With de Royans’s appearance, there was no need to cower in the dark. He had promised safety and since his arrival, he’d delivered. She was starting to emerge from the black and horrific state. But the gnawing fear still lingered.
“Do you feel like sitting in the solar today, m’lady?” Esma asked her as she put away the hair brush and comb in the enormous old wardrobe used by generations of de Vere women; it had carvings of angels scratched into the doors. “You have not worked on the gown you have been preparing for Lady Cecily’s wedding. Would you like to work on that today?”
Amalie could tell by the tone of Esma’s voice that she was trying to force her back into a sense of normalcy. She appreciated the attempt but was disinclined to show an enthusiastic response. Instead, she sighed faintly.
“I do not believe that shall be necessary,” she said quietly. “I am quite sure that I am no longer to be invited to the nuptials. My brother’s flight has left me a social outcast.”
Esma tried not to agree, even if it was the truth. “But Lady Cecily has been your friend since you were both small girls,” she insisted. “She has been adamant that you attend her wedding.”
Amalie rose from the stool she had been perched on. “And her father is equally adamant that a disgraced de Vere be excluded.” She put her hand on the woman’s arm when she opened her mouth to protest. “Have no fear; I shall finish the embroidery on the dress and send it to Cece as my gift. Even if I cannot attend the wedding, I will still send her my love.”
Esma smiled sadly, watching Amalie pace towards the lancet window again. “I’ll take you down to the solar now, m’lady,” she said in a tone that was hopefully encouraging Amalie to leave her chamber. “Neilie and I will bring your meal to you.”
Amalie waved her off. “Nay,” she shook her head. “No food; not right now. I think… I think I might like to take a walk. The sun is shining and the land is wintery white. ’Tis quite lovely outside.”
Esma murmured softly, “You always did like the snow, Ammy.”
Amalie cast a glance at the woman, grinning weakly at the sound of her nickname that had been given to her at a young age. It made her feel safe and comforted in troubled times. It brought back memories of days when her life had been carefree and easy.
“Where is Owyn?” she asked. “He can escort me for my walk.”
She spoke of the young soldier who had risked his life to protect her from Sorrell; he was the only man she trusted, de Royans included. But Esma shrugged her shoulders.
“I’ve not seen him in a few days, m’lady,” she said. “But I will send someone to find him.”
Amalie came away from the window. “Nay,” she said pointedly. “You find him.”
Esma was torn; de Royans had given her strict orders never to leave the lady alone. “Forgive me, m’lady,” she suddenly rubbed at her knee. “My old knees have been paining me. It would be faster if I sent someone else to find Owyn.”
Amalie wasn’t fooled; she lifted her hand as if to ease the woman’s mind. “Have no fear, Es,” she said softly. “I will be fine. Please do as I ask.”
“But….”
“Go,” Amalie cut her off, adding softly. “Please. I promise I will be safe and whole when you return.”
Esma nearly refused again but thought better of it; she wasn’t in the habit of doubting her mistress’ word. So she nodded in resignation and quietly left the room. Her behavior was all an act; once she cleared the door, she took the stairs in a panic. Finding Owyn wasn’t her objective; finding de Royans was.
It was bright and chilly outside as she rushed through the half-frozen muddy lake of the lower bailey in her hunt for the commander. The old woman asked a couple of soldiers if they knew where de Royans was and they directed her to the small chapel near the outerwall. De Royans was known to pray daily and she did not want to interrupt him, but she felt that she must. She asked a soldier to enter the chapel and bring forth the commander. It wasn’t long before de Royans’s appeared.
He emerged from the small, crescent-shaped chapel with two of his knights in tow. Dressed in a tunic, breeches and boots against the cold, he looked half-dressed and fairly out of place among the heavily armored knights. Esma watched, twisting her hands nervously, as he sent his knights along their way and made his way down to her.
He was such a big man that the old woman shrank back as he approached. She was positive the ground shook when he walked as the mud sloshed under his enormous boots. Weston came upon her, concern on his face.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Who is with Lady Amalie?”
Esma looked as if she was about to cry. “She awoke in good spirits this morning, m’lord,” the old woman told him. “She is dressed and says she wants to go for a walk. She sent me to find Owyn to escort her.”
He digested her words. “I will therefore ask the question again; who is with her right now?”
Esma was guilty and anxious. “No one, m’lord,” she said. “She sent me away. She would not let me send someone else for Owyn.”
“You left her alone?”
“I did, m’lord. She forced me to.”
Weston’s jaw ticked as he brushed past the old woman on his way to the keep. By the time he got halfway across the bailey, he was running.
Alone for the first time in days, Amalie felt some relief. She also felt a distinct sense of freedom. She returned to the lancet window for a few minutes, enjoying the limited view she had of the snowy landscape, before deciding she was feeling well enough, and brave enough, to venture from her chamber unescorted.
She didn’t need to wait for the young soldier; she’d been traversing Hedingham’s massive keep all her life and was rather disgusted to realize how fearful she was to maintain that familiarity. Gathering her cloak, a heavy fur-lined garment with great slits cut out for her arms, she slipped it on as she quit the chamber.
Amalie mounted the narrow spiral stairs that led to the roof of the keep. She shoved back the heavy door, dumping some snow onto her, but the hatch had apparently been cleared by the servants so it wasn’t particularly heavy or dirty. As soon as she stepped out onto the wooden roof, she was hit by not only the brilliant sunshine, but also the brisk temperature. It was glorious.
Taking a deep breath, she felt contentment for the first time in weeks but the despondency that had caused her suicidal behavior was still there, still weighing heavy. Pulling her cloak tightly about her, she was comfortable as she stood in the cool sunshine, gazing out over the Essex countryside.
She lost track of time as she stood there, lost in thought, trying to reconcile the events of the past several weeks. Somehow it was easier to absorb everything in the brightness of the new day. She couldn’t easily think of that horrible event or of the weeks that followed, but she could clearly think of the day Weston de Royans arrived and saved her twice from taking her own life.
She hadn’t thought much about the man since that night in the vault other than when he was following her around although pretending that he wasn’t. Her prevalent thought of the man was that he was indeed handsome with his blond comely looks and his big, muscular frame, but beyond that, she couldn’t and wouldn’t think of anything else. De Royans was here to execute his orders and nothing more.
“Lady Amalie?”
A soft, deep voice started her from her thoughts and she turned to see de Royans standing behind her. In the brilliant sun, she had to take a second look at the man; she’d only seen him in the dark, or in the snow, or otherwise shadowed. She had to admit that her reaction was one of approval – he was dressed simply in breeches, heavy boots and tunic, and little more. Odd for most knights, he wasn’t clad in layers of mail or protection. His dark blond hair was cropped close, glistening flecks of gold in the sunlight, and the dark blue eyes were intense. In truth, she’d never seen such a handsome man. He looked like a god.
“Sir Weston,” she greeted, pulling her cloak more tightly about her in a subconscious move of self-preservation.
“How my I help you?”
Weston was staring at her far more than he should have; groomed appropriately, she looked absolutely delicious. He’d been watching her for days, purely out of duty, but he had to admit he liked looking at her.
He’d been preoccupied with his tasks associated with commander of Hedingham but as the days passed, he came to realize that he awoke every morning with Lady Amalie on his mind. That thought weighed more heavily as the days passed and now, as he gazed at her in the brilliant new morning, he was starting to think he was insane – insane because this woman, this distraught, crazed woman, was starting to mean something more to him than a mere captive.
After a long pause, he answered her question. “Aye, my lady,” he replied. “There is something you can do for me. You can escort me on a walk.”
Amalie looked at him, her big green eyes absorbing his statement. When it occurred to her that Esma ran straight for de Royans and not Owyn as requested, she lifted an eyebrow.
“I am sure you are quite capable of walking by yourself,” she told him. “I have requested another escort.”
Weston just looked at her. Then, he chuckled softly, ironically, his big white grin and dimpled cheeks causing Amalie’s heart to leap strangely.
“My lady, I understand that you are more comfortable with Owyn, but you must understand that the man has other duties that do not include you,” he said. “Therefore, I would be honored if you would accompany me on my walk.”
Amalie wasn’t inclined to refuse him simply because the longer she looked at him, the more brutally handsome he became. It was a struggle to resist. More than that, there was something in his manner that amused her.
“You are most insistent,” she said after a moment.
“I am.”
“I would wager to say that young ladies do not often reject you.”
His smile broadened. “I do not let them.”
The corners of Amalie’s mouth twitched and she bit her lip to keep from smiling at him; he was quite devilish about it. “Then you do not intend to allow me to refuse, either.”
“That is correct, my lady.”
He was still grinning broadly at her; as much as she didn’t want to trust him, she found that she could not resist the charm he was intent to heap upon her. It seemed to come easily to him, as did the broad grin that spread effortlessly across his face. Without recourse, she finally shrugged.
“Very well,” she told him. “You should know that I can walk for hours. I hope you can be derelict from your duties for as long.”
He nodded, sweeping his arm gallantly towards the roof hatch. “As long as you require, my lady.”
“I intend to walk into the town.”
“Then I intend to go with you.”
Her eyes lingered on him as she walked past him, as did his gaze on her. As she studied his strong, handsome face, he was studying the arch of her lovely eyebrows and the little dimple in her chin. She seemed to be in better spirits, which both pleased and relieved him. Weston was coming to hope that the dark night he had arrived had been an isolated incident, although something that dark and that horrific told him that it was not. Whatever she was feeling was still just below the surface.
In silence, they made their way out of the keep and down into the muddy, snow-piled lower bailey. As soon as they entered the bailey, Amalie saw the state of it and came to a stop, lifting her skirts and her cloak so the hem wouldn’t become muddied. Weston sent a soldier to collect his mail and weapons, commanding the man to meet him at the gate house. Swiftly, he bent over and scooped petite Amalie up into his arms.
She was light, warm and soft, but Amalie’s first reaction was one of panic; Weston could see it in her face, remembering the same look that fateful night in the vault. He hastened to reassure her.
“I am sure you do not want to soil your shoes or your garments, my lady,” he told her quickly. “Please allow me to aid you through this mess.”
Hesitantly, Amalie nodded, gripping his big shoulder for support as he trekked across the muck. She couldn’t help but notice how powerful the man was and how strong and warm he felt against her. The sheer size of his neck, shoulders and biceps were astonishing, now heated and firm beneath her hands as he carried her across the bailey.
Amalie didn’t want to like him or anything about him but in the brief contact she’d had with him, it was clear that whatever charm or magic he held worked against her. Two sides of her brain, the self-protection side and the female, giddy side were colliding violently.
Weston held her until they reached the gatehouse. The entire time, he hadn’t said a word and neither had she. Amalie kept her face averted, not wanting to look at the man who was so close to her. She could feel his warm breath on the side of her face, gentle and sweet.
Once at the gatehouse entry, which had been moderately protected against the snow, he carefully set her down on the moist earth. Still, they didn’t look at each other; they pretended to find interest in everything else. Weston averted his gaze because he was afraid to set her off again while Amalie averted her gaze because she was confused at her reaction to his charisma. It was an odd, but not uncomfortable, mood.
But that mood was offset by the appearance of Weston’s armor. The soldier that met them at the gatehouse with the man’s protection was none other than Owyn. Young, completely smitten with Lady Amalie, he was tall, lanky and blond, and he smiled broadly at Amalie as he approached.
Weston couldn’t help but notice that she smiled back and he felt a surprising stab of jealousy, which manifested itself into brusque movements as he took the armor from the young soldier. He resisted the urge to smash him right in his face.
“Good morn to you, Owyn,” Amalie greeted him.
“Good morn to you, my lady,” the young soldier greeted, hardly keeping a rein on his thrill. “’Tis a fine day today.”
“Aye, it is,” Amalie spoke to him as two other soldiers, gate house sentries, began to help Weston with his mail coat. “I thought I might walk to town today. I asked if you could escort me but Sir Weston said you had other pressing duties.”
Owyn looked to the big knight as the man straightened out the mail coat on his big frame. “My lord,” he said with veiled eagerness. “I am scheduled for sentry duty on the north wall today but I am sure another can easily take my place. There is no need for you to disrupt your day escorting the lady to town.”
Weston looked at the young man; he was moderately handsome and strong, obviously a brave man for what he had done to protect the lady from Sorrell. It was based on the respect he had for the young soldier’s courage that he didn’t bite the man’s head off in his reply.
“You will not shirk your duties to another,” he told him. “I will take the lady in to town. You will return to your post.”
Owyn’s young face fell somewhat but he didn’t argue the point; one did not resist the commands of de Royans and live to tell the tale. Everyone knew that; tales of de Royans’s military prowess were legendary within military circles. The man was extremely likeable and extremely congenial given the proper circumstances, but once provoked or in battle mode, he was deadly. For a man his size, there was little else he could be; tales of de Royans tearing men’s heads from their bodies with his bare hands were pervasive in knightly circles. Owyn therefore had a healthy respect for his new commander and would not dream of questioning an order.
“Of course, my lord,” he replied, eyeing Amalie. “I only meant to offer should you have more important duties to attend to.”
Weston pulled on his tunic. “Your offer is noted,” he said as he straightened the tunic and reached for his sword. “Return to your post.”
Disappointed, Owyn tried not to show it. He bowed respectfully to Amalie as he turned and retraced his steps back to the outer bailey. Amity watched him go before turning to Weston.
“You lied to me,” she said flatly.
Weston looked up from securing his scabbard, surprised. “When did I do this dis
graceful thing, my lady?”
She faced him fully. “You told me that Owyn had other duties to attend to, which is why he could not escort me to town.” She put her hands on his hips. “Clearly, he does not. Why did you lie to me?”
Weston stared at her, running a big hand through his cropped blond hair as he thought on his reply. “I did not lie to you, my lady,” he said evenly. “Perhaps Owyn does not consider his scheduled duties important. I, in fact, do. He does indeed have duties to attend to. The moment he believes he does not is the moment I boot him from my service.”
Her features turned hard. “You will not boot him from your service,” she said firmly. “Owyn is a fine man.”
“He is a soldier.”
“He saved my life!”
“And for that, he will always have my respect,” Weston realized he was close to having a battle on his hands and labored to ease the rising tide. “But you must understand that Owyn has his own duties to attend to and one of them does not include constant companion to the Lady of the Keep. What he did for you was strong and courageous, no doubt, and I intend to reward him in time. But the moment I arrived, you became my responsibility. Do you understand?”
“Why would you reward him for protecting me?” she wanted to know. “I am theoretically your enemy, de Royans. Why would you reward a man for siding with the enemy?”
He just stared at her, the dark blue eyes glimmering intensely. “Do I really have to answer that?”
“You do.”
“Enemy or ally, what he did was remarkably brave and I reward bravery to the men under my command.”
Amalie gazed steadily at him, a myriad of emotions running across her delicate features. She wasn’t happy that Owyn was not allowed to accompany her; that was clear. But she also seemed pleased that de Royans intended to reward him. After a small eternity of uncomfortable silence, she finally averted her gaze and looked off towards the snowy countryside beyond.
“Come on, then,” she grumbled, pulling her cloak more tightly around her. “Let us get on with it.”
Lords of the Kingdom Page 5