Silence followed again until Ortha wailed. “The betrothal. Osbert said he needed Sir Garley’s help with soldiers. He can’t destroy such an alliance. And your brother.” Ortha shuddered. “I don’t want to cross him.”
Giddy relief swamped Emelin. “I vow to you, he will not need those extra troops. Many other lords have answered the call for help with the Scots. The army is substantial. As for my dear brother—” She inhaled and fought back a chuckle. “—he’s to come into an unexpected inheritance soon.”
Until just a few days ago, she never imagined she could decide her own future. Now circumstances were different. She was different. Someone believed in her. Trusted her. The power was euphoric.
“I believe Sir Garley can be persuaded.” And Sweet Mary, how she looked forward to such persuasion.
Ortha settled back, fingers twisting in her lap.
Two cups of ale later, Lord Osbert bid the men good night and walked toward the high table.
“Why are you not in bed? It’s late and you both should rest.” His gruff question set Emelin’s back up. They were not children, to be ordered to sleep at someone else’s discretion.
Miraculously Ortha’s nervousness evaporated. “You are the one who needs rest, my lord,” she answered solicitously. “You can’t care for the world. Now, haven’t we discussed this?”
He appeared mollified but growled nonetheless.
With disbelief, Emelin watched their interplay. Ortha’s plain face glowed, her eyes sparkled when she gazed at Lord Osbert. The lady looked—interesting.
His frown eased, and he nodded. “That we have, that we have. My thanks for the reminder. My first wife liked to take care of me that way, Lady Ortha. Always worried, she did. You remind me of her, young thing that you are.”
The young thing batted her eyes.
Emelin muffled a cough. Time to take this conversation in a different direction. “My lord, if you will be so kind as to join us in the solar,” she interjected, “I have something important to discuss.”
He looked taken aback at her forcefulness. Still, he accompanied them up the steep stairs to the chamber set aside for the ladies’ use. Inside, Emelin turned. Ortha remained beside him.
“My Lord Osbert,” Emelin began. What to say? She hadn’t planned this far in advance. Perhaps directness would work. “I realize you and my brother have a contract to provide soldiers, along with coin and my—our—betrothal. But while I was…away, I learned many of your neighbors have contributed men for the war. You won’t need such a force as you thought.”
Before he could answer, she rushed ahead. “I can’t marry you, in any event.”
A frown knotted his brow. He cast an oblique look at Ortha, then shifted as if a rock lodged in his braies.
Now what? What would convince him to break the agreement? She searched her mind for a likely reason.
“I carry another man’s child.” Dear heaven. What had possessed her to say that?
“What?” Osbert and Ortha shouted in unison.
She couldn’t turn back now. “It’s true. That’s why my brother pushed for such a speedy wedding. He planned for me to present you with an heir two months early.”
God forgive her for the lie. But since He hadn’t struck her down yet, perhaps He understood.
“You were in a convent. Where did you find a man?” That question came from Ortha.
“Ahhh…I traveled sometimes to arrange sale of the nuns’ handiwork. I met him during one of my journeys.” She should be ashamed of the firm-voiced confidence of her lies. Her chin notched up.
Finally Lord Osbert spoke, his voice thoughtful. “That’s why you left with the mercenary. He came for you.” Certain of his conclusion, he didn’t wait for an answer. “I had my suspicion about that knight.” His eyes lit in memory. “He was the one who arrived, with you, wounded in the cart.”
Perhaps her great idea hadn’t been so great.
“Praise God I learned of your deceit before I wed you. And you’re wrong. There was never a contract. No time to get one drawn up, you see. Not with war looming to the north, so my wife’s cousin said. Your brother came to me with his offer, and I couldn’t turn it down, now could I? I need an heir as much as I needed those fighters.”
He thought for a moment. “Wonder if I can get my coin back from him.”
After the first outburst, Ortha had watched quietly. At last she said to him, “My poor dear. You have been dreadfully misled, but it was not Lady Emelin’s fault. She is guilty only of the mistakes of the young.”
He held up his hand and Ortha obediently stopped. “He’s the one you ran off with then. And what happened to him, I’d like to know? Left you alone, did he? And now what’s to become of you? Can’t stay here, for certain. I’ll not take another man’s bastard as my own.”
Ortha spoke diffidently. “Why not allow her to rest tonight, then send her back to St. Ursula tomorrow? I’m sure Sir Garley will deal with her later.”
He looked at Ortha, and his face cleared. “Do you think so? Very well, then, my dear. Come along.” Without another word, he left.
Emelin was stunned. That man couldn’t be the same Osbert of Langley she’d met only days earlier. How on earth had her meek and mild companion managed such a transformation in the arrogant, belligerent lord?
Ortha smiled. As if reading Emelin’s mind, she said, “Pride is a fearsome thing, dear Emelin. When he could not produce a son, when no lady could be found to wed him, he felt a failure. And to buy a bride who runs away? Devastating. Lord Osbert might be a trifle overbearing at times, but he likes his comfort, and he likes to feel needed. I don’t mind providing for either. At heart, he’s a good man.”
She paused at the door. “I know you lied about the child. But you will want to be safely out of your brother’s reach before he hears of the story. I fear he is not a good man.”
Her friend had no idea. “Ortha,” Emelin advised, “you must rush your marriage. My brother has bet his future on my wedding to Lord Osbert. He will not be happy.” No, even with her inheritance, he’d rage. He loathed being thwarted.
Despite the long, emotional day, Emelin couldn’t sleep when she at last found her bed. Had she done the right thing? Or had she set in motion events that could destroy her and, perhaps, others? She acted with good intentions but without thought, much like the first night she tried to leave Giles.
She still didn’t understand why all the knights and men-at-arms were being assembled here at Langley and at Granville. Giles was following the traitor, but until today, she hadn’t heard of fighting. But wasn’t Lord Paxton moving north to Scotland? She hated not knowing.
Rubbing her fingertips in circles against her temples, Emelin tried to think. Giles must be warned. If Henry received a warning at Chauvere, he could help. But how to send a message? She sighed. Only one way presented itself. Tomorrow she’d have to manage another escape.
As it was, she was up before the sun, persuading Lord Osbert she needed only one escort back to the convent. Then Sister Ressa arrived, to insist she would accompany Emelin to St. Ursula, so another soldier was added. Lord Osbert didn’t like to send them off with such little protection until Ortha pointed out that the raids all took place to the north, and their small party was heading south.
“Of course, my lord,” Sister Ressa said, “if you wish to wait for your men’s return from the convent, I’m certain Sir Robert and his men will be pleased to rest here. You do have ample stores to feed them?”
Lord Osbert sputtered when he thought of putting out extra food. Before long he’d agreed no extra men need make the trip to the convent. Didn’t want to delay joining Garley and the other lords who were readying fighters for the march to Scotland, he allowed.
The nun nodded and offered a blessing for the troops. Her innocent expression didn’t fool Emelin, who realized she’d just learned a lesson in manipulation.
With a sigh, Emelin mounted her mare and gazed at the escort. With two men to alternate guard duti
es, how was she to slip away to Chauvere?
****
Giles encountered another report of raids when he was barely out of sight of Granville. A boy wandering along the road reported two cottages at the edge of Granville land had been burned. The boy’s Gram and Grandda put to the sword, he said. He escaped only because he’d been to the river for fish. Giles set the lad in the direction of the castle.
Stopping only to rest Nuit, Giles pushed on until he could no longer make out the road. He was up at first light. He rode for hours, until he thought he might have taken a wrong turn the night before. Then, ahead, he saw Chauvere. He hadn’t passed Lord Henry. He was in time.
In the hall, Giles found Henry dressed in his mail, arguing with Lady Evie. “You are not coming with me. There may be trouble, and I won’t have you in danger.”
“But Lady Emelin may need me.”
“She’s not there,” Giles announced.
The brother and sister looked up in surprise. “What’s toward?” Henry motioned to him.
“I was on my way. Here, sit.” He nodded toward the table, and Lady Evie brought a cup and pitcher from the other end.
In few words, Giles described what had happened. Henry’s face darkened at the tale. When the story of Missy’s brother Tom was recounted, Henry slammed the table with his fist. “That damned Paxton. Sounds as if he sends out raiding parties dressed as Scots to attack the people, then lies to the lords. He encourages them to show their support in men and arms. If he’s gathering an army, he means to march north.”
Giles nodded. “The story about negotiating peace with Scotland was a lie. Yet why would he go to the trouble of creating such a cover? The raids would generate enough hatred to persuade the lords to back him.”
“He always has an alternate plan,” Lady Evie said, her tone strained, as if battling a memory that wouldn’t stay buried. “If one idea doesn’t work, another will. When he tried to take Chauvere from Alyss, he was backed by Prince John. Could John be behind this?”
“John’s been fighting with Richard for years now,” Giles said. “I doubt he still plots with King Philip.”
Henry scowled. “Philip, then.”
“What I thought,” Giles acknowledged. “Richard’s strength would be divided and weakened if he had to provide fighters for two wars.”
A disturbance at the door diverted their attention. “It’s Roark.” Lady Evie jumped to her feet and raced across the hall.
Henry rose. “Lord Roark of Windom, my sister’s husband,” he explained.
Giles nodded. “The tale of which I never got to hear.”
The figure striding toward them was tall and broad in his mail. Rich brown hair clung to his forehead but couldn’t cover a scar that bisected one eyebrow. Square jawed, hawk nosed, he radiated energy. Here was a man Giles wouldn’t want to cross.
Filled in on the facts, Lord Roark took on a look of implacability. “If I know Paxton, he’ll set Englishmen to raid along the Scottish Borders, as well,” he said. “By the time he’s worked his way across northern England gathering troops, the Scots will be ready to battle.”
The men discussed alternatives until time for the evening meal, then adjourned to the solar. “There’s one thing.” Roark settled back on a cushioned bench. “Paxton never acts unless it benefits himself. Something’s missing in this whole venture. What does he get out of it?”
“If he’s an agent of the French, you can be assured Philip has offered him land,” Giles said.
“What if the plan fails? What if Richard succeeds in defeating Philip?” Henry ran his fingers through his graying brown waves. “What happens to Paxton then?”
“He settles on his land in France or wherever it’s located, provided he’s able to take possession of it.”
“Paxton eliminates any odds against him,” Roark said. “He looks for the weak and takes advantage.”
Giles thought for a moment. “It would be convenient if he had a place in England,” he said. “If Scotland doesn’t send troops across the border, he can return a hero for having defeated them. Who would condemn him for protecting his country?”
“He doesn’t have a holding in England and isn’t likely to get one unless he takes it,” Henry pointed out. “Where would he find a place that’s undefended?”
His idle question met silence. He sat up straight, looked at Roark. “Riverton. Sir Clifford couldn’t stand against an attack.”
Giles went cold. “No. Granville. That’s where the troops are assembling.” The other two men stared at him. “When I left Granville Castle, soldiers were pouring in. Paxton’s captain looked for his commander any time. He insisted on posting guards to relieve Sir Daviess’ garrison.”
“You’re right, by God,” Henry said. “There’s only old Sir Daviess and his lady. I’ve heard he’s not in his right mind half the time. No one could stop a takeover there, certainly not one conducted under the guise of help.”
“I’ll ride to Riverton in the morning, warn Sir Clifford,” Roark offered. “Then I’ll return and get both our defenses in order, Henry. You’ll want to get up to Scotland as soon as possible. And then…I’ll take my men to meet Lord Paxton.” His mouth tightened in a humorless smile. “I have a score to settle with that piece of carrion.”
A familiar spark of excitement burned away Giles’ exhaustion. Planning a campaign always affected him so. “We’ll go together,” he said to Roark. “You can show me a quicker way back to Granville. I’ll send word when Paxton arrives.”
Henry left well before dawn. Roark dispatched a messenger to Windom with word for Lady Alyss. Giles was surprised Lady Evie didn’t ask to go. But she bustled around the hall, ensuring her brother was well stocked with food and “court clothes” should he need them. After he rode away, she presented Giles and Roark with packs of food for their journey.
“What can I do while you’re gone?” she asked Lord Roark.
“Stay out of trouble.” He kissed her cheek, then mounted a robust gray with black stockings and joined Giles.
The two men traveled quickly, Lord Roark pointing out landmarks. The trail across country cut hours off the journey, and before the sun was high, they sighted Riverton. The castle sat in a shallow valley not far from a small river. Giles counted four guards on patrol at the top of the wall. When one of the quartet spotted the approaching riders, more armed men popped into view.
So this is where Emelin had spent five years of her life, betrothed to Sir Clifford’s son. Her good memories of home and family came from here.
“Quite a few guards,” Giles observed. “Didn’t you say this Sir Clifford was alone?”
“Yes. He’s been ill these past months, but he’s no fool. Says he’s not about to let the king dispossess him while he’s still kicking.” At Giles’ raised brows, Roark added, “His son never came home from Crusade. Stephen’s foster father was killed, and no one recovered Stephen’s body after he went down in battle. Sir Clifford has no other heir. Once he dies, the land goes to the crown.”
Giles knew what that meant. A rich reward for one of Richard’s favorites. And it would be rich. Good farmland. Plenty of water, trees. For a moment, he pictured himself standing on the wall, Emelin at his side. A pang in his chest had him rubbing the rough servant’s garb he yet wore. She should be safe by now. Lady Clysta would know how to find her. On his way to Normandy, he’d say goodbye.
Sir Garley might force her to marry Osbert later. Giles couldn’t let that happen. If he carried out the original plan, his father would no longer be a threat to Emelin. But somewhere in the past fortnight, his feelings had altered. No longer was he driven by the urge to kill the lord of Langley. The man had surprised him.
Giles had always imagined the man who was his father to be mean, cold, hateful in his cunning. He’d known plenty lords like that in his life. In his brief time at Langley, Giles had realized Osbert was none of those things. Gruff and irascible. Overbearing and not above claiming a good horse now and then, but not cruel.<
br />
Yet Giles’ mother had waited long years for the man to honor a promise and return.
In vain.
His resolve hardened. Osbert deserved some kind of punishment. Perhaps depriving him of Emelin permanently was enough.
But Giles must dispose of Garley. Her brother would never allow her to live, no matter where she took refuge. That was one last service he could do for her before he returned to his battles.
He didn’t stop at Riverton. He pushed on hoping to reach Granville that night, provided he didn’t mistake Lord Roark’s directions in the dark. It was late when he at last approached the holding. Rather than the quiet scene he’d expected at that hour, the castle bustled. The gates were closed, but the reflections of fires inside the bailey were visible. The boisterous sounds of soldiers could be heard even at a distance.
Best not to approach head on until he knew the situation inside. He retreated into the trees, circled around to the back. When he at last reached the tiny escape gate, he dismounted and eased through the shadows, careful to check for patrols.
How was he to get through the narrow door? He tried the latch. Locked. Ear pressed to the narrow seam where the wood met, he listened. The noise seemed at a distance, so he jiggled the latch again, this time more forcefully. Still it held. Damn.
Just as he turned away, a faint creak caught his attention. The door eased open, a pale light limning the edge. Davy’s head poked out. Giles reached the boy in an instant.
“Glad you’re back,” his squire muttered. “Don’t look good ’ere. Sure you want t’ come in?”
Without an answer, Giles ducked inside before he remembered Nuit.
“Don’t worry, Silverhawk,” Davy whispered, again anticipating Giles. “I’ll take ’im to the village. No one’ll notice ’im there. Leave this ’ere door unlocked. I’ll be right back.”
Once the boy left, Giles easily lost himself in the crowd of soldiers. The numbers had increased since he left three days ago. Judging by their clothing, they represented several different holdings.
He strode into their midst as if he had a right to be there, and no one questioned him. Snippets of conversation abounded, but he heard no specific plans. Mostly, the men seemed eager to meet the “murdering Scots.”
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