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

by Melissa Oliver

  His lips curved slowly into a smile that made him ridiculously handsome. ‘You’re doing it again, Isabel, you’re staring at me while I sleep.’

  ‘You’re not asleep though, are you?’ She caressed his jaw softly, feeling the brush of stubble beneath her fingers. ‘And I don’t know how you know what I’m doing, with your eyes shut?’

  ‘It is a talent I have, among many.’

  She gasped in mock outrage. ‘We’re brazenly impudent this morning, aren’t we, my knight.’

  She squeaked as Will grabbed her by the waist and rolled her over until he was on top. ‘We are.’

  He dipped his head, slanting his soft lips over hers and kissed her opened mouthed with a restrained longing that took her breath away. He ended the kiss by pressing his lips to her cheeks, her forehead and her neck before lifting himself off to sit on the edge of the bed, his breathing coming in short bursts.

  He dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, Isabel, it leads to more of a damnable coil for both of us.’

  His head bent forward, rubbing his forehead, ‘You, Isabel de Clancey, are hard to resist.’

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she sensed he was already withdrawing from her.

  ‘Come,’ he whispered softly. ‘It’s time to get up.’ He got up, wrapping a piece of linen cloth around his torso before washing from a bowl of water left on the coffer. She stayed under the coverlet, watching him as he picked up his clothing and started to dress, one garment at a time, until he put the pendant she’d given him over his head. Just as soon as he had done so, he held it in his hand and looked at it before taking it off it again, as though he was suddenly struck by something.

  He held it out. ‘Here, take it, Isabel.’

  She stood and closed his open hand over the pendant. ‘No, it’s yours.’

  ‘But it’s a family heirloom.’

  ‘That I chose to gift to you.’

  ‘Even so, you should keep it with the other one. Now that the vellum is destroyed, there is no reason why they should not be kept together.’

  ‘And yet I want you to keep it, Will. Think of it as something to remember me by. Please, I insist.’

  ‘Very well, you honour me with it, but know this—I don’t need a pendant or anything else to remember you by.’ She felt the heat emanating from his eyes before he looked away and walked towards the doorway with her little dog following him. ‘I’ll see to getting food to break our fast and, yes, for you, too, Perdu.’

  The dog jumped around his feet excitedly, following Will outside the chamber as Isabel laid down once more and stared up at the beamed ceiling with a deep sigh.

  * * *

  Will returned, bearing food that he had procured from the wife of the carpenter who had rented them the rooms, to find Isabel washed and dressed.

  ‘Your new clothes shall arrive shortly, Isabel and I hope the cloak will be warm enough as the wind is exceptionally bracing.’

  ‘You’ve been outside?’

  ‘Perdu needed to go and I had to check on a few things before we have to depart.’

  ‘Thank you—’ she gave him a weak smile ‘—for organising everything.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure, my lady...as always.’

  They sat together, eating in silence. Each passing moment brought the stark reality that this would be last time they’d be together alone. The carpenter’s wife had already informed him that her friend, Mistress Mildert, was on her way to meet them shortly, with huge excitement for her new position as companion to a lady.

  He realised Isabel was playing with her food after taking just a few bites of the roll of wheaten bread and knew that she was finding this as difficult as he was.

  ‘You’re not eating?’

  ‘I find that I have lost my appetite.’

  ‘Allow me to wrap it up, for when it may return.’

  ‘That is not necessary,’ she said, trying but failing to smile. ‘I shall see to it myself.’

  ‘Very well.’ He sighed. ‘As you wish.’

  They would still see each other for the remainder of the journey. They would remain cordial, but the familiarity—this connection between them—had to cease. It must, for both their sakes.

  ‘If there’s nothing else, I shall settle with the carpenter and then we should leave to sort out supplies and other matters.’

  Will moved to get up as her hand clasped his sleeve. ‘Wait...please? What I wish for is for you to know something.’ Her eyes were filled with unshed tears. ‘The reason I stare at you, even when you are asleep, is because...because I want to remember everything about you.’

  He screwed his eyes shut. ‘Isabel...’

  ‘You have my heart, Will. Surely that’s enough?’

  God, he hated this. The selfish part of him wanted to take her and make her his for good. But he couldn’t do it.

  ‘I’m afraid to say it’s not, sweetheart. Not for either of us.’

  ‘What if we want it be so?’

  He reached out to cup her face, his thumb stroking over her tear-dampened skin. ‘Look at me. I’m a bastard and I’ll not taint you with that.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You have no idea of the implications once it is known that I’m not the man I was thought to be—that I’m a bastard-born son. That my name is a lie. That everything about me is a lie. The rumours, gossips and disparaging remarks made behind our backs by courtiers would bring shame on you. I won’t allow that to happen.’

  ‘Then let’s go back to Aquitaine. Run away from all of this.’

  ‘We can’t, sweetheart. We’ve come this far to get you back home. Besides, it’s time we both stopped running away.’

  ‘Then there’s no hope for us?’

  He got on his bended knees in front of her and shook his head. ‘If there was a chance—a way that I could win you—do you not think I would take it?’ He noticed every emotion swirling in her eyes before she finally gave a small nod of her head in resignation. He wanted to wrap her in an embrace, hold for a moment longer, but what would that achieve apart from prolonging all this? ‘Come, we must be away. We have a long day ahead of us.’

  * * *

  They began the final part of their journey travelling west to Somersetshire. Isabel travelled on a sturdy wagon alongside an exceptionally chatty companion and a curmudgeonly old driver. Will rode beside them, with his appointed squire who was in fact the carpenter’s younger son, and a guard he had contracted from goodness knew where.

  Although they were a ramshackle group, it was arranged with much efficiency, as most things were when organised by William Geraint. He never lacked for anything, including silver. Will would be recompensed handsomely once he delivered her safely.

  Isabel knew that was unfair, but they had barely had any contact and even less conversation since they had left Southampton. She knew the reason for this, but it wasn’t easy and Isabel could feel the weight of his brooding whenever she caught Will’s eyes. He remained protective of her, and courteous to a fault, seeing to her comfort along the journey, but it was clear that things were not the same between them. And it was clear that Will was pushing ahead, working tirelessly to get her back to Castle de Clancey, so that he could rid himself of this unbearable tension. A small voice inside her reminded her that he would finally rid himself of her as well.

  Isabel gave herself an exasperated shake of the head to dispel these unnecessary musings. It simply would not do to dwell on the state of her relations with Will. They had settled everything before they’d left Southampton and she would do well to remember that. More pressing was Isabel’s pending arrival at Clancey de Castle and the welcome she was likely to receive.

  Indeed, she was apprehensive about it. After all, it had been a long time since she had last seen or
heard from her mother. There was no way of knowing what to expect and so she could only remain hopeful. After all, Will had been commissioned specifically by her mother to find her and bring her back. Yes, she would focus on that sign of her mother’s good judgement instead of worrying about the changes that would follow her return.

  Oh, yes...so many changes.

  With each day, she was becoming who she was supposed to be—the Lady de Clancey. It could be the heavier and more refined clothing, or the way in which she was greeted by their accommodating hosts along the way—be they farmer, blacksmith or merchant—but it was with an awed, deferential appreciation. This singular respect from people she had never met before was as odd as it was humbling and stifling. It would certainly need time to get used to.

  Will was also gradually becoming the man he had once been. He had procured new clothing: a fine linen tunic, new hose and braes, padded leather gambeson and even a soft hauberk that reflected his position. Even though he wore no particular coat of arms on his surcoat or cape, there could be no doubt that Will was anything other than the man he was—a knight. And a powerfully strong one at that. Whether he truly felt this change, however, Isabel did not know, but hoped that he did.

  * * *

  After a few more days of travel they finally arrived at her childhood home—the splendid Castle de Clancey. Isabel had felt little more than numbness after they had docked at Southampton harbour, but this...this was different. Her response surprised her, catching her off guard as she tried and failed to swallow the lump that had suddenly lodged in her throat.

  Dear God, but she felt close to tears.

  Pieces of her memory were now brought together as one to form the idyll that she saw as they approached the castle. It was everything she remembered it to be. Castle de Clancey was perched on a hill hugged by its rugged curtain walls, four grey towers at each corner standing tall, a large keep at the centre of the inner bailey and the wide expanse of watery moat.

  The village dwellings were studded around the outside of the castle walls with the demesne land and wooded forest beyond. Isabel noticed her family’s banner with the colours of red, black and grey swaying in the breeze atop each tower and she swallowed hard. She turned and met Will’s eyes as he gave her a single nod with a ghost of a smile, which she returned as they made their way down the hill.

  Their small entourage made their way through the village to the entrance of the gatehouse. Isabel could hear the gasps as people stopped and stared at her, no doubt wondering whether she was whom they suspected her to be. Uncomfortable at being so conspicuous, Isabel sat with her spine straight, a benign smile pasted on her lips.

  Her heart pounded in her chest as the drawbridge came down for them and, before long, they had trudged into the inner bailey. Her eyes darted around, taking in the familiar surroundings, from the garden and the separate building that housed the great hall to the woman who seemed to have rushed out from the castle keep.

  Isabel recognised her immediately and jumped down from the wagon to stride towards her, stopping in front of her and sketching a formal curtsy. They stared at each other for a long moment as Isabel’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘My lady mother.’

  The smaller woman stepped forward and looked at her with a curious intensity before enveloping her in her arms. ‘Oh, Daughter...oh, Isabel, it is really you!’ she cried between tears. ‘Thank the saints that you are finally home!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Will walked with the rest of their party behind Isabel as she was swept into the heart of the great hall, a large hammer-beamed chamber that was handsomely yet simply decorated with wide tapestries decorating every space of the stone walls, metal sconces around the edge of the room and a dais at the far end. Here, kitchen maids were busy laying out pewter jugs of ale and goblets as well as trenchers of cold meats, cheese, bread rolls and harvested apples.

  ‘Allow your lady mother and me to welcome you, Lady Isabel.’ A man whom Will had noticed in the courtyard when they arrived smiled as he spoke. He then proceeded to take Isabel’s hand, bowing over it. ‘Please make yourself comfortable, my dear, and partake in a small repast. You and your party must all be in need of sustenance.’

  Will realised he must have been staring at the tall, thin man when he turned and met his eyes, handing him a goblet.

  ‘You must be Sir William Geraint.’

  ‘I am and who may you be, sir?’

  ‘Sir Geoffrey Fitzwalter, at your service.’ The man inclined his head. ‘You esteem us by finding Lady Isabel and accompanying her back here, where she belongs.’

  Us? What the devil was this man talking about?

  Will suddenly remembered a cousin by marriage whom Rolleston had mentioned. He had stayed on to help with matters after the death of Isabel’s father and apparently continued to stay on, making himself indispensable to her mother, it seemed.

  The man looked at least a decade older than Will, with receding hair, a long face and inscrutable eyes. His smile was slightly off kilter, especially when he addressed Isabel, making Will uneasy. Which brought him to another point. Where the hell was Rolleston? Had he fled or was he hiding somewhere within the castle walls?

  Until this and other concerns were satisfactorily resolved, Will could not leave Isabel unprotected here. They had not travelled this far for Will to allow anything to happen to her now.

  ‘I was honoured to bring my lady back to her mother and to protect her.’ He flicked his gaze to Isabel, who was holding her mother’s hands, and felt his chest tighten.

  He had deliberately kept his distance ever since they had left Southampton, knowing it was the best way to eventually ease himself out of Isabel’s life. His efforts had been a necessity to safeguard their bruised hearts and yet it had still been incredibly painful.

  By God, she was lovely. She was dressed in a dark green woollen kirtle over a cream tunic with a scallop-edged neckline. Her long hair was cascading in long, flowing waves to the small of her back, with intricate braids looped together at the back and pinned to a sheer veil, as was the fashion in Aquitaine.

  ‘Sir William, I hope that your sojourn with us here will be a long duration?’ Her mother tilted her head to speak to him, still holding her daughter’s hands in her own. Will noted that despite the difference in height, the two were remarkably alike in appearance.

  ‘You’re too gracious, my lady. I shall stay for a short duration, if that meets with your approval?’

  ‘We would have you stay longer, sir, for words cannot convey what you have done in...in bringing my daughter home.’

  ‘My lady.’ He sketched a bow.

  He registered Isabel’s brow rise, even though she didn’t voice her surprise. She had not expected this sudden change of his plans, but then she had been so preoccupied with being reunited with her mother that mayhap she didn’t feel as he did, the sense of foreboding he’d had since arriving in Somersetshire. Will could not dispense with the feeling that Isabel might not be safe here in her own ancestral home and he couldn’t leave until he felt certain that she was.

  * * *

  Will didn’t see much of Isabel again until the evening banquet in celebration of her return. In that time Will had familiarised himself with the castle’s stronghold and asked its sergeant and others about Rolleston. No one, however, had seen the man for a sennight. He questioned Fitzwalter as well, who also denied knowing the man’s whereabouts, but assured Will that he would get the silver promised to him. That was not the reason Will had asked, but the man did not need to know that. There was something untrustworthy about Fitzwalter, compounded by the fact that Will sensed he was lying about Rolleston. For now, though, all he could do was watch and wait.

  One thing for certain was that the guards at the castle seemed to have cast their loyalty with Fitzwalter, unless they were his own personal guards to begin with. Either way, it was a precarious situa
tion. The man had presumed the role of Lord in the absence of Isabel’s father.

  Will took a swig of ale as he watched Fitzwalter on the dais where he stood next to Isabel, fawning and being damned attentive. They were even sharing the same trencher of food, with the best cuts of choice meats selected by Fitzwalter himself. The man’s ambition was clear, yet Will was not in a position to do anything about it except warn Isabel about his suspicions, such as they were.

  He stabbed a small piece of mutton in herby mint sauce with a knife and proceeded to chew it without registering the taste. He seemed to be the only person in the hall who was not enjoying the convivial, festive atmosphere. Even Perdu was happily tucking into a bone.

  Will sighed deeply and looked away from the revelry, peering around the hall instead. He noticed the tapestries that decorated every surface of the stone wall properly for the first time. The rich, opulent colours and stitchwork were magnificent by any measure, but it was the depiction of the ecclesiastical setting that was intriguing. What was strange wasn’t that each tapestry told a different biblical story, but that each seemed to include a de Clancey family member. As though they had been there in the Holy Land at that very time.

  Will snapped his head around as a troupe of musicians started to play. Fitzwalter accompanied Isabel down the dais and they began to dance to rapturous applause.

  He ground his teeth together and shot up to join the circle of dancers, unable to contain himself any longer. More followed to join the group, but Will took no chances. He strode with purpose to stand beside Isabel, claiming her hand as they started the rather sedate dance, very different from the exuberant estampie that they had danced an age ago in Aquitaine.

  ‘Is anything wrong, Will?’ Isabel whispered when they partnered together.