A Perfect Knight – Anne Herries

If she refused him, she must return to Poitiers in the spring—and what awaited her there? The Queen would probably arrange another match for her and, if she did not, Alayne’ s father might try again. He would not hesitate to wed her to that brute de Bracey if she ever came within his power again. No, she thought, she was safer here in this house, happier than she had ever been. She had not yet decided, would not decide until they were at court, but she was beginning to think that she would not mind being married to Sir Ralph.

* * * The weather was still frosty when they set out for the castle at which King Henry was holding court that Christmastide, the ground hard beneath the horses’ hooves. It was a party of some thirty-five men and two ladies that set out from Banewulf that morning, a baggage train of packhorses and carts following behind with the servants.

The custom was for men of wealth to transport the comforts of home with them, for there might be no lodging available in the castle and the company might be forced to seek shelter in the town. However, after a journey of several days and nights spent in the guesthouses of a Mornastery or some great abbey, which were better furnished and more welcoming than most inns, they arrived at the castle. Set high upon a mound, it was an imposing edifice of square stone towers with thick walls enclosing the inner bailey.

One of the early fortresses built soon after the conquest, it had few of the refinements of Sir Ralph’s home and Alayne shivered at the sight. Castle Hardacre seemed a forbidding place and she was somehow uneasy as the party rode over the drawbridge and into the roughly cobbled courtyard.

‘This is the home of Berenice’s brother, Baron Foulton of Hardacre,’ Sir Ralph told Alayne as he came himself to help her dismount, his hands lingering momentarily about her slender waist.

Alayne watched the shallow stream as it burbled and chuckled over boulders worn smooth by the passage of time, its waters so clear that she could see the tiny creatures that lived on the sandy bed. Behind her she could hear the laughter and chatter of the courtiers. One of the ladies was playing a lyre; others ran hither and thither screaming with mirth as they indulged in foolish games.

The sun was too warm for playing games, Alayne thought. She sighed as she trailed her fingers in the cool water of the stream. Was she growing weary of the endless pleasures offered at the Court of Love? Poitiers was often so named because of the troubadours, who sang of that fine courtly love of which many dreamed and few truly found. Sometimes Alayne believed that ‘fine’ love was merely a myth; she wearied of all the intrigues and found the life shallow.

And yet where else could she go? There was nowhere else where she could be safe and protected as she was here. A tiny shudder ran through her as she thought of the fate that awaited her if she were to leave the court, and she knew that she would rather waste her days in idle pleasure than be at the mercy of those who wished to control and manipulate her life. Her lovely face was sad as the memories came back to haunt her—the reasons why she had fled her home.

‘Alayne! Alayne, come and join us,’ one of the ladies screamed as she ran by, hotly pursued by a young knight intent on snatching the kisses he had won from her, which she now refused to pay. ‘Save me from this wicked seducer, I beg you.’ Alayne smiled at their foolishness, but shook her head. She was in no mood for joining in their play; besides, she suspected that the lady fully intended to be caught once she had reached a secluded spot within the gardens.

It might be nice to be kissed by a handsome lover, Alayne thought, and sighed —if only she could be as carefree and as happy as that girl! Little though she knew it, her sadness was reflected in her lovely face and noticed by more than one knight present that day, for she was the kind of woman who attracted attention without seeking or wanting it.

There was about her something that drew men to her, like moths to the flame. Her thoughts were far away from the court at that moment, trapped in the recent unhappy past. It was almost a year since she had in desperation sought the protection of Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was a distant kinswoman of her mother’s. Alayne had always admired the Queen.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 888d79114ae038ac
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,203,178 bytes (1.147 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 241
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 448.12 minutes
• Total Words: 89,623
• Total Characters: 473,044
• Average Words per Page: 371.88
• Average Characters per Page: 1962.84

Most Frequent Words

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