by Shari Anton
Roland had wondered about that, too, and could come up with only one answer. “I imagine Kenworth took an interest in anyone who wished to visit Sir John. A coin or two to the right guard and he would have the information quickly. A search of the stables for three horses recently placed, one a blooded stallion—easily accomplished.”
“You have a fine sense of the logical.”
Roland nearly laughed, knowing some of his thoughts lately leaned to the fantastical. Those of Eloise.
“So do you. I assume one needs a sense of logic to practice law.”
“ ’Tis the first time that knowledge has proved useful, though it certainly has not proved successful as yet. I have little use for it at Pecham beyond the usual estate business.”
Roland welcomed the new direction of conversation. Not only did it take his mind off Timothy and Eloise, but he liked Geoffrey and wanted to know him better.
“Seems a waste of a fine talent.”
“Suits me fine. Pecham is high on a cliff on Cornwall’s northern coast. Between the calls of the seabirds, the rush of an ever-present wind, and the crash of waves, one can hardly hear oneself talk at times. From the farms and the tin mine we earn enough to feed and clothe everyone with a bit to spare.” He put an elbow on his knee, his chin in his upraised palm. “Then, of course, there is that other business which brings in an added pound or two.”
Roland tilted his head in inquiry.
Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. “Eloise did not tell you?”
“Nay. Should she have?”
“No particular reason, I suppose. I merely noted how much she trusts you so I assumed she had confided my little secret.”
Roland remembered how long Eloise had taken to tell him everything about the morning of her father’s flight from Lelleford. “ ’Tis rather hard to pry confidences from Eloise.”
“She does not trust easily, which is why I feel I can trust you, too.”
Perhaps the family had placed too much trust in him already. “You need not confide your secrets.”
Geoffrey glanced around the shop. Mistress Green puttered in her backyard garden, tending the herbs she used in her potions. The last patron had left several minutes ago.
He leaned forward. “If ever you need an ell or two of the finest silk to be had in the kingdom, or the smoothest Burgundy wine to pass your lips, all for a portion of the usual price, I am your man.”
Roland opened his mouth to ask how, but then he knew. Cornwall. Luxury items at low cost. The confession shocked him.
He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “You are a smuggler?”
“Aye. Leah and I are trying to wean our people off the heady profits and encouraging everyone to live on what can be earned legally. But they have had a taste of an easy life and ’tis hard for them to give it up.”
Since Geoffrey didn’t seem averse to discussing the illegal trade, Roland asked, “How did you, a man who studied law, get involved with smuggling?”
“Not my idea, I assure you. ’Twas part of the life I accepted when I married Leah. Her family had been involved for many years. When we married, her life became mine, and though there are times I wish to knock my head against a wall, I would do nothing to change my circumstance.”
“Pecham is Leah’s birthright, I take it.”
“Every cliff cave and a goodly portion of tin ore. And the keep and the demesne lands, of course.” He was quiet for a moment, then went on. “The death of both her father and only brother were hard on Leah. The future looks brighter now with our first child on the way. ’Twill be hard enough explaining to our children that one grandfather was a notorious smuggler without adding that the other was hanged as a traitor.”
“Perhaps ’twill not come to that.”
“I dearly hope not. Unfortunately, all this conjecture about Brother Walter is merely that — conjecture. We could be wasting our time chasing down a false trail.”
“Then we will have to find another trail.”
Problem was, at the moment he saw no other path to explore. He highly doubted Kenworth could be forced to confess to framing John. If the handwriting in all the missives compared favorably, then the king would be forced to take the evidence as presented and John would hang.
“Do you believe in my father’s innocence?”
Roland remembered his inability to evade the king’s questions.
“Whether your father is guilty or not, he is entitled to a fair hearing. For your sister’s sake, I mean to help him get it. Besides, I have a score to settle with Kenworth.”
Geoffrey nodded his understanding. “Eloise is grateful, too. Unfortunately, if my father is convicted, Eloise stands to lose much. True, my father loses his life, and my brother loses his inheritance. But my father will be beyond caring, and Julius can petition to have his inheritance restored. That can take years, but other sons have been successful so the fight is worth the effort. ’Tis Eloise who suffers the immediate loss of her dowry. Without it, I fear she will be forced to marry far below her station, if she marries at all. A crime, that. She has much to offer a man.”
All of this had occurred to Roland. Geoffrey’s statement of the effects on Eloise merely confirmed his own conclusions, except one.
“You and Julius would see to her future.”
“Aye, as much as we are able. ’Tis a shame your brother died before speaking his marriage vows. Then Eloise’s dowry would not be endangered, nor her reputation damaged by association with my father. Since she is the only one of us children still living at Lelleford, people will think she must have known of Father’s activities and condemn her right along with him.”
“Not fair.”
“Most unfair, but people are quick to judge harshly, and those of rank are quicker to distance themselves from anyone deemed unworthy.”
Roland agreed, and with a flash of insight, finally caught the drift of where Geoffrey’s comments led. Speechless, he stared at Eloise’s brother, barely able to contain the joy of being offered her hand in marriage, but resentful of being used in a scheme to save her dowry.
Or did he completely misread Geoffrey’s intentions? Did his own desire to make Eloise his own, forever, taint what he heard in Geoffrey’s words?
“You are suggesting I offer for Eloise?”
Geoffrey grinned. “I gather you do not find the idea abhorrent.”
“I find your method abhorrent.”
“I am pressed for time. I worry for my sister. Having her settled gives me the freedom to concentrate on more complicated matters.”
“How convenient for you.”
“And how utterly right for Eloise.” Geoffrey rose, faced him squarely. “Let me be direct. She does not come to you barefoot in her shift. If I remember correctly, she brings you two manors, one not far from Lelleford, the other in Durham, which is the property I believe Kenworth lusts after for its proximity to Scotland. There are also her movables—furniture, linens, plates, and the like. I do not know precisely what sum of money my father has also gifted her with, but knowing him it is considerable.”
Roland’s temper almost got the better of him. He understood what Geoffrey sought to do: sell his sister off fast before her worth plummeted. He was trying to make the best bargain he could with the nearest candidate possible. ’Twas galling … and damned tempting.
“Perhaps you should speak with both your father and Eloise before you attempt a betrothal bargain. Both may have objections.”
“My father is hardly in a position to take exception. As for Eloise … I doubt she would.” Geoffrey’s grin returned. “We talked a bit. Imagine my surprise to learn she no longer considers you a disgusting toad.”
Roland felt his ears warm. “Told you that story did she?”
“Not the whole of it, but enough. Her opinion of you has changed considerably. Quite an accomplishment on your part. ’Tis rare my sister admits she might be in error.”
Eloise might be fond of him, had even gone to bed with him once—a sin
gle night of exploration and ecstasy. Given a chance, could they make a good marriage? Would she willingly bind herself to him for good or ill, forever?
Could she come to love him as much as he loved her, or would she come to view their marriage as a reminder of the worst days of her life?
Eloise’s feelings aside, there were also Sir John’s, who’d taken great care to select her last betrothed. Hugh. The heir to vast estates and considerable wealth. Worthy of Hamelin’s daughter.
“I have nothing to offer her in return, Geoffrey. I may be of good blood, but I have only a knight’s rank with no means to support it. And aye, while I know marrying an heiress is a time-honored, acceptable way of gaining both power and wealth, I find the idea foul. I believe your father will be of the same opinion.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “Possibly. However, my father has already learned that not all plans for his children come to fulfillment. He can be practical when he must, and in this instance, I believe he will see things our way.”
Our way, as if Roland had already agreed. As if Eloise would have him.
“There is also the king to consider. I need his consent, and under the circumstances, he might well refuse.”
Geoffrey rubbed at his chin. “He may. And if you inform him afterward, he could dismiss you from his service. You must decide if what Eloise brings you is enough to compensate for any royal reward you have yet to gain.”
Roland wanted to grasp the dream within his reach, and yet he hesitated. He glanced up the stairs where the woman he loved lay sleeping.
“She may not want me. You may sentence her to a marriage she only agrees to because she thinks you believe it best for her. What then, Geoffrey? She may end up hating us both.”
The man was quiet for a moment before he answered. “I would not have made the suggestion if I thought Eloise might object. Nor would I allow her to marry a man I did not think would make her happy, a man who would protect and cherish her all her days. I love the little minx more than I ought, I suppose. Her happiness matters to me.”
Roland heard a brother’s love, his sincerity, and it made him wonder how Hugh would react. Would Hugh tell him to keep away from Eloise, or to do what he must for her?
“We may be discussing this for naught. If your father’s case can be won, there is no need for Eloise to marry. What say we wait to see how things go with Brother Walter before we discuss this further?”
“Agreed.” Geoffrey looked about the shop again. “Bargaining is thirsty work. Has Mistress Green a keg of ale about the place?”
She did, and Roland knew where it was. For the next little while they filled mugs and talked about how Roland earned his knighthood, of the shipwreck that nearly cost Geoffrey his life.
When next the bell over the shop’s door jangled, Timothy entered. He looked no worse for his adventure, for which Roland thanked the Fates. Timothy crossed to the keg, ladled out a mug of ale, and drank most in a continuous swallow.
After a sweep of sleeve across his mouth, Timothy began his report. “Brother Walter is not there. He did not return to London with Kenworth, and the servants do not know what happened to him.”
Roland bowed his head. He’d hoped for better news. Even if the monk had been kept hidden in Kenworth’s residence, there might have been a way to get to him. But if he wasn’t in the city, he was either dead or … only God knew where.
He put a hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “Our thanks. You feel all right?”
“Ribs hurt a bit, but I will survive.”
“I take it you had no trouble getting in and out?”
Timothy glanced between Geoffrey and Roland, then confessed, “I might have been seen by a guard. I thought it best to talk to the stable lads about the monk ’cause they know all the comings and goings in the place. I tried to keep hidden best I could, but there is an open area between the stable and the servants’ entrance I had to cross. I do not think anyone of any import saw me, but … ”
“Will the stable lads mention your visit?”
“Not unless someone asks them direct.”
“You did a fine job, Timothy. Go get some rest. Quietly. Eloise sleeps, too.”
To Roland’s surprise, Timothy gave no argument. He just finished off his ale and walked, slowly, up the stairs.
Geoffrey sighed. “ ’Twould seem our trail ends. Any thoughts on another we can follow?”
He wished he did. “Nary a one.”
Geoffrey pinned him with sapphire eyes that matched Eloise’s. “Shall I speak to my father?”
To tell John Hamelin about the king and the monk. To approach the father about the betrothal of his daughter.
All the ramifications considered, there was only one choice. Odd how, in the end, perhaps the biggest decision he’d ever made was also the easiest.
“ ’Tis my place to approach Sir John.” Roland’s hand on the latch, he turned back. “I prefer you not say anything to Eloise about a betrothal until after.”
“As you wish. Godspeed.”
Roland walked the familiar route with his mind awhirl. Not until he crossed the first drawbridge did he think to question if Sir John’s warder would allow his visit without either Eloise or Geoffrey in attendance.
Perhaps he should have let Geoffrey come as he’d offered.
Nay, this was his task to perform. He’d never let another man take over a duty for him in the past, and he wouldn’t now. He was here. He’d carry on and see what happened.
As it happened, Oswald the Warder must have considered him part of the family by now. He simply gave him a greeting and led the way up the stairs.
Sweat formed on Roland’s palms as the door opened. He had nothing to offer Sir John. Not a dram of hope for his freedom. Not an ounce of gold nor even a plate of silver for his daughter.
Only his good name and a promise to take care of her for good or ill, no matter what happened.
The odds weren’t in his favor.
John and Edgar sat at the table, playing yet another game of chess, one of their only entertainments. Edgar rose as Roland entered; John nodded a greeting and then looked past him, expecting to see his son or daughter.
Roland put a hand up to keep Oswald from immediately closing and locking the door.
“Edgar, I beg your indulgence. Some of what I have to say to Sir John must be kept private for the nonce.”
John’s eyes narrowed at the request, but he waved his permission for Edgar to leave.
With the squire out the door and the lock turned, Roland clasped his hands behind his back and crossed the room.
“I take it you bring bad news,” John said. “Has the king ordered the scaffold readied?”
Roland allowed a small smile. “Not so bad as that.”
“Then why so dour?”
He eased into the chair across from John. First things first. Roland related the details of his audience with the king.
“The missive Edward holds must be forged,” John insisted. “I have never dealt with MacLeod. And I certainly sent him no pikes!”
“So your children and I assumed. We also assumed that if the missive is to be used as evidence against you, the handwriting in the missives Lancaster now holds must match the other. If, as you say, the three missives you saw are genuine, written to Kenworth by MacLeod, the fourth must have been written by someone very skilled at copying another’s hand. We concluded the best candidate to be Brother Walter.”
John scratched at his chin. “ ’Tis possible I suppose. The man did have a neat hand, very precise.”
“Unfortunately, even if he is our forger, we do not know where he is. We hoped to question him, get a confession or else find out if he knew who might have forged the missive. The monk left Lelleford with Kenworth, but did not return to London with him. I fear his absence limits our choices of how to proceed.”
Roland expected resignation, and got a wagging finger and thoughtful look instead.
“ ’Tis not surprising Kenworth did not keep him. The monk lost
his usefulness, so either Kenworth did away with him or returned him to his monastery.”
Roland felt a glimmer of hope. “Nearby?”
“Evesham Abbey.”
Two days’ ride away. Was there time to fetch the monk and bring him back? Or did he waste his time? ’Twas very possible Kenworth had done away with his spy.
“I will tell Geoffrey.” Now for the hardest part, dealing with John Hamelin the father. “Geoffrey and I also discussed another matter. Eloise.”
John sat back in his chair, drummed his fingers on the table. “What has she done now?”
Roland bit back a smile. “Nothing intemperate.”
“Then what of her?”
Roland explained Geoffrey’s reasoning for wishing Eloise to marry with due haste, to ensure the land and other property of her dowry removed from what the king would confiscate if the worst happened.
All through the explanation, John’s expression changed from irritated to haggard.
“My son prepares for my death.”
Roland realized John had always been concerned over the outcome, but only now faced the fact that he could truly hang.
“Geoffrey yet searches for answers and directs most of his energy toward clearing you of the charges.” It didn’t seem of much comfort to John but it was all Roland could offer. “Your son not only thinks of his sister but his brother. Should the king confiscate all of your holdings, I am sure Geoffrey intends to immediately file a petition, on Julius’s behalf, to reclaim the inheritance.”
“What of Geoffrey’s own inheritance? He is entitled to a good bit of coin.”
“He never mentioned anything for himself.”
John rubbed at his weary eyes. “Because there will be nothing for him if Julius cannot win back my holdings.”
John made Geoffrey’s planning sound selfish. Roland didn’t believe it, but held his peace on the matter.
“Are you opposed to a marriage for Eloise?”
“Not opposed, but God’s wounds, I can think of no man worthy of her who would marry her in such haste with this damnable charge hanging over my head. Does Geoffrey have a man in mind?”
