Justice of the Root

by Abby Gordon

  “So why did you go to Talbor Manor?”

  “For the reason I gave Father,” she answered.

  The younger snorted. “Father might have believed that, but I don’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you don’t want to marry Edmund. You went looking for Edward to beg him to take you back,” Joan taunted. “And you can’t find him, can you?”

  Something in her tone alerted Celeste and made her face her sister fully.

  “And what would you know of it?”

  “Only that he’s not there,” grinned Joan.

  “Not there? Then where is he?”

  “No one knows,” laughed the girl. “Imagine that. You threw him over for a bastard, are desperate for him to take you back and he’s gone. Now he’s left you.”

  Thoroughly exasperated with her entire family, Celeste stood and strode away, now frantic for some peace. Bessie however was standing outside the main hall to do accounts. With a sigh, Celeste nodded and entered the office. An hour of reviewing the supplies laid in for winter and what they would need to send to London for did not improve her mood. Alone, Celeste finished her notes and started to rise when her gaze landed on the tapestry.

  Unbidden the memory of her childhood came to her. Sitting down, she stared at where she knew the hidden niche was. Would anything be there? Do I dare? Struggling with doubt and torn emotions, Celeste trembled. Who do I trust more? My father? Or Edward? Could it possibly be true? Oh, God, please, please, help me.

  Suddenly, she realized she had to look. Edward, no matter how harsh he’d been with her, had risked so much in telling her. She could have easily denounced him to their fathers, or even gone into hysterics and attracted attention he’d want to avoid, which had been a near thing. She’d reviewed events since Edmund’s arrival and too many things fit with what Edward had told her. Why would the Elders dismiss Godfrey? What if his house burned as a warning?

  Standing, she walked slowly across the room and lifted the edge of the tapestry. A tapestry that no matter how worn it was Father refused to let us take it down for repair. Holding her breath, she pulled it a little more and shuddered when she saw the neatly lined up leather journals on the upper shelf, with small chests below them.

  Holding the wall covering higher she saw that each journal was dated with the year. Biting her lower lip, she bent closer and found the one from ten years earlier. The one she’d seen her father writing in. Turning to hold the cloth out of the way with her shoulder, she opened the tome at random and stared.

  Charles and I returned from Catalan… Stunned, she weaved into the wall. Hands shaking, she carefully returned the book and lowered the tapestry.

  ◆◆◆

  On Hawkins’ ship in the Channel

  Guilt at the pain in Mary’s eyes kept Griffin awake until a couple hours before dawn. Still, hearing the calls to raise sails when the winds picked up, he couldn’t stay in his bunk in the small cabin he shared with two of the officers. Getting dressed, he relieved himself, splashed water on his face and pulled on his cloak before heading out.

  Hawkins and the bosun were on the quarterdeck and nodded at his appearance.

  “Will that bad weather slow us down?” he asked, eyeing the dark clouds to the west.

  “I think we’ll be far enough south before that hits,” the captain, a legend in the Order, replied. “The winds should get us to Bayonne in record time.”

  “The men always like that,” Griffin grinned, knowing that the captain rewarded such things with an extra barrel of ale.

  “Hard work is its own reward, but being appreciated is another entirely,” the older man grinned. The bosun chuckled and left them alone. “You take your leave of Root Anna?”

  “What of it?” Griffin stiffened.

  “Easy, lad,” Hawkins answered, shaking his head. “It’s a courtesy to do so before leaving on Order business.”

  “I’m on Walsingham’s orders,” corrected Griffin.

  “Mm,” the captain murmured.

  “You know that. You were part of it. You told me—”

  “The Roses of York have much to learn,” commented the Sea Hawk.

  “Such as?” Griffin glared.

  “Boy,” the old man shook his head. “You know nothing about what you’re about to get into.”

  “Well, then, you’ve only yourself to blame as it was you who gathered the information,” retorted the Welshman.

  “Oh, you’re ready for that. I think. Considering what I’ve heard about your manners lately, you’ll stick out like a wounded deer at a hunt.”

  “My manners?”

  “Aye, you’ve absolutely no humility, boy,” Hawkins stressed. “And you’ve absolutely no clue as to how to be a Rose.”

  “And you do?” sneered Griffin. “A ship’s captain?”

  “I had the support and backing of Root William,” the man stated easily. “I’ve met every Root and Heir of every branch the past thirty years.”

  “Did you know about Anna?” demanded Griffin.

  “I suspected,” he allowed. “But I wasn’t going to tell anyone. There are too many who want her dead.”

  “Owain won’t let that happen.” There were things about his brother that irritated, mostly because it seemed as if everything Owain did was perfect, effortless and brilliant. It made things extremely difficult as the younger brother never able to quite match what the older had done. But he’s exactly what Anna needs.

  “Aye,” Hawkins agreed.

  “So, how does a ship’s captain from a branch that lost its Root decades ago know so much about the rest of the Order?” Griffin pressed.

  “Because I am a ship’s captain. I know the courtesies. I know the respect that is to be given.”

  “I know,” protested Griffin.

  “Really?” murmured Hawkins drily. “You’ve not once shown it to Root Anna. I’m willing to wager that you didn’t last night. In fact, I’m willing to wager you were very rude to her.”

  Griffin’s dark brown eyes narrowed. “Did she send you a message about the dinner?”

  “She did not,” replied the captain. “But I know you, boy. You think because you were singled out for this mission that you’re somehow special. You’ve got skills, but like I said, you’ve no humility. You want to be noticed. And for this mission, getting noticed will get you killed.”

  “I know what to do,” Griffin grumbled. “And if all you’re going to do is lecture me about what I already know then I’ll leave you in peace.”

  Watching the Welshman clamber down the steps to the main deck, Hawkins shook his head.

  “Think he’ll survive a day in Bayonne?” the lieutenant asked, bringing the captain a tankard.

  “He’ll live,” Hawkins replied, then grinned. “He might not want to, but the Gascons won’t kill him.”

  “Pity,” muttered the younger man.

  ◆◆◆

  York

  Trembling, Celeste put her hand in Edmund’s. The archbishop of York murmured the formal words to betroth them, stating that the requirements for banns would be waived and they would marry on her birthday. Just as two months earlier when the words had been said with Edward, her father beamed and toasted them. No one seemed to notice that her joy from before was gone. That she was pale and had trouble smiling. Now, Edward’s words ringing again in her mind, she worried about what would happen on her wedding night in a few days. For she was not a virgin maid. And she very much feared she carried Edward’s child.

  Her father’s behavior toward her was noticeable. He smiled more, called her his ‘darling daughter’ and how all fathers should have an ‘angel such as I do.’ Joan glared at her. Then she overheard Edmund mention how Thomas Richland had a younger sister her father might want to consider as John’s wife – to bind north and south more closely together.

  Edward’s words about Richland’s visit came to her. Meggie’s whisper about what she’d overheard. As she carried a tray into her father’s office as the
Elders met while her father oversaw something in the main hall, she overheard ‘word from Jonal Park is overdue. Northumberland is impatient.’ She kept her expression calm, smiling at them and holding herself steady until she reached her room. Rebellion. Edward had tried to tell her, tried to warn her and she had been too stubborn to see. And now… alone in her bed, she sobbed as she realized she hadn’t heard from him. Or about him in nine days.

  Her fingertips brushed her lips, recalling Edward’s last kiss, the fire in his eyes. Unbidden, that stolen hour along the stream came to her. His ardor in seducing her all-too willing body. Her fascination as his body was revealed to her – the strength only hinted at when she’d watched him in the training yard, the sprinkling of hair over the muscles. Muscles that had wrapped around her, overwhelming her even as he’d held himself back. The way he’d kissed the tears from her cheeks. His whispers of love, of how pleased he was with her. Then, when she’d placed her hand over his heart, his reaction when she’d hesitantly explored him. How she’d felt to discover that her touch affected him the way it did – his breathing quickening, the tightening of his fingers on her shoulder, and the way his manhood had stiffened, ready to take her again. And when she’d pressed her lips to his skin, her mouth now exploring.

  Celeste sighed at the memory of how he’d rolled them over so she was on her back, his hips nestled between hers. The fire in his eyes, the humor as he whispered about her teasing him when he was trying to be gentle with her. The first time had been gentle despite his initial aggression, more about actually piercing her virginity, but the second coupling had had enough ardor for her to be aching for him in the weeks since, eager to be his wife before all and every night in his bed.

  “Edward,” she whispered into her pillow. “I need you. I can’t do this on my own. Where are you? How could you have left me? Why couldn’t you give me some time to see what you knew?” Tears fell onto the cloth. “Where are you, Edward? How can I do this on my own? I’ve never done anything like this. Help me, Edward.”

  Edward felt the chains against his wrists and ankles as a bowl was thrust through the slot. Not wanting the slop, yet starving, he crawled over and shoveled it into his mouth using his fingers. Too drained to care, he rolled over, curling on the straw, praying that Jasper made it to the Norman’s man and that somehow, the queen and England could be saved. He held no hope for himself or Celeste. A fever took him in his sleep and he dreamt he was being forced to witness her wedding night with Edmund.

  Celeste silently weeping as her pale blue dress was torn from her body. Him trying to turn his head or close his eyes but his father and Elder Gray poking him with knives until he kept his gaze on the pair. Edmund taunting him by describing what he would do with her. Celeste’s terrified eyes. Edmund exposing himself and driving into her. Her scream echoing through the room. And the vicious expression on Edmund’s face as he realizes she isn’t a virgin.

  Waking in a sweat, he was almost relieved to be in the cell. He was still alive. Somehow, he had to believe it was before her birthday. That she wasn’t Edmund’s wife yet. Edmund wouldn’t hesitate to taunt him in person about bedding her, or that he’d somehow determined Edward had been with her first.

  Pacing about as much as he could with the chains, Edward thought of mad schemes in which he could somehow free himself, find Celeste and, this time, convince her to run away with him. They’d disappear into Wales or Ireland, even the wilds of Scotland if needs be.

  In his worst moments of despair, he wondered if she was part of some plan to expose him to his father. He struggled with doubt, nearly hallucinating about enemies all around, questioning everything in his life.

  Chapter Seventeen - London

  Alternating the horses, Jasper rode until he knew he risked harming even the strong mounts. Brushing them well despite his own exhaustion, he curled up next to a stream for a few hours of sleep. The agony and heartbreak in Edward’s eyes haunted him. His words of having nothing to live for rang in his mind. Jasper understood the rawness of Edward’s pain. Shifting under his cloak, he ruthlessly shoved the memories down. He hadn’t let himself dwell on emotions for a decade. He’d poured every ounce of himself into serving the Order of the Rose. It was all he lived for. The only thing. Even with all that he knew about the Elders, all he wanted was to help the York branch survive and return to its true purpose of serving the crown.

  As the sky in the east grudgingly lightened, he saddled the horses and continued south. As he rode, he glanced back to see if he was being followed. And always before him in his mind a pair of pale blue eyes under a wispy lace cap twinkled at him. His mother’s aunt, the Lady Alinor, had been as a grandmother to him and he had found solace with her. He’d been with her and Ursula when word of the Catalan massacre arrived months after he went to live with her. The two cousins had shouted for help as the old woman had collapsed, whispering ‘Celeste, Anna’. She had never woken, dying days later of a broken heart on what would have been her granddaughter’s tenth birthday. Blinking his eyes furiously, he took a deep breath as he headed down a hill. A rumble in the sky had him glancing up at the dark skies.

  “Wait until I reach London,” he prayed. “Every moment counts.”

  A few leagues later he paused at the top of another hill and changed mounts. The wind was brisk and the air held an energy that worried him. The clouds were darker, and bolts of lightning darted between them. A faint hope filled him though as he turned to look south. The dark silver of the Thames wound through the fields and at the edge of the horizon lay the ever-growing sprawl of London.

  “C’mon, boys,” he murmured to the horses. “Almost there. Jacques will have a nice warm stable for you and good feed.”

  The animals, as weary as he, whinnied and nodded.

  Nodding at George standing outside the door that opened to the outer chamber of Anna and Owain’s chambers, Daffyd knocked on the door to Rose’s. She opened the door, blushing when she saw him.

  “Daffyd,” she groaned.

  Not giving her a chance to close him out, he pushed in, grinning as she didn’t resist. Since their return from Jonal Park he’d been waging a very quiet but serious war of seduction. Having Owain and Anna’s support had strengthened his argument and weakened his Rose’s. Her determination to protect his status only made him love her more.

  “Trevor will be gone only a few moments,” he told her. “I saw him in the hall.”

  “I’m wondering if you arrange all these errands of his,” Rose frowned, suspicion in her voice.

  “Would I do something as sneaky and underhanded as that?” he wondered, pretending shock at the idea.

  Humor gleamed in her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.

  “I think you could be sneakier if you put your mind to it,” she murmured before he kissed her. His hand slipped down her back and cupped her pert bottom. “Daffyd, you make it harder to resist you each time…”

  “I will have no other but you,” he vowed, covering her mouth again. “Rose, we only have a few moments. Please. Let me hold you and pretend the rest of the damned world doesn’t exist. That there is no one else. Just you and me.”

  Struggling to remember why she couldn’t give in, Rose stared up at him and felt her willpower wilting with every caress and whispered dream. No one else. Just us.

  Tying both horses to the pole outside the Seven Roses tavern, Jasper opened the door and entered. It took him a moment to recognize the man behind the bar who was also scowling at him at his approach.

  “I’m Jasper of York. I’ve urgent news. Send someone to Jacques.”

  “To Jacques?” the man frowned.

  “It’s urgent,” Jasper insisted. “It’s the purpose of the Order. Don’t waste any time, man!”

  “I’ll go, Hal,” a man offered. “His lodgings aren’t far.”

  “Thanks, Dickon,” Hal replied, sending a suspicious glance at Jasper. “I suppose you want something to eat and drink?”

  “
I want to give the news to someone who can do something,” Jasper replied curtly, going to the nearest seat to the hearth. “Nothing else matters.”

  The London Roses shifted but said nothing as they waited. Perhaps ten minutes later, Dickon returned with a rail-thin older man wearing the pale blue rose of Normandy.

  “Jasper, what is it?” he asked, then stared at the other man’s condition as Jasper came to him. “What is it that you can’t give to Danker?”

  “Treason,” he whispered so only the Norman could hear. “Treason and I know not who to trust.”

  Jacques nodded. “Come with me. For something like that, we don’t waste time. I’ve fresh horses waiting. Just in case.”

  Relieved, Jasper glanced at Dickon. “Can you take care of the horses that brought me? They’ve earned the very best for their heart and speed.”

  “Aye, I can,” Dickon nodded. “Go with Jacques,” he told him, then grinned. “You’re in for a surprise.”

  “Hush,” Jacques told him. “Come, Jasper.”

  Without another word, Jasper followed him outside, mounted the sturdy gelding and rode with him to Whitehall. The palace? And the guards waved us through without question? ‘Tis only been a year since my last trip, but Jacques didn’t venture near the palace then. Their horses were left with a groom and Jacques strode confidently through the halls.

  A man with a strange device at his throat stood outside the door. Jasper frowned. What colors were those? He saw the man with the pale blue rose like Jacques, but on his shoulder. Large with sapphires. The Root of Normandy! Then the woman at the table. Her blue eyes went to him. Holding his breath, his gaze went to her right shoulder and he nearly wept. Rubies and topaz. The double-rose lived!

  Unable to stand still, Mary paced in circles outside the queen’s chambers. Owain had been in there much longer than she thought it would have been necessary to obtain permission for him and Anna to be her guardians during Griffin’s absence and for her to leave the court with them. Several lords appeared at the far end of the corridor. Members of the Privy Council, she realized, and quickly stepped into the nearby alcove. They wouldn’t come as far as she was but after the past three weeks, she didn’t want to meet anyone. She simply wanted to leave. She didn’t care where she went. She just wanted away from court.