The Knight's Return

By Gabriella West

1275. Lady Eleanor's health is failing, and Will knows that he and Stephen must soon accompany young Eleanor back across the sea to her new home in Wales, a risky voyage because Edward I, now king of England, still regards his cousins, the Montforts, as potential enemies.

Will's heart is torn, as he desperately wants to save seventeen-year-old Eleanor from what Stephen has told him will be an early grave. When Stephen takes the summer away to apprentice as an apothecary at Nimes, the two become very close. An unexpected and perilous romance ensues. Yet Eleanor has a clear-eyed idea of her destiny, and so their time in Montargis must end.

Sadly, the return to England is fraught with dangers for all of them. A long, enforced stay at the palace of Windsor brings Will into close contact with the King, a complicated man prone to anger and hidden designs who has already survived an assassination attempt. The strange bond that builds up between them will come to a head as Edward rides into battle in Wales, with Will among his men, taking back territory for the Crown. Once this campaign is done, Stephen assures Will, the King will release him, and Eleanor will be free to marry Llywelyn, the powerful Welsh prince whom her father betrothed her to so many years before. Then Will and Stephen will be free.

But Will fears that their love may not survive the compromises he has had to make. And Stephen, too, is holding his cards close to the chest—for it is after the long-awaited return home to the manor house in the peaceful village of Kenilworth, where Will's mother and half sister still live, that their relationship changes forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriella West
• Release date: May 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463567722

Gabriella West

Gabriella West was born in Santa Barbara in 1967. In 1969, her parents moved to Dublin, Ireland, and she grew up in Ireland, studying English and Italian at Trinity College, Dublin. She graduated and left Ireland in 1988.She earned an MA degree in Creative Writing at San Francisco State University in 1995.She has published nine LGBTQ-themed novels: The Leaving, Time of Grace, Elsie Street, The Pull of Yesterday, and A Knight's Tale: Kenilworth. The follow-up, A Knight's Tale: Montargis, was published March 2018. Return to Carlsbad, the last book in the Elsie Street contemporary gay romance trilogy, was released October 2018. The Knight's Return (2022) completes the Knight's Tale series.Gabriella West lives in San Francisco, CA.

Book preview

The Knight’s Return

by

Gabriella West

© Gabriella West 2022

v.2, Smashwords Edition

For Boyd and Diane, who did not forget

Acknowledgments

I am indebted to Ian Mortimer’s fascinating A Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England, and Marc Morris’s brilliant biography of Edward I, A Great and Terrible King. Both of these books were invaluable for my research, but the unorthodox interpretation of Edward’s character is my own. I am also grateful to Sharon Bennett Connolly’s post on Eleanor de Montfort, Princess of Wales, in her blog History… the interesting bits! It was there that I read an excerpt from the eloquent letter that Eleanor wrote to her cousin Edward in 1281 imploring him to release her brother Amaury from Corfe Castle. None of her mother’s letters survive.

Part 1

Farewell to Montargis

Loire Valley, France

April of 1275

My youth was slipping away. Stephen’s, too, but he seemed ageless. I was almost thirty years of age. I would turn thirty the next year, but by then, Stephen had told me, we would be back in England. Some part of me did not want that, because it meant the Countess and Wilecok would be gone. She was in exile; he had no wish to be parted from her. They would both die and be buried here in Montargis. It still seemed unthinkable.

Wilecok was sitting across the table from me now, hunched over, examining with bleary, dark eyes the fine wheaten loaves that I had baked. He had taught me how to do it, and he was too slow and palsied to do it now. I didn’t mind, and I waited patiently for his assessment.

’Tis good work, Will, he acknowledged.

And after all, that was all I really wanted, I thought. His words of approval. I beamed.

The Countess will be pleased, he went on.

I placed the warm golden loaves in a basket covered with a white cloth and left it at the end of the table. Young Eleanor would fetch it, as she always did. One day a week, I baked for her and her mother; another day I baked coarse, heavy rounds of barley bread for us. Wilecok liked it, and I thought it was good for the few remaining teeth in his head. Also, as he always earnestly reminded me, wheat bread was meant for noble folk.

They were nobility, true, but young Eleanor no longer wore the white robes of the Dominican postulants. She was starting to prepare for the next phase of her life, as a young woman who was to marry Llywelyn, the rebel Prince of Wales. She was seventeen.

Old enough, Wilecok always said, because he had met her mother when she was about the same age. She had not been married long before her first husband had died mysteriously, poisoned by the King her brother, some dared to say now, as he was dead, and Prince Edward was now king and about to call his first Parliament in Westminster. Here in France, the Countess had taken to her bed upstairs, and Wilecok was fading slowly in front of my eyes. He spoke in mumbles mostly, but what he said I listened to carefully. It seemed to me that he spoke with urgency at times.

He looked up at me as I stood at the end of the table, turning a loaf in my hand, feeling the lightness. If you knocked it, it sounded almost hollow. His hair was stark white.

Where’s your lad? he asked suddenly. Where is Stephen.

You know where he is, Wilecok, I answered after a moment, eyes on the bread. I told you. He went to Nimes for the summer, to apprentice at your friend Gerald’s apothecary shop. I spoke with calm, but my heart was beating faster as I uttered the words.

He looked at me questioningly. To Nimes? Oh…

Yes, we went there, I said. Don’t you remember, we journeyed there a few years ago? You took us.

He shook his head slightly. I don’t remember the city. I remember going to Italy with you. How could I forget that? Although I tried.

He raised a cup to his mouth, bony hands shaking. He still drank ale, but I made sure his cup was not very full. It was painful when he would spill it.

That was a long journey, to Italy, true. I sighed despite myself.

I remember killing a man near Genoa… His voice was soft. He shook his head.

Yes, but there were good times, I said almost desperately, not able to recollect any. I collapsed back onto the solid wooden bench. I drank too, much deeper than him, and when I was done, I wiped my mouth.

He was looking at me speculatively, his eyes bright.

Will he come back? he said clearly.

I shivered.

He said he would… I drank again.

It gives you time, Wilecok said, again with that sly look in his eyes.

Whatever for, Wilecok? I spoke impatiently, because indeed, the time was dragging that spring, and I felt the lack of Stephen very keenly.

Why, to court young Eleanor, of course, he said slowly, as if it was obvious.

What? She’s to be married!

To an old man, Wilecok said with amusement, turning the cup almost upside-down. Is there more ale?

I poured him some more from the earthenware pitcher on the table. He drank. We were silent. The faint hum of the bees wafted in from the garden.

Betrothed to an old Welshman, he repeated again. His eyes were merry. Does she seem the sort of lass who would look forward to that? Does any woman?

"She’s a lady, Wilecok," I said. I wondered if he had forgotten somehow. Also, the man was not sixty, as Wilecok and the Countess were, he was past fifty. Still, I did not like to think of it.

Oh, Will, he slurred. I should tell you sometime, what it means when women look at you a certain way. She looks at you that way. And no wonder. Look at you. You’re a fine man, in your prime. Wasted here… He muttered something I could not understand, getting up and swaying dangerously.

I took his arm and guided him down the narrow hall to his chamber. He slept most of the day now, emerging for a simple meal in the evening that I was happy to share with him.

It was a lonely life, but at the same time, I knew I wouldn’t have him for long. And that made every moment precious.

Eleanor, too, was taking care of her mother in a way that I understood. I had nursed my own parents once, in England. And Stephen, later. They were memories that meant more to me than any exploits I’d had as a knight. In truth, I’d had more success as a squire than as a knight. Had enjoyed it more.

Eleanor was a young woman now. Wilecok was right about that. And once her mother was gone, and Wilecok was gone, we would sail back to England with her, Stephen and I.

It was true that she looked at me sometimes, not in the sweet way that she used to, but more of a level look, the glance of a woman who had seen something of the world. She was tall, almost my height.

It made me uncomfortable, stirred something in me. That height had been passed down from her mother, her grandmother, and the formidable Eleanor of Aquitaine. Who would have been her great-grandmother, of course.

She seemed older than her years. Her slightly curly hair hung down her back, not a bright gold, but a darker one. Her eyes were deep set, cornflower blue. Her lips were sensual, her face strong. If anything, she resembled her eldest brother Henry, a man whom I had not had much to do with, but who everyone had admired, until his untimely death at the Battle of Evesham. That was ten years ago now.

It was only occasionally that she reminded me of Simon.

Wilecok was face down on his bed now, a faint smile on his wizened face.

He will come back, Stephen will, I repeated.

They always do, Wilecok murmured, lips quirking, as if amused by my earnestness. And I was sure that had been his experience. He had been a lucky man, somehow.

I passed out of the chamber, closing the heavy door quietly behind me.

The silence in the house was absolute.

When I walked back to the kitchen, the bread had gone. I stared at the place where the basket had been. She was so quick, Eleanor! I knew she avoided me, and I understood it.

It was temptation. It was a grinding feeling in my belly. I wonder how it felt for her. Not pleasant, I was sure. I’d even made a point of not encouraging her, of turning a stony face to her shy smiles.

I had only been with one woman, after all. And to lust after Simon’s sister… The thought made me flush. I was better than that, surely.

Even though Stephen, before he left, had granted me permission.

***

A fortnight before, we had been at loggerheads in our chamber. A tree bloomed near our window, white-blossomed, an almond or plum. The scent wafted in.

He had come back from market around mid-day carrying a leather pannier, which he proceeded to stuff victuals into, while Wilecok and I sat and looked on, open-mouthed.

I bought a packhorse, he explained. We still had a couple of ancient mares in the stable, but they were too old for any long journey.

Where are you going? Wilecok enquired.

Nimes, Stephen answered, eyes down. His pale, skillful hands continued to stuff provisions into his bags.

You’ll ride on the back? Wilecok asked, still thinking as a messenger.

Yes, of course. This way I won’t have to stop at any inns or anything. Oats for the horse, wine for me, lots of hard cheese…

How long will you be gone? I asked, clearing my throat.

He glanced at me.

I’ll be back before the bee harvest, he said. There was an apologetic tone in his voice. I realized I had to go, Will.

In private, we talked further in low voices as Wilecok snored in his chamber.

I’m sorry, Will, he said. Time was passing… This is our last spring here, you know.

I put my head in my hands, hating to hear it.

And the Countess… Standing near me, he laid his hand on my shoulder. Well, she won’t be here for long.

But you said… I could hardly get the words out. You said we’d go together. I had been counting on it, this visit to the apothecary at Nimes that he’d promised a few years before. I’d believed him.

He sat down beside me on the bed.

Yes, but Wilecok… You would want to be here for his last days, I know. I’m sorry, I think when I ‘looked’ before, I think he’d died earlier.

There was a painful pause.

You’re saying the Countess is close to death also?

I’m afraid so, Stephen said, nodding.

Wouldn’t you want to be here for it? How long have you been planning this??

Try as I might, my voice rose wildly.

I wrote to Gerald, you remember him, Stephen said diffidently. He suggested coming in the spring.

Well, when did you get the letter? You hid it from me.

I’m sorry, he said, shrugging. It was recent.

I had not seen a messenger, and very few messengers came these days. I felt horribly hurt.

So you’re saying you won’t be here for Wilecok’s death either, I whispered.

He said nothing.

Why even go? I was shouting again. You can learn the trade in England!

He sighed, but said nothing.

We sat quietly together, the sounds of the birds trilling outside a jarring counterpoint to my misery.

It’s a good question, Stephen said slowly. Will, I had to think for a long time about that, whether I really needed to go. I don’t like to leave you.

It was a tepid-enough statement, but I nodded, eyes on my clenched fists.

I wanted to go with you, I repeated softly. It was strange, now I was realizing how much I’d counted on it, this little escape with Stephen before we had to go back to England. But of course, Wilecok was very feeble. I would have had to be blind not to see it. I couldn’t leave him.

I know. He laid his hand on mine, and we sat there together.

I can learn so much from Gerald. He’s a man I trust. And it goes without saying that I won’t ever see him again, after this. He’s getting on in years.

You should have done it last year, I muttered.

You’re right, Stephen said, after a moment. Yes, we could have both gone. But this way, Will—you’ll probably thank me in the end.

I shook my head, not meeting his eyes, not wanting to know why I would thank him. But he always had a reason for saying the things he did.

He stood and walked to the window. Through blurred eyes, I gazed at his tall, slender silhouette.

You and Eleanor will be alone here, he murmured.

I don’t want that, I blurted out after a moment. I’m not comfortable…

I know you’re not, he said, shutting the window suddenly.

We had never spoken about her in this way.

My feelings for her had changed abruptly the year before, in the late summer. It had been one of those beautiful golden mornings and I had walked barefoot out into the little kitchen garden to gather herbs. I’d heard girlish giggles and knew it would be Eleanor and her young friend, another postulant. They had always been composed and polite in my presence, giving each other meaningful looks. The other girl was dark and beautiful in a sort of wild way. Their friendship pleased me. It seemed right that Eleanor should have a little bit of pleasure in her life, I’d thought. She was happier now, when she was so much in the company of young … was it Jeanne? I was puzzling out the other girl’s name, a few sprigs of rosemary in my hand, when I saw them both, sitting on a little bench not far away, hands clasped, their long hair, brown and blond, streaming down their backs. A quince tree shaded them.

They made a pretty picture in their little bower, I thought, looking fondly on, when to my astonishment their heads bent together and they kissed passionately, as if it was not the first time, breaking off breathlessly with little moans, staring into each other’s eyes.

I stood rooted to the spot. I’d still thought that Eleanor might become a nun at that point. I’d hoped that she’d stay here, in Montargis. My thinking was muddy and emotional, but I did not want to see her live out her destiny as Stephen had described it years before, the death in childbirth. That grim image had stayed with me.

Before they could see me, I turned and walked soundlessly away. If they had spied me, there would be giggles, I was sure, but I heard nothing.

Re-entering the house that warm day, I was shaken. I could not get the vision out of my mind. I’d said nothing to Stephen.

Stephen turned to face me, there in our chamber by the window. You think of her, Will, I know you do. His voice was calm.

But I shouldn’t!

He shrugged. I want to tell you something. Look at me.

I forced myself to meet his blue-gray eyes. I saw no marks of age on him besides the faint dulling of his hair. He looked beautiful.

Anything you do, he said, will have no difference on her future. You’re terrified of that, aren’t you? Getting her with child?

I said nothing. Because of course I had thought about that.

If you fall in love with her, nothing will change. He shrugged again. Her future’s set.

I don’t want to fall in love with her, I said hoarsely.

I grew up around her, as you know. She’s more like a sister to me, Stephen continued. However, to you, I don’t think she was ever really that…

She’s Simon’s sister.

He bit his lip. True. I see. But very unlike him.

I let that one go.

Your unease will pass, Stephen said finally. Because you and she are meant to… He paused as if weighing the words carefully. Be close to each other, he finished.

I flushed.

She’s supposed to marry that Welsh prince, I said.

She will marry him, in the end, Stephen replied.

It would be better if I’d nothing to do with her, then, I told him. Not that I’m not fond of the girl. I am. We both are, aren’t we?

He laughed slightly.

Stephen, none of this is funny. You should want me to steer clear.

But I see otherwise, he said, closing the shutters, so that the room was dim and cool.

He could tell by my tone that I had forgiven him already. Or enough. I watched as he started shedding his clothes.

Don’t you want to bid me farewell properly? he asked.

My mouth was dry as he pushed me down on the bed. I didn’t object, because it had been long enough since we had been together in that way. And I still craved his touch.

I don’t mind, Will, he whispered in my ear. I don’t mind if you make love to her while I’m away.

It seemed terribly wrong to hear him say it. What was once unthinkable, forbidden, had become almost a game between us. I thought to myself that day that we were wicked, we were sinners, and that nothing of that should taint Eleanor, who was still pure, I was certain, even after what I’d seen. I was sure she was still untouched by a man, for there were no younger men living here besides us, no priests even, besides a visiting cleric who dropped by from time to time. The girls had been indulging in their youthful infatuation, but now Jeanne had taken the veil; I hadn’t seen her for a while, and Eleanor was sad, forlorn—no wonder, her beloved mother was dying, just as my beloved old friend was. And she loved Wilecok, too, and must have noticed the poor fellow going downhill.

I pulled myself back to the moment. We were in each other’s arms, Stephen and I. He kissed me slowly, dizzyingly, his skin warm and smooth on mine. Almost like a woman’s, but not.

And you? I asked, gasping. Will you—be faithful?

He smiled. Well, there won’t be another man, if that’s what you’re asking.

I had to be content with that. I had to let him go, of course. I couldn’t gainsay him, couldn’t insist on accompanying him. He was like quicksilver when he was in this mood.

He murmured words of love as we coupled. I felt he did still love me, in his way, even though events like this shook my faith.

And he knew so much more. I wondered sometimes what he wanted