Boadicea's Legacy (25 page)

The supper bell clanged, startling Ela into silence. Os threw his head back and stared into the dusky sky. “It's time.”

They couldn't hold hands, but Ela stayed by Os's side, letting him know that she was there if he needed her. It helped her too, to be able to brush the side of her hand against his, to feel his arm slide against hers, innocuous and innocent touches that caused heat to pool in her belly. And lower.

She longed for the day when Os would relent and come to her—in a field or a bed or a … a barn stall. She didn't care where she was at as long as it was Os who loved her.

It was too late to stop the spark. Her love for Os was well on its way to being an inferno.

Was this love? Desire? Again, Ela didn't care. She already had a wild reputation—why not earn it? She could see her mother's stricken face at the thought, but she imagined she heard her grandmother's encouraging laugh.

Their strides matched, since her legs were long like his.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a whisper as they joined the line to wash their hands before going into supper.

“Walking the same as you.”

“You look silly,” he said.

She pinched his side and he jumped. “You need to learn to be silly.”

“Silly doesn't buy food or medicine.”

Ela immediately regretted her teasing. “I'm sorry, Osbert.” She leaned in and gave him a one-armed hug as they walked.

“Stop it. People will see.”

“That I hugged you? Wait until they catch sight of the stubble burn on my cheeks from when you kissed me. You didn't care then.” She couldn't stop teasing him, she couldn't. Not when he needed to have fun so badly. And she would keep hugging him until he grew to like it.

He stopped abruptly and tilted her face up. “You can barely tell. Just don't look at anybody.”

“I'm not ashamed of you. ‘Tis the other way around, I think. You will have to keep your face averted for both of us.”

“I'm not ashamed of you. I would protect you. Honor.”

“I really hate that word,” Ela said as she followed Os to the trestle table with benches on either side.

This, while bigger in scale, was how they dined at home too—in the great hall filled with tables that were covered with linens and dishes of food. Knights and ladies sat on benches, and trenchers were shared between two people. “You realize this is the first time we will be eating together? As in sitting next to each other and sharing a goblet?”

Her blood warmed as she imagined taking a sip of wine and sharing it with Os without the benefit of a cup. He had to get over his vow of chastity.

He needed land.

Where could he get some? He'd need coin, aye, and men. It was worth thinking on. She wondered how much money she had in her basket at home.

He led her past the trestle tables where his friends Albric, Warin, and St. Germaine were sitting. “Where are
you taking me?”

“Where you belong.”

“I belong with you.”

“And I keep trying to get you to see the truth—for certes, this is where you belong. I sit down at the other end, with the other knights, my lady Ela.” He kept his face impassive, and she wanted to scream her frustration.

It would only make him quieter.

She refused to let emotion get the best of her, so she turned her back on him as if he hadn't just trampled her heart to the dirt. Ela looked down her nose at the table of various lords and ladies. The only seat available was next to Lady Steffen.

Cruel fate
, she thought.

“I won't poison you.” Lady Steffen patted the bench.

Ela glanced up, noticing that the countess was watching her. “I will let you drink first, just the same.” She took her seat, not bothering to tell Os thank you or good-bye.

She felt the loss of him as he left, and it took all of her willpower not to look back.

“Is he the one you don't love?” Lady Steffen had no issue with watching Os walk away.

“You and I are not friends, my lady. I would just as soon hear the others gnaw their bones than listen to you talk as if we were.”

“Oh … the kitten has claws. Where did you learn to cut so deep?”

“My sisters warned me to beware of women at court.
They said they'd be treacherous liars—but I like to see a person's mettle before thinking to pass judgment. My mistake.”

Lady Steffen put her hand on Ela's arm. “Stop. Please. I didn't know you when I suggested that Thomas ask you for your hand in marriage. It was your father's good name, and the proximity of your land, that made it seem like a match might be possible. And you kept your identity secret—Kathryn.”

Ela felt the base of her anger crumble at the edges, and she lowered her nose a bit. “I would like to believe you.”

“I understand if we can't be friends, but please, let us not be enemies.”

What can I say to that? My heart is not as hard as I would have it be
.

“Thomas has gone. Roger has banished him to France, on the pretext of sending a note to John.”

“The king?”

“Aye.” Lady Steffen took a sip of wine and then carefully used the edge of the tablecloth to wipe the edge clean before offering the goblet to Ela.

“Thomas hints that King John is his father.” Ela narrowed her eyes at Lady Steffen, who blushed and lowered her gaze.

“He knows that isn't the truth.”

Ela almost plugged her ears. Could she handle the truth? “You don't have to explain.”

“But I do,” Lady Steffen whispered for her ears alone. “I knew that your father was loyal to Richard, and I hoped that
his goodness might sway Thomas toward …” She dabbed at her mouth with the cloth. Ela leaned in, curiosity burning bright. “Supporting Arthur.”

Ela snapped her mouth shut, thinking fast.
Why on earth would Arthur need Thomas's support?
True, King Richard had wanted his older brother's son to become his heir to the throne. Then John had worked some sort of evil deed to get Richard to pick him. There were some who believed that Arthur would rule England better than John.

Lady Steffen must be one of them.

Unless it was another trap?

“Chicken or heron, my lady?” A servant came by bearing a platter of already sliced meats.

Slightly ill, Ela accepted a few small bites on her trencher. Lady Steffen did the same.
What did the woman really want?

A cupbearer refilled the wine goblet. “To the top,” Ela said with a small smile. “Aren't you the boy from the kitchen?”

He nodded, embarrassed that she'd drawn attention to him. “Thank you. I meant to find you and tell you that.” He bobbed and backed away, smiling for all he was worth. Ela grinned.

“Where do you know him from?” Lady Steffen looked on, amused.

“He gave me a bit of warning today, else I might not be sitting here.” Ela mimed being clunked in the head with a
pot, then looked away.

“I'm sorry. Thomas has always been … temperamental.”

“Is that what you call it?” Ela nibbled her chicken. She hoped Os's food tasted like dust down at the other end of the room. He was cruel … but for all the noblest reasons.

“I would have loved to have a daughter like you.” Lady Steffen looked down at her lap. “Don't think I don't know where my son's preferences lay—I do. Still, there could be grandchildren to love.”

Ela arched her brow. “And what of the wife who would have to bear those children?”

“Not all women are as choosey as you have the privilege to be. There is bound to be someone who wants a home and food badly enough to put up with the man who provides them. Lord knows I've done that with a husband or two.”

Sighing, Ela knew that Lady Steffen spoke the truth. She'd always been protected by Boadicea's legacy … she'd never been forced to do anything against her will, and she'd been raised to know that it was her right to expect love.

What had she been thinking, wanting to throw that protection away?

Mayhap it was just as well that Andraste had ignored her pleas.

She helped herself to a slice of cheese and let Lady Steffen drink the last of the wine. She had no right to judge anybody, and pride was an awful thing to have to swallow.

Osbert resisted the urge to look down the table for Ela's bright red hair. The silver scrap of a veil she wore only accented the rich silky curls. He tossed a chicken leg to the trencher in front of him.

“You not hungry?” Albric elbowed him in the side, then picked up the chicken leg. “I don't believe it,” he said with his mouth full.

“Aye. And watching you chew, I've just lost my appetite too.” Warin wiped his mouth on the cloth, then drained his mug. The knights each had their own ale and dared anyone to try and take it from them.

“You've eaten two whole chickens, so I'm not worried.” Albric grinned, sucking the marrow from the bone.

Os shook his head. “What say you to another trip to the Holy City?”

St. Germaine tapped the scar at this throat. “Crusade's over. Thank Christ Jesus for that.”

“You want to make another trip to the Holy City because you didn't get the spear? The earl's not going to let you go. He needs ye, for training the new recruits.”

Os tipped his head toward Warin. “Yea. It isn't just about the spear … I wanted to be my own man.”

“What for? It smacks of hard work.” Albric laughed, his skin ruddy with drink. “I'd rather spend me money on whores.”

Warin drained his mug and belched in agreement.

St. Germaine tossed a nut in his mouth and chewed—wisely keeping his own council.

“Oh, ho, no whores fer you—I forgot. Ye banished your manhood to the dark recesses of yer breeches until you find a wife. But ye won't marry until ye have land.” Albric singsonged the information, sloshing his mug from side to side.

“Go to the priest,” Warin said earnestly. “Pay him a fine, and be done with the pledge. It can't be healthy. Why do ye think those old priests look so scrawny and sick?”

St. Germaine nodded as if this might have merit.

Os placed both hands on the edge of the table. “I cannot just pay a fine. It is my honor at stake.” He regretted the vow, aye, but it was the only thing that kept him from taking Ela's virginity when it wasn't his to have.

She was a lady.

Bringing her to the lord's table was a reminder for him too that she was not meant to be his wife or his lover. His heart pounded in his ears at the sweet memory of her mouth.

His only chance at that dream had been a spear that wasn't even real.

Os got up to leave—he couldn't be in the same place as Ela and not want to touch her, or look at her, or breathe in her wildflower scent.

Albric, Warin, and St. Germaine all quieted.

“What?” Os blustered. “You're going to miss me? Pah. You finish your drink. I'll be with Bartholomew.”

He turned and walked directly into the earl. “Beg pardon,” he mumbled, glaring over his shoulder at his friends.
“A word of warning?”

The earl laughed, a loud bluster of sound that called men to his side. His manner kept them there. “Come, Os. I've watched you pout all through the meal. We never had a chance to finish our discussion.” He led the way to a bench by the wall.

“Thomas de Havel. Where is he, my lord? I'd like to watch over him myself.” Os tapped his sword hilt.

“France. He'll learn restraint there, fighting for John.”

Os narrowed his eyes, waiting for the earl to say what he wanted to say. They sat close enough to the group to not raise suspicion while still allowing some privacy.

Os had a perfect view of Ela.

“When you came back from the Holy City, you asked me if you could retire as my man of business. I told you no and sent you on a mission. My hope was that you would not only find the spear but regain your love of swordplay. There are few as good as you are. A knight trained by you is a knight I can trust my back to.”