by Nicole Locke
As they hurried away from the town square, Alice’s heart expanded. Her love for Hugh was endless, the thread binding them together strong. But there were more steps to take this night, and she grew impatient for their lives to begin.
A few buildings away, Eldric came out of the shadows. While slowly walking past them he whispered, ‘It’s all set. Good luck.’
All they had to do was light the match. Alice gave him a quick smile and hoped it wouldn’t be long before they saw each other again.
A horse ride later, they reached the barn. Slapping the horse away, Hugh looked around. In the distance, they could hear the Candlemas celebrations and the singing.
‘It’s all clear,’ he said.
‘Are you worried for others?’
‘I only want to make sure it’s safe.’
Inside the barn, Alice spied the pile of wool and hay, the large church candle and the lone torch hanging on the wall.
Alice looked at the restored barn so full of possibilities. She had been excited at starting it with Mitchell and his family, and now in one moment it would be gone.
‘Sad to see it go?’ Hugh asked.
‘Happy that it was started. I have no doubt that Mitchell will build it again and continue with our business. Mary and Elizabeth both know of my intentions here—they’ll see to it.’
‘I wish I could protect you from all this.’
She brushed the front of his tunic as she looked around again. ‘And that is why I fell in love with you.’
‘Because the best plan I had was to burn down your future dreams of dominating the wool market?’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, because you’re always looking out for others. Your father, William...me.’
He pulled her into his arms, and she squeezed until she could barely breathe. She felt the tender kiss he brushed against her hair. Felt love and warmth and comfort as he bowed his head and laid his cheek to her temple.
‘I like us better this way,’ he whispered.
Joy soared through her. Together, they had made it.
‘As a couple of wrens? Me, too.’
Epilogue
‘I’m pleased we can have a few private words together,’ King Edward said as the door of his chamber at the Tower of London closed behind them.
‘I’m at your service.’ Eldric walked further into the room, noting the fact that there were no guards or attendants visible. ‘Are there more questions you have, sire?’
With the door closed, no sound from the hallways and joined chambers reached them, though he knew there were many conversations going on.
Eldric had very thoroughly given his account of the fire at Swaffham that had taken a large barn with many supplies and the lives of Hugh of Shoebury and Alice of Swaffham.
It had all run perfectly to plan. Alice and Hugh had started the fire. The burning building, so far from town, hadn’t been noticed until it was mostly flames. No person or animal had been hurt.
Chaos in the town had ensued, and it had taken hours before people realised Hugh and Alice were missing. Eldric knew they’d made it. The two saddled horses and another laden with provisions and coin had no longer been tied to the nearby tree.
They were safe, free, and he felt a surprising pang of envy at the life they were embarking on together.
In another two weeks, when he was far away from the King, Hugh would get a message to him. Then they would plan what to do with the Half-Thistle Seal he carried.
Until the King had ordered a private word with him, Eldric had felt confident that Edward believed all accounts of the fire. Alice’s sisters and their husbands, grieving, had been convincing when they had spoken of the flames, the confusion, and what and who they lost. Her father, struck blessedly silent by the King’s presence, had looked the part of a grief-stricken father. Mitchell had given an accurate account of the restoration project’s financial loss.
But it was the handing back of the costly hunting horn that had seemed to appease the King most. He’d clenched it in his hands as if grateful for its return.
Now, Eldric wasn’t so sure what the King believed. He was suspicious that the royal chambers were vacant. Edward always had attendants.
Edward swept past him to a table laden with food and drink, but he did not pour himself wine nor pick from the delicacies artfully arranged. Instead he sat, and indicated that Eldric was to sit across from him.
Adjusting the chair to accommodate him, Eldric kept his expression neutral. The King offered him the courtesy of sitting, but did not offer any refreshment. Either this was a short briefing over his duties, or the King was letting him know that he wasn’t worth the courtesy of a drink. If so, it might mean that Edward did not believe Hugh and Alice had died in the fire.
The King rotated the hunting horn in his hands. ‘I understand that Hugh was once your friend.’
‘It had been many years since I had seen him.’
‘But it was good to share news, even for so brief a time?’
‘It was very brief time, Your Majesty.’ Eldric carefully skirted the full question. It wouldn’t do to discuss his shared conversations with Hugh.
The King’s brows rose, but he nodded. ‘My time with Alice was far too brief. It was a terrible tragedy...the fire, and the loss of income for the merchants and the town.’
It had been wasteful, burning the entire barn, but it had seemed to convince the King that Hugh and Alice had died. No one would burn all that simply to conceal two traitors. Still, Eldric remained uneasy. And it had everything to do with Edward’s steady judging gaze.
‘I appreciate the workmanship on this horn.’ Edward touched the horn’s wider bands. ‘Did you know there are two tales told here? One is of kings warring and the other of lovers torn apart. Here, by the mouth, we see the lovers joined again, their arms cradling a child between them. It does not show what happens to the kings.’
Eldric was right to be uneasy. The King was toying with him. ‘And you think the craftsman should have depicted what happened between the two countries?’
‘Of course what happens between countries is important...’ The King’s mouth quirked, as if in self-deprecation. Eldric knew better. Edward had a healthy knowledge of his true worth.
‘But perhaps I am biased,’ Edward continued, ‘and the craftsman simply believed that what happened between the two lovers was the more important tale.’ He paused and raised his gaze. ‘Do you hold such a belief?’
Eldric had no intention of stepping into that verbal trap. He kept his eyes on the horn. ‘Perhaps the craftsman was trying for some...balance. Perhaps he thought the horn would be too heavy for the user with more silver bands, and therefore didn’t tell of the kings. Or perhaps the price of silver was too costly.’
Edward rotated the horn again, as if contemplating the truth of Eldric’s words. ‘Both valid reasons.’ Edward gave a curt nod. ‘In truth, I do find the horn elegantly designed like this. And, since a king’s power and rule is for ever, it isn’t strictly necessary to tell his story. There is the comforting thought, too, that the love between a man and woman has some worth.’
Like a man facing the executioner’s block and axe, Eldric felt every reflex in his body suddenly snap tight. Foolish reflexes. As if there was anywhere he could go to escape, or anyone he could fight against. He had been neatly and swiftly outmanoeuvred.
‘Here—I want you to have it.’ Edward held out the horn to him.
Eldric was obliged to take it, but he could not quell the slight tremor in his hand. The King did not give anything away without a price, and he more than suspected the price of this particular gift was...his head.
‘Why?’ he asked, knowing he might be insulting the King, but knowing he was a dead man anyway.
The King shrugged. ‘You gave me wise and clev
er words regarding balance. I want to give it to you as a token of my regard. I believe you are a man who appreciates the power of a king’s rule, but also understands the endurance of love.’ He waved his hand towards the horn. ‘Look for a moment—is it not beautiful?’
Eldric looked down at the intricate silver bands and felt as if he was bowing his head before the axe fell. ‘It is very beautiful.’
‘And very precious to me, as it was my wife’s.’
Edward had been devotedly married to Eleanor for over thirty years. If there was any ruler who understood matters of kingdoms and hearts it was him.
‘I will take care of this,’ said Eldric, with all the reverence of a vow.
‘Oh, I know you will.’ Edward’s eyes lit with his own private joke. ‘In any case, you may have need of a hunting horn.’
Eldric looked around the room again. The brightly plastered walls were mostly hidden by heavy green draperies to keep in warmth. But with their fabric pooling on the floor, they might also hide any feet, if someone was behind them.
‘Is there some service, some mission you require of me?’
‘Not me. The horn is for your own endeavours.’
He only had one endeavour, and that was to bring an excruciating death to the man who had killed his friends and sliced his arm. How could the King possibly know?
Eldric thought he had avoided every verbal trap the King had laid before him. But somehow he had been caught and snared. He now knew that someone had been watching him and reporting on him for months, if not years.
His mind raced on what had been seen and by whom.
‘Isn’t there something...or someone...you’re after?’ Edward continued. ‘You could use that horn. And I’ll grant you any other assets you might need for your efforts. I don’t like you to be distracted.’ Edward grabbed the flagon of wine. ‘You can go now.’
Distracted. The roaring in Eldric’s ears slowed his processing of the King’s words.
When he understood that he had been unequivocally dismissed, Eldric forced his body to bow, turned and counted each step across the stone floor. By the time the doors closed behind him and he walked the empty corridor back to the hall he knew two facts.
First, he would never live far from the executioner’s axe. If the King didn’t know with certainty, he at least suspected that Hugh and Alice were alive. Edward might understand matters of the heart, but he governed by his own rules. His retribution was swift, and often devastating.
The King had made it clear that Hugh and Alice’s fate was in his hands. As long as balance was kept, secrets would be as well. Eldric had given Hugh and Alice a vow. He would work and fight to his last breath to keep it.
Second, Edward had just granted him all the time and resources he needed to find his enemy. How the King knew Eldric was tracking him, or why Edward was giving him the means to pursue him, he didn’t care.
If there was a price attached to the King’s gift he would ensure it was The Archer who paid it.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, you won’t want to
miss these other gripping Medieval stories
from Nicole Locke
THE KNIGHT’S SCARRED MAIDEN
IN DEBT TO THE ENEMY LORD
THE HIGHLAND LAIRD’S BRIDE
Keep reading for an excerpt from CAPTAIN GREY’S CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL by Carla Kelly, the first book in the REGENCY CHRISTMAS WISHES trilogy.
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Captain Grey’s Christmas Proposal,
the first book in the
Regency Christmas Wishes trilogy
by Carla Kelly
Prologue
This wasn’t a story shared widely. After some thought and a few laughs, New Bedford shipbuilder James Grey and his wife, Theodora, decided to tell their little ones this odd Christmas tale of how they’d met, or re-met, after years apart. They thought it wise to tell it before those same children reached maturity and no longer set much store by St Nicholas. Later, if more adult scepticism took over—well, that was their worry.
It was Christmas story to tell around the fireplace, drinking Papa’s wassail and gorging on Mama’s pecans nestled in cream and caramelized sugar she called pralines. None of the children’s New Bedford friends ate pralines at Christmas, even though many of them had seafaring fathers who travelled the world.
None of their friends had a mother like Mrs Grey, or for that matter, a father like James Grey. If their parents’ origins were shrouded in mystery, everyone in New Bedford appreciated the solidity of Russell and Grey Shipworks, whose yards employed many craftsmen at good wages. More quietly whispered about was the boundless charity of Mrs Grey, who assisted slaves to freedom in Canada, or helped free men and women of colour find work in New England.
From the first, a deckhand out of Savannah, to the latest, a young couple fleeing Mississippi and a brutal owner named Tullidge, she and her network of volunteers provided food, lodging, employment and hope.
She was a woman of great beauty, with the soft accent and leisurely sentences heard in the South of the still new United States. James Grey spoke with a curious accent that placed him not quite in Massachusetts, but not quite in England, either. He had a mariner’s wind-wrinkled face, and the ships he and his partner built were sound and true. That James adored his lovely wife was obvious to all. That the feeling was mutual was equally evident.
Something about the Christmas season seemed to reinforce this tenacious bond even more. Their oldest friends had heard the pleasant story of how they met in a distant Southern city, after years apart. There always seemed to be more to the story than either party let on, but New Englanders were too polite to ask.
Chapter One
Plymouth, England—October 1st, 1802
‘Captain Grey, please excuse what happened. I found this under a box in my officer’s storeroom.’
Mrs Fillion held out a letter most tattered and mangled. James Grey set down his soup spoon and picked it up. He squinted to make out some sort of return address. Stoic he may be, but he couldn’t help his involuntary intake of breath to see a single word: Winnings.
‘What? How?’ was all he could manage as he held the delicate envelope as though it were a relic from an Etruscan tomb. Mrs Fillion, owner of The Drake, was kind enough to allow her Plymouth hotel to serve as an informal postal a
nd collection station since the beginning of Napoleon’s war. He motioned her to sit down at his solitary table, wishing she didn’t appear so upset.
‘What happened was that I set a box with some poor dead officer’s personal effects on top of the letter, which I was saving for you,’ she said, apologising. ‘Unfortunately, I haven’t seen you in years.’
‘That’s because I’ve operated on the far side of the world for several voyages,’ he said. ‘Don’t let this trouble you.’ He stared at the envelope. ‘Any idea how long it might have been there?’ He found himself almost afraid to open such a fragile document.
He couldn’t help wincing when she said, ‘It’s been there since 1791, because the box I set on top of it had “1792” scribbled on the side.’ She sighed. ‘Eleven years, Captain. I hope it wasn’t something terribly important.’
Likely not. When he never heard from Theodora Winnings after he proposed by way of pen and paper, James Grey, a first lieutenant in 1791, understood a refusal as well as the next man. Since his career seemed to keep him on the far side of the world for much of that decade, he had felt a little foolish for proposing to sweet Teddy Winnings in the first place. Then he dismissed the matter, except when he stood a watch, the perfect time to reflect on so much charm, goodwill and charity in a lovely frame. He stood a lot of watches. Still, Mrs Fillion needed to be jollied.
‘I wouldn’t worry, Mrs Fillion,’ he said. ‘I was a brand new first luff and I proposed to a fetching young thing in Charleston, South Carolina. Did it by letter, so you see how callow I was.’ He laughed, and thought it sounded genuine.
Mrs Fillion smiled, which relieved him. ‘Captain, would you be brave enough to propose in person now, providing the right fetching young thing happens along?’
‘Unlikely. I’m a ripe thirty-seven, and serve in a dangerous profession. Why inflict that on a woman?’
‘You underrate females, Captain,’ Mrs Fillion said.
‘I have long been fortune’s fool.’ He picked up his soup spoon again, giving Mrs Fillion liberty to continue circulating among her other guests.
