At Her Service (Swords of Passion)

by DeLand, Cerise

  “She fears what Lord Crosby will do to her if your lady dies.”

  “Oh, Christ,” Simon raked his hands through his hair and paced the earthen floor. He had to get out of here, see Elise, comfort her.

  But how?

  * * * *

  The days crawled by. The sheriff did not come for him.

  “He left this morning, my lord,” his guard informed him.

  “And my fate?”

  His guard pressed his fleshy lips together and shrugged. “I do not know, my lord.”

  “You must help me escape,” Simon pleaded with the gaoler who had over time become his confidante. “I must go to the King who will reward you for this.”

  “Oh, nay, my lord. Where e’er the king is, he cannot be here to protect me from the wrath of Crosby if I cross him.”

  And so it went. Another snow came and left, then another. The skies cleared, brightened and the winds that wafted through the draughty stone walls turned to gentle, fragrant breezes of spring. ‘Twas on a day like that three horsemen arrived at the castle.

  “Two wore the king’s livery,” Simon’s guard told him. “The third we do not know.”

  “And what do the house serfs say these three came to do?” Simon asked because over time the household serfs had become loose-lipped about the comings and goings of their two oppressors, Crosby and Cleve.

  “Come to parlay with the Countess of Atherton.”

  “She met them?” Simon asked, his heart in his mouth that she was up and about for the first time since his capture and her illness.

  “Aye, she did,” the guard beamed in pride. “She met them privately in her chamber. My girl says she wore a new tunic of red velvet adorned with a necklace of pearls and an emerald pendant.”

  “She lives.” Simon pounded the wall in the joy of knowing she was well enough to greet guests—and that to do it she had worn his tokens of the love he bore her. That meant something, but only God knew what.

  “The third man,” the guard told him the next day, “is her brother, the Earl of Cordelier.”

  “And Crosby welcomed him?”

  “As best we know. Crosby received him in private. No servants were permitted.”

  “And Cleve?” Simon pressed the guard.

  The guard smiled broadly as if he were a bear with fish in his mouth. “Taken away this morning in chains by one of the two men from the king!”

  “By all the saints, that is the best news I have heard in months!” Simon grinned at the guard. Only later, when alone again, did Simon wonder why Crosby still reigned in the keep, and why he, himself, still rotted in the dungeon.

  * * * *

  Summer came with bright rays of sunshine that pierced the darkness of his cell. His eyes, unused to brilliance, shut against the glare when his friend, the guard, would enter with his daily ration of thin news and thinner gruel.

  “What, ho, this is not oats, my man,” Simon objected one morning when he caught the aroma of roast pig and winter potatoes in his bowl.

  The guard chuckled. “Eat up, my lord. You are to have more than that treat today.”

  “Oh, what will you? Catch the new louse in my threadbare tunic?”

  “Nay, my lord. You are to have a bath.” Two of his fellows struggled to bring in a copper hip bath.

  Simon halted, one hand midway to his mouth. “My friend, last night I heard laughter amongst your friends. Did you drink too much beer?”

  “Nay, sir. I have my orders to clean you up.”

  “Why?” Simon did not believe in miracles. “I see no saints come to save me.”

  “I do not know all, my lord. But late yesterday, one of the two retainers from the king returned here.”

  “And?”

  “He spoke with the Countess.”

  “And Crosby? Where is he?”

  “I have not been told that, my lord.” He lifted the wooden bars that had closed Simon in. “Come out, my lord, and step into this tub. I was given no time to get you ready.”

  Chapter Eight

  The bright light of the day blinded Simon in the courtyard. His legs wobbled as he took the first full steps he had had in seven months. He smelled sweeter than he had and his clothes became him better than the rags he had discarded. But his nails were still ragged, his palms coarse and his hair shaggy and hanging over his brow.

  “There is a limit,” he complained to his friend, the guard, “to how much a man who has rotted for months can be improved in minutes.”

  “Aye, my lord.” His friend wrinkled his nose. “You still smell ripe, but I know they will welcome you as you are.”

  “You do, eh?” Simon teased him, even as he leaned on him for support to climb the steps to the door of the keep. Wish I believed that. ‘Tis not good to tell yourself fairytales.

  “Here you are, my lord,” the guard swung wide the door to the main hall, and the brilliant sight inside blinded him, rooting him to the floor and driving the air from his lungs.

  Elise sat behind her grand table in glowing good health. With hair wrapped in a pale gold wimple and her body draped in the crimson velvet his guard had described, she smiled a glorious welcome at Simon. “Come, my Lord de la Poer. All is well with us here. Do greet the Earl of Greystone.”

  Simon squinted in disbelief at the familiar giant who sat beside her and wore a black, leather eye patch. He had met the earl years ago in Acre in less than peaceful circumstances, when both of them had taken oaths in The Order of the Lily to aid each other in all endeavours for all their lives.

  “My Lord.” Simon inclined his head in deference to the man who held rank above him. “We meet again after six long years.”

  “Correct, my Lord de la Poer.” The tall, blond man whom fable and lineage declared of Viking raider’s lineage rose from his seat next to Elise. Simon noted that here in the hall, William Greystone had unstrapped his sword to leave it in the far corner. Fighting had not been his purpose here. “Permit me to assist you to the dais, Simon.”

  Simon rebelled to be treated like a weakling, and he objected in a booming voice. “Surely, sir, all of you will let me find my footing.”

  “Aye,” Will stepped back, his hands in the air. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “I thank you, Will,” Simon murmured to the man beside whom he had fought in Acre and Rhodes—and whose life he had saved from the thrust of Saracen’s scimitar. Simon pulled back the empty chair and sank into the cushioned wealth, his bones creaking in the effort.

  “Wine?” Elise asked and raised her finger to direct a serf to pour for Simon.

  “Aye.” He took a draught, the richness arousing his taste for more. As he put his cup out to be refilled, he let his eyes feast on the figure of the woman whom he had thought never to see again. But his vision blurred still, and to look at her hurt his heart, she was so rosy and round.

  “The Earl of Greystone went to King John at my request and has come here from the king expressly to heal the wounds of our recent problems,” she began in a small but steady voice. Her eyes raked over Simon, pausing at his mouth then his hands before returning to caress his eyes with her own serene gaze. “Sir, please tell my Lord de la Poer of the judgement of King John.”

  “Our sovereign has heard the charges of murder of the Earl of Atherton from the shire’s reeve brought by Sir Phillip Crosby and your former servant Cleve Faulk. Our king has great faith in the service of his sheriff in this clime, and he is now satisfied there is no evidence to support the accusation. To the contrary, the sheriff heard the statements of this Cleve Faulk and concluded that if poison was administered, it was this Faulk who had done so. He has been sent to London to the dungeons of the Tower to sit before the king’s judges who will examine him.”

  Simon sat spellbound for he knew the Tower was no place any man ever entered and subsequently left. “And Crosby? What of him?”

  Will pursed his generous mouth and shook his head, even as he twirled his wine cup by the stem. “Crosby has been sent home.”

/>   “Home?” Simon spat the word. “How can that be?”

  Elise answered. “‘Twas not what I wanted. Not what I bargained for.”

  Simon gazed at her in astonishment, his eyes watering at the fumes from the tapers. “What did you bargain with?” He feared it was her marital status. If she had promised to marry Crosby, Simon would find him and kill him where he stood. Another man might take her, wed her, but over his dead body would he see her marry Phillip Crosby.

  She smiled, easy and generous as a Madonna. “The only things I possess.”

  He frowned at the meaning of her words. Perhaps his mind as well as his eyesight was affected by the brilliance of freedom.

  Will stood and bowed to Elise. “I take my leave of you, Madame, and I retire for the evening.” And as he passed Simon, he clamped him on the shoulder. “Good night, friend. Sleep well.”

  When Will had left and Elise had shooed the servants from the hall, Simon rose and moved closer to her. This near, he saw her skin glowed, her cheeks bloomed and her mouth was a succulent berry he longed to taste once more. He reached for her hand. “No more riddles, my love. Tell me what goes here.”

  She leaned over and kissed his lips with tender care. “My beloved, you are free. Cleve will soon be charged for the murder he committed. Last winter, the sheriff ordered Ulred here, and she told him that Cleve came to her months ago to bid her make a poison. She never did, but Cleve then confessed that Crosby told him of a way to take the juice of a flower and create a liquid to close the throat. Whatever it was, this was enough to end the life of Alphonse. Crosby wanted him gone before you and I could mate, but when they were too late for that, they hoped to catch me before I could conceive.”

  “And blame Alphonse’s death on me.” Simon squeezed her hand and brushed a tendril of her hair back from her cheek. “And why is Crosby freed?”

  “He goes on pain of death, charged by Will Greystone to add to his garrison to keep the Scots at bay—or he, himself, will die a traitor at John’s order.” The news she gave Simon had her raising a hand to cup his cheek and smooth back his hair from his brow. “If I could have freed you sooner, I would have. I have yearned for you and cried for you.”

  Simon caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “My love, no less than I longed to be with you to comfort you as you lost our child.”

  She stilled. “Simon, you think I lost a babe?”

  He stared at her. “What was your illness then? The guard told me you bled.”

  “I did, but it was naught.” She rose, one hand to the table to aid her balance, for she stood and the gown Simon had admired for its rich wealth, flowed around her in a billow. Beneath her belly, there was a round weight upon her loins. One of her blonde brows shot high in amusement. “Your mouth hangs open, my dear man.”

  He placed one hand to her belly, rounded with a child. “And why should it not be?”

  She threw back her head to laugh.

  He got to his feet and embraced her as best he could. “You are quite great with this child.”

  “Of course, he is huge. He is yours.”

  “Bah.” He feigned irritation. “How am I to love you?”

  Her laughter delighted his soul as she said, “The way you always have. From afar or near, with my welfare as your high most goal.”

  He swept her to him and captured her lips in a searing kiss. “I know not how you accomplished this miracle. But I must hear the tale.” He settled her to her chair and held her hands in his.

  “‘Twas really simple once I realised I had more means to bargain than anyone thought. Even me.”

  “Which was?”

  “My character. Yours. And your jewels.”

  “You do speak in riddles.”

  “Nay. When they carted you off to my dungeon that night, I knew in time my guards and my serfs would come to rue the day they followed Crosby and Cleve. Never had Alphonse mistreated our minions. And neither had I. The household staff would reverse their loyalties, I was certain. So I turned my attention to those outside the keep who would help me. I sent one of my maids out to Ulred with a note for the sheriff.”

  “But he did not come for months.”

  “True. I asked him to send a messenger to my father and my oldest brother. I told them of my plight and the need for their influence with the king. They did send messengers to John, and he was eager to support me. After all, my father and my brother hold his western borders without fail. But the one I needed to aid me more than others was Joanna.”

  “John’s daughter?”

  “Aye, she was my friend and proved it by agreeing to hold the money Alphonse would pay you for your service to me. She remains a friend with all she has done here to save us both. She wrote her father and told him how you and I were hostage here to Crosby’s plan. How Crosby imprisoned you, the king’s loyal servant. Joanna wrote to her father and begged him to release you.”

  “I am shocked, Elise. John does nothing simply because a retainer of his has been maligned.”

  “But he reacts to the daughter whom he adores, and he acts in his own interest when he sees something he wants.”

  Simon’s heart pounded. “Elise, what did you give him? If you gave him your earldom or any small part of your land to save me, I will renounce the bargain. I will return to—”

  “Nay, you will not.” She smiled, and once more, Simon felt himself blinded by a dazzling beauty he felt in his bones. “You will remain with me and be my love.”

  “Not if you sold your—”

  “I did not. I gave John the clips, the emerald and the pearls.”

  “What?” Now, Simon knew he was not so much blind as utterly mad. “He has the wealth of the kingdom at his fingertips, and he agrees to take a few stones and jewels as payment for a favour?”

  “Aye.” Elise winced then put a hand to the small of her back to rub at a pain that made her writhe. “He did! His courier saw me wear them, and after what I did, he demanded I give them over.”

  “Why?” Simon persisted, reaching round to help ease her discomfort.

  “Because John is vain! Because he has a new mistress who evidently craves such items in abundance and demands our sovereign take her to bed with new and interesting toys.”

  “But…why John would ask for such things after a courier sees them on you?”

  “Well, they were impressive, darling. And I told Joanna about them.”

  “Sweet Jesus. And did you tell her how we used them?”

  “Of course! She was thrilled with the instruction.”

  Simon groaned.

  “I told Joanna you had given me love gifts of no equal, and she wrote back to say that John would be interested in trading my jewels for my best interests.”

  Simon could not believe his ears.

  “So you see, my dear man, I bought your freedom by surrendering the jewels that brought me to this state to begin with.” Her hand swept down her form.

  Simon shook his head. “And in the king’s moment of greed, we are free.”

  “Free, aye. Free from Crosby and Cleve. Free from the dungeon. Free from the Scots as long as Crosby fights like a hound of heaven.” She grinned. “Free to love.” Her expression turned severe. “Will you stay, my Knight Divine?”

  Was she mad? He had worked for this, dreamed of this all his life. To be with her as her lover was one thing, and to be the father of her child, another. “Only on one condition, my sweet love.”

  “And that is?”

  “Would you marry me?”

  She beamed at him. “And give this child his father’s name? Aye, my darling. I would marry you, and this time, when we mate, I vow to never let you go.”

  He caught her to his heart and spoke upon her lips. “Well, then, my lady, I am forever at your service.”

  About the Author

  Cerise DeLand believes great romances combine feisty heroines with men who adore them and cannot live without them. With a background in Chinese and European history, Cerise bring
s her knowledge of Chinese, German and a bit of Spanish, then blends it with her years living in Japan, Italy, Washington, D.C.—and Texas. She uses all her talents and experiences to write romances she loves. Published in e-format by Ellora’s Cave and Wild Rose Press, she is thrilled to bring her stories to Total-E-Bound, too! Cerise has won awards for her 18 print romances and mysteries (under another name), many of which have become selections of The Doubleday Book Club and The Mystery Guild.

  Email: cerise.deland@ymail.com

  Cerise loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

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