Once a Bride (26 page)

She rewarded him with a small smile. “I do my best. What would you have me do now?”

“Get some rest. You look awful. See to it, St. Marten.”

They took their leave, Eloise insisting on another hug, Roland vowing he would look after her. When they were gone, John eased down into the chair he’d become accustomed to occupying, stared down at the pieces on the chessboard.

“You did not tell them everything,” Edgar said.

“Nay. I know Roland St. Marten is from a fine family and I have heard of his prowess in Scotland. He is a man on the rise in the king’s service. All points in the man’s favor. What I do not know is if I can trust him.”

“Lady Eloise seems to.”

John picked up the white knight, a beautifully carved depiction of a horse’s head, reminding him of Geoffrey’s carvings. His son could do such fine work, already had, as witnessed by the two statues that John kept on the mantel of his bedchamber at Lelleford. Two horses, one a destrier, one a palfrey. Gifts from his talented son.

Was Geoffrey as gifted with his knowledge of law?

Eloise had sent for Geoffrey. He’d be here soon, which meant two of his children would be in harm’s way. Most troubling, indeed.

John twirled the white knight between his fingers. “I fear she does trust St. Marten. Only time will tell if her trust is misplaced.”

Chapter Fifteen

E
LOISE FELT as much a prisoner as her father, trapped in the room above the apothecary with Roland as her warder — who was currently downstairs checking on Mistress Green.

’Twas now the third day of enforced confinement. Except for their daily visits to her father, who grew more reluctant to discuss his situation, she had little to do but pace the floor and keep Timothy company.

He slept now, on the pallet he’d occupied since being injured. With each day he grew stronger and his bruises faded. Timothy declared himself able to endure the twoday ride to Lelleford; Roland disagreed and ordered the lad to rest. And Eloise couldn’t decide if Roland’s protectiveness was a boon or curse.

She could do nothing for her father. He wasn’t telling her the whole of his entanglements, she knew, probably because he feared she might try to become further involved. Still, she was able to spend time with him each day, which he seemed to appreciate even though he urged Roland to take her home.

Roland might be overprotective of Timothy, but Eloise suspected there was more to his willingness to linger in London than the health of his squire.

What, she didn’t know, for Roland wasn’t forthcoming either.

She could understand why he asked no further questions of her father. ’Twas not in his best interest to become too involved with a man accused of treason. Nor were his best interests served by becoming overly involved with her, Hamelin’s daughter. If convicted, the taint of the father would rub off on the daughter, and no man of any ambition should link his name to hers.

Roland might have chased after her to take her back home—but he’d done so out of a sense of duty. He might have bedded her—but the physical intimacy could be attributed to lust. He liked her, she knew, but he held back what she craved, his love.

Which further depressed her because she’d fallen in love with Roland. Completely. Heart over head. A foolhardy thing to do, but there it was.

She saw no sense in telling him, fearing a reaction of horror. If Father was convicted, she’d be shunned by most men of rank, Roland among them, if he was wise. Nor was there a future for them even if Father was exonerated, for he’d never allow her marriage to a landless knight, no matter how honorable or lovable that knight might be.

Nay, no sense in revealing her deepest, most heartfelt feelings when the man she loved wasn’t free to return them. Not, she thought wryly, that he did. The fantasy of being loved in return was hers, not his.

Nor could she express her love physically. Not when Timothy lay on his pallet, healing. Not when Mistress Green, who Eloise now knew was a widow, slept on a pallet in the chamber at Roland’s insistence, while he slept in the hallway outside the door with his sword at his side.

They were never alone, and the lack of privacy gnawed at her temperament.

She almost wished she’d not surrendered, not tasted the heady joy of lovemaking with Roland. Then, ignorance intact, she’d not know what she missed. Unfortunately, she also knew that if given the same offer of ecstasy, she’d succumb again in a heartbeat. If Roland beckoned, she’d answer.

What a coil she’d wound for herself, allowing her heart to reach out to another, allowing her body to know its mate.

All for naught.

At least no more villains had come prowling in the night. No one had accosted them on the streets. If Kenworth were truly behind her attempted abduction, he seemed to have given up on the plan at the first attempt’s failure.

She heard footsteps on the stairs. Voices. Two men. One Roland, the other … sweet mercy, could it be? She was already halfway to the door when it opened, revealing the answer to several earnest prayers.

Eloise threw herself into her brother’s arms. “Geoffrey! Sweet Lord, you came. You came!”

He chuckled. “Did you doubt?”

“Only in my night terrors.”

She stepped back and basked in the sight of him. A few years her senior, taller by more than a hand span, she and Geoffrey shared the coloring of their mother — dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. They might be separated by years and distance, but not by affection. Even while Geoffrey resided in Paris he’d not forgotten her, sending her several letters.

Then he’d nearly died on his way home, answering her plea to attend her wedding, a request for which she might never forgive herself. But that was past. He was here now, and apparently none the worse for his journey.

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“The messenger from Lelleford nearly killed a horse to deliver your message, and I left for London within an hour of receiving it.” He tilted his head. “Imagine my surprise to learn you were here, too.”

Eloise ignored the faint admonition. “You have already been to see Father, then? Of course, you must have. That’s how you knew how to find me.”

Geoffrey sighed and dropped his hands from her waist, her signal to let go, too. She did so reluctantly.

“He is not pleased with either of us I fear,” he said.

“Oh, now
there
is news.”

“Make that three of us,” Roland commented as he finally entered the room, closing the door behind him. She’d been half aware he stood in the doorway, leaning against the jam, observing her reunion with Geoffrey. “Sir John is displeased that I have not yet taken Eloise back to Lelleford.”

“So Father told me.” Geoffrey glanced over to the pallet where Timothy lay, who’d awakened and propped up on an elbow. “How do you, Timothy?”

“Better, my lord. My thanks for troubling to inquire.”

“So far you have born the worst effects of this affair. ’Tis only right that I inquire.” He turned back to her, and she didn’t like his expression. “ ’Tis you, however, Father worries over most. Nor does he want me in London. He suggested, rather forcefully, that I leave for Cornwall with due haste—and take you with me.”

Eloise’s heart sank. “Nay, Geoffrey.”

“Eloise, Father fears Kenworth will get hold of one or the other of us and he prefers us both out of harm’s way. After listening to his tale”—Geoffrey glanced briefly at Roland—“and from what Sir Roland told me downstairs, I cannot say I think it a bad idea. I can protect you at Pecham better than I can here, and Leah would be delighted for the company.”

Well, she’d like to see her sister-by-marriage, too, but not now. Eloise crossed her arms. “Roland has done a fine job of keeping me safe. I see no sense in traveling clear across the kingdom—”

“Hold, Eloise. Your brother makes sense.”

Roland’s agreement to this nefarious scheme hit her in her already sore heart. He wanted to send her away, far away. If she went, she might never see him again. It hurt deeply, but her personal misery wasn’t at issue here.

Against all common sense she wanted to stamp her feet, cry, scream at all three males for being so obstinate, for believing they always knew what was best for her. Except her father wasn’t here to witness, and tossing a fit had never been her way.

“I prefer to go back to Lelleford if I must go anywhere. And I am not going anywhere until assured Father has the best legal counsel to be found.” She put a hand on Geoffrey’s arm. “When you talked to him, did you get the impression he did not reveal all, that he withheld something vital to his case?”

“We barely spoke of his case. I spent most of the time listening to his tirade about having his orders disobeyed by his children. He does not want my help. He wants you safely tucked behind thick stone walls. He is adamant that Sir Roland return to Lelleford to carry out his duty there.”

“I understand all that. Now, how do we make him accept that we will not desert him when he needs us the most? Especially you. He needs you now more than ever before.”

Geoffrey closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Father has never needed me, does not now.”

“But he does! And because he does, he pushes both of us away. We cannot allow him his way this time. The stakes are too great. We speak of his very life, Geoffrey. How do we make him see sense?”

When he opened his eyes, Eloise saw the pain of years of being at odds with their father. The arguments. Geoffrey’s self-imposed exile in Paris. Years of strife, a relationship never repaired. If the two were ever to come to terms with each other, the time was now.

“Perhaps he would listen to Julius—”

“But our brother is in Italy. No help there. Nor will our sister’s husband become involved, so no help there either. He has only us, Geoffrey. We cannot desert him.”

“He has Henry of Grosmont. What can I do for Father that the earl of Leicester, Lancaster, Derby, and Lincoln cannot?”

Eloise sensed defeat. Perhaps Geoffrey was right. With an ally who possessed the power of four earldoms behind him, what did Father need with his children? Except, perhaps, their support and love, which he seemed very willing to do without. She was almost ready to give in when Roland spoke.

“Perhaps more than you think, Geoffrey. Lancaster
did
have your father confined to the Tower, under the guise of both imprisoning a wanted man and partly to protect him from his accusers.” He shot her a glance—a guilty glance? “I also happen to know he intended to isolate Sir John. Lancaster left orders that your father was to have no visitors.”

This
was
news.

“When did you learn this?”

“Two days ago,” he admitted. “When you played chess with your father, Edgar and I took a walk.”

More secrets. How many more … later. She’d deal with them later.

“If Father is not allowed visitors, then why are we allowed to see him?”

“Edgar’s doing. He took it upon himself to petition Lancaster to allow either you or Geoffrey to see Sir John, as an act of compassion. The earl must believe you of no danger to John, so he agreed. I am only allowed in because I go with you.” Roland waved a hand in the air. “My point being, Lancaster might possibly have your father’s best interests at heart, but be assured, the earl has his own reasons for becoming involved, too. What those reasons are?” He shrugged a shoulder.

She wasn’t terribly happy with Roland for keeping secrets, but Eloise could have kissed him—right there in front of the squire and her brother—for aiding her cause.

“We have to find out what Father is hiding from us, Geoffrey.”

“You expect Father to tell me?”

“By God, I do.” Eloise grabbed her cloak. “I expect him to tell both of us. Coming?”

“Even if he is not, I am,” Roland announced, strapping on his sword. Ever since the attack he’d carried his sword whenever outside, even to the Tower, where he’d become very friendly with the guard who held the weapons. “In your present mood, the people of London are not safe.”

She smiled at the quip and tossed her cloak over her shoulders. “You come because you fear I might lose my way.”

“That, too.” He waved a hand at Timothy, who’d started to rise. “You stay. I will send Mistress Green up to tend you.”

The squire groaned, but obeyed.

Eloise put her hand on the latch. “Are we ready?”

She might as well have announced she intended to run naked through the streets for all Geoffrey and Roland paid her heed.

The two blatantly stared at each other, measuring, evaluating. Each seeming to issue a challenge, both accepting.

Then Geoffrey smiled softly, as if during that mystical male ritual the two came to an understanding. “In the face of such solidarity, how can I refuse?”

Roland wasn’t surprised Eloise sailed through the streets like a princess gracing the rabble with her presence. Nor did her regal handling of bribing the guards give him pause.

What held him in thrall was her smile. With it she blessed her brother, the rabble, the guards, and even Edgar. She’d cast but a small ray of it in his direction while in the room, then let it beam for everyone else, her happiness at Geoffrey’s arrival overflowing.

He was going to miss the woman.

The moment Geoffrey put forth the suggestion she return with him to Pecham, which Roland guessed must be his holding in Cornwall, he’d realized how hard it would be to let Eloise go.

He hadn’t envisioned an imminent parting, thinking they would have weeks together yet—the days here in London, the trip back to Lelleford, and then awaiting the outcome of Sir John’s judgment.

The realization that she could be gone from his life within hours churned his gut, battered his heart.

He’d never see her smile again. There would be a hole in his soul that could never be filled by anyone but Eloise.

Nothing permanent could come from loving her — which he could no longer deny. He’d tried. Telling himself his concern for her was born of duty. Convincing himself the attraction between them amounted to no more than a healthy male’s appreciation for a beautiful woman. What drivel. But even conceding he loved Eloise did him no good.