by Anne Herries
“We are ready to leave, my lady. I hope that you are ready to continue?”
It was the first time he had asked rather than simply commanding. Elona smiled at him, and for a moment fancied she saw fire leap in his eyes. He looked at her now as a man dying of hunger might look at a feast—a feast at a rich man’s table that he might not taste. She could not be mistaken this time!
Yet even as she gazed up at Sir Stefan, her heart beginning to thud madly against her ribs, she saw the fire dim and he turned from her abruptly, barking an order at one of his men to bring her palfrey forward.
When he turned back to her, she saw that his face was wearing its usual look of icy reserve, but she was not deceived. She had seen that look and she was sure that she understood what was in his mind—an honorable man could not steal his brother’s bride. Even if he wanted her, she was forbidden to him. But she had no such reservation. She was not promised to Alain de Banewulf, and if she had decided she would have Stefan instead of his brother…
But had she?
Dear Reader
In Medieval times it was the custom to send young boys away to be trained as knights at the age of five. They were taught the virtues of deprivation and the merits of study, and their honor was everything. A knight without honor was no longer worthy of the name. No honorable knight would ever betray the trust placed in him by a brother knight or defame the good name of a lady.
Stefan de Banewulf believes that his father sent him away as a small child because his birth killed his mother. So when his stepmother asks him to fetch his half-brother’s promised wife from France it becomes a sacred trust. Stefan is a man of strict honor, unbending, proud and scrupulous. When he begins to fall in love with the lovely Elona he is bound by his honor not to speak unless his brother releases her. Imagine his feelings when, through no fault of his own, he is accused of having taken the lady in lust!
I hope that you are enjoying this series as much as I enjoyed writing it for you all. If you would like to contact me through my Web site please do, at www.lindasole.co.uk.
Regards
Look for Alain’s story in HER KNIGHT PROTECTOR
Coming soon in Harlequin® Historical
A KNIGHT OF HONOR
Anne Herries
Available from Harlequin® Historical and ANNE HERRIES
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Captive of the Harem #145
The Sheikh #157
Rosalyn and the Scoundrel #166
A Matter of Honor #173
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* A Knight of Honor #184
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ANNE HERRIES,
winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize 2004, lives in Cambridgeshire, England. She is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment and to give pleasure to her readers.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
‘My lady, have a care!’
Elona, daughter of Lord John de Barre, glanced back at her companion, the light of laughter in her eyes. Her long red hair streamed out in the breeze behind her for she wore no head covering. She was a beautiful girl and had the delicate colouring of her mother, a Scotswoman who had married at seventeen, given birth to a son and then a daughter and died, leaving her husband distraught. Elona also had her mother’s temper, which could flare easily and disappear as swiftly as if it had never been. But she was undoubtedly a woman of compassion, loving and loyal to those she cared for, and the person she cared for most in the world was her father. Lord John de Barre.
‘Catch me if you can,’ she called to her squire in a spirit of defiance.
This past year had been hard to bear, for first the shocking murder of her beloved brother Pierre, and then the natural death of her kind and loving stepmother Elizabeth, had left her saddened and concerned for her ailing father.
The lady Elizabeth had been English, a good kind woman who had seen to Elona’s welfare and loved her as a mother. Both Elona and her father had mourned her sincerely when she’d died earlier that year, but Pierre’s death had broken Lord de Barre’s spirit, leaving him aged and ill. Elona had feared for him these past months.
Now, however, she glanced over her shoulder at the young man, bending over her horse’s neck as she recklessly urged it to go faster. She had always ridden fearlessly, taught by both her father and brother who were proud of the lovely girl.
‘You should have been a boy!’ Pierre had teased her unmercifully as a young girl, but he had loved her. She missed him terribly and had turned in her loneliness to the young squire, William de Grenville, who was accompanying her that morning.
Seeing that he had no hope of catching her on his horse, which was a sluggard compared to her own, Elona slowed, allowing him to come up with her.
‘One day you will take a tumble and break your neck,’ Will said, giving her a stern look. ‘And your father will blame me for not taking better care of you.’
‘Poor Will,’ Elona said, her eyes sparkling. ‘That would be unfair since I do as I please and you have no power to compel me.’ Yet she sighed, knowing he was right to urge caution. ‘You do well to chide me, sir. My father suffers enough as it is. He would be alone if I died.’
‘He would not be the only one to mourn for you, my lady.’
Will’s dark eyes seemed to smoulder with passion as he looked at her and Elona smiled. She was well aware that he loved her and sometimes she was sure that she loved him. Of course, he was not a knight and, unless he earned his spurs, could not expect to marry the daughter of John de Barre. Yet there was time enough. She was but seventeen and in no hurry to wed.
A frown wrinkled her smooth forehead. Elona knew that her father had recently received an offer for her hand. He had refused it at once, for it came from Baron Danewold, a man both she and her father disliked intensely. They knew that the Baron coveted the rich lands that marched side by side with those belonging to his first wife, and the two men had argued over boundaries before now. Although there could be no proof, Lord de Barre believed that the Baron was behind the brutal murder of his son, possibly in the expectation that he would die and leave his daughter unprotected. However, despite increasingly frail health, Elona’s father had clung to life and hoped to continue until his daughter was safely married.
They had reached her father’s fortified manor house and Will came to help her down from her mount, his hands lingering a little longer than necessary about her waist and bringing a flush to her cheeks. She smiled at him, but said nothing; she was not yet certain of her own feelings regarding the young man. It might suit her to wed him and yet it might not.
‘Thank you, Will,’ she told him. ‘If it is fine, we shall ride again tomorrow.’
‘Yes, my lady. You know I wait only to serve you.’
; The look he gave her burned so deep that Elona felt an odd sensation low in her abdomen. He had a soft kissable mouth and she had oft wondered what it might be like to be held in Will’s strong arms. If only he had earned his spurs, she might then look upon him with favour without fear of her father’s reproach.
She ran into the house, her fine leather slippers making no sound on the flagstones in the great hall where a fire was kept burning, even in the heat of summer, for the house was never truly warm. Today it struck cold, though outside it had been a warm spring day. In this northerly region of France the spring might be as warm as summer or cold, but today was somewhere between the two.
Elona turned towards the curving stone staircase that led to her solar and bedchamber, but her father’s steward called to her as she put her foot upon the first stair.
‘Ah, well met, my lady,’ Griffin said and smiled at his lord’s daughter. He found her a lovely woman, spirited and sometimes reckless, but generous and caring towards her father, who, though fond of her, had often neglected her in favour of her brother. Daughters were not sons, after all, and, while he lived, Pierre had been his father’s favourite. ‘Lord de Barre requests the pleasure of your company in his private chamber. I was about to come in search of you, but you have saved me a journey.’
‘Then I am glad of it,’ she replied with a smile. Like her father, the steward was well past his youth and suffered with aching joints, particularly in the wet weather. ‘I shall come at once. I know my father has been expecting news. Perhaps it has arrived.’
‘He will tell you himself, lady,’ the steward said, wondering how the lady would take the news that her father had decided upon a marriage for her. It was the custom for a father to make these arrangements, but the Lady Elona did not always take kindly to being told that something was signed and sealed without her consent. Griffin had advised caution, but his lord was in truth of much the same temperament as his fiery daughter. ‘I dare say ’tis best that he does.’
‘That means I shan’t like it,’ Elona said and pulled a wry face. She did not waste time in answering her father’s summons, however, for that would avail her nothing. She must listen first and then plead her case if need be. She was well aware of what the probable news would be, but did not yet have any idea of who might have been chosen to be her husband.
Griffin did not reply. He was ever the diplomat, she thought and did not press him. It was not his decision, after all, but her father’s.
John de Barre smiled at his daughter as she entered the small room that served as his private chamber. Situated just off the great hall it allowed him to be aware of what was going on and yet seek the solitude he needed more and more these days.
‘The ride has done you good, child,’ he said as she went to kiss his cheek. ‘You look beautiful—but then you always do, just like your mother.’ A sigh escaped him. He had never ceased to mourn his first wife, though he had never blamed Elona for her death. A child must be born by her parents’ consent and could not be blamed if the mother died.
‘Are you unwell, Father? You look tired?’
As well he might, since the letter from England had arrived the previous evening, keeping him awake throughout the dark hours. Yet he had wrestled with the selfish emotions that told him to keep his daughter by him and won. It was for her sake that he had written, for he sensed that his time was near and she must be protected from the evil that he feared might come to her if he were dead.
‘I am a little tired, but my health is the same as always,’ he replied and took her hand, leading her to the solid bench beside his fire. Cushions sewn by Elona herself for his comfort were piled against the hard back, but he chose to remain standing, motioning her to sit down. ‘Please rest, my dear. I have something to tell you. Shall I send for wine and biscuits to refresh you before I begin?’
A slight smile touched her mouth. ‘Do you hope to sweeten the taste, Father? Was your letter to my kinswoman successful?’
‘Yes, indeed. Lady Alayne de Banewulf was everything that is kind and generous in her letter. She was sorry to hear of your stepmother’s death and…of other things.’ The Lord de Barre paused as he fought his grief, which shook his thin body and threatened to overcome him. He recovered and looked at his daughter, standing there so young and proud, and wilful as her mother before her. Her husband must be a man he could trust, otherwise she would find life too harsh outside the protecting walls of her home. He loved her dearly, though he knew that he had neglected her in the past. ‘I told her why I wanted to arrange a match for you and she asked me to send you to her, Elona.’
‘Shall you come with me, Father?’
He shook his head. ‘I fear the journey might be the death of me, Elona. I shall send your ladies and Will de Grenville with you, but I shall stay here. You will be safer with your kinswoman until I have set up certain precautionary measures here. I intend to make you a ward of Duke Richard until your marriage. He will know how to act if anything happens to me—if, for instance, I should be murdered like your brother. He will control your lands then, Elona, and none may gainsay him and escape with their life. But that will take time and until it is done I fear that you may suffer some harm.’
‘I do not want to leave you, dearest Father. You have not been well. You need me with you, to care for you and keep you company.’
‘It is for the best, child,’ he said and sighed. ‘I do not wish to part from you, Elona, and I shall miss you sorely, but if anything should happen to me before the Duke has agreed to this contract, you would be at the mercy of unscrupulous men. Lady Alayne has promised to send her son to fetch you and he will bring an armed escort to add to those that I am able to provide. I cannot spare my best men for my manor would then be vulnerable, and I will fight to my last drop of blood to prevent the lands of Barre from falling into Danewold’s hands.’
‘Oh, Father,’ Elona said and held back the sob of grief that rose to her lips. If Pierre had not been so brutally killed, her father would not have had to send her away. ‘Must I truly go to England to be married to a man I do not know?’
‘Lady Alayne has not promised a match with her son Alain de Banewulf,’ John de Barre said. ‘She says that she will be your guardian and guide you in the matter of your marriage. She and her husband see no reason against the match, but she says it would be kinder to let you young people get to know each other first; then, if it seems suitable, you will wed. If not, she promises that she will arrange another match of the same worthiness for you. It is the best I can do for you, my child. Had Elizabeth lived, I could have left all to her…’ Again he sighed. ‘We have been unlucky this past year, Elona. I would ask that you do not add to my burdens by refusing this match for no good reason. The young man is personable and of good family. What more could you ask?’
Elona could have told him but did not, holding her tongue, though it cost her to remain silent. To refuse outright at this moment would provoke a quarrel and her father looked very tired. She was afraid that if she quarrelled with him, she might be the unwitting cause of a relapse; if she seemed to give way at first, there might yet be a chance of escape for her.
As soon as she could, she sought out her squire to ask him what he knew of the man to whom her father hoped she would be married.
‘I know nothing of Alain de Banewulf,’ Will told her. ‘But I have heard of his brother, Sir Stefan.’
Something in his tone made Elona shiver. ‘Tell me, what have you heard?’
‘Some say he is a religious man,’ Will said, looking thoughtful. He had heard that the English knight was a man of abstemious habits who neither drank nor sported with wenches excessively. ‘He dedicated himself to the service of Duke Richard when he was but fifteen and hath won honour and fame by his deeds—though some think him dour and stern.’
Elona frowned. Alain de Banewulf’s brother sounded cold and humourless to her and she was thankful that it was not he she was to marry.
‘At least I shall never need to thin
k of him,’ she said. ‘For, if he serves the Duke, it is unlikely that we shall ever meet…’
‘We are almost there, Orlando,’ Stefan said as they emerged from the great forest that edged his father’s manor. He reined in his mount to look at the house. It was impressive, being well maintained and fortified in the new way, but seemed smaller than when he’d last seen it. Many years had passed since he’d last visited his family, for until recent months he had not returned to England since taking service with Duke Richard of Aquitaine. ‘Tell me what do you think of it—speak as if we meant to lay siege as we did at Taillebourg.’
Sir Orlando of Wildersham smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he recalled the siege of Taillebourg. Stefan had been just seventeen then, young, eager and one of the bravest fighters he had ever seen. Orlando owed his life to Stefan that day, and since then they had been the best of friends.
His critical eye moved over the improvements made at Banewulf; like Stefan, he was trained to assess the vulnerability of a fortress and the best way of broaching its defences. In 1179 he had seen Taillebourg raised to the ground; a fortress that had been thought impenetrable proving all too easy to subdue.
‘It will do, Stefan,’ he said in his low deep voice. ‘In Henry’s England. But if things were to change…there are more improvements that might be made.’
‘Yes, you are right,’ Stefan agreed. ‘England has been fortunate these many years, safe and peaceful under King Henry II—but as you and I know, the King and his sons often quarrel amongst themselves.’
Sir Orlando gave a wry smile. The Plantagenet brood were an unruly mob, father against sons, brother against brother. More than once the brothers had rebelled against the King, and there was a dispute between Henry and Richard even now. Who could tell what would happen if the old King died?