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Her Knight Protector
Anne Herries
To love, honor and…protectAlain de Banewulf may have triumphed by the strength of his sword during the Crusades, and returned home steeped in glory, but he needs to prove to himself that his skills as a knight lie beyond the battlefield.Alain's life is set to change when he rescues Katherine of Grunwald from brigands. For Katherine is carrying a treasure desired by all of Christendom–one that men will kill for–and Alain has sworn to protect her from the perils that lie ahead. With Katherine's help, perhaps Alain will come to realize that his honor depends not only on his bravery in the face of battle, but also on the strength of his love for one woman.
Katherine felt a quiver of alarm.
She had known that even the most trustworthy of men might be tempted by her treasure. Perhaps not for greed, but for the glory that such a find could bring them.
“I have not told you what it is, sir,” she reminded him. “It may be that my father was mistaken….”
Alain’s eyes were steady on her face, but held warmth, a concern that made her heart race. For a moment she thought that his feelings toward her were more than mere courtesy. “If I gave you my solemn word that I will return them to you when we reach England, would you trust me?”
Katherine hesitated, and then nodded. Instinct told her that if she could not trust this man, then she could trust no one. Hesitating but a moment more, she picked up the pouch and handed it to Alain.
“I believe there is enough here to give credence to my father’s discovery, but you may study these and give me your opinion.”
“I thank you for your trust in me, Katherine,” Alain said, then reached out to touch her cheek. It was the merest graze of his fingers but it sent tremors running through her….
Dear Reader,
To become a true knight a youth must strive to attain perfection in all things. He must be able to read the Scriptures in Latin, must know all the rules of chivalry and be as skilled in matters of physical excellence as in those of the mind. It is a hard, rigorous training.
Alain de Banewulf was luckier than most boys, for his mother begged that he should receive training at his father’s hands rather than be sent away. But Alain has always felt that he cannot be a true knight, as his magnificent half-brother Stefan is, because his life has been easy. Adding to this feeling of inadequacy, he believes his prowess is due to a sword with magical powers that was given to him by his brother when he went to the Crusades. Now he is returning home, covered in glory, but still not satisfied that he deserves his reputation as a fearless knight. It is only when he rescues the thin child Katherine and swears to protect her, gradually coming to understand that she is actually a warm and loving woman, that he is given the chance to prove himself in every way.
I hope that you enjoy this last book in the series, which gives a hint of the spiritual nature of the age as well as the exciting physical action of kidnap, fierce fighting and love.
As always, I love to hear what you think. Visit me at www.lindasole.co.uk.
Love to you all
Her Knight Protector
Anne Herries
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ANNE HERRIES,
winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize 2004, lives in Cambridgeshire, England. She is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Afterword
Chapter One
‘W hat will the bards sing of us?’ Sir Alain de Banewulf asked of his friend as they drew rein to contemplate the vista before them, which was one of sun-baked hills and lush valleys. It was some months now since they had left the arid heat of the Holy Land, joining forces to make their journey back to England. ‘Will men say of us that we are sad failures or praise us for the taking of Acre?’
Sir Bryne of Wickham looked at him, narrowing his gaze against the sun, wondering at the strange, bleak expression in the younger man’s eyes. Alain had been quiet for some days, and now perhaps he was ready to speak of what ailed him.
‘You are still angry that we failed to take Jerusalem from the infidel?’
Alain was silent for a moment, his thoughts mixed as he tried to explain to the man who was so close to him that they had lived as brothers these past few years. Defending, guarding each other’s back, they had risked their lives for one another. Bryne was his most trusted friend and yet even to him he could not explain the emptiness inside him.
‘When King Richard quarrelled with Philip of France and he deserted us, Richard had no choice but to make that treaty with Saladin. We as Christians may thank him that the Holy City is not closed to all those of our faith. Had Richard fought on, all might have been lost.’
‘Yet there is no denying that the influence of Christianity hath been much weakened.’
‘So we failed,’ Alain said and felt the weight of defeat fall on him as a mantle of chain-mail. ‘May God and history forgive us.’
‘Failed?’ Bryne raised his brows. Many men would have been more than satisfied with their accomplishments if they had done as well.
Alain and Bryne had gained personal wealth after the victory at Acre, much of it presented to them for saving the life of the son of a merchant prince. Ali Bakhar’s gratitude at having the boy returned to him unharmed had been in the form of priceless jewels, articles fashioned of gold, precious silks and spices. But even more important was the permission to trade freely in the waters between Venice and Cyprus. With that gained they had what many merchant adventurers before them had died for the lack of: the secret of true success in these parts.
Bryne had advised prudence and they had had their fortune transported to Italy, where one of the influential banking families had taken charge of it for them. Bryne had previously arranged that any prize money they won while on crusade was to be invested in his friend’s shipping fleet on their behalf.
When King Richard had decided to leave the Holy Land, Bryne and Alain had sailed with him for Cyprus. From there they had gone on to Messina and thence to Rome. Here they discovered that they were both wealthy beyond their dreams, for Bryne’s trusted friend had invested wisely and their fortunes had increased a hundredfold in the intervening years. They had left their gold in his charge and carried only enough silver for their journey together with the letters of credit that would buy them whatever they desired, either in France or England.
‘Some may believe we failed,’ Bryne agreed after a few moments of consideration, for he knew that Alain had no thought of their personal triumphs. ‘Had Richard curbed his temper, mayhap history would have had kinder words.’
Alain smiled oddly, shrugging off his mood. ‘We fought bravely, but the odds were against us.’
‘And now what, my friend?’ Bryne’s brows rose.
They had lingered some months in Italy, taking time to see the wonders of the country, visiting the great university and medical school at Salerno. They took care to stay clear of Calabria, where King Richard had unjustly seized a beautiful falcon on his journey to the crusades, causing much anger amongst the villagers who had owned it. For a while they had lingered in the lush countryside of Italy’s rich wine-growing area, drinking its produce and enjoying the idleness their labours had bought for them.
‘Ah, that is the question,’ Alain said, and for a moment a merry smile danced briefly in his deep blue eyes. ‘For myself, I think I am weary of foreign lands…’
‘Aye, I, too, have felt the call.’
‘It is years since I saw my mother. She will have despaired of seeing her son again.’
‘I wonder if my family still lives?’ Bryne frowned as he looked into the distance, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘We have all we could ever need here and yet…’
Of late both men had become restless, and as Alain looked at Bryne he suddenly knew what was in his mind.
‘So we go home?’
‘I left England in the year 1187 to offer my sword to Duke Richard. It was some many months before we set out for the Holy Land, as you know, for King Henry died and Richard was crowned king of England. It is now the beginning of the year of our Lord 1195 and I confess I long for a sight of my own land.’
‘Yes, I, too, have felt the need for home and family,’ Alain agreed. ‘When I left England it was to gain wealth and honour as my brother before me, and perhaps I have achieved a part of what I had hoped for.’
‘You are rich and no knight hath fought more valiantly, Alain. What more would you have?’
‘Indeed, I have oft wondered.’ A wry smile touched his mouth; he could not place a name to that elusive dream. He only knew that it eluded him still. ‘Mayhap I shall find it in England. We shall set out for Rome on the morrow, Bryne, and find a ship to take us home.’
The sound of screaming penetrated Alain’s thoughts. They had set out early that morning, hopeful of completing their journey to Rome within three days, and had been making good time. Alain’s mind had been elsewhere as they rode through the softly undulating countryside. Now, suddenly, he was alerted to danger. That was a woman screaming and she was in some considerable distress. He looked at his companion and saw that Bryne was alert to the situation.
‘Over there!’ Bryne pointed to their right. ‘See, at the edge of those trees. Brigands are attacking three men and two women, and ’tis clear they are outnumbered by the rogues.’
‘They are surrounded,’ Alain said and spurred his horse. ‘Come, Bryne. One last battle before we seek our ship!’
His trusted sword was in his hand as he led the charge, Bryne and the men they had led into many such battles following behind. The thunder of hooves echoed in his head, and he could smell the blood, heat and dust of other fights, remembering the screams of the injured and dying his horse had trampled underfoot in the heat of battle. A wry smile touched his mouth. Had he ever been young and naïve enough to believe that there was glory in war?
He raised his right arm, sword aloft, as he bore down on the first rogue. He was aware of a woman struggling with men who were apparently bent on abducting her and let out a yell that would strike terror into the heart of any warrior. Slashing to left and right, he fought like fifty demons as he hacked his way through to the woman. As always, his sword gave him strength to overcome his enemies. Its magical powers, in which he firmly believed, had carried him through bloodier fights than this. Saladin’s soldiers were fiercer warriors than these scurvy knaves, who had already begun to break ranks now that they were faced by Alain’s men.
From the corner of his eye he saw that the girl had managed to break free from her would-be captors and was being cared for by one of her own people. It was clear that the fight was over and that the brigands were fleeing into the trees from whence they had come.
Alain gave the girl a smile of reassurance and then turned his head to glance at Bryne. Seeing that his friend had dismounted, Alain did the same. He moved towards the girl they had saved, sword in hand, intending to ask her if she had suffered any harm at the hands of the brigands. He began to speak and then something hit him from behind and everything went black as he fell. He thought he heard the girl cry out, but could not save himself as he sank to the ground at her feet.
‘What have you done, Maria?’ The Lady Katherine of Grunwald sank to her knees beside the still form of the man lying on the ground. ‘You have killed him and he saved me from those wicked men.’
‘Oh, my lady—’ the older woman looked at her in dismay ‘—he had his sword ready. I thought he meant to kill you.’
‘You foolish woman!’ Katherine laid her hand on the knight’s forehead. He had such lovely golden hair and was beautiful to look upon. She thought that she had never seen a man so fair. ‘Now his men are angry and will likely punish us.’ She looked up as a tall, dark knight stood over her, sensing his anger. ‘Forgive my woman, sir. She did not realise what she was doing.’
‘I saw what happened,’ Bryne said, glaring at her. ‘Your woman hath done what all Saladin’s army could not, lady. Pray that he is not dead, for I pity you both if he—’
Alain’s eyelids flickered, his long lashes shadowing against sun-bronzed skin for a moment before he opened them and gazed into the anxious eyes of the girl bending over him. His first thought was that she was no more than a child, thin and pale, her dark eyes large in a face that was interesting rather than beautiful. Behind her he could see Bryne’s angry stance and realised in a moment what was going on.
‘No, don’t murder the child, Bryne,’ he protested, sitting up and groaning slightly as his head spun. A wry smile touched his mouth. ‘It was not the child that hit me, I swear.’
Katherine looked at him apprehensively. Was he angry? He did not look angry. Indeed, it seemed he was amused. She gave him a look of apology.
‘It was Maria who struck you and she is very sorry. She thought you were one of those wicked men who attacked us.’
‘The brigands?’ Alain groaned again, feeling the back of his head gingerly. ‘Maria hath the arm of an armourer to hit so hard. I vow ’tis a wonder that she did not crack my skull open.’ Despite the pain in his head, his blue eyes were bright with mischief as he looked at the older woman. Her face was a picture of rueful indignation and it made him want to laugh long and hard, something he had not felt like doing in many a day. ‘What did you hit me with, woman, a mace?’
‘It was naught but a moneybag,’ Maria said, glowering at him. She was a large woman with big strong arms and a heavy build. ‘It is money for the ship to carry my lady home to her family—but you may take it if you let us go on our way.’
Alain was on his feet now. He looked the woman over, taking in her belligerent stance and fearless gaze. She was like a she-wolf defending her young, prepared to fight for the child she loved.
‘Fear not, Maria,’ he said and smiled at her, amused and somewhat touched by her devotion. ‘You and the child have nothing to fear from us. We came to help you and will go on our way now that the brigands have gone.’
‘Maria is truly sorry,’ the girl said, recalling his attention. He saw that her eyes looked startled, somehow pleading, like a young deer caught in a hunter’s trap in the forest. ‘Please do not desert us, sir. I believe we have some leagues to travel as yet and, as you saw, we are not able to protect ourselves.’
‘You were foolish to travel with such a small escort, child.’
She raised her head then and he saw a flash of pride in her eyes. ‘I am not a child, but the Lady Katherine of Grunwald—and I had no choice. My father was killed by brigands only days ago and most of his men with him. Maria and I escaped because we had stopped to buy food from a village.’ She caught back a sob and he saw that she was fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. ‘These men are all that remain of my father’s people.’
Alain looked about him. The men were old and of little use in a fight. He frowned as he saw the pleading look in her eyes and realised that she was in a perilous situation. The brigands he and his men had driven off were not the only ones she would meet with on this lonely road. He could not abandon her to her fate.
‘I am sorry for your loss, lady. You are returning to your home. May I ask where you live?’
‘In France, sir—at least, that is the home of my uncle, Baron Grunwald. My father bid me go to him if anything should happen to him.’ She struggled to hold back a sob and failed. ‘My poor father was a scholar, sir. We have been on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land these past seven years, for he wished to see the place of our Lord’s birth, but he did not realise how hard the journey would be.’
‘He was unwise to bring a young girl on such a journey,’ Alain said and saw her frown at the criticism. ‘But I cannot know his reasons. It may be that he had no choice.’
Katherine looked into his eyes. ‘My mother died just before we left home, sir. Since then my father has relied on me for many things—and I am seven and ten years. Not so very young, I think?’
Alain’s good-humoured smile broke through as he saw that he had touched upon her pride. ‘No, indeed, my lady. I thought you no more than four and ten, and must beg you to forgive me if I have offended.’
Katherine gave him an odd, shy look. ‘No, I am not offended, sir, but my father taught me it is always best to say straight out what you mean.’
‘Your father sounds a good man, my lady. Once again, may I say that I am sorry. You have lost much.’
He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her. She was alone in a country that was not her own, with very little money and no one fit to protect her.
‘Thank you. I miss Father terribly.’
‘Yes, I can understand that.’ Alain looked at her with compassion, understanding that grave, serious look in her eyes. To be alone in the world was a terrible thing for one such as she. He thought wistfully of his own happy childhood at Banewulf. He had chafed at the bonds of love then, but sometimes felt an aching need to see his mother and father again. ‘I have not seen my family for nigh on eight years now, and I sometimes wonder if they have forgot me.’
Her dark eyes dwelled on his face. ‘You have been with King Richard in the Holy Land perhaps?’
‘Yes, that is so,’ Alain confirmed. ‘We had his permission to return home this many months ago and we have delayed in this land of warmth and plenty, but we are now on our way to the coast to find a ship to carry us either to France or, if we are lucky, to England.’
‘We, too, are on our way to Rome in the hope of finding a ship.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘I do not believe I have thanked you for saving my life, sir. Nor do I know your name.’
‘I am Sir Alain de Banewulf—and this is Sir Bryne of Wickham. We are as brothers and our men fight as one, for we have more strength by sheer force of numbers that way.’
Katherine curtsied to him and then to Sir Bryne, her elegant manners belying the poor quality of her gown and accoutrements. She was clearly well-born, but did not look as wealthy as her position as a nobleman’s daughter might suggest.
‘I thank you for your kindness in coming to our aid, good knights—and beg that you will allow us to join your party. I promise that we shall not slow you down, and we have money to pay for your services.’
