Once a Bride

by Shari Anton

  The amount of money she carried made him sweat. She’d come overly prepared, to the point of being extremely dangerous. Not for any reason would he walk the city streets with her bearing that much money, certainly not take it into the Tower. Not on the first visit anyway.

  “We need to hide some of that.”

  “Why for?”

  “We dare not take that much coin into the Tower until we know where your father is held, how secure his chamber. No sense taking it in only to have the guards confiscate it.”

  Her eyes widened as understanding took hold. “Ah. Well, then …” She glanced around the room. “Where?”

  A half memory from the last time he’d let these rooms drew him to the corner and the stack of pallets. He pulled them into the middle of the room. With slow, heavy steps, he tested the floor, and smiled when a loose board groaned.

  “Under here.” He pulled his dagger from his boot to pry up the nails.

  “Wait, use mine.”

  Eloise brushed aside her cloak and pulled a heavy silver dagger from her right boot. Stunned, he stared at the bulky weapon in her outstretched hand.

  “ ’Tis an old one of Julius’s,” she explained. “He will not miss it if it becomes ruined. No sense in marring yours.”

  Roland briefly wondered how many more surprises he might suffer today. He took the offered dagger and soon had the floor plank pried up to where he thought he could slip the large pouch beneath to rest between the joists.

  “How large is your purse?”

  Eloise removed her cloak and tossed it on the bed. She faced him, hands clasped in front of her, a regal expression on her face. “You will divert your eyes, if you please.”

  Realizing she needed to partially undress in order to retrieve her purse, Roland’s baser self reared up and couldn’t be silenced.

  “Do you need assistance? A lace untied, a fastening undone? I humbly offer—”

  “Roland, turn around.”

  The order was blunt, but he detected a faint hint of humor.

  As much as he would love to divest Eloise of whichever garments she must rearrange, there wasn’t now time for sport, not if she wanted to visit her father today. Nor did he think her in any mood to be diverted.

  For now, he’d settle for bringing a smile to her face, a lightening of her burden.

  “I am told I am very nimble-fingered.”

  “Ro-land!” came out on a chuckle.

  Satisfied, he gave an aggrieved sigh and turned to face the opposite wall. “Very well, if you insist. I merely strove to be helpful.”

  “Hmmm.” To the rustling of skirts, she added, “You have already been of great help. I do not wish to overtax you.”

  “Believe me, my lady, ’twould be no great burden.” More rustling of fabric, the jingle of the gold-link girdle she wore about her waist. If he turned around he would likely see her skirts hiked up, revealing her chemise. Long or short? Thick or thin? White or—

  “You may turn around now.”

  He spun quickly. Fully covered, she tossed him a small doeskin purse containing only a few coins.

  Brought back to his purpose, he tugged open the strings and inspected the contents. She hadn’t stuffed it.

  “ ’Tis a decent size. We will add a few more coins and give it to your father this afternoon.”

  She brought him the large pouch. “Take whatever you need for our expenses thus far.”

  He wasn’t above allowing Sir John to pay the costs, but was willing to trust Eloise for reimbursement.

  “We can settle accounts later, after we know more. Best take out another handful, for the guards.”

  “The guards?”

  “They are the ones who let us in, who unlock your father’s chamber door, and more importantly, they let us out again. They will expect appreciation.”

  Eloise nodded and shook more coins into her hand.

  Roland secured the hoard, eased the board into place, and pressed the nails down with his boot heel. With the pallets dragged back into place, one would never know a small fortune lay under the flooring.

  Eloise sat down on the bed, her former humor no longer in evidence. “What next?”

  Roland unstrapped his scabbard, leaned it against the wall. “Have you any more weapons?”

  “Nay. Are you not taking your sword?”

  He’d feel naked without it, but ’twas best to leave it.

  “ ’Tis not allowed to take weapons near a prisoner. Your dagger stays here, too.”

  “And yours?”

  “Stays in my boot. I will entrust it to whichever guard demands it, and give him an extra coin to ensure he remembers he has it. I refuse to walk the streets of London without a weapon, especially if we are out after nightfall.”

  Eloise rose off the bed, came toward him, took a deep breath before speaking. “I owe you many thanks. I might have been able to find lodging for me and my horse, but the rest …” She glanced at her dagger. “I might have blundered badly with the money. The weapons. Dealing with the guards. I thought all I had to do was walk up to the gate and ask to see my father.” With a disparaging laugh she admitted, “I do not even know where the gate is.”

  Guessing at how much the entire admission cost her, he put a finger under her chin, turned her head so he could see her eyes. Those gorgeous sapphire eyes.

  “The only land entrance is on the western face, over a drawbridge. You could not have missed it if you tried.”

  With a sad smile she put her hand on his chest. “Perhaps not, but I thank you for coming with me all the same.”

  His insides stirred, as always, when this close to Eloise. So many times since catching up with her he’d wanted to kiss her senseless, make her forget herself and her family’s problems for a time. Lose himself in her.

  He would have now if not for Timothy’s footsteps on the stairway.

  Eloise carried the purse through the city’s streets, but as they crossed the first drawbridge and she caught a glimpse of the guards at the barbican, she handed it over to Roland.

  “ ’Tis best you deal with the guards. I might not show them enough appreciation, or worse, too much.”

  If he saw her nervousness, he didn’t comment, or chide her for her uncharacteristic admission of insecurity. ’Twas easy enough to hide any self-doubts when at Lelle-ford, a place where she could put a name to every face, where she felt comfortable in her own skin.

  Walking the city’s streets, she’d felt most uncomfortable, unused to the jostle of strange people accompanied by the assault of loud sounds and stinging smells. The mere sight of the Tower of London’s high walls alone frightened her witless.

  Were she by herself, she’d brazen it out, do whatever she must to see her father. Perhaps she took the coward’s way out by taking advantage of Roland’s willingness to help, but sweet mercy, she didn’t want to do anything wrong to raise a guard’s suspicions and thus deny them entry. Getting in to see her father quickly and without trouble was worth swallowing her pride.

  Roland approached one of the barbican’s several guards. “We request entry to see a prisoner, Sir John Hamelin. I am Sir Roland St. Marten. With me are my squire, Timothy, and Lady Eloise, Sir John’s daughter.”

  The sentry looked them over, his keen eyes alert and wary, judging their worthiness. They must have passed his inspection because he led them into the barbican.

  “Weapons must be left here. You can collect them on your way out,” he stated.

  Roland and Timothy both handed over daggers, which were placed on a table with others. If a coin changed hands with the daggers, Eloise didn’t see it happen.

  The guard waved at another guard. “Visitors for Sir John Hamelin.”

  And so they were given escort over to a gatehouse, its twin towers bragging a double portcullis and several arrow loops. Again Roland explained their presence and made introductions, only to be passed to another guard who escorted them over the second drawbridge to the first curtain wall and another twin-tower
ed gatehouse, augmented with murder holes chiseled through the arch above.

  The heavy defenses and number of guards brought into sharp focus that the Tower wasn’t merely a place to house highborn prisoners, but a fortress designed to protect the royal families of England. In times of unrest, in a residence within these walls, they could shelter and be assured of safety. Still, as Roland made his third explanation of their presence to a grizzled, narrow-eyed guard, Eloise fought the suffocating feeling of being trapped.

  The guard scratched his chin. “Hamelin, eh? Seems to me I heard the name, but cannot quite recollect which tower—” This time Roland wasn’t subtle about passing a coin. “Ah, yes, the gent over in Baliol’s. I will take ye over to meet the warder myself.”

  Eloise breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t following the guard to the White Tower and down into its dungeon.

  Keeping pace, she leaned toward Roland. “Baliol sounds familiar. Why?”

  “I assume you have heard of John Baliol, a Scottish king who tried to defy English rule. He was housed here for a time after his surrender.” Roland smiled slightly. “Apparently they gave his name to the tower where he stayed. One does not house a king, even a deposed king, in less than a comfortable chamber.”

  Good news, except she didn’t like the implication.

  “So they house my father in Baliol’s Tower because they believe him in league with the Scots.”

  “Or someone paid well to have him put in the finest chamber available.”

  “Lancaster?”

  Roland merely shrugged a shoulder.

  Baliol’s Tower turned out to be a round tower set into the far southeast corner of the inner curtain wall. The warder must have appreciated whatever Roland gave him because he bowed courteously after Roland, again, gave him their names and requested to see Sir John. Eloise wryly thought that by now everyone in the place must know who they were and why they were there—and had to admit that made sense given the nature of their visit.

  The warder led them up the narrow, winding stairs, his ring of large keys jingling with each step. “I would wager his lordship will be pleased for the company. Ain’t had any other visitors as yet. He and his squire been playing a lot o’ chess to pass the time. Mind ye, curfew is at sunset. Ye’ll hear the bell.”

  Eloise said a silent prayer of thanks. She’d worried about her father, of course, but also about Edgar. ’Struth, her father truly could have let her know of the squire’s whereabouts.

  “We thank you for the warning,” Roland answered the warder for them both.

  The warder pounded on the heavy door on the first landing. “Sir John! Ye got visitors! Yer lovely daughter is here.”

  “What?” came a roar from inside. “Eloise?”

  The warder looked apologetic, and probably didn’t understand her smile. For the first time since leaving Lelle-ford she was on solid footing. She well knew the difference between her father’s irritated bluster and his furious anger. Mere bluster she could deal with easily.

  “Aye, ’tis me, Father. May I come in?”

  “You had best let her in, Oswald, so the minx can explain what the devil brings her here!”

  The warder set the key in the lock, gave it a twist, and pushed the squealing door open. Eloise charged in, barely noticing the opulence of the room. She made straight for her father, who was garbed in the same clothes in which she’d last seen him, his face set in stern lines.

  Behind her she heard the snick of the latch, the heavy key locking the door.

  Eloise knew shows of affection discomfited her father, but she wrapped her arms solidly around him anyway and buried her face in his shoulder. The embrace wasn’t so much for him as for her, and he’d put her through so much hell he would simply have to put up with her whim.

  She damn near cried when his arms finally came around her, but knew better than to push her luck too far. Tears would only serve to make him angry.

  “St. Marten. Have I you to thank for allowing my daughter out of Lelleford?”

  “Nay, milord. She left on her own. I merely followed to ensure she did not get herself murdered on the road.”

  Eloise ignored them both, easing away far enough to inspect her father. “You feel solid enough. Are you getting enough to eat?”

  “I take it you did not hide away in a baggage cart.”

  “Not this time. I stole your fastest palfrey. Are they treating you well here?”

  “Ye gods, Eloise, that horse is barely broken to saddle. Have you no sense at all?”

  He avoided answering every one of her questions, but she could see for herself he didn’t suffer overly so she let it pass.

  “This tunic reeks. I brought you several, along with the money you asked for. Have you engaged legal help as yet?”

  “Nay. That is part of the reason I needed coin.”

  “Good. ’Tis an unnecessary expense. I also sent for Geoffrey. He should be here—”

  “Eloise, I specifically told you—”

  “I know what you said.” She tried to strike a balance between contrite and irritated. “I beg pardon, but I could no longer bear to do nothing after learning you had been put in the Tower. ’Struth, Father, your message could have been more revealing. I envisioned you in a loathsome dungeon, not in a grand chamber.” For the first time, Eloise looked around the room. With a large, velvet-draped bed and a hooded fireplace, the chamber was truly grand. Silver goblets and a gracefully carved chess set graced the table. She also saw Edgar in the corner of the room with Timothy. “And you said not a word about Edgar.”

  Her father slumped into an ornate chair. “I had little time to write the message. No matter, you should not have come.”

  “I was supposed to trust a messenger with a large sack of coin? I think not. ’Twas best to bring it myself.”

  “I should thrash your backside for your disobedience.”

  His bluster was giving out, and in its fading revealed his weariness.

  “The warder says we do not have much time until curfew, so there isn’t enough time for a proper thrashing. Besides, you are not all that unhappy to see me.”

  He reached out and took her hand, bringing a lump to her throat.

  “I am most displeased you left Lelleford, make no mistake. ’Twas a rash thing to do. Perhaps I should be grateful you did not do something worse, like raise an army and storm the gates to effect my release.”

  She had to smile at his exaggeration, tilted her head coyly. “Do you want me to?”

  He laughed lightly. “Let us hope it does not come to that.” He released her hand. “Sit down before I change my mind about that thrashing.”

  As she eased down into the other chair, he turned to Roland.

  “I was told you were placed in charge of Lelleford. Why are you playing escort to my daughter instead of ensuring my holding is secure?”

  Roland revealed his discomfort by rubbing the back of his neck. “Simon and Marcus are quite capable of securing Lelleford for the time I intended to be gone. I decided Eloise’s safety was the more urgent matter.”

  Father glanced at her before he again spoke to Roland. “Could not convince her to go home, could you?”

  “Father, you must not blame Roland. He thought it best—”

  “Oh, but I do hold him at fault. And he can correct his error by seeing you safely home. Where is the coin I asked for?”

  Damn. Well, she’d been prepared for him to order her home.

  Roland handed over the pouch. “This is but a portion of what Eloise brought. A pouch three times this size is well hidden in the room we let.”

  Incredulous, Father shook his head. “Three times?”

  Eloise tossed a dismissive hand in the air. “You were not specific about the amount, and I did not know what you needed the money for. We will bring the rest on the morrow. You can keep what you believe you need and I will take the rest back with me.”

  Except, if she had her way, she wasn’t going home for several days. T
rue, she’d promised Roland she wouldn’t argue if her father pointed to the door and ordered her to leave immediately. That hadn’t happened, thank the Lord, and her father had unwittingly bought her some time. At least tomorrow. Maybe more. With luck, she would still be here to see Geoffrey.

  Her father leaned back in his chair. “So, what happened after I left?”

  Eloise launched into what Roland considered a very detailed account of tending Brother Walter and Kenworth’s eventual arrival, some of which he hadn’t heard from her side before.

  Roland noticed she glazed over her ire at seeing him again, how pointedly she’d objected to his duty.

  He could envision Eloise as she’d appeared that morning, gliding across the floor of the great hall, cool and serene, to greet an earl she already knew intended to arrest her father for treason. She’d given away not a hint of her upset over her father’s hasty escape from Lelleford. Even now only small traces of her fears underscored her tale.

  She’d done much the same this morning, worn that regal expression through the city streets. Only he knew she’d lost a portion of her courage on the first drawbridge, revealed in the slightest tremble of her hand when she handed over the pouch.

  He’d expected her to forge ahead on her own, deal with the guards. She could have done it, too, if she’d given herself a chance. What prompted her to give him the pouch he wasn’t sure, but he had to admit he was touched by the show of trust, not only then but when they hid the money under the floor.

  Eloise could be reasonable, when she wanted to be, or when circumstances dictated that she must.

  To Roland’s way of thinking, he’d done right to bring Eloise to London, for her sake as well as her father’s. The weariness in Sir John’s eyes boded ill for the older man. To face the days ahead he must be strong, healthy, and confident. Perhaps this visit from Eloise would bolster his will.

  Roland also couldn’t miss the affection the two held for each other, despite the small skirmish of earlier. Today, and tomorrow, might be the last time she saw him alive if his trial went badly.