Boadicea's Legacy (6 page)

Ela's toes curled inside her slippers. Thomas's grating voice fueled her ire. Could she marry a man such as this? An arrogant arse-wipe who didn't have a single belief in common with her or her family's ideals?

She had to
.

He'd kept her on pins and needles, whispering that with a single prod, King John could whisk her family from this land that meant so much to her father. In return, he wanted her company—her undivided attention. His halfhearted caresses made her stomach roil, but she'd bitten her tongue … knowing he could save her family, if he so chose. He'd hinted at marriage, but not followed through.
Could she?

As she stood in the hall, she realized that his threats wouldn't end once they were married. She knew it. If she joined hands with this man, she would be forever tied to his whims. Would she be strong enough to keep him from tossing her parents into the nearest ditch …

He drawled, “You needn't worry about your father's anger—'tis mine that should concern you.”

Ela proudly lifted her chin. “Why is that, sir?”

He seemed taken aback at her response, but it was time that he learned she wasn't a pile of rushes to be trod upon. “Well …” he blustered, “if we are to be—”

Ela arched her brow. “Married? That is what you keep insinuating. And yet I wonder that you haven't spoken to my father as yet. Why? Would it anger King John if you married the enemy's daughter?”

His lips pinched together so tight they disappeared, leaving him a face without a mouth.

“I was
told
to marry you. But I can't bring myself to ask the question. Your hands are chapped from God only knows what. Your skin is tan as if you are a common field laborer. You disappear for hours on end with no word at all to anybody. Your reputation is in shreds. I desire a wife that can raise my station—not lower it.”

Trembling with ire, Ela narrowed her eyes at him. “Ordered to marry me? By whom? The king?”

Thomas threw back his head and laughed cruelly. “As if the king would care about you—a disreputable wench whose station is hardly better than the peasants toiling your land. Nay, my mother insists it would be a strong match. I'd lay claim to the prosperous Montehue lands and serve King John as a
loyal
lord should do.”

“You are no lord, sir.” Ela kept her clenched hands at her sides. “No sire has claimed you.”

Thomas de Havel slammed his fist against his thigh. “Shut up.”

Ela felt no pride in striking such a verbal blow, but she refused to cower before his bullying tactics anymore.

His aura flashed smoky black. “I've informed … people … that your father stands against King John. I don't need to marry you in order to get these lands.” He grinned, baring his yellow teeth. Placing one hand behind his back, he put forth an air of confidence. Did he expect her to kiss his stinking feet and beg his mercy?

I've done enough of that
.

He'd lied to her all along. And she'd been fool enough to think she could control him. “You cannot stand the sight of me then? And you were toying with me, as a cat does a mouse?” Ela paced the front hall, thinking quickly as she took the offensive. “You thought you'd grow to like the sight of my tanned skin and chapped hands? Some have referred to me as fair of face, Thomas de Havel. And as for my reputation, I assure you that I am as pure as the first snow. But you will never know that now, for I am not afraid of you anymore.”

He gaped at her. Speechless. For once.

She tapped her lower lip. “And just how did your mother come to pick me as a possible bride? If your family connections are as powerful as you say, then you should have your choice of ladies. Ones
without
smirched reputations.”

The sound of clapping reached past her anger and brought her to a halt. Turning on one slippered heel, she faced the stranger from the woods. Only heaven help her, because his refreshed physique resembled that of a Roman
god, complete with dark blond curling hair. His eyes glittered a deep bluish gray, and his broad shoulders tapererd down to slim hips beneath a dark blue tunic. He made her feel like a girl.

“Uh.” She swallowed, remembering last night, hoping and praying that he didn't recognize her from the glen. “Osbert, is it?” Her pulse leapt at her wrists and throat.

“Yea, my lady. Though many call me Os.”

“Osbert?
Os?
And who the devil are you, man, to interfere in a squabble between lovers?”

Ela recoiled at the word falling from Thomas's lips.

Os noticed and rubbed his smooth chin. “I think the lady has already changed her mind about that.” He looked Thomas up, then down, disdain on his chiseled features. “Which is probably just as well, if I may say so.”

“You may not,” Thomas spluttered. “Who are you? Why are you here? Some business on behalf of the Earl of Norfolk's, I heard you say earlier.”

“Aye, and that is all that needs be said … since you are not, and will not be, a part of the Montehue family.”

Ela's entire being flushed at the knight's cool courage. Last eve he'd seemed reckless and temperamental. Then again, last eve she'd been naked and playing the witch. Mayhap neither had been at their best.

Thomas took a step forward, his sword half drawn. Ela quickly noted that Os had no weapon. He looked as if he'd just stepped from his bath, perhaps to come to her rescue when he heard the shouting?

He'd suffered enough at her hands. “Please, sirs. Thomas, Osbert is here to ask Mother some questions about a family legend. Is that not right?”

Os nodded while Thomas huffed and asked, “Legend? What kind of legend could you possibly know about?”

Ela bit her lower lip instead of telling him what he could do with his illegitimate lineage. “We are descended from Boadicea.”

“Bo—bodeeceea? Who is that?”

“An ancient queen who gathered the untamed Britons and united them against Roman invasion—and she almost succeeded.” Ela was surprised by the pride in her own voice.

“I've never heard of her.” Thomas returned his sword to its sheath and crossed his arms, as if that ended any possible discussion of the matter. “Why would you want to claim an insurgent female rebel as an ancestor?”

Bristling beneath her wimple, Ela gritted her teeth before answering. “Thomas. As someone who holds such store by bloodlines, you should understand why we hold pride in ours. My family can trace its roots to England's first days.”

“‘Tis true,” Osbert, her unlikely ally, agreed. “I followed rumors of Boadicea's daughter to Wales. From Wales, I came here.” He spoke to her, his eyes searching.

What did he see when he looked at her?

“Rumor says that the ancestors of Boadicea can heal by touch. Great beauties—tall, red-haired. Emerald eyes. Am I right in surmising your hair is red beneath that wimple, my lady?”

Osbert's questions felt flirtatiously wicked and warmed her to her feet. She nodded, hating the blush that heated her cheeks.

“Healing? Ha, that sounds of witches and old wives' tales. Superstitions, just as I said.” But Thomas's voice had dropped, and his aura turned an even sicklier shade of green than normal.

I can see his aura
.

Ela looked at Os, who didn't even cast a shimmer.

Thomas's aura reflected his inner spirit. He wasn't courageous, but he had the strength earned by cunning that made him a deadly opponent. She couldn't afford to forget that her family's lands could be at stake.

“I am known to be a healer,” Ela admitted.

Thomas's thin brows lifted high as he stared at her with new interest. “And what do you heal?”

Ela sensed there was a riddle here she best answer correctly.

Os interrupted. “Coughs and colds, yea, my lady? It isn't as if you cast spells to banish warts.” His laugh was strained, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. “That would be an offense against the church, as I see it. I am a knight of God, and such things that offend the church offend me.”

Sighing, Ela glanced at Os again. The sun shone on his hair, burnishing it to gold. “Are you a monk? A priest?” St. Agnes help her if she was intrigued by a man of the cloth.

“Nay. I've pledged my life to doing good works in the name of Christ, but I do not have the strength of will to don
the holy robes.”

Thank God
. Ela ducked her head to hide her smile. “An honorable course, sir.” Her curiosity urged her to ask him all the questions that came to her mind. Was he married, did he have children? A house? How did he earn his bread?

“The Lord intervened on my behalf; I feel bound to do the same for Him.”

How was it possible that the first man to touch her wild soul was a man sworn to the church?

“Excuse me. Healing abilities? I have a bunion on my toe, it pains me greatly.”

Ela noted the spike of gray in Thomas's aura as he thought to trick her.

“The only thing to do for a bunion is to soak your foot in warm onion water for seven nights in a row. On the eighth night, you will notice marked improvement.” Ela dipped her head respectfully, all the while wishing she could lie and tell him that part of the cure was drinking the onion water afterward.

But that wouldn't be kind.

Still …

“Aye, I've heard that recipe too.” Thomas stalked toward her, but Ela held her ground and didn't budge an inch. “My mother, who once tended Queen Eleanor, told me the same. Mayhap you should meet her.”

“Queen Eleanor?” Ela's voice hitched.

“My mother.” Thomas stroked his chin. “You could come to court with me.”

Thomas had changed his mind about her … Ela swallowed and sent a panicked glance toward Os. The knight merely shrugged as if to say it was her bed, it was up to her whether or not to get in it.

He was a cool one.

What should she do? If she went to court, she could make a plea on behalf of her family. Thomas didn't want to marry her—in fact, he seemed to abhor her. But marriage to him would be the only way she'd have any power at all.

“How would we travel?” Ela looked directly into Thomas's eyes.

“As man and wife, of course.” Thomas's upper lip curled.

He doesn't like me. He threatens my family, and yet he wants something from me now as well. What could it possibly be?

“A summer wedding is always fair. But what happened to suspecting his motives for marriage?” Os lifted one hand. “A marriage he said himself that he didn't want?”

“I've changed my mind, my lady,” Thomas said. “Perhaps I was too hasty.”

Ela looked from Os to Thomas. The pragmatic part of her accepted that there had been no other offers for her hand, and no wild love affair in her past to warm her heart on a lonely eve. Accepting Thomas not only gave her a chance to help her family, it also might give her children of her own.

In exchange for her healing.

The emotional part of her nature warned that such a match would crush her spirit, and any child born of that union would suffer from Thomas's ill nature.

Os kept his temper, though it was difficult. Did she not sense that the man was a man's man? It was obvious she had her own reasons for pursuing such a tie—even now he could see that she was weighing the matter carefully. What if she was so innocent that she didn't know?

Did he tell her, so that she could make her decision fairly?

The thought was there, and then the words fell from his mouth like marbles from a bag. “Ask your
lover
if he's ever lain with a woman before.”

Ela gasped and covered her pretty pink lips with her hand. She raised those brilliant green eyes to his, and he watched them widen with understanding. “Oh.”

Thomas lunged across the hall floor, his sword drawn. His face turned red, and his beady eyes cold as a snake's. “Fool. I'll kill you for that.”

“He's unarmed, Thomas, you cannot.” Ela stepped in front of Thomas, pleading on Os's behalf. Sweet, foolish lady.

“You defend a stranger over me? You believe his profane accusations? I'll kill you both!” Undone by his own emotions, Thomas swung his sword wildly and barely missed cutting Ela's arm.

Os calmly took Ela by the shoulder and put her behind him.

“Oh,” she sighed. He didn't pause to understand what she meant by that but bent to get the small dagger in his boot. He knew better than to leave his room without his
sword, but he'd heard Ela's raised voice and hadn't stopped to think.

Looking at the small blade in his hand, Os knew he'd have to be quick. In hand-to-hand combat, size mattered.

“Take mine,” Ela whispered on a cinnamon-scented breath. He felt the handle of a short sword being placed in his grasp. He leapt to a defensive stance—his dagger in one hand and the lady's accurately balanced short sword in the other.

“Where did you get this?” He couldn't help but admire the weapon.