by Julia Latham
John held up a hand. “Peace, Philip. Let him speak.”
Solemnly, the stranger said, “The judgment on your family’s worthiness has not yet been pronounced.”
Through clenched teeth, John said, “And are you and your brethren the ones to pass judgment on me?”
“Nay, not us,” the stranger answered. “But we do judge where our assistance can be offered.”
Philip grinned again and opened his mouth to speak, but the stranger cut him off.
“And that judgment we hold in reserve, for now.”
John met the man’s stare coolly. “So you tell me of assistance that you will not offer. What purpose does this serve?”
“To alert you to our presence, to have you understand that although we have not yet decided to aid you, we do understand Lady Elizabeth’s predicament. She, a woman alone, deserves our help.”
“She is my responsibility. She’s alone because I did not return from Normandy in time.”
The stranger gave a slight shrug. “You bear not all the fault. You could not predict the death of her parents, the death of your brother, or the arrogance of Lord Bannaster.”
“I cannot trust in your assistance to Lady Elizabeth,” John said. “I know nothing of you or your brethren.”
“But John—” Philip began.
“No one is going to control my fate,” John continued. He looked at the stranger. “In the morning, go back to your brethren and tell them that I will handle my own problems.”
The stranger gave a single nod. “I respect your position, Lord Russell. We will be watching.”
“I cannot prevent that,” John said. “Sleep well.”
John rolled into his blanket and fell asleep. It was Ogden’s and Parker’s turn at the watch through the night, and John trusted their care. In the morning, the stranger was already gone, though both soldiers swore they’d heard nothing.
As Philip folded his blanket, he said, “Of course they heard nothing, John. The Bladesmen are famous for their ability to appear and disappear in absolute silence.”
“Men like you spread rumors that become legends,” said John good-naturedly.
“What rumor? ’Tis the truth!”
John only shook his head and continued to pack up their possessions. When the other three were finished, they looked at John expectantly.
“I have a plan,” he said calmly. “Without an army, we cannot demand the return of Lady Elizabeth, so Ogden and Parker, you two will be charged with locating the Alderley soldiers. Together we can rescue their mistress. But we need to know her situation, to better understand how. We’ll have to disguise ourselves to enter Castle Alderley.”
Philip cocked an eyebrow. “And how would we do that, and still be allowed to remain within the castle? After all, Bannaster’s men are bound to be suspicious of newcomers, since they have a woman locked in a tower.”
“But they also cannot afford to seem at war. Surely Lord Bannaster wants to show the king that with him in command, Castle Alderley is in good hands.”
“Then we would be entering as travelers,” Philip continued with a grin. “Wouldn’t we be expected to eat a meal, then leave?”
“Aye, so we must make it obvious that we cannot leave.”
All three men frowned at him.
John sighed as if disappointed in them. “We’ll be suffering injuries from an attack by thieves.”
Philip blinked. “An attack?”
“If we’re wounded, they cannot in good conscience send as away.”
“But—”
John looked at Ogden and Parker. “I’ll need the two of you to make camp nearby and locate the Alderley army. If something happens to Philip and me, you will both need to go to the king. You’ll be Lady Elizabeth’s last hope.”
They nodded solemnly.
“And you and I will fake injuries,” Philip said skeptically. “How long could that last?”
“You’re right,” John said, trying not to smile. “We could not fool anyone for long with fake injuries. So they’ll have to be real.” He again looked at Ogden and Parker. “We’ll need to look quite bruised. I think it best to have one leg so swollen that I can claim it broken. But no real broken bones, as we might need to fight.”
All three men gaped at him.
John laughed. “Have you not wanted to take out your anger on me? Now is your chance.”
“They’re not angry at me!” Philip protested.
Ogden harrumphed. “So thinks you.”
Chapter 3
On the second day of her new identity, Elizabeth awoke wrapped in a blanket, feeling cold and achy and disoriented. She sat up stiffly and heard the crackle of a straw pallet beneath her instead of her soft stuffed mattress. It took her a moment to realize where she had spent the night—in the kitchen, warm before the fire, safe from all of those who slept together in the great hall. It had been Adalia the cook’s idea, when Elizabeth had discovered that she wasn’t permitted to sleep at Anne’s bedside. Frantic with worry, Elizabeth had wanted to sleep at the base of the tower, in case Bannaster tried to get to Anne, but Adalia had insisted that Castle Alderley’s soldiers would let no one in the tower without a fight.
Elizabeth drew her knees to her chest and huddled against the wall. For just a moment, fear tried to overcome her, creeping into her mind, poisoning her self-assurance. She felt so very alone. She hadn’t even had time to properly mourn her parents or her betrothed. Everything she thought she’d anticipated for her life was gone.
But she still had her own wits to make it through this trial, and she could count on nothing else, not even the next Russell heir, her betrothed. She rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts and readjusting the wimple to cover her hair. She had to keep going, to remember that her people needed her. Anne needed her. Elizabeth had only been allowed to see her at meals yesterday, and she seemed to be doing well.
Adalia bustled into the kitchens and began to order the maids to work. She was short and thin, frail-looking for a woman who cooked, but she was full of energy and in command of her domain. When the fires were tended and the cauldrons of barley pottage began to heat, Adalia came to Elizabeth and put her arm around her shoulders.
“And you, Mistress Anne,” she said with a wink, “did ye sleep well?”
“I did, Adalia, my thanks. It was warm and safe in here.” Elizabeth lowered her voice. “Do you think word of my new identity has spread far enough today? I need to be in the great hall, seeing the weaknesses of our enemy.”
“The servants have been informed, Anne. That struttin’ viscount already left for London just after mass, so ye need have no fears about him.”
“I slept through mass?” Elizabeth said in shock.
“I thought it best not to disturb ye. I told Master Milburn that you were feelin’ ill.”
Elizabeth nodded her thanks. “Bannaster’s steward seems like a man difficult to fool. He wasn’t suspicious?”
“He was far too busy seein’ his master off,” Adalia said. “You let us help ye bear the burden, Anne. Royden, God rest his soul, would want ye safe.”
Thinking again of her dead steward made Elizabeth’s eyes sting with tears. But as far as she’d been able to tell, the poor man had died just as Bannaster had said—his heart had given out, in front of many witnesses in the great hall. But just because Bannaster hadn’t been proved a murderer, didn’t mean that he wouldn’t stoop to such a heinous crime should someone interfere with his plans.
A young maidservant entered the kitchen at a run and slid to a stop. “The new steward is callin’ for Anne, Mistress Adalia.” The girl glanced fearfully at Elizabeth, then away. “Two travelers have been brought in. They were attacked on the road nearby.”
“Did he say why he needed me?” Elizabeth demanded.
The girl shook her head.
“You’ll want to strip the sound of command from your voice, Anne,” Adalia warned.
Elizabeth nodded. “Prepare a meal to break Lady Elizabeth’s
fast. I will return to collect it shortly.”
The entire kitchen staff gave her fearful looks as she approached the entrance to the great hall. Yesterday she had skirted the room but once or twice, while her servants had been informed of her new identity. But now their loyalty would be put to the test. She said a brief prayer that no one would be punished should her masquerade be discovered.
She stepped out into the great hall, and as usual, the soaring chamber gave her a sense of awe, a feeling of being part of destiny. Stained glass windows were cut high into the walls. A massive hearth taller than a man filled one wall, and two staircases leading up to private chambers framed the hearth.
Two strangers lay on pallets before the fire. Elizabeth hesitantly walked forward. The new steward was standing above one of the men, questioning him.
“And what is your name?” Milburn asked.
“Sir John Gravesend,” the man said in a deep voice, rasping with pain.
Elizabeth could not quite see his face. Though curious, she was reluctant to press forward until the steward told her what he wanted of her.
“I am Master Milburn, steward of Castle Alderley.”
He said it as if it had always been so, Elizabeth thought bitterly.
“And your companion—what is his name?” Milburn asked.
“Philip Sutterly, my clerk.”
“And why do you have need of a clerk?”
“I am trained as a bailiff, sir, although I am traveling to obtain a new position.”
“And you were attacked on the road?”
“Five men jumped on us from the trees. They took all my coin, and left us beaten. It is only through providence that we were able to make our way here. My leg feels broken.”
All the while Sir John spoke, Elizabeth had the strangest need to see his face. She took several steps forward and stood behind the soldiers who had brought the wounded men in. A makeshift crutch cut from a tree branch lay discarded beside the pallet. She could see Sir John’s body from this new position, though not his face. He was a large man, with the broad shoulders of a knight that his title proclaimed for him. His hands were fisted, white-knuckled with strain. Elizabeth barely stopped herself from ordering Milburn to end the interrogation and see to the man’s injuries. She bit her lip, unused to keeping silent, and concentrated on moving to a more advantageous position. For some reason, she had to see Sir John’s face.
When it was revealed, he was looking up at Milburn, his brow furrowed in a grimace of pain. Sir John’s hair, cut at his mid-neck, was light brown in color. He had the blunt, well-formed face of a man in his prime, marred by a scar from his left temple down to his jaw. It was an old wound, well healed, and rather than make him look fearsome, it gave him a dangerous air. He could not be called handsome, but well formed and masculine. Bruises mottled his face, dried blood led from a cut on his lip, and swelling had begun to distort his profile.
This man was a bailiff, a mere overseer of a lord’s manor? It was not unheard of for a knight to hold such a position, but why did he not have his own land?
And what color were his eyes?
When Elizabeth realized the ridiculous path her thoughts were traveling, she silently scolded herself. There were more important things than the appearance of a stranger, one only temporarily passing through Alderley.
“I, too, am new to the castle,” Milburn said heavily, “but I have been told of thievery in these woods. We are attempting to correct the situation with a division of soldiers, but I fear too late for you, Sir John. We will see to your injuries.” Milburn looked up. “Where is the maid I sent for?”
Elizabeth cleared her throat and threaded past two soldiers, who made way for her. She saw more than one serving maid give her a wide-eyed look and quickly turn away. Oh God, please let her people be cautious. “Master Milburn, I am here. Though I am on my way to see to my lady’s meal, how may I help you?”
Milburn turned and scrutinized her. “You are well spoken for a maidservant.”
Elizabeth lowered her gaze. Trembling was becoming easier. “I was raised and educated with Lady Elizabeth, sir. I am her companion.”
“But not her equal,” the steward said. “Your ladyship can wait to break her fast. These injured men need your help.”
“But I am no healer, Master Milburn.”
“I understand that Castle Alderley does not have a physician in residence.”
“Nay, Master.”
“I have sent for the healer from the village. You may assist her when she arrives.”
“But Lady Elizabeth—”
“Can wait,” the steward said impassively.
She kept her gaze lowered. It was painfully obvious that Bannaster wanted his heiress to suffer from loneliness, to be so desperate for companionship that she would do whatever he wanted. Anne was made of sterner stuff.
“Wait with the injured men for the healer’s arrival, and assist her as she needs it,” Milburn continued. “Bring them ale, but no food until she allows it.”
“Aye, master.”
Milburn and the soldiers went back to their duties, and Elizabeth found herself alone next to the two injured strangers. She glanced at the second man, the clerk, Philip Sutterly, whose face was as bruised and swollen as his master’s. His brown hair, tinged red, was drenched with perspiration, and his tunic was torn at the sleeve. He lay still with his eyes closed, breathing shallowly as if even that hurt.
She turned back to Sir John, only to find his gaze now focused on her. His eyes were a startling blue, blue as robin’s eggs or a summer sky, fringed in dark lashes, framed with lines etched by sun and wind—and laughter? His left eye was tugged slightly by the scar, and it gave him the appearance of a man at the beginning of a wink, as if in jest. Something in those eyes inspired a strange feeling of familiarity, but she didn’t think she had ever met him before. He was bold with his scrutiny of her, and she would have been affronted—if he’d known who she was, of course. Now, she was only the lady’s maid, and any man could stare at her.
“Would you like ale?” Elizabeth asked the men.
Sutterly only nodded tightly, as if he couldn’t spare a word.
Sir John said, “My thanks, Mistress…”
“Anne, sir. I am lady’s maid to Lady Elizabeth.”
“Ah, then it is to her that I owe my gratitude,” he said. “Would she allow me to thank her?”
“She would, Sir John, were she available to you. But for now, she is secluded in her bedchamber.”
“I see.” He stirred on the pallet as if he could not get comfortable.
“Let me bring you ale to ease your thirst,” Elizabeth said.
In the kitchens, she found Adalia pacing in front of her cauldrons.
“Anne, how are your patients?” the cook asked, wearing a smile.
“They are not my patients, only today’s distraction to keep me from the lady’s tower.” Elizabeth sighed in frustration. “I am to wait on them and assist the healer when she arrives.”
“And these men are but travelers?”
“A bailiff and his clerk. Their bodies proclaim previous training, but five men fell upon them and they succumbed. Have you skins available? That would be easiest for them to drink from.”
“Nay, but I have drinking horns.”
Elizabeth sighed. “They will do.”
She returned to the great hall and went to Sir John. “Can you sit up to drink?”
He came up on one elbow, and the movement must have hurt, but all he did was inhale swiftly, then give her a smile. She felt the force of his personality, his confidence, all shown off with the startling whiteness of his teeth.
Awkwardly, she held out a horn.
He glanced down at it, then back up at her, grinning. “Could you remove the stopper?”
She blushed. “Aye, of course.” What was wrong with her? she wondered. Her own betrothed had been more handsome than this man, but there was something so…direct about the way that he looked at her. It seemed un
usual. And then she realized that as the daughter of an earl, she’d always been treated with distance and respect, even by the men who thought to pursue her should her betrothed not arrive.
But this man looked at her with obvious interest, with frankness, and she felt…flustered.
She handed the horn back to him, and as he raised it to his lips, she saw more bruises and swollen fingers. Did he have broken bones?
“Please allow me to help,” she said, reaching for the horn.
He eyed her without expression, and then nodded. She held the horn to his mouth, slowly pouring. She was quite near to him in this position, just above. His keen eyes remained focused on her as he drank.
She watched him, too, the way his mouth pursed to drink, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. A drop of ale escaped and slid across his cheek and down to his neck.
She lowered the horn, and for a moment, they continued to stare at each other. It was the strangest thing—to be in a bustling great hall, sharing a glance that seemed full of…intimacy.
“Might I have a drink?” said a deep, amused voice.
Elizabeth broke the shared gaze with Sir John and shook herself from the unwelcome trance. She was blushing, and it somehow seemed a weakness. She hurried to the other pallet on the floor.
“Would you like me to hold the horn for you, Master Sutterly?” she asked.
The man had an open friendly face, but she did not feel as compelled to stare at him as she had at Sir John. She didn’t know if that should comfort her—or cause her a deeper worry.
“I am surely not your master, Anne. Please call me Philip.”
He took the horn himself, gave Sir John a superior grin, and began to drink. Elizabeth looked between them with amusement, sensing a friendship rather than only the relationship of a master and servant.
She forced her mind back to what was important: her friend imprisoned in the tower in her place. How had Anne spent the night alone? Was she hungry? Did she think Elizabeth had been discovered? If only Elizabeth could go to reassure her, but all she could do was wait for the healer.
Luckily, the village was not too distant, and soon Rachel arrived, carrying her leather satchel. Elizabeth held her breath as their eyes met, but Rachel only nodded.