by Anne Herries
‘Will my lady eat something?’ Bethany brought her a dish of fruits, setting it by her as she retired to recline upon her couch. ‘A cup of wine to help ease the strains of the day?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Elona said and smiled to show that she was not angry with the girl. It was not Bethany’s fault that she was so sorely troubled in her mind. Oh, why had her father not seen fit to arrange for Will to be knighted long ago?
Yet even if that honour were his, was he truly the man she had dreamed of marrying as young girls will?
Smiling inwardly at her foolishness, Elona sipped her wine and bit into a large ripe plum, the juice running down her chin until she wiped it away with a kerchief. Julia was playing a lyre and singing a song of love, and Elona closed her eyes, letting the softness of the melody lull her to sleep.
She was tired after riding so far, for Sir Stefan had not let them rest for more than half an hour during the day. What a tyrant he was, she thought with her last waking moment, drifting towards sleep as Julia’s song came to an end.
The women prepared their own pallets on the ground at the foot of her couch. Outside the campfires were still burning brightly, men taking it in turns to patrol the boundaries, ever watchful for sudden attack. They were a large party and would not meet with attack from the bands of beggars that roamed the forests, nor would wolves dare to approach the camp. However, there were others who might know of the prize they guarded and seek to snatch it from beneath their noses, and their lord had bid them to be vigilant.
Dare she try to slip away now? Elona pondered the thought. Some of Sir Stefan’s men would be watching her tent, but she could crawl underneath the back and find Will. She knew that he would be sleeping somewhere near the horses. They could take their horses and go while most of the camp slept.
No, perhaps not this night, she thought. It would be best to alert Will to be ready. She would go tomorrow night… Surely if she returned home and threw herself on her father’s mercy, all would be well? He might be angry at first, but if she told him she could not bear to leave him he would understand—wouldn’t he?
Within his own tent, Stefan ate and drank sparingly of the food offered him, his brow creased as he thought about the Lady Elona. It was clear that she disliked him. He had had sufficient time to observe her with her women and with the young squires who served her. She had smiles enough and warm words for them, though none quite as warm as she gave to Will de Grenville.
Was he wrong in thinking they were plotting to elope together? Stefan had seen the young squire kissing her the day he arrived at her home, and since then he had noticed them whispering together on more than one occasion. Did the foolish young man believe that if he gained her as a wife he would gain all that belonged to her father?
Not if Stefan was any judge of men! Lord de Barre would not stomach such a marriage; he would prefer to hand over his lands to Duke Richard and live as his dependent than see his daughter the wife of a man he would consider beneath her.
Curious about the relationship, Stefan had mentioned the question of Will de Grenville’s knighthood and been told more of the young man’s history.
‘Will is brave enough,’ John de Barre had confided to him. ‘His mother was a girl of good family—a kinswoman of mine—but she was deflowered by a rogue and her father married her to a man beneath her in rank so that her child would have a name. William must earn his honours in battle if he will have them, for I cannot in all conscience seek them for him.’
‘Does he know the truth of his birth?’
‘No—nor any in my household,’ the Lord de Barre replied. ‘I am aware that there is a fondness between Elona and the young man and, had he not been the bastard of a baseborn rogue, I might have looked kindly on the match, but he has bad blood and I will not see him wed to my daughter. That is why I wrote to Lady Alayne. It will be better if Elona lives away from her home until she weds. Here she has no chance to make a good marriage and I am too ill to take her to court. In England she will find contentment.’
It was clear to Stefan that he must prevent any elopement with the young squire. John de Barre would not thank him if he saved her from Danewold only to allow her to fall into the hands of a man who was too far beneath her in rank.
Besides, she was all but betrothed to Stefan’s brother and he must see she reached her destination safely. At first he had thought that she and the squire might have been lovers, but he had changed his mind. She was proud and haughty, it was true, but there was something innocent and untouched about her. Will de Grenville looked at her with love mixed with respect, but none of the intimacy that lovers were apt to show to one another. He had been wrong to suspect her of betraying her modesty.
No, she was still pure at the moment, and he must make certain she remained that way until her wedding day. Which meant that he must ignore this burning in his groin that told him he desired her—and desired her with an intensity he had seldom known before. Nay, if he were truthful he had never felt quite this way for any other woman.
It must be because she treated him with disdain. Women had been only too eager for his attentions in the past. He had matured early, bedding his first wench as an untried youth in the hayloft of Banewulf; there had been others since, of course, some of them sophisticated, beautiful women from the court at Aquitaine. Far fewer than there might have been had he wished it, especially of late. His last entanglement with the scheming Isobel de Montaine, wife of Lord Alfredo Montaine, had soured his taste for women who were too eager for his loving.
He recalled the poisoned words Isobel had dripped into his ear as she lay panting with lust beside him on their silken couch. She had begged him to rid her of her husband, who she said bored her and could not satisfy her lusts, offering to share her wealth with him.
He paced the floor of his pavilion, his mind tormented with thoughts that had ceased to trouble him long since. Why was he thinking of Isobel? She was not worth a moment’s discomfort on his part.
Stefan had recoiled in horror at her suggestion that he might kill her husband in the joust, almost throwing her from the bed so that she lay on the floor, looking at him venomously as he told her he did not bed with serpents.
‘You are a fool,’ she had cried, hatred replacing the languishing looks she had been used to bestow on him. ‘One day you will meet your match, Stefan de Banewulf. No woman can touch your heart—did you know that is what they say of you? They call you a true knight, a knight of honour, but I think you are afraid to love—afraid to take what is yours by right. With me by your side you might have been one of the most powerful knights in Christendom—but one day you will reap your just deserts. One day a woman will prick at you with thorns you cannot tear out and then you will know what it is like to suffer rejection.’
‘Indeed, it may happen, Isobel,’ Stefan had replied, his eyes slaying her with his disgust. ‘But if I suffer for love it will not be for you.’
No, it would not be for Isobel!
She had vowed to have her revenge one day, but he had merely smiled. He smiled now as he set down a wine cup from which he had drunk but a few sips. How delighted Isobel would be if she could guess that her prophecy was beginning to come true—that he was burning up with desire for a woman that could never be his.
He would never feel the thorns of despair because of Isobel, but he might for want of another. Cursing, Stefan dismissed his fevered thoughts. He was a fool! Elona de Barre was not for him and the sooner he accepted that the better.
Chapter Three
‘Are you sure that you want to risk it?’ Will looked at her uneasily. ‘I do not believe Sir Stefan would take kindly to being made a fool of by any woman, my lady.’
‘He will not know,’ Elona said. ‘Last night he invited me to dine with him and I refused. Tonight I shall invite him to my tent for supper and ply him with strong wine. I shall drink only sparingly, and when he leaves I shall slip out under the back of my tent and join you. You must somehow have our horses ready.�
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‘But what of your women?’
‘Oh, they may follow us when it is learned that I have fled,’ Elona said with a frown. ‘It is my only chance, Will, for if we go now we shall soon be at my father’s manor.’
‘I do not think the Lord de Barre will be pleased with us.’
‘He will understand when I tell him that it was breaking my heart to leave him, and that I want to stay at home and marry you.’
‘Supposing Sir Stefan pursues us?’
‘Why should he? He is in a hurry to take his message to the English King. He will shrug his shoulders and forget me—why should he bother to come after me?’
Will looked at her doubtfully. He did not think that she would find it as easy to slip away from the camp as she imagined, but he was too much in love with her to refuse.
‘I shall wait until you come,’ he promised. ‘But be careful, my lady.’
‘I shall make certain the English knight sleeps well,’ she said, a scornful smile on her mouth. ‘Once he has drunk deeply of my wine, he will not lie awake watching for me.’
Stefan’s eyes narrowed as he saw the smile of welcome on the lady’s face and heard her invitation to sup with her that night. Her sudden change of attitude made him suspicious and something in the manner of Will de Grenville had put him on his guard. The young squire had seemed edgy and ill at ease when he had spoken to him only moments earlier.
Now what was the foolish wench plotting? Well, for the moment he would go along with her.
‘You are gracious, lady,’ he said and inclined his head. ‘I shall look forward to dining with you.’
‘And I with you, sir.’
She was definitely up to something!
Stefan dressed in the best tunic and hose he carried with him, donning a dark blue gown over all so that his appearance would do justice to the occasion. He had slipped away to the stream to bathe in the icy water, as was his custom whenever the chance occurred, and he knew that Elona’s women had carried water to her tent so that she might cleanse herself of the day’s dust.
She was wearing a gown and overmantle of blue and gold, which she had worn on the evening before their departure from her home, and which he believed was her best. He had noticed that her clothes were of good quality cloth, but she did not seem to have as many as he might have expected a lady of her status to possess. It was a little strange since he knew her to be the heiress to a considerable fortune, and had thought her the Lord de Barre’s spoiled daughter.
He must learn more of her circumstances, Stefan decided.
He took a seat on the padded stool provided for his comfort as her serving wenches began to bring food and wine. As was his habit, Stefan ate and drank sparingly. The wine was a good red burgundy, which had been supplied by Elona’s father for their journey, but which he found a little strong for his taste. He would normally have taken it with water, but did not ask for it to be changed, merely sipping at it before setting the cup down.
Elona smiled at him winningly. ‘Will you not have more wine, sir? Is it not to your taste? Would you prefer ale?’
‘I do not drink wine to excess,’ Stefan told her. ‘I see that you do not drink much either. Do you not like your father’s wine?’
‘It is well enough,’ she answered, seeming annoyed by his answer. ‘But more to a man’s taste, I think?’
‘Perhaps,’ he said and smiled oddly. ‘If you are hoping I shall become intoxicated and forget to order a watch tonight, you are mistaken, my lady. And if I should it would avail you nothing. The men who guard you do not drink while they perform their duty; it is a rule we live by, for it has kept us safe in many a battle. You would need to drug their food if you wished to be sure of slipping away—and your foolish squire has been warned not to try stealing horses if he wishes to spare himself a birching.’
‘How dare you threaten me or my squire!’ Elona said and leapt to her feet. ‘I am not your prisoner and if I wish to return to my home I shall. You cannot prevent me.’
‘Oh, I believe that you will discover I can do much as I will with you,’ Stefan said, rising to his feet more slowly. He smiled inwardly as she flung herself at him in a rage, attempting to strike him with her fists. He caught her wrists as she struggled helplessly, his grip such that she had no chance against him. ‘However, my intentions towards you are entirely honourable, lady. Were it otherwise, I might show you another side of my nature.’ The gleam in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat. What did he mean? She took refuge in haughty disdain.
‘I hate you! You are nothing but a rough soldier.’
‘Indeed, you speak truly, mistress.’ Stefan laughed and let go of her wrists. His smile died as she rubbed at them, and winced. ‘Forgive me if I hurt you. I am not always aware of my own strength.’
‘It is nothing, but you are a brute,’ she snapped. ‘What difference could it make to you if I went home? Why should you care what becomes of me?’
‘In truth, I care nothing for you, lady, but I have given my word to escort you to the Lady Alayne,’ he said, answering like with like. ‘Your father asked me to take care of you, and whether you approve of me or not, that is exactly what I intend to do.’
‘Stay!’ she cried as he turned towards the entrance to her pavilion. ‘You have not punished Will? It was not his idea.’
‘I know well where the idea came from. I give Master de Grenville credit for having more sense,’ he said and grinned at her, revealing a side of him she had not seen previously. ‘I fear you will have to do better than this if you wish to escape me, my lady. And now I wish you sweet dreams. Do not stay awake all night, Elona, we have a long journey ahead of us, and I would not have you wear yourself out with worrying about something that may not be changed.’
‘Get out of here!’ Elona cried, and seizing a pillow from her couch, threw it at him. ‘I hate you! You are an arrogant, self-satisfied bear and I wish I had never seen you!’
She heard him laugh as he went out and gave a little scream of frustration. How could he have known what was in her mind? Was she so easy to read?
Oh, damn him, damn him! She would like to tear his eyes out and feed him to the hunting dogs alive…at least the thought was comforting, though she doubted she had the stomach to do it. But he was so arrogant and she felt helpless.
Surely there must be some way to escape from him?
They were nearing the coast, having ridden at what seemed to Elona to be a furious pace. At times she had thought that her escort’s haste was because he could not wait to complete his task and be rid of her. However, when she complained to Will, he told her that it was because some of Baron Danewold’s men had been seen following them, and that one of them had been taken prisoner.
‘He was spying on us?’ Elona felt cold all at once. Until this moment she had believed that the Baron would accept his dismissal with a good grace. ‘Why would the Baron do that, Will? Surely he must know there is no chance of a marriage between us? My father was clear in his rejection of the offer.’
‘He believes that your father would relent if…’ Will hesitated, a faint flush in his face, for it was not fitting to speak of such things to a lady of gentle birth—a lady he knew to be innocent.
‘You mean if he abducted and then deflowered me?’ Elona was not so innocent that she did not understand the perils that could befall an unprotected maiden. Although sheltered and protected by her family, she knew what had happened to unfortunate village maidens, for she and her stepmother had helped them when they could. ‘But surely he would not dare to attack Sir Stefan’s men?’
‘Not while he keeps such a close guard over you,’ Will admitted with reluctant admiration. ‘His men watch over you all night long. It would be difficult to infiltrate the camp—at least this side of the English sea. In England he may relax his guard, though the Baron has lands there as well as here.’
Elona was aware of her perilous situation in a way that she had not been before. If the Baron was determined t
o have her at all costs…it did not bear thinking of! ‘What are you saying to me, Will?’
She had thought long and hard these past days for she felt it would be best to escape sooner rather than later if she meant to do it, but she knew Will was right. She was constantly observed, though not intrusively, but enough for her to realise that if she tried to slip away she would be seen and questioned. Sir Stefan guarded her so closely that it would be impossible for her to run off with her young squire without being challenged. And since her attempt to get him drunk had failed, she had not been able to think of a way to fool him.
‘I do not believe it is possible for us to escape, my lady,’ Will said as if to confirm her fears. ‘We are both watched, and I was warned not to attempt to steal the horses. I would give my life to serve you, but alone I have no hope of winning a fight for you.’
‘So you are giving up all hope of me?’ There was disappointment and anger in her lovely face, though it was unfair to blame him when she had been unable to think of a way to escape herself. And now that she realised how dangerous such a venture might prove, it had lost some of its appeal. For the two of them riding alone might easily fall prey to the Baron’s men. Yet in her frustration she blamed the squire for what she knew was no fault of his. ‘I had thought more of you, Will. But it seems that you do not care for me at all.’ She was close to tears as she faced the truth that her plans had always been merely a foolish girl’s fancy.
They were strolling beneath the shade of some trees. Stefan had been forced to halt their progress for long enough for his men to make repairs to one of the baggage wagons, which had broken a leading pole soon after they set out that morning. It was not the first time a small accident had caused them delay, and Elona knew that her stern guardian would make up the time lost if he could.
‘You know that I adore you,’ Will cried, stung by the hint of scorn in her voice. ‘I do not give up so easily, Elona, but perhaps there may be more chance when we get to England—perhaps to Banewulf itself. They may not guard you so strictly there. Why should they? They will not be expecting you to try to run away…’
