by Shari Anton
’Twouldn’t happen. He’d find Eloise and bring her back to Lelleford where she belonged. And she’d stay here, by God, if he had to place her under guard again, day and night, a duty he might take upon himself.
Roland slipped into his chain mail, sat down on the stool to allow Timothy to latch the shoulder fastenings.
“I think we have all we need,” the lad said. “All but food, that is. Need we more than for a day?”
Roland glanced at the bed where a second bedroll rested next to his own. Lost in his thoughts he hadn’t realized Timothy prepared to go along. Probably a good idea. With his squire in attendance, he might not surrender to the temptation to strangle the messenger for allowing Eloise to put herself in harm’s way.
He wasn’t taking anyone else, however. He wanted nothing to do with any of the guards who’d neither stopped her from leaving the keep nor provided escort. Timothy could keep up with the pace he intended to set. Fast. At least for the first few hours.
“Bring enough to get us through the night and part of the morrow, if need be.”
Timothy snapped the last latch. “I am off to the kitchen, then, and will meet you in the stable.”
The lad grabbed both rope-bound blankets on his way out, leaving Roland to strap on his sword and don a woolen cloak. At the bottom of the stairway, Marcus and Simon awaited him, both frowning deeply.
Roland tugged on his gauntlets. “I hope to be back before nightfall. I trust that the two of you can oversee Lelleford in my absence.”
Simon rolled his shoulders. “You need not worry over us. ’Tis Eloise for whom we are concerned.” He glanced at Marcus. “We ask you not to be overly hard on her.”
Roland wanted to shake them. Had someone taken a hard line with Eloise early in her life, tamped down her strong will, she might still be here, safe, instead of out on the treacherous road to London. Under the protection of one damn messenger.
“If she does not cooperate, I will bind her up and toss her over the rear of my horse if I must. You two take care of Lelleford. I will take care of Lady Eloise.”
Intent on his mission, he didn’t see the men’s frowns turn into smiles as soon as he was out the door.
Marcus chuckled. “I do believe Lady Eloise has met her match.”
Simon crossed his arms. “Perhaps, but I am willing to wager she talks Roland into taking her to London.”
“I am not so big a fool as to part with my coin so easily.”
Isolde handed Tim the food packet. “I had Cook gather enough for three days, plus a bit extra. Ye will take care.”
Tim brushed the tear from the corner of her eye, loath to let it fall. No one had ever cared enough for him to cry over him before, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.
“Have no fears on my account.”
“I wish ye did not have to go, too.”
“Where Sir Roland goes, I go. ’Tis the life of a squire.”
“I know, but still …”
“Come now, do not be sad. I will not be gone long.”
She heaved a great sigh, her pert, ripe breasts rising and lowering, distracting him from his purpose. He gave himself a mental shake. Roland was waiting in the stable. He couldn’t tarry.
Wineskin and food packet in one arm, Tim gathered the bedrolls in the other. “Come walk with me a way, tell me what you will do while I am gone.”
She smiled then, that endearing curve of mouth he would miss greatly. “Perhaps I shall make progress on Lady Eloise’s gown. She particularly wants the blue one finished before Christmas.”
Tim wondered where he’d be at Christmas. Still here at Lelleford? Or off with Sir Roland somewhere else? Perhaps at the king’s court, or maybe at the St. Marten’s estate. Either way, ’twas unlikely he’d spend the holiday with Isolde.
Or any other holiday for that matter. He was but a squire, with nothing to his name, with nothing to offer her, and they both knew and accepted it. ’Twas foolhardy to wish for more.
“You like to sew?”
“I am good at it, and it gives me pleasure to see people wear something I have made.” She stopped then. They hadn’t quite reached the inner gate. “Would ye do me a great favor?”
Didn’t she know he’d go to great lengths to please her?
“Whatever you require, sweetling.”
Her smile widened briefly at the endearment, then faded. “If you see Edgar, will ye give him my love, tell him not to worry over me? I am sure it sits hard with him.”
Isolde worried over her brother, who all assumed languished in the Tower with Sir John. She asked a favor Timothy doubted he would get a chance to grant.
“We are not traveling so far as London. Sir Roland hopes to find Lady Eloise soon after nooning and return by nightfall.”
“So Sir Roland intends. If his plan goes awry, and I assure ye Lady Eloise will do all in her power to see that it does, will ye speak to Edgar for me?”
“Sir Roland is not easily swayed.”
Isolde simply tilted her head, and in that small motion he caught an admonishment for not immediately agreeing to do her will. She’d learned that from Lady Eloise, Tim was sure. What could he do but comply?
“All right. Should I happen to see Edgar, I will give him your regards and assure him you are well. Satisfied?”
Her bright smile was all the reward he required, the brief kiss she planted on his cheek an added boon. With a sad smile, she returned to the keep.
Timothy trundled on to the stables.
God’s wounds, he was like butter in the lass’s hands, too easily shaped and molded, too ready to melt. She wasn’t his first lass, but none affected him so deeply as Isolde.
Lady Eloise, now there was a fine lady, and a strong one. And from what he’d observed, Sir Roland was smitten. Roland, however, was more experienced with the fairer sex, didn’t seem to give into Eloise’s whims as easily as Tim gave in to Isolde.
Roland would bring her ladyship back, as he said he would, even though the lady objected.
Tim smiled to himself. Perhaps he should watch more closely how a knight handled a lady, see how it was done. How to be firm and yet gallant. How to win a stubborn woman over to his way of thinking while remaining, at all times, chivalrous.
Verily, a squire could learn more skills from his knight than merely how to wield a sword.
Chapter Twelve
ELOISE SWORE every muscle in her body ached, except those that had gone numb. She’d managed to get off the horse and wasn’t looking forward to getting back on. Pacing along the wide path that served as a road helped work out the worst of the knots, but her legs and back would never be the same.
Not once during last night’s planning and growing excitement over going to London had she considered it might hurt. But then in all of her years she’d never ridden for several hours at a stretch over uncountable leagues.
“Are you ready, my lady?”
Eloise noted the apology in the messenger’s voice. When Daniel agreed to allow her to accompany him, he warned her—hoping to dissuade her from her folly, she was sure—that he must return to London with all haste, that he wouldn’t halt often to rest. ’Twas now nigh on noon, and they’d stopped to water the horses in a convenient stream and partake of a light meal.
Eloise answered his question by tossing the apple core to the side of the road and pulling her palfrey to a log high enough to help her mount. “Will we make Windsor by nightfall?”
He smiled shyly, enforcing her impression that Daniel was both young and a bit wary of her, quite unaccustomed to dealing with headstrong women.
“In plenty of time to enjoy a hot, hearty meal and allow a full night’s rest. The Boar’s Head is a decent inn. I hope you find it comfortable.”
Eloise shifted in the saddle, firmly believing she’d find anything short of a plank floor more comfortable than hard leather.
Not an hour later, her legs again screamed for mercy. But there was nothing to do but hang on and try not to think about
the pain. She’d talked Daniel into letting her accompany him, agreeing to all his terms. She couldn’t very well forswear the bargain now, no matter how deep her misery.
At least the weather held in her favor. A few clouds passed over, casting the road into deeper shadow at times, but no rain threatened. A small thing to be grateful for, but then, she looked for the good things to take her mind off the bad.
She’d spent all morning wondering about how to explain her rash action to her father, or worrying about the uproar she’d likely caused at Lelleford.
Would her father be furious and arrange to send her home?
How quickly had her absence from Lelleford been discovered, and had anyone been sent to fetch her back?
Was Roland so furious he’d not look at her tenderly again?
She really had to stop thinking about Roland St. Marten and banish these wayward longings for what might have been sweet and loving between them.
Such a fool she’d been to allow a woman’s yearnings to push aside her duty as a daughter. Her father’s situation must come first, to the exclusion of all else. She owed her loyalty and devotion to him, not to a man who might prove a diverting lover, a duty driven home forcefully last eve upon Daniel’s arrival.
So why, then, did she occasionally glance over her shoulder, looking for Roland? ’Struth, if anyone did come after her, ’twould likely be Simon or Marcus, not Roland.
The afternoon wore on, and just about the time she was sure she’d fall out of the saddle because her legs couldn’t hold tight anymore, Daniel—blessedly—pulled to the side of the road for another rest.
Unlike last time, Daniel wordlessly offered to help her dismount. Swinging her leg over the saddle nearly killed her, but she pushed through the pain, and was rather proud of herself for not collapsing onto the road.
She noted, however, that the young man held on to her elbows until he was sure she stood upright on her own power.
“You look about done in, my lady.”
She could hardly deny his observation, absolutely sure she looked as bad as she felt.
“I thank you for your concern, but I will survive.”
Eloise ignored the furrowing of his brow that revealed his doubts in her ability. She would survive. She’d ride as far and as fast as she must if she had to tie herself to the saddle to accomplish such a feat.
With each carefully placed step alongside the road, she felt stronger. With each bite of apple, she felt renewed—or so she told herself. As soon as her bottom hit the log she’d decided to rest on, she wondered if she’d be able to get up with any grace at all.
’Twas then she heard the sound of hoofbeats, heavy and fast, coming up the road they’d just traveled.
Daniel placed himself—feet spread and short sword in hand—directly between her and her view of the road. Images of bandits and ruffians, stories she’d heard of travelers accosted on the road, flitted through her and settled in a lump in her stomach. The accompanying rush of fear set her heart thumping, and guided her hand to her boot and the dagger hidden within.
Perhaps the other travelers would simply pass them by. She prayed so, but would be ready if they didn’t. She wasn’t helpless and could defend herself if need be. Growing up in a household of mainly men and watching them train with weapons now stood her in good stead. What she lacked in skill could be made up with enthusiasm.
All the while her hand trembled on the dagger’s handle.
Then the hoofbeats slowed, and Daniel’s heretofore tight shoulders slumped slightly as he lowered his sword. Eloise forced herself to rise and peek around the messenger.
Roland. Timothy right behind him. She’d been caught.
Even as she noted the stark look on Roland’s face, knew without doubt he was about to unleash his anger, she thrilled at the sight of him galloping up the road.
She bent over to put her dagger back in her boot, and had to place a hand on Daniel’s back to keep from tumbling over.
“My lady?”
“I am fine, merely unsteady.”
Roland’s stallion barely came to a stop when he dismounted in one graceful, powerful move. He waved a threatening finger at Daniel.
“You I will deal with later!”
No fool, the messenger stepped aside, leaving her vulnerable to Roland’s glare and whims.
With long, steady strides he came toward her, menacing in his ire. She couldn’t tamp down the chagrin that even though he’d ridden the same distance at what must have been a punishing pace, he showed no sign of weariness or weakness.
The closer he came, the more she knew she should be worried and prepared to argue against his insistence that she return home. But sweet mercy, the stirring surrounding her heart refused to acknowledge anything else but that he’d come for her. ’Twas all she could do to keep from tossing her arms around his neck and shouting for joy.
He stopped within a breath in front of her and crossed his arms. “Do you have any notion … any idea … what the devil possessed you?” and then he gave up trying to speak. He rolled his eyes heavenward, beseeching guidance, then closed them with a heavy sigh.
Her heart sang a joyful melody. He wasn’t so much angry as worried.
She laid tentative fingertips on his arm. “I have come to no harm, Roland.”
“So I see. Just give me a moment.”
Roland brought his turmoil under control, not easy with her fingers rubbing small circles on his arm, providing a threadlike connection between him and the woman he’d too often envisioned lying in a bloody heap alongside the road.
He didn’t dare touch her yet, undecided between shaking her fiercely for her temerity and for dragging him through hell, or crushing her against his chest, holding her tight so she’d not get away from him again.
“How did you find us?” she asked softly.
Somewhat calmed, he opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him, as if they were in some private place back at the keep and not in the middle of the road. His heart skipped a beat, and he tightened his arms to keep them in place.
“A nail came out of one of your palfrey’s shoes, the impression easy enough to track.”
“Oh.” The soft puff of air nearly stole his breath away. “Such a small thing. Perhaps when we stop at the inn tonight we can have the nail replaced.”
Simon and Marcus had warned him she wouldn’t give in easily to returning home, nothing he hadn’t known himself. He’d just found her and was having trouble not wrapping his arms around her. He certainly didn’t want to argue. With his insides all churned up, how was he supposed to present clear arguments to … except that was the wrong way to go about winning.
Orders, not cajoling, would win the day.
“You are not going any farther south than this spot. I am taking you home.”
She raised an eyebrow. Her fingers stilled but didn’t leave his arm.
“But I must go on. Roland, my father is in dire need of aid and I cannot forsake him.”
“You sent for Geoffrey and fulfilled the requests in your father’s message. Eloise, there is naught more you can do for him.”
“There must be.”
“Such as what?”
“I will not know until I speak with my father.”
He was getting nowhere. He should just pick her up, put her back on her horse, and lead her north, toward home, where she’d be safe. The thought tempted mightily, but the plea in her eyes stopped him cold.
Still, giving into her whim, no matter how strongly felt, wasn’t acceptable.
“If you will not listen to reason for your own sake, then think of your father. He believes you home, protected from the worst of what is to come. If you go to London, then he must not only be concerned for his own situation, but will worry over you. Sir John does not need the distraction of having his daughter running loose in the city and at risk.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Geoffrey will be there soon.”
“Not for several days, too much time for Kenworth
to learn you are in the area and take advantage. The risk to you, to your father’s cause, is too great, Eloise. ’Tis best you return to Lelleford. Now.”
“Beg pardon, my lord.”
Roland glanced over his shoulder at the approaching messenger, who he hadn’t yet strangled for his part in Eloise’s escape. “Why for?”
To Daniel’s credit, he didn’t cower. “It may be best for you to continue to the inn for the night. ’Tis but an hour away and her ladyship needs the rest. She is in pain and—”
Roland spun back to Eloise. “You are in pain?”
She shot Daniel an irritated glance. “Not so much that I cannot ride.”
“But not far,” the messenger stated. “Truly, Sir Roland, I only stopped here because every time I looked back I saw her strain become worse. I began to worry if she could keep her seat. Even now she is not steady.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. “That will be enough, Daniel! My legs still hold me up.”
“Barely,” the messenger murmured, then backed away toward his mount.
Roland could have kicked himself for not seeing the obvious before, for not realizing she held on to his arm not because she wanted to touch him, but for balance. His own legs felt the abuse of a punishing ride, and he was used to it. Eloise wasn’t.
The time for both orders and arguments had come to a halt.
He picked her up. Ignoring her feeble protests, he strode toward the stallion that could easily carry them both. And now that he had Eloise in his arms, snug against his chest, right where he wanted her, he loathed letting her go.
“Which inn, Daniel?”
“The Boar’s Head in Windsor.”
“Lead on. Timothy, lead Eloise’s palfrey.”
“I can ride, Roland,” the minx in his arms grumbled. “If you ride with me, I do not have to worry about you falling off your horse.”
“You have no cause to worry about me at all.”
She was wrong, but that argument was for another time.
Once mounted, he settled a stiffly irate Eloise across his thighs, arranged her cloak over her legs, and nudged the stallion forward. The messenger set a swift but not harsh pace.
