CODE OF HONOUR

AUTHOR:Allegra

DISCLAIMER: I acknowledge that Gil Grant Productions, ITV & any other US distributors own the rights to Covington Cross and all its characters. I am making no profit from this so don't sue me!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Usually I have loads of notes & escape clauses so I can turn around & completely disassociate myself from the whole story. However, I am going to be brave this time & just leave myself open to criticism. I hope you like it!! Please, please give me feedback though!

The summer of 1360 was the hottest England had seen in many years, and Covington Cross was no exception. The heat rained down upon the castle, rippling the air like undulating waves of water, as gnats circled the fields, swarming around the water wells. It was unusual for the warm weather to hold out for as long as this, since the activities of September were already beginning; the farmers were bringing in the crops and the shortage of water was gradually beginning to infringe on the otherwise pleasant period of sun.

Sir Thomas Grey had taken it on himself to organize the rationing of the water supply from the springs in order to ensure there was no drought. All too often such matters had been neglected until they were too serious to warrant anything but the most extreme measures. This time, he was determined not to be caught unawares, much to the annoyance of the villagers. However, Thomas had an ulterior motive behind his actions; he was expecting some guests to the castle and he wished to make a good impression. In showing good management of his property, he would prove himself nothing less than the man his old friends knew him to be.

Thomas knew his insecurities were unprompted by any comment in particular, but he had settled down to a life of a lord more quickly than his warring friends. They had chosen to enjoy a few more years in the service of their country before marrying and adopting a more leisurely life of domestic comforts. Five years made little difference in the grander scheme of things, but Sir Thomas could not help but feel a little inadequate alongside such men. Their decision to remain a part of the Crusades for those years left the Lord of Covington Cross with an unpleasant feeling of cowardice. It was in his best interests, therefore, to show himself a good landowner, with nothing to be ashamed of. He had four fine sons and a beautiful daughter, despite her more masculine hobbies; Armus was fighting in the Crusades, continuing in the tradition of the first son, and fulfilling an admirable role as both knight and future heir to Thomas's estate.

Riding back from the spring's source outside the village, Sir Thomas savoured the sweet smell of burning cornfields mingled with the sweet scent of verdant grass and the last blossoms on the ornamental cherry trees. This was his favourite season, when everything was changing, bringing to mind all the memories of summers long past and the prospect of good business for the coming year. Thomas harked back to the image of Anne sitting beneath the furthest cherry tree, blossom drifting into the soft ringlets of her hair, settling on her gown as she fondled the hair of the newborn Cedric lying in her lap. Richard and William were duelling with some broken twigs from the ground, tumbling in the grass. Eleanor was being watched by the nearby nurse, and the sound of laughter reached Thomas's ears.

The scene was so peaceful, but he lamented how quickly it began to fade in his mind. There had been a time when Thomas could have recalled the details of his conversation with Anne as he lay beside her, staring up at the canopy of green leaves, feel the touch of her slender fingers in his dark hair. Rudely, fondness departed and was replaced with the melancholy reminders of how quickly time passes, his hair now greying, Anne's grave gathering creeping moss which mocked the cold stone countenance carved beneath it. Her death had been a cruel blow to the family, Thomas had never thought she would die before him. He had, occasionally, imagined his own death, the mourners, his children's futures as heirs, even the sort of man Anne might marry.

Thomas was pulled from his reverie by the sound of an approaching horse, the familiar noises of metal against leather and the laboured breathing of the steed. Turning in the saddle, Thomas watched his third son, William, rein in beside him. William had grown into an attractive young man, leaving behind the gangly and awkward frame of a fifteen year old to blossom into a well-built young man. His eyes were like his mother's, deep blue with the capacity to reflect his every mood. He swiped at a stray frond of chestnut hair which blew rogue-like across his face. "Father. The guests will be arriving soon. Richard saw them approaching on the northern track, he reckons we have half an hour on them."

Thomas nudged his horse into a gentle amble, and his son followed suit. "Where are Eleanor and Cedric?"

"Cedric is studying and Eleanor is in her chambers."

Thomas could not disguise his surprise that his youngest two should be occupying their time as they were supposed to. Eleanor rarely acted the part of a dutiful daughter and it was even rarer for her to be confined to her rooms unless she was taken ill. As for Cedric, Anne's wishes for him to become a cleric had been repeatedly hindered by his unwillingness to apply himself, constantly pestering Thomas for the opportunity to train as a knight. "What of Richard? I suppose all this took place on his return from one of his many tavern trips."

William laughed lightly, "For once, my brother has managed to muster a little originality. He says he was returning from town where he had gone to visit a merchant on the rumour of some deal on the crops."

Thomas looked at William, expecting to detect some glimmer of a smile which was so telling of Richard's genuine activities, but he was met by a sombre expression. "I imagine the only originality here is the novel excuse for his absence."

William was silent, never one to defend his brother, but not one to confirm his bad behaviour either. Thomas gave him a final warning stare before spurring his horse on to the castle.

In the main hall, Thomas found all his children assembled, an unusual scene, but a pleasant one. He could not tell if Richard was drunk or not, since he was slumped in a large oak chair with one leg draped over its ornate arm and the curls of his hair obscuring his father's view of his face. It looked suspiciously as if he were sleeping, and Thomas stepped forward, "Richard!"

His son visibly jumped at the booming voice which was given extra volume in the large room, echoing around the vaulted ceiling. Richard swung his legs round to touch the floor, and stared up at his father with wide eyes, "Hmm? Sorry,yes. I agree."

Cedric let a slight chuckle escape his lips, and he exchanged amused glances with his sister. Thomas settled into a chair beside his second son, from where he could smell the familiar scent of crude mead. "William said Lord Guillame has nearly reached the outskirts of the town."

Richard frowned, and stood up, "Yes. He had an entourage of two carriages, not many."

"Good. I am sure we can accomodate them all with ease." Taking in the expressions of all his children, Thomas added, "I want you to be on your best behaviour during their stay. It is important to me that we make a good impression." He raised is eyebrows, widening his eyes, an action his children had learned to interpret as his most serious tone.

William audaciously offered, "Never fear, father. We will not show you up for the old codger that you really are. I am sure they will be suitably impressed."

Thomas frowned, "Thank you, William. I can always rely on you to provide me with the necessary confidence on occasions like this." Glancing back at Eleanor and Cedric, "No crossbows in the castle, and I want you to show suitable interest in your studies, Cedric. Do I make myself clear?"

Slipping off the long table where he had been sitting, swinging his legs, Cedric headed for the door. "Where are you going?" He turned to his father, "Well, I thought such a good impression ought to begin with releasing the friar from the privy." His green eyes were playful, then he gave a nonchalant flick of his wrist, "Unless, of course, you would rather I helped in the preparations for our guests' arrival."

Thomas gave him a warning glare, "I think you had things in their proper perspective. Attend to it, immediately." Without heeding his father's serious tone, Cedric sauntered from the room with just a little too much slowness for Thomas' liking. He could already sense that the coming week was going to be very trying, and, at times like this, he wished for Armus' presence.

Turning back to the rest of his family, Thomas was met with the sight of only Richard, who had returned to the comfort of snoozing, while the other two were nowhere to be seen. He cursed lightly under his breath, then barked again at Richard, who was out of the chair before his eyes were even fully open. Standing to attention in front of his father, Thomas eyed him suspiciously; he took in the constricted pupils, the dishevelled garb and unkempt hair. He sighed audibly, "Unless this merchant your brother speaks of conducts his business in the brewery, I think we can safely assume you have been entertaining yourself in the taverns. However, I must concede some points for originality of excuse."

Richard pulled himself up straight, defiantly, prepared to defend himself against any further accusations, no matter how true they might be. Thomas could not help the wry smile which began to spread across his face, "Go and clean yourself up. I want to see you back down here by the time Lord Guillame arrives looking both sober and presentable." His voice showed that this was not an order to be overlooked as his children were so wont to do.

Aware of how prone his father was to anger under stressful conditions such as these, Richard wisely chose not to rial Thomas further. He simply cast a furtive glance from his green eyes and marched from the room, narrowly missing knocking a chair over in the mild drunken state.

Lord Guillame peered out of the carriage at the castle looming over the horizon. It was more stately than he had imagined, but he knew Sir Thomas Grey always maintained good control. He had been a formidable commander during battle, and had been the envy of many a fellow. The flag was switching lightly in the breeze, revealing the Grey coat-of-arms. Breathing in the fresh air after too many hours cooped up in this moving box of stale body odour and uncomfortable seating, he turned back to his daughter. "Look, my dear, we have nearly reached our destination."

She craned her slender neck through the window, smiling at the south prospect of the castle. "Oh, it is beautiful. Much grander than I had expected. I do hope we shall have a pleasant stay here."

She sat back in the faded velvet seat, and her father offered her a reassuring smile. "Never fear, my dear. Sir Thomas is a generous man with a good heart. I am certain that his benevolence will have been handed down to his children."

"Did you say he had a daughter? I should so like to become better acquainted with her."

Sir Guillame gave a short laugh, "When last I spoke to Thomas I seem to remember that Eleanor was proving herself quite a handful, one of his more 'feisty' offspring, I think he said."

His daughter slumped back in her seat, biting her lip. Her eyes were alert and bright, full of excitement and apprehension at this new meeting. Her father knew how often she had craved for a sister, and it had pained him to see how she longed for female company. Her mother had been little help, aware only of social standing and doting on her sons, those who could be productive in society, give her increased wealth and reknown. Sir Guillame hoped, for his daughter's sake, that Eleanor would prove a good friend, as he was unsure of how his relationship with Thomas had fared over the years apart. Once they had been the best of friends, inseparable in the taverns and on the battlefield, always watching out for one another. Perhaps a union between the houses would put unnecessary strain on their friendship, but a bond between their two daughters might be all it would take to bring the houses of Grey and Guillame together.

Cedric wandered slowly around the gallery, glancing out of the window to see the carriages arriving. He was never comfortable greeting guests, always feeling inadequate alongside his brothers when they were introduced. Two knights and, oh yes, my fourth son, a cleric; it was at times like that that he felt the strongest kin with Eleanor. However, even she had a foothold over him due to her stunning figure and looks; men, young and old, looked at her with admiration and even relished her fiery temper. Putting his ill feelings aside, Cedric caught sight of his brothers in the courtyard and felt it his duty to put in an appearance, especially after everything his father had said.

Down in the main courtyard, the carriages pulled to a halt, the horses immediately tended to, and Sir Thomas emerged from the castle with his best house garb on. He approached the first carriage with a warm smile. "Gareth!"

Sir Guillame stepped out and greeted his old friend heartily, "Thomas! It is so good to see you once again." Pulling away from his firm embrace, he looked Thomas up and down, "How well you look."

Thomas's smile was broad and welcoming, "And you, and you." They held each other's gaze for a moment, then Jared turned to the four children standing behind their father. "These must be your illustrious sons. My, how they have grown,and..." Tracing his eyes to the red-headed beauty, "this must be Eleanor."

He reached for her hand and kissed it lightly. "How could anyone have forseen what a beauty she would have become." He turned back to Thomas, "You have raised some fine heirs, Thomas. I can only imagine the joy Anne must feel looking down on them this day."

The casual reference to their mother gave them all a shock, her memory had been preserved in such a way that they never thought of her as still a part of their lives. The idea that she had witnessed their development over the years since her death was somehow unsettling, but, in mentioning her fondly, Sir Guillame had unconsciously endeared himself to his hosts immediately.

A delicate cough brought Gareth's attention back to his own family. Grasping his daughter by the arm, he pulled her gently forward, "Ah, let me introduce my daughter, Rosaline. She has just returned from two years abroad with her aunt, in the centre of Paris no less."

Richard immediately detected the bristling of his brothers as they all pulled themselves to their full knightly heights in order to impress the beautiful young lady. Even Eleanor could not deny that she was, indeed, a striking girl. Her jet black hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves and her wide brown eyes were a mixture of coyness and discomfort coupled with the desire to take in every detail of the people before her. Her curtsey was no more than a slight bob, but it was the most humble Richard could ever recall seeing.

There was little time for further acquaintance as a scuffle and the slamming of the other carriage door signalled the arrival of Sir Guillame's son. "And here is my son, Frederick, also a knight of the King's realm."

The boys were less enthusiastic with the arrival of another rival in competition, if not in love, even Eleanor showed little interest in him of that nature. They all showed him the courtesy expected of them, and Thomas immediately dispatched the servants to bring his guests' belongings to their appropriate quarters. "Eleanor, perhaps you could show Rosaline where she will sleep. Richard, you will show Frederickw while I escort Sir Guillame."

Eleanor was strangely interested to get to know Rosaline better, despite her usual feelings of disgust at having to spend her time with such a 'girl'.

As they mounted the main staircase, she could not help but notice the eagerness in Rosaline's voice in response to everything that she said. "Do you have only one brother?" she enquired.

"Oh, no. I have another, Michel, from my father's first marriage. He is a great deal older than Frederick and I, though. I am glad for it, I do not much care for more male company. I always wished I had a sister."

Eleanor raised her eyebrows, the idea was an alien one to someone like herself, "Oh."

Detecting the note of surprise, Rosaline queried, "Didn't you? Having four brothers must be very lonely."

They passed down the main passage of the west wing, towards the guest bedrooms, "No. I could not bear to have a sister who idly wastes time with needlepoint or London fashion. I prefer the company of the outside air, the freedom of hunting; I have been discouraged from such activities, but they are my passion, no doubt influenced by having no mother or sisters. It would be strange to imagine it any different."

Rosaline made a quiet noise of disappointment, before Eleanor swung open the heavy oak door into the bed chambers. "Here. I am afraid it is a little draughty, the fires have not yet warmed the stone adequately. Feel at liberty to call for more blankets if need be."

Rosaline wandered around the airy room, taking in every detail of the plush tapestries and large fireplace. The large windows allowed light to infiltrates every shadowy corner of the room, and the pale fabric of the bed covers and curtains added to this sense of freshness. "Thank you, this is perfect." She sprang lightly onto the bed, which was another tiny glimpse of the true person beneath the ladylike demeanour. Rosaline clearly had a lively spirit, and the passion in her eyes told Eleanor that she was ready to be initiated into any adventure she might choose. "I do hope we will be friends, Eleanor."

Eleanor sat down beside her on the bed, "I am sure we will. I have a good feeling already." She nudged the girl lightly with her shoulder, and lay back against the covers, inhaling the slightly dusty smell of fabric long in storage. "I hope I will be able to show you some of the more interesting sides of being the only daughter."

She looked intently at Rosaline's face, prepared to detect any sign of apprehension or distaste, but there was none. Eleanor was met with an expression of sincere interest and excitement. "Oh, I should like that very much. You have no idea how stuffy Paris was, full of extravagent gentlemen puffed up in pale pink, out to impress any young girl of good lineage."

"Why did you never tell your father of your unhappiness?"

Rosaline glanced down at the lace sleeve of her corset which she was fingering lightly, "I could never be so bold. I find small pleasures which are acceptable to my family. I ride alone occasionally at night, only if the stableboy is sleeping. Then, I steal my horse and ride out across the fields, and I imagine what it must be like to live out your life like that - what it would be to be a knight. They have no boundaries, nothing but adventure and the prospect of fortune ahead of them."

Eleanor sat up, watching this slip of a girl, full of unfulfilled passions and desires, and she felt sorry for her. It made her realize how much freedom she enjoyed and how lenient her father had been, despite his warnings and her goadings.

That evening at dinner, William and Richard fought silently over Rosaline, despite Eleanor's jibes and exasperated attempts to save her new friend. However, she could not help noticing how she watched Richard whenever he looked away from her. As soon as his gaze returned to her, she dropped her lids, raven lashes feathering her pale skin. Conversation was light, and Rosaline spoke little, while Frederick monopolised most conversations. Whether the men spoke of crop yields, the Crusades, tournaments, politics, food, Frederick was sure to have an opinion or an experience worht infinitely more than anyone else's. It grew tiresome, and even Sir Guillame seemed somewhat embarassed by his son's boasting behaviour when set against the unusually gentlemanly behaviour of Thomas's sons. He was frequently seen to direct the conversation away from Frederick's current mode of conversation but was always met with the same problem.

Thomas admired his friend's tact, and when everyone was retiring, he offered Gareth a drink with him in his private quarters. There, they talked freely until daylight crept across the horizon, when they, too, retired to bed, weary but content. Thomas was particularly relieved to find Gareth unchanged by so many years away and in the front line of fighting action. In fact, their friendship seemed to have mellowed now that both were settled in life with families and livelihoods of their own.

Two days passed, Cedric and William were dispatched to London to deal with some business, while Thomas felt it would be more productive for Richard to get to know Sir Guillame better. He was a useful person to know and a man likely to favour those he knows. Eleanor had spent most of her time with Rosaline which surprised her father but also herself. She had imagined that she would tire of the girl, but her tenacity to anything Eleanor introduced her to, had proven her to be a wonderful companion. Eleanor had already taught her the basics about the crossbow and riding astride a horse, something which Rosaline giggled about for a considerable length of time before she was able to stay in the saddle.

Now, they were lying in one of the unharvested fields, discussing their lives to that point. Eleanor had been forthcoming about her life, entertaining Rosaline with various little episodes, and the free laughter of her friend was encouraging. However, as soon as she broached the subject of Rosaline's childhood, the girl visibly recoiled. She spoke at length about her early childhood, but more recent years sounded strained and abridged, as if she were trying hard to omit anything pertaining to some large part of her life. Eleanor was sensitive not to force her, but Rosaline's repeated side-stepping only intrigued her further.

Taking comfort in the knowledge that Sir Guillame would be staying at Covington Cross for some time, Eleanor changed the subject to something more lighthearted. "I noticed you seem to have a soft spot for my brother, Richard."

Rosaline blushed as much as her pale complexion would allow, but when she saw the playful gleam in Eleanor's eyes, she opened up. "He is very handsome, Eleanor. Even his sister must perceive that."

Eleanor shrugged, but never looked away, determined to get more out of Rosaline. "So?"

"So..." Rosaline eyed her, suspiciously, "I don't want to find that you two are conspiring against me, as a stranger in your house. I know how easy a target I am." She glanced around the field, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone watching them.

Eleanor nudged her, "I promise it is nothing of the kind, I believe Richard is showing your brother the property. Don't keep me in suspense, have you spoken to him?"

"No. I have no intentions concerning your brother, no matter how becoming he might be."

Eleanor looked a little taken aback, "Why not? I think you might make an attractive couple."

Rosaline allowed a small smile to play across her lips, but she restrained it. "I imagine Richard is not the sort of man to be true to one woman." Raising her eyes to sky as if imagining an exact picture, "I imagine he has a girl in every town he has rested in, and several in each tavern he frequents. No matter how his looks may please the eye, or how chivalric his behaviour to me, I will not be another wench to add to his list of conquests. I am sorry, Eleanor. Don't take offense, I mean it kindly!"

"You may be right on some accounts, but I can assure you that Richard does have loyalty amongst his good traits. He has been known to be tripped up by love, and has paid dearly for it. In fact, his luck with women is limited to say the least. You might be just what he needs, and what might bring our families closer together. Besides, marriages always have the most delectable food!"

At the word 'marriage', Rosaline's face took on a strangely hooded expression, her eyes suddenly inpenetrable and black. Eleanor thought of changing the subject again, but her curiosity stopped her, "Rosaline? What is it?"

It was clearly a physical strain for the girl to pull herself together enough to reply, "It is nothing, dear Eleanor." Her smile was feeble and did not light up her eyes as it was so wont to do. "I am just a little tired all of a sudden, it may be the heat. Perhaps we should move to a shadier spot."

Without waiting for her friend, she quickly pulled herself to her feet and began to march hurriedly across the field. Eleanor squinted against the glaring sun, then ran after her.

Richard strolled under the trees of the orchard, allowing the late blossom to gather on his boots in the dew which still lay undisturbed in the shadows. He had spent a thoroughly unpleasant morning in the company of Frederick, trying not to rise to the bait of his bragging. It had been a difficult task which had expended nearly all his concentration in not snapping the boy's neck. Frederick was the kind of person who never discovered anything about other people because he was forever caught up in his own glories.

Richard was relieved, at least, that he could not be labelled quite that selfish, despite occasional bouts of self-absorption. Now that the exploration of the castle grounds was conducted, Richard was glad to be free from the idiot. Frederick had declared that they should take a ride, no doubt in order regale Richard with more stories of his glory days. Fortunately, the chance for escape did not elude him, so Richard made mention of some monument many avoided for fear of the witches who lay in wait there. The plan had the desired effect, Frederick decided they should depart immediately, but Richard showed adequate fear, which only buoyed the runt further and he left alone. It was Richard's plan to avoid any further encounters with Frederick until after supper, he just had to remain at a discreet distance. He reached the gate leading from the orchard to the fields, and decided a long walk would do him good.

He had not been walking long before he heard the familiar tinkle of female laughter, namely his sister's. Where she was, Rosaline was bound to follow, so he leisurely ambled towards the voices, trying to show himself the carefree knight, lord of the land. However, a rabbit hole soon put paid to that idea, and the girls' subsequent laughter at his expense brought Richard back to earth with a resounding thud. Eleanor rolled her eyes, "Stealth is my brother's middle name."

Rosaline restrained from laughing in the company of her host, "Are you all right, Richard?"

Limping towards them in as dignified a manner as possible, Richard settled beside them. "I am very well, thank you, Lady Rosaline." Turning his charming gaze into a somewhat distasteful sneer, he glanced at Eleanor, "Sister."

Eleanor pulled a face, then stood up, brushing off the loose grass and moss which clung to her clothes. "Well, if it is not too much trouble, Richard, could you escort Rosaline back to the castle? I have to oversee the shoeing of Buxton." Casting an encouraging smile at Rosaline, Eleanor skipped off through the trees before any protest could be made.

Richard's smile was almost wolfish when his green eyes tracked back to the ebony beauty at his side. The dark green dress she wore was close fitting, with delicate gold embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. The rich emerald colour highlighted Rosaline's pale, unblemished skin, which seemed to glow from within. She fidgeted with a dandelion stem, but Richard made no move to leave. "Perhaps we should return. Father might be wondering where I have disappeared to."

Richard watched her with interest. It was the first time he had seen her from so close, and it was only now that he realized what a rare beauty she really was. "He might." His mouth curled into a warm smile, and he placed one hand against her cheek, bringing her eyes into line with his. His skin looked strangely tanned against hers, but he could feel the nervous tension in her body, the tiny muscles of her face contracting under his touch. "I wonder that he could disapprove if he knew you were being escorted by me."

Rosaline flinched away from him, and Richard dropped his hand. He knew she was shy, but he never imagined she would be discouraging when faced with his advances. "Rosaline, in all honesty, I must confess my fascination with you."

The girl turned her face from his as he ducked his head to catch her gaze. Her slender neck, showing the gentle line of taut muscle, was even more inviting to touch than her cheek. Richard mustered all his will to not compromise her like this, but pulled himself up. "I am sorry, I have acted too boldly. Accept my apologies, I will escort you back to the castle." He offered her his hand, which Rosaline looked at for a long moment, contemplating whether to take it.

Allowing his strong, slender fingers to wrap around her own, she stood up. Richard's hand lingered on hers, running smooth circles over the back of her hand; he relished the velvety texture beneath his own, coarser skin. Rosaline made no move to relinquish her grip, but settled her hand more comfortably in his. She said nothing, made no expression of further encouragement or even met Richard's eyes. He was unaccustomed to such behaviour, these mixed signs, and Richard couldn't help but feel that she was trying to overcome some internal struggle between conflicting feelings.

He made no attempt at conversation, the touching of their hands was words enough, and each twitch or tightening of Rosaline's grip sent rippling sensations through Richard's stomach. He could not remember the last time he had felt emotions like this, but he rarely equated them with true love, just a heightened form of lust. He found himself imagining what Rosaline might look like disrobed, the feel of her body against his. Catching a furtive look from her large, brown eyes, Richard felt the heat rush to his face, as if she could read his mind. However, the casual fashion in which she returned her attentions to the landscape around them, reassured him that this was not the case. In this way, they returned to the castle, and, as soon as they found Sir Guillame, Richard made his excuses and disappeared into his own quarters.

Once alone, Richard sank back into an easy chair beside the fire, stretching one leg out in front of him. From this position he watched the flames flicker and spit up the sooted chimney from beneath the curtain of his curls which had fallen across his eyes. In time, he began to feel the discomfort of the heat which prickled his skin, quickening his heartbeat and forming beads of sweat across his smooth upper lip. Despite the overwhelming heat, Richard could not find the energy to deaden the flames. Instead, he allowed it to engulf him, until his mind could no longer focus on the mental picture of Rosaline which had been etched into his mind. In this uncomfortable position, Richard fell asleep.

About an hour later, there was a soft knock at the door. Richard did not reply, but slept on ignorant to the presence of the figure in his bedroom. Rosaline had stood patiently at the door, aware of the warm glow from candles forming dancing patterns of light on the flagstones. She was sure Richard must be awake, and she did not know why she had come, but something made her feel certain there was no danger in her feelings for this man.

Knocking a little louder, the door pushed open every so slightly, the latch clicking lightly out of its socket. Rosaline glanced down the corridor to see if anyone was coming, but her senses told her everyone was either already in chambers or still entertaining in the hall below. The reassuring chatter of her father's voice reached her in the corridor above, and, with added confidence, Rosaline pushed the door further open and slipped inside. Whispering, she called, "Richard!" There was still no answer, but the bedroom door was open and she could see the bed still made and unrumpled by sleep.

It was as her eyes took in every detail of this man's room, his life and hobbies, Rosaline caught sight of the dark curls which peeped over the back of the high-backed chair. Stepping closer to the dwindling fire, she hesitated before halting directly behind Richard. At first she was unsure if he was awake, but when she whispered his name, he shifted slightly then settled back, one arm dropping from the arm rest, dangling centimetres from the floor. Rosaline turned to leave, fearing discovery in such strange circumstances; besides, even she had to ask herself what she was doing in a man's chambers so late at night.

However, her curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped in front of the chair, where she had a full view of Richard's peaceful form. His blue velvet doublet was alive with golden flecks reflected from the flames slowly dissolving to amber embers in the hearth. His breathing was deep and regular; Rosaline could not resist sitting on the floor beside him, examining the details of his slender fingers which curled ever so slightly, like a child's, across his chest. The other hand trailed to the floor where she had to resist taking it in her own.

It was hard to recall the exact sensation of those same fingers against hers earlier in the day, the feel of the veins which pressed against the skin in the noonday sun. There was something distinctly natural about Richard, the lack of unnecessary adornments such as rings, the unruliness of his hair and the liveliness of his green eyes. It was a refreshing change when placed alongside her brothers, who made a point of displaying as much wealth as they could lay their hands on. They would wear their castles on pendants if it were possible. Richard had a childlike arrogance, an affected poise which was more amusing than intimidating or impressive. His eyelids fluttered gently, clearly in the fit of some dream, and, when he shifted, rubbing one eye, Rosaline panicked. Her heart rose into her mouth and she quickly stood to leave, but Richard settled back to sleep. With one light touch of his hand, she tiptoed back to her own chambers, where she lay back in the bed, her heart beating so fast she was visibly trembling. Perhaps he would be the one, perhaps be would be unaffected by her past. Richard did not seem the sort to be troubled by past histories or crimes. With her thoughts swimming with images of Richard, Rosaline fell asleep.

Two days passed without incident, Richard and Rosaline did not avoid eachother but were assigned various different occupations by their parents. Meal times were never a chance for private discussion and Frederick's monopolisation of the conversations left little room for anything else. Eleanor had, unbeknownst to Rosaline, seen her slip into Richard's rooms; she had not assumed the worst, but now she sense the tension between them. Her brother made no attempts at wooing her, never even so much as looking in her direction, while Rosaline kept her distance. There was an undeniable electricity between the two, catching everyone in its field, except for the self-centred Frederick.

Eleanor swore that she would find out what was going on one way or another, and, after some debate, decided her brother would be the safer bet. He was never very good at lying when it came to girls, despite his pretences otherwise, and Eleanor did not want to unnecessarily upset Rosaline. She watched the two closely over dinner, and, after chatting casually to Frederick and his sister for a while, she followed her brother to bed. After attending to her toilette, Eleanor knocked on Richard's door. His voice was hollow and a little exasperated, and she found him stretched out on the bed, his hands pillowing his head. "Eleanor, what can I do for you?"

Eleanor smiled and perched beside him, "You can begin by explaining your relationship with Rosaline to me. I would hate to think I had missed something."

Richard pursed his lips and glared at her, angrily, then he turned his eyes to the ceiling, "There is nothing between us. Where do you get these ridiculous fancies?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes and pushed Richard over on the bed, lying beside him and resting her head on his protruding elbow. She ran her fingers in and out of the decorative slashes in the doublet, "You are the worst liar, Richard. I know you too well for this childish deception." When he did not respond, she continued, "I know that she is very taken with you."

At this, she felt Richard tense slightly beneath her. "Really?" He relaxed again, "Yes, well, there is no surprise there, but I cannot be expected to act on every whimsical girl who looks my way."

"Of course not, it was foolish of me to think you should have feelings for someone so...so...charming, beautiful, intelligent and kind."

Richard let out a long sigh and Eleanor knew she was close to cracking him, "Come on, Richard. What harm would it do to tell your little sister? Or I shall have to tell father that she was in your chambers last night."

Suddenly, Richard pulled away and sat up, "What? When?"

Eleanor had anticipated many reactions, but this was not one of them. "Well, last night of course."

Richard frowned, "But I..." His voice trailed away.

"But you what?"

He swallowed dryly, "Nothing."

"So what did you talk about, or did you talk at all?" Eleanor's voice was full of excitement at the prospect of matchmaking, but her brother was clearly not amused; in fact, he had gone quite pale. "I was asleep."

He dimly recalled someone touching his hand, but he had imagined it was all part of his vivid dream. Now, he could not be so sure. "How did you know she was here?"

"I saw her enter, so there is no point in denying it. Look, Richard, I am not trying to be antagonistic, but if father hears of this, you will need as many people on your side as possible. I have no idea what Lord Guillame will make of you philandering with his only daughter."

Richard's voice was strident, "I was not philandering. We...we connected."

Eleanor had never heard his infatuations termed quite like that before, "Connected? My, it sounds serious. Could it be that Richard, the big knight, has fallen in love?!"

Richard swung his legs off the bed, "If you are going to make fun of me, then you might as well leave now."

Eleanor had gone to see him with the intention of discovering his feelings, but she was managing to ruin every chance for herself. "I am sorry." She sat up and swung her legs alongside Richard's.

His voice was quiet when he asked, "Does she ever speak of me?"

"No. That is why I came to you. I am a little worried for her actually. She is hiding something, and I can't help but feel that is why she has been holding back with you."

"Me? Why do you think I have anything to do with this?"

"When I mentioned marriage..."

"Marriage!" Richard's eyes were wide with wonder, "Marriage? What did you expect? Pairing us off would give anyone a scare."

Eleanor's brow furrowed, "It was said in jest, it isn't possible that she could misinterpret it. The word made her cage up, it was uncanny."

"And you suspect there is something more to it?"

Eleanor shrugged, uneasy with the serious turn this conversation had taken. "We were talking about things, and she was clearly hiding something, something that had happened to her."

Richard stood up and ran his long fingers through his hair, "Well, if she is, there is little we can do except wait for her to reveal it. I don't imagine her brother shedding much light on the situation, and we could never approach her father."

"Any reasons I can think of would be swept under the carpet by the parents more than anyone else."

"Do you think I should ask her?"

Eleanor was a little amused by her brother's tone of concern. It was rare for him to ever approach her on the subject of girls, convinced she was neither a proper girl nor better equiped to deal with them himself. "No. In time, Rosaline will tell us what we need to know."

Richard's eyes were serious but tired, and Eleanor could already see the dark rings forming beneath them from too many restless nights. Taking her cue, she rose from the bed and turned to leave. Her brother's voice caught her just before she reached the door, "Thank you."

She smiled graciously and returned to her chambers, sparing a glance to Rosaline's door, where candlelight framed the dark doorway.

Catching Rosaline in the corridor one day, as she stared down at the moat from the narrow casement, Richard offered, "Would you care to take a ride in the forest? It seems a shame to be cooped up on such a lovely day."

Her eyes were bright and lively, the sunshine reflected in the large brown orbs. "I should like that very much."

Richard could not prevent a smile spreading at this new found trust, "Good. I will have the horses saddled immediately." He turned to go, then stopped, "Rosaline, I..."

Her face was open and smiling, "Yes?"

Running his hand along the stone wall, Richard shook his head, "Never mind. It is nothing."

Rosaline turned her body to face him full on, and he could not help but notice the gentle curves of her body, accentuated by the clinging silk and muslin of her gown. Today she was wearing a simple white kirtle and bodice, lightly spotted with pale green reeds which flowed across the seams and hem. How Richard longed to touch her, the feel of his hands circling her tiny waist and the gentle tickle of her long hair against his skin. She suddenly seemed aware of his thoughts and her smile faded to something much more solemn, and Richard quickly disappeared down the steps.

Cursing his foolishness, he helped saddle the horses and brought them to the main courtyard. Rosaline emerged moments later, pulling on white kid gloves. Richard held the reins out to her and she mounted as gracefully as her long dress would allow. Following suit, Richard guided the horses towards the track of his favourite ride. They spoke of many things, the weather, Eleanor, the pressures of being a second son, France and Richard's desires to see action in the Holy Land. It was only when they reached a convenient resting place and Richard suggested they stop for a while, that he felt it appropriate to turn the conversation closer to home. They sat on a fallen tree log, and Rosaline sighed contentedly as she watched the rolling clouds race across the sky in the breeze which had quickened since their departure from the castle. Richard watched her every move before venturing a question, "Have you no sisters by marriage?"

Rosaline's face froze for a moment before composing herself, "No. That is to say, I never see her. My eldest brother is married, her name is Helene of Dijon, we have met only once for the occasion of the wedding."

Richard nodded, his green eyes searching her brown ones for some sign of encouragement, but she was unmoveable. "I am surprised a girl of your beauty and status has not found herself a husband."

At this, Rosaline turned angrily to face him, "Not every girl desires to be a token on the arm of some aged knight with no more gentility than the fortune he has inherited."

Richard quickly added, "That was not what I meant."

However, Rosaline was not prepared to back down, "I am sure that is hard for a man to understand, but I have no desire to marry. There is more to life than base pleasures."

Richard was shocked at the spite which issued with every word, "I can assure you that there is more to love than base pleasure. Some pleasures are beyond the physical, to a spiritual plane. Love is a rare thing, but once found, it cannot be avoided, only pined for."

Her face was turned from his, but when she returned her gaze to him, Richard was surprised to find Rosaline's eyes empty of anger and replaced with tears. They welled up, glazing her eyes and giving them an ethereal beauty. Lowering her lashes, the drops fell to her cheeks and Richard tentatively wiped them with the back of his hand. Her eyes met his, and in that moment, Richard could not resist the urge to lean forward and kiss her first on the cheek, then her lips. He could feel her weaken under his touch, her mouth meeting his then suddenly drawing back. "No, this is wrong."

Richard reached for her, cupping her face in his hands, "It is not wrong, Rosaline. I love you. Tell me you cannot feel it."

She struggled from his grip, but something held her in his hands. Richard swallowed and quietly asked, "If you do not feel something for me, why did you come to my chambers that night?"

Rosaline tensed and she felt her heart quicken its pace in her chest. She struggled to control her breathing, "I...How did you know?"

Richard repented placing her in such a compromising position, but his desire for progress spurred him on. "Eleanor told me...and I am glad for it." He kissed her hand, but this time she forcefully relinquished his hold on her, "No!"

She stood up and ran to her horse, but Richard caught her arm before she could mount. "Rosaline! Don't run away from this. I know you feel the same way, but why do you always resist me? What are you hiding?"

Rosaline refused to look up, but kept her eyes fixed firmly on the saddle strap. "Should you find it so offensive that I not reciprocate your feelings?"

"No...were I not convinced it were true."

Rosaline's eyes were defiant and her mouth set in an angry line, "I admire your audacity, but I cannot give you the answer you want to hear." She watched him steadily, refusing to be intimated by his stare, "Please release me."

Richard was suddenly aware of how tight his grip had grown on her arm, and hurriedly let her go, marking the way the fabric still clung to her arm from the heaviness of his hold. He stepped back as she mounted, and Rosaline barely heard his quiet apology over the manouevre. Quickly mounting his own horse, Richard led her back to the castle, neither speaking a word for the entire awkward journey.

Little was said of the matter again, Eleanor and Richard exchanging short words about any progress, but mainly keeping to their roles as host and hostess. However, they did not have to wait long before Rosaline shed some light on her strange behaviour towards Richard. One night, a commotion in the courtyard startled Eleanor awake, and she crept to the window to see who would think to ask lodgings at such an unsociable hour. She was met by Richard and Sir Thomas halfway down the steps, but no sooner had they reached the entrance, than the sound of hooves was heard over the drawbridge.

Within moments Rosaline entered; she looked startled at the sight of her hosts almost lined up in front of her. She caught her breath, searching her brain for something to excuse the event, "Oh, Sir Thomas, I am so sorry to have disturbed you. I...there was an urgent message from a friend. The emissary has already left, I would not trouble yourself about it."

Sir Thomas looked at her in vague disbelief, veiled by his 'polite' smile, "Oh." He craned his neck beyond her to the courtyard, which stood empty and quiet. "Very well, I hope all is well with your friend."

Rosaline gestured to the scroll of paper in her hand, "Her letter will reveal all, I am sure."

Thomas, feeling a little embarassed by the whole situation, made his excuses and returned to his room. Eleanor followed suit, but Richard remained behind, refusing to rest until he had seen their suspicious guest return to her own chambers. Instead, she stood by the door, as if awaiting his departure before continuing some more shady business under the Grey roof. Rosaline nervously fingered the letter, "Goodnight."

He barred her path, looking down at her fearful eyes, "It is fortunate that you had time enough to dress before greeting the emissary. I am sure you must be the speediest in the realm." His voice betrayed no humour or kindness, merely a sliver of disgust.

Without replying, Rosaline pushed Richard's arm from her path with surprising force, and quickly fled to her room. Richard leaned back against the wall, suddenly feeling the coldness of the stones beneath his feet. He could not understand Rosaline, and, with every passing day, their relationship became more strained and complicated. This letter must be some kind of explanation for the girl's bizarre behaviour, but Richard was loth to sneak into her rooms or force it out of her. However, the more thought he gave the matter, the harder it was to find an acceptable explanation.

Richard was in the process of grooming his favourite steed when he sense the presence of someone lingering in the doorway. Turning, he saw that it was Rosaline Guillame; she was looking as radiant as usual, tantalizingly so. However, Richard had given up on the idea of wooing her; he had decided that whatever secret she kept was none of his business. He had given up on prying, although he still found it unsettling to be in her company in light of the spiteful words they had exchanged over the past days. Now, Rosaline seemed detached from all of that, their time apart had only served to make her more beautiful but untouchable.

She approached him, the light breeze bringing life to her raven hair, drawing stray strands across her cheek. "Richard. I was hoping to find you here."

Richard cast her a discursive look, then returned to the task of running a brush over his horse's muddied coat. "And here I am. What can I do for you?"

The question was asked without so much as a look her way, but Richard was achingly aware of how close Rosaline had moved to him. She ran her bare hand over the horse's neck, her fingers moving closer to where he was brushing. He could smell the fragile scent of rose on her skin mixed with the smell of fresh linen. "He is a beautiful horse, you clearly give him a lot of attention."

Richard looked at her, warily, "A knight has many duties, an excellent horse is the first requirement." He was deliberately short, allowing his long hair to fall across his face. Somehow being unable to see Rosaline made it easier to be cruel, and Richard knew this, "Did you really come out here to praise my horse?" Rosaline's eyes were almost pleading, "Or did you have something more to say?"

Her hand rapidly left the horse's coat, and she drew back against the wooden stall. When she spoke, her voice was strident and determined, "I came to apologize...for my behaviour towards you."

Richard, who was leaning down the horse's leg, concealed his surprise, "Apology accepted."

Rosaline hurriedly added, "And for my secrecy."

Richard finally lifted his head, allowing his eyes to trace the outline of her face; Rosaline felt the discomfort and wetted her dry lips, "I had no right to come into your home, then treat you poorly. It was wrong, and I wish I could make amends...if only you would tell me how." Richard was silent, his face inpenetrable, blank.

Suddenly, Rosaline threw herself towards him in entreaty, "Please, Richard. I wish...I wish I could tell you! God, if only you knew, then, perhaps..."

Moved by her desperation, Richard held her close to him, feeling his body relax against her. This was the moment he had waited for for so long, but somehow the waiting had made it more precious than he could ever have imagined. "Then tell me. Rosaline, you can tell me." He felt her shoulders convulse ever so slightly, and he knew that she was weeping. "Please, Rosaline. I can help you, no matter what trouble you are in, but you must confide in me."

She pulled away, and her eyes were rimmed with red, her cheeks flushed with colour. "But, I...it can never be reversed. You can never help me, that is why I can never allow myself to share the love you feel." Richard felt helpless, there was nothing he could say or do to comfort her, so he offered a hand, which she took, shakily. "I wish I could love you, I truly do."

"No one can control your feelings, Rosaline. Whatever vow you have made, it can be broken. Whatever wrong you might have committed, allow me to clear your name."

She was shaking her head, fervently, "No. Please accept my apologies, that is all you can do." Rosaline let a solitary tear roll down her cheek before hurriedly wiping it away. She cast Richard an almost pleading stare then headed to the door.

Richard followed her, cornering her by the paddock. "Rosaline, I will not let this go on any longer. Whatever you are hiding, you will tell me now!" His tone was bordering on anger, but he could not suppress it; there was no direction for his feelings and even he found it a little disconcerting that he should inflict it on Rosaline.

Prepared for a struggle, he was surprised when Rosaline sagged against the paddock fence, "It was when I stayed in France with my aunt. She was gone from the lodgings much of the time, I was so lonely...you must understand."

She was evidently frightened, so Richard clasped her hand tightly, and glancing back to the castle, drew her away from the hubbub of activity in the yard. He bent his head and kissed her ivory hand lightly, "Please go on."

Rosaline smiled faintly, "I met a young gentleman, he was kind and attentive. He never made any demands or advances, and I felt at ease in his company. After some months, I was informed that he was a monk in a monastic order from the south of Sweden. At first I was relieved that he should be a man of the cloth, it ensured both my safety and avoided idle gossip in Paris. One day, a friend of my aunt's spoke of him, declaring that he was wanted by the local commissariat for crimes concerning the disappearance of a young man."

Rosaline's eyes searched Richard's face for some sign of his feelings, and he gave an encouraging smile, "By this time, we were well-acquainted and he had offered to conduct a tour of his local monastery to while away some hours during my aunt's lengthy absences. Having heard the gossip, I was determined to discover if there was any truth to her words. I was tentative in broaching the subject, but he discussed it freely, explaining that he had been the last to see the man alive, and therefore all signs pointed to him. I told him that it would do him service to go to the constabulary and explain this. However, he told me this had already been attended to, and that they simply wanted a man to hang now; by turning himself in, he would simply be handing himself over to cold-blooded murder.

"I was naive and I accepted his word. We travelled two days cross-country to the monastery, where he introduced me to the laws of their order. They were strangely different to any I had encountered before, he spoke of the inherent evil in all of us, how it must be purged and that..." Here, Rosaline bowed her head, her voice halting.

"Rosaline? What did he tell you?"

"That it was their duty to recreate a master race, through the coupling of those purified." She raised her face to Richard's, her expression now blank and unreadable. "And...I tried to leave. He held me back, forcing me into his chambers where he..." Richard's eyes were fiery at such debased behaviour, and he had to fight to control his anger for this culprit. "He spoke to me of the Devil, my need for God's love, how he has deserted me for my crimes against him. For days, he taunted me, refusing food, water and rest until he had broken me. Finally, I succumbed through exhaustion, and I signed the document of loyalty to him, promising to do his bidding when he should ask it."

Richard shook his head, "Such a document could be cleared, it would never be legitimate. I will seek this man out and destroy it."

Rosaline turned her cheek away, "There is more...He made me lie with him." She suddenly looked at him, as if determined to find some scorn in Richard's face, but there was none, only the sincerest compassion. "I had no choice." Her voice was breaking, the audible tremble rising and falling with every convulsing sob.

Richard drew her into his arms, folding her against him, feeling her slight frame crushes against his own larger one. "We will resolve this. To be sure, we will resolve this. Tell me where I might find him, and I shall go there immediately."

"His note said that he would be lodging in Astolat, he gave the place where I should meet him, three days from hence."

Richard felt the muscles in his jaw tense, and he said quietly, "Then that is when I shall meet this monster." He waited for her protests, but they never came. Instead, he felt her recoil closer to him, her body trembling as if some icy wind racked her. "Does your father know?"

"I never told him. I fell seriously ill and my aunt sent me home. He knows nothing of its source. I could never tell him, he would not believe me. A woman's voice is seldom heard, especially in the face of the Church."

"But this was no church!"

"Perhaps not, but my contract still stands." Clinging close to Richard, Rosaline twined her fingers around the laces of his shirt, allowing herself to relax against his reassuring frame, giving in to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"No! We are entertaining guests. It is bad enough that Cedric and William have been dispatched on business. As a gracious host, I must show sufficient dignity by keeping my one remaining son by my side. What impression must be given if you have so little courtesy as to remain here until their departure?!" Thomas' expression was grave but determined, his whole body dictating what Richard must do. Richard was unphased by his father's characteristically dramatic behaviour. "It is your duty."

His green eyes met Thomas' blue ones without a flicker of subservience. "Father, I wish I could explain myself, but I have made a promise, an oath which cannot be broken." He hesitated, "The oath of a knight."

Thomas released a harrowed breath, "It is strange how selectively you take that role, Richard. Perhaps you should have given your duties to me a little more thought before offering your services elsewhere." Richard bowed his head, reluctantly admitting to himself that this was one argument he would not win, not without revealing Rosaline's part. "How can I go back on my word? Surely Sir Guillame cannot expect me to remain here for as many months as he chooses to stay!"

Seeing the rising anger in his father's face, he searched for more appropriate words, "He is your old friend, I am sure he can forgive my leaving if I were to speak to him personally."

Thomas frowned, "No. I will accept no such excuses. You will defer this errand until our guests have departed. Your presence is required for Frederick's benefit as much as my own."

Richard cursed quietly, "Only because even his own father cannot stand the sight of him."

"I will not have you discredit anyone lodging here, do you hear me?"

Richard could see he had crossed the line, and quietly humbled himself, "Yes, father." He was dismissed, and went immediately to his own chambers, fuming silently at having to hold his silence like this. It had never been an easy task for Richard to keep a secret, and it was even harder when the timing of this was so crucial.

Throwing himself unceremoniously onto the bed, he tugged at the doublet which suddenly felt restricting against his body. As he did so, the scent of rose wafted gently past his nose, the lingering reminder of who all this was for. An image of Rosaline, her dewy skin, velvetine hair, bewildered gaze filled Richard's mind; turning his face to the pillow, he slowly relaxed his muscles, feeling the tension wash away. Within ten minutes he was deep in sleep, his head emptying of any anxiety for those precious moments.

He did not hear Rosaline enter, and the first Richard knew of her presence was her massaging touch along his spine. Slender fingers ran over the bone, setting the tiny hairs on his neck on end. Groaning contentedly, Richard shifted towards her, allowing his lips to meet hers, his induced blindness heightening the sensation of their touch. She pulled away from him, resting her head on the pillow beside him. "Dinner is served, my love."

Richard still did not open his eyes, but pulled her to him, cradling her head on his chest, to which she gave a short laugh, "Richard! Someone might discover us!"

"I don't care, let them. I'll deny it all."

Rosaline laughed again, then raised herself on one delicate elbow, "Have you spoken to Sir Thomas?"

Richard opened one eye, then, admitting the moment was passed, he sat up and ran one finger over her cheek, "Do not fret. I will do this for you."

Rosaline's eyes, vivid pools of emotion, told him everything - her fear, desire, sadness and disappointment. "You are so good to me, I do not deserve such kindness."

Richard was moved by the sincerity of her words; he had heard similar from those in an attempt to elicit reactions from him, but never with such melancholy hollowness. "You deserve better than I can ever give you, better than what you have suffered. Of that I am sure."

Rosaline removed his hand from her cheek, "You should not jeapordize your relationship with your father on my account."

Richard stood up, stretching his arms above his head; Rosaline watched him. "Oh, father will get over it. He always does. Besides, Cedric and William will be back before long, then he will forget all about this minor altercation." When Rosaline's uneasy expression did not waver, he pulled her up from the bed, a mischievous smile playing across his lips, "Believe me, he has seen considerably worse. Did I ever tell you about the time I almost caused friction between him and the King?" Rosaline smiled, her whole face lighting up with radiancy, then she laced his doublet while he peppered her neck with tiny kisses.

This was how they said their goodbyes, because the next night Richard mounted his horse with a bundle of supplies and turned his back on Covington Cross in favour of Astolat. He rode for a long night and half a day, resting only to water his horse and secure himself a morsel to eat. Dusk was casting grey shadows across the sky when Richard finally alighted in Astolat, where he found a reputable inn for the night. Despite the tiredness which was creeping through his body, he could not rest until he had found some lead on this man. Assuming a prime position near the door, Richard plied the innkeeper with questions, and was happy to discover that this man enjoyed gossiping as much as the servants at Covington Cross.

It did not take much to find out that a new monastic order had recently founded itself on the outskirts of town. The monks more black habits rather than brown, and rumour had it that they were not a part of the Roman Catholic Church. Instead, they claimed to be of some remote Eastern religion who had been allies with the Crusaders in the Holy Land. Richard was surprised to learn that the locals had taken to these newcomers with alacrity, no doubt induced by the many free offers passed out by the monks. Richard, fatigue finally overcoming his desire to talk with this exhausting chatterbox, retired to bed a contented man.

He awoke with renewed vigour the next morning, filling up on a hearty breakfast, after which he practiced a few parries in the cramped chamber. Having his horse saddled, Richard set off in search of the monastery, redefining the mental potrait drawn by Rosaline of the man who had seduced her. The site was not difficult to find, the pine trees parted to reveal a large white, stone structure, which looked better fortified than most strongholds. No doubt necessary, considering the sordid goings-on behind its walls, thought Richard.

Two monks came out to meet him as he dismounted his horse in front of the impressive building. "Welcome. Do you seek lodgings?"

Surprised by their open invitation, when he had expected to be deterred, Richard stumbled in his confidence for a moment, before regaining composure, "Yes, I have been travelling for many days. A bed for a few nights would be gratefully received."

The first monk bowed in humble acknowledgement, taking the reins and leading the horse through an arch to the side of the building. The other monk eyed Richard suspiciously, his small, dark eyes regarding him from head to foot. Realizing that the young man was also scrutinizing him closely, the monk quickly gestured to the main door, "This way, my lord."

Darting his finger in various directions, he gave Richard a hurried tour of the main quarters, "There is the kitchen, dining-room, chapel, various offices for the chaplains and priests. Most private rooms are locked, so you are free to wander as you please. Although, I would not advise you to enter the chambers below ground level. These are reserved for the enforcement of laws, the order strictly upholds obedience. We will not abide insubordination..."

His gaze travelled to Richard's, his eyes piercing and severe. "You would do well to disregard any noises you may hear. You understand."

The words were not a question, more of a command, which Richard accepted. He had his own ideas about what was carried out below, and within hours he would rectify the situation. Feeling his heartbeat quicken at the thought of bringing this man to justice, Richard savoured the scene as he was shown to a bare room upstairs. There was nothing more than a bed, washbowl and jug, cloth and one chair. "We do not care for material fetters, so you must live within our meagre limits."

"This is more than I need. Thank you." The monk bowed slightly, and backed out of the door, leaving Richard alone with his thoughts of bloodlust and anger.

Dinner was served early at the monastery, and Richard was surprised by how few monks attended. There could not have been more than twelve in the entire building, but at least this gave him good scope for identifying the man Rosaline had described to him. It did not take long; a slender, tall man with a disarming manner entered at the head of the table after everyone was assembled. He said grace, mumbling some unintelligible prayer which the other monks repeated, before tucking in. Richard had been placed towards the head of the table to the right of this man, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to watch the man closer. He had a gentle manner, and treated Richard with all the kindness expected of a host. If he did not know better, Richard would have dropped his guard immediately, but his mind could only focus intently on the fierce rape he had inflicted on Rosaline. It was hard to imagine that this sinewy man had any power in his body enough to even overcome a woman. Rosaline was slight, but she was strong, and Richard's blood curdled at the sight of this man laughing with the other monks when he had committed such a heinous crime on a defenseless woman.

They spoke of general matters, where Richard had originated from, to which he readily lied, then of the order itself. Strangely, this subject left the man more subdued, much less forthcoming than he had been when discussing other things. The meal soon ended, and the monks retired to prayers before an early rest, while Richard was left to wander freely throughout the main quarters. However, he discreetly followed the offending monk to his own quarters, where he hovered outside the door until Richard was certain there was no one around to see him. When the coast was clear, he slipped silently inside, where he found the monk bent in prayer over a simple altar beneath the window. "Copeland."

The monk did not move, but made an audible sigh, "Can you not see that I am engaged in conversation with my Lord?"

Richard stepped closer, placing the blade of his sword agains the man's back, "Perhaps you would like a more intimate acquaintance with him?"

At this, the man turned his head to face Richard, then slowly rose to his feet. "Have I done something to offend you, my Lord?"

The question was asked without innocence, but with slicing malice, at which Richard shifted his swordpoint to the man's throat, "You have, sir. You have insulted and violated a pure and virtuous woman; for that you must pay a price."

Copeland's face shifted somehow, his eyes showing some spark of recognition before glazing over. "Perhaps you might tell me her name, for I do not recall ever mistreating a lady so."

"Oh? You were not in Paris recently, I am sure there is proof of your presence." Copeland drew his cheeks in, running ridges of shadow down his jaw, "I do recall my visit, yes. Paris is a great city, sir, and I am certain I know nothing of such a case. A man of the cloth relinquishes all such carnal sins when he takes his orders. You would do well to remember that before addressing a man of my rank again." His title was said with seething anger, suppressed by only the thinnest veil of composure.

Richard grimaced at this man's disconcerting calmness, and was about to respond when he felt the sharp blow to the side of his head. It knocked him to the ground, and before he could take in what was happening, Richard felt blackness closing in around him and he lost consciousness.

The warm, tickling trickle of blood was the first thing Richard felt when he groggily fought his way out of the darkness. He did not know if it was dark or not, there was no window in the room. It did not take long for him to orientate himself, and feel the hardness of the pallet beneath his aching body to know it was no bedchamber. Shifting towards the corner, Richard pulled himself up on the straw and leaned against the cold stone wall, allowing the dampness to seep through his clothes and onto his skin. He shivered involuntarily, then tentatively raised one finger to his temple, wincing as he touched the point of impact. The pain sent waves of throbbing aches through his skull, and he had to grip the wooden frame of the bed with one hand to stop himself from blacking out again. Although, given the situation, it was probably his most comfortable option.

Richard's knuckles whitened, grip tightening until the pain receded back to the left side of his head. He let out an agonized, ragged breath, for a moment succumbing to the desire to let go of his stoicism and cry out. The pain coursed through his body without relent, and Richard knew that he could not bear much more of it. Sweat stood out across his brow, and mingled with the already drying rivulets of blood on his cheek. He carefully edged back down to the pallet, covering his eyes with one arm, and waited for whatever was to happen next.

He did not have to wait long. A flurry of noise signalled the arrival of Richard's captors, and he was pulled roughly to his feet. Two men supported him under his arms, which was a blessed relief for Richard; he could feel his legs buckling beneath him. Copeland had changed out of his formal habit into a pair of black breeches and black tunic, open at the neck to reveal a strange hexagonal amulet. The darkness of the room made it hard for Richard to see his face, especially when his vision still sent white spots dancing before his eyes. Straining to focus on the man in front of him, Richard allowed the men to support his weight fully. Copeland's voice boomed in his ear, echoing around the bare cell. "You were a fool to come here and think you could conquer me. Whatever that hussie has told you would be better left concealed. It is a pity she chose to involve you, since now I have to resort to methods less favourable to me."

Richard could not control his movements and his head drooped onto his chest, but Copeland signed to one of the men lingering in the shadows. The monk came forward and pulled Richard's head back by his hair, forcing his eyes to lock onto Copeland. The man came close to his face and studied him closely, "You would be well advised to think carefully about the question I am about to ask before you respond. I am sure a man so bold is also hot-headed."

Richard latched his attention on to Copeland's mouth, the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the ground. His ears rang with unidentifiable noises, but Copeland's voice came across clearly. "Will you submit to my rule? A simple signature and all is done. Sign your inheritance and service over to me, and I will let you live. Join us."

Richard could barely form the words, and his voice wavered against the crushing sound of interference in his brain. "Over my dead body."

Copeland let out a short laugh, then gestured to the men to let Richard go. As soon as they did, he slipped back onto the pallet, where the monk squatted beside him, "Really. You have no idea of how much fun we can have without bringing death into the equation. We serve the Lord, and it is not his will that we should kill. Clearly, you had not received this message when you attacked me earlier." He touched Richard lightly on the cheek, and he recoiled at the man's menacing touch, "It is a lesson you will learn well before I have done with you." He glanced up at the monks behind him, "Bring him to me." Copeland cast a final look of relish at Richard before stalking from the room. Richard listened to the sound of his boots fading down the corridor before he was pulled to his feet again and marched after him.

The room was dark, and Richard strained his vision to make sense of his surroundings. He could feel people around him, then a torch was lit, illuminating the cell. It was a large chamber, almost bare but for two hooks attached to the wall towards one end, which he was roughly pulled towards. He was backed against this wall before being securely tied to them, his hands outstretched from his body. Copeland appeared from one end of the room, his sleeves rolled up as if ready to slaughter a pig; Richard felt bile rising to the back of his throat as grim realization set in. He could feel his stomach rolling over and over itself, sending waves of nausea to his head. His heart beat faster in his chest as Copeland halted opposite Richard, one hand grasping something which looked suspiciously like a knife sheath. Copeland smiled, his eyes bright and alert in the half light which bathed his face in grotesque shadows. "Well, would you like to begin by telling me your name?"

Richard's eyes blazed with anger and determination not to be intimidated, "How will you know if I was telling the truth?"

"Ah! I should have expected this." He grandly threw the scabbard across the room, the smooth sound of steel against steel brutally loud in the empty room. "Perhaps this will remind you of your common sense. Or perhaps you are not as weak as you appear."

Richard gritted his teeth, he was vulnerable and there was nothing he could do to make this situation any better. All he could do now was protect both Rosaline and his own family; if it was a quick death he would consider himself spared, and sooner or later Rosaline would see fit to tell someone where he had gone. Copeland had come closer to him now, his face questioning, "You seem to know a great deal about me, lad, and my whereabouts. So, maybe you would like to see a few of the skills I have picked up on my travels abroad. The first is an art discovered in Spain only last year. It has never quite caught on over the Channel, but there is always room for new cultural experiences. Is there not?" He ran the knife blade over Richard's cheek, then began unlacing his doublet and tunic, revealing the man's sculpted body. "It has a very unoriginal title, I am afraid, simply called impaling. However, it has more exotic connotations than the mere sword-death. You see, impaling requires precision, not puncturing the vital organs, something which I confess to having trouble with." He gave a short shrug, "Oh well, one must begin somewhere."

Without so much as a word of warning, he plunged the knife into Richard's chest, forcing the breath from the prisoner's body in an agonized gasp. He sagged against his bonds, the pain already subsiding to the numbed part of his brain; blood flowed freely down his chest and soaked his trousers. Before he could do anything, the knife plundered his flesh again, and Richard's legs to give way beneath him. He struggled for consciousness, but the agony seared his body and the fight was in vain. Somewhere through the haze, he felt rough hands pulling him free from the wall and then all went black.

When he came to, Richard could feel nothing. He narrowed his eyes against the light streaming in through a window above his head. He could not move, his body too weak from the ordeal, but Richard managed to lift a feeble arm to his chest, lightly fingering the bloody bandages. Sweat bejeweled his forehead and the nape of his neck, but he still shuddered against the chill which racked his body. He felt the stinging sensation of bile rising in his throat, but swallowed it back as he closed his eyes against the blinding sunlight.

Richard never regained consciousness to witness the arrival of two gentlemen at the monastery. Sir Thomas and Lord Guillame forged their way through the chambers, squeezing information from the monks until one succumbed to the pressure, and guided them to Richard's cell. Thomas looked at the wreck which used to resemble his son and caught his breath sharply. He had imagined some kind of trouble, imprisonment and even the odd bruise from a quick-tempered monk, but he had never, in his wildest imagination, expected to find something as awful as this. Richard was lying on a narrow pallet, his legs drawn up to his chest and one hand flung out beside him, dangling over the edge of the wooden frame. His skin was pale, tinged with greyish blue colour around his eyes and pinched cheeks.

Thomas went towards his son steadily, uncertain of his own self-control when faced with this spectre of his son. He reached one hand out to touch Richard's face, his fingers leaving minute traces of rose colour down his cheek. The young man did not react as Thomas pulled him to his chest, cradling his head against him. Thomas turned viciously on the monk creeping towards the exit of the cell, "You will pay for this monstrous deed. I will have the king informed immediately, and the whole of England will hunt you down like the dogs that you are."

His face swam from one emotion to another, now anger then grief, from sheer hatred to calm steadiness. Lord Guillame barred the door, his heavy frame blocking the light which shafted through the entrance. "I suggest that you do everything in your power to help us find the leader of this...sadist cult, or you will bear the penalty for all the crimes against these helpless victims."

He grabbed the man roughly by the cowl of his habit, dragging him from the room; he cast a brief beckoning glance back at Sir Thomas, who took the cue. He gently lifted Richard into his arms, his brow furrowing in concern when he could elicit no reaction from his son whatsoever. "Richard?" Clumsily rising to his feet, he quickly followed Guillame out to the horses. It was fortunate for them that Eleanor and Rosaline had insisted upon accompanying the men which had prompted Thomas to call for a carriage. This provided a better comfort for Richard than any saddle could, regardless of how agitated it made his father not to be able to watch over him during the arduous journey back to Covington Cross.

The bumpy route was enough to bring Richard round for a moment. He was propped up against his sister, who was gently running one hand through his unruly head of curls. It was Rosaline who suggested that they take a better look at his wounds, as it was unclear what the cause of injury was, although blood could be seen seeping through Richard's doublet. She carefully peeled back the blue velvet and white linen to reveal a bloody mess of crude bandages wadded against his wounds. Rosaline met Eleanor's horrified gaze, swallowing back her astonishment, and, with trembling fingers she pulled away the first bandage. It was wringing wet with deep red and drops stained the girl's green kirtle when she discarded them on the floor. The knife wounds were deep enough to cause significant blood loss, but they had clearly been dealt with the intention of torturing and not killing. Rosaline tore strips of cloth from the hem of her dress without a moment's hesitation, and glanced up again at Eleanor, "There is little we can do until we return to Covington Cross. The wounds need stitches and we could never do it safely in conditions like this."

"Bandage what you can tightly, hopefully it should not be long now. The carriage is moving at quite a pace." Rosaline nodded and resumed her task, and it was at this point that Richard stirred. His eyelids flickered against the heaviness of exhaustion, and one hand feebly ran towards his head. Rosaline caught his hand before it reached the knife wounds, trying to sooth his agitation. "Richard, lie still. It will not be long now. You are safe."

She was loth to let him slip back into unconsciousness for fear he may never awake. His eyes were ringed with dark shadows and his face was a deathly white, his breathing short and shallow, barely perceivable in the incessant rattling of the carriage. Richard drew a laboured breath, cutting it short as pain shot through his chest, and he flinched, "What...?" His voice was weak and fatigued, and his eyes searched blindly, trying to focus on Rosaline. His head fell back against Eleanor's lap, soothed by her hand on his forehead. He was clearly totally disorientated, frowning weakly in the confusion; exhaustion soon set in again, and, despite the vain efforts of his watchers, Richard slipped back into the reassuring blackness which enveloped him.

The party rode throughout the night, not heeding the biting cold which set in before the morning frost, and it was early morning when they reached the outskirts of the village. Covington Cross had never been such a welcoming sight. Sir Guillame steered his horse into the village where he found the local healer, a man who had tended to the Grey family for many years. He wasted no time but ascertained from Guillame's description what he would need and quickly followed on his own horse.
Sir Thomas carefully lifted the unconscious form of his son from the carriage, tentatively avoiding placing his hands over the open wounds on his chest. Richard slumped against him, and his father's fear increased as he felt the icy cold flesh of his son's hands against his own burning flesh. He daren't imagine that this might be the way Richard would die, in the hands of a vicious cult, outnumbered and tortured to death.

He staggered up the winding, narrow staircase to Richard's bedchamber, where he laid the inert body on the bed. Thomas affectionately lifted his son's hand from the covers where it was flung, and waited for the arrival of the healer. Richard's breathing was barely noticeable and sweat no longer stood out along his brow. Thomas carefully bared the wounds on Richard's chest when he heard the familiar echo of hooves in the courtyard followed by the hastening scuffle up the stairs. The healer was out of breath, wheezing as if death were about to take him as well. Thomas offered him water and a moment's rest before helping Richard, aware that there was no use in the aid of a dead man. The healer accepted it gratefully, but was fully aware of the severity of the situation so wasted no time in his recovery.

He examined the lacerations, then peeled back one eyelid, throughout which Richard made no movement. The healer rummaged around in his wooden case, lining rows of unctions and ointments on the table beside the bed. "The wounds are deep, but they have not ruptured anything."

Thomas, who had taken a seat beside his son on the other side of the bed, leaned over, "Then why has he not regained consciousness yet?"

The healer detected the fear in his voice and lightened his tone, "He has lost a great deal of lifeblood, sir. The wounds have flowed freely for some time, and, I warrant he has not taken sustenance for a few days. The body cannot heal without help, and Master Richard's is very weak now." He smiled weakly at Sir Thomas, "Never fear, Sir Thomas, your son is a strong lad. We will fix him up right as rain, he needs plenty of rest and some nourishment. I will stitch and bandage the cuts, then you must give him some of this to help the mending process." He gestured to a small green vial of liquid, which Thomas accepted gratefully.

It was fortunate for Richard that he was oblivious to the fumbling incompetence of the healer during the suturing. It was a laborious task which took almost an hour and often included repeat stitches. Thomas refrained from saying anything while the man made his son look increasingly like a pin cushion.

Finally, the man finished and having instructed Sir Thomas of the basic routine - the medicine, rest, food, a constant nurse - he departed with a hearty sum of money and a good meal prepared with the best food Sir Thomas could find.

Eleanor took first watch of the night, and when Richard stirred she daren't call for her father in case Richard wanted something in her absence. He swallowed, trying to moisten his sore throat, and narrowed his eyes against the faint candlelight. It took a moment for him to orientate himself, and realize he was no longer in the prison he remembered but staring at the familiar pattern of his ceiling.

"Richard?" Eleanor's voice lilted softly towards him and he weakly smiled at her. She squeezed his hand tightly, "You are home. Everything will be all right."

Closing his eyes again, fighting off sleep, Richard murmured, "Thirsty."

Eleanor poured some water into a chalice and brought it to his chapped lips. Relishing the cool liquid which ran down his throat, Richard lay back against the pillow and surrendered to slunber once again.

He did not awake again for another twelve hours when Sir Thomas brought him some broth. Richard ate as much as his malnourished body could take, and settled back against the propped pillows against which he sat. Now, he looked out of the window across the meadows, glowing in the sunlight, and sighed. Thomas had been sleeping beside him for some time and Richard was almost a little apprehensive about him waking up, of what would be said. Sir Thomas yawned then paused when he saw how much better his son appeared all of a sudden. "How are you feeling?"

Richard glanced down at the bandages on his upper torso, "A little like I took an unfortunate turn in a circus act."

Thomas managed a smile, then decided to clear the air on his son's disappearance. "So, will you explain yourself?"

Richard eyed his father, slowly, thinking how best to phrase the matter without revealing Rosaline's part. However, in the silence, Thomas took the reins, "Rosaline told us of her encounter in France. I have to admit my admiration for you for offering to clear her name, but it was a foolish pursuit to take on alone. Surely you must realize that?"

"I have to admit, I had little idea of how big the whole scheme was. It was not my fault, father. Besides, I promised Rosaline I would not tell anyone, it would taint her name forever."

Thomas nodded, gravely, "Well, since you are alive and in one piece, I will forgive your hastiness. However, I wonder how tainted Rosaline's name will be when you have finished with her."

Richard opened his mouth to protest, but saw the familiar sparkle in his father's eyes, and opted for silence. Sir Thomas stood up, picking up the bowl of unfinished soup. "Perhaps you should think more carefully about that before you make any promises. I don't want a repeat of Eleanor's marriage situation, especially when you have the choice."

Richard nodded in exasperation, "Don't worry, my intentions are strictly honourable, I assure you."

A knock at the door revealed Rosaline, and Thomas gave a severe stare at his son before leaving them to it.

She was smiling as she sat beside him on the bed, kissing his hand. "How can I ever thank you, oh great knight?"

Richard gave a quizzical look, then shrugged, "You are a lady of good repute, I am sure you can use your delicate imagination."

Biting her lower lip in mock worry, Rosaline leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. Responding to his arms tugging her forwards, she fell against the bed beside him.

Sir Thomas was returnng along the corridor from Sir Guillame's chambers where they had been discussing the future of their respective son and daughter. He couldn't help but pause as he passed Richard's room, wondering whether to go in and ask if his son desired anything. With a sinking heart, he heard the merry sound of laughter followed by what sounded suspiciously like a very vulgar comment.

With an exasperated sigh, he realized that everything was falling back into its usual place at Covington Cross. Soon there would be more mayhem to contend with, and, as he looked out across his estate through the narrow casement, he couldn't help wondering which child would be causing havoc next time.