Boadicea's Legacy (24 page)

“Oh ho,” the earl smiled. “This knight is a man I'm proud to claim as my own.”

“For certes, he's worked hard on your behalf,” Ela said with a dip of her head.

“Who are you, again?” The earl rubbed the goatee at his chin.

“I am the daughter of Lady Deirdre and Lord Robert Montehue.” She kept her gaze deliberate and steady.

“And Os here found you because—” he looked at her expectantly.

She chewed her lower lip, stalling before she answered. What had Os told him? How could she help further his cause while gaining her father men against Thomas de Havel?

“She was attacked by Thomas de Havel's men,” Natalia blurted.

Ela briefly closed her eyes and hoped that was the same story that Os had told.

“Sir Osbert saved me, my lord. I was trundled up like a pig in a poke and being led off to who knows where, when Sir Osbert rescued me.” She batted her lashes at him.

“De Havel? Thomas?”

Ela heard the familiarity in the earl's tone and felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. She saw the same tension in Os—his jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle from where she sat at the countess's feet.

The earl turned to her and said, “Os was just telling me that he'd not found the spear I'd sent him to get, and so he'd brought me you as the consolation prize.”

“Oh.” Ela kept her gaze down, unwilling to accept the blame from Os for not heeding his unspoken will.

Silence thickened. The undercurrents around her were making her ill, and it took everything she had not to run for the door and escape to her room.

Even better, she could jump on Bartholomew and go home. “I'm not much of a prize, my lord.”

“Is it true you are descended from Boadicea?” The earl got to his feet, then kneeled in front of her to lift her chin.

His eyes, brown as the earth, stared into hers. She sensed his fairness—his lust for life—and power.

“Aye.” She didn't dare blink.

“I have a painting of her, and you are the image come to
life. Would you like to see it?”

Her heart slammed against her chest. “For certes! I've but a tapestry—to see a painting? My lord, that would be wonderful.”

He grinned, his entire face smiling. “It is an eighth century rendering, but beautiful. Let's finish this de Havel business first. You were attacked?” He returned to his seat, crossing his booted leg over his knee.

“In the kitchens.” Ela waited for Os to speak, but he kept quiet. She wondered why, but there was no way for her to deny the attack now—not when Natalia had brought it up.

“Was the man caught?”

Ela shrugged as the earl gestured to some of his men and whispered instructions in their ears. “I don't know, my lord.”

“We'll take care of it. You needn't fear another attack.” The earl leaned forward, his gaze intent.

Just then the doors behind her opened with a creaking groan.

The hairs on the nape of her neck rose, and she swallowed against a wave of sickness.

“Did I hear my name being bandied about? I would like the chance to defend it—if one of my men is guilty of attacking the lovely Lady Ela, then I will have his head on a platter by this evening's meal.”

“Thomas.” The earl got to his feet, as did Natalia.

“My lord,” Thomas said with an evil grin. “And Mother. How wonderful to see you both.”

E
la covered her mouth with her hand—too late to stop the horrified gasp from escaping. She turned to look at Natalia, Lady Steffen, but the beautiful older woman refused to meet her gaze.
Betrayed
.

How had Os, with his suspicious nature, missed Lady Steffen being a traitor?

How had she not read that trait in the woman's aura?

“Thomas,” she said in a steely voice. “My son. What do you know of the attack on Lady Ela?”

“Me?” He held his leather gloves by the wrists and lightly slapped them against his thigh.
Thwack, thwack
. “Nothing at all. I've come to claim my betrothed before she ends up carrying another man's babe. We'd hate to make that a family tradition, wouldn't we, Mother?”
Thwack, thwack
.

Lady Steffen's lips tightened, showing the lines of age around her mouth. “You never mentioned a betrothal.”

“It was your idea,” Thomas said with a lewd laugh. “I
find it quite convenient, and cozy, to have both my ladies in the same castle.”

Ela shook with emotion, her body ready to battle, or run. She detested feeling vulnerable, but she couldn't speak, let alone make a poor jest.

The earl—Lord High Steward of England—slammed his fist down against the arm of his chair. “Enough of your games, Thomas. What is going on here? I didn't approve any betrothal. You were gifted land next to an honorable and decent man in hopes that you would settle down.”

Thomas's lip curled. “Mother wanted me to marry Lord Montehue's daughter—it didn't matter to her that the lady,” he sneered at Ela, “had a reputation as a wild hoyden whose best friend is the wisewoman in the forest. Deluded too, thinking that she is descended from some tribal queen.”
Thwack, thwack
.

Ela watched with growing alarm as Thomas's aura turned putrid with hate. His face was a hectic blotchy mess of reds, and his breathing quickened so that he was almost panting like a rabid dog.

“I'd hoped that you would find a wonderful girl, marry, and learn to live a happy life. It is what any mother would want for her child,” Natalia said beseechingly—to whom exactly, Ela didn't know. “It wasn't an order.”

“You promised me money and knights.” Thomas crossed one arm over his middle and pointed at Ela with the other hand. “And you
wanted
to marry me. You were a bitch in heat, tripping over yourself to make me propose marriage.”

Os jumped to his feet. “Enough, de Havel.”

Thomas took a step toward the dais, and Ela rose to her full height before the men could get into a fight that might cost Os his position. She didn't understand what was happening, but she would protect Os if she could.

“Stop, please. Thomas, I did want to marry you.” She felt everyone's attention focused on her. “Because you insinuated you were a spy for King John. You implied that you would see my family lose their lands if I didn't fawn all over you. You made me chase you just so that you could watch me embarrass myself.” Tears clogged her throat, and she breathed in through her nose—anything but let the tears fall from her eyes. Pride kept her standing straight and tall. “Only to turn me away.”

“Thomas!” Lady Steffen sank back to the couch, and the countess reached over to clasp her hands tightly.

“I wanted to protect my family from you and King John—I thought marriage to you would be worth any sacrifice if it kept my family safe. But when you rejected me that day at the manor,” she looked pointedly at Thomas's groin, “I knew that we would never suit. That you would not be happy until you crushed my spirit.” With each word, she gained confidence against his bullying.

Thomas ran toward her, his fists outstretched before stopping short at the dais. She stepped back, falling onto the stool behind her. “You need your spirit
crushed.”
He strangled his gloves and then threw them at her, hitting her in the chest.

Stunned, she quickly sorted out real injury from hurt
pride and fear—not of Thomas, but for Osbert, who was seething with fury.

Lady Steffen moaned, but Ela felt the stirrings of an ancient power. She leaned over and grabbed Thomas by his straggly beard and yanked. “Don't ever do that again.”

She released him, and he fell back into Osbert, who had stealthily come up behind him when he was distracted. Os had his sword blade to Thomas's jugular.

“You ever touch her again, and you will die.” Os's calm promise after the deluge of emotion allowed her to breathe normally again.

“You can't kill him!” Lady Steffen cried. “Roger, do something.”

The earl tugged at his ear, staring at Thomas with grave distaste. “Let him go, Os.”

Ela watched the play of muscle along Osbert's jaw as he fought for self-control. Her Os. What would he do?

“He's not worth dying for.” The earl got to his feet, and Os lowered the sword. He and the earl exchanged an unreadable glance.

Holding out his hand, the earl pulled Ela to her feet. “Do you still want to marry Thomas de Havel? There is no threat of coercion, this would be your choice alone.”

With a bubble of relief, Ela said, “No.”

“Then you are free. You and Osbert are dismissed until the supper bell. I expect you to be on time.”

Ela kissed his cheek, surprising them both, then ran to Os's waiting arms.

Os half carried Ela from the room, his arm around her waist so that she could lean into him as he led her outside the castle.

“Os,” she was saying. “You are so wonderful. Strong and fast, and I thought you were brave and courageous—”

“And you,” he said as he stopped to shake her shoulders, “are impetuous and ill-behaved. You don't think things through to the end, and you could have ended up married to that idiot.”

She deflated, and he regretted his outburst. Emotions, mistakes—when would he learn? Would Ela ever learn?

She'd been a power to behold, standing on the dais with Thomas's beard in her hand. He'd had to rub his eyes since it seemed as if he was seeing double.

Impossible
.

“Please don't be angry at me, Os. It was Lady Steffen's idea to introduce me to the earl, through her friend the countess.”

“You are not weak-willed, and you could have told her no.”

Ela bowed her head, which fit so perfectly against the top of his shoulder. How had she come to be snuggled up in his arms again?

“Aye. I … I wanted you to see me in my dress. I felt pretty.”

He'd been expecting an excuse or a flimsy feminine lie. But Ela, his wild darling, didn't bother with untruths. She was also hiding her face in his tunic as if she were embarrassed.

His heart was beating so fast that she had to hear his
panic at having her so close.

Os stepped back, taking her chin in his hand so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes and read the truth. “You are beautiful. Brave. Courageous. I didn't save you. Ela, would that I could offer you my worthless, faithless heart. It beats for you as it never has for anyone else before.”

“Os,” she breathed out and leaned in.

He gently pushed her back. “But I can't.” Her green eyes challenged him to break his oath and dare to love her. Sir Percy had told him that women tempted a man to his soul. Witchery or women's wiles—to Sir Percy they'd been one and the same.

“I would wait for you.” Her mint-scented promise teased his senses, and he closed his eyes against her siren's call.

“You deserve happiness.” Her hands rested on his shoulders, and he didn't recall putting his arms around her waist.

Her mouth was warm against his lips. If he kept his eyes closed, then he couldn't be blamed for not seeing her kiss coming. “Don't talk. Just feel.” She knocked him backward, and they fell together against the stone of the castle wall, mouths joined and merging as they fought to taste and feel.

Os had never felt so light, as if his spirit and hers were connected. He plunged his hands into the heavy curls at her neck, sliding the veils aside to get to the silken texture of her hair. Her skin smelled like wildflowers and her hot, warm tongue dueled with his as an equal on the battlefield of love.

Her body clung to his, her dress a thin linen barrier
between them. His groin, heavy and hot, nudged against her thighs. She showed no fear, and if he didn't get ahold of himself now, she'd be his in fair view of anyone who happened around the side of the castle.

He stopped, resting his forehead against hers as he pulled air in like a horse after a tournament. She drew in sharp breaths. Quick, passionate breaths that made him want to throw caution over the battlements and ravage her anyway.

“I wouldn't care,” she said, lightly nipping his lower lip with strong white teeth.

“I would never forgive myself.”

“Ah. Then I would be forced to care. You don't need any more demons to fight before you come to me. I'll be an old maid instead of a middle-aged one.”

He laughed, low and close to her ear. She shivered beneath his warm breath. “You'll be laughing on your deathbed, methinks.”

“I don't know what would be amusing about dying. I'll have to think on it so that I don't let your expectations fall.” She kissed him softly. “I like that you will be around on my deathbed. I plan on being an old crone with dozens of children and polecats.”

“And where will your husband be?” His heart ached at the thought of letting her go to be with someone else.

“Did I mention a husband? Boadicea's curse says nothing about taking lovers.”