Once a Bride (12 page)

“What might that be, my lord?”

“Hamelin is up to some trickery. I feel it in my bones. And you stated my worst fear, that after I am gone he may try to enter Lelleford and close the gates against me. Should he succeed, he could stand for a very long time.” The earl proceeded up the outer stairs to the keep’s great doors. “I leave you a small force. Do you think it enough to deny Hamelin entry, capture him if he gives you opportunity?”

“I do, my lord.”

“You are given a grave responsibility here.”

“And I shall do my utmost to live up to the king’s expectations.”

Kenworth glanced sideways at him at the mention of the king, as if he’d forgotten who’d placed Roland in charge from the beginning.

“Well, then. Pray keep the gates closed for at least two more days, so none of Lelleford’s knights can get ahead of me and possibly warn Hamelin that I am on his tail.”

“As you say.”

Roland entered the hall behind Kenworth, who bellowed for Gregory even as he reached the circular stairway to the upper floor.

Eloise wasn’t to be seen, but Simon sat in his accustomed place at the trestle table, so long confined to the hall he must be more than ready to escape by now.

As soon as the earl disappeared up the stairs, Roland eased down onto the bench across the trestle table from Simon.

“You are about to be set free, Sir Simon,” he began with a grin, then briefly told the steward about the trackers’ report and Kenworth’s decision to leave.

Simon took a long drag of his ale, then set the mug down with a flourish. “Praise be the saints. Within the hour, you say? Good tidings, indeed!”

So where was Eloise so he could watch her face light up with joy, too?

“Aye, good tidings, though we shall not be able to fling the gates wide for some days. The earl is concerned over someone giving Sir John warning. Still, our situation here improves and for that I praise both the Lord and Fates.”

“So shall we all.”

A commotion on the stairs interrupted their celebration. Kenworth burst into the hall, followed by Gregory, bearing the earl’s clothing chest, and Brother Walter, burdened with a large sack Roland assumed held the cleric’s possessions.

While Gregory headed out the doorway, the monk lagged behind with the earl.

“I wish only a moment of her time,” Brother Walter grumbled.

“Nonsense,” the earl answered. “I doubt Lady Eloise has any interest in whatever you might wish to say. Follow Gregory. He will find you a seat in a cart.”

The monk cast an entreating glance Simon’s way. Simon pointedly turned his back on the cleric, shunning the monk who’d spied on John Hamelin.

Though curious over the monk’s request, Roland didn’t interfere. ’Twas best the cleric left without upsetting Eloise.

Kenworth approached the trestle table, and Simon and Roland both stood.

“After we capture Sir John, I may find it necessary to return. I trust I will find all in order.”

Roland gave the earl his due—a parting bow—but didn’t dip too low. “I trust you will. You will keep me informed of your whereabouts in the event there is need.”

Kenworth shrugged, settling the charcoal gray woolen cloak on his shoulders. “Let us both hope there is no need.”

The earl strode out of the hall, ignoring everyone he passed, including Timothy, who gave the man a courtly bow in which Roland sensed little reverence.

“Where
is
Lady Eloise?” Roland asked Simon. “She should be told of the earl’s leaving.”

“I am unsure, but she cannot be far.”

Which meant she could be roaming about anywhere.

Roland beckoned to Timothy, who traversed the hall swiftly. “Find her ladyship. She does not yet know that Kenworth departs.”

The squire smiled. “So it is true then? Kenworth goes to chase after Sir John?”

At Roland’s affirming nod, the lad’s smile widened and he made a dash for the kitchen.

Roland’s mood lightened further, until he turned to look at Simon, who thoughtfully took another swig of his ale.

The steward might be pleased about the earl leaving, but he wasn’t happy about why. Neither, Roland suspected, would Eloise.

Her heart beating too fast, her breath shallow, Eloise lifted the torch higher, spreading the circle of light far enough to startle yet another rat. The vermin scurried to hide behind a pile of smelly refuse in the dungeon’s corner, sending a shiver along her spine.

She’d already searched every storage room and the undercroft, every dark, musty corner of the keep, but found no sign of a hidden passage, no door she hadn’t been through at some time in her life. She held little hope of finding a passage down here, either, but she had to look.

The guard behind her grunted his disgust. “What are we doin’ down here, milady?”

’Twas the first time he’d spoken to her. Usually he simply followed her around, not questioning her activities, merely observing. Clearly, he thought her touched in the head for coming down into the otherwise unoccupied dungeon.

“ ’Tis my father’s habit to inspect all areas of the castle once a sennight. In his absence, I intend to do the same.”

“Would not spend much time down here, if I was you. Sure ’tain’t no place for a lady.”

She had to agree, running a quick glance over the manacles bolted to the stone walls, and the huge, menacing rack in the middle of the floor. Not a nice place for anyone to spend time, but then, wasn’t that the whole idea behind a dungeon?

Get it done.

Eloise moved forward, searching along the walls, avoiding all thoughts of rats and other lurking vermin. Something cracked beneath her foot. Something round and white. A bone.

She cried out her horror, put a hand to her throat, her imagination taking flight over the ill fate of some poor fellow left to rot—nay, not possible. At least she didn’t think so, didn’t want to believe her father could be so cruel.

An animal’s bone then. The remains of a meal.

The guard smirked, and embarrassment burned on her cheeks. Sweet mercy, she’d scared herself witless for no good reason.

From the head of the stairway she heard her name being called and recognized the voice of Timothy, Roland’s squire.

“Down here!”

His footsteps thudded down the stairs. He landed with a bounce and grin. A raucous lad at heart, she thought, with an adorable face that hadn’t lost its boyish softness. A likable lad, if only for his particular attitude toward Isolde.

Where outsiders tended either to ignore or pointedly shun the disfigured maid, Timothy made himself both available and agreeable, a tribute to whomever had a hand in shaping his deportment. Roland? Not likely. Probably a woman.

The always mannerly squire sketched her a bow. “You must come up, my lady, bid his lordship Godspeed.”

She absorbed his words, but not quite his meaning. “His lordship?”

“William, earl of Kenworth, is readying to depart. ’Twould be a sight worth seeing, methinks.”

“Now?”

“If you do not hurry you will miss it.”

Eloise shoved the torch into her guard’s hands and took the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. She sped through the hallways until she reached the great hall. Deserted, except for Isolde, who shuffled toward her.

“Did ye hear, milady? The earl departs.”

“So Timothy told me. Has he gone already?”

“Might be. All I know is everyone headed for the gates. Ye had best hurry if you wish to watch him go.”

Hurry Eloise did, making her way downhill through the inner bailey until she passed into the outer. From the high vantage point she saw the crowd surrounding the earl, his knights, their squires and horses, the carts loaded down with belongings.

She caught a glimpse of Brother Walter, seated on one of the carts already headed toward the rising portcullis. How lovely that the earl took his spy with him.

Oh, glorious day!

But as she rushed forward, gained ground on her destination, she wondered why everyone didn’t share her joy. The crowd was eerily quiet, the only noise that of the departing retinue.

Simon and Marcus scowled. Even Roland looked grim.

She’d allowed her elation to overshadow her common sense, so happy Kenworth was leaving she hadn’t given a thought to why.

Had her father been captured?

Dread clutched her innards. Slowing her pace, she looked for signs of her father’s presence, or Edgar’s. Seeing neither, her dread eased, until she realized that, perhaps, the earl held both in the field beyond the gate.

She eased into the small space between Marcus and Simon, neither man so much as acknowledging her presence, both too intent on Kenworth as he swung up into the saddle. From that great height the earl peered down at Roland.

“ ’Tis my fondest wish my first message to you is of our success. If our prey eludes us, then ’twill inform you of my whereabouts should the traitor be so foolish as to return here.”

Eloise’s knees went weak. Her father hadn’t yet been captured.

“Godspeed, my lord,” Roland uttered.

Without further comment, Kenworth wheeled his horse and made for the gate, his knights following suit, raising a cloud of dust as the company picked up speed.

Eloise tugged on Marcus’s sleeve. “What happened?”

“The trackers found what they believe is Sir John’s trail. The earl has decided to follow it.”

“Are the trackers right?”

Marcus sighed. “Likely.”

Eloise fought the urge to call to the earl, invite him back into the keep, and lavish him with whatever attention he required to keep him contentedly lounging by the hearth. A foolish thought. He’d laugh in her face.

Simon huffed. “If the trail is so clear, then Sir John wanted Kenworth to follow. I would not despair of his lordship’s fate yet, my lady.”

“Nor should she hold false hope for his freedom,” Roland said. “Sir John will eventually have to answer to the charge of treason, whether he is taken prisoner by the earl or whether he turns himself in on his own terms.”

Heart heavy, Eloise left the men behind and made her way to the tower stairs and up to the wall walk.

A crisp wind tugged at her garments and blew her veil around, impeding her view of the fields surrounding the castle. She wrapped the sheer white silk around her neck, leaned against the cold, thick stone, and watched the last of Kenworth’s knights cross the drawbridge.

Good riddance to them all.

Yet, ’twas such a helpless feeling, knowing her father was out there somewhere and naught she could do might help him. She’d felt a shadow of despair from the moment he’d left her alone and frightened in his accounting room. She’d fought it as best she knew how, tried to banish it with anger.

Now the shadow loomed as an insurmountable wall she could neither batter down nor go around. Tears welled up. She didn’t stop them from falling, couldn’t have if she tried.

“Godspeed, Father,” she whispered, wishing beyond reason he could somehow hear.

He couldn’t, of course. Too far away. Too involved in his problems to hear a daughter’s voice or heed her worries.

Heavy boots pounding on stone steps alerted her to an intruder. With the heel of her hand she wiped the wetness from her cheeks.

To her dismay, Roland appeared at the top of the stairs.

What did the man want of her now? She wanted to rail at him, send him away with the earl. Except she couldn’t trust her voice not to break or her tears not to flow again. Besides, he rarely listened to her anyway.

He might not listen well, but he always seemed to be near during her worst emotional upheavals. Did he sense she’d come up here to be alone until she could control her heartache? Could he know that with the slightest invitation she’d curl into him, cling and cry like a babe? She dared not. ’Twould give him too much advantage, especially now that he had sole rule over Lelleford.

One did not give ground to the enemy.

Unfortunately, thinking of Roland as the enemy became harder each day. She hated his control over her home, but the man, the knight whose power didn’t diminish a whit when he chose to be gentle, intrigued her.

He gave her a slight, beguiling smile before he leaned on the wall beside her, their shoulders nearly touching, and bent forward to observe the men-at-arms break camp.

Roland’s sheer bulk blocked the bite of the wind, easing the chill, performing a service she doubted he meant to perform. As long as he’d ruined her solitude, she felt no guilt over taking advantage of the bit of shelter he provided.

Below, men scurried to stow their belongings and tents, take up their arms, and form into marching order. So many men were required to accompany one earl, to capture one man, and they hadn’t yet succeeded. Praise be the crops had all been harvested. The field used for the small army’s camping ground was now a quagmire.

With the earl at the head, the front of the column began to move like a long, dark snake slithering through the fields—in the opposite direction than she’d expected.

“They go north?”

“Sir John’s tracks lead north, to the river and beyond. One of Kenworth’s knights suggested he may be headed for Scotland.”

Eloise tamped down a twinge of panic. “That is absurd.”

He took a long breath, as if summoning patience. “I did not say he does, only that some believe he seeks the protection of a laird. Eloise, no matter what your father’s intentions, there is naught we can do to either help or hinder.”

So she’d already surmised.

The last of the line rumbled forward, a dozen or more carts loaded down with baggage and provisions. In one of the carts sat Brother Walter, his hooded brown cloak wrapped tightly around him against the chill. She’d never seen a more forlorn figure, but she couldn’t deny she was happy to see him go.

“I suppose I should be upset that the earl takes his spy with him. Now we shall never know his secrets. Had I known the full measure of his treachery that first morn, I swear, I would have allowed Marcus to hold a sword to his throat to force him to speak.”

“I heard you found him wounded on the accounting-room floor, bleeding and confused.”

She was sure her father and the monk had exchanged harsh words, that perhaps during the argument her father had shoved the monk into the desk, even though the cleric assured her his own clumsiness was at fault.