Meriel Fuller - Innocent's Champion

‘One can’t help but admire such bravery in a woman,’ Henry said.

‘Perhaps.’ Gilan shrugged his shoulders. ‘But sometimes it can lead them into greater danger.’

Chapter Four

Matilda curved her arm beneath Katherine’s, and hauled her up and out of the litter. The main entrance to the castle was only a few steps away, across the uneven cobbles of the inner bailey. As Katherine reared upwards, her movements ungainly, awkward, she clung to Matilda for support.

‘Ugh! You’re all wet!’ Katherine exclaimed. Her gaze drifted down, noticing the grey dust adhering to the fabric. ‘Oh, Matilda, what have you done to my gown? I doubt it will ever be the same again!’

Matilda began to steer Katherine towards the studded-oak doorway, the muscles in her back pulled into a rigid line. Even though she couldn’t see them, she knew all eyes were on them. Henry and his men were watching, respectfully waiting to dismount. And he was watching her. Gilan. She could feel those silvery eyes following every detail of her movement, making her feel flustered, unsettled. In the damp dress, an involuntary shiver chased up her spine.

‘It will wash out, Katherine, don’t worry.’

Up the stone steps they went, one at a time, a slow progress. Matilda breathed out slowly, a long quiet sigh of frustration. She would be relieved when this baby finally made an appearance in the world, for it would make everyone’s lives a whole lot easier. At this time of the year, the work at her own home of Lilleshall was mounting up: the continual planting and maintenance of crops, care of the animals and the beginning of the harvest. Someone needed to supervise the work, and now that her mother had decided to withdraw from public life, and she had heard nothing from her brother in the past year, the role had fallen to her.

‘I hope so,’ grumbled Katherine, breathing heavily as she reached the top step, placing one hand on the carved stone surround of the door. ‘Hold for a moment, sister, I need to catch my breath.’

‘We’re nearly there,’ Matilda reassured her. Without thinking, she glanced back down in to the inner bailey, her eyes immediately drawn to a shock of blond hair, feathered across the tall man’s tanned brow. Threads of unravelling excitement shot through her veins. What was the matter with her? It wasn’t in her nature to be so disturbed by a masculine presence, even one as intimidating as Count Gilan of Cormeilles. Having grown up with a loving brother and father, she was not in awe of men, quite the reverse, in fact. Most of the time she ignored them. She simply couldn’t explain these odd feelings that roiled around her body, the way his company set her nerves on a jittery edge.

As the sisters moved into the hallway, Matilda blinked once or twice, adjusting her eyes to the dim interior, inhaling the damp, gritty scent of the thick stone walls. Above their heads, ribs of stone fanned out from a central boss: a carved-stone trefoil beset with finely chiselled leaves and flowers.

‘Good! Good! You’re back at last!’ John burst out from the curtain strung across the entrance to the main stairwell, pushing aside the weighty material with impatience. He was a stout man, small brown eyes set deep in a flabby face, the belt around his high-necked, pleated tunic straining across his portly waist. ‘You’ve been ages!’ Grabbing his wife’s hands, he squeezed them strongly. ‘You need to change, quickly, my dear. My guards tell me you have brought guests. Important guests.’

‘Yes, but...’ Matilda began to explain, to warn him. Had no one thought to tell John of the colours that these ‘important guests’ wore? But John had already walked past them, out through the arched doorway, out into the open air. Matilda sighed. He would know soon enough. ‘Come on,’ she said to Katherine, placing a protective arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go upstairs to your chamber.’

* * *

Shielded by a heavily embroidered screen, Matilda sank deeper into the hot water, a small sigh of pleasure escaping her lips. She listened to the sounds of her sister’s maidservants, two of them, fussing around Katherine. They sounded like hens, clucking with their tongues, sympathising, commiserating, whilst they bustled and rustled around the chamber, placating her sister with their soothing words.

Matilda leaned back in the wooden tub, the water swilling across her exhausted limbs, easing her muscles. Katherine had insisted that she take a bath, practically ripping the destroyed dress from her shoulders, and for once, Matilda had agreed with her. The hot water, dried rose petals scattered across the surface, was gradually soothing her frazzled nerves, calming her. In the corner, coals glowed in a charcoal brazier, sending out more heat, and she welcomed it, rolling her tired shoulders forwards. Through the glazed window, swallows, wings like black knife blades, sliced across the deepening blue. A bright fingernail of a new moon appeared in the sky through the leaded grid of the window, the herald of evening.

There was enough daylight for her to return to Lilleshall, Matilda thought. That way she could meet with her bailiff this evening and make—

The door to Katherine’s chamber crashed back on its hinges, swinging back against the wood-panelled wall.

It was John.

‘Do you know who you’ve brought here, you stupid cow?’ he roared at his wife.

‘John! John? Whatever’s the matter with you?’ Katherine twisted up on to her side, half rising from her recumbent position on the feather mattress.

Her husband plonked his portly girth on to the side of the bed, stuck his hands in his grizzled hair, distraught. ‘You’ve only gone and brought Henry of Lancaster into our home! Henry, Duke of Lancaster! Have you any idea who he is?’

‘I...er...’

‘No, you don’t, do you? Because you have no idea about anything!’ Clenching one fist, he knocked the side of Katherine’s head, not gently. ‘Because you have nothing up there, do you, my sweet one? Nothing at all, just sawdust.’

Adrenaline thumping through her veins, blood rushing, Matilda rose quickly out of the water, grabbed at a voluminous chemise and pulled it swiftly over her head, down over her wet, bare body. She had no intention of John seeing her naked in her sister’s bathtub. The scum of soap adhered to her knees as she stepped out on to the curly sheep’s fleece that covered the bare floorboards and soaked up the wet trickles from her toes. Her breath snared; she knew what John was capable of, knew how he treated her sister when he was displeased. Catching up the thick, linen towel, she threw it over her shoulders, anxious that not an inch of flesh was on show for John to ogle at. She moved out from behind the screen, her unbound hair swinging in long, curling ropes down her back.

John turned, squinted nastily at her. His top lip curled down into a sneer. ‘Ah, you! I want to talk to you, too! What were you thinking?’

‘We were attacked, John,’ Matilda explained, keeping her voice low and calm. She would not allow John to rile her. ‘Those men saved us. If they hadn’t come along, then the outcome might have been a lot worse. We had to thank them somehow.’

He shook his head. ‘If it had been anyone else...’

‘I know, John,’ Matilda said, deflecting his attention away from her frightened sister, cowering back on the pillows with her eyes large, round, luminous with fear. ‘I know who they are. But they have no idea of your allegiances, where your loyalties lie. Keep quiet. Give them board and lodging for tonight, and by tomorrow morning, I’m certain they will be on their way.’

‘Spoken like a true diplomat,’ replied John. ‘Well, I praise the Lord that at least one sister has a head on her shoulders.’ He placed his tubby fingers flat on his bulging thighs, pressing down so that he rose from the bed, throwing a mocking glance down at his wife. Katherine hadn’t moved, pressed up in terror against the pillows, her mouth partially open, breathing shallowly. She looks like a wild animal, thought Matilda, an animal who is trapped and vulnerable, unable to move, or to think, for itself.