer.’ He stood up to go. ‘And remember, I’m only outside this room.’

  She didn’t say a word, knowing that if she opened her mouth to speak, she would urge him to stay with her and hold her all night...which really would not be a wise thing to do. A shiver went through her. No, it would not be wise at all.

  * * *

  The following morning, Will acquired strips of cured wild boar, cheese, dried fruit and warm rolls of bread from the forester and his wife, who also took the offer of coin for their silence in case Rolleston’s men came looking for them here. It was vital that his men did not know the route they were taking, especially as it had been extremely close yesterday, with everything that had happened at La Rochefoucauld. Next time they might not be so lucky.