The lady walked around Jilly, silently assessing her. Then she smiled.
"Yes, you will do very well."
Jilly curtsied. "Am I to be your servant, my lady?"
The woman smiled. "Not a servant, my dear. Rather you will be my companion and my pupil."
Jilly raised her eyes to meet the woman's. "I would be pleased to serve you in any way I can. I have been well taught."
"Know you who I am?"
"Nay, lady. I was not told your identity."
The woman emitted soft laughter. "I am called Eleanor."
Jilly's mouth opened in surprise as she looked at the golden crown atop the lady's head with new understanding.
"You are…Queen Eleanor of England!"
The beautifully shaped lips thinned into a smile. "So I am. Welcome to your new home. This is my prison, but for a time, it shall be your sanctuary."
2
1183
Armed knights rode two abreast through the winter-white drifts that blanketed the high road, their horses' hooves muted by the packed snow.
Behind them trudged a long column of foot soldiers with battle gear strapped across their backs. All eyes were alert to any movement that might announce that the enemy was at hand.
Prince Ruyen, of the Isle of Falcon Bruine, rode at their head, his black armor a stark contrast to the white of the snow. His ebony helm was adorned with the symbol of the royal family, a golden falcon, its wings spread wide in flight.
They had made the long voyage across the sea and were now on English soil, where they were to rendezvous with Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, rebellious son of King Henry.
The English king had turned his conqueror's eyes in the direction of Falcon Bruine, and Prince Ruyen was determined to stop his aggression before he reached the island.
Each warrior carried with him the grim realization that he might die in battle in this foreign land. But, to a man, they obediently followed their liege lord, Prince Ruyen, wherever he led.
The prince looked neither right nor left, but focused his eyes straight ahead. The raw sadness that filled his heart was hidden behind the helm: a messenger had reached him only that morning with word that his father had been fatally wounded and died while engaging the English in battle.
Though his father's death made Ruyen the king of the Isle of Falcon Bruine, he would remain uncrowned until he returned to his homeland. By tradition, he could not assume the throne until he stood in the High Chapel at Mountbaston Castle, where every previous king of Falcon Bruine had been crowned.
Through the visor of his helm, icy winds stung Ruyen's face as he approached the English village where he was to join forces with Richard. Snow covered the rooftops of the thatch cottages, casting the village in a ghostly white light.
Ruyen dismounted, his eyes trained on the roadway, watching for any sign of life. If Richard were in the village, why did he not show himself? Something was amiss, and Ruyen melted back into the shadows to remount his war-horse.
Suddenly the bells of the village church began tolling and the air reverberated with an ominous clamor.
"Make ready for battle!" Ruyen shouted as he wheeled his spirited mount about. His giant war-horse, with its immense haunches and muscled legs, easily carried his full-armored weight into the fray.
"Beware the archers behind the windows," he commanded, "and watch lest Henry's troops close in behind us."
Galloping forward with shield and lance raised for protection, he led his troops toward the woods beyond the village where they could take cover. He hoped that Richard's forces would be waiting for him there.
When they reached the woods, he signaled for his knights to spread out and form a horizontal line so they would not be an easy target.
"Be alert," he cautioned. "I know not if we will encounter friend or foe." Before he could say more, Henry's troops came at them from every direction.
The two armies met with a loud clash of armor and fierce combat ensued. Sword and lance fell from dying hands as the battle raged. The army of Falcon Bruine was hopelessly outnumbered, and still the brave men fought unceasingly.
Prince Ruyen broke his lance on an advancing knight and took his sword in hand. With bulging muscles, he wielded his weapon, felling his enemy. Then with a mighty swing of his sword, he dispatched one foe and then another. Bodies fell before his fierce onslaught. He slashed and hacked, crumpling shields and armor and driving his blade home.
Suddenly Ruyen's helm was knocked from his head by the blow of an enemy mace. He turned to meet the culprit, cutting him down with a forceful thrust. In spite of the bitter cold, blood and sweat stung Ruyen's eyes as he rode forward to meet his next opponent.
The evening light was beginning to fail and it became apparent to Ruyen that his decimated troops were surrounded on all sides. He realized the futility of their situation—without Richard's larger force, the battle was lost—still he and his men continued to fight.
Suddenly, the sword was wrenched from Ruyen's hand and a helmed knight thrust a blade to his throat.
"Yield or die, Prince Ruyen!"
"To whom do I speak?" Ruyen demanded.
Without lowering his blade, the knight raised his visor. "Sir Dudley, commander of King Henry's northern troops. Which will it be—yield or die?"
Ruyen raised his head proudly. "Sir Dudley, I choose death."
"Nay, you shall not die this day, Your Highness. Rather you will be taken to London and displayed as King Henry's conquest. It is there that you will face judgment for your actions against my sovereign king."
A heaviness settled over Ruyen as he looked around and saw the bodies of his dead knights littering the ground where they had fallen. Many of his foot soldiers had been captured, while others had scattered into the woods, and he prayed that they at least would escape.
He turned back to Henry's commander. "I will accompany you willingly to London if you will spare my troops, who were only following my orders."
The Englishman looked at him in a calculating manner. "I have your pledge on this?"
"You do."
Sir Dudley called to his men. "Cease fighting. We shed no more blood today. We have the Golden Falcon, allow the others to go free."
There were objections from the ranks of Prince Ruyen's knights, so he spoke to them. "Tis done, go home. Tell my mother and sister what has occurred."
Sir Dudley shoved his sword into his scabbard. "They shall not find your sister on the island. She has already been taken prisoner and is on her way to London, where you will soon join her."
Ruyen's face turned ashen. "And what of my mother, Queen Melesant?"
"Of that I have no word."
Ruyen's eyes burned with hatred. "If Henry has dared harm my sister, he will rue the day."
Laughter broke out in the English ranks. "And what will he do?" someone called out. "Break the chains that we'll bind him with? King Henry must be fair trembling with fright."
Sir Dudley scowled at the man who dared defame such a noble warrior and ordered him to the back of the line. "Prince Ruyen is to be treated with the respect due his rank. Anyone who forgets that will bear the brunt of my anger."
Ruyen was reconciled to his fate, but he had to make certain that his soldiers would be released. "Have I your word, Sir Dudley, that my men will be allowed to return home to their families?"
"If each man swears to take up arms against King Henry no more."
"I give my pledge for them. They will not war against England."
Sir Dudley nodded in satisfaction. "Then they are free to leave."
Ruyen saw defiance on the faces of his knights, and they grumbled in protest, not wanting to abandon him. "Go home to your families," he said. "They need you now. There is nothing more for you to do here."
"We prefer to share your prison, Your Highness," one of his knights spoke up, voicing the thoughts of the others.
Ruyen looked upon the face of each knight who had fought so bravely at his side during their ill-fa
ted campaign. Some of them had been his boyhood companions, and some had faithfully served his father before him. To a man they would sacrifice their own lives to save his, and all he could do was send them home in defeat.
"I order you to return to Falcon Bruine," Ruyen told them.
"But what shall we tell the people?" one of his men asked.
"Tell them to keep faith." Pride shone in Ruyen's eyes as he turned to his captor and held his arms out, waiting to be shackled. Though his actions were humble, there was no submission in his haughty manner.
"I am at your service, Sir Dudley," he said.
The commander motioned a soldier forward, and heavy chains were clamped on Prince Ruyen's wrists and tightened until they bit into his skin.
"I would forgo the chains, Your Highness," Sir Dudley said, "but I have my orders."
An English knight grabbed the reins of Ruyen's horse. As they started off, he was surrounded by an escort of twelve of Henry's elite guard. He turned back to look once more at the remnants of his army, but they had been swallowed up by the encroaching darkness.
Although the weather worsened and it was bitterly cold, they traveled all night without stopping, as if his captors feared pursuit.
Ruyen was oblivious to the cold and discomfort. He was a man in torment. His father was dead, his sister a prisoner, and God alone knew what had happened to his mother. He raised his head in silent agony, feeling the soft snowflakes fall on his face.
When the sun rose, they changed horses at a small inn, then resumed their grueling pace. Ruyen refused the food and drink he was offered at their infrequent stops. It was long after nightfall on the second day when they reached London. It was eerie, silent as they rode through the unlit streets toward the Tower.
It had stopped snowing earlier, but the clouds still covered the moon. With torches to light their way, Ruyen was escorted up stone steps. The shackles were removed from his wrists and he was thrust into a chamber and the door slammed and locked behind him.
"Oh, Ruyen," Princess Cassandra cried, rushing to her brother. "Is all lost?"
He enfolded his sister in his arms. "It would seem so." He then held her at arm's length so he could look at her closely. "Have they treated you well?"
"They have allowed me no woman to attend me, but I have been given palatable food, and as you can see," she said as she looked about the small quarters, "the rooms are not uncomfortable."
"You look pale." Ruyen was concerned with the sadness he saw in her dark eyes, and she appeared younger than her fourteen years. "What of our mother?" he asked abruptly.
Cassandra shook her head, reluctant to tell him that she suspected their mother had betrayed them.
"Is she dead?"
"No," Cassandra said in a choked voice. "When last I saw her she was very well indeed. She met Henry's emissaries at the gate, welcoming them into the castle like old friends. Then mother told me that I was to be taken away as a hostage and kept safe in one of Henry's castles until you and father yielded. But instead, I was brought to London and locked in the Tower."
Ruyen seemed incapable of speech.
There was uncertainty in Cassandra's heart, and she needed her brother's reassurance. "Our mother would never have allowed the English to take me had she known they intended to make me a prisoner rather than a hostage—would she, Ruyen?" she asked doubtfully.
Brother and sister stared into each other's eyes. Cassandra was learning what Ruyen had realized long ago: their mother loved no one better than herself, and she would do anything, sacrifice anyone, even her own children, to gain the power she craved.
The young princess gripped her brother's hand. "Must we prepare for death?"
He decided to be truthful with her. "Henry has long desired Falcon Bruine. Only you and I stand in his way. You understand what I mean, do you not, Cassandra?"
She nodded sadly, then proudly raised her chin. "I shall not shame our father's name if I must face the executioner's blade."
Ruyen held her, and she drew comfort from him as she had since childhood.
"The cause was lost from conception," he admitted. "We could not have won. Richard never came, and we rode right into a trap."
"I know, Ruyen. I heard the guards talking. I also heard them say that father ... is dead."
He nodded grimly, wishing he could shield her from further hurt. "I was told that he died bravely, Cassandra, cut down as he rode at the head of his troops. It is what he would have wanted."
"I... loved him, Ruyen."
"Aye, as did I."
She looked dejected, as if there was too much sadness to carry on her slight shoulders.
"We do have one chance," he told her, trying to give her some bit of hope. "When Richard hears of our plight, he will attempt a rescue."
Cassandra was not fooled. "What can he do against his father? The walls of the Tower are thick. There is no escape for us."
"Richard would never desert a friend," Ruyen insisted. "If he did not join us in battle, there was a sound reason. He will try to help us, Cassandra, that you must believe."
Her eyes held a hint of hope. "I suppose."
"How fares Falcon Bruine? Did we lose many people? Were the villages damaged?"
"Mother's orders were that our people were not to raise a sword against the English, so there was no battle. She must have made a pact with Henry long before his soldiers arrived. Tell me she did this to save the people from being harmed."
"That is a question I would ask her, Cassandra. There are too many incidents that smell of treachery, and I would give her a chance to explain."
She raised sorrowful eyes to him. "I am glad that our father did not live to see Falcon Bruine fall to Henry Plantagenet."
"As am I," Ruyen agreed in a resigned voice, looking disinterestedly about the small quarters. There were several chairs, a scarred table, clean rushes on the floor and a warm fire burning in the hearth. Through an arched doorway he could see two small bedchambers.
Cassandra noticed her brother's exhaustion. Taking his hand, she led him closer to the fire. "Since you have no squire, allow me to aid you with your armor."
Wearily, he agreed.
"Have you eaten?"
"I want nothing," he said. "English food would stick in my throat."
After his heavy armor and chainmail had been removed, Ruyen took his sister's cold hand in his. "If it were in my power, 1 would spare you this." His free hand fell on her shoulder. "I am prepared to meet death, Cassandra, but I shall bargain with Henry for your life."
"Never! If you are to die, I shall stand beside you. I care little for a life without you and father. Do not ask any favors of Henry Plantagenet."
Ruyen lowered himself into a chair and leaned his head back, feeling bone weary. His thoughts turned to Lady Katharine Highclere, his beloved and his betrothed.
"Did you hear anything about Katharine? Is she safe?" he asked his sister.
"Mother told me that she and her father fled the island soon after you departed for battle."
He looked at her for a moment, sensing her disapproval. "Katharine's father must have forced her to leave. She would not have gone of her own will."
Cassandra did not share Ruyen's faith in Lady Katharine. Her brother was blind to his betrothed's many shortcomings. Why did he not see that she would always do what was in her own interest?
"You should take comfort in the fact that she is safe," was Cassandra's noncommittal reply.
"It is fortunate that we had not yet married, or she would be sharing this prison with us. My regret is that I shall never again look upon her face."
His sister's words cut into his thoughts. "Do not think about that now. You must rest."
He stood, moving to the smaller bedchamber. "Aye, I do need sleep."
"Ruyen," she said, her voice stopping him at the doorway, "will the winter last long?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I overheard a guard saying that political prisoners of import are rarely executed
until spring. It seems Henry likes to turn the execution into a celebration."
"Father was fond of saying that as long as there is the flicker of life, there is hope."
"But then father is dead," she reminded him. Tears glistened in her eyes. "What a sad end for a proud and noble family."
He came back to her and pulled her into his arms. "If only Richard were king of England."
"Yes, if only," Cassandra said, brushing away her tears. "We must not think that. No one can defeat Henry, he has the power of the devil on his side."
Ruyen lay upon the narrow cot, too weary to think. His sister was right about one thing: they were the last of the Rondache family.
Now the crown of Falcon Bruine had fallen into King Henry's power-hungry hands.
3
The wind rattled the shutters while chilling drafts stirred the tapestries on the wall.
Queen Eleanor sat gazing beyond the moat of the impregnable walls of the castle. An ache that would not heal throbbed within her heart.
Once she had held sway over the most dazzling court in all Europe. She had been surrounded by brilliant scholars, poets, artists, and courtiers. Now, her husband had imprisoned her in this dreary, cheerless castle. It had become her exile from life, her tomb.
Ominous clouds swept across the skies and rain began to fall in great torrents, casting the world in darkness. Her eyes appeared incredibly sad as she glanced down at the parchment clutched in her hand. With a resigned intake of breath, she closed the window, shutting out the fury of wind and rain.
At length she rose and turned to her maid, Ameria. "Tis time to summon Jilly. Bring her to me at once."
The servant nodded, then disappeared into one of the many corridors that led off the Great Hall. Her footsteps were noiseless as she ascended the wide stone steps that curved upward into the dark recesses, her candle flickering into the hidden shadows, casting them into muted light.
Jilly was halfway between waking and sleeping when her bed curtains were pulled aside and someone called her name. She sat up, blinking her eyes, to stare in bewilderment at the queen's maid.
Once Upon A Time (Historical Romance) Page 3