Once a Bride

by Shari Anton

Marcus shrugged a shoulder. “I fear Simon is right. We must allow Kenworth and his knights into the keep, but his retinue can make camp outside of our walls. The fewer men inside to guard, the better.”

  “Will the earl find the arrangement acceptable?”

  Simon huffed. “He will not be allowed the choice, my lady. If he wants a decent meal and soft bed for the night, he accepts the condition or does without. ’Tis a common arrangement and should pose no difficulty.”

  The knights’ easy manner calmed her nervousness. They would carry out their duties and see to the protection of the castle, at least until after they learned the reason for the earl’s visit. And after they knew their lord was suspected of treason? Eloise hoped they’d be shocked and disbelieving, but loyally stand behind Sir John Hamelin, and thus his daughter.

  “Where are the messengers?”

  Simon waved a hand to indicate the gate. “Beyond.”

  Flanked by the knights, Eloise passed through the inner gate to the outer bailey. Two men-at-arms, garbed in black and gold livery, waited beside their mounts. Both wore the staid expressions of soldiers, giving no hint to the disagreeable purpose of their lord’s visit, which she allowed they might not be aware of. She took a calming breath before addressing them.

  “You may inform the earl of Kenworth we are pleased to offer hospitality for tonight. When might we expect his arrival?”

  The tallest of them bowed slightly. “Your graciousness is welcome, Lady Eloise. I expect his lordship will arrive shortly after none.”

  Midafternoon, then. Not much time.

  “Pray give the earl our regards.”

  The messengers mounted and departed, picking up speed and kicking up dust as they approached the outer gate.

  Simon crossed his arms and muttered, “Reckless.”

  “Just like the earl,” Marcus commented.

  And sometimes like my father, Eloise thought, but kept the observation to herself.

  She turned to go back to the keep—and saw Brother Walter headed toward her, his eyes wide and wild, dried blood yet clinging to the side of his face and neck. The man might collapse if he didn’t halt his senseless running about. She sighed, wondering if that might not be for the best.

  Marcus leaned toward her. “What the devil happened to the monk?”

  “He hit his head and broke it open. The dolt refuses to have the cut tended.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow at her insult to a man of the cloth and exchanged an amused glance with Simon. “Shall we force his cooperation, milady?”

  “Only if I cannot make him see sense.”

  Eloise left the knights behind and strode toward the cleric, still unsure of what to do with him. Lock him in his chamber? Send him out the gate? Leave him to his own devices?

  He halted. “Have you seen his lordship, milady?”

  “I am told he went hunting. Come back—”

  “Nay! He cannot have left the castle!”

  “I assure you he did!” Eloise put a hand on his forearm, hoping to calm him. “Allow me to bandage your head, and you can tell me why you so desperately seek my father.”

  The monk’s eyes closed. His shoulders drooped and chin hit his chest. “Heaven preserve us. If his lordship has left Lelleford, I fear we shall require a miracle to save us.”

  His desolation chilled Eloise clear through.

  “Brother Walter, you had best explain yourself.”

  His chin rose slightly. “Prayer. Only the Lord’s intervention—I am to the chapel, my lady, there to remain on my knees in supplication until the storm passes.”

  Then he was off, his robes billowing in his flight. Eloise bit back a reprimand and reluctantly let him go, knowing where he’d be.

  “Milady?”

  Eloise glanced over her shoulder to see Simon yet standing where she’d left him.

  He unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile. “I gather the monk has not yet come to his senses. Shall I go after him, sit him down to be tended?”

  Eloise waved a dismissive hand. “Nay, leave him be. He goes to pray. Mayhap the Lord will see fit to heal his head.” And perhaps he’d simply keel over someplace and stay out of her way. “Tell me, Simon, do you know Kenworth well?”

  “Well enough, and most of his knights, too.”

  Most of the knights, barons, and magnates of the kingdom were acquainted with each other, having fought together over the years in various wars, or against each other in tournaments. Simon likely knew how to treat the earl better than she did.

  “What do I feed the earl of Kenworth to ensure his good humor?”

  Simon thought for a moment, then answered, “Eel.”

  Eel. The one dish sure to sour her stomach at a whiff of the odor. Still, she’d order the eel served, hoping an upset stomach was the worst indignity she would suffer tonight.

  With her eyes closed, Eloise sat quietly and breathed evenly, gratefully submitting to having her hair combed with long, soothing strokes. Isolde seemed to sense her mistress’s need for peace, performing her task without her usual chatter.

  The past two hours had gone by in a blur.

  Cook had grumbled about the addition of eel to this evening’s meal because she didn’t like abrupt changes to her plans, not even when a peer of the realm was to be the unexpected guest. Eloise had listened patiently to the old woman’s muttering. If she hadn’t, a disaster of cold or wrongly spiced food might be the result.

  Straightening her father’s accounting room proved disheartening. All the while she put the room to rights, found places to neatly tuck away the scrolls, she couldn’t help wonder why her father had taken several scrolls with him. Did they contain proof of his guilt or innocence? If innocence, then why hadn’t he stayed to confront the earl?

  She’d been telling herself all along that her father admired young King Edward too much to betray him. Still, John Hamelin had fled with possibly condemning evidence in his possession. So she’d reluctantly removed a handful of coins from the coffin to hide in her bedchamber, in the event she decided to sew them into the hems of her garments.

  Then there was Brother Walter who, as far as Eloise knew, still lay prone on the chapel floor engaged in fervent prayer. One glance at him had so dismayed and annoyed her that she’d quietly left the chapel without disturbing him.

  The stroke of the comb obviously hadn’t quieted her questions and worries, but at least her jaw no longer hurt from clenching her teeth. She might be able to greet the earl without scowling or snapping at him. To give her father as much time as she could to get as far away from Lelleford as he was able, she had no choice but to be pleasant to Kenworth.

  “Ribbons?” Isolde asked.

  “Aye. Both the crimson and gold.”

  While Isolde fetched the long ribbons, Eloise brushed away broken strands of hair from the gold-trimmed, crimson velvet gown she wore. ’Twas the richest and newest gown she owned, made up for her wedding day, the only time she’d worn it.

  Isolde’s deft hands wound the ribbons and hair into a thick braid. “You look fine enough to greet royalty, mi-lady.”

  Fine enough to distract an earl for another hour or two while her father and Isolde’s brother put time and distance between them and Lelleford?

  “I hope so. Isolde, did you talk to Edgar before he and my father … went hunting?”

  “Last I had a word with Edgar was early this morn. Why?”

  Eloise battled her conscience. Refraining from forewarning Isolde of the adversity to come didn’t sit well. If anything horrible happened to Edgar, his sister would suffer mightily.

  “I merely wondered if he said where he and my father intended to go.”

  “Not to me.” Isolde tied off the ribbon, then chuckled. “If I had me an extra coin or two, I might wager on them bringing down that big heron. Sure is taking them long enough, though. Or perhaps his lordship thinks bagging the heron of more import than waitin’ on an earl.”

  Isolde assumed the patrol had found his lordship and
informed him of the earl’s impending arrival. Eloise knew those men must be confused and worried by now, had likely checked all of her father’s favorite hunting spots and not found him.

  “Perhaps.” Eloise rose from the stool and adjusted the gold-link girdle that wound about her twice to rest lightly on her hips. “Think you I need more adornment? A gold amulet or brooch?”

  “Nay, milady. ’Twould be a waste. Once men fix on your face they do not notice all the rest anyway.”

  “You flatter me, Isolde.”

  “ ’Tis no more than the truth.”

  Eloise knew men noted far more about a woman than her face. Too many times she’d been inspected from head to toe, her form and assets judged. Some lingered overlong on her bosom, some tarried at her hips. She’d learned how to distinguish appreciation from lust. Some men’s looks revolted her, while others invoked a delicious tingle of response.

  She tugged lightly on her sleeve to smooth the velvet, memories of the disastrous wedding coming to the fore. Hugh St. Marten and several members of his family had arrived two days before the ceremony. In the spare moments they’d managed to find time alone, she’d tried in vain to conjure delicious tingles for her betrothed.

  In his eyes she’d perceived a mingling of affection and desire. As a dutiful wife, she’d have lain with Hugh and borne his children. Perhaps, in time, she might have come to care deeply for him.

  Unfortunately, at the time she’d been distracted by another, wholly unsuitable, irritating, and compelling man who inspired not tingles but deep, burning heat. With a shiver she again thanked the Fates that she’d unwittingly discovered his disdain of her before she’d made an utter fool of herself over her betrothed’s half brother. To her chagrin, she could still envision Roland St. Marten’s face more sharply than Hugh’s.

  A rap on the door brought Eloise out of her disturbing thoughts. Isolde admitted a page.

  “Sir Simon says to fetch you, my lady. The earl has arrived.”

  “I will be down in a moment.”

  The page scurried off. Eloise took a deep, calming breath.

  “Must be a fearsome one, this earl,” Isolde commented. “ ’Tis rare to see you uneasy.”

  “Does it show so much?”

  “You rub your hands together. A sure sign.”

  Eloise stilled her hands. “I wish my father were here to greet him. High nobility can be troublesome guests.”

  With that nasty thought in mind, she made her way down to the great hall. Just inside the doorway stood Simon with a group of chain mail-clad knights and a bevy of squires. Eloise guessed the oldest and most richly garbed man must be William, earl of Kenworth.

  Chin high, spine straight, Eloise sallied forth to perform her duty—and nearly tripped over her own feet when one knight stepped apart from the others.

  Roland St. Marten. Clad in armor. Now a knight and obviously in service to the earl of Kenworth. He listened to whatever Simon was telling the earl with brooding intensity, which she hoped meant he hadn’t noticed her momentary hesitation.

  Of goodly height and solid warrior’s build, Roland’s raven hair was long enough to brush atop his wide shoulders. His hazel eyes were no less sharp, his jawline no less rugged. On their first meeting, she’d been instantly aware of his potent charms, but utterly fascinated by his aura of strength and power.

  He’d warned Hugh against marrying her, declared her an unsuitable bride. The wretch. Never, in her entire life, had anyone dared insult her so.

  Concentrate on the earl.

  She fixed a pleasant, welcoming smile on her face. Then Roland seemed to sense her presence and turned those intense hazel eyes in her direction. Her knees went weak and her mouth dry. Eloise gathered every shard of willpower to ignore her body’s stirring and force aside her wanton awareness of the man who should be, if fate hadn’t intervened, her brother-by-marriage.

  The man who’d called her brazen, and who she now considered no better than a lowly, disgusting toad.

  With her ire piqued, Eloise managed to turn her attention back where it belonged, on the earl who’d come to arrest her father for treason.

  The earl of Kenworth had noticed her, too. He inspected her with narrowed eyes and thinned mouth. Short. Balding. Well fed. A mean boar in human form.

  Simon looked relieved to see her. “My lady, our guest, William, earl of Kenworth.”

  Eloise dipped into a deep curtsy before the earl, low enough to give a royal personage proper respect. “My lord. You do us honor with your visit. We welcome you and your knights.”

  “ ’Twas you who gave the order for my retinue to remain beyond the walls?”

  She rose to face his sharp disapproval squarely. “I approved our knights’ recommendation, my lord. We shall leave the final decision regarding the encampment to my father.”

  “Who I understand is not here.”

  Nor would he be.

  “Thus our decision to exercise prudence.” She turned to Simon. “Any word on my father’s whereabouts as yet?”

  “Nay, milady. I explained to his lordship that Sir John had gone hunting, unaware we were to have visitors. I expect our patrol and Sir John to return shortly.”

  Eloise strained to reclaim her smile. “My lord, might I offer you and your knights goblets of our finest wine and a hearty repast to make the time pass more quickly?”

  The earl spun to his knights. “Take out patrols. Find him!”

  Father needs more time!

  “Surely that is not necessary. If naught else, Father will be home for evening meal.”

  “I suspect not.” The earl took a menacing step toward her, glanced at Simon. “I swear, if Hamelin is not found quickly, I shall hold you both accountable for aiding a traitor!”

  Eloise nearly choked on an ill-advised, strangling gasp.

  Simon drew his sword, the rasp of steel from his leather scabbard a call to battle, answered swiftly by the earl’s knights.

  “Sir John a traitor?” Simon asked fiercely. “Never! How dare you insult his lordship in his own hall, with him not here to defend against your base accusation!”

  The earl waved a dismissing hand. “Hamelin has been duly charged! And how dare you draw your sword on a peer of the realm! Seize him!”

  A last sword whipped from its scabbard. Roland’s.

  “We seize no one except Sir John. Sheathe your swords.” The earl’s hands clenched, his anger now focused on Roland. “I gave an order I expect to be obeyed.”

  “And I am under the king’s orders, which I intend to obey. Attempt to seize Sir Simon and I will stand with him.”

  “You are a fool. The king will hear of your insolence.”

  The corner of Roland’s mouth quirked. “Pray inform him, my lord, for then Edward shall know I followed his wishes to perfection. If you intend to send your knights on patrol, do so. I am for Lady Eloise’s gracious offer of wine.”

  Eloise remembered to breathe when Roland sheathed his sword, taking it as a sign the worst danger past, noting to whom he owed allegiance—King Edward, not Kenworth. She didn’t know if she should be relieved or not.

  The earl waved at his knights. “Go. Before you leave set guards at the drawbridge. No one of Lelleford is allowed outside the gates until Hamelin is firmly within my grasp.”

  The knights’ swords slid home and Eloise stilled her hands.

  Before she could once more offer wine, the earl glared at Simon and Roland. “Bring Lelleford’s knights into the hall. I want you all within my sight. Be aware that aiding a traitor is cause for hanging, and I will not hesitate to so punish anyone who interferes with Hamelin’s arrest.”

  With that, Kenworth stomped off toward the table where a servant had set out flagons and goblets.

  Simon lowered his sword. “What goes on here, Roland? This makes no sense. Is Sir John truly charged with treason?”

  “I fear so. Kenworth is to seize Sir John and take him to Westminster for trial. The king will sit as judge.”

&nb
sp; Eloise forced herself to look into Roland’s hazel eyes. She saw no contempt for her father, no sign he thought any better of her. Still, she had to make her belief known.

  “My father would not betray King Edward, I am sure of it.”

  “Then he has naught to fear.”

  “Does he not?” Eloise wasn’t so sure anymore. Kenworth struck her as a man out for blood, her father’s blood.

  “ ’Tis for the king to decide on his guilt, milady, and Edward is a man of both intelligence and honor.”

  So she’d heard—more than once—from the man accused of betraying the king.

  “You serve Edward, not the earl. What do you here?”

  Roland glanced around the hall before he looked at her again. “By the king’s order, I am to oversee Lelleford until after your father’s fate is decided.”

  Stunned, Eloise managed to withhold a squeal of denial and displeasure. Roland St. Marten oversee Lelleford? Unthinkable!

  Chapter Three

  INDIGNATION SHIMMERED in the lady’s sapphire eyes, deep pools of blue a man could drown in if he weren’t careful.

  Roland never questioned why Hugh had been instantly smitten with his intended bride. Eloise’s beauty would capture any man’s attention. Fair of skin, bold of mouth, lithe of form, and possessed of a royal bearing, the woman deserved every tribute paid to her lovely face, curvaceous figure, and effortless grace.

  Even knowing Eloise Hamelin was betrothed to his half brother, Roland hadn’t been immune to her beauty. From the moment of their introduction, he’d felt the natural stirring a healthy male feels for a desirable female, had envied Hugh the marriage bed with so delectable a woman.

  Unfortunately, during the two days before the wedding, he’d watched Hugh become so enamored of his betrothed he neglected to note her presumption. Out of her bold mouth spewed bold words. Those sapphire eyes flashed with ire at the slightest provocation. He’d never encountered a less docile woman.

  Still, if Eloise had given any sign of admiring Hugh to a high degree, Roland might not have taken his brother aside to warn him of his betrothed’s strong will. He should have realized Hugh was too besotted to listen. Nor had he counted on the lady overhearing and adding her opinion to an already heated argument.