The Knight's Reward (Border Series Book 10)

by Cecelia Mecca

  Though she wore no gems, a fact that would be immediately evident to a courtier, her gown, at least, looked appropriate. Trimmed in fur, it also boasted a gold-trimmed cotehardie top layer, which the tailor had fitted perfectly to her height.

  Most inns had less-used entrances, and this one was no exception. Kathryn made her way to the stables without being noticed. She was not a prisoner here, but she knew Neill would disapprove mightily of what she was about to do. Secrecy was vital.

  “Good day,” she said to the stable boy, also the innkeeper’s son. “Will you ready my horse, and quickly?” Kathryn handed him a coin, hoping it would stop him from asking the question in his eyes.

  And it worked.

  “If anyone should ask for me, please tell him . . . them . . . I am safe.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  Thankfully, they were situated in the northeast quarter of the city, the Tower a short ride away. As Kathryn passed a water mill and rode along a small stream, she felt a familiar tightening of her chest. So very many things could go wrong. But instead of allowing panic to overtake her, she thought of waking up during the night in Neill’s arms. He’d fallen asleep, or had she done so first? It had felt so natural. So comfortable. She’d spent much of the morning dreaming about what it would be like to wake up thusly every day.

  Ignoring a few odd looks as she rode down the narrow road, a chapel to her right and monastery to her left, Kathryn spotted her destination ahead. The journey to the Tower was only one of many challenges she would need to overcome that day.

  Gaining entry would be the next.

  She had been here many, many times, even when the king was not in residence. Kathryn approached the Coldharbour Gate at the southwest corner of the Tower, preparing for the questions she would inevitably face. A lady riding up to the king’s castle, alone, on horseback was hardly a normal occurrence.

  “Good day,” she said to one of the guards, who gave her a dubious look. Kathryn could see the inner ward through the raised gate—which looked like, but was not, an invitation to enter.

  “Lady Kathryn Wyld, daughter of Richard Wyld—”

  “The missing messenger to the king,” he finished for her.

  Kathryn was not sure if his immediate recognition of her father should please or worry her, but she’d hoped for it regardless. It would be easier to gain an audience this way.

  She shivered at the thought.

  Still, he eyed her suspiciously as other visitors rode past.

  “Not missing,” she clarified. “Dead.”

  He and another guard exchanged glances, both of them obviously leery of her claim.

  “My father served King Henry loyally for more than twenty years. It was he who carried the message to King Louis that confirmed our king as the legitimate ruler of Gascony and avoided war with France. I am well known to the queen, whom I served once, if you will allow me entry to gain an audience.”

  And that easily, she was nodded onward. Whether they believed her or, more likely, did not see a lone woman on horseback as a threat, Kathryn could not be sure.

  She was inside. The bustle reminded her of the years she’d spent here, and also of Kenshire. Knights passed her as they made their way to the training yard. Mothers chased after their children. Servants scurried from one building to the next.

  She knew whom she needed to find in order to gain the audience she desired. Her name was Rosalind, and she’d served as Mistress of the Robes to two queens. An imposing figure with white hair piled atop her head always, Rosalind was known as a hard woman. Unkind, some would say, Kathryn had seen many girls run from her chamber in tears, though, oddly, she never had trouble with the woman.

  Making her way to St. Thomas’s Tower, Kathryn gained entrance easily. No one so much as glanced her way, a feat accomplished by the modifications she’d so hastily made to her gown. Kathryn could fit in here, and she did.

  “Pardon me,” she said to a serving girl when she entered the great hall, “I am looking for Mistress Rosalind . . .” Before she even finished the question, the girl was pointing toward the Presence Chamber, a guarded space.

  “Many thanks,” she said loudly. The hall was as noisy as she remembered it.

  Just as she’d done at the gatehouse, Kathryn announced herself to the guard who stood at the entrance to the Presence Chamber. Within minutes, a familiar wrinkled face stood before her.

  Eyes wide, Rosalind blinked in surprise and then did something quite rare for her.

  She smiled.

  “You are alive.”

  “Aye,” she said, moving to the stone wall at the side of the hall as the guard watched them. Rosalind walked with her.

  “Your father?”

  Kathryn shook her head.

  “I am sorry, my lady. He was a good man.” She cocked her head to the side. “Who simply disappeared?”

  It was stated as a question. For a moment, Kathryn’s stomach felt as if it were made of metal. Had she made a mistake coming here? Her father had told her not to return to court, but now that Rosalind knew she was here, Kathryn could not reverse her decision.

  I have no other choice.

  “I’ve much to explain,” she said, knowing the words were hardly adequate.

  Then, as she was wont to do, Rosalind looked down at her gown, which may have passed the scrutiny of the guards but could not fool the Mistress of the Robes.

  “You have come in difficult times.” She stated it as fact, not a question. “Why did you not come back sooner?”

  It was the question she’d dreaded for fear of causing offense.

  “As you say, Mistress Rosalind, I’ve much to explain. But there is little time to do it . . .”

  Looking as if she’d suggested pairing a blue kirtle and purple surcoat, Rosalind’s face contorted into a look that would have scared another woman.

  But Kathryn was afraid of only one thing. And it was not Rosalind.

  “I must ask a favor of you and then,” she promised, “I will tell you everything.”

  And she would. For once Kathryn was finished with her audience, nothing else mattered. Her fate, whether she believed the work of Fortuna would be in the hands of the most powerful woman in England.

  “What is your favor?”

  Whether because of her desperate tone or the strength of their past relationship—and a bond created by the fact that neither had known her mother—Rosalind could prove to be the godsend Kathryn needed.

  “My Lady Eleanor. I must speak with her immediately.”

  “You wish to gain an audience with the queen?”

  “Aye, if it pleases you.”

  Rosalind, thank every saint in heaven, looked back toward the private chamber behind her. Eleanor was in there!

  “It pleases me well to have you safe back at court, my lady. Your request is easily granted. I’m sure Her Grace will be eager to see you.”

  Rosalind turned, expecting her to follow.

  She’d come for this very reason. Had met with fewer troubles than she’d expected. And now that she was on the cusp of getting what she wanted, she felt horribly unprepared. It didn’t matter—she needed to do this.

  Kathryn took a step forward. And then another.

  The door opened, and there she sat.

  The queen of England.

  Chapter 30

  “What do you mean, you don’t know where she is?” Neill stood next to his men, who had apparently just sat down to a fresh pitcher of ale. Despite the late hour, the inn’s hall was crowded.

  “She is not with you?” one of the men asked.

  Neill was not amused.

  “When did you see her last?”

  The men, who’d now turned on the bench and were finally looking sufficiently concerned, looked up at him. “We escorted her to the tailor and then back here.”

  He and Aylmer exchanged a glance.

  “The tailor?”

  “Aye, my lord. The tailor.”

  “What need did she have of
a tailor?”

  “I know not. But have you checked the stables?”

  He turned to Aylmer, asking the silent question. Aylmer shrugged. “Let’s go.”

  He left the inn so abruptly, Neill garnered looks from the other patrons, but their opinions little mattered. He was in a foul mood from the yard, from his ongoing predicament and his inability to solve it, and this was not what he’d expected.

  He craved Kathryn’s touch. Her lips. Her warmth. Her conversation. Neill wanted nothing more than to have her with him now, unharmed.

  “The stable master,” he asked a young boy who was just emerging from the stables as he and Aylmer approached. “Where is he?”

  The boy, no older than ten and two, looked from him to Aylmer, his eyes wide and wary, and Neill immediately regretted his harsh tone. “I’m looking for my companion’s horse,” he said more gently. “And wish to speak to the stable master.”

  Most inns had, at best, one stable boy, but this was larger and fancier than most. The boy squinted his eyes at him. “Yer the lord with my lady who left this morn?”

  “Who left?”

  Nodding, the boy swallowed hard, no doubt believing he was in trouble.

  “I, she . . . she gave me extra coin and bade me to ready her horse. I thought it unusual,” he stammered.

  Neill put up a hand to silence him. “You did nothing wrong, lad. Just tell me, when did she leave?”

  “Earlier today, my lord.”

  “Earlier today.” Neill clenched and unclenched his hands. “Did she say where she was going?”

  He would gather the men. Look for her. Scour the city.

  “Nay, my lord. Though she told me to tell anyone who came looking . . .” He frowned. “Mayhap she meant you, lord. She said to tell you she was safe.”

  He waited, but the lad did not elaborate.

  “Go on,” he prompted.

  “That is all, my lord. And then she left. A good rider she be too.”

  “Thank you, lad,” Neill said finally, realizing the boy had no further information to share.

  “Gone. Where?” he asked Aylmer, turning to him in shock.

  “Will we look for her?”

  Aylmer shrugged at his stricken expression. “A fair question, Neill, as she appears to have left of her own will.”

  “A woman. Alone. In London. Of course we look for her.”

  Aylmer wisely remained silent and did not say what he himself was thinking. Kathryn was a resourceful woman. If she’d told the lad she was safe, he had no reason to believe otherwise. She might not want to be found.

  But why?

  As Aylmer had their horses readied, he thought of the night before. They had not discussed his answer to the king, the one he’d be forced to give in the morn. More fool him. He should have asked what she was thinking.

  Neill had spent the day in contemplation, knowing he’d lost that morn for the same weakness Bryce had taken advantage of in Brockburg. He’d been too sure of his own victory. He’d allowed himself to become distracted.

  And although he’d vowed to act based on his success or failure in the training yard, he’d decided he could not allow such an important decision to rest on a silently spoken vow during training. Instead, he’d concluded he must consider what his brothers would do in his situation. What Adam would do. The answer, he and Aylmer had agreed, was to speak with the woman who’d been named in the king’s damnable request, Lady Alina. In doing so, he hoped he might free himself without causing an uproar.

  Except Kathryn was gone.

  On the eve before she knew he would be forced to answer the king.

  Which meant . . .

  Which meant she had made the decision for him. They would look for her, but Neill had little hope she would be found.

  Without Kathryn, there was only one answer he could give the king.

  He would have to marry Lady Alina.

  Eleanor of Castile.

  Daughter of Ferdinand III, king of Castile, and Joan, the Countess of Ponthieu, whom Kathryn had met on two separate occasions while Edward was in Acre.

  Some said, secretly of course, the queen had nearly as much power as her husband.

  The queen had received her earlier, briefly, before a young page burst into the chamber begging the queen to attend her husband, who’d requested her presence. Before Kathryn could say a word, Eleanor had been escorted away. She’d never had a chance to ask the question she’d come to ask.

  Kathryn fretted that she’d not have another opportunity to speak with her despite Rosalind’s assurances otherwise. At least the queen had appeared pleased to see her. Whatever reservations her father had felt about Kathryn returning to court, she did not believe they extended to this woman who had always been so kind to her.

  “I’ve word from Your Grace,” Rosalind had finally said some time later. “She will receive you in the morn. The king, it seems, has taken ill.”

  She left the rest unsaid. While their marriage had, of course, been arranged, everyone at court knew it was nonetheless a love match. If Edward was sick, his queen would remain by his side, of that she had no doubt.

  When Rosalind had Kathryn escorted to a private bedchamber, Kathryn began to panic. Neill would return to the inn soon, and even though she’d left a cryptic message for him, he would no doubt worry. She could ask Rosalind to have a message brought to the inn, but Kathryn didn’t know what to say.

  Should she tell Neill she was here, at court? Her worry, of course, had been that he would prevent her from coming. But now that she was already here, could she tell him so? Surely he could not force her to leave before she spoke with the queen?

  In the end, she decided to say nothing other than to assure him, once again, that she was safe and not to worry. After giving Rosalind the parchment, she’d returned to the bedchamber, one of a few reserved for the queen’s attendants. It was smaller than the one she’d lived in at the castle, yet no less opulent. The bed covering gleamed in the candlelight, the gold thread a testament to the wealth that the English monarch enjoyed.

  A lone window with a seat below looked down on a garden, one of many. More importantly, a wooden tub filled with hot water sat in the center of the room. Silently thanking Rosalind both for the bath and for the gown, which lay on her bed, Kathryn cleaned herself. She was in the bath when the door flew open, startling her.

  “Pardon, my lady,” a young chambermaid said as she scurried into the room. “Mistress Rosalind bid me assist you to supper.”

  Feeling very much like the queen herself, Kathryn dressed in the deep purple velvet gown, smiling at Rosalind’s accurate assessment of her measurements. If not for her worry about Neill and her audience with the queen, Kathryn could almost feel as if she’d returned home. This was, at least, as close to a home as she’d ever had.

  Except for Kenshire.

  Pushing the thought aside, Kathryn allowed the maid to style her hair and then followed her down to the hall where supper was already underway. More than one hundred men and women were crowded inside, and yet this was only one of three great halls within the Tower serving a meal now. The queen’s ladies, the king’s officers, and their children could be found here, while the other retainers, including the royal men-at-arms, would dine separately. The king and queen often ate privately, in their own chamber, but occasionally graced one of the three halls with their presence.

  Though not this eve.

  The dais remained empty as Kathryn made her way to the table where Rosalind sat with the other ladies-in-waiting. Some were new, while others Kathryn knew well.

  “Good eve,” she said as she came close.

  “Lady Kathryn,” said Lysa, a tall blonde-haired daughter of an earl whom Kathryn had always found most endearing. Sweet and conversable, Lysa was the oldest of Eleanor’s ladies. Widowed young, Lysa claimed she had no need of another husband again, and true to her word, she remained unwed.

  “I’m so pleased you can join us.”

  She sat next to Lysa
, aware the others watched them carefully.

  “’Tis nice to be back.” She arranged her gown under her, her back straight, chin held high. Kathryn was being judged, and she knew it well.

  There was a time she had cared very much about the opinions of the other women, when the court was her home. These ladies, her family. But she was no longer that same person.

  “You’ve met the others,” Lysa said as conversation ceased around them. “Although I do not believe Lady Alina was present earlier . . .”

  Kathryn froze.

  While Lysa continued the introduction, Kathryn’s heart thudded in her ears.

  Lady Alina.

  This was the Lady Alina. The one Neill was promised to marry.

  When the young woman smiled, a kind and seemingly genuine smile—a rarity here at court—Kathryn managed to mumble out an acceptable greeting.

  Sneaking glances at the pretty young woman, she couldn’t help but compare herself to the striking beauty. Everything about her was pleasing, from her long, dark hair to her deep brown eyes.

  Just when she’d thought herself above the petty comparisons and competitions of the ladies of the court, Kathryn had taken the first opportunity to emulate them.

  But this is different. This is the woman who is to marry the man I love.

  Nay!

  A ferocity Kathryn hadn’t known she possessed took hold of her then, rebelling against the thought.

  “Where have you been these past months?”

  It took a moment for Lysa’s question to penetrate.

  “I have been making my way back from Edinburgh.”

  A servant poured wine into her goblet at exactly that moment, and she was able to avoid further questions by taking a long draught from it.

  Lady Alina was watching her.

  Kathryn half-heartedly listened as her companions chatted excitedly about their brief respite. With Eleanor at the king’s bedside, they were not required to attend to her. Which meant the night would be spent dancing and flirting. Musicians even now began to play in the far corner of the hall.

  Just as she was prepared to excuse herself to her chamber, the conversation took a turn Kathryn had dreaded.