by Shari Anton
He often joined them, knowing he was accepted, but still felt the outsider.
Probably best that way. He might have temporary control over Lelleford, but someday either Sir John would return to his holding or the king would give it to another lord. Either way, Roland would have to relinquish control.
How soon that day arrived depended upon the outcome of John’s capture and trial. Since Roland hadn’t yet received word from either the earl or the king, he had no idea how events progressed.
Eloise sat with her arms crossed, her toe tapping on the stone floor set before the massive hearth.
Simon joined him at the trestle table, looking happier for his escape from the keep.
The steward leaned forward and whispered, “Truly, Roland, I do not believe there is any danger this morn. Besides, you intend to send an escort with her, do you not?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Roland answered in kind. “Aye. We cannot allow her outside the walls unprotected. Any unscrupulous lout who might think to seize Sir John’s lands would have too much of an advantage should he capture and force a marriage upon Hamelin’s daughter. Will she balk at an escort?”
“Not if she realizes the necessity, I think.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Roland tossed back the last of his ale and got up.
“Come along, Eloise, before you dent that stone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Where do we go?”
“To the village. That is what you wanted, is it not?”
She shot off the stool. “Aye, but … I see no reason for you to accompany me.”
“Your father has enemies. Should one of them seize you we would have the devil’s own time getting you back. You must give me your word not to go outside the gate without escort.”
She bit her bottom lip, the implications of her possible seizure and the sense of his order taking hold.
“You have my word.”
He believed her. Eloise was an intelligent as well as beautiful woman who recognized the danger to her as well as to her father’s holding. He didn’t want to worry her, but he didn’t want her taking unnecessary risks, either.
“Let us go, then,” he said with a smile, eager to escape the walls himself. “You can admire my new stallion.”
She flung on her cloak as they hurried out of the hall. Amusement lit her eyes.
“Is he so grand?”
A grander horse than he’d ever hoped for, a warhorse bred for the king’s stables. “Judge for yourself.”
They entered the outer bailey, and Roland glanced toward the tiltyard. Timothy no longer had the field to himself.
One by one the squires who’d returned with Simon gripped lances tight against their sides and charged the quintain. Most of them hit the target square and true, making the pass without getting knocked from their saddles—to the delight of the group of females who’d gathered to watch and cheer.
Roland’s steps slowed as Timothy set his lance. The lad usually gave a good account of himself, and this time proved no different. With a flourish, he made his pass, wheeling his horse at the end of the run to accept the accolades of the maids.
Roland couldn’t help a burst of laughter. “No wonder Timothy could hardly wait to leave the hall.”
“And Isolde said she had errands to attend. I wonder which task led her to the tiltyard.” Eloise sighed. “ ’Tis grand to hear joyful sounds in the bailey again.”
Roland agreed. In silence they stood and watched the young people, the males showing off their talent and prowess to the delight of giddy, appreciative females. It soon became apparent to which female Timothy made his lowest bow, and for whom Isolde cheered the loudest.
The unease Roland exchanged with Eloise didn’t need verbal expression. His squire, her maid. Both young but of an age to know their own minds—and bodies.
“Isolde is but ten and four. Should I be concerned for her?” Eloise asked.
At ten and six, Timothy was a good lad, but doubtless suffered the raging urges of young males everywhere. Normally, Roland wouldn’t give a thought to whether or not his squire was tupping a willing maid. However, Isolde’s maimed foot prevented her from fleeing unwanted advances, thus leaving her more vulnerable than most.
Nor was her brother, Edgar, here to defend her honor if warranted. Had Timothy taken on that duty? He may have, given the lad’s concerns for her the other day.
“If they enjoy each other’s company, I see no reason to interfere. However, if you sense a need for concern, tell me and I will speak with Timothy.”
She regarded him with a mixture of gratitude and an emotion he couldn’t quite define. Surprise, perhaps? But before he could study the depths of her sapphire eyes further, she moved off toward the stable, eager to complete her errand.
Along the way, Roland hailed two men-at-arms—one of Kenworth’s men assigned to him and one a soldier of Lelleford. With the aid of the stable boys the four of them readied horses and were soon on their way.
Eloise sat a horse with the ease of a highborn woman trained from early youth and handled the reins with the skill of a man. Roland led the party over the drawbridge, too aware of what a fine figure Eloise presented on horseback, even when covered up with a fur-lined cloak.
“A faster pace, if you please,” she called out. “Your fine stallion looks quite capable of speed.”
Not a complaint, merely a cheerfully given request.
Roland glanced up at the darkening, thickening clouds, and decided to grant it.
“You lead, then, so I will not have to worry whether you keep pace.”
With a most unladylike snort, Eloise gave her mare a sharp kick and bolted past him. He caught up easily, noted her smug expression, and rode at her side until she slowed when they neared the village.
Cotter’s huts, built of timber and roofed with thatch, circled the village green and common well. The gardens, which not two months ago flourished with vegetables and flowers, had been stripped. Cattle and fowl were now allowed to nibble at what little greenery remained.
With the harvest in, the tenants tended to chores suited to the season. They added thatch to roofs, mended latches and fences, chopped firewood gathered from the nearby forest.
They labored to ready for the hardships of a long, cold winter.
Noticing Eloise, the children scampered into the road and gleefully called out her name. With so many little ones descending on them, the company came to a halt.
“Have a care, there! I should hate to have you squashed like a bug!” Eloise’s laughter mingled with the sharp command, belying any harshness.
He’d never heard her laugh before, not like this, without restraint. Her happiness wove a spell around him and for a moment he forgot where he was and why he accompanied Eloise, just enjoyed the sight of a beautiful woman whose deep-throated, merry laughter rang through the green.
Eloise dismounted and greeted each child by name. Some she blessed with a quick tousle of hair, others received a brief hug. One particular little urchin pulled on her skirts until she picked him up and held him close for several long moments.
’Twas a side of her he’d not seen before, warm and loving, and the sight tugged at his innards.
She poured affection on the children, yet she retained all the dignity of her rank, that regal bearing that set her apart and above the peasants.
The children’s squeals of glee alerted their parents, who left their work to attend their lady. Naturally, Eloise again knew every name, asked after those she’d known were ill, inquired into the state of affairs in the village. Even as she exchanged pleasantries and information, she smiled brightly, bestowing her sincere interest upon those she cared for.
Inevitably, a man stepped forward, his brow scrunched. “Is it true, milady? His lordship is accused of treason?”
Her wide smile diminished only slightly.
“Can you imagine a more ridiculous notion? Of all the men in this kingdom, no one serves Edward better than my father. Have y
ou not all heard him expound on the king’s many virtues?” She paused, waiting until here and there men nodded before continuing. “Does Sir John Hamelin not serve his forty days’ knight’s service himself instead of paying scutage as so many lords do these days?”
This time the agreement came more readily.
“That he does, milady.”
“Takes his duty serious, does Sir John.”
“I should say he does,” she declared. “Whoever makes this absurd charge shall soon realize his mistake, I assure you. Have no fear. My father will be proved innocent.”
With the aid of the village green’s mounting block, she swung back up on her horse, then waved a hand his way. “This is Sir Roland St. Marten. Many of you will remember him.”
Again the nods, and Roland felt the weight of their stares. He didn’t recognize a single villager’s face, but they’d obviously observed and remembered him from his previous visit.
“Sir Roland and his men augment our guard in my father’s absence. So you see, we are well prepared for any untoward event. You need not fear for your lives or livelihood. All will be well.”
It took him a moment to realize she’d minimized his position as Lelleford’s overseer, giving the villagers the impression he was no more than an extra sword in case of trouble.
How dare she?
He rode up beside her, leaning over so only she could hear. “I do more than augment the guard, milady. Should you not tell them the truth?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Do not your soldiers perform the same service as Lelleford’s guards?”
“Aye, but—”
“And are you not their commander?”
“You know I am.”
“Well then, I told no lies, did I? Come, let us get out of the rain.”
Before he could answer, Eloise flipped up the hood of her cloak against the increasing drizzle, shutting him out of her line of sight.
An effective battle maneuver, a swift strike and hasty retreat, meant to throw an enemy off balance.
The minx! So, that was how she intended to carry on, was it? Fine with him. She’d soon learn he didn’t unbalance easily.
For the next few moments, Eloise bid the villagers fare-thee-well, releasing them to seek shelter from the rain. When she finally turned back to him, ’twas with a look of such innocence he had to wonder if he’d imagined it all.
“Ready to return?” she asked, and Roland had to shake off his momentary confusion.
If they made a quick dash back to the castle, Roland reasoned, they might escape a wetting.
As they’d ridden into the village, he’d deliberately avoided looking at the neat stone church, but the site of Hugh’s death refused denial.
Grief hit him hard, memories of that day unfolding in vivid color and minute detail.
He could see Hugh standing on the steps, resplendent in wedding garb, happy and proud, facing Eloise, clasping her hands.
The day had been warm, the sunshine bright, and the groom unaware of all except his beautiful bride, whose honor and suitability he’d defended to a meddlesome half brother not an hour before.
Hugh had neither spoken to nor looked at Roland since. He’d died angry at the half brother who’d dared voice concern over the wisdom of the marriage.
As if sensing his painful thoughts, Eloise said softly, “I still cannot pass the church without remembering.”
Roland again experienced the shock of watching Hugh grasp his chest, his face twist in agony, his body crumple onto the stone stair.
“I thought I left my grief behind at his tomb.” He heard the strain in his voice, and cleared his throat to banish the tension and threat of tears.
She looked at him with soulful eyes. “That must have been awful for you, laying to rest a sibling you cared for so deeply. Both of my brothers are alive and well as far as I know. I would be desolate if I lost either of them, or my sister.”
She hadn’t experienced desolation at Hugh’s death, hadn’t even been sad enough to shed a single tear that he knew of.
“You did not love Hugh as he deserved.”
She blinked at the harshly delivered accusation. “I admit I did not love Hugh. We were allowed but two days to become acquainted, and mere hours to speak alone. All in all, I thought him a kind and gentle man. Honorable.”
An apt description of Hugh. Many people had loved him, but respect was another matter.
Hugh might have been lovable, but he wasn’t a strong leader. He’d tried to please everyone and ended up satisfying few. As a result, people took advantage of him.
Without a doubt, Hugh would have become lost in Eloise’s shadow, giving in to her every whim.
“Hugh loved you from the moment he first saw you.”
She smiled sadly. “So he said. I did not believe his chivalric declarations, of course. No one gives another their heart so quickly. He uttered sweet words to impress his betrothed, no more.”
Didn’t Eloise know Hugh had fallen deep and hard, become fully enamored? Roland could yet see his half brother’s eyes glaze in besotted wonder while he expounded on his bride’s beauty and charm. Men had fought for, even died for, the attentions of such a woman.
“You are a beautiful woman, Eloise. I have no doubt most men find you attractive and alluring upon first glance. Why do you doubt Hugh admired and desired you above all others?”
Eloise went very still, and though her cloak’s hood shadowed her face, he would swear she blushed. Because he’d called her beautiful? Surely, she’d been told so before. She must realize her face and form placed her among the most desirable women in the kingdom.
“If a comely face is all that is required to engage a man’s affection, then you are all fools,” she fervently declared.
He admitted he’d seen men make utter fools of themselves over a woman, but so was the reverse true. He’d witnessed members of the fair sex, from lusty kitchen maids to ardent noblewomen, go to wanton lengths to attract the attention of a handsome male. When attraction sparked desire, people’s good sense could run amok.
“Are women so different? Are you not first attracted to the cut of a man’s face, the breadth of his shoulders?”
In that brazen manner he’d warned Hugh against, she blatantly assessed his face, skimmed over his shoulders, her inspection finally ending where his thighs tightened more snugly on his mount. A shameless perusal that heated his loins.
“I do not deny that one finds a handsome male enjoyable to look upon. You have a fine-featured face, a well-honed form. I do not doubt many women have been drawn to you because of your looks. That does not mean any one of them gifted you with her heart.” She tugged on the reins, and her mare immediately backed up. “Love runs deeper than the desire to possess an appealing bauble. Or at least it should.”
She set her mare to the path just as the rain began to fall in earnest. Roland tipped his face upward, grateful for the cold and wet. Perhaps, by the time they returned to the castle he’d have his natural male response to a female’s appreciation back under control.
An appealing bauble, was he?
He couldn’t deny his physical attraction to Eloise Hamelin. He’d once tried to keep his reaction to her firmly under control, knowing she was to be Hugh’s wife. He still couldn’t allow himself to pursue her, no matter how much the thought appealed.
She’d come within words of being his sister-by-marriage. She was the daughter of a man accused of treason, and so poison to a man hoping to better his position. And if the charges resolved in Sir John’s favor, she’d again be destined to marry a man of higher rank and wealth than Roland St. Marten.
A lost cause. Untouchable.
A woman whose delectable body his hands fair itched to touch and arouse. Whose long delicate fingers he yearned to have pressed against his own arousal. Into whose depths, under other circumstances, he might eagerly plummet if given a sliver of encouragement.
After a last glance at the church, Roland nudged his stallion forward, th
e ache in his private parts acute, the pain in his heart worse, his guilt nearly overwhelming.
He craved a woman he couldn’t have, shouldn’t want—and may have badly misjudged. Perhaps Eloise was right. Maybe all men were fools when it came to women.
Eloise stepped into the accounting room where Simon sat at the large oak desk, making notations in a narrow ledger—sheaves of vellum bound with leather.
He looked up when he heard her. “My lady?”
She heard the greeting, but couldn’t stop staring at the blood staining the planks at the side of the desk. Brother Walter’s blood. ’Twould take a strong potion and many scrubbings to bleach it out.
She could still see the cleric lying there, motionless, hear her father’s angry voice fill the room.
And now both men were gone and she still didn’t know what had happened between them.
Feeling more deserted than she knew was warranted, she focused on the present and why she’d sought out Simon.
“Have you found anything amiss in here?”
Simon waved the feather quill. “Nay, everything seems in order. The ledgers, your father’s deeds and documents, all are here. If the earl found something of value to his cause, he took it with him.”
“Roland thinks the earl would have gloated had he come across anything to aid his cause.”
Simon gave a slight nod. “A good assumption, though we cannot be sure.”
Eloise debated whether or not to tell Simon of the scrolls her father had taken with him. How much did she yet need to keep secret, and from whom?
Her father’s knights were loyal to their lord, but could that loyalty be shaken if told Sir John might have taken damaging evidence with him?
“Simon, you have served my father since before I was born, been his trusted steward for many years. Of us all, you may know him best. I ask you, can there be any truth at all to the charges?”
His expression turned stormy. She held up a hand to stave off a quick denial.
“Think a moment. His position puts him in contact with many people of many beliefs. Perhaps while at court or during his travels to his other estates, could someone have led him into a situation which could be misunderstood? Or, more to my father’s nature, could he have become involved in a scheme to make a profit or further his position in court and the plan went astray?”
