Meriel Fuller - Innocent's Champion

‘Easy to spot, then,’ Gilan replied mildly. For some reason he could not explain, he was quite enjoying himself at the maid’s expense. Something about the chit drew him, her truculent manner maybe, the fact that she didn’t want him around. It intrigued him, made him determined to linger, despite knowing that Henry would be wondering where he was.

‘There!’ Matilda pointed.

Braced by a large trunk, Katherine’s ebony head lolled against the ridged bark. Her eyes were closed, her mouth partially open. A faint snore emerged from between her lips.

‘She’s asleep!’ Matilda blurted out in surprise, working her way steadily through the undergrowth towards her, arching brambles snaring the fine silk of her gown. How could her sister have possibly fallen asleep, with all that had been going on? ‘I think you should stay here.’ Matilda held up her arm to prevent Gilan moving any farther forwards.

A tightly buttoned sleeve, unbelievably tiny small pearl buttons, encased her narrow wrist, the material reaching to her knuckles. Her ringless fingers wagged bossily in front of his face and he wondered again at the temerity of the maid. What or who gave her the right to order him about like this? She was obviously unmarried, so had no protection or guidance from a husband. But maybe her father or a brother had been so lax or indulgent in her upbringing that it had given her a misguided sense of her own authority.

He shrugged his shoulders. It, or rather she, was none of his concern. Should the need arise, he was perfectly capable of putting the maid in her place. But at the moment, he relished her display of wilful bossiness, her grumpiness at his continued presence, enjoying the easy diversion to the afternoon and his normal rigid, constrained existence. His gaze slid to the woman at the base of the tree, endeavouring to keep his expression neutral. The girl had not been lying about her sister’s pregnancy. From the size of her stomach, she looked like she was about to go into labour there and then. He raised his eyes heavenwards, sent up a silent prayer.

‘Katherine! Wake up.’ Matilda bent over her sister, jogged her elbow carefully.

Katherine opened her eyes, a small smile crossing her face. ‘What?’ she murmured hazily. ‘I was having the most wonderful dream, about the baby...’ she smoothed one hand across her stomach ‘...and what he would be like when he was born and...’ her eyes drifted over to Gilan’s tall figure, standing in the shadows ‘...and...who is that?’

‘Don’t let him alarm you,’ Matilda said, as she helped Katherine to her feet. ‘He came to help, when we were attacked.’ She tried to keep her tone even, on the level. Any kind of shock at this stage could jeopardise her sister’s labour. Her mind scampered for a discreet way of alerting her sister to the fact that the man was riding with their enemy.

Katherine smiled at Gilan, lurching forwards with her arm outstretched, a pretty blush washing her face. Distorted by her vast belly, the pleated front of her gown rose up at the front, revealing her pink satin slippers. ‘My pleasure,’ she said, ‘Lord...?’

Gilan smiled, skin creasing either side of his mouth, teeth white in his tanned face. ‘No, not a lord, mistress. My name is Gilan, Comte de Cormeilles.’ He bowed low, deep from the waist.’ At your service.’

Katherine extended her hand towards him and he took her fingers, glittering with heavy gemstones and kissed the top of her hand, as was the custom.

‘Then you are from France?’ Katherine peeked coyly at him from beneath her long eyelashes. Matilda stared at the two of them in horror. Was it her imagination or was Katherine flirting? His display of courtly manners seemed so at odds with her own first encounter with this man, this Gilan , whatever his name was, only moments ago! Half drowned by him, then thrown down on the grass, shaken roughly back to consciousness, assaulted by those piercing, silver eyes. And now, her sister was patting him on the shoulder, thanking him profusely for all he had done! If only she knew!

‘I am English, but my mother is from France—my title comes from her family. I manage her manor and estates over there. In Cormeilles.’ Gilan crooked his arm and Katherine tucked her hand through it companionably, throwing a running stream of questions up to him. Matilda’s heart sank as she trailed after them, snatching up her sodden cloak on the way. She had hoped to walk with Katherine so she could have a quiet word, warn her about this man, about who he was. It was not to be.

* * *

As the three of them approached the spot where the sisters had been attacked, Katherine picking her way carefully down the cobbled slope of the bridge with Gilan’s help, Matilda saw that the numbers in their original entourage had swelled. Beneath the low, swaying branches of the beech trees, arching over the track, stood a stocky, russet-haired man, face ruddy with sunburn. He called out to Gilan, raised his arm in greeting. He wore a surcoat over chainmail, a dark blue surcoat emblazoned with a distinctive coat of arms: three gold lions on a red background, quartered with three gold fleur-de-lis on a blue background.

Henry of Lancaster.

He had brought knights with him, knights wearing the same livery: a dozen or so men on horseback. They stretched along the track, horses nose-to-tail in single file, men’s features impassive beneath steel helmets, lances pointed rigidly into the air, steel tips flashing in the sporadic rays of sunlight that slanted through the whispering trees.

‘Now I see what’s been keeping you!’ Strutting forwards to greet them, Henry clapped Gilan on the shoulder. ‘You had me worried back there!’

‘You, worried?’ Gilan raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. He escorted Katherine to the side of the litter and she clutched on to one of the upright struts gratefully, clamping one hand to the small of her back as she leaned over.

Henry laughed. ‘You’re right, I wasn’t worried, merely impatient at your tardiness. But now—’ he swept his gaze over the two women ‘—it all becomes clear. Ladies,’ he addressed them both with a short, sharp bow, ‘may I have the honour of knowing your names?’ Removing his mail gauntlet, the individual iron links glittering like fish scales, he handed it to his manservant, who hovered nervously at his side.

‘I am Katherine of Neen.’ Katherine performed a small, wobbling curtsy, extending her hand. ‘And this is my sister, Matilda of Lilleshall.’ Henry kissed the top of both their hands in turn. If he noticed Katherine’s advanced pregnancy at all, then he made no indication, no comment.

‘Delighted,’ he pronounced, clapping his hands together. ‘Your knights have explained what has happened to you. I understand that you were on your way back home from a shrine?’

Katherine nodded.

‘Then allow me...us—’ he waved his stubby fingers in the direction of his knights ‘—to escort you home...’

‘There’s really no need...’ Matilda protested.

Henry laughed. ‘Forgive me, madam, but it’s no trouble. Besides, I have an ulterior motive. My men and I seek board and lodging for the night.’

‘Oh, yes! Yes!’ gushed Katherine. She wasn’t too sure exactly who Henry of Lancaster was, but she did know his grandfather was King Edward III and that was good enough for her. More than good enough—why, he was royalty! What a feather in her cap, to entertain such a person! ‘John will want to see you rewarded for what you have done for us today.’ She flicked her eyes appreciatively in Gilan’s direction.

Oh, Lord, thought Matilda, hitching her shoulders forwards in her damp gown. Things seemed to going from bad to worse. Katherine obviously had no idea of Henry of Lancaster’s true intentions in this country. In fact, Matilda doubted that her sister really knew who he was.