by Julia Latham
After making sure her wimple still covered her hair completely, Elizabeth crossed the great hall and allowed the usher to open one of the double doors for her. She stood on the top step and tried to take satisfaction in the normal comings and goings of her people. She could hear a hammer striking an anvil from the blacksmith’s shop; one dairymaid called to another from the buttery; and dogs chased chickens across the hard-packed earth. Soldiers left the barracks heading for the tiltyard, shoving each other and boasting of their prowess. That was when her fantasy of her old life was shattered. They weren’t her soldiers. Hers were out in the forest somewhere, ordered to look for thieves—ordered not to return?
Bannaster’s soldiers eyed her people and her property with a lasciviousness that frightened her. As she walked down the stairs to the ground, she again drew the regard of more than one of them and wished she’d brought a cloak to wrap about herself, as if she needed protection. When her parents and first betrothed had died, she’d felt vulnerable, but nothing like this. There was no protection when she was masquerading as a simple maid. Where Sir John had looked at her with interest, these soldiers looked…lustful. She shivered. She’d thought to control her life by taking on Anne’s role, but the vulnerability of it stunned her.
She wanted to escape back into the castle, but if she showed fear, they might consider her even more a target. So she forced herself to walk toward the lady’s garden, her private retreat with trees and flowers and walkways, fenced off from the rest of the ward.
As she walked, she glanced up at the window of the bedchamber Sir John and his clerk had been given. Someone stood there, looking down on the ward below. Surely it was Philip the clerk, but somehow, just the sight of him gave her resolve. She was not going to allow fear to rule her. She had handled the bailiff and his clerk—she would handle these soldiers.
Her presence here would prove to her people that she had not forgotten them, that she would prevail. Even if no outsiders came to help them in time.
As the great hall was beginning to fill for supper that night, Elizabeth went to Sir John’s chamber to inquire whether he wanted a tray sent up. When she heard the summons to enter, she did so, and then came up short. Philip was absent, and Sir John was on his feet, propped up with a new wooden crutch rather than the makeshift branch. She had not realized how very tall he was, how he dwarfed the small chamber. When he saw her, he smiled, and the effect once again flustered her. She would have thought that a man with a narrow scar down the side of his face would be ugly, but it only made him appear even more a man. He had not gotten such a thing hunched over his account books. Even the bruises on his face did not bother her. He was wearing a tunic that covered him to his knees, probably to hide the fact that he couldn’t wear hose over his splint. His boots were laced all the way up his calf, though she imagined that when he sat down, his bare knees would show.
Why was she thinking about that? She had to remember her anger, the way he suspiciously questioned her too closely about things that were not his business.
Elizabeth cleared her throat and tried to appear distant, though pleasant. She did not want to encourage any more intimacy. “Sir John, I was going to ask if you wanted a supper tray, but it seems you wish to venture out of this chamber.”
“The hours have seemed long today, Anne,” he said, limping forward. “I sent Philip to find you, but you must have missed each other.”
“The corridors can be confusing at first.”
She eyed him with growing trepidation as he came closer and closer. The width of his chest was as great as any knight in training; surely he still wielded a sword in practice.
But she was so distracted by his physical being that she failed to notice his eyes widening as the crutch caught on the bed.
“Move aside!” he commanded.
The power in his voice was so great that she almost obeyed him. But how could she let an injured man fall to the floor? His hand flailed for a bedpost, but it was too late. Elizabeth stepped forward and grabbed his upper arms, trying to brace him. His chest hit her hard in the shoulder, but she was a strong woman, and bore his weight until he was able to get his good leg back under him. She felt the warmth of his body against hers. The muscles in his arms were thick and as hard as marble. When he righted himself, he stood far too close, looking down on her as she looked up. His gaze was intense, curious, and she wondered how she had felt to him.
Oh bother, she thought, backing away several steps. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He smiled. “I will be when I learn to use this crutch. Please forgive my clumsiness.”
“I’m glad the chamberlain found you a bedchamber on the first floor, so you could come to the great hall without using stairs. But you’ll need to use them to go outside.”
“Sending me away already?” he asked softly. “Did I so offend you this afternoon?”
She hesitated. “Nay, I was not offended.”
“You were.”
She bit her lip and met his gaze. “Aye, I was. I’ve since thought on it, and I know you were only trying to help. But I know you not, and I could never trust you.”
He nodded. “Trust takes time to flourish. I am patient.”
“Why do you want my trust?” she asked suspiciously.
“I worry for you and your mistress.”
She looked away. “Come, they will not hold supper for us.”
Elizabeth walked slowly at his side down the long corridor, relaxing as he limped with more and more confidence. She tried to imagine being able to rely on Sir John, but she couldn’t. How could a mere bailiff—and injured at that—help her? He and his clerk were alone in the world.
The trestle tables in the great hall were filling up with household servants, as well as those whose duties were out in the ward. Elizabeth was worried about the slight hush that occurred at her entrance, but immediately someone had laughed loudly, and the normal hum of conversation resumed. Trying to relax, she remained at Sir John’s side, keeping her eyes on his progress through the clean rushes on the floor, rather than on her people. Philip waved his arm, and they joined him at a free table.
Just as Elizabeth was about to leave Sir John and take a tray up to Anne, she heard Milburn call her name. He was seated at the head table on the raised dais, as if he’d become the earl of Alderley.
Elizabeth approached him. “Aye, Master Milburn?”
“You were not thinking of leaving the great hall,” he said reprovingly.
“I was going up to my mistress to eat with her.”
His jaws clenched together. “Nay, I have been studying the efficiency of the servants at meals and more help is needed. Go to the kitchen and help serve.”
Elizabeth nodded and turned away, but she could not miss the wide-eyed gazes that stared back at her in shock. She smiled pleasantly at her people, hoping they understood that this did not bother her, that they must keep calm. But after taking a serving tray from Adalia and beginning to offer slices of roast lamb to the nearest table, the muttering grew worse. Laughter died. When she could, she tried to reassure stable grooms and dairymaids alike with quiet whispers, but the looks cast at the steward grew in ferocity.
Elizabeth did not want to be discovered. She smiled and encouraged people to help themselves from her tray. She saw Sir John frowning as he looked all around him, then back at her. Even Milburn seemed mildly surprised by the reaction.
She neared a table of Bannaster’s soldiers, and one grabbed her arm. He had a thick beard and long hair, which seemed to merge together at his shoulders.
“Ye passed me by,” he said angrily.
She tried to shake off his grip, but he held on. “I was returning to the kitchens for more lamb. Would you not rather have fresh, hot meat?”
“Aye, I would,” he said, sharing a raucous laugh with his tablemates.
He pulled her closer, until she was forced to lean over him, or lose the use of her arm. Did this fool not hear the angry silence that had greeted his treatme
nt of her? Or mayhap he did not care.
“You are not an old hag to be wearing the likes of that,” the soldier said, gesturing at her wimple. “Take it off, so I can see the color of yer hair.”
Several of the stable grooms had risen to their feet, as well as the blacksmith, who flexed his enormous arms in preparation for a fight. A soldier behind her assailant stood as well, his face ferocious with anticipation.
And then someone touched her shoulder from behind, and she screamed. Were they coming at her from all sides?
Chapter 6
John felt Anne’s cry reverberate through her tense body where they touched. She struggled against the man still holding her arm, even as she glanced over her shoulder. When she saw John, some relief showed through her fear.
“Release the maid,” John said coldly.
The bearded soldier rose to his feet and tugged even harder on Anne. The tray fell from her hands to spill into the rushes, and she stumbled into him.
John could not allow her to be mauled. He slid his arm around her waist from behind to steady her. He wished he could wield a sword—or even the crutch—but he must not draw more suspicion on himself.
Anne was warm and soft, trembling violently. Yet still the soldier gripped her arm. John balanced on his crutch and used his free hand to draw his dagger.
“Are you goin’ to prick me with that little thorn?” the soldier called, roaring with laughter. “I’ll go through you before I get to the maid.”
The hall had grown so quiet that this boast rang out, drawing the attention of the steward.
“Enough,” Milburn called in his usual clipped tones. “Anne, sit down and amuse our guest. He does not know anyone here but you and his clerk.”
The bearded soldier released her slowly and let his fingers trail hard down the length of her arm. “Another time,” he growled, low enough that only she and John heard him.
As she pulled away, the man’s grip lingered too long. John felt a rush of uncommon rage that threatened to overrule his good sense. He envisioned the damage he could do to the soldier’s face with one thrust of the dagger.
But at last Anne was free of threat, and John reluctantly stepped away from her. With her head held high, she turned and headed for his table. She was a brave woman, obviously unused to such poor treatment, especially having been raised with an earl’s daughter.
John gazed into the eyes of her attacker as he slowly sheathed his dagger. And then with a deliberate insult, John gave his back and limped away. There were whistles and hisses behind him, but he did not turn around. He would have felt it, had the soldier come at him. He had made an enemy this day.
Anne sat down on a bench, looking back to give John a smile that tried for polite and came across as grim. “My thanks, Sir John. But you should not have endangered yourself when you are ill.”
He took his seat opposite her, frustrated at having to back down. With a rough voice, he said, “You thought I should watch that son of a—”
“Anne,” Philip interrupted, “might I fill your plate for you?”
John stifled his anger.
Though her eyes were narrowed as she studied him, she said to Philip, “The servants will come to me eventually.”
Within minutes, she was being offered trays of meats and cheeses and cut fruits. Her face grew redder with each increase in attention.
“You need not be embarrassed,” John said, having recovered his calmness. “’Tis obvious the residents of the castle are devoted to you.”
Surprisingly, her blush worsened. “Nay, it is my lady they honor, not me. They are concerned for her. Never before has she been so removed from them.”
He was surprised that she brought up the subject after her anger with him only hours earlier. She was probably still so flustered.
“They worry about her,” Philip said.
Her voice was a murmur. “As do I.”
John allowed her to eat for several minutes as others talked all around them. He noticed how she picked through the food, as if her appetite were lacking. He realized he would not soon tire of looking at her. He had always thought a woman’s hair was one of the most glorious parts of her, but Anne proved that true beauty went beyond that. She had long-fingered, graceful hands that held a piece of bread as if it were the wand of a magician. Her lips were delicate bows, rounded, made to fit—
Philip kicked him beneath the table, but too late. Anne had already noticed that he was staring.
Why could he not remember that she was only a means to an end to him? He didn’t want to hurt her—God’s Blood, he wanted to rescue the woman who was obviously her dearest friend!
Yet when he looked on her beauty, even though she now frowned at him with suspicion, he could only think about kissing her.
To distract her, he said, “Anne, have you lived at Castle Alderley all your life?”
She slowly shook her head. He would have to ask questions that needed a deliberate answer.
“Where are you from?”
She swallowed a piece of cheese. “A prosperous farm a few hours’ journey from here.”
“And you are one of the ladies attending Lady Elizabeth?”
Her eyes widened, and her smile relaxed just a bit. “Nay, I am not of noble birth. I am her lady’s maid, not her lady in waiting. As a bailiff, you must have worked closely with noble families. How could you not know the difference?”
He heard Philip choke, and gave him a hard pat on the back. But Anne wasn’t distracted. He could hardly tell her that the women he most associated with were far too common to even be maidservants in a castle. It had been many years since he’d lived in a noble household, and even then, the memories were hazy, full of disquiet and awkwardness.
“You are so gracious and educated,” John said, “that I simply forgot your status.”
“Others haven’t,” she answered shortly, glancing over her shoulder at the soldiers.
They were drinking more than eating, and it did not bode well for the evening. He had thought it best to leave his sword in their chamber, but now he wished otherwise.
“Lady Elizabeth did have several ladies living here with us for a time,” Anne said, as her eyes seemed to focus on the past. “But all of them gradually married.”
“But not your mistress, which is why she is in such danger today.”
With a sigh, Anne nodded.
John had never paid attention to the betrothal contract between his family and Lady Elizabeth’s. He had only thirteen years at the time, and it had had nothing to do with him. Calculating quickly in his head, he knew his betrothed was twenty-two now.
“Lady Elizabeth is surely betrothed,” he said, “being the daughter of an earl.”
She was showing more interest in dessert, a custard, than she had for the meal. But she nodded.
“Why is she not married? Surely that would have solved this problem long before Lord Bannaster took an interest.”
She glanced swiftly at him, and the anger in her eyes on behalf of her mistress impressed him with her loyalty. She looked around as if to leave him because of his presumption, but the soldiers were standing in a group now, distracting the serving maids and valets who were trying to clean their tables.
He hated to see her afraid. She seemed like too strong of a woman to have experienced it much.
With a sigh, she rested her chin on her hand. “My lady’s long maidenhood was…a combination of faults,” she said slowly. “The earl and countess enjoyed their eldest daughter, and did not want to lose her so soon. I will admit that Lady Elizabeth…flourished under the attention. Everyone thought there was plenty of time to marry. Her betrothed enjoyed life in London, and was also in no hurry. But now they’re all dead,” she said, her voice full of grief and even bitterness.
“I am sorry to hear that,” John said. He glanced at Philip to see his reaction, but his friend was showing deep interest in his meal, giving her some measure of privacy.
Although John knew the rest of
the story, he pretended otherwise. “So your mistress no longer has the protection of a betrothal?”
“Nay, the two families planned well.” She spoke tiredly now, as if it no longer mattered. “Lady Elizabeth is to marry the heir—whichever brother it is.”
“But surely she is sad at losing the man she thought she’d marry for so many years.”
With a sigh, she murmured, “I was often their chaperone. He was a romantic, handsome man, and his poetry made my lady happy.”
“Poetry?” John repeated, wondering how he was going to compete with such a memory. He already knew that his visage would never be as pleasing as William’s, especially now with the scar. But poetry? He was a man of armor and horse, of a traveling life since he had sixteen years. What did he know of the wants of noblewomen?
“The last brother of three is all that is left,” Anne continued. “He is in Normandy somewhere, and probably did not receive the letter she sent him months ago. He might not even know that he is betrothed!”
“Surely travel back to England takes time,” he said, hoping to comfort her. “He might very well be on his way.”
“There is that fear, too,” she said forlornly.
John stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“If he comes with an army, there might be bloodshed. Lady Elizabeth could not live if her people were hurt in defense of her.”
“How would she expect her betrothed to rescue her?”
“By marrying her, of course! By proving before all who he is. The Russell name is an old and honored one.”
Not anymore, he thought bitterly. Obviously no one here had yet heard of the neglect of Rame Castle. Once again, he remembered how betrayed he still felt by his elder brother. William had been the one who could do no wrong in the eyes of his parents. And now John was going to be tainted by his brother’s deeds. He had to make things right. How could he come to Lady Elizabeth only as a poor husband? His pride would not stand for it. King Henry would need proof that John would be capable of ruling such a vast estate.
