Her Knight Protector

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Katherine was shocked at the cold calculation she saw in the other’s eyes. ‘But what of love?’ She echoed the question Sir Alain had asked of her the previous night. ‘Does that mean nothing?’

‘It is a myth,’ Celestine said mockingly. ‘Do not believe those sweet songs the bards sing, Katherine. They are meant to lure the unsuspecting woman into a trap. Men use courtship to gain what they most desire. Once they tire of their pleasure, they care not what becomes of the woman they once professed to love.’

Katherine was silent, though her mind denied Celestine’s words. She knew it was not true. How could it be? Her father had loved her mother until the day he died. Her memory had been as a shrine to him and he had never despoiled it. Perhaps such a love was rare, but it did exist and Katherine knew that she could never be satisfied with anything less.

‘No, no, I shall return to France,’ Celestine said as though making up her mind. She turned her coaxing smile on Katherine. ‘And I hope to persuade you to be my companion, dearest girl. Have you made up your mind?’

‘Not yet,’ Katherine confessed. ‘Whatever happens, I must see my uncle first, Celestine—and then who knows?’ In her heart she knew that she would never want to live with this woman, but it might be best to let her believe otherwise.

Celestine had as yet given her no reason to suspect her of treachery, and yet she could not trust her.

‘Why so pensive?’ Maria asked as she dressed Katherine’s hair that evening. ‘I hope you are not being foolish, my dove?’

‘What do you mean?’ Katherine avoided her faithful nurse’s searching gaze. ‘No, do not tell me. I am in no mood for one of your scolds.’ She had not seen Sir Alain all day and had discovered that she missed him almost more than she could bear.

‘It will end in tears.’ Maria shook her head at her. ‘He thinks you a child. ’Tis the other one he lusts after, mark my words. That one will have them all running after her like panting dogs.’

‘Maria! I will not have you say such things.’ Katherine turned away from her angrily. She did not care to hear Maria’s words, though she knew they were said for her benefit. Had she mistaken the look she’d seen in Sir Alain’s eyes? It had been brief, yet she had thought for one glorious moment that he might care for her—but Maria’s words had made her doubt. Why should he look at her, slight and plain as she was, when he might have another, more beautiful woman if he chose?

Donning her mantle, she left her chamber and walked through the gardens towards the banqueting room. It was such a lovely night and her heart yearned for something—for love.

She smiled and shook her head over her own foolishness. It was the memory of that pagan shrine and the way it had reached out to something inside her, making her feel that she, too, might know the sweetness of love. She must be sensible. She must remember who and what she was, and that love was not for her.

Hearing laughter ahead of her, she stopped as she saw a man and a woman walking towards the house. They had clearly been strolling in the gardens and she realised that it was Celestine and Sir Alain. He had returned from his business and sought out Celestine, not Katherine.

Celestine was smiling up at him, and he was laughing, clearly enjoying her company. They looked so well together, and Sir Alain seemed to find Celestine amusing company.

Katherine turned away, the pain of seeing them in such intimacy striking deep. Maria was right! She would be a fool to hope for anything more than friendship from Sir Alain. To dream of him could only bring her pain.

Was it he Katherine had seen kissing Celestine the previous night in the moonlight? She had thought it someone else, but now she could not be sure. The image of Sir Alain kissing Celestine…making love to her…was too painful to be borne and Katherine dismissed it, forcing a smile to her lips as she went to meet them.

She had no right to expect anything. No right to be jealous of the intimacy between Sir Alain and Celestine.

‘Ah, there you are, dearest child,’ Celestine said and gave Katherine a false smile. ‘We were just talking about you. This sweet, foolish man was worried about your safety, but I told him you would find your way to supper without his help—and now you see that I am right, Alain.’

‘Marcus has posted guards to prevent another unpleasant occurrence,’ Alain told Katherine. He looked at her gravely and her heart sank. Was she merely a burden, a duty to him? ‘But I would have come for you had you waited a little, lady.’

Katherine’s head was held high, pride in every line of her body. ‘I am perfectly able to find my way to supper alone, sir,’ she said. ‘Nor would I want to deprive you of your pleasure.’

She walked past them and into the house, the sound of Celestine’s tinkling laughter following her. She was a jealous child, Katherine admitted to herself as she fought for composure. It was a fault in her and something she must conquer. Yet she could not deny that she felt resentment against Celestine for taking so lightly something that Katherine desired too much. Yes, she was jealous. Why else would she let herself be so affected by the sight of Sir Alain and Celestine together?

Tears pricked behind her eyes, but she fought them back. She was not going to cry, no matter how much it hurt!

Alain stood looking out at the moonlight. It was a glorious night, too beautiful to be alone. He did not know why he could not sleep, yet his thoughts had kept him restless. It was a night for lovers. He would not see many of its like once he returned to England. Yet he had chosen to keep his own company.

It would be pleasant to walk for a while. At least then he might settle himself, put his mind at rest. Something had been bothering him for the past few days. Something to do with Celestine, with the sly look he had caught in her eyes at times—or was it Katherine who bothered him? The two seemed bound together in his mind, both part of the puzzle that plagued him.

Celestine was undoubtedly beautiful, a woman that any man might crave in his bed, and, for a short time, he had felt desire for her—but there was something about Katherine that made him want to protect her. She was vulnerable, in need of his help, and sometimes when he looked into her eyes, a strange desire to sweep her up and ride off with her, to protect her all his life, came into his mind. It was foolish, for she was not at all the kind of lady he had thought to make his bride.

He walked as far as the end of the garden, gazing down at the city below, which was for the most part in darkness. The moon had been obscured by clouds and for a moment the sky was almost pitch-black. But he could hear voices—a man and a woman arguing. The man sounded angry and impatient.

‘You make little progress, my lady. My patience grows thin. If she gets clear to England…’

‘I have done what I could. Your men had their chance. You should blame them, not me. I did my part in the affair.’

‘Have you seen nothing of it? She does not confide in you?’

‘I am trying to win her trust. These things take time, sir. You are too impatient.’

‘If I thought that you had betrayed me…’

‘You would kill me?’ Celestine’s laughter was soft and mocking. She was clearly unafraid of his threats. ‘Where would that get you, my friend? Without me she will cling more closely to our gallant protector—and I do not think you have the courage to challenge him.’

‘Damn you!’ There was a growl of anger, swiftly followed by a curse. ‘I swear I’ll kill you one of these days, Celestine.’

‘But you love me—you love what I do to you, my sweet, don’t you? I can make you purr like a kitten if I choose, do not forget that. I think you protest too much. Was it not I who—?’

Her words were cut off abruptly and the sounds became more intimate. Alain had no doubt of what was happening somewhere in the darkness. Celestine knew this man well, that much was certain. She had met him here by appointment rather than chance.

He frowned as he turned and walked back towards the house. Just what had he overheard? Was Celestine plotting with someone to steal Katherine’s treasure? And, if so, who was that person? Ravenshurst—or another?

Alain had heard enough to put him on his guard, though not enough to give him proof of the suspicions he had been harbouring since Celestine joined them.

It was true that she was one of the loveliest women he had ever seen. Her smile had taken his breath away, making him desire her, but almost at once he had begun to wonder what lay behind the mask. Her story did not ring quite true and he had seen a look in her eyes at times that had put him on his guard. And now he was sure that his instincts had been right. She was no friend to Katherine, for all her pretence.

Yet he could not be certain of what he had heard. Those few whispered words might mean anything. It was of a surety that the Lady Celestine must be watched, and closely. And he must be very careful. If he showed too much kindness towards Katherine, Celestine would be on her guard and he believed she had a clever, devious mind. His only chance of discovering what she plotted was to flatter her, make her believe that he was charmed by her—and that meant she must not suspect his true feelings for a moment.

‘Did I not tell you that the lady would cause us trouble?’ Bryne said the next morning when they were visiting their warehouse to inspect a new cargo of silks and spices that would be worth a small fortune once it was transported to England or France. Alain had told him of what he’d overheard the previous night and of his half-formed suspicions. ‘If Hubert of Ravenshurst is involved in this, he will stop at nothing to get what he wants.’

‘You think he will pursue her even to England?’

‘I think it likely.’ Bryne frowned. ‘Do you believe in this story of the Holy Grail? Stories of its whereabouts abound, Alain. Legend has it that it was brought to England long ago, and Arthur’s knights searched for it in vain. Yet now it seems it was in the Holy Land all this time. How can anyone be sure where it has been all these years?’

‘That is the problem. To prove it is the precious cup is a task that may take a man his lifetime…’

‘A man would have to be very certain to follow such a cause, Alain.’

‘Katherine hath not named the treasure she carries, but it is the one item that men have searched for ceaselessly—think of it, Bryne. The cup that our Lord drank from on that last night. Think of the satisfaction there would be in giving that to Christendom.’

‘One of the most holy relics imaginable,’ Bryne said and frowned. ‘If Ravenshurst believes she has it— I think him capable of any crime to obtain it. Have you thought what it would be worth? There are those who would pay a king’s ransom to have it in their possession.’

‘Ten times as much as many kings could pay, I dare swear,’ Alain agreed. ‘But Katherine believes it should be given freely to the church and I agree with her. It should not belong to one person, but to the whole of Christendom.’

‘Indeed, I agree,’ Bryne said, looking thoughtful. ‘Yet men go to war for far less. I dare not think what trouble such a relic could cause, for if it were given to one church others would claim it as their right.’

‘I think Katherine wanted to give it to the Pope had he been in Rome.’

‘She will give it to no other but his Holiness?’

‘She says not,’ Alain replied with a frown. ‘She is determined to take it with her, perhaps to ask her uncle’s advice. Which means it will probably go to King Philip of France… He is a good Christian knight—but think you he is a proper guardian for such a treasure?’

‘She hath the right to do as she pleases if her father discovered it.’ Bryne’s gaze narrowed in thought. ‘Do you believe it to be genuine and not one of the relics that anyone may buy on the streets of Palestine and Rome?’

‘I do not know for certain that it is the cup Christ used at the Last Supper. It might be something of less importance—but I may know more of its provenance when I have read Baron Grunwald’s writings.’

‘You have not finished your study of them?’

‘Hardly begun. The lettering is small and not easy to decipher, and indeed some of it is in code. I dare say Katherine’s father wished to protect his discovery.’

‘It is a dangerous burden she carries, Alain. You realise what this means, of course?’

‘It means that I must stay by her side until the treasure is no longer in her possession. To desert her would almost certainly mean her death. Whoever was with Celestine last night was determined to have it, no matter the cost.’

‘Have you told Katherine that?’

‘No, for she would likely deny me the right to protect her. The lady is more spirited than most.’ Alain smiled at his own thoughts. In appearance Katherine seemed little more than a child, but as he came to know her he saw that she was brave and true, and had a fierce pride.

Bryne chuckled. ‘And her guardian a veritable dragon. I think Maria trusts no one, including me. Yet even so she and Katherine are no match for the like of Ravenshurst—and if he knows of the treasure then others soon will, for he indulges too often in his wine and in his cups runs loose at the mouth. It is a pity that this treasure, whatever it may be, was not left where it had lain since that time.’

‘Yet think of the good it might do in the right hands.’ Alain’s eyes lit with fervour. The Holy Grail was a prize beyond price, something that any true Christian must venerate. ‘Think of it, Bryne—the cup that Christ used just before his death.’

‘That is true,’ Bryne agreed with a frown. ‘The pilgrims would travel far to pray at such a shrine—but where does it belong, my friend? Who hath the most right to own it? Methinks it is too valuable for any man to possess. It would be a burden rather than a blessing.’

‘Yes, for some.’ Alain nodded. He could see Bryne’s point of view, though for him it was a find of such wonder that he could only marvel at it. ‘Always supposing that it is the cup men have sought since the crucifixion.’

‘Sometimes rumour is enough. A story of tears from a statue will bring the desperate flocking in their droves to pray—think what this cup would do,’ Bryne replied. He smiled crookedly at his companion, but there was a look of determination in his eyes. ‘Methinks we may rue the day we met with the Lady Katherine—yet, I am of your own mind, Alain. We must stay with her until the treasure has been placed in safer hands.’

‘I had thought you wanted to spend some time in England?’ Alain raised his brows.

‘It was my intention and remains so—but my own concerns may wait until this matter is ended. I would have no harm come to Lady Katherine by my neglect. I respect her too much to have her fall prey to that rogue. Ravenshurst shall not lay hands on her while I breathe, though I would beg you to keep all I have said in confidence. Speak nothing of this to anyone, including Katherine. I believe she finds my company pleasant and perhaps feels some warmth towards me—indeed, I have hope for the future—but it is too soon to speak of more.’

Alain said nothing, merely nodding his head in agreement. Bryne had been disappointed in love as a young man—he must truly care for Katherine if he was now thinking of taking a wife.

‘It is agreed then,’ he said and smiled at his companion. If it was in Bryne’s mind to marry the lady, he would not stand in his way. Yes, he, too, cared for Katherine, but he was not yet certain of his feelings. His need to protect and care for her ran deep, but he did not know if it was what men called love or merely friendship. If she loved Bryne and he her, then Alain must accept it, even if it caused him some pain. ‘Our duty is to the ladies. We shall protect them against Ravenshurst or others of his ilk.’

Chapter Four

K atherine did not know what had brought her back to the shrine of the pagan goddess, except that it had seemed such a peaceful place that first evening. That morning the sun was shining and the garden was filled with the scent of blossoms and the sound of birdsong. She stood for a moment looking out over the sea, and then, turning, found her way to the sacred grove.

A sense of peace fell over her almost at once, and for some reason that she could not fathom she found herself laying a perfect rosebud at the foot of the pile of stones. It was the kind of offering that Marcus Aurelius had said the goddess liked best.