The Return of Her Lost Knight

by Melissa Oliver

  Ralph was pushed to the ground and repeatedly jabbed with something solid and hard. He swung his sword and got to his knees, managing to get to his feet, only for something to come at him in full force, knocking him down again. This time he could not get up. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He could just make out that the green fabric Gwen had gifted him dancing in the breeze. He reached out, grappling in the air, trying to catch it, but it was out of reach. Always out of reach. A heavy-booted foot trampled on it, pushing it into the mud and dirt as it drew closer.

  ‘That is a warning for now.’ Ralph heard a voice hiss from somewhere close by. His vision was now hazy and faint. ‘Stay away from Lady Gwenllian ferch Hywel, do you hear, Lovent. Next time you go anywhere near my betrothed, I’ll kill you myself.’

  Ralph received another round of kicks and jabs on his head and stomach just for good measure. He tried to lift himself up, but something suddenly struck his head, snapping it back. God, but he felt as though he was dying.

  His breathing became more and more laboured and his mouth tasted something acrid and foul. He tried to get up, but it was impossible to even move. He could hear the muffled voices from somewhere far away in the distance before everything descended into darkness.

  * * *

  His delirium brought hot and cold sweats. His skin felt prickly, as though something sharp jabbed at him repeatedly. As though he were blighted by pestilence. He felt itchy. He could not rest. If only he could sleep. That he would for eternity, but there was still something that he had to do, wasn’t there?

  God, but his mouth was dry, like the rough side of a tree bark. His head felt as if it might split in two, the pain unlike anything he had ever known.

  Ralph’s eyes opened wide at a sudden screech of pain that he heard from somewhere close by—or had it come from his own lips?

  Gwen? Was she here with him in this dreadfully dark place?

  ‘I had to protect you, Ralph.’

  It was her voice.

  ‘No... I don’t want you to. Come with me. You’ll be safe with me. I would look after you.’

  ‘I had to do it...’

  ‘What did you have to do?’

  ‘I had to protect you... It was the only way.’

  The words spun around in his head, making him retch. It was like a punch in the gut.

  ‘No!’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘Please, stop. Please...’

  Again and again he heard the voice in his head.

  ‘I had to do it.’

  ‘At what cost?’

  ‘I had to protect you.’

  * * *

  Ralph’s head felt as though an anvil had been struck against his skull repeatedly. The sharp persistent pain was only made a little more bearable when something cold, wet and soothing was delicately placed over his forehead, eyes and the top of his head. A hand—a woman’s, he sensed—was stroking his hair back reassuringly. The wet material had now shifted to his chest, rubbing down his aching battered body.

  ‘Gorffwys dy ben blinedig, o farchog dewr...’

  She sang in a soft melodic voice. He felt far from being a brave knight, but weary—yes, he felt that in his bones.

  ‘Cysgu fy nghariad...’

  Sleep, my love? Was he dreaming of a love lost in faraway places filled with fables, mist and dragons? Could he be the one to slay them? He rather doubted that.

  Where was he? He could recall a glimmer of being pulled from that torrent of violence in the middle of the mêlée after being savagely struck and beaten. He had been made to purge his body from some vile, putrid humour—that he could also just about remember. The memory of being in agony, his stomach twisting and knotting in turmoil as he retched. It felt as though he had been gutted from the inside.

  Ralph’s eyes flickered as he turned his head a little, but it felt too heavy to move. He tried opening them, a moan escaping his lips.

  ‘Rest easy, Ralph.’ It was a calming, comforting voice. And it belonged to a woman he was surprised to see at his side after the way in which they had last seen each other.

  ‘Gwen? Where... Where am I?’ His mouth was so dry.

  ‘The tent that you share with Sir Thomas.’

  ‘The mêlée. I... I was ambushed and then I...’ he muttered.

  ‘Hush, you’re safe now. Lords Tallany and de Clancey rode out and dragged you out of that muddy field. Sir Thomas had to be stopped from coming after you as well.’

  ‘Tom?’ He tried opening his eyes again. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘No, but he will return shortly.’ She placed the wet sponge back on his head.

  ‘Rest for now, Ralph.’

  He exhaled and closed his eyes, finally falling into a deep slumber.

  * * *

  Gwen had taken a vigil beside Ralph’s side from the moment he had been brought back from that awful, bloodied field. It was inconceivable that Ralph had nearly perished out there at the hands of thugs who brought their standing as knights to shame. It had only been by chance that William Geraint had somehow been alerted to what had happened and acted swiftly, otherwise things might have ended very differently.

  As well as being ambushed, Ralph had also consumed something noxious that threatened and weakened his body: he had been poisoned. The aftermath had been mayhem as the de Clanceys and Lord and Lady Tallany had brought a complaint forward, denouncing what had happened in the mêlée and seeking a judiciary counsel. Yet with the severity of the grim weather during the mêlée, it was impossible to ascertain what had happened without actual proof of foul play.

  But Gwen knew the one man who would happily break the sacred code of knights and would do so again and again without any hesitation—Stephen le Gros. She could not prove it, but knew he was the one man who would resort to foul play for his own gain. Had he not warned her? Had he not shown his jealous streak?

  God only knew what the man was capable of if he discovered that during the mêlée, Thomas Lovent was in fact Ralph. Unless, of course, he had already found out that his cousin was alive. Gwen dismissed that, knowing that to be impossible, as she would otherwise have heard about it by now.

  Her gaze flicked to the man sleeping on the pallet. She watched as his chest rose and fell breathing deeply. He had come in and out of consciousness these past two nights, oblivious to Lords Hugh and William’s privy meetings with the Earls of Chester and Hereford and the young King Henry, without much success. They had wanted the mêlée to be declared invalid on the grounds that tournament codes had been broken, but this had been met with objections.

  The interim had at least allowed Ralph to get well and regain his strength, now that Lady Isabel had given him a tincture that had expelled everything from his body. He would be weak, but he was alive, thank God.

  ‘Gwen?’ he mumbled, stirring. ‘Are you still here?’

  ‘Yes, Ralph.’ She watched him, relieved to see he was finally awake. ‘Where else am I going to be?’

  ‘Where is Tom?’ His voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘He is being inconspicuous in another de Clancey tent, since the general belief is that he is the one in this condition and not you. Do not worry, he will sneak back later.’

  ‘I see. How long have I been like this? And where’s my horse? What happened to Fortis?’

  ‘Easy, Ralph. You have been like this for the past three days and two nights. And Fortis... I’m afraid he has been kept in lieu of payment for the loss at the mêlée.’

  ‘By whom?’ He pushed himself to sit up. ‘Oh, God, not Fortis. It’s all over then.’

  ‘No, Ralph.’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Even now, as we speak, Lords de Clancey and Tallany are speaking with the privy council on your behalf.’

  ‘I need to get up.’ He tried getting out of bed, but Gwen placed her hand on his arm. ‘I need to...’

  ‘You do
not need to do anything other than get well and back to your old self.’

  He gently removed her hand. ‘I’m much better as can you see, my lady.’

  ‘I am sure you are, but you still need your rest, Ralph. Everything can wait until later.’

  She caressed his forehead and smoothed back his dark hair. Her fingers grazed the deep, distorted, gnarled skin on one side of his face. It was astonishing what this man had gone through these past few days and also in the past at the hands of men intent on bringing him down. Ralph’s courage and tenacity never failed to amaze her even though she was once again struck by the fragility of life. She had almost lost him again, so soon after finding him alive. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  She sighed deeply. ‘May I get you anything?’

  ‘Water, please,’ he muttered and sank back into the pallet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gwen returned to Ralph’s tent in the de Clancey area the following morning after matins, with her prayers solely for Ralph’s speedy recovery. To her surprise, however, he was no longer in his tent. Instead she encountered Thomas Lovent who informed her that Ralph had felt much better and had gone to the stream for a wash.

  She had not accepted the offer of waiting for Ralph under the amused gaze of his friend so had decided to return to the castle. But somehow her feet seemed to take her on a somewhat different path than on the periphery of Pulverbatch Castle.

  Gwen found herself walking into the dense woodland on the edge of the demesne lands. She glanced around to make sure she was unobserved before stepping on to the wooded path—a path she had last ventured upon when she had met Ralph again for the first time and discovered that he lived and had survived his ordeal in Poitiers. It made her uneasy to know that again his life had been under threat, albeit inadvertently as he dissembled as another man. Yet, once it came out in the open that Ralph was alive, Stephen le Gros would double his effort to bring about his cousin’s demise.

  She smiled faintly to herself as she passed the great big oak tree, her fingers grazing the trunk, and moved to follow a narrower path taking her deeper into the woods, the dense thickets and overgrown brambles on either side before it opened out to the gently sloping grassy bank beside the stream. Tall branches provided shelter all around the enclosed clear water that pooled and rippled to a narrow gurgling stream that gradually meandered its way between two large trees and somewhere beyond her periphery. It was as though time had stood still, preserving this little secret haven from all who were unaware of its untouched beauty or even its existence.

  Gwen pulled down a branch and looked out, her eyes resting on the man whom she had sat beside, holding his hand and mopping his brow as he lay in a state of delirium on his pallet.

  Standing with his back to her and submerged in waist-high water, Ralph de Kinnerton looked like the epitome of health and virile masculinity now. No one would have believed that only a few days ago he had been so unwell. Ralph looked revived and remarkably well, diving under the water before re-emerging and flicking his wet dark hair to the side.

  He must have heard her footfall as he turned around quickly, a dark, instinctively predacious look crossing his eyes before his features softened as he realised it was a friend and not a foe who was disturbing his peace.

  Her breath hitched in the back of her throat, as he gave her a small smile and moved towards her, dragging his wet hair back with his hands. Water droplets ran like rivulets down his jaw, his chest and his huge arms. He kicked the water up as he emerged from the water, his hose sticking to his thighs.

  What was wrong with her? The poor man had just gone through a terrible ordeal and all she could do was become hot and a trifle bothered about the way the hard ridges of his body glistened as he came out of the water.

  And it was not as though she hadn’t seen his naked chest before either. Only a day ago he had lain incapacitated on his pallet under a thin blanket. But, of course, she had been far more preoccupied with worry about his recovery to fully appreciate the state he was lying in.

  But now...well, it was quite different.

  She returned his smile, chastising herself with these inappropriate musings, especially at such a difficult time. Oh, for goodness sake, she had declared that she would soon take the veil and here she was ogling at the sight of Ralph’s sculpted bare chest and wide shoulders.

  Yet it was impossible to ignore his magnificent state of undress, so she averted her gaze instead.

  ‘Good morrow, my lady.’

  Gwen dragged her eyes back, ensuring that they remained fixed on his face and nowhere else. ‘Good morrow to you, Ralph. I can see that you are much better than when I last saw you?’

  ‘Indeed.’ His voice seemed suddenly distant and flat.

  Her eyes darted around before settling back on him. ‘It has been a very long time since I ventured this far into these woods and to this idyll.’

  ‘For me, too.’ He nodded toward the deeper waters of the stream. ‘And if my memory serves, it was here that I taught you how to swim, Gwen. Or was it waters closer to Kinnerton?’

  ‘It was here.’ Gwen flushed, pushing the memory out of her head. She did not want to be reminded of those happy recollections.

  ‘Ah, I thought so.’

  ‘Even with its familiarity, should you be alone here, after what happened?’ She didn’t want to remind him, but after the attack at the mêlée it might have been prudent not to come here alone.

  ‘Stephen and his men believed that they attacked Thomas Lovent, who is probably gambling with a few of the de Clancey knights as we speak. And as my friend informed me himself, he is damn well able to look after himself.’

  ‘What about you, Ralph?’ She moved a little closer to the edge of the stream, the clear water lapping gently at her booted feet.

  ‘I thank you, but I’m perfectly fine.’

  Gwen blinked, looking around the beautiful yet peaceful area secluded from the outside world. It was still as confined and hidden as it had been in the past. But the fact that it still offered a sense of privacy and shelter from anyone intent on disrupting and ruining the peace did not mean it could not happen. Anyone could find this haven if they looked hard enough.

  ‘Even so, after what happened, do you not think there is a need for caution?’

  ‘I believe we have now passed that stage.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She frowned. ‘What do you intend to do?’

  He shook his head as he picked up his tunic from the ground and put this on. ‘Nothing that you need to worry about, Gwen.’

  ‘That is something I cannot do.’

  ‘I thank you for your care and concern, but I’m fit and hale in body and dispirited in everything else.’ He grimaced.

  ‘Surely you cannot blame yourself for what happened.’

  ‘Can I not?’

  ‘The fault, I believe, lies with your cousin and not you, Ralph.’

  ‘I know, but I should have foreseen that he would attempt something like this, but I became too complacent.’

  ‘I’m sure your powers of foretelling the future are admirable, but you could not have known that this would happen.’

  ‘But I should have, since it is Stephen we speak of. I know that he somehow tampered with the wine that had been left in the tent or gave an order to do so and I know that he was responsible for what later happened in the mêlée, when every damn knightly code was broken.’ He exhaled through his teeth. ‘But neither I, nor anyone else, can prove that he was responsible.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘There’s little I can do except to, somehow, attempt to remedy the situation.’

  ‘I know everything may seem lost, but I’m sure that you’ll find a way through.’

  ‘I have lost everything...including...’ he swallowed ‘...including Fortis, whom I reared since he was a foal. God, but I don’t
know how I’m going to replace him.’

  ‘I am so sorry.’

  He shrugged, looking away. Gwen could only imagine how difficult it must be for Ralph, knowing that he had lost something as precious as his dependable horse. If only there was something she could do to help.

  She lifted her head. ‘You must believe that all is not lost, Ralph.’

  He reached up and brushed his fingers against her cheek and down the column of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘Your faith in me means more then you’ll ever know. And right now, that is all I have. Your faith and my blind hope.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You have much more than that,’ she whispered.

  He dropped his hand to his side. ‘Do I? I do not know any more. My endeavours here were always going to be difficult and hard. An arduous challenge with no certainty of success.’ He sighed.

  ‘But not impossible.’

  He shrugged. ‘I suppose nothing is beyond the bounds of possibility. Although, as I said, my blind hope seems to rise every time I face adversity.’ His laugh seemed hollow, bitter even.

  Yet there was more to it than Ralph gave himself credit for. He was now a powerful warrior who could match any other in skill, resolve and fortitude. Every time he had been knocked down in life, he just got back up, refusing to give up.

  She reached out and touched his arm. ‘I would call it courage, Ralph.’

  ‘Would you?’ His eyes fell to her hand, reminding her of the need to remove it. ‘I’m a fool to believe in the conviction that if I train harder, focus better, be more persistent and assiduous, then somehow everything will fall into place. But the truth is somewhat different. Far more onerous.’

  ‘You are not, nor have you ever been a fool, Ralph de Kinnerton.’

  ‘Oh, I beg to differ,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You asked me what I would do now. Well, let me tell you, Gwen—the time has finally come for me to face Stephen.’