The Knight's Fugitive Lady

by Meriel Fuller

  ‘It will be a miracle if you think I can squeeze through those!’ He patted the round of his stomach where it bulged against his tunic. ‘Listen, I have soldiers outside my door and your uncle is no doubt with your father. You have to save yourself, Katerina. You have to go and you have to go now.’ His tone was stern, commanding.

  She shook her head. ‘But I want you to come with me.’

  ‘Nay, you must find Lussac. He can’t be far away. He will know what to do.’ Her heart lurched pitifully, thrillingly, at the mention of his name, the man who permeated her every thought, who imbued her body and heart and brain with a continual, bubbling desire. She squeezed his hand, before continuing to move along the ledge. Rounding the corner on to the tower’s west side, the stone warmed by the sun, she dropped down silently on to the outside steps, the flare of her skirts catching on the gritty stone. Within a few moments she was following a hedge-line northwards, one flat field after another, out of the sight-lines from the manor house, as the violet evening shadows stretched long and low over the land.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Katerina flung herself down on to the damp grass behind a scrubby hawthorn hedge. The dusky evening held the heat from the day; perspiration prickled along her spine, gathered beneath the crook of her knees. Plucking irritably at the sticking cloth of her gown, she tugged it away from her neck, relishing the air against her skin. She had tried, and failed, to run; the thick folds of material had wrapped round her legs, restricting her forward momentum. Her only option had been to resort to a purposeful stride along the high-banked drove-way.

  Now she sat with her legs drawn up, elbows resting on knees, trying to collect her breath, her exhausted, scrambled thoughts. The adrenalin that had pushed her on, had forced her to fight for her escape, leached away in the sudden stillness of her body, to be replaced by a consuming, strength-sapping fatigue. She hadn’t eaten in hours. Her body craved food, liquid, something to replace the lost energy.

  On the opposite side of the drove, in front of her, the land sank away into a limitless expanse of marshland, rustling with brittle, rust-coloured reeds, towards thick mist hovering on the horizon. A couple of black moorhens, beaks bright orange, dabbled about in the shallow water, glassy-blue in this limpid half-light of evening. Her sluggish brain struggled to work out where Lussac might be; he would have headed towards her uncle’s estates, at Hambridge, but a curious reluctance plagued her, preventing her from starting in that direction. She bit her lip, not wishing to acknowledge the slick of fear that weakened her limbs, that sapped her strength. Her uncle and his thuggish soldiers would be roaming the countryside around the castle from the moment they discovered her disappearance. Hanging her head, she felt the hot prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes; she was simply not brave enough to head out there alone. ‘Forgive me, Lussac,’ she whispered at the empty land. At this point in time, she wasn’t strong enough to go and find him. To save him from himself.

  Picking up a loose stone from the track, she threw it across to the water, watching the concentric ripples widen out across the flat, reflective surface. Overhead, a flock of geese headed south, honking discordantly, flying in perfect arrow formation across the peach-tinted blush of sky. The combined beat of their wings was audible on the ground: a wheezy, feathered rhythm. Soon it would be dark; she needed to find a place to hide, with people who she could trust. Already, the wide, azure sky was deepening to purple; the tiny, winking pinprick of the evening star appeared on the horizon, a diamond on blue velvet.

  The countryside around her was familiar territory, the tracks, pathways and hideouts mapped out in her brain from an early age. Here, she had run through the reeds with the other children, children from the village, children from the estates, screeching with laughter as they played tag and pushed each other into the water. The village. The people in the village would help her. Hauling herself up from her seated position, she stepped off the drove-way on to a narrow winding path through the reeds, her diminutive figure invisible within the bleached grass, rustling brightly.

  * * *

  Waleran’s sister, Margrete, was astonished to see her, her mouth dropping open in a comical gape as she opened the cottage door. ‘God in Heaven, is it you?’ She reached forwards, pulling Katerina into her short, plump figure, hugging her tightly.

  ‘Come in, come in.’ She hustled Katerina into the cottage. ‘Is Waleran with you?’ She nudged her head out of the open door as if hoping to see her brother.

  ‘No, I came alone, Margrete. It’s a long story.’

  ‘Come and sit by the fire. You look tired.’ Margrete ushered her into the centre of the room, where a bundle of sticks burned merrily, the smoke rising up and out through a hole in the roof. The air was thick with the haze of smoke. Katerina nodded a greeting at the two children sitting cross-legged at the fire, Waleran’s niece and nephew.

  ‘Edith, Hugo, how are you?’ She spoke gently to both children, conscious that they were regarding her with wide-eyed, wary interest. The boy smiled tentatively at her, but the girl drew back, hiding behind her older brother.

  ‘I’m not sure they remember you.’ Margrete bustled over with a mug of hot, steaming liquid. ‘Here, drink this, and then you can tell me what’s been happening.’ She turned to the children, shooing them away with an impatient flick of her hands. ‘Time for bed, you two.’ Katerina sipped gratefully at the warm, sweet mead, watching the pair of them in their ragged clothes and bare, dirty feet scamper up the rickety ladder to the sleeping loft set above the main living quarters of the cottage.

  ‘Waleran is in good health,’ Katerina hastened to say, as Margrete shuffled her broad girth on to a three-legged stool opposite her.

  Margrete let out a long sigh of relief, visibly collapsing. Her hands shook as she placed them squarely in her ample lap, smoothing her palms across her knees. ‘Thank the Lord for that. When I saw you there, standing on the threshold...’ She shook her head, the neat braiding of her black hair glinting in the firelight. ‘I thought you had come to tell me the worst.’ She lowered her voice. ‘That’s why I shuffled the children to bed; I thought you didn’t want to say anything in front of them.’

  Katerina placed her empty mug on the earth floor beside her, the taste of honey clinging to her lips. She reached across, took one of Margrete’s cold hands within her own, the tight sleeves of her underdress straining across her shoulders. ‘No, it’s nothing like that.’

  ‘But, Katerina, it’s not safe for you here. I thought you vowed never to return. What is it?’

  ‘I need some help.’

  * * *

  With no encouragement from his rider, Lussac’s destrier gradually ambled to a stop, dropping its head to pluck noisily at the long grass at the side of the track. Mist rose across the unending marshland, a blanket of white, swirling droplets, landing on Lussac’s face like a fine veil. He stared out across thick pillowing air, unseeing.

  What was he doing?

  He twisted around, seizing his water bottle strapped to the horse’s rump. Pulling the stopper, he took a deep, long swig, wiping the spilled droplets from his mouth.

  The only thing he could think about was Katerina. The only thing he could see was her slim, lithe body illuminated by the rosy fading sunlight, pleading with him, begging him to think again and not to kill. To forgive. She filled his brain, the delicate scent of her skin, the soft downy lobe of her ear. Her eyes had challenged him, sparking silver, and her words had rung as they rang again now, echoing bell-like in his ears. ‘You’re a good man, Lussac. You’re good and kind...and loving.’ His heart swelled at the memory.

  Maybe she was right. Could he be that man again? Did he possess the capacity to forgive, like his mother and sister? A few days ago, he would have laughed in the face of anyone who dared suggest such a thing, but now?

  Swinging his leg over the horse, he dismounted, hearing t
he familiar creak of the saddle, the jangle of the bridle. The sounds barely touched his consciousness. Katerina was the only person who had succeeded in penetrating that ugly black fog of revenge, her luminous spirit shining through the thick layers of hatred. She had reached into him and touched his heart. She had given him hope. He hadn’t realised it before, but he realised now. The diamond-grey glitter of her eyes had fixed on to his and asked him to let go, to move on. In truth, he had known since that point that his quest for revenge was futile, pointless, shrivelled up to a place where it was unrecognisable, rising and vanishing like thin smoke from a fire.

  He wanted no more of it.

  The only thing he wanted was Katerina.

  Springing back into the saddle, startling his horse with the violent movement, he wrenched the reins around, a sear of joy in his heart. He had to go back to her. She had given him hope and he would seize it with both hands, with all of his heart. Turning his horse, he found that the mist had closed in behind him, tendrils of impenetrable white, clinging to his hair, his tunic. He wanted to shout out loud in frustration. He couldn’t fight his way through this, back to Katerina’s home, risking his horse’s legs in some deep, muddy ditch if he lost his way. Through the shifting mist, he spotted a church spire and hoped it belonged to the village of Longthorpe. He would ask directions back to the manor from there.

  Reaching the outskirts of the village, Lussac dropped from his destrier on to silent feet, leading his truculent animal towards the huddle of cottages, spires of smoke frilling up into the cold, twilight air. He hunched up his shoulders, rolling them forwards, trying to ease the tight, muscular tension that strained across his upper back, adjusting his heavy sword belt across the narrow breadth of his hips. From a long way off, a church bell tolled eight times, ringing out clearly across the quiet, sleeping land; it was a time when families closed their doors and gathered around the fire to eat, talk. At his back the moon rose, pale orange, streaked, up through a cloudless sky of midnight blue, promising a clear, brilliant night. The mist that had scuppered his earlier journey had disappeared.

  He raised his fist to the door of the first cottage he came to, thumped hard. Inside he could hear chattering and laughing, sharply silenced at the sound of his fist. Cracking open the door, a man’s wrinkled face appeared nervously in the narrow gap, eyeing up the tall knight dubiously. No, he’d never heard of Longthorpe Manor. Yes, this was Longthorpe village, but there was no manor. The door shut promptly in Lussac’s face. He received the same answer from the next cottage, and the next, frightened peasants shaking their heads, shutting the door almost as soon as they’d finished their sentences. Standing in the middle of the deserted village, with a sense that he was being watched from all available windows, Lussac ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Was it possible that there were two villages with the same name? Had he come to the wrong one?

  The door of the next cottage that he approached was opened, unusually, by a woman, a small, solid figure, amply clad with flesh.

  ‘I’m looking for Longthorpe Manor.’ Lussac sighed, already anticipating an answer in the negative. The rough-cut ends of the low thatch scratched at the top of his head; he took a step back to avoid the unpleasant sensation.

  The woman stared at him, absorbing the details of his fine woollen tunic, the long legs, the intelligent sparkle of his eyes. For a moment he thought she might be dim-witted.

  ‘I seek the Dauntsey family. Katerina of Dauntsey,’ he tried again.

  ‘What is your business with them?’ the woman answered pointedly. He sensed an immediate straightening of her spine, a tension through her body at the mention of Katerina’s name. His blood began to beat faster.

  ‘Do you know her?’ Lussac demanded, dipping his head beneath the thatch, as if to shoulder his way into the building. The fragrance of something out of place, at odds with the damp, rundown cottage, tickled his memory: the smell of a fading rose, or another strong-scented flower that he couldn’t identify.

  ‘Stay back!’ the woman warned, producing a fearsome-looking poker from behind her back. Cradling the makeshift weapon in front of her, she held her ground, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

  Lussac rocked on the balls of his feet, holding his palms up flat to show that he meant no harm. ‘Do you know her?’ he repeated. His voice sounded hoarse, ragged.

  ‘I knew her. I haven’t seen her for some years,’ the woman replied.

  At the rear of the chamber, deep in the shadows, a door pushed inwards. An auburn fret of hair appeared, a slender figure in a faded blue gown hefting a bucket of water. Katerina. She straightened up. Saw him.

  The bucket clattered to the floor, tipping, slopping water over the earth-packed floor, a dark stain. ‘Oh, my God, Lussac!’ she blurted out, wanting to weep, wanting to laugh. ‘You’re alive!’ Joy bubbled up at the sight of him, his big shoulders filling the doorway, sleek chestnut head bent slightly to avoid the low lintel. Each tiny link of his chainmail twinkled in the dim light from the fire, sparkling. She sprang forwards, arms outstretched, wrapping her slim arms about him, around the muscular cushion of his chest, the solid rope of his spine. All the pent-up tension, the anxiety she had carried with her from Longthorpe drained away; she breathed in the heady masculine scent of him, soaked up the comfort of his powerful frame. ‘I was so afraid,’ she mumbled out in a shuddery breath, the metallic thread of the fleur-de-lys on his tunic cool against her cheek, ‘so afraid that something had happened to you! That you were dead!’

  His roped arms curved around her, instinctively, supporting the slight sag of her body, feeling the small shudders ripple through her as he held her close. The scent of roses lifted from the warmth of her neck. Tilting his head, he studied the polished amber of her hair tucked against his shoulder, relishing the soft curves of her body pressed against his own. Desire flickered in the pit of his stomach, then ignited, streaking along his veins, wild, haphazard. He clenched his teeth, trying to regain some control. Her hair was different: released from the tight-braided coils pinned to the top of her head, the shining amber tresses now fell in two long plaits to her hips. ‘No, I’m alive,’ he said huskily, his smile crooked. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  From the centre of the chamber, Margrete watched her friend greet this tall, dark stranger with curiosity. It was obvious they knew each other, quite well it seemed, if Katerina’s greeting was anything to go by. She stooped, picking up the fallen bucket, and disappeared out to the water pump at the back, reassured that her friend was in safe hands.

  Katerina rested back against the link of his arms, a hectic flush colouring her pale cheeks. Tears gleamed across the mineral darkness of her eyes; he was surprised. Had she really been that worried for him? ‘I’m sorry,’ she said shakily, embarrassed by her behaviour, by her over-familiarity towards him. She stepped back abruptly, breaking his light hold at her back, biting her lip in shame. If she kept throwing herself into his arms like this, her heart would never survive when he was truly gone.

  The steely iridescence of his eyes darkened. She’s remembering what I did to her, Lussac thought. How I took her innocence. How can I ever hope that she will forgive me for that?

  Winding her arms about the front of her chest, she fought to keep her voice detached, unconcerned. ‘I thought something awful had happened to you.’ Her smile was brief, unsteady.

  ‘I never even reached Hambridge,’ he explained. ‘I got hopelessly lost in the fog, lost my direction.’ And then fully realised the senselessness of my actions, he thought. That the only thing that mattered in life was Katerina. How could he say such words to her when she eyed him so uneasily from the centre of the room, fractious energy peeling from her in waves?

  ‘My uncle came to the castle,’ she said, pulling at a loose thread that snaggled out from the waistband of her gown. Despair flashed across her face. ‘He wouldn’t have been—’

  ‘What h
appened?’ he cut across her speech. The flame from the tallow candle, set into a niche in the wall, jumped and flickered across the angular planes of his face.

  ‘The writ’s useless, Lussac.’ She shrugged her shoulders, trying to recover some sense of equilibrium. ‘He’ll hunt me down until he finds me, just like before. I’m back where I started.’ She stared blankly at the ground, shoulders hunched, features cloudy with fatigue.

  Lussac read the fear in her eyes, the desperation, saw her belated attempts to cover them up. No, he wanted to say, no, you’re not back where you started. Now, I am here, with you.

  ‘No matter.’ She lifted her head, grey eyes holding on to his. ‘It’s not your problem; I’m sure I’ll think of something.’

  ‘You need someone to look after you, to protect you,’ he replied slowly, an inexplicable plan jumping into his mind. Would it work? He had to be careful; if he pushed too much, he risked losing her for ever.

  ‘You mean, I need to find someone to marry?’ Katerina replied sharply, toeing the ground with her leather boot. Her neat brows pulled together in a frown. ‘I don’t want to marry anyone,’ she pronounced, haughtily. ‘Besides, who would have me?’

  I would. I would marry you. I would protect you, look after you.

  ‘What about Waleran?’ Lussac offered. His voice wobbled slightly; he cleared his throat. He had to make sure, make certain that she wished no other solution, other than the one he was about to suggest. ‘He’s your friend; you are close to him.’

  ‘Close to him, but not in love with him.’

  ‘Have you any other choice?’ he asked.

  A hard muscle quirked in his jaw and she ached to touch it, to smooth her fingers along his tanned cheek. ‘Lussac, it wouldn’t be fair to him! I couldn’t do that to him, someone who I respect. It would ruin his life!’ Her voice rose shakily. ‘But, you’re right, who else is there? Who else would put up with me?’