Meriel Fuller - The Damsel's Defiance

But Talvas was already pulling on the reins, lifting himself easily in the saddle, twisting sinuously around with his hand on his sword hilt, trying to locate the sound. Guillame drew his sword with a silken hiss.

‘Who goes there?’ Talvas shouted roughly. The low timbre of his clear voice echoed in the valley. ‘Show yourselves or we’ll root you out!’

Perspiration gathered in her palms: she had no wish to be pursued like hunting quarry. She knew they would outrun her within moments. ‘’Tis I, Emmeline de Lonnieres.’ Her voice emerged as a pathetic squeak, and she cursed herself for it. She began to climb down, slipping and sliding through the dense vegetation. Talvas flipped an irritated glance back at his squire, who raised his shaggy blond eyebrows.

‘The woman on the quayside,’ Guillame murmured, sheathing his sword and dismounting.

‘Don’t remind me,’ Talvas grimaced as he followed the maid’s descent with a resigned air. Trust his luck to tangle with this harridan once again! But as she burst out on to the track, her horse pushing up behind her, threatening to topple her over, he had to work hard not to laugh out loud. Brambles clung to the delicate cloth of her veil, the thin wool of her cloak; brambles, no doubt, that had caused the nasty-looking scratch on the bloom of her rounded cheek. Her forehead appeared to have some sort of dark-grey grit embedded in it.

‘And where are the others?’ Talvas demanded, crossing his arms across the pommel and leaning forward.

‘The others?’ She frowned, her huge green eyes perplexed. Against the richness of the men’s garb, her grey worsted bliaut appeared shabby, yet it had been the best of her meagre collection of garments when she had dressed that morning. Her underdress, of dark brown, was of slighter better quality, but only the tight sleeves were visible, emerging from the long, drooping sleeves of the bliaut.

Talvas’s eyes lit with blue fire. ‘Don’t tangle with me, mistress!’ he chastised her. ‘Where is your escort?’

‘I don’t have one.’ Emmeline shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. The cold mud of the track began to seep through her thin leather soles.

Talvas raised his eyes heavenward. ‘She doesn’t have one,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Now why don’t I find that hard to believe?’

Emmeline caught the high level of condemnation in his tone. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ she replied, defensively.

‘Then why were you hiding up there?’ His booted foot in the shining metal stirrup was on a level with her shoulder as he bent down suddenly, tugging at a bramble caught in her linen veil. She bit her lip slightly, trying to resist the urge to back away, to run. His fingers brushed against her cheek, cool and determined. Flushing under his touch, she refused to meet his eyes, letting out a tiny sigh of relief when he suddenly threw the bramble into the river. ‘Answer me, mistress,’ he demanded softly.

‘You could have been friend or foe.’ She concentrated on the scuffed toe of his leather boot.

‘Exactly.’ Talvas slapped the reins from side to side as his horse grew restless. ‘Have you any idea of the dangers in travelling alone? God in Heaven, woman, even I am sensible enough to take an escort!’ He nodded briefly at Guillame to demonstrate his point.

‘I can take care of myself.’

Talvas swept his azure gaze over the small, slight figure, deliberately allowing his eyes to travel disparagingly from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. ‘Given what I have seen of you already, mam’selle, I sincerely doubt it,’ he responded indifferently. Sweet Jesu, why should he even care? He should just leave her here alone, and to hell with the consequences! ‘Where are you headed?’

She hesitated, reluctant to divulge her destination. Behind Talvas’s head, profiled in stark detail against the steel-grey clouds, the green tops of a clump of fir trees swayed violently, shaken by the force of the gusting wind. From the top of a nearby beech tree, nude of leaves, a batch of crows rose loudly, screeching.

‘You keep us waiting, mam’selle.’ Talvas glowered at her mute, shuttered expression. Insolent chit! He’d witnessed better manners from his deckhands. He stared at her, a petite virago bristling with hostility, her stunning eyes flashing green-emerald. This reaction to him was unusual. Usually the fairer sex wished to know him better, but he always refused to let down his emotional guard. It suited him favourably, to have this little witch hate him so.

She stepped back without thinking, her heels hitting the solid rock that bordered the track. Talvas wore the expression of a man who would wait all day for the correct answer: the harsh line of his mouth, the rapier glint of his eye—all denoted a character who would not give up easily.

Emmeline sighed. ‘I travel to Torigny.’ She hunched into the meagre wool of her cloak, annoyed with herself.

‘Torigny, as we are.’ The wind ruffled the sleek darkness of his hair. ‘How strange that we should find ourselves upon the same route. You must allow us to escort you.’

But she was already shaking her head. ‘Nay, my lord. I would only hold you up. Let me go on my way and have nothing more to do with me.’ Mother of Mary! Would she never be free of him? Her right ankle was beginning to ache unbearably.

He waggled a finger at her. ‘Nay, mam’selle. Despite the fact that you are clearly one of the most insufferable, pigheaded women I have ever had the misfortune to meet, I have a duty toward you.’

She closed her eyes. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

‘Aye, mam’selle.’ His words bore a thread of steel. ‘As knights we have a duty toward unaccompanied women. Especially young widows whose new-found independence has obviously gone to their heads.’

Reeling at his words, she clung to her horse’s neck to balance herself. ‘How do you know I’m a widow?’ Her voice sounded high and sharp in the damp air.

‘A lucky guess.’ He chuckled. ‘What did you do to the poor man? Cut him to shreds with your tongue?’ He and Guillame guffawed loudly.

Emmeline pursed her lips together, fury welling in her slender body. ‘Knights of the realm indeed!’ she scoffed. ‘I don’t believe a word of it! And I don’t have to put up with this treatment…this boorish behaviour! Let me pass!’ She tried to shove Lord Talvas’s massive black stallion out of the way with her body weight. He grabbed hold of her upper arm, hauling against the flank of the horse.

‘If it’s pretty manners and fine ways you’re after, then you’ll not find them with me,’ he growled. ‘But, aye, I completed my training, and swore my allegiance to the chivalric code, for what it’s worth. And you, mistress, are wasting our time with idle chitchat.’ Without warning, he swung low and grabbed her round the waist, lifting her in one easy movement to dump her on her horse. ‘You’re coming with us, and that’s an order.’

Still rankling from Lord Talvas’s boorish treatment of her, Emmeline urged her mare forward. Fixing her gaze on the gentle, undulating motion of the horse’s neck, she tried to steady her breathing. How dare he pick her up like a sack of grain and throw her into the saddle? How dare he? His arrogant demeanour brought memories of her husband, Giffard, to mind. She would do well to remember what happened in that marriage, living through two years of taunting, verbal abuse, slaps and pinches. She endured it for her mother’s sake, as Giffard had brought money to the family, money that cushioned them through the first lean months after her father’s death. But Giffard drank, and began to drink more heavily as she avoided his advances until, one day, he had pushed her down the stairs. Emmeline had broken her ankle in the fall, but he’d kept her prisoner in the house for several days while she lay at his mercy, in agony. The bone had set awkwardly, leaving her with a permanent limp.