A couple of strides brought Sir Armand within touching distance of Rowena. Eric stepped between them. ‘That’s close enough, de Velay.’
‘Name your witness,’ Sir Armand demanded. ‘Who is she, a slut from The Sun?’
Eric’s jaw tightened. ‘Watch your mouth, de Velay.’
‘Who is she?’
Rowena’s head came up. ‘I will not say, sir.’
‘You will not because you cannot.’ Sir Armand bunched his fists and swung to face the king. ‘Your Grace, this tale of a witness is, like Sir Eric’s tale of murder in Provins, a web of lies. Lady Rowena can’t name a witness who doesn’t exist.’
The king stroked his chin and caught the eye of a knight by the wall. In an instant, all the knights stepped in front of the door, making a wall of their bodies.
‘I am not so sure,’ the king said, sighing. ‘I had hoped to resolve this matter today, clearly further enquiries are needed. Sir Eric, you will give me your word that you will remain in Paris until we have consulted with this witness.’
Eric bowed his head. ‘You have my word.’
‘Sir Eric, given what I have heard, I am afraid I have no choice but to set a guard over you. You and Lady Rowena will be given an apartment in the palace.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘And you, sir.’ The king looked at Sir Armand. ‘You also must stay in Paris.’
‘And I too must be under guard?’
‘Naturally. I will take no risk with my goddaughter’s life.’
Sir Armand brought his brows together. ‘I take it I may use my own house?’
‘If that is your wish. Do I have your word you will stay in the city?’
Sir Armand bowed. ‘Of course.’
Rowena found herself holding her breath as a terrible truth dawned. The king was on the verge of asking to see Cécile and Cécile didn’t have the strength for an audience with the king. The mere thought of meeting with him would likely overwhelm her. This could be disastrous. As if from a distance, she watched the king beckon her father forward.
‘Lord Faramus, I am charging you with ensuring that the Lady Rowena’s witness is brought from Provins. Bring her to the palace with all speed and be so good as to inform me when she has arrived.’
Rowena closed her eyes. Cécile couldn’t come to the palace! She would be completely overawed and the king would be hard pressed to get a word out of her. He would learn nothing and this nightmare would never end.
When she opened her eyes again, Eric was taking his leave of the king. Dazed with worry and fatigue, she felt him tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘Come, my lady, you have ridden many miles today. You need to rest.’
They left the chamber with four knights at their heels and walked through a frost-filled dusk to the walls of the Ecclesiastical City. As they passed through the gate to the merchants’ quarter, the knights rearmed themselves and they marched through the failing light towards the Palais de la Cité and the apartment the king had promised them.
‘Cécile,’ Rowena muttered. ‘Heaven help us.’
Chapter Fourteen
Eric let out an appreciative whistle as they were shown into their apartment in the Palais de la Cité. A small antechamber led directly to a luxurious bedchamber. Great logs flamed in the fireplace. A group of three lancets let in a shaft of evening light, which fell across a roomy-looking bed. The windows were glazed and framed by thick tapestry curtains to keep out the winter chill. More tapestries brightened the walls. And if that were not enough, a mountain of blankets and furs was piled on a coffer at the foot of the bed.
‘Saints, what a place. We won’t be cold.’ Eric tossed his cloak on to the bed and sat on the mattress to test it. It had to be stuffed with feathers, he could sink into it quite merrily with Rowena in his arms. Now there was a thought. He smiled up at her, noticed that she was looking somewhat preoccupied and dismissed the idea.
Was she as worried as he that their marriage might not be allowed to stand? Well, since there didn’t seem to be much they could do about it tonight, he would do his best to distract her. They hadn’t been separated and they might have been.
He held out his hand. ‘Being given these chambers takes the sting out of being put under guard. I would have objected if Sir Armand hadn’t been accorded the same treatment. Did you bring Berthe?’
Shaking her head, Rowena walked over, the hem of the blue samite dragging on the matting. ‘We left in some haste. Mother and I came alone, apart from our escort.’
‘Very well, that does make it easier.’ Eric set his hands on her hips, manoeuvring her until she was standing between his legs. ‘Alard can sleep in the antechamber with the king’s guard. We’ll be safe in here.’ Catching the sides of her veil, he tugged, forcing her to bend her head towards his. His eyes settled on her mouth. ‘I know I told you to stay in Jutigny, but since you are here you could give me a kiss. You need to apologise for your disobedience.’
A plucked eyebrow arched. ‘My disobedience?’ Small hands closed on his shoulders. ‘Sir, I am becoming wise to you. You are not the tyrant you pretend to be.’
Closing the distance between them, Rowena gave him as pretty a kiss as he could wish. Murmuring his pleasure, wondering why one touch from this slight slip of a girl inflamed his every sense, Eric leaned back, hoping she would tumble with him on to the bed. Rowena resisted. He tugged a little more on the veil and gave her a suggestive smile. ‘Come on, my love, I missed you.’
Her silver circlet glinted as she broke free with a laugh. ‘Really, Eric, we’ve not been parted above a day. And Sergeant Yder will shortly be arriving with my things.’
‘He can leave them in the antechamber.’ Watching her retrace her steps to the fire, Eric laid a hand on his heart. ‘A day without you seems like an eternity.’
‘Eric, you really don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to woo me, we are already married.’
He was on his feet and sliding his arms about her waist before he had thought. ‘Rowena, I’m not pretending, a day without you is a day lost.’ He leaned his forehead against hers, slightly disoriented to discover that he meant what he said. ‘It’s true, my love. I am very fond of you. Inordinately fond.’
‘Inordinately fond?’ Her blue eyes were watchful. Wary. ‘Did you mean what you said to the king?’
‘Mean what? What did I say?’
‘You don’t remember.’ Her voice was flat. ‘You told him that you loved me.’
‘Mon Dieu, Rowena, I don’t know. I’d say anything to keep you.’ She looked uncertainly at him and something inside him twisted. He tightened his grip. ‘Rowena, I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you. You are mine.’
She continued looking at him and she didn’t move, none the less he sensed her withdrawal. ‘Possession isn’t everything, Eric.’
The fire crackled and she gazed into the flames. ‘I think you told the king the truth. You do love me. I will hold on to that and pray that you come to accept it.’ She made an impatient gesture. ‘However, this must wait, I really need to tell you about the witness.’
‘Come to bed, my love, we can talk in bed.’
She made a clucking sound with her tongue. ‘It’s far too early to retire. In any case, this is important. Eric, our witness cannot testify. She isn’t up to it. We will have to stop Father going back to fetch her.’
‘Our witness isn’t up to it?’ Eric’s stomach tightened. ‘Hang it, Rowena, your father has to fetch her. We need her to make our case against Sir Armand.’
She looked up at him through her eyelashes. ‘To save our marriage.’
He gripped her arms, realised he was gripping too hard, and relaxed his hold. ‘To keep you safe.’ Turning away, he shoved his hand through his hair. ‘I will not spend the rest of my life haunted by the fear that
each day may be your last because that man is trying to kill you. I won’t have our lives ruined. Rowena, unless we can prove he was involved in Mathieu’s death we will not be free of him.’
‘Eric, please listen. Cécile—that’s the name of the witness—cannot testify.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘If you’d met her you would understand why it would be impossible. I doubt that she could stand up to interrogation. Her testimony would be questioned and I’m pretty sure she would crumple. It’s likely you may know her, she works at The Sun.’
Eric rubbed his forehead. ‘Cécile, you say?’
‘Aye.’
‘The name doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘She has a round face and thick wavy hair. I think she’s simple. Her mother’s name is Marguerite.’
Eric felt his brow clear as he placed the girl. He remembered seeing Marguerite talking to a girl who answered to that description. He’d never actually spoken to her. He grimaced. ‘I have her now, and I see what you mean. I’ve seen her in the kitchen and stable, she never comes into the body of the inn.’
‘She’s shy as a mouse.’
‘Aye. Heaven help us, we need a credible witness. Cécile would do more harm than good.’ He scrubbed his face. ‘It’s a pity you mentioned her. The king will be expecting sound testimony, he won’t like it when he sees her. Lord, Rowena, what were you thinking?’
Rowena stiffened. ‘You’re implying I misled the king?’
‘Didn’t you?’
Blue eyes glittered, hard as sapphires. ‘What choice did I have? I don’t want her summoned to Paris any more than you do. If you recall, I did ask to speak to you on your own. I wanted you to understand about Cécile before mentioning her to the king.’
Eric touched her hand. ‘Rowena, I’m sorry, I know it wasn’t your fault. It is just that—hell burn it—we need someone reliable who will help us reveal your cousin’s true colours.’
Rowena nodded. ‘What do you suppose Cécile will do when faced with my father?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘Run?’
‘It’s not funny.’ Rowena gripped his sleeve. ‘We have to stop Father leaving for Provins. Where’s Alard?’
He jerked his head in the direction of the door. ‘In the antechamber with the king’s guard.’
‘We must send him after Father. Cécile cannot come to court.’
With a curt nod and a heavy heart, for he was desperate to remove Sir Armand from play, Eric went to speak to his squire. Alard would have to chase after Lord Faramus and tell him that it was pointless bringing Cécile to Paris. Much as he regretted it, he agreed with Rowena, Cécile was no fit witness.
The king would be apoplectic when he found out. Lord help them, with no witness, how on earth were they to prove Sir Armand was a murderous, manipulative swine?
* * *
Later that night Eric lay in bed with Rowena fast in his arms, idly watching the glow the dying fire painted on the tapestries and bed-hangings.
Rowena’s hair gleamed like gold. Idly picking up a tress, Eric sifted it through his fingers—it was as smooth as silk. She stirred against him, pressing a warm kiss to his shoulder. Her breasts rested softly against his chest and a slender leg was hooked round his. A growing heaviness in Eric’s groin made him realise he wouldn’t mind another bout of lovemaking, but he made no move to press his attentions on her. Rowena was so delicate, she surely wouldn’t be able to manage it again. Besides, he didn’t want her to think him a rutting beast.
He couldn’t understand it. They had had their joy of each other—twice—since coming to bed and his desire was far from slaked.
Would it never leave him? When he had entered this marriage he had promised fidelity and he had intended to honour that promise even though he had expected it wouldn’t be easy. Yet easy it was. Since marrying Rowena, the thought of taking another woman to his bed was simply impossible. Wrong. Out of the question.
The fire flared as a log moved, its reflected glow turned her skin to gold.
‘I love you, Eric,’ she murmured, so softly that he barely heard her.
His heart clenched and for one cowardly moment he thought he might pretend he hadn’t heard her. He wasn’t ready for this and he doubted he ever would be. However, he didn’t want her hurt. Carefully, he cupped her cheek with his palm and put lightness in his voice. ‘Rowena, you know I adore you. Particularly when you are so disordered.’
Her head shifted. ‘You adore me?’ She gave a most indelicate sniff and lifted her head to stare into his eyes. She didn’t look happy. ‘You love me, Eric, as you told the king. It is just that you refuse to accept it.’
‘Love? I can’t afford love, my sweet.’ He touched his forefinger to her mouth, tracing its shape.
Her brow wrinkled. She shifted her head and his finger fell from her lips. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Love leads to pain. Hurt. It’s inevitable. I prefer adoration.’ Bringing her close, he lowered his head and kissed her. She caught hold of his shoulder, gave a breathy, irresistible moan and opened her mouth in a response so passionate he was pushing her back against the pillows before he recalled his resolve to give her time to recover before he approached her again. Pulling back, he cleared his throat. ‘We shall rely on this warmth between us, that is enough. We don’t need love.’
The wrinkle in her brow reappeared, deeper than ever. Her gaze was serious, almost stern. ‘You are thinking of your mother. Eric, I know she loved you.’
He forced a laugh. ‘She said that she did. It was a lie. She left me. Abandoned me.’
‘Eric, life for her was surely hard after your father’s death.’
‘Aye.’
‘Perhaps your mother had no choice.’
Eric rolled away and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. ‘I was cold and hungry and she left me. Her own child.’
‘Was there food in your house?’
‘Very little.’
‘Eric, I would be honoured to hear about how you arrived at Jutigny. Share it with me. What happened?’
Eric fell silent for a space. Shadows shifted, the fire popped. If he could tell anyone, he could surely tell Rowena. He swallowed. ‘After my father died, my mother tried to carry on working.’
‘You lived in Provins?’
‘Aye, the house is in the Lower Town. As far as I know, it’s still there.’
Rowena tucked herself against him and bumped her head against his arm. ‘That must be strange. Do you go and see it?’
‘I went back a couple of times when I became a squire. I haven’t been there in years.’
‘Go on. Were your parents merchants?’
‘No.’ Eric hesitated. He thought he could tell Rowena about his mother, but he had never told anyone how his parents had made their living. As a boy he had soon learned that most knights looked down on the people who worked their estates. They even looked down on merchants, some of whom had treasuries almost as large as the king’s. In short, noblemen looked down on anyone who did not own land.
Eric’s father hadn’t owned as much as a yard of land, he’d been a baker. Bracing himself for her reaction, telling himself that since he didn’t love her, her reaction was irrelevant, he took a steadying breath and watched her face as he said, ‘My father was a baker.’
‘A baker?’ Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.
As far as he could tell, her expression held only that—surprise. He could see no shock and, thank the Lord, no revulsion. No mockery. He forced himself on, eyes focused on her face. He didn’t want to miss the slightest change of expression. ‘I remember the scorch of the oven, I soon learned to steer well clear. I remember the bright burn of the coals. Every morning the smell of baking bread reminds me of him.’
‘I am sure. Do you recall what he looked lik
e?’
He felt himself smile, how like Rowena to ask that. ‘A blurred image only. After Father died there was little money. Mother struggled to carry on the business without him. It never seemed to work, she was no business woman.’ Turning to face her, he took her head in both hands and gave her a kiss. ‘Thank you.’
Her eyes were puzzled. ‘For what? I’ve done nothing.’ She leaned up on her elbow and drew a circle on his chest. ‘Do you have any idea what happened to your mother?’
‘I know exactly what happened to her.’ Eric enfolded her hand with his, picked it up and studied it. Smooth and white, it was a lady’s hand. There was a small callous from riding; a few pinpricks from the making of his cloak and that was it. No ingrained dirt, no broken nails.
Eric had run the gauntlet of his questionable background all his life. He could still hear the taunts of that Jutigny head groom. Gutter rat. He’d endured prejudice and sneers like the ones cast at him earlier by Sir Armand when he’d stood before the king. Arrant knave. Liar. Nobody. Doubtless it would happen again. But not once had he suffered at the hands of Rowena or her family.
Oh, there’d been the odd cuff round the ear from Lord Faramus when he’d fumbled in the practice yard. More than one curse had been slung his way. However, the people who had come to mean more to him than any others had never abused him for his unknown parentage.
‘One day a landless knight chanced by the bakery. In an effort to earn extra money, Mother had been spinning yarn for a friend. She was so engrossed in the spinning that she forgot the time and burned a batch of bread. The knight alerted her to the smoke pouring from the oven and that was that. Love. Did I mention that Mother was exceptionally pretty?’
‘No, but I can imagine,’ Rowena said softly. He looked enquiringly at her and she added, ‘You are her son.’
Eric managed a faint smile and pressed on. Might as well get it over with now he had started. ‘Three weeks later the knight asked Mother to go away with him. He wouldn’t take me.’
She drew in a breath. ‘That was harsh.’
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