Once a Bride (8 page)

She went very quiet, very still.

Roland glanced at the parchment and tongs on the floor. First he’d rid himself of the termagant, then fetch the partially burned parchment.

Almost reluctant to give up the blessed peace—and to his chagrin, the warmth of her body pressed close even in this untoward position—he turned toward the bed.

“I am not your enemy, Eloise. Believe me or nay, I will ensure no harm comes to you or your people or the holding in your father’s absence. Your cooperation is not vital, but would go far to make my task easier.”

She huffed. “Why would I wish to?”

“Because our goals are the same. We both wish justice done and the holding to prosper.”

“Except you believe my father is guilty.”

“Guilty or not, our situation is the same. If you continue to fight me, Eloise, I shall have to take harsh measures with you, and I should hate to do so. Do not force my hand.”

His hand, he noticed, had moved. Was still moving. Circling her rump, her thigh. Eloise seemed to gentle to the petting, much like a kitten he’d once owned that nipped and scratched until deciding she could trust him not to hurt her. Except Eloise wasn’t a kitten, but a regal lioness with sharper claws and less reason to trust.

What would she do if he slipped his hand beneath her nightrail, caressed her properly? Could she be tamed to

his touch, induced to purr? Another intriguing notion he dared not act upon.

“Pray, put me down.”

A request, not a demand.

“If I do, will you stay put? If I must race you across the room for possession of the parchment, I swear I will not be so gentle with you next time.”

He felt her sigh. Resignation?

“I concede this skirmish to you, Sir Roland. All I ask is you grant me a boon once you read the message.”

Roland went cold. A message? From whom? Sir John? By what right did she ask a boon?

“What might that be?”

“I truly dislike this awkward position. My head begins to spin.”

Would she be off balance enough to prevent her from bolting? Perhaps. Besides, he couldn’t stand here all night with Eloise draped over his shoulder, arse end up and completely subject to his whims.

Whims, he admitted, he had no right to entertain.

He glanced over to where he’d tossed the washbasin, then eased Eloise down onto the velvet coverlet. She lay before him in all her feminine glory, her eyes wide and slightly glazed, aware of her vulnerability. Sweet mercy, Eloise might as well be naked for all her wetted nightrail hid.

She took too deep a breath for his comfort, the rise and fall of her breasts mesmerizing, kicking up his pulse.

If he leaned forward, he might taste the tips of her ripe breasts, indulge in a sumptuous feast—and likely suffer an ache in his loins for the remainder of the night.

“What boon?”

“That you carefully consider the consequences before you act on what you learn.”

“I am a careful man, Eloise.” “Are you? Your brother Hugh was. Of you I am not sure.”

Once more the vision of Hugh and Eloise tumbling on the deep blue velvet plagued him. Had Hugh gentled the lioness with his caresses, kisses, lovemaking?

Roland tore his attention back to where it belonged. Without making further assurances, he crossed the room and snatched up the parchment. From the few words not burned away by her fire or smeared by his water, he caught the meaning of the message, knew who must have sent it.

If Sir John had given his daughter orders before fleeing, then Eloise had known of her father’s whereabouts all along.

He crumpled the parchment. “You saw your father before he fled. You knew Sir John was not out hunting.”

“I knew.”

Her voice came from too close for her to have stayed on the bed. He turned to find her right behind him.

“Where does he hide?”

She shook her head. “He ordered me to allow the earl in the gates, do whatever I must to ensure Kenworth did not feel the need to take Lelleford by force of arms. Then he left.” She waved a hand at the parchment. “Beyond that, I know only that he watches for an opportunity to return. Roland, I beseech thee to keep this knowledge from Kenworth.”

Eloise asked him to join in her conspiracy. What gall! But then, ’twas to be expected of a willful woman, was it not?

“In God’s name why should I?”

Her fingers landed lightly on his arm. “Because if the earl knows my father watches, no one at Lelleford is safe, which you claim is your responsibility. Think on it. What might you do if the earl decides to torch the keep or use me as bait to draw my father out? Could you stop him, keep your oath to the king?”

Damned if the woman didn’t have a point.

Irritated, he held up the parchment. “How did you come by this?”

“I found it on my bed. I know not how it came to be there.”

Dare he believe her?

“Obviously someone delivered it.”

She nodded, but volunteered no information. ’Twasn’t truly necessary. If Sir John hadn’t done so himself, then his squire must have, which meant there was another way in and out of the castle than through either the main or postern gates.

“Who else knows of this message?”

“Isolde.”

“No one else? Simon? One of the other knights?”

She shook her head, and he wondered again whether or not to believe her. Eloise might look sincere, but she’d tricked him, fooled everyone.

’Twas several hours before dawn, time enough to decide what to do with the information. As he’d told Eloise, he tended to be a careful man, and he walked a thin line here between aiding a fugitive from justice and keeping faith with the king’s direct order.

“I will give you my answer on the morn.”

Eloise removed her hand from his sleeve. “I will pray you decide rightly.”

Roland doubted he’d trust his decision to prayer. ’Twould take very careful consideration over what to tell, or not tell, the perverse earl.

Chapter Five

E
LOISE WARILY eased down the stairway. ’Struth, she’d been tempted to hide out in her bedchamber, but resisted the urge as unacceptable cowardice.

She needed to learn what had transpired during her restless night spent curious as to how someone had delivered her father’s message, and frightened over what Roland would decide to do with the information. The uncertainty had her stomach in knots.

All the while she’d also wrestled with her annoying reaction to Roland’s manhandling.

Mercy, the man was strong. He’d hefted her up off the floor and tossed her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a sack of grain, in a display of both power and frustration with what she had to admit was her callow behavior.

Instead of childishly sitting on the half-burned scroll, she should have tried to strike a bargain for his cooperation.

Worse, after he eased her down onto the bed, she’d sensed his lust. Fully prepared for him to lower down atop her, she’d felt no fear, only strange, tingling sensations thrumming through her entire being.

’Twas most bothersome to admit she’d not uttered one word in protest or raised a finger in defense. Inexcusable.

To Roland’s credit, he’d won his struggle for control by remembering his role as her protector. This morn she was counting on that same strong sense of duty, on his honor as a knight, to render her indiscretion harmless. She never should have told him of her concerns about Kenworth’s intentions toward her father.

Eloise glanced around the hall, noting the unusual lack of people gathered at the trestle tables to break their fast. Of Lelleford’s knights, only Simon was present. She cringed at the sight of two guards garbed in the earl’s livery standing near the door, but neither Kenworth nor Roland was about.

Relieved, but confused, she slid onto the bench next to Simon. He looked tired, likely from having his sleep disturbed before taking his turn guarding her door last night, which didn’t make sense to her. Shouldn’t Kenworth’s knights act as her guards? Befuddling.

“Where is everyone?”

Simon swallowed a mouthful of pottage. “Kenworth paced the hall until the first ray of dawn. He is so sure of his trackers he wanted to be with the patrol when they find Sir John. Some of our knights are with him, others are out with St. Marten, hunting for Brother Walter.”

Another mystery. Where the devil could the monk have gone off to, and why did he hide? She silently wished Roland good fortune, hoped he met with success before Kenworth returned. She had a few questions for the monk.

“I am surprised Kenworth allowed our knights to leave the hall.”

“Kenworth fears we will conspire if left alone together too long. We are all held hostage to the others’ good behavior.” He raised an eyebrow. “Yours, too. I beg you, milady, to restrain yourself.”

As she hadn’t last eve, he meant.

Since Kenworth hadn’t burst into her bedchamber, she assumed Simon had given the earl some explanation of why several people tramped around in the passageway lugging buckets of water. Another point she must concede to Roland—had she stood outside the chamber and smelled smoke, she’d have raised an alarm just as he had done.

Given the results of her impetuous actions, she should have waited until this morning to destroy the scroll, tossed it into the flames of the hearth. Then Roland wouldn’t know her father was in the area, couldn’t betray him to Kenworth.

“Have you spoken with Roland this morn?”

Simon tossed his pewter spoon in the now empty wooden bowl and shoved it aside. Just above a whisper, he answered, “He told me of the message, which he destroyed. ’Tis fortunate for us he felt no compulsion to give it to the earl.”

The knots in her stomach eased somewhat. Roland’s stance on the matter brought no sense of triumph, only a bit of relief.

“ ’Twould seem he is not as interested in my father’s capture as in fulfilling his duty to the king.”

Simon nodded. “His duty lies with us.”

’Twas reassuring, but that didn’t mean the situation had changed. Roland was still the invader, and she still inwardly railed against his royally granted authority over her home.

Knowing she could do nothing for the nonce, she moved on to her next concern. “Simon, is there a way to enter the castle except through the main or postern gates?”

Simon rubbed at his chin. “I thought not, but am beginning to believe there must be. Roland says you found the message on your bed when you went up to your chamber after evening meal, long after Kenworth ordered the gates closed and heavily guarded.”

“I assume Edgar snuck in somehow and placed it in my bedchamber, but cannot discern how he did so.”

“ ’Tis a puzzle.” Simon shifted beside her, revealing his discomfort over how someone could get in and out of the castle in some secret way. “Perhaps there is a passage through the storage rooms or undercroft dating back to ancient days, fallen into disuse but known of by his lordship.”

Simon didn’t have to say that if her father knew of such a passage, he should have informed his steward. Eloise thought he should have informed his daughter, too.

She stifled a yawn and stretched her limbs. If she didn’t get up and move she’d fall asleep at the table. Now that she knew Roland wouldn’t use last night’s events against her or her father, she could relax some.

For now, she’d leave in Simon’s hands the matter of the secret passageway. He’d investigate and inform her if he discovered anything.

She dare not mention the last disturbing incident that interfered with her sleep. If she allowed herself to sit here and mull over her near escape from a kiss, or more, she’d go witless.

“Are you confined to the hall?” she asked Simon.

“Aye. You are not, but do not be alarmed if one of the guards follows you. Should he show you the least discourtesy, inform me immediately and I will set the man aright.”

She had to smile at Simon’s confidence. “I gather you feel you have some authority over the earl’s men.”

“I am a knight, Lelleford’s steward, and therefore possess authority. Besides, the men who guard us now are among those who will remain here with St. Marten. Best they know their place and limits from the beginning.”

“And St. Marten?”

“Best tread carefully there, milady. He rules us with the king’s blessing. How tight a noose we suffer will depend greatly on how well we deal together.”

Her smile became strained at the mention of a noose. “So you say I should be pleasant to him?”

“ ’Twould not be amiss.”

She rose from the bench, hearing echoes of her father’s orders to placate Kenworth. ’Twas still galling. Now Simon suggested she not annoy Roland, either.

So how did one deal with thorns one couldn’t pluck out? Ignore them as much as possible, she supposed.

First she’d eat. Then talk with the cook about nooning and evening meal. Then a word with the laundress—aye, she’d occupy her time and mind so fully she’d not have time to fret over Kenworth and his trackers or over her father’s or Brother Walter’s whereabouts.

Or wonder if she might have enjoyed Roland’s kiss. Where Hugh’s lips had been thin and dry, his half brother’s were full and lush. A tempting mouth.

Damn. She had to stop comparing the half brothers. ’Twasn’t fair to either and only reminded her of her disloyalty to Hugh.

One of the earl’s guards followed her into the kitchen and then on to the laundry. He hovered at a respectful distance and kept mum. Though he didn’t intrude, she chafed at his presence.

Just before nooning, about the time she realized that no amount of busy work could hold her fretting at bay, Roland and Marcus strode through the hall’s doors with a bedraggled Brother Walter in tow. The monk provided ample distraction from the too handsome man who’d haunted her night and snared too many of her thoughts this morn.

Brother Walter’s robes were mud-caked and torn. He’d lost a sandal. Eloise caught a whiff of him and nearly gagged on the stench. ’Twasn’t mud coating his robe.

Behind her, Simon uttered an appropriate curse.

Appalled, she pointed at the door. “He does not enter the hall until he no longer stinks. I shall have buckets of water taken out to the bailey.”