Once a Bride (11 page)

Impossible. Roland was a mere man, couldn’t possibly divine her innermost, foolish thoughts.

“You are right. We are in accord where the earl is concerned. So how do we rid ourselves of him?”

His smile widened. “Now I wish I had an answer for you.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, we must wait him out.”

Eloise crossed her arms, kicked at the dirt, her brow scrunched. “Waiting out Kenworth may drive us all witless.”

“We will survive. Come, my lady, the shadows grow longer. You should return to the hall.”

She couldn’t continue to search for a hidden passage with Roland acting as her guard. Besides, sometime during her walk she’d begun to wonder if a passage existed at all. Surely, if there was one, either Simon or Marcus would know of it, and neither did.

But how else had Edgar entered the keep to deliver the message? Puzzling.

They walked slowly toward the inner gate.

“Do you expect further trouble from the squires?” she asked.

“Possibly. Especially from Gregory, Kenworth’s squire.”

“How so?”

“Gregory is as arrogant as his master, as bent on seeing Edgar hang as Kenworth is of your father.” Now Roland came to a halt. “Timothy expressed concern for Edgar’s sister’s safety. ’Twould not be amiss to keep a close watch on Isolde.”

Eloise’s anger flashed bright and hot. “Should anyone lay a hand on her, he will lose not only the offending hand but his worthless head! Just because her brother is not here to protect her does
not
mean she is vulnerable! Why, the very idea of taking advantage of one so innocent—”

Roland’s hand landed on her shoulder. “I hear you, Eloise, and I agree. The squires have been warned to keep the peace and mind their manners. If need be, I will set a guard on her, too. Just tell her to have a care.”

The warmth of his hand and calm tone didn’t banish her upset, but went a long way to reassure her. If anything untoward happened to Isolde—but it wouldn’t. Because Roland wouldn’t allow it—and she believed him and trusted his word, on this anyway.

Naturally, she’d do her part to keep her maid safe from insult, but it was Roland’s absolute determination to do his duty that allowed Eloise’s fear to ease.

He realized at the same moment she did that he still touched her. So large, his hands. The fingers long, the palm wide. She felt strength, and warmth, and the oddest sensation that if she leaned forward and sought succor in his arms, she’d find him willing and welcoming.

Always she’d been the one to give comfort, not seek it.

’Twas part of her duty as her father’s chatelaine to give alms to the poor and administer medicinals to the sick. A duty she’d never shunned because she enjoyed the tasks. Eloise knew that betimes a mere smile from her could brighten a villager’s day, her touch could halt a wailing child’s tears.

Few dared touch her without her express permission or invitation. And then ’twas with the respect due her rank.

That Roland dared … how strange she felt no urge to shake him off, demand he cease.

Except one didn’t seek succor in the arms of the enemy. For all the accord they found in their attitude toward the earl, they were yet on opposite sides. She for her father and Lelleford, he for the king and himself.

Nor dare she forget Roland St. Marten didn’t like her, had declared her brazen, an unfit mate for his brother.

She slipped out from under his hand.

“I will see to Isolde,” she managed to say, then silently, alone, made her way to the keep.

On a thickly wooded hill nigh on half a league away, Sir John Hamelin sat atop his gray palfrey and studied the stronghold he considered the jewel of his holdings.

Lelleford. So close and yet so far.

Damn, but he wanted to sleep in his own bed this night instead of on the hard ground. Not possible. And if he thought too much on to whom Eloise had given over the use of his bed, with its thick feather mattress and warm wool coverlet, he’d become angry. A luxury he couldn’t afford right now.

If he didn’t keep his wits calm and keen to avoid Kenworth’s trackers, he’d be sleeping in his own damp, dark dungeon soon enough. Edgar with him.

Damn Kenworth. The man should have given up the search after that first day. But nay. The wily old fox hadn’t fallen for the ruse of a false trail. Instead, he’d settled in to enjoy fine wine and crackling fires—and a soft bed—sending out patrols to scour the countryside.

John smiled and admitted a bit of admiration for his foe. The two had tangled hard and often, knew each other well. The next time they met face-to-face, he’d have to compliment William, one knight to another, on a campaign smartly executed.

Edgar finally came out of the thicket, adjusting his scabbard over his tunic. All of six and ten, on the verge of manhood, the squire had taken to this competition of hide-and-seek like a fish to the stream.

John had dismissed the twinges of guilt over bringing the lad with him. Edgar had proved his worth several times over, was both loyal and good company. He’d earned his spurs, and when the time came for the actual knighting, John intended to gift the lad with the finest arraignment, armor, and horse he could find.

First they had to get out of this mire of a legal mess. And he wasn’t about to think too hard on that matter, either, or he’d become furious.

Edgar swung onto his horse, adjusted the reins in his gloved hands, and shot John a smile that lightened his heart.

“Where to now, milord? Shall it be the mill tonight?”

“Nay. ’Twould probably be safe enough, but we should not spend the night in the same place twice.”

Edgar glanced up through the canopy of treetops swaying overhead. “ ’Twill rain tonight. We will need shelter. I know you hesitate to involve innocents, but not one of the villagers would turn you away.”

“I will not risk it.”

“The caves, then?”

A possibility, but John had another destination in mind. He disliked the necessity, but the situation being what it was, it seemed the only reasonable course of action.

“Think you we could make The Fox and Dove by nightfall?”

Edgar’s smile faded. “You have decided to leave Lelleford lands.”

Not an easy decision.

John disliked leaving his daughter, though most capable, to get by as best she may. She had Simon and Marcus to aid her, and perhaps Julius would soon return from Italy and relieve Eloise of the enormous responsibility for overseeing the whole of the family holdings while their father fought the charge of treason.

He yearned to get his hands around clumsy Brother Walter’s neck until the wretch turned blue and revealed all that he knew.

Most of all he hated Kenworth’s knowing he’d won this opening skirmish. Giving ground to the earl tore at John’s innards, but damn, he saw little choice if he intended to win the war. And he would.

Besides, only in London could he enlist the aid he needed to fight the charges. Who to approach? He knew several men who might be willing, but hadn’t yet decided who to trust.

He had time yet, but not much.

“Aye. Leaving seems the only way to draw Kenworth out of my castle. I want that bastard out of my bed.”

Edgar’s head turned to take in the hilltop view, and John saw the lad’s yearning for home. Then worry, likely for Isolde, followed by the decision to attend his lord no matter where John led him.

“We can reach Cambridge with ease if we take the road,” Edgar said. “Might be best if we first lay a few misleading tracks, though.”

“Nay, I want Kenworth to believe we are well and truly gone, and worry over whether or not we are out of his reach.”

A spark of mischief lit the squire’s eyes. “We could lay tracks heading north, toward Scotland. Would that not turn the earl’s bowels to water?”

John threw his head back and laughed for the first time in days.

Chapter Seven

O
NE OF Kenworth’s prized trackers scrunched low and, with the point of a stick, sketched a rough map in the dirt.

“We found fresh horse droppings on the ridge. They spent some time up there.” He looked up at Kenworth. “Watching us, I imagine. He could see inside this bailey if his eyes are good.”

Roland noticed the downward bent of Kenworth’s mouth, but kept his own face expressionless, enforcing his neutrality.

That neutrality had slipped in recent days.

In the beginning, he’d believed John Hamelin guilty, mostly because the king had railed his displeasure over the contents of the missive in his possession. Now, Roland wasn’t so sure. Not after spending several days with the people who knew and loved Sir John. Despite the grievous charge of treason, Hamelin’s retainers and men-at-arms, not to mention his adamant daughter, stood steadfastly loyal to their lord.

Such devotion was to be commended, and Roland began to believe their support of their lord not misplaced. He just wished Sir John had handled this affair differently.

However, no matter what he believed about Sir John’s guilt, his duty remained the same, to hold Lelleford in the king’s name to ensure its well-being. Roland thought his duty best carried out without Kenworth hanging about.

The tracker again bent over his map and wielded his stick. “From the ridge the tracks lead to the mill, then go nigh on straight north. Near as we can tell, milord, they keep goin’.”

Kenworth rubbed his chin. “How far?”

The tracker stood. “We followed ’em all the way to the river. Could see where they forded and climbed the opposite bank. Looks like Sir John has finally made his move.”

Ignoring his knight’s disgruntled murmurs, the earl commented, “Could be a ruse.”

“Perhaps, milord, but ’twould be my guess he ran out of places to hide,” the tracker answered. “We were closing in on him and I think he decided ’twas time to go farther afield.”

The tracker sounded so sure of himself Roland wanted to believe him.

“Why now? And why north?” the earl muttered nearly to himself, then glanced around at the group gathered in the bailey. “What is Hamelin about?”

“Perhaps he seeks aid from an ally,” one knight offered. “I think it unwise of him to involve others in his troubles, but perhaps he grows desperate.”

Desperate? Roland didn’t think so. More likely, Sir John had simply realized the earl wasn’t about to leave Lelleford and so formed another plan to dislodge his enemy. A good plan, but in Roland’s opinion, John had gone the wrong direction. He should be heading for London, and the king, not making tracks all over the north land.

Again Kenworth rubbed his chin. “I mistrust these tracks. Our prey spends several days successfully eluding our patrols, then suddenly leaves. Saints help us, I wish I knew what the man was truly thinking, what his reasons are.”

Roland doubted the earl would appreciate his unaskedfor opinion, but at this point he’d do most anything to hurry the earl along.

“Sir John had to either surrender or flee. ’Tis possible he hoped that when you arrived and found him gone, you would leave immediately. But when you guessed his game and stayed, he had to come up with another plan. What that plan is I cannot guess, but I believe your tracker is correct in believing Sir John has left Lelleford. If so, then you must follow wherever he leads you, or risk losing him.”

“What bothers me is that the trail is so clear. Aye, he wants me to follow, I will give you that. I sense a trap, and would I not be foolish to ride into it?”

Another of the knights cleared his throat. “If I may say, my lord, ’tis also possible the trail is clear because of Sir John’s need for haste. He may take no time to cover his tracks because he wishes to reach Scotland’s border—”

Kenworth went sickly pale. “Scotland!”

Roland kept mum the uncharitable thought that it would serve the earl right if he had to chase Hamelin all the way to the Scottish border and beyond if he dared.

The knight continued. “Does it not make sense for the traitor to seek shelter and aid from a laird? Perhaps the very one with whom he plots against the king?”

The tracker turned toward the earl. “If that is so, milord, then Sir John has several hours’ lead and we will have the devil’s own time catching him before he reaches the border.”

The earl recovered his composure and some of his color. “Not even Hamelin could be so foolish. Heading for Scotland is nigh on an admission of guilt for which there is no defense.”

“Be that as it may, my lord, ’tis our duty to capture him,” the knight persisted. “The farther his lead, the less our chance for success, no matter his intentions.”

The knights seemed in agreement. Only Kenworth balked, and Roland could think of only one reason why he hesitated.

“My lord, if you worry over Hamelin gaining sway over Lelleford, I pledge you he shall not. Should he try, I vow we will capture him and send word to you. All you need do is keep me informed of your whereabouts.”

Kenworth sighed. “I am not convinced we do not follow a false trail, but it seems the only sure trail we have. Ready the men. We depart within the hour.”

The knights scrambled, shouting for squires and horses, ordering carts and men made ready.

Though eager to tell Eloise one of her wishes was about to come true, Roland stood at the earl’s side and watched the initial preparations.

’Twas the day he’d been waiting for since he arrived. Relief gave way to anticipation, then flirted with dread. Each emotion flitted through him swiftly, kicking at his insecurities over ruling Lelleford.

Oh, he knew how to oversee a holding. One mostly let the events of long habit run their course. He anticipated no resistance from Simon and Marcus, and most of Lelleford’s folk would follow their lead.

’Twas Eloise he wasn’t sure of, though she’d seemed to make a begrudged peace with the situation. Perhaps, if he were very fortunate, she’d accept his rule without overt rebellion.

He wasn’t counting on it, however.

“Come along, St. Marten,” the earl ordered, already taking a stride toward the keep. “We need to ensure an understanding.”

Roland fell into step, quite willing to go along with nigh on anything the earl wanted at the moment.