A Perfect Knight. Anne Herries

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and revulsion.

      Alayne shared her chamber with Marguerite de Valois and was not surprised that the lady was already there, changing from her outer garments of surcote and heavy wool tunic into a softer, lighter robe of cloth of silver, which she covered by an over-gown of deep blue. She smiled as Alayne entered and began to disrobe, taking off her plain white wimple. The wimple covered her head entirely and was more modest when out riding than the fantastic headdresses that the ladies adopted for court wear.

      ‘Did you chance to see Sir Ralph de Banewulf in the hall?’ Marguerite asked as Alayne shook her head, letting the shining mass of dark hair tumble down her back. ‘My father told me he was expecting to see him here by today at the latest. He brings letters from the English King to her Majesty.’

      ‘I saw someone new,’ Alayne said. ‘A tall, dark man, rather stern looking—’ She broke off as she remembered his eyes and the way he had seemed to stare at her.

      ‘Yes, I dare say that was he. His mother was cousin to my father. Sir Ralph is widowed these five years. His wife died some weeks after giving birth to their son. She was very beautiful and they say he still grieves for her.’

      ‘That is sad,’ Alayne said, remembering the brooding, almost haunted expression she had seen in the stranger’s eyes. ‘Such faithful devotion to a wife’s memory is not often found.’

      ‘No, that is true. Most men marry again as soon as possible for the sake of getting more heirs. I think he must have loved her very much. It is romantic—like the songs the troubadours sing for us.’

      ‘Yes, it would seem so,’ Alayne agreed, remembering the expression in the newcomer’s eyes. Perhaps that explained his stern manner. He was hiding his grief. ‘I did not think men married for love. It was not so in my case. My husband’s lands joined my father’s on one side. They arranged the match between them for their mutual benefit. My father said they were both stronger for the alliance, more able to defend their own demesne from any attack. My son was to have inherited all their lands in time and my father was disappointed that I did not give him the grandson he craved.’

      ‘But you were married only a few weeks.’

      ‘My husband had an accident the day after our wedding. He—he was drunk and fell down the stairs.’ Alayne’s eyes held the sparkle of tears, but she blinked them away, refusing to weep. ‘He broke his back, but did not die at once. I nursed him for some weeks, but he did not recover.’

      She turned away as the bitter memories crowded into her mind and would not be denied. Baron Humbolt had cursed her with his every breath, blaming her for his inability to be a true husband to her. His hatred had been hard for a young girl to bear, as had the cruel, crude language he used to her—the language of the stews. Almost as humiliating as the way he had tried to use her on the wedding night.

      But she would not think of that! She had promised herself that she would never allow another man to humiliate her in that way.

      ‘I am so sorry,’ Marguerite said. ‘It is little wonder that you have no wish to marry again. My father says it is almost time to arrange my marriage…’ She broke off and sighed deeply. ‘I hope he chooses someone kind, someone I can like.’

      ‘He has not spoken of his choice for you?’

      ‘Not yet, though…I think he may have someone in his thoughts, but I cannot be sure.’

      Alayne guessed what was in her mind. ‘You think he may approach his kinsman? Sir Ralph de Banewulf?’

      Marguerite blushed. ‘Perhaps, but I must not presume. These things are a matter for discussion and contract. Sir Ralph may not wish for such a match.’

      ‘Is there no one you like? Someone you would choose to marry if you could?’

      Marguerite’s blush deepened. She hesitated for a moment, conscious of Alayne’s eyes on her, then said, ‘There might be, but he has not yet won his knighthood. My father would never permit me to wed a lowly squire.’

      ‘Does he love you?’ Alayne was intrigued. She was not sure why, but she had the feeling that her friend was not telling her the whole truth. There was someone—but was it really a squire who had yet to win his spurs? ‘Do you love him?’

      ‘It would be foolish of me to love him,’ Marguerite said and for a moment sadness flickered in her lovely eyes. ‘I know I must marry as my father dictates.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose you must.’

      Alayne knew that her friend had no choice but to obey her father. Having been married and left in possession of a small but adequate fortune in her own right, Alayne had been able to seek protection from her Majesty. It was not the same for Marguerite.

      ‘Perhaps you will be lucky,’ she said, more to comfort her friend than in belief. ‘Come, if you are ready, perhaps we should go down. The Queen may need us.’

      Marguerite nodded, smiling as if determined to banish her fears. ‘I hope Sir Ralph has arrived,’ she told Alayne. ‘I am looking forward to meeting him.’

      Alayne’s thoughts returned to the man she had noticed earlier. He had seemed so cold, almost angry. Why was that? Had his expression when he looked at her been disapproval as she had at first thought or merely the sadness habitual to a man who was still grieving for the wife he had lost?

       Chapter Two

       T he company was very merry that night, the courtiers still teasing Alayne, the knights devising tests of skill and courage that they seemed determined to carry out in her name. She could not refrain from laughing at their foolish banter, though she continued to be firm that she would give only a trinket to the winner of the tournament and that her heart was not to be so easily won.

      ‘You must forgive them their foolishness,’ the Queen told her as she bid her sit on a stool at her side and tell her how this talk of a tourney had begun. It was a rare privilege to sit in the Queen’s presence and not given to many. ‘They grow restless at court and need this contest to rid themselves of too much energy. It would behove most of them to take themselves off to a war somewhere.’

      ‘Why do men like to fight, your Grace?’ Alayne asked, genuinely puzzled. ‘My father quarrels with his neighbours and his men fight amongst each other.’

      ‘It is in their nature,’ replied Queen Eleanor. ‘And a true knight is brave in battle. I have always admired Saladin, despite his infidel beliefs. He is a true man and a clever soldier—but most men are faithless and we do well to remember it, Lady Alayne. Happiness lies not in the personal life, but in power, especially if you are a queen.’

      Alayne sensed that the Queen was angry, but before she could ask her what had occurred to arouse her ire, she saw that a man was approaching them. It was the man she had seen standing in the shadows of the great hall when she returned from hawking. He bowed low before the Queen, his eyes dwelling on her for a moment and seeming to register both approval and admiration.

      Eleanor of Aquitaine was a handsome woman with nut-brown hair and dark eyes, but there was much more than beauty to this woman. She was clever, proud and spirited, more fitted perhaps to kingship than some men. Alayne had heard it said that she took a keen interest in matters of state, not only in her own province but in England, encouraging her sons in defiance of their father. At the moment, her eyes were flashing with annoyance and something in the way she СКАЧАТЬ