by Shari Anton
Kenworth shook his head. “Lie upon lie. ’Tis true Brother Walter knew of the missives. He did us good service, my liege, by informing me of their existence.”
Edward glanced at Kenworth. “You did not inform me of this monk’s role before.”
“ ’Twas of little import. The monk’s discovery of the other missives merely supported what we already knew from the one obtained from MacLeod’s messenger. ’Tis the missives’ existence which are of import, not how we obtained them.” Kenworth waved a hand at the desk. “These are all the proof we need to send this traitor to the gallows, my liege. Say the word and I shall order it so.”
Eloise fought to keep from begging King Edward not to believe what he saw, to realize the evidence laid before him was false. But how could he disregard them? When all was said, ’twas her father’s name on the missive linking him to the MacLeod, not Kenworth’s.
Edward looked to Kenworth. “Where is this monk?”
Kenworth opened his mouth but Geoffrey spoke first. “We believe he is at Evesham Abbey, my liege. Roland St. Marten went to fetch him.”
Kenworth huffed. “St. Marten. An untrustworthy cur. He has betrayed your trust, my liege. Are you aware he disobeyed your orders? Instead of remaining to oversee Lelleford, he has brought the traitor’s daughter to London.” He tossed her a brief, sneering glance, sending a shiver down her spine. “Are you aware, Hamelin, that they have been sharing a room over an apothecary? St. Marten has been boffing your daughter.”
Eloise stifled a gasp at the base description of her intimate relations with Roland. Even as her face warmed with embarrassment and indignation on Roland’s behalf, she realized Kenworth had just confessed to knowing of their whereabouts in London. Perhaps he had sent those villains to kidnap her as her father believed.
Her father waved a dismissing hand. “What St. Marten does or does not do with Eloise is his choice. Did you know, Kenworth, that they are wed?”
Eloise winced at the king’s upraised eyebrow. Roland hadn’t informed the king of the marriage as yet. That could mean trouble for Roland later.
Still, Kenworth’s sudden pallor at realizing the manor in Durham was yet another step beyond his reach proved satisfying. “Wed? To St. Marten?”
Her father’s smile widened. “Several nights ago.”
Kenworth’s agitation sharpened. “Impossible. I would have been aware of such a ceremony.”
“St. Marten is in possession of the signed and witnessed betrothal bargain. Several people were present when the two exchanged vows.” Father tilted his head. “I gather you have had Roland watched. One must also wonder at the quality of the men you hire as your spies and thugs.”
Kenworth’s hands fisted and opened several times, the itch to pummel her father apparent to all observers. Including the king.
“Is the matter of St. Marten’s marriage of import in this case?” Edward asked.
The earl quickly reined in his ire. “Nay, my liege. Nor is the monk. ’Struth, should St. Marten bring forth Brother Walter, the monk will merely confirm what I have told you.”
Either Kenworth was very sure of the tale the monk would tell, or Brother Walter wasn’t at Evesham for Roland to fetch.
Or Kenworth had ensured Roland couldn’t bring Brother Walter to appear before the king.
Her clasped hands trembled. Had Kenworth’s thugs followed Roland out of London? When they realized he was headed for Evesham Abbey, had the villains either captured or killed him?
The arrow to her heart pierced her fury. She rose from the chair, fully prepared to claw Kenworth to shreds if he didn’t divulge Roland’s whereabouts.
The wretch was saved only by the opening of the chamber’s huge oak doors — and Roland crossing the threshold.
Alive. Covered with road dust. His hair disheveled. Looking weary and worn, but alive.
She quickly crossed the distance between them, flung her arms around his neck, and reveled in the feel of Roland’s steady heartbeat against her own. Eloise closed her eyes and clung to the husband she’d feared for, the man she loved beyond reason.
Sweet mercy, but he’d brought her low.
Against all sense, she’d been about to confront an earl on the wisp of a chance he might have harmed Roland, giving no thought at all to anyone else in the chamber.
She’d come damn close to embarrassing herself in front of the king! Only now did it occur to her that she likely embarrassed everyone in the chamber with her impulsive show of affection.
Eloise took comfort that Roland didn’t seem to mind. His arms wrapped as tightly around her waist as her arms clutched him about the neck.
“Praise God,” she whispered. “What took you so long?”
“Brother Walter does not sit a horse well,” he said, his tone giving her the impression there was more to the tale. “I beg pardon if the delay caused you distress.”
“I … worried.”
After a reassuring squeeze, his arms loosened. “ ’Twill be over soon.”
She reluctantly eased away and glanced at the monk who could save her father. Brother Walter stared at the floor, his hands tucked up into his sleeves. Looking as disheveled and weary as Roland, the monk’s mouth moved in silent prayer.
Roland gingerly touched the monk’s forearm. “I did not count on Kenworth being here. Can you carry on?”
Those pale blue eyes opened, and Eloise saw panic so overwhelming she wanted to put her arms around him, too.
Brother Walter’s slight nod wasn’t reassuring. Roland tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her across the floor. Behind her she could hear the flap of the monk’s sandals, the swish of his robes. Within a few steps of the king Roland stopped, and Eloise dipped into a curtsy in accord with his bow.
“My liege.” Roland turned slightly to wave the monk forward. “This is Brother Walter of Evesham Abbey, who served as Sir John’s clerk for several months. He has agreed to tell us what he knows of this affair.”
Kenworth huffed. “I have already told you what the monk knows, my liege. ’Tis a waste of time to allow him to speak. However, if everyone insists, Brother Walter, do tell us how you aided me in bringing the traitor low.”
Eloise wondered if she was the only one who heard a threat in Kenworth’s tone. She wasn’t. Brother Walter’s gaze darted between Kenworth and her father before at last coming to rest on the king.
“What do you know, monk?” Edward asked.
Brother Walter opened his mouth, then pursed his lips. ’Twas then Eloise noted how badly he shook, how sweat beaded on his brow. His fright was palpable. Afraid of the king? Nay, most likely of Kenworth.
Eloise felt a moment’s panic that he’d turn tail and run. If he didn’t speak, didn’t confirm all they’d guessed at … the consequences were too unbearable to contemplate. Not when her father was so close to being liberated.
She slipped from Roland’s side and placed her hand on Brother Walter’s arm. After a moment, his trembling eased.
Eloise hoped her tone was soothing. “Brother Walter, on the morning my father left Lelleford, you wished to tell him something of such import you declared us doomed if you could not find him. Much has happened since, and the doom is at hand. Only you can save him. I beg you, Brother Walter, to complete your confession.”
He stared at her for a moment, then replied in a thin voice, “I wrote … the missive.”
Eloise felt the men close in around her even as her world brightened.
“Which missive?”
“The one which names Sir John and the MacLeod.”
The words hung in the air for several moments until Kenworth finally realized he no longer controlled his spy. His fury burst forth bright and menacing, his darting reach for the monk stopped by Roland’s hand cuffing his wrist.
Beneath Eloise’s fingertips, Brother Walter’s arm again trembled.
The earl glared at Roland. “You dare lay hands on me? Again you forget your place, St. Marten!”
Rola
nd gave the earl a feral smile that sent shivers down her spine.
“For the nonce, my place is between you and Brother Walter, my lord earl.”
Kenworth tried to jerk his arm from Roland’s grip, and failed. A shoving match ensued with Roland giving no ground. Instead he kept his big body steadfastly positioned between Kenworth and the monk.
“Cease!” the king shouted. “St. Marten, release the earl.”
Roland obeyed, but didn’t move from his protective position.
Kenworth shook his dignity back into place, but his confidence suffered. Concern deepened the lines of his brow.
“What say you, Kenworth?” The king picked up the most condemning missive. “Did you have your spy write this missive in order to implicate Hamelin?”
“The monk lies! St. Marten has either threatened Walter or promised him a rich reward. I swear, if given an hour I can produce the man who took the missive from the Scottish messenger.”
“And I give you my oath, my liege, that I promised the monk nothing but my protection,” Roland stated. “He came of his own will.”
Brother Walter cleared his throat. “Sir Roland did not force me to leave Evesham. My reward is to make amends for the wrong done to Sir John. May God forgive us all for this atrocity.”
Kenworth whirled to face the king. “I stand wrongly accused, my liege, and demand satisfaction.” He flung a hand toward the monk. “I demand he prove his charge. He claims to have written the missive. If so, then he should be able to make an exact copy. I am willing to wager he cannot.”
Roland’s head swiveled, his odd look for the monk disconcerting. Eloise felt her innards tighten. Something was wrong. If the monk had written the missive, then he should be able to make a copy. And once done, her father would be free.
To the monk’s credit, he never hesitated. “I shall need writing materials, my liege.”
The king rose up and waved Brother Walter into the thronelike chair. From a drawer the king drew parchment, quill, and a bottle of ink.
Eloise stifled a gasp when Brother Walter slid his hands from his sleeves, revealing a badly deformed right hand. Her heart sank to her toes as he reached out and brushed the plume on the quill with bent and broken fingers.
Then with lips pursed and haunted look in his eyes, Brother Walter picked up the quill in his left hand, dipped it in the ink bottle, and began to write.
Kenworth gave Roland a mighty shove and bolted for the door.
Later, Eloise couldn’t have said who reached the earl first, Geoffrey or her father, or which one wrestled him to face down on the marble floor. But in the end, ’twas her father who knelt on William, the earl of Kenworth’s back, holding the traitor captive until the king’s guards rushed into the room.
Through the entire scuffle she stood at Roland’s side, her stomach clenched until the door closed, blocking out Kenworth’s string of vile curses as the guards hauled him away.
King Edward took a deep breath. “St. Marten, I may need your assistance in hauling a rope to the Tower.”
Roland smiled slightly. “As you say, my liege.”
They celebrated with dinner at an inn, her father insisting on treating the large group of his supporters to roasted leg o’ mutton and several accompaniments.
At the huge round table, they hailed their success with several raised tankards, Father effusive in his thanks to all, including Mistress Green and Oswald the Warder. In his largess, Father even offered the position as his clerk back to Brother Walter, who quietly declined, claiming he preferred to return to Evesham Abbey.
Earlier, Roland had privately told her of the monk’s relationship to Kenworth, and of what he suspected happened to Brother Walter’s hand. Kenworth had paid so little heed to his bastard son he didn’t know Walter was left-handed.
How sad for the monk to have had to betray, in the name of justice, a father he’d only wished to please. How horrible for the monk who must feel both used and unloved.
Eloise thrilled to watch her own father and brother, sitting side by side, more companionable than they’d ever been. Perhaps they’d not found complete accord, but at least they could now bear each other’s presence without rancor.
The two squires were deep in their cups. Edgar and Timothy had formed a fast friendship that Eloise hoped would endure after the squires were reunited with Isolde. ’Twas to be hoped Edgar would accept Timothy’s relationship with Isolde as easily as Geoffrey accepted her relationship with Roland. Only time would tell, and Eloise chose not to dwell on future problems tonight.
No plans had yet been made for the journey back to Lelleford. At least that’s where Eloise assumed she and Roland would go, to collect her belongings if naught else. Sweet mercy, she didn’t care where they went so long as Roland took her with him.
And all would be bright and good in her world if only Roland seemed happier. He’d been rather quiet during supper, accepting her father’s accolades with grace but not with triumph. Even now, with the food cleared away and the ale flowing, she had the disquieting feeling he didn’t consider himself a hero for having brought Brother Walter to the audience in time to aid her father.
Such modesty might be commendable, but Roland was her hero, and her husband, and she’d show him how much she appreciated and adored him later. In a room upstairs. Not only had her father treated everyone to supper, but rented several of the inn’s rooms so no one need brave the streets of London after nightfall.
Sweet mercy, she could hardly wait for Roland to lead her to the chamber, strip off her clothes, and press her onto the mattress. Eloise vowed to bring a genuine smile to her husband’s face if it took all night.
Her woman’s places warming, she leaned toward him, brushing against his arm. He glanced over and gave her a slight smile.
Good, but not good enough. She slid over until they touched thigh to thigh.
He arched an eyebrow, his eyes softening with humor. Not exactly the reaction she wanted, but better than the thoughtful, almost morose look he’d worn most of the eve.
She whispered, “Must I crawl onto your lap to gain more of your attention?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Feeling neglected?”
“I have slept alone for four nights and not slept well at all.”
He glanced around at the others at the table, none of the company as boisterous as earlier. Timothy was already asleep, his head down on his crossed arms, where he’d likely spend the night.
“If you wish to retire, my lady, then so be it.”
Finally! After a round of good nights, Eloise led the way up the stairs. Once in the room, she crossed to the clothing pegs while removing her circlet and veil. When she turned, she saw Roland standing by the door, staring at her with an intensity that both scared and thrilled her.
She wanted to tear off his clothes, arouse him into a frenzy so complete he’d have trouble remembering his name. ’Twas obvious he wanted the same—but something held him back.
“What troubles you, Roland?”
“Circumstances have … changed.”
“Indeed they have, for the better. Everyone enjoyed tonight’s celebration except you. And possibly Brother Walter. Does his plight weigh on your mind?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Nay, the monk will be fine once we get him back to Evesham Abbey.”
The tone of his voice gave her pause and set her feet to crossing the floor. She looked up into his beloved face.
“My father is free. The king is not upset about our marriage.” Thank all the saints. She’d worried over Edward’s reaction, but he’d not scolded Roland. He had even indicated there would be more riches coming his way. After all, the king now had the properties of an earl-dom with which to reward those who’d brought Kenworth to justice. “All has turned out for the best, a cause for rejoicing. Why, my dear husband, are you not celebrating by ravishing your wife?”
With gentle fingertips he brushed back her hair. “We need to talk first.”
Now?
Eloise took a deep breath and reined in her impatience, trying to remember that a good wife should yield to her husband’s wishes. Some of them, anyway.
“About what?”
“Our marriage.”
Her heart sank. ’Twas as she’d feared, that Roland would come to regret his hasty, rash agreement to Geoffrey’s pressure, even though the marriage had seemed wise at the time.
She put a hand to his chest. “Did we not agree to make the best marriage we could? I know I am not perfect, Roland, but I do vow to try to be a good wife to you, less strong-willed.” She sighed. “And I have broken that vow already tonight by suggesting we come upstairs, practically demanding you make love to me. I beg pardon. Do you wish to go back downstairs?”
He smiled at that. “There is nowhere I would rather be than in bed with you. Anytime you want me, you have only to crook a finger and I will come straightaway.”
Completely confused, Eloise tightened her hold on his tunic. “Then you must make your meaning more clear.”
“You agreed to this marriage to save your dowry, because if events had gone sour for your father, men of your station would have shied away. That is not true anymore. Verily, Eloise, you could now have most any man in the kingdom you desired. I fear you will come to regret settling for less than you deserve.”
Silly man. Didn’t he know she’d obtained exactly what she wanted? Nay, he did not, because she’d been too afraid to expose her heart.
Eloise wrapped her arms around Roland’s neck and clung to the man who held her heart and happiness in his hands, who she trusted to keep safe her life and love.
“Dearest Roland, you are right. I did not receive what I deserved. Instead of a lord, I married a knight. A man of courage and honor who I will love and adore and admire until my last breath. I love you, Roland. I am most content with our marriage.”
His embrace came fast and hard and encompassing.
“I scarce believe I hear you aright.”
’Twasn’t like Roland to seek reassurance, but whatever he needed she’d give. Now. Tonight. Forever.
“I love you, Roland St. Marten, with my whole heart, my entire being. I meant the words of our vows. I will love and honor and cherish and occasionally obey you all the days of our lives.”
