by Alexa Aston
“What did you think of Lord Ferand?” Lady Rose asked as they walked through several chambers.
“He seemed charming,” she said, “but I have news to share with you.” Elia paused. “I received a missive from my father last night. I am to return home in order to wed.”
The noblewoman looked disappointed. “When do you leave?”
Without lying, she said, “I am to be escorted home tomorrow.”
They reached the final chamber. Lady Rose took her arm. “Tell the queen at once. She has decided to begin her confinement tomorrow and needs to know you will not accompany her to the Tower.”
“I will, my lady.”
Elia pushed opened the door and saw a servant combing Isabella’s hair as she nibbled on a crust of bread.
“Your grace.”
“Ah, Elia. Come read to me. I had a restless night and would hear your soothing voice.” The queen dismissed the servant and handed Elia a small volume.
“Before we begin, I have something to share with you, your grace.”
Elia briefly explained about her father’s message and her plans to leave London the next day. Though her voice sounded unsteady to her ears, the queen didn’t seem to notice.
Instead, Isabella took her hands and squeezed them. “I wish you well in this marriage.”
“And I pray you deliver another healthy son.”
The queen shrugged. “Two are enough. I wouldn’t mind another girl. Eleanor has been such a good child, though you and I both know females are merely political pawns. I worry if I give birth to third boy that he might be another challenge to his brother’s crown one day.”
Isabella sighed and threw off her gloom, embracing Elia. “Stay safe. You’ll be near those angry Scots.” She paused. “You must have packing to do. Let your duties end here and now. I have plenty of others waiting upon me to help prepare for my confinement.”
Elia kissed Isabella’s hands. “Thank you for all you have taught me.”
“Send in Lady Rose.”
“Aye, your grace.”
She found Lady Rose waiting outside and told her the queen had need of her. Deciding not to tell the other women in the queen’s rooms of her departure since they might make a fuss, Elia tried to slip out unnoticed. Unfortunately, Seraphina followed her into the corridor.
“Where are you going?”
She owed it to her friend to let her know part of the truth and explained how she was being called back to the north to wed.
Seraphina hugged her tightly. “Oh, I will be sad to see you go, Elia, but ’tis probably for the best.”
Elia drew back. “Why do you say that?”
“I spoke with Lord Ger this morning. He said he saw you in a very compromising embrace with Lord Ferand last night.” Seraphina blushed. “He mentioned it to his wife, who was a childhood friend of Lord Ferand’s mother.”
When Seraphina hesitated, Elia encouraged, “Go on,” dread filling her.
Her friend twisted her hands nervously. “Lady Ger told him Lord Ferand wed several years ago.”
It was as if Elia had been slapped. All those passionate kisses—shared with a married man. She had avoided married courtiers as if they’d had the plague, only to succumb to a handsome stranger who’d betrayed his wife. Elia’s cheeks burned with humiliation. She would find Lord Ferand and give him a tongue lashing he wouldn’t forget.
Only that brought a thought of their tongues at war with one another last night and her body betrayed her, heating with the memory.
“Thank you for sharing this with me, Seraphina. I must go pack my trunk now.”
Elia fled the queen’s rooms, returning to her bedchamber. She packed her trunk, realizing it would remain at the palace since she had no way of getting it home.
Or getting herself home.
She wouldn’t allow Ferand de Montfort to conduct her to Northumberland, knowing what she did now. And knowing she would burn for his touch every step of the way.
Elia determined to find another way to reach home without the deceitful earl—even if she walked the entire way on her own.
CHAPTER 6
FERAND ENTERED THE great hall and immediately found Sir Francis Wykeham at his elbow.
“I saw you with Elia de Wolfe last night. Be wary, my friend.”
He didn’t want to be this man’s friend but Wykeham tweaked his curiosity. “Why do you say that?”
The knight shrugged. “She’s beautiful, I’ll grant you that. Half the men in this room are in love with her and the name de Wolfe. The other half have felt the effects of her sharp tongue. Lady Elia is smarter than most men present tonight. Even the queen respects the girl’s intelligence and has taken her to council meetings.”
“Ferand? Is that you?”
Relieved to hear a familiar voice, he turned. “Walter Dubosc. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again.”
“Forgive me interrupting, Wykeham. Ferand and I fostered together a lifetime ago.”
“Then I will allow you to reacquaint yourselves.” Wykeham disappeared into the crowd.
“What are you doing at court? The last I saw you, we were in Scotland, near Stirling Castle.”
“Aye. At Bannockburn.”
“Miserable outcome that day,” Dubosc muttered. “And we were both eager to get back home to new babes. Did your wife bear you a son? Mine did. We’ve had two daughters since then.”
Ferand composed himself. “Nay. Minta did not survive childbirth, Walter.”
His friend clasped Ferand’s elbow. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“It seems long in the past. I’ve recently decided I should marry again. No local females were available to wife.”
“So you made your way to London. You will have many choices here, Ferand.”
“Why are you at court, Walter?”
“I accompanied my father. He is serving on the king’s council.” Leaning in, he added in a quiet voice, “Not that he listens to any advice dispensed. The king would rather let the Despensers whisper sweet nothings into his ear.” Walter straightened. “But enough of that.”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it, friend.”
“Do you have a man who could return a trunk to Kinwick for me? My page could accompany him. The lad has a sixth sense when it comes to direction. I’ll be leaving London in the morning and heading the opposite direction on business.”
“Of course. William can do it. When do you need this done? Tomorrow?”
“Aye. Have him come to the stables. Gilbert, my page, will be able to show him where the trunk is and pay him.”
“No need, Ferand. We are old friends. Any way I can be of service. Will you return to London and continue your search for a bride once your business is completed?”
He didn’t want to tip his hand, even to a trusted friend. “I’ll have to see. In the meantime, I—”
“My lord? If I could have a word with you?”
Ferand turned and saw Elia before him. Tonight, she wore a bright yellow gown that only made her hair darker and her eyes a more vivid green. His gaze strayed to the full, bottom lip that he’d toyed with last night and he swallowed at the thought of sinking his teeth into it again.
But when his eyes met hers, they seemed colder than a blustery day.
Before he could ask if something distressed her, she bestowed a captivating smile on his companion.
“Greetings, my lord.”
“Ah, Lady Elia, looking even fairer than usual.” Walter indicated Ferand. “Have you met Lord Ferand?”
She faced Ferand. “I have. And would like a word. Now.”
Walter glanced to Ferand. Both men heard the ice in her tone.
“I will excuse myself.” Walter bowed and left them.
“I think we should step away from all gathered here,” Lady Elia informed him. She wheeled around and left the great hall, Ferand hurrying after her.
Following her down a few hallways, she came to a halt and turned. “Are you married?�
� she asked bluntly. He heard the anger—and hurt—in her question and began to understand why she was so upset.
Especially after what they had shared in that alcove last night.
“I was,” he said softly. “Minta was five years younger than I. A fragile girl. Our fathers wished us to wed. Her father died a month after our wedding. My father soon followed suit. The marriage they both wanted so badly was one they didn’t live to enjoy.
“And my wife? I found her dying when I returned from the fighting at Bannockburn. She lasted an hour and then they cut my son from her.”
Lady Elia’s face had gone white. “Was he . . . did he . . .”
“Also dead,” Ferand said abruptly. He blinked several times, not wishing to shed tears in front of this women.
She took his arm, her fingers curling around it, her warmth filling him. Soothing him like a balm to a wound.
“I am sorry.”
“’Tis in the past,” he said brusquely. “Did your talk with the queen go well?”
She nodded. “She had few questions. Which meant I did not have to lie. Much. I told her I’d received a missive from my father. That I was going home to wed. And I would be escorted home tomorrow.” She hesitated. “Did you—”
“I burned it. As you asked,” he said, reading her mind.
Ferand had longed to read it but he had given his word to her that he wouldn’t. He surmised that she had requested to come home and her father refused. If Ferand had a daughter like Elia, he would have wanted her far from the skirmishes in the north. That meant de Wolfe probably asked the queen to find a husband for his daughter, one far from the fight.
Instead, the stubborn girl was returning home.
Ferand only hoped by the time they reached Northumberland that Elia would choose to leave again.
With him. As his wife.
“Is your trunk ready?” he asked.
“Aye, but I know we cannot take it with us.”
“Bring only a change of clothing if you have a satchel.”
“I do.”
“I’ve arranged to have your trunk removed from the palace. My page, Gilbert, will ride with one of Walter Dubosc’s servants and see that it’s safe.”
“Thank you. That is very thoughtful.”
He smiled at her. “I knew it would be important to you.” He watched the blush fill her cheeks. “Leave the trunk outside your chamber. I will meet you there before dawn and we’ll go to the stables. You don’t have a horse there, do you?”
“Nay.”
“Then you’ll ride with me.” Again, he watched the blush rise, finding it most attractive on her.
“I’m sure you have friends you wish to spend the rest of your evening with, my lady.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I will see in in a few hours.”
Ferand went directly to the stables. He’d left Gilbert there with several coins when they’d arrived, telling the lad to explore London and not gamble all the money away, instructing him to return and sleep each night in Midnight’s stall.
Finding his page asleep, he woke the boy.
“Have you seen the sights of the city?” he asked.
Gilbert’s eyes went wide. “Aye, my lord. Huge churches and the market. The food is incredible. Piping hot meat pies that stick to your ribs.” He frowned. “But the place smells worse than stalls that need mucking.”
“Come with me.”
Ferand led the boy inside the palace, to Lady Elia’s chamber.
“Remember this room. You are to come here tomorrow after dawn once you’ve met a man in the stables named William. He will take you and a trunk you find here to Kinwick. Show him the way we came.”
He nudged the boy and they wound their way back through the palace.
Gilbert’s eyes lit up as he spoke. “Have you found yourself a bride, my lord?”
Ferand grinned. “I have. She doesn’t know it yet. We will be taking a rather long way home to Kinwick. I must meet her family first. Then I have to make sure that she’ll have me as a husband.”
“Is she pretty, my lord?”
His grin widened. “She’s a beauty, inside and out, Gilbert. She will make a splendid countess.” He sighed. “’Tis up to you to keep her things safe—and this secret between you and me.”
“You can count on me. Be safe yourself, my lord. The road can be a dangerous place.”
Ferand ruffled the boy’s hair. “The next time you see me, Gilbert, I will have Lady Elia in hand.”
CHAPTER 7
ELIA ROSE AND dressed in the dark. She’d said her goodbyes to Seraphina last night and would not awaken her friend. Her hands searched for the satchel that contained a change of clothing, her comb, and a bar of soap. Finding it, she brought it to her chest and slipped from the bedchamber.
Ferand de Montfort leaned against the wall, one foot propped upon the trunk she’d dragged into the hallway the previous evening. Even in the dim light, his handsome profile caused her heart to skip a beat. Of all the men she’d met at court, he was strong and confident. Elia hoped she knew what she was doing, putting her trust into a man she barely knew.
And one she wanted to kiss again. Soon.
“Come,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
He led her through the silent halls and outside. They passed a man carrying two pails of milk and waded through a group of chickens, which scattered across the yard. Reaching the stables, Elia saw a young boy awaited them.
He stepped forward. “I have a stable lad saddling Midnight, my lord.”
“Good.” Ferand handed over a small coin purse and the boy took it, surprise crossing his face.
“It’s about time you had one of your own.”
The boy beamed. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Use what’s in it for a few hot meals on the road for you and William and to buy bread to supplement what you shoot.”
Ferand turned to her. “Lady Elia, this is Gilbert, my page. He will see that your belongings stay safe.”
The boy gave her a shy smile and bowed. “My lady.”
“’Tis nice to meet you, Gilbert.”
“Fetch Midnight.” Handing her satchel over, the page was gone in a flash, eager to please his lord.
Ferand took her hand and slid his fingers along hers. Sensing something, Elia looked down and spied a slender band resting on her ring finger.
“What . . . what is this?” she sputtered. His face looked more serious than she’d ever seen before.
“Lady Elia de Wolfe should have a guard of ten accompanying her home to Northumberland. Since ’twill only be the two of us, I must protect you as I know how. Your identity alone puts us in danger. Capturing a lone de Wolfe would be a great prize to any band of Scots that we might cross paths with and who knows what other dangers we might face on this journey?
“Being a single woman and a de Wolfe makes you a valuable prize. The ring takes away both. From now till we pass through the gates of your family’s home, you are my wedded wife—Lady Elia de Montfort.”
Looking at the ring on her finger, Elia longed for it to remain. This handsome man proved thoughtful and generous. He would make a good husband. Pushing aside the warring feelings within her, she reminded herself that she was impatient to return to her family. She was a de Wolfe. She belonged in the north. With her family.
Yet, she already feared her heart belonged to Ferand de Montfort.
“Here’s Midnight,” said Gilbert, returning with a horse black as night, a satchel hanging from both his sides.
Ferand ruffled the boy’s hair and mounted then offered her his hand. She took it and he easily hoisted her up, settling her in front of him.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice low, his breath tickling her ear.
Elia nodded, her emotions too close to the surface. She didn’t trust her voice to speak because the words that came out might betray the strong feelings stirring within her.
“Have a safe journ
ey, my lord,” called Gilbert.
“The same to you,” Ferand replied and nudged his horse.
They trotted through the palace grounds, where life had begun to stir, and out into the streets of London. They reached the city’s gates, now opening for the day, and rode through. As Ferand urged Midnight into a gallop, his arm tightened around her waist and she leaned against the wall of muscle, wondering what their travels might bring.
***
AFTER A LONG first day on the road, they stopped at an inn for the night, first taking Midnight to its stables and allowing Ferand to curry and feed the horse. Ferand had said the road from London to York was well traveled, with villages every four to six leagues along the way. Because of that, they would probably spend two of every three nights of their journey at an inn. The others they might ask for shelter at a cottage or monastery, while a couple of nights might be spent camping in the woods. Ferand told the innkeeper they were newly wed as he paid for a chamber and asked that a hot meal be brought to them there.
“I don’t mind eating in the common room,” she told him as he took her elbow and guided her up the stairs as they followed the innkeeper.
His look silenced her. She didn’t speak until the owner left and Ferand set their satchels down on the narrow bed.
He grasped her shoulders. “If given the choice, we will always eat in our chamber, Elia. Not only does it afford you privacy, but it keeps men from gaping at you.”
“Men were gaping?” she asked, wanting to laugh off his observation, but she saw he was serious.
“Every man’s eyes were on you,” he guaranteed. “You are a most desirable woman. Trouble brews easily whenever a beauty such as yourself comes round. Adding drink to the mix can create a lethal combination. Rational men suddenly lose their heads. I don’t want to kill anyone unless I have to. ’Tis easier to pretend we are new to marriage and want to spend our time alone in love play. That will help us avoid most problems that might arise.”
Elia was aware of his warm fingers curled about her shoulders. She moistened her lips. “I understand,” she said softly.
His hazel eyes had gone a deep green. “I hope you do. Last time you traveled this route, circumstances were different. You were young and had family and numerous soldiers accompanying you. With just the two of us, we must take precautions.”