by Shari Anton
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.
He well knew the way of the world. He had nothing of value to offer her father for her hand. He might be of good blood and he might have attained the rank of knight, but he stood to inherit only a small sum from his father—no land, no riches. While he might someday rise high enough to make an acceptable offer for a lady of Eloise’s station, that day loomed far into the future.
Even if Sir John’s trial went badly, if he were stripped of lands and wealth, Eloise wouldn’t be left destitute. Her brothers would care for her, see to her future. Geoffrey was certainly willing, Julius might be, too.
Useless conjecture—unless he tried to claim rights to her by revealing their one-night affair, and oh, wouldn’t Eloise just love him for that? She’d be horrified at the breech of trust, a trust she’d given him completely only a few nights before.
While he lay with Eloise, Timothy suffered a severe beating.
In one fateful night he managed to both ravage Eloise’s virginity and fail to protect his squire. He’d badly misjudged the danger in both instances, and now both people he loved might suffer permanent harm — Eloise to her reputation, Timothy from his injuries.
Guilt nagged at him from every corner. For leaving Lelleford for so much longer than he’d planned, and for not yet presenting himself to King Edward to explain why. For not being nearby when Timothy had needed him most.
For thoroughly losing himself in Eloise, the woman his brother had been enamored of at the time of his death. He could envision Hugh’s reaction to the liaison—appalled.
Perhaps it was best if Eloise went home with Geoffrey now, before he did something else outrageously stupid to harm her.
Then why had he opened his big mouth to convince Geoffrey to try one more confrontation with Sir John? There was only one answer—because ’twas what Eloise passionately wanted, what she felt was right.
He couldn’t deny her.
Fool.
True, Roland wanted a few answers from Sir John, too, but those answers could have waited until after Eloise was safely out of London. But no, he again guided her to the Tower of London, to Baliol’s Tower and her father’s chamber on the upper floor.
Eloise had shucked her cloak, now stood before her father with hands on hips—leaving Roland, Geoffrey, and Edgar to brace themselves as best they could.
“ ’Tis time to give over, Father. Geoffrey and I both know you have not told us the entire tale.”
“You accuse me of lying?”
“Never.”
Geoffrey stepped to Eloise’s side. “She accuses you of bending the truth to suit your purposes. You are very good at that, you know.”
“So are you.”
“I learned from the master.”
“As did I,” Eloise added. “Which is why we know evasion when we hear it. Father, we may be your children, but we are your grown children. We are both reasonably intelligent and sufficiently capable of dealing with whatever it is you strive to spare us.”
“So now I am being unreasonable.”
“Nay, just your usual stubborn self. Be warned, we can be stubborn, too. Neither Geoffrey nor I intend to leave London until we have the whole truth. If we have to share your imprisonment, hound you day and night, so be it.”
Roland remembered no such pact between the siblings, but since Geoffrey didn’t contradict her, he let it pass.
“Is it so wrong of me to want my children out of harm’s way?”
Geoffrey reached out, put a hand on John’s shoulder. “Not wrong, but in this case misguided. We cannot sit by and see you hang for a crime neither of us believe you committed. Am I right in that?”
“Aye.”
“Then Kenworth is either framing or blackmailing you. From what I gather, you are also not getting the support you would like from Lancaster. You need us, Father, if for no other reason than our support, for our belief in your innocence.”
John looked from Eloise to Geoffrey and back again. “Perhaps you give your support too lightly.”
Eloise tossed a dismissive hand in the air. “Rubbish. You may bend the truth, even hedge a law or two, but treason? You can swear on St. Peter’s bones that you have conspired with the Scots and I will not believe you.”
John huffed, and after a long, thoughtful pause, relented. “All right, then. I—”
Roland felt the sudden weight of John’s narrow-eyed stare, could almost taste the mistrust.
“You should not worry overmuch about Sir Roland,” Geoffrey said. “His loyalty is to Eloise, which means he will do or say nothing to bring her harm. ’Struth, anyone who dares lay a finger on her will find himself skewered on the tip of a double-edged sword.”
Eloise blushed slightly. Silence reigned while Roland inwardly admitted Geoffrey’s assertion.
There had been a moment, back in the room, when he thought Geoffrey might protest his insistence on escorting Eloise. They didn’t know each other, and Roland was well aware he was too deeply involved in what should be a family affair. Geoffrey not only relented but now gave his support, and while Roland wasn’t sure why, he also wasn’t about to let it go to waste.
“My thanks, Sir Geoffrey. In your father’s position I might be distrustful of outsiders, too. If I may put your mind at rest, Sir John, I wish you to know I have a stake in this affair as well. If Kenworth, indeed, was behind the attack on Timothy, I want a piece of the man.”
“Revenge for your squire?”
Revenge for the beating, revenge for scaring Eloise witless.
Absolution for allowing both.
But there was more. Despite attempts to stay clear of Sir John’s problems, he believed the man innocent. Perhaps Simon and Marcus’s adamant support of their lord first swayed him, but Eloise’s defense of her father, so staunch and resolute, had caused him to pay further heed.
Sir John might be no saint, but no devil either. I
f innocent, he deserved justice.
“Aye, I want revenge for Timothy. The lad did not deserve his bruises. The beating and the attempt to kidnap Eloise convinced me you have a powerful enemy who is not above abusing innocents. Whether or not you are guilty, I find Kenworth’s methods abhorrent. The man deserves comeuppance.”
John tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “All in the name of chivalry, then?”
“I am no model of knighthood. I have faults aplenty. Perhaps I simply have an aversion to tyrants.”
Geoffrey rubbed his hands together. “We have much to do in little time. Talk, Father. Ramble. I want every detail. One never knows what small piece of information may hold significance when put together with others.”
And so they began, the father and his children, to put the puzzle together. John told Geoffrey of his insults to Kenworth and the results. Then of taking Brother Walter into his service, not realizing the cleric a spy for Kenworth. Of fleeing the keep for the woodland, keeping one step ahead of the patrols.
Eloise held up a staying hand. “Father, I have wondered how you managed to sneak your message to me into my bedchamber.”
“With our men-at-arms who brought my falcon back. When they found us at the mill, I gave one man the falcon and another the message.” His eyes narrowed. “He was not discovered with it, was he? I told him to have a care.”
Eloise bit her bottom lip, and Roland guessed she felt as foolish as he did, remembering the hours they’d spent looking for a secret passageway.
“Nay, he snuck it up into my bedchamber where I found it on my bed, nor did any of the men of the patrol ever admit they saw you. I merely wondered how it got there. Proceed with your tale.”
“But first, go back to Brother Walter,” Geoffrey requested. “What made you realize he was a spy?”
“I found several scrolls in my accounting room, all of them written in the same hand. No names are mentioned, but they were obviously written by a Highlander to a sympathizer in England. I questioned Brother Walter about how they came to be among my papers. At first he denied any knowledge of them, then had a change of heart. He confessed to putting them there.”
“Then those documents are fake, placed in your possession to frame you.”