With a cry, Robert pulled away.
"Elizabeth," said the king. "You did not know?"
"She did not, sire," Thomas said before she could answer.
Lyssa lifted her chin. Thomas held his breath, waiting for her to deny him. Praying she would not choose this moment to show some foolish brand of courage.
"I did not always, my lord," she said slowly. "But today I did willingly deceive you."
Edward's mouth went hard. "I am disappointed."
She bowed her head. "Aye, my lord. It was only—"
"No more." Edward rose and for a long moment, stared hard at Thomas. His expression was piercing. "There is much trouble in this land over men of your ilk, Thomas Hunter. And you've been bolder than most. At dawn, I'll have your head, for 'twill send a better message than I could hope to those who would overturn their masters."
Lyssa made a small, choking sound that she tried to cover with one hand.
Stonily, Thomas nodded. "I accept my own fate, my lord, but I beg you do not punish the lady. Twas all my doing."
"Guards!" Edward cried, and pointed to Thomas.
As they came forward to bind him, Thomas looked at Philippa. "Keep her safe, my lady, I beg you."
Before he was led away, he thought he saw a tear in her black eyes.
They parted to let him by, and now Thomas did see tears. Running on Isobel's face, and on Tall Mary's. At the rear of the room stood Alice, who stepped out before the company. "I am his mother. At least let me give him a kiss of farewell."
They halted. Thomas bent for her kiss, and felt her hand in his pocket. "Herbs, son, to hurry you from this life." With a break in her voice, she whispered, "'Twas a fight well worth the winning or losing." She kissed his cheek.
And Thomas was led from the bright feast to the dark bowels of a dungeon, where he was chained and locked in the dark to await the dawn and his death.
The only vision in his mind was Lyssa. For her, it had been worth the gamble.
* * *
In the hall, Edward looked to his cousin. "As for you, you will be married to the husband I chose for you. Till then, keep yourself scarce from my sight, else I'll give you the beating you do deserve."
"Aye, my liege," Lyssa said in a small voice.
The king stalked from their company, and slowly the music started again, though the buzzing of excitement would likely last for days. Weakened, Lyssa sank to the bench. She felt the queen's hand press hers for a moment, then she, too, departed.
She ought retreat, Lyssa thought, but her knees shook and she did not think she could stand. Then Tall Mary and Alice were bracing her, helping her to rise, and Isobel, too, appeared. Without speaking, they made their way to the chambers Lyssa had been given.
The four women sat grimly silent in the chamber, faces shadowed by flickering candle flames. Lyssa looked at each woman in turn, thinking how much they'd experienced together. Isobel wept silently, making her pretty pale face blotchy red, and she sat next to Lyssa, gripping her hand. Tall Mary paced, her agitation kicking up the green skirts with her long stride. Only Alice sat immobile, her face a mask of shock.
"I brought this on him," she said at last. "My own greed will kill my son."
"'Tis not yours alone," Lyssa said. "I should have left him at Woodell, or sent him out to the world." Quietly, she added, "I knew the mortal peril he faced here."
Tall Mary made a sound of annoyance. "'Twas none of you, nor me! Twas Thomas himself, who was born to be knight, not peasant in some grimy field." Anger snapped in her eyes. "Think you I have not wished he'd settled for the life of a yeoman, where I might have had some true claim to him?"
"Mary, forgive—"
"Lyssa, I mean no disrespect, but halt that noble tongue and let me speak."
Blinking, Lyssa nodded.
"I loved him. I love him still, as do all of us here, I'll warrant. But I do not mistake my love for blame. 'Tis not the way we would have wished for it to end, but he gained a life he'd bare dreamt existed by coming here." She looked at Lyssa. "By claiming the love of his heart, and planting in her belly a babe."
A small cry of surprise came from Isobel, and her hand tightened on Lyssa's.
Tall Mary, regal in the gown, her red hair swept high on her head, crossed her arms and inclined her head on that swanlike neck. "Do we sit now, and mourn him, all of us who love him, or will we think on some plan to save him?"
"What plan?" Alice asked. "The king spoke in front of the entire hall. He'll not take back his word now."
But Lyssa met Mary's eye, remembering a day so long ago now that it was near lost in the gold mists of childhood. A day the king had taken her feather as a token of love and luck, and vowed the talisman had saved his life.
"We can but try," Lyssa said, raising her head. "I think there is in the queen an ally. I will go to her."
At the door, she halted. "Come you, all of you, with me. Four are better than one."
So it was that they gathered in the queen's chamber, finding there a grave and sober woman. "I did not think this night would pass without your petition," she said with a shadow of her famous smile. "But there is aught I can do."
"I only ask an audience with him. Only five minutes, my lady, so I might beg for the life of my love."
Philippa hesitated, looking from Lyssa to the others, and back. "You are all devoted to the man, and I admit he charmed me." She took a breath. "Wait but a little, I will see if I may convince him."
Lyssa stepped back with as much dignity as she could muster and bowed. "Thank you."
'Twas not even a hundred beats of Lyssa's heart before Philippa reappeared. "He will see you, Elizabeth, but only you. The others must wait with me."
So she would fight alone. Squaring her shoulders, Lyssa went with the guard to the king's private chambers. Two guardsmen and a servant who readied the bed looked at her curiously, but Lyssa lifted her chin, ignoring them.
Edward sat nearby a roaring fire, a robe of thick velvet wrapped about him. No adornments of office but for the proud lion head marked him. As Lyssa was led in, he raised a hand. "The rest of you, leave us."
Her hands folded tightly, Lyssa knelt before her king, waiting for his signal before she spoke. Her heart skittered and jumped, and a trickle of sweat trailed between her breasts, and still the king only sat in silence.
At last, she raised her head and found him measuring her with an unreadable expression. There was anger in it, but she saw other things, too.
"I was ever too fond of you, Lyssa," he said gruffly, his head cocked. Firelight danced in his tawny hair. "You were a most precocious child, and charmed me even when I should not have been charmed."
Lyssa waited.
"You charm me still, cousin. For no other would I spare the time to listen to a plea I must deny, but I find I am too fond to be harsh with you."
A tear sparked in Lyssa's eye. "Thank you, my liege." She bowed her head, feeling an unexpected rush of emotion. "Forgive me my lie. It grieved me deeply."
"You love him, this peasant."
"I do."
"And you've come to plead for his life."
"I have." She took a shaky breath, and closed her eyes, praying for the right words, the words that would move a proud and angry heart. "It is not for my love of him that I ask you to think on this night."
"What else is there?"
Lyssa raised her head. "Thomas himself, my lord. You have not the chance to know him as I do, so I must argue only about what gives a man the heart of a knight."
"'Tis at least the blood of a noble in his veins!"
"Is it, my liege? Is it noble blood that makes a heart good and honorable? If that be so, why is my hall ever filled with drunken louts with nary a thought between them? Why must peasant daughters be hidden when such knights ride through their villages?"
His eyes narrowed faintly.
Lyssa felt the words come fast to her tongue, so fast she nearly stumbled on them. "A knight is a man who will protect and serve
, who does battle for his king, and protects the weak and small. Thomas of Roxburgh knew naught of that when he came to Woodell.
"But my villagers mistook him for a great knight, and wished to do him honor, so he was bathed and fed and put to bed in my own chambers. They longed for a leader, for one to defend and guide them. That low peasant who only masqueraded as a knight was moved. He stayed to take the place of the guardsmen who had run off, stayed to defend a small band of strangers only because they asked."
Dryly, Edward remarked, "'Twas not of course the glamour of bedding all the village maids, and eating fine foods in a fine hall, and playing at knight."
Lyssa smiled. "Oh, there was some of that, I'll warrant. I've a village full of women who'd die to defend Dark Thomas."
"And you do not mind that?"
She shook her head. "To them he gave a rare honor, my lord," she said. And to her surprise, she felt new tears spring to her eyes. "There is none among us who are below his notice or his kindness or his gentleness. We are starved for men who see us, and I do not mind his gift of seeing."
He cocked his head. "And you trust him to be faithful to you?" His smile was slightly cynical.
"I do, as your own queen trusts her king, who might have any maid in the realm, and does not take them to his bed."
That moved him. He looked away for a trice, and when he spoke again, there was a gruffness in his voice. "So he is good and kind. 'Tis not enough, Lyssa."
Her chest ached, as if a fist pressed into it. "There is more," she said. "As you know, my lord, my company in exile fell to the very plague we'd fled, and I could not return home till Midsummer's Day. I feared returning to a deserted village and empty fields and the stink of rotten rushes. Instead, I found fields planted with grain, and the village whole, and the hall swept and clean. The walls had been new whitewashed, and the feasts observed, and my hounds were well tended.
"Too many men, knight or not, would have simply taken what was given, and spent the months of my exile living from the fat of the land I've so long tended. Thomas did not. They looked to him as leader, and lead he did."
Edward looked toward the fire, his eyes narrowed. "And you, Lyssa, were you smitten on sight, like the village maids?"
"I was not. I had no taste for men, my lord. I only wished to come home to my weavings and live in peace. In all of my life, I had felt no hunger for any man, and though Thomas was beautiful, and he moved me, 'twas his heart and his goodness that won me."
"But if your story is true, he lied to you. Did you not feel betrayed when you discovered the truth?"
Lyssa nodded, thinking of the day in the forest. "I did. I near sent him away, but there arose a situation with Isobel that made it unwise. I feared for his life if he left Woodell."
"I have heard a little of that from the outraged Kivelsworthy, but I've seen the witchery of the girl, and can guess how it went."
"Aye. He was innocent, but there was a party of knights who would have slaughtered him if I sent him away. So he stayed."
"And you fell in love."
"I did." She swallowed. "He is brave, my lord. I saw him kill three thieves with no thought for his own safety, but only to defend me. He has wisdom enough to run my entire estate in my absence. He is gentle with the fairer sex, and firm with a boy who had not a male hand to guide him all these years. What more would you ask of a knight?"
Edward looked at her for a long moment. "You have ever gazed at the world with eyes unlike anyone else, cousin. I find myself thinking tonight of the gifts you once brought to me, those feathers and rocks and flowers. Do you remember?"
"I do," she replied, smiling faintly.
"My knights laughed at those offerings, but they were the honest gift of an honest heart, and the presents of a child who saw beauty in all things, low or high." He gazed at her intently. "I find I am moved that you discovered beauty and honor again where few would think to look."
She kept her chin high, but tears rolled over her cheeks. She could not speak.
He rose, and turned to look in the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. "In the way this has unfolded, there is a quandary. I cannot simply pardon him and let you wed him. There would be rebellion in every quarter, and that I cannot risk, not even for you."
She bowed her head. "Aye."
At last, Edward turned. "There is one more thing I would ask of a knight, Elizabeth, and as a king, I value it more highly than honor. That is the heart of a soldier." He paused. "I will test your Thomas in the tournament tomorrow. He may have his own horse and sword, and he will battle with my own best knights. They will try to kill him, Elizabeth, for much loathing has he roused."
Hope swelled in her, and she clasped her hands tightly to keep them from trembling.
"If your Thomas still stands at the end, he will be made knight, and you will have your husband."
Lyssa let her cry free, and grasped Edward's hands, pressing a kiss to them. "Thank you, my lord. I am ever in your debt."
His hand fell light on her hair. "I am no stranger to love, cousin." He stepped away. "Go now to your women, and wait for the day. You may not thank me tomorrow when he lies dead in a tournament field."
"Better the death of a knight," she said in a voice she could not hold even, "than the death of a criminal."
* * *
Thomas did not sleep. Oblivion would come soon enough.
Instead he made himself as comfortable as he could in the cold, dank cell, and watched the stars move in the bit of sky he could glimpse from the narrow, barred window. It was a fine, clear night, and the stars seemed very bright.
Only hours after he'd been locked in his cell, a retinue of guards came to his door, and he heard the lock turn. "Release him," said one, lifting his chin to indicate the chains locked around Thomas's feet and wrists.
Puzzled, Thomas held out his hands, dragging the heavy jingling chains across the stone floor. The guards unlocked him, and he rubbed his arm gratefully.
"You're to be shown to the chapel," the first guard told him. "We'll stand watch over ye, so don't be thinking you'll find freedom in the night."
"The chapel?"
"Aye." The guard peered at him, not unkindly, as if to discern some deeper thing from the shape of his face. "Ye've been granted a chance at the tournament tomorrow. Do well, and the king will knight you. Do not, and his men will kill you."
So, Thomas, under guard, was given the chance to pray. He did not waste it, but knelt on the stones before the statue of Mary, because it had been from women his fortune had come thus far. He prayed for strength and a clear head. He prayed to fight nobly. He prayed he would not dishonor himself or Lyssa, and if he must die, that it would be like a knight, not as the villein he'd been born.
* * *
Isobel, wrapped in a warm shawl, huddled in a dark corner of Lyssa's chamber. Around them, the castle was silent but for the cry of the watchman every hour. She watched his torch circling the wall, the only point of light in the vast darkness.
On the bed, Lyssa slept, forced there by Mary and Alice, who had grown concerned at the pallor of their lady. Lyssa had resisted until Alice made her drink some brew she'd made. Soon after, Lyssa had lain on the bed and drifted into a deep sleep. Mary lay next to her, an arm around Lyssa protectively.
Which left only Isobel and Alice to hold vigil. Alice prayed the rosary with unending passion, working the beads between her fingers over and over and over. If prayer was measured by devotion, Isobel thought the Mother would be on Thomas's side tomorrow.
Isobel felt sick. Her own emotions this long night had surprised her—wave after wave of panic and grief came over her. Panic that Thomas would be killed, that his strength would not be enough to see him through against knights like Stephen and Margrave. She'd seen Margrave in lists; he was a brutally cruel fighter—but it was Stephen de Kivelsworthy who would kill Thomas if he could.
It bewildered her that she felt so strongly. She had not thought she gave a thought to the life of Thomas a
ny longer. She'd burned for him, true enough, but she'd burned for many a man, and in truth, it was his very size that had excited her imagination.
But as he'd been led away from the feast, her sorrow had been quick and sharp, and her fear had been all for her stepmother.
For Lyssa, who'd gone such a pale dead color at the pronouncement of their king. Whose eyes had been more bleak than any sight Isobel had ever seen, more bleak than her own father's when his beloved wife had been laid in the crypt. Isobel had known grief in those moments herself. She'd loved her mother, and bitterly mourned her.
But the anguish in Lyssa's eyes gave new shape to grief. Isobel feared that if Thomas were killed, Lyssa would go mad with the sorrow.
An autumn wind, cool and sharp, blew through the embrasure, and Isobel shivered, pulling the shawl closer around her. She thought of the night she'd seen Thomas and Lyssa in the orchard, and the look on his face, that reverent passion that ran so deep it had wounded Isobel to the quick. Isobel had not seen Lyssa's face that night, but she knew now there had been the same look there.
Love so deep was rare. And beautiful. Isobel found she ached to think of them being parted, ached so deep she nearly could not think of it. She wondered what she might do to give Thomas advantage, how she might help him win.
When she thought of the answer, it was so simple and clear that she laughed softly. Alice looked up, though her lips moved yet in prayer. "Dear Alice," she said, standing, "I think my wantonness may at last have its purpose. Do not worry." And in good humor, she pressed a kiss to her cheek before she slipped into the passageway.
She knew where her betrothed slept, but first went to find her brother, and roused him, and told him what she wished. He was thunderously resistant, at first, but she brought him around.
Then she went to the quarters where Stephen was housed. A watchman paced nearby, and she uncovered her curls as she approached, glad she'd worn the good blue silk that showed her eyes and breast to best advantage. Putting a hand on the guard's arm, she whispered a plea for him to go rouse her beloved. A gleam in his eye, he did as she asked, as she'd known he would.
She waited in the shadows, her heart racing in both excitement and fear. This would seal her own fate completely, and there was some sadness in her over that. En route to London, Lyssa had shown some understanding of Isobel's wish to choose her own husband. A pity to throw that away.
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