Catherine March - The King's Champion

Slowly, her back aching and her buttocks smarting, Ellie raised herself up from her punishing stance and turned slowly to face her father, and when she spoke her voice was a trembling whisper that wrenched at his heart. ‘Please forgive me, Father, if I have done wrong.’

And then she turned and staggered to her mother, who folded her tightly into her embrace and, together with her Aunt Beatrice, took her away.

Alone now, Remy turned to his brother-in-law and said quietly, ‘Your fears are unfounded, Hal. I have to agree with Joanna, there is naught of her father in Ellie.’

Lord Henry turned away, sickened with himself, enraged at the cruel twist of fate that was now rearing its ugly head to torment them. ‘What to do?’ he asked in bitter despair. ‘What to do? She will hate me now. Ellie has always been slow in her forgiveness of a wrong. But how greatly I fear the vice of the father shall be born in the children.’

Remy clasped his shoulder, offering his support. ‘By nature there is a measure of vice in all of us. But I believe you have nurtured her so well—indeed, both of them—that it is no more than the usual. I know you mean well, Hal, but let things be for a day or two. You will see, Ellie will love you still, as the good father you have always been to her.’

‘Good!’ Hal snorted in self-disgust. ‘I have never in her life, nor mine, beaten a wench before.’

‘Nay, but in a fit of hot temper we all do rash things we later regret. She will forgive you.’

In the adjoining pavilion Ellie lay face down upon her cot covered in soft furs, too numb with shock and misery to cry, to even speak, and lay staring at the canvas walls, while her mother and her aunt whispered conspiratorially behind her. Rupert returned and knelt beside her, stroking her hair and whispering that he had been unable to locate de Valois, but on the morrow he would find him and let him speak his truth. Eleanor roused herself, sniffing as she reached out and clutched at her brother’s sleeve, her voice muffled and strained as she begged him not to.

‘Please don’t, I have no wish for him to know of my disgrace.’

‘But you have done nothing wrong!’ protested Rupert, ‘Mayhap you have been foolish, but ’tis nothing like what Father thinks. Troye de Valois will set him straight.’

‘Nay!’ sobbed Eleanor. ‘Say nothing.’

Reluctantly Rupert departed, and after a word with his mother and restraining himself from tangling with his father, he returned to his own tent on the knights’ side of the field.

All night, and the following day, she would talk to no one, and lay still and silent upon her bed, refusing all food and even water. Worried, Lady Joanna sent for her son, and paced restlessly until at last he came, but as she rushed to him she contained her outburst as she saw that he was accompanied. Questioningly, she frowned at Troye de Valois as he bowed to her with quiet respect.

‘What is he doing here?’ she asked, somewhat ungraciously, too concerned for her children to bother with niceties.

‘I thought that he could speak to Father, and reassure him that what happened was not Ellie’s fault.’ He turned to de Valois, and with a lift of his eyebrows encouraged him to speak.

‘It is so, lady. Your daughter did nothing wanton and her only error was to be naïve enough to think she could wander through an encampment full of drunken men unmolested.’

Lady Joanna smiled at him then, and sent a serf to fetch her husband, before turning to Rupert with a worried frown, She has not spoken, nor eaten, nor even swallowed a drop of water since…since last night.’

‘’Tis shock,’ supplied Troye, thinking to be helpful and unaware of the full events, ‘but she’s young and strong and will soon recover.’

‘Nay…’ Lady Joanna shook her head ‘…my husband was very angry and—and he…beat her. I think that has upset her more than anything else.’

Troye politely stood aside while mother and son conversed in whispers; when Lord Henry entered the tent and cast upon him an enquiring, speculative eye, he bowed with respect, although as the King’s champion he had no need to bow to any man. Troye wasted no time, and carefully explained that he had no doubt that Eleanor had not behaved in any way to encourage an interest in her. ‘She tried to fight them off and save her honour, but if I had not chanced to hear her scream and come to her aid, she would not have had strength enough to succeed. Rest assured, my lord, your daughter is not a wanton and her honour is intact.’

This was a thought that had not occurred to Lord Henry as of yet, and he spoke sharply to his wife. ‘You have examined Eleanor? She is virgin still?’

‘Of course,’ murmured Lady Joanna through stiff lips, a guilty blush flaring upon her cheeks as she had not considered such an examination necessary and her blush deepened as her son and his companion stared uncomfortably at their boots.

‘And you,’ Lord Henry spoke with equal abruptness to Troye, ‘what state was my daughter in when you found her?’

‘Well, naturally, she was very distressed—’

‘That was not what I meant! In what state was her clothing?’ Lord Henry leaned very close, his eyes full of glittering danger. ‘Was she…undressed?’

‘Nay, my lord!’ Troye protested hotly. ‘It was as I have told you. Her clothing, and her honour, were all intact.’ He thought it best not to mention that he had, in fact, refastened her hose and garters, sensing that even this brief assistance to a distraught and dishevelled damsel would send her father into a paroxysm of rage.

Lord Henry released a pensive sigh, and then jerked a brief, grudging bow to Troye, ‘My thanks for your assistance. We are grateful. I trust,’ he said with grave warning, ‘that this will not be a topic for campfire conversation. My daughter’s reputation relies upon your discretion.’

‘You have my word.’ Troye bowed and then turned to leave with Rupert, who hurried to where his sister lay in her pavilion. Troye halted outside and laid a hand upon Rupert’s arm. ‘I would like a word with her first, in private. With your permission.’

Rupert eyed him for a long moment, taking his measure, and then nodded and scanned the neighbourhood. ‘Be quick. I will stand guard.’

Both acknowledged in silence the suspicion that Lord Henry would not take kindly to a knight such as Troye de Valois being alone with Ellie, even if it was just to speak to her.

It was dim within the pavilion, after the bright glare of the late afternoon without. Troye stood still for a moment and let his eyes accustom themselves, and then he looked about at the comfortable but far-from lavish furnishings that signified her family were well off, but certainly not extravagant. There were several brass-bound coffers spilling linens and furs, some small tables holding silver goblets and a tray of untouched food, two X-shaped chairs and numerous furs and carpets strewn about on the canvas ground sheet. Four cots were placed against the edges of the tent and in one of them he discerned a slim female shape, only recognisable to him by the long swathe of dark auburn hair that hung down and swept to the ground, obscuring her face.

Troye crept softly across the space and then squatted down upon his heels, whispering gently, ‘Ellie?’

She started, with a small gasp, and turned her head towards him, her eyes narrowed with fearful alarm. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Rupert told me that your father was upset, and I came to explain to him what occurred.’

Silent tears began to streak from her eyes and track down her cheeks. ‘My father thinks I am a wanton, so please go, lest his fears be true.’

Troye smiled, a slight, puzzled frown creasing his brows. ‘But you have done nothing, and I have told him so.’ He reached out then, and brushed aside her hair so that he might better see her face, and her expression. ‘Come, where is the brave little knight who would fight the world? A knight cannot collapse in defeat at the first obstacle, and life is full of obstacles.’