Love and Honor

by Alexa Aston

  “Very well,” Temp said. “But remember that I warned you. What you hear might not be to your liking, my sweet girl.”

  Edward came to stand behind her. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder in support.

  Rosalyne looked at the nobleman claiming to be her blood relative. “Explain yourself, my lord.”

  Benedict Bowyar pushed his hands into his hair, frustration obvious on his face. “I never imagined I would see you again,” he began. “And I hate that we have started this way.” He glared at Temp.

  “Look at me,” she instructed, her voice firm. “This involves me. Not your dispute with Uncle Temp. Tell me your story,” she urged. When he remained silent, she added, “Tell me my story.”

  Bowyar began to weep. He angrily brushed the tears away with a sleeve.

  “Temp is right,” he finally said. “I was weak.” He took a deep breath. “I was supposed to wed Lara, your mother, while my brother, Lawrence, would wed a woman named Amicia.” He swallowed. “But Lara and Lawrence only had eyes for one another.”

  Bowyar stood and began pacing the room as he spoke.

  Uncle Temp said, “I see no good coming of this, Benedict. You should leave. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Rosalyne shot him a warning glance and looked to Bowyar. “Please, continue, my lord.”

  The nobleman sighed. “They came to me. Lawrence first, then Lara. Admitted their feelings for one another. Said they had fought their attraction and lost that battle. No formal betrothal had been made, just a promise between our parents.”

  He stopped in front of her. “I loved them both enough to step aside. To see them happy.” His eyes bore into hers. “To see her happy.”

  Bowyar returned to his chair. “The news bewildered my father but he allowed for the exchange of intended brides. You see, Lawrence was the elder son and had always been his favorite. I tried his entire life to win my father’s love—and failed. I thought I could make everyone happy by agreeing to the match.”

  Rosalyne’s heart filled with pity for him. “You must have loved my mother a great deal to give her up.”

  “I did.” He paused. “We Bowyar brothers wed in a double ceremony. Amicia and I went west to live with her parents. My father died not long after and Lawrence became the Baron of Shallowheart.”

  Temp interrupted the tale. “That’s enough, Benedict. Rosalyne doesn’t need to hear anymore sordid details. I won’t see her hurt by you by dredging up the past.”

  She grew impatient and sternly said, “Uncle Temp, I have a right to hear about my parents. You never speak of them to me. I don’t care if I’m saddened by what I learn. Please, let him speak.” Turning back to Bowyar, Rosalyne asked, “Did you grow to love your wife?”

  “Never,” he spat out. “She was indifferent to me most of the time. Cruel the rest. She resented Lara for stealing Lawrence away from her. Amicia was only interested in power and wealth. As the second son, I had no title. No lands. No money. It made her bitter to have lost Lawrence.”

  “You became the baron upon my parents’ death, though. That should have pleased her.”

  “Aye. Lawrence and Lara passed close together from a fever raging across England. Amicia and I returned to Shallowheart. You were only a helpless babe but I wanted you, Rosalyne. Wanted you desperately—because you were a part of the two people I loved most.” He gave her a wistful smile. “I would have been a good parent to you, I believe.

  “But Amicia denied me that.”

  “That’s when I stepped in,” Temp said gruffly. “End of story. You can leave now, Benedict. You’re not wanted here. Rosalyne and I have gotten on well without you in our lives. We didn’t need you then and we certainly don’t want you in our lives now.”

  Rosalyne looked from Bowyar to Uncle Temp. “What do you not want me to hear? You’re trying to keep something hidden from me, Uncle Temp.”

  Bowyar spoke up. “It’s the ugliest part of the story, dear. Temp only wishes to protect you. Mayhap, he is right to do so.”

  “Quit dancing around the truth,” she told both men. “I’ll have all of it. Now.”

  “Very well,” Bowyar said. “My wife hated you from the moment she laid eyes on you. Amicia insisted that you would never be raised beside her children, much less be treated as their equal. I rue the day I let her dictate what would happen to you.” He looked to Temp, who continued the story.

  “Benedict sent for me. He begged me to take you before Amicia did you harm.”

  A shiver passed through Rosalyne. Edward gripped her shoulder.

  “Lady Amicia would have … she might …” Her voice trailed off, the thought too horrible to express in words.

  “Without a doubt, she would have carried through with her threats, Rosalyne. Amicia Bowyar was that kind of woman,” Uncle Temp said, his eyes burning with rage. “She wished you dead.”

  “Your uncle did me the kindest of favors by taking you in,” Bowyar told her gently. “My wife instructed I was never to see either of you again.” He bowed his head. “I foolishly agreed to her demand and told Temp not to let me know where the two of you headed, else I’d be tempted to find you one day.” He raised his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I regretted that decision from that moment till this.”

  Bowyar stood and began pacing again. “Amicia died in childbirth years ago. She birthed one dead babe after another. ’Tis when I knew God cursed me for letting you go.”

  “So you have no other children?” Rosalyne asked.

  “Nay.” He came and knelt before her. Taking her hands, he said, “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, Rosalyne?”

  She was torn. On one hand, this man abandoned her, handing her off to Temp and denying any responsibility for her. Yet, in doing so, he may have saved her life.

  Rosalyne squeezed his hands. “I do forgive you, Uncle Benedict. I have many questions of you, though, about my parents.”

  “Thank you for your forgiveness, my child.” Bowyar kissed her knuckles, his tears flowing freely now. Releasing her hands, he came to his feet. “I would like to get to know you, Rosalyne. Spend time with you and answer all of your questions. I cannot replace those years we were apart, but never doubt that I have always, always loved you.”

  “Why don’t you give Rosalyne time to ponder things and return tomorrow afternoon?” Edward suggested.

  Bowyar nodded and looked to her hopefully. Rosalyne nodded her approval.

  “Then I will see myself out. Until this time tomorrow.” He fled the room.

  She looked at Uncle Temp. “I needed to hear the truth, Uncle.”

  “I realize that,” he said wearily.

  “You look exhausted,” Sir Harry said. “I can have you shown to your room.”

  Rosalyne helped her uncle rise. “I will get him settled and return,” she said.

  “Nay, Rosalyne,” Edward said. “You also need some rest—and time to think about all that you heard. In the meantime, I will go to the palace and seek an appointment with the king.”

  Panic filled her at his coming absence. “You will return tomorrow? When Uncle … Benedict will be here?”

  Edward took her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing them softly across her knuckles. “I will,” he promised. “For now, you will be in good hands with Sir Harry.”

  His words reassured her. “Till tomorrow,” she said.

  *

  Edward had no intention of making an appointment with the king until he had spoken with Hal. His brother would be able to clue him in as to the happenings at court while Edward had been gone to Canterbury. If Geoffrey de Montfort had taught his sons anything, it was to be prepared going into a situation—especially when dealing with a king. Of all the de Montfort brothers, he had been the one who most took this lesson to heart.

  Arriving at the palace, he made his way to the queen’s rooms and found that she and her ladies-in-waiting were taking in the air outside. He hurried to the garden that Queen Anne favored and saw her sitting on a bench, eyes clo
sed, her face lifted to the sun. Various ladies clumped together in small groups chatting. Two royal guardsmen stood watch nearby at opposite ends.

  One was Hal.

  Edward went and stood slightly behind his brother. “Keep your eyes on the queen but fill me in on anything I have missed,” he said quietly.

  “Good to have you back, little brother,” Hal said. “Do you wish to hear about my most recent conquest? Or would you prefer politics to be our topic of conversation?”

  He chuckled. “In the time I have been gone, I am sure there have been several conquests, which all ended the same. Politics would be more to my taste.”

  Hal’s head turned slightly as he followed a few of the women strolling by. “The Duke of Lancaster left England yesterday in order to make good on his claim of the title in Castile.”

  “He wishes to be crowned head of Castile? Is it not enough that he is one of the richest men in all of Europe?”

  His brother shrugged. “His wife, Constance, is an heir to the Castilian Kingdom. Lancaster’s coat of arms includes those of the Spanish kingdom. For more than a dozen years, he has called himself their king. You know he’s gathered about him a variety of refugees from Castile.”

  “But why now, after so long a time?” Edward asked.

  “Since England has decided to ally herself with Portugal and Lancaster’s daughter will soon marry the Portuguese monarch, the time is ripe. Our wars with France and Scotland have died down. Lancaster believes he can land his army of five thousand in Spain and seize the throne.”

  “That worries me,” Edward admitted. “Not only that the duke will waste time and coin trying to take a foreign throne by force but what his absence from England could mean. The king’s uncle has protected him several times over the years. With Lancaster and those loyal to him gone, Richard will be alone for the first time since he became a boy king.”

  “Except for that band of young sycophants who gathers about him,” Hal noted. “I fear we are in for some uneasy times at court, Brother.”

  “Father will want us gone from here,” he said. “In fact, he never wanted us to come in the first place.”

  “I actually agree. But how does one gracefully bow out of the honor of being named a royal guardsman?”

  “I am going to do my best to find out. I plan to make my report to the king and see if this mission to Canterbury has earned me enough favor to warrant returning home in the near future. With you, of course,” Edward said.

  “Did you find what you thought you would in Canterbury?”

  “Aye. The work is steady but those in charge are corrupt to their very souls and cheating the king blind. They need to be held accountable for their actions.”

  “He won’t like hearing that. Richard has never taken well to bad news.”

  “I have something else to share with you,” Edward revealed.

  Hal glanced over his shoulder. “What aren’t you telling me? I caught something in your tone.” Hal frowned. “You seem different somehow.”

  “You might as well be the first de Montfort to hear it. We have never kept secrets between us.” He paused. “Mother and Father are right. When you meet the one you are meant to be with, you feel it in your very soul.”

  Hal took a step back so that they stood abreast and gave him a sideways glance. “You … found love?”

  Edward couldn’t hide his smile. “I did, Hal.”

  “Is she comely?”

  “That would be the first thing you asked about. In fact, she is exquisite. But Rosalyne is also caring and talented. Her beauty is both within and without her. I had no reason to expect to find love but I did all the same. She has changed me, Hal, for the better. I look forward to being a married man and spending every day of my life in her company.”

  “I see. So if the king releases you from duty, will you return to Canterbury for her?”

  “Nay. I brought Rosalyne and her uncle with me to London,” he admitted.

  His brother’s mouth fell open. “You what?” he hissed. “I have never witnessed you acting in a spontaneous manner, Edward. Has this woman bewitched you? This is so out of character for you.”

  “I love her, Hal, plain and simple. I could not stand to be parted from her. And she is an instrumental piece of my plan to seek my release from the king’s service.”

  “How so?”

  “Rosalyne is a painter. More talented than anyone I have ever met. I am going to convince the king that both he and Queen Anne need their portraits painted by her.”

  “By a woman? Have you gone mad, Edward? Are you even my brother, or are you someone who only disguises himself as Edward de Montfort?”

  “Lady Rosalyne’s uncle, Templeton Parry, is a well-known portrait painter. He will be the man supposedly painting our royal duo but, in the end, I wish for Rosalyne to receive credit for the portraits.”

  Hal gave him a long look. “Now I know it must be love, for you have never acted in such an impossible manner before.”

  The queen rose and the group of ladies scattered in the garden began rushing toward her.

  “I must attend to my duty,” Hal said. “Where are you hiding your Rosalyne and her uncle? Hopefully, not here in the palace.”

  “They are staying with Sir Harry. I will see you later, Hal.”

  Now that he had a better idea of the political climate, he would be more comfortable meeting with the king. Edward started to leave his brother and stopped in his tracks. Bold actions required bold thoughts.

  And his idea was both brash and daring.

  Reversing course, Edward marched toward Queen Anne. He had never spoken directly to her since he had come to court.

  She watched him coming and stopped, interest flickering in her pale eyes.

  Edward bowed and asked, “Might I have a private word with you, your majesty?”

  Chapter 18

  Edward wound his way through the maze of corridors until he reached the hallway leading to the king’s rooms. As usual, a bevy of bowmen from Cheshire stood outside, guarding the doors.

  He went to the front of the line and said brusquely, “The king is expecting me.” A half-truth, at best. The king had told Edward to report to him when he returned from Canterbury but no formal appointment had been arranged.

  Without waiting, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. No one questioned him or stopped him, so he proceeded through the rooms until he found the king with one of his favorites, Robert de Vere. Edward paused in the doorway since the two men were deep in conversation.

  Some minutes later, the king looked up. “Ah, Sir Edward. You are back from Canterbury. Do come in.”

  He approached and knelt before the king and was granted permission to rise.

  Richard turned to de Vere. “This good knight went to Canterbury to evaluate how the construction on the city walls fares.”

  De Vere looked disinterested. “I thought you were more concerned with the construction of your new bath house, your highness.”

  “Canterbury is important, Robert, because of its proximity to London,” the king explained. “An invading force from France could enter England and overtake Canterbury. The Romans understood that. ’Tis why they built their wall to surround it. I am merely reinforcing what is there. But go, my friend. I will dine with you later.”

  De Vere took his leave.

  The king turned to Edward. “So tell me what news you have. Did you do as you planned and actually spend time working as a laborer along the wall?”

  “I did, sire. Of course, I am not a registered guild member and had not the trade or skill to perform certain tasks.”

  “Ah, so swinging a sword or mace cannot win you guild membership?” The king roared with laughter at his own joke.

  Edward chuckled and nodded in appreciation. “Nay, sire. What I was good for was hauling stones from carts.” He grew serious. “I can tell you that those who toil on the wall earn every pence they receive. I found the men employed, be they common laborers or skilled c
raftsmen, do their best every day. Though it will still involve many years of work to come, you can rest assured that they fulfill their role in the venture.”

  The king eyed him with interest. “You have more to tell me, Sir Edward. I can tell.”

  “I do, your highness.” He paused. “I spoke to everyone who had any dealings with the wall, from the head of the stone quarry to various merchants around town who provide the supplies used in construction. To a man, I learned that the Crown is being methodically cheated on a regular basis.”

  Richard frowned. “How so?”

  “All workers, skilled and unskilled, contracted for one rate of pay—yet they received less every single time. It is understood by all that they are not to challenge this policy, or they will be ousted. The same is true of materials. Provisions are made to purchase them for one price but each time what is reported to the Crown is a much higher one.”

  “And the extra coin stolen from me went into whose pockets?” the king demanded, splotches of red darkening his face in anger.

  “I determined it came down to two men, sire. Lord Botulf, the nobleman overseeing the construction, and his man, Perceval Rawlin, who handles the daily affairs.”

  “I will have both of their heads,” the king growled, his words seething with hate.

  “I have a better plan, your majesty,” Edward said, and bravely pushed ahead. “Lord Botulf assured me that Rawlin has already been dealt with. After I confronted Lord Botulf, he understands how his life hangs in the balance. I had him agree to personally fund everything concerning the wall’s construction for the next ten years.”

  “Ten?” the king repeated, turning over the information. “A good move on your part, Sir Edward.” He paused. “But I would rather see it ten and two.”

  “Thank you, your highness. A full dozen years of paying for all construction costs will see the project far along, possibly only a few years from completion. I also took the liberty of meeting with Master Yevele regarding the matter.”

  “Yevele?” The king brightened. “I had forgotten about Grandfather’s master mason. I had him look at the original walls and make suggestions regarding whether to repair what was there or rebuild it. So Yevele is still in Canterbury?”