Arthur offered her his arm and they retraced their steps.
Soon they had reached the head of Clare’s street, where the tall, wooden houses leaned haphazardly one against the other. Crooked and humble. But home.
‘Ma demoiselle, I should be grateful if you would to inform me should you remember anything else.’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’ Clare smiled, but in truth she had no intention of seeing this man again. All she wanted was freedom to live her life in peace.
‘And if either you or Nicola need help, you mustn’t hesitate to send for me. Leave word at the garrison gate—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘Where did you say you were from?’
Clare’s heart missed a beat. The dark eyes might look kind, but she wasn’t going to admit to being a runaway slave. Men, as she had learned to her cost, reacted badly when they found out. Even the best of them tried to take advantage. And Sir Arthur, as that little exchange with the girl outside the Black Boar had proved, was no better than the rest. This was a man who enjoyed women.
Geoffrey had been different. Geoffrey, God rest him, had never tried to take advantage of her, which was why she had loved him. Geoffrey would have her loyalty till her dying day.
‘I spent many years abroad, sir. I do not rightly know where I was born.’ She gave him another bright smile. ‘It seems likely I am baseborn.’
That dark, unsettling gaze ran over her, lingering in a puzzled way on a wisp of hair winding waywardly out of her hood; studying her eyes, first the grey, then the green.
She gave a light laugh. ‘I certainly felt out of place on the ladies’ stand.’
‘Count Lucien invited you, you had every right to be there.’
His hand slid up her arm and his fingers tightened. A frisson of awareness ran down every nerve. Disturbing. Exciting. And that was beyond strange, since Clare hated men touching her. He gave her the most charming of bows.
‘I, for one, am glad to have met you. Although...’ he paused ‘...your features do seem familiar. I would swear we must have met before.’
‘Likely you saw me at Geoffrey’s funeral.’
‘I didn’t see your eyes and they are familiar...’
Clare shook her head and pulled free. ‘You must be mistaken.’ As she dipped into a swift curtsy, she saw Nell skipping into their lodgings. ‘There’s Nell, sir, I had best be going.’
‘Remember what I said. Send for me if you need assistance.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Send for me if you recall anything Geoffrey might have said.’
‘I won’t forget, sir.’ Twisting away, Clare hurried down the street.
The Captain of the Guardian Knights was altogether too disturbing. He saw too much. And if he thought she’d be leaving messages at the garrison gatehouse, he could think again. She wanted peace and quiet. Attention from the Captain of the Guardian Knights was the last thing she needed.
Chapter Three
The girl, Clare, lingered in Arthur’s mind as he strode back to Troyes Castle. Her image wouldn’t shift from his brain—a small, slight girl with auburn hair and mismatched eyes. Mismatch. Who was she? Why did he feel he was missing some vital connection? Why did he feel that he should be better able to place her?
Arthur found no answer, even though tendrils of auburn hair twined in and out of his thoughts as he went to the stables and called for his squire. That faintly accented, husky voice echoed in his mind. ‘Geoffrey mentioned a cave.’
A cave—there was a chalk cave not far from Troyes...
‘Ivo?’
‘Sir?’
‘Patrol. Saddle up. You’re coming with me.’
‘Yes, sir. Where are we going?’
‘I want to study the lie of the land around that cave to the south.’
‘Shall I fetch your chain mail?
‘I only need my sword, we shan’t be making a show of ourselves. This is unofficial. Sir Raphael took the regular patrol.’
Bright auburn tresses gleamed in the winter sun, invading Arthur’s every thought, as they trotted through the city gates. And not only her hair. Her eyes haunted him every step of the way. It was as though the fields and vineyards of Champagne were lost behind mist, the only reality was those eyes—one green, one grey. Mismatch.
He had seen those eyes before. Where?
No answer came while Arthur scoured the terrain about the cave. He was looking for tracks or burnt-out cooking fires. He found nothing of note but, oddly, his conviction strengthened. He had seen her before.
‘It will come,’ he muttered.
‘Sir?’
‘Ivo, have you noticed how the memory plays tricks? Sometimes when you are trying to recall something, it eludes you. And the moment you give up—’ he snapped his fingers ‘—the answer comes.’ Arthur felt himself flush. He must sound like a madman.
Ivo simply nodded sagely at him. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘It would be best if I put her out of my mind.’
‘Most likely, sir.’
* * *
None the less, Clare’s image had remained with him, accompanying him on the road that ran back to the city and into the stables. It had lingered at the back of his mind as he strode to the hall for his regular meeting with Count Henry. It even remained with him that evening as he pushed through the door of the Black Boar and Gabrielle swayed towards him, all bosom and big eyes.
‘Sir Arthur! What a pleasure to see you.’
Most irritating of all, Clare’s image did not leave him as he wound his arm round Gabrielle’s soft waist and leaned in to kiss her.
Mon Dieu! Why could he not remember?
* * *
The answer came the next day. Unfortunately, it came as Arthur was discussing the redeployment of his men with Count Henry in the solar of Troyes Castle.
The Comte was sitting behind an array of quills and ink-pots. He had been going through his accounts, and scrolls and parchment littered the worktable like autumn leaves. He nudged a stool in Arthur’s direction. ‘Take a seat, Sir Arthur.’
‘My thanks. Mon seigneur, it’s my belief a gang of outlaws are in hiding somewhere beyond the city walls,’ Arthur said, going straight to the point. ‘And with the Twelfth Night Joust behind us, Troyes is as quiet as it gets. We can expand the reach of our patrols—widen our search to the county boundaries.’
Count Henry looked narrowly at him. ‘You’ve heard something?’
Arthur
