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.’
That they had sufficient coin for their journey was evident from the lump forming on the back of Alain’s head. He touched it repentantly, looking at the girl and her dragon of a companion. Despite her promise, Katherine and her fierce guardian would hamper their progress, for they must stop more often so that the women could rest. However, neither he nor Bryne could leave the women to the mercy of brigands. They were sworn by their oaths as knights to protect and honour any ladies they found in distress, and their own honour would allow no other course.
There were many lawless bands roaming the countryside on the journey they must make, both here and when they reached France. Some of them were men who had set out for the crusades with high ideals, burning with religious fervour, only to become disillusioned and bitter amongst the stench of death and disease in the Holy Land. Sickness had claimed the lives of too many, and putrid wounds rendered others helpless cripples for as long as they should live. Those fortunate enough to receive the attention of the Hospitallers, as he himself had been when his arm had been injured by the slash of a sword, oft recovered, but the men who had devoted themselves to such work could not treat everyone. Too many had died of sickness and neglect.
Alain had felt the taste of defeat bitter after King Richard was forced to abandon the struggle for Jerusalem, and he understood why some men might take to the roads rather than return home. He had wealth and position and, if God had been kind, a family to welcome him home, but many had nothing to take back but memories that would haunt their dreams.
At Acre King Richard had offered gold to any man brave enough to take away the stones of the tower beneath a hail of enemy fire. His call had been answered eagerly, and the death toll had mounted rapidly as the reckless and the brave rushed to answer his challenge. Such acts of defiant bravery had won them the city where others had failed, but at a terrible cost in life. Now some of those same men had found an easier way to earn their gold—by robbing unwary travellers. Such was the harshness of the world they lived in, and to abandon this girl to her fate would be a sin.
‘We have no need of payment,’
