Reclaimed by Her Rebel Knight

‘Those other men are mostly soldiers. It has nothing to do with you being a woman. It’s because some subjects are better not discussed unless absolutely necessary.’ He glanced surreptitiously around the taproom. ‘Especially in public.’

She gave him a long look and then pursed her lips again. ‘As you wish.’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake...’ He shoved a hand through his hair and lowered his voice. ‘If you must know, I don’t approve of the King or the way he runs the country, no.’

‘Because?’

‘A lot of reasons. Too many to list here.’

‘So give me one.’

‘Give you...?’ He leaned across the table towards her. ‘I just said it had nothing to do with you being a woman!’

‘Then prove it. Give me one reason.’

‘Because John’s campaign in France was a fiasco when it ought to have been a triumph! He had powerful allies, the Counts of Flanders, Holland and Boulogne, not to mention the Holy Roman Emperor. He had more money and more soldiers, but he misjudged Philip of France. He divided his forces to surround the French and trap them into battle, but he took too many risks and overstretched himself.’

‘Oh.’ She looked faintly surprised to be given so much information all at once. ‘Were you with him in France?’

‘No, I was with John’s half-brother, the Earl of Salisbury, and the rest of his allies in the north.’

‘Then you were at the Battle of Bouvines?’ She leaned forward, too, defiance replaced by sudden interest. ‘I heard my uncle talking to his steward about that. What happened?’

‘Everything.’ His mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Everything seemed to happen that day.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The battle seemed to go our way at first. The French King was almost captured. We almost had him, but then...’ He shook his head, trying to block out the roaring sound in his ears as a string of memories assailed him. A seething mass of bodies in close combat, the stench of blood, the agonised bellowing of men and horses struck down underfoot, the searing pain when a pike had smashed into the back of his leg, mercifully protected by his armour. Four months later, the scene was just as vivid as ever.

‘Matthew?’ Constance reached a hand across the table, her expression concerned. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

‘Do you know what I remember the most?’ He’d caught her fingers and clasped his own around them before he even realised what he was doing. ‘The sun. It was in our eyes at the start of the battle, so bright that I could hardly see through my visor. And the heat was unbearable! I’ve never been so hot. It’s bad enough wearing armour at the best of times, but that day... I thought I was going to die trapped inside.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘No.’ He looked down at their joined hands and rubbed his thumb over the backs of her knuckles, fighting the urge to tighten his grip as the rest of his body tensed. ‘I didn’t, but once a fight starts, it’s difficult to stop. Bouvines was a bloodbath, like a nightmare none of us could wake up from. A thousand men were slaughtered on each side. Nine thousand were captured. I was lucky to escape with Jerrard and Laurent.’

‘It must have been terrible.’ Her eyes, dark grey now in the glow of the firelight, seemed to reflect his own sense of horror. ‘What about the King? Where was he?’

‘La Rochelle.’ He couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. ‘He’d already made his retreat. The first hint of resistance from Philip’s son Louis and he fled. Fortunately we found horses and were able to rejoin what was left of our army on the coast. Then we sailed for home.’

‘So you blame the King for the defeat?’

‘I think he could have used better tactics, especially against an opponent as clever as Philip. Battles should be a last resort, not forced. I can’t even blame the Poitevin barons for abandoning him. John’s not a man you can trust.’ He slid his fingers through hers, twining them together. ‘Yes, I blame him. He gambled everything and lost. His father and brothers would never have taken such a risk.’

‘Then you agree that he’s a bad king?’

He hesitated, choosing his words with care. ‘I don’t respect him. Not many men do. He rules by threats and fear, yet he’s so afraid for himself that he surrounds himself with bodyguards at all times.’ He glanced around the room again. ‘But like I said, it’s not wise to discuss such things in public.’

She pressed his hand and then released it. ‘Thank you for telling

me. I’d like for us to be honest with each other. My mother told me that honesty is the most important thing in a marriage.’

‘I’m inclined to agree.’ He cleared his throat, repressing a stab of guilt over all the things he wasn’t telling her. ‘What else is important to you? In our marriage, I mean?’

‘What else?’ She looked taken aback by the question. ‘Respect. Friendship, I suppose.’

Friendship. He couldn’t stop himself from wincing at the word.