by Shari Anton
They rode in silence. Roland did his best to concentrate on the road and not the woman who began to reluctantly relax, eventually snuggling against him, her head pressing against his shoulder.
He smelled the threat of rain. Heard the hoofbeats that assured him Timothy rode close behind, and the steady jingle of his stallion’s tack that seemed to echo his own breathing.
But mostly he felt Eloise’s solid but not unduly heavy weight press against his thighs, her warmth seeping through layer upon layer of garments and chain mail. His loins heated, and the thought of a soft bed at the inn rose up to taunt him.
Perhaps tonight…
“Roland, I need to go to London.”
The fantasy faded.
“You need to go home.”
“But we are so close, only a half day’s ride away.”
“Eloise, I cannot in good conscience allow you—”
“Then silence your conscience by coming with me.” Another foolhardy notion.
“I cannot. My duty to the king demands I return to Lelleford.”
She squirmed, and his loins flared to full flame. Her hand came up to his chest to cover his heart. “Your damned duty. Can it not be set aside for a few days?”
“Nay, and you know it.”
“I expected either Simon or Marcus to chase after me, not you. Have you not already abandoned your duty?”
A valid point, but of no consequence.
“Your protection is part of my duty. Now that I have you we must return with all haste.”
She was silent for a few moments. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Eloise, give over. I am not listening.”
“Take me to London. Let me see my father. If he then orders me home, I will return with you without argument.”
“Eloise—”
“I beg you, Roland. I need to see him, ensure he is not in a filthy dungeon, has food and drink. See for myself that he is well and unharmed. Please, Roland. A day or two is all I ask.”
His heart melted at the bleakness in her voice. Nor had he ever dreamed to hear this strong-willed, confident woman beg. Either it was a measure of her upset or she was playing him for a fool. He pushed back her hood, tilted her chin upward.
The moisture glittering in her sapphire eyes tore at his soul.
“No argument?”
“Not a word of protest, I give you my oath.”
A raindrop hit her high cheekbone. She never flinched nor did she brush it away. The drop hovered for a moment before sliding away on its own.
Unable to hold back, he kissed her—the sealing of a bargain borne out of his own needs—and was rewarded with a satisfied sigh. Because she liked the kiss or because she’d won?
He’d probably regret his weakness later, especially when he had to explain his actions to the king. But for now he had Eloise securely in his arms, their mouths melded in the sweetest kiss he’d ever known, and the rest of the world could go hang.
Though he considered the danger low, Roland slept fitfully — eyes closed and ears open — seated outside Eloise’s room, his back against her door.
At dawn, he opened the door a crack, heard no noise but her soft, steady breathing, then crept away before his lust overcame his better sense.
One of the problems with sleeping were the accompanying dreams, fed by yesterday’s ride and kiss. Of Eloise, of her warmth and sparkling eyes, of her soft smiles and how well she fit against him. He’d wanted more of her and suffered for it.
She needed her sleep, had damned near fallen face first in her supper last night, and required her strength for the ride today. Only a villainous lout would deprive her of her needs simply to assuage his own.
Ye gods, but he’d gone ridiculously soft. He’d yielded, agreed to take Eloise to London, and ’twas too late now to go back on his word.
He eased down the stairs and through the inn’s homey and now abandoned common room, his destination the stable, his intention to talk to Daniel, who should now be preparing for the last leg of his journey.
Nay, he hadn’t strangled the man yet, and wouldn’t. Roland could hardly berate Daniel for allowing Eloise to talk him into this foolish journey, not after Roland allowed her to talk him into continuing it.
Roland brushed aside the nagging guilt for abandoning his duty at Lelleford and pushed away his utter foolishness for allowing Eloise to have her way. What was done was done, and the quicker over the better.
Daniel greeted him with a smile that conveyed understanding of Roland’s turmoil, and pleasure at having been relieved of the burden of Eloise.
“A good morn to you, my lord. Is Lady Eloise yet sleeping?”
“Soundly. I imagine she will be out awhile longer, and will be unhappy about not taking leave of you.”
“She is gracious. Perhaps we will meet up again in London.”
Roland had his doubts. Daniel served Lancaster, an earl Roland didn’t plan to allow within shouting distance of Eloise. The earl might be her father’s ally, but of late Roland had developed a healthy distrust of earls.
“If we do not, pray give Lancaster our thanks for sending you to Lelleford. ’Tis well her ladyship learned of her father’s whereabouts, even if it did lead to this.”
Daniel shook his head, chagrined. “I tried to talk her out of making the journey, but …”
Roland laughed lightly, imagining the poor lad trying to stand firm against Eloise’s pleas. “Do not be too hard on yourself. She is hard to resist.”
“Nigh on impossible.” Daniel swung up into the saddle. “To do the lady credit, she is also hardy. Not only did she keep up, she never complained. I swear she would have fallen off her horse before she deigned to ask me to slow down or take an added rest. Most women are not so sturdy or steadfast.”
Or headstrong, or single-minded, or so accustomed to getting their way.
“She is … uncommon.”
“An apt description.” Daniel looked up the road. “Is there any other message you wish me to deliver? To Sir John, mayhap?”
Roland had given thought to warning Sir John about Eloise’s visit, then decided not. Best to let father and daughter meet on equal footing, not give the father time to dream up possible punishments for her actions.
Roland intended to secure lodging for tonight, take her to see her father, and on the morn head back to Lelleford. Not for one moment did he doubt Sir John would vehemently order his wayward daughter to go home.
“Nay, no message. Take care on the road.”
“You also, Sir Roland. My regards to the lady.”
Roland watched the messenger raise a cloud of dust in his wake, then entered the stable. Timothy still slept, wrapped up in a blanket in his horse’s stall. Roland let the lad be. No sense waking the squire until Eloise stirred. Time enough then to prepare for the day ahead.
Quietly he slipped into the palfrey’s stall and checked the shoe that had thrown a nail, thankful the horse hadn’t also thrown the shoe, and possibly stumbled, and thrown the rider, and … he shook off the morbid thoughts that had plagued him during most of yesterday. The new nail seemed solid enough to hold the shoe in place until turned over to Lelleford’s smithy.
He’d not set a fast pace into London, allowing Eloise several rests. If they made the city by midafternoon, ’twould give him plenty of time to secure lodgings and for Eloise to see Sir John.
They’d be in and out of the city within a day.
She’d sworn him an oath, and he intended to hold her to it.
“Have you ever been to London?”
Eloise feasted on the sight of the western gate, the huge stone arch allowing passage through the thick walls that surrounded the city.
“Twice. Once when I was a little girl, barely old enough to have memory of it. Then again about seven years ago. That I remember quite clearly.”
“What was the occasion?”
She glanced at Roland, who’d been making conversation all morning, mostly, she suspected, to keep her mi
nd off her numb bottom. He’d set a leisurely pace, stopped several times. She found the consideration endearing, but at times had wanted him to pick up speed just to have the journey over with.
Was he truly interested? And how much should she tell him?
“Father was to attend a parliament, one where most of the bishops would also attend. He had his sights set on a church appointment for Geoffrey, so he brought my brother to talk to several of the bishops to see what could be accomplished.”
Roland frowned slightly. “That would not leave your father much time to look after you. I am surprised he took you with him.”
Eloise sighed inwardly. She should really keep her mouth shut, but Roland already knew her a willful female, so might as well hear the tale.
“He did not take me. I abhorred the thought of being left alone—again—at home while the two of them were about to embark on what I thought was a grand adventure. I snuck into a tarp-covered baggage cart. By the time Father caught me, ’twas too late for him to do aught about it.”
Did she detect an effort to withhold a smile?
“When were you caught?”
“As they were unloading the cart to haul the baggage into the rooms Father had let.”
“So you spent two days bouncing in the back of a cart.”
“Three.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “How did you manage without someone seeing you? I mean, you had to crawl out sometime. To eat. For relief.”
She’d been rather proud of her accomplishment, even though her father turned her bare backside a bright red afterward. Still, he’d not sent her home, just as he wouldn’t send her home now, she hoped.
“I slept the day away and climbed out at night for … necessities. One can get along for several days on dried fruit and nuts.”
“You planned ahead, took food along.”
“Well, nay. Sacks of them were in the cart.”
He was still shaking his head when he pulled ahead of her to speak to the guard at the city’s gate. Given permission to enter, he signaled her to follow.
The lanes were as narrow as she remembered. The upper stories of the buildings—filled with shops on the bottom and residences above—had been built out over the street to create a canopy, casting the streets and people below into shadow.
Eloise endured the foul smell of bodily refuse in the gutters, of the stench created by too many people crowded into too small an area. ’Twas not easy to hold one’s breath until they turned onto a wider lane. Roland slowed his horse, signaled her to again come alongside.
“If Geoffrey went to the Church, then why is he now married to … Leah, is it?”
“Geoffrey did not believe he had a calling, could not bear the thought of a tonsure. The best he and Father could agree upon was the advantage of an education. Geoffrey spent two years as a student at Westminster Abbey before he came home for a visit.” And such a row that had caused! Eloise guided her horse around a merchant’s fruit cart before she continued. “Father pressed him, then, to take vows. Geoffrey decided to escape. He went to Paris to continue his studies.”
“He married in Paris, then?”
If only he had stayed in Paris, then he wouldn’t have been on a ship when it sank, nearly killing him, harming his mind—all because of her.
“Nay. He was coming home to attend my…wedding when he met Leah. She nursed him through a very bad time and they grew close. I am so glad he found her, for now he is truly happy.”
“But not yet reconciled with your father, I take it. Yet you expect Geoffrey to come to London?”
She hadn’t a doubt. “He will come. They may not get along well, but they are father and son. Family. Geoffrey will come.”
Roland pulled up before an apothecary, a small sign bearing a mortar and pestle hung over the door. Without a word he dismounted and went inside.
Was he ill? He’d said not a word, and she’d seen no sign of sickness.
She turned around to Timothy. “Is aught amiss with Sir Roland?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Nay, milady, he merely inquires about rooms to let. We have stayed here before. The rooms are clean and the price fair. ’Tis also not far from the Tower. ’Twould be convenient if the room is unoccupied.”
Eloise righted herself, aware of just how ill-prepared she’d been to make this trip. She had no idea of where she might have found lodging, or what was a fair price. But then, Daniel could have supplied the information, she was sure.
Roland came out the door and reached up to untie the bedroll behind his saddle. “You know where to take the horses, Timothy?”
Timothy dismounted and grabbed hold of the stallion’s reins. “Aye, milord. To Master Victor.”
Roland tossed his bedroll to the ground. “Have him look at the nail in the palfrey’s shoe. If he is not satisfied that it will hold for a full day’s hard ride, have him make whatever repair he deems necessary.” He approached her horse and untied the sack of garments behind her saddle. “When you return, Mistress Green has an errand or two she would like you to run for her.”
Tim frowned. “Beg pardon, Sir Roland, but I had hoped to go with you and Lady Eloise to the Tower.”
Roland put the sack down next to his bedroll. “Why so?”
“To meet Edgar, if he is there. Isolde … entrusted me with a message for him.”
Eloise could imagine what that message might be, one to assure Edgar of her well-being. ’Twas a measure of the maid’s trust in Timothy to entrust such a message to her brother.
“The errands can probably wait. Mistress Green did not say they were urgent.”
Eloise assumed Mistress Green to be the wife of the apothecary, but she didn’t have time to ponder further. Roland stood by her side, his arms outstretched, waiting to help her dismount.
They’d been through this process several times today when he’d stopped to allow her to rest. Now, as before, she placed her hands on his wide shoulders and noticed how securely he held her about the waist. Only once, the first time, did she lean too far forward too fast, making him catch her.
Not that his holding her close to his chest was unpleasant, far from it. But that had been in the wilds, with only Timothy to observe, not an entire city.
Her dismount this time was a more dignified affair, even though the same tingles shot through her body, the same stiffness afflicted her legs.
Timothy left with the horses; Roland picked up their belongings and led her to the back of the shop. After a brief introduction to the rotund, sweet-faced Mistress Green, they headed up the stairway.
The squire had the right of it. The room facing the street seemed clean, the bed appeared sturdy. A brass brazier filled with charcoal would adequately heat the room. She noted a stack of pallets in one corner, a small table with a pitcher and bowl and single candle in another.
But what drew her across the room was the view out the window.
The glass wasn’t of the best quality. Small bubbles marred the surface, and a wavy texture fogged the clarity. Neither mattered, for off in the distance, over the rooftops of London, she could see the tops of the four stark-white turrets of White Tower, which she knew stood in the center of the fortress that was the Tower of London.
Soon, she’d see her father. Perhaps sooner than she liked, she’d learn the truth about how he’d come to be suspected of treason.
Her hand trembled as she touched the cold, hard glass, wondering if, just maybe, she’d made a mistake in coming.
Chapter Thirteen
HER SHOULDERS slumped at the view of the Tower of London, as if the weight of the world rested on those slender shoulders.
Roland tossed his bedroll and her sack on the bed, knowing she must be having second thoughts about her ill-advised journey. He also knew what she’d say if he suggested they simply turn around and go back to Lelle-ford, so he didn’t bother.
Right or wrong, whatever course of action Eloise set, she carried through, and since he’d gone along with her s
cheme, he’d help her however he could.
So instead of chiding her about her folly, he eased up behind Eloise and put his hands on her shoulders. Immediately they squared.
“Imposing sight, is it not?” he asked.
“White Tower really is white.”
From the center of the Tower grounds, the square corner turrets rose above the stone walls surrounding the fortress, their dark, pyramidal roofs pointing skyward.
“Your father may not be held in White Tower. There are other, smaller towers on the grounds.”
“Do they all have dungeons?”
He had to admire her calm, given the foreboding nature of her question. She envisioned her father languishing in a dark, dank cell, manacles on his wrists, rats scurrying across the floor.
’Twas possible, but Roland had his doubts.
“Not all. Verily, several of them are nicely furnished, with fireplaces and handy garderobes. Even when kept prisoner, those of high rank are furnished their comforts.”
She turned around. He dropped his hands to his sides. “But we do not know for sure, do we?”
Deciding nothing would convince her until she saw for herself, Roland turned his thoughts to the practical.
“With the money I assume you brought along he can buy himself comforts he might not already have.”
She frowned. “I hope I brought enough then.”
“Where is the pouch?”
“In the sack, wrapped in one of his tunics.”
“Best carry it on your person. The guards may search the sack. Better they do not know how large a purse your father has available.”
Eloise untied the rope securing the sack and pulled out what Roland recognized as her crimson gown and two tunics he deemed too small for Sir John. Edgar’s? The next tunic, of heavy brown wool, she unrolled on the bed, revealing a huge leather pouch stuffed so full of coins the seams strained.
“Mon Dieu, Eloise. I doubt your father wanted you to empty his entire coffin.”
She picked up the pouch. “I did not. My father is a wealthy man. This is but a portion of…well. I also brought a small pouch of my own, and I have several coins sewn into the hem of my cloak.” She looked up at him then. “We do not lack for funds. Whatever expenses we have, I can pay for. This room, stabling the horses, our meals. You need not bear any of the costs for accompanying me.”