Now he knew better. Gwen’s refusal to leave with him and escape the imminent peril at that time had been for different reasons entirely. Circumstances that she was now reluctant to discuss. Again, he could not understand why. It had been just as dangerous for her as it had been for him, yet when Tom had asked her on his behalf, at that encounter in the hall, Gwen had dismissed the notion, simply stating that her reasons were to protect Ralph.
He had been so shocked to see her again here at the tournament and wanted nothing to do with her initially, but he hadn’t really acknowledged what she had said that night at the banquet.
Ralph had been so adamant about maintaining his indifference that he had not allowed himself to question what she had said more deeply. It had been since their friendship began to thaw and become more companionable that these uneasy questions about Gwen and that time had come to the fore once again.
‘Tell me, Gwen. What did I need protection from?’
He watched as the colour from her face drained and she slowly turned her head to meet his. ‘I... I am not sure what you mean.’
‘You told Tom that you stayed behind to protect me. Remember?’
Of course she did.
‘What does it matter now?’
‘To understand more. That is all.’ Ralph cupped her cheek with his hand, his fingers grazing her cheek. ‘As I said, I never comprehended the reason why you had not run away with me back then. And when you explained it had been to shield me...well, you can imagine how it shamed and humbled me to know that. The question is what or whom you believed you were protecting me from? And why you didn’t confide in me at the time?’
‘How has this conversation come about?’
‘My intention is not to make you uneasy.’ He shook his head. ‘But know that this has not been discussed. I am as much in the dark now as I was back then.’
‘Then pray, let’s leave it. Let us not spoil this evening by talking of such darkness.’
He could not do that, not after finally broaching this conversation. ‘Was it my cousin? Did you believe that you were somehow protecting me from Stephen le Gros?’
Ralph watched as her jaw clenched and a slight gasp escaped her lips at the mention of the bastard’s name.
She snatched her free hand from his grasp and stood, walking back towards Fortis. ‘I cannot believe that you would foul the night air by uttering his name.’
He followed her and stilled her elbow. ‘How, Gwen? How could you have ever protected me from him?’
Somehow he knew that her reluctance to explain what had happened had something to do with Stephen le Gros. And his heart sank at the thought.
She turned slowly around to face him and eventually spoke. ‘He made a promise that if I stayed and I did not leave with you, that he would let you leave Kinnerton peaceably.’
He looked at her through a narrow gaze, trying to add meaning to her words. Understand the events from six years ago.
‘How did you make him keep his bargain?’ She remained silent. ‘Gwen?’
She lifted her head. ‘I... I promised to marry him.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘But you did not.’
‘No, I did not.’ She hissed through her teeth. ‘I managed to run away before he could force me to, gaining the protection of the Crown, who were keen to profit from my lands.’
‘I see.’ Yet there was something niggling at him. Something that was still missing from what she had just disclosed.
Gwen stepped away, taking a deep shaky breath. ‘Can we please go back? I find that I’m a little fatigued now from this diversionary outing. Sadly, my sense of adventure has long deserted me as I feared it would.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ralph swirled the wine in his mug, fascinated by the rich colour of ripened berries, before swigging it back. Rather than the sweet tart taste he expected, it tasted foul.
‘Do you not think you have had enough for one night, my friend?’ Tom yawned, sitting upright, dragging his hands through his hair. Ralph felt a niggle of guilt, knowing he had probably woken him up.
‘Go back to sleep, Tom.’
‘What is the matter? You have been dour and irritable all day.’
‘Nothing,’ he muttered, pouring more wine into his mug. ‘Is this a new batch?’ he said, trying to change the subject.
‘I would not know.’
‘Here, try some.’
‘My thanks but, no. I drank enough at the banquet, earlier.’ Tom rubbed his forehead. ‘And you should mayhap think about getting some sleep before the mêlée à cheval on the morrow.’
‘How right you are.’ Ralph sighed before knocking back the wine and wiping his mouth with his hand. ‘You are a good friend to me, Tom, do you know that? Not that I deserve it.’
Tom shook his head. ‘Whether you deserve it or not, Ralph, you’ll always have my fealty. You know that, after...well, after what you did for me in Poitiers.’
‘That was nothing and the debt you believe you owed me was paid a long, long time ago.’
‘Hell’s teeth, Ralph, are you worried about the practice today because, cometh the hour tomorrow, I know that you’ll be there with your sword in hand, blustering your way though.’
‘Bluster, eh?’ He smiled faintly at that.
‘You know what I mean.’ Tom frowned. ‘Tell me, does your current mood have anything to do with Lady Gwenllian? I noticed that she was absent from the banquet earlier.’
Ralph had not seen her since their interlude the night before, when it had all begun so promisingly after she had agreed to their midnight outing. They had ridden out in the moonlight, sparred with sticks, kissed breathlessly, talked and stared at the night sky. It all, however, ended in discomfort, with a chasm between them as they rode back to the castle in silence.
Since last night, Gwen had avoided him, making it clear that although she might care for him, there could be nothing more. That all there was between them was his promise to escort her on her journey to taking the veil. Nor had he gone in search of her or sought her outside her arched window. It seemed that Ralph’s attentions disconcerted her. Yet there was something more, something more disturbing about her reluctance to talk about the past and in particular their last night at Kinnerton that bothered him.
‘I feel like a blind man wandering around in the dark, when it comes to Gwen.’ He lifted his head. ‘All I know is that it all goes back to my cousin.’
‘It would. You saw the way he behaved that first night when she came to talk with me.’
‘Yes, but there’s more to it than that, but I just cannot see what it is.’
‘Whatever it may be, it can surely wait until after the mêlée à cheval, do you not think?’
‘Yes. It can wait.’ Ralph swallowed the remainder of his wine and grimaced. Lord, but it tasted bitter. But then everything did.
* * *
The extreme conditions on the day of the mêlée à cheval were absolutely horrendous. The rain had been thrashing the open fields so hard that visibility was becoming impossible for every knight on the field the following morn. And it was not letting up. The shallow fog added its own opaque film of obscurity.
God, but how different this place was from the last time Ralph had ventured out in the demesne with Gwen a few nights ago, underneath that clear moonlit sky—not that he had seen her since then, or this morning. Then again, who would venture out in this dire weather?
Ralph felt the annoyance thrum in his veins. He must turn all his attentions to the reason he had come back—to win silver from this damn tournament in an attempt to claim back Kinnerton—and stop incessantly thinking about Gwen and his last encounter with her. Yet it was easier said than done in this deluge that was threatening to bury them in heavy mud.
Hell’s teeth, what a nightmare.
Ralph blew a frustrated breath from bene
ath his helmet, barely able to see anything from this vantage point. The splattering thick mud was so thick and dense that Fortis had difficulty getting through it, yet the animal was equable and more reliable than Ralph was currently feeling. It was astonishing, but the terrible weather was the least of his troubles.
Ralph blinked several times and widened his eyes in an attempt to survey the area around him, but his field of vision was progressively getting blurred, not that it was easy to see in any case. As well as his blurred vision, his insides churned around, coiling and twisting in agony. He leant forward, hoping to gain more support from the saddle seat and Fortis’s neck, but he felt progressively unsteady.
He did not feel well. It had started last night when he had writhed around in his pallet, unable to sleep. He hadn’t disclosed his symptoms to anyone, believing that it was a bout of apprehension after being so distracted at practice. He hoped that the malady would pass, if he ignored it. But it had not. The longer the day wore on the worse he felt.
He swayed slightly just before he saw a knight in his periphery charging at him with his sword. Ralph’s heart palpitated as he drew his sword up in a line of defence. Even his trusty sword, however, felt as though it was carrying the weight of the world. What was happening to him? He felt like a sot, inebriated to the point that he couldn’t control his faculties. But Ralph had not drunk that much, had he? The other man was suddenly there, attacking him with his blunt sword which Ralph somehow defended. God, but now he saw double, nay, triple the knight. The man tried to force Ralph back in an attempt to unhorse him, but he just held firm. For now.
Christ above, he could not hang on for much longer. He countered another strike of the knight’s sword as it clashed against his in the rain. Again and again the bastard came at him, but Ralph defended himself against each blow, before drawing his horse close enough so that he could strike him when he least expected it.
Fortis managed to jump through the squelch of mud that had rendered his movement to a halt momentarily so that they could get away before another counter-attack. But the respite had been far too brief.
Ralph was not sure how he managed to remain mounted on his horse as he swayed violently, moving back and forth, unsteady and unsettled. From somewhere to his right, he felt a blow and he was jolted so hard, he fell from his horse, the soft muddy ground cushioning his fall. He managed to get to his feet, staggering forward in search of his horse in the mayhem, but he could not see him.
Oh, God...oh, God... Where was Fortis?
Ralph could not afford to lose his horse. Fortis? Where was he?
He might have been taken or, worse, injured. He looked in every direction desperately.
‘Fortis?’ Ralph muttered. His name stuck in his throat. ‘Where the hell are you, boy?’ But he was nowhere to be found.
His boots were stuck in the mud, making progress impossible. He started panting and shaking uncontrollably, knowing he could not move anyway. God above, but he was gripped by something intense, dark and deadly.
Ralph sensed someone approach and spun around to the left, only to feel someone punch him hard on his back and again in his stomach, the fine chain hauberk absorbing some of the shock, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
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.
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