Boadicea's Legacy

by Traci E Hall

  Os laughed, and Ela remembered a time when he hadn’t laughed so easily.

  “As a young boy, I made Sir Percy crazed, wanting to hear about the churches and the temples and Saladin—the infidel have curved swords, you see. I wanted to hold one for myself, just to see if it really cut.”

  Ela laughed encouragingly. “And?”

  “There were a few skirmishes along the way where I learned how wickedly sharp those curved swords were, but our swords are much better.”

  “How could they not be?”

  “We arrived late to the city gates. I bribed an official to give us safe passage. We took the treasure to the church, with ceremony and dignity.”

  He scratched his ear, grinning at the memory.

  “The old woman opened the trunk that held the treasure, as reverent as you please. When she took out a three-month-old moldy cake and set it on the altar as a gift for our Lord, well … I wanted to sink into quicksand.”

  “Oh no!”

  “The officials were kind and most acted as if this was a perfectly acceptable offering. Except for the one I’d bribed, who gave me back my coin. He said he didn’t need it—once he told his friends what happened, they would buy him wine and figs just to hear the tale of the odd English offering again.”

  Ela laughed so hard her belly ached, and Henry chittered his concern. “What did you do after that?”

  “When we returned home, I told the earl what had happened. By this time, I wasn’t as embarrassed, and I could see the humor in it. The earl gave me Bartholomew, and I’ve been acting as his man of business ever since. He sends me to different places to gather information or items. I protect his family when they travel. He knows I can keep a secret, and I would never steal from him.”

  Her heart swelled with pride.

  “You are a good man, Osbert.”

  He reached out to touch her leg as they rode. “You make me a better one.”

  “Why do you think we never found eternal love in our past lives?” Ela wondered if that had something to do with why she couldn’t see his aura.

  Os shrugged. “I don’t want to question it, for fear of risking our happiness now. I would protect that as fiercely as I would protect you from harm.”

  “I don’t require protecting.” Ela rolled her eyes, then leaned over to tickle his side. Right beneath his rib was where he was most ticklish. “You do!”

  He urged Bartholomew to a run. “Can you keep up?”

  “Bo and I accept your challenge—hyah!” Ela lifted her chin, catching the wind as it rushed against her face. They ran, but couldn’t catch her husband. Riding like a lady made winning difficult. Os waited gallantly at the end of the road.

  “You came in second, my lady.”

  “You cheated.”

  “Cheated?” His blue-gray eyes flashed.

  “Aye. You aren’t wearing a dress.” She tipped her nose in the air and pranced Bo, short for Boadicea, past him.

  “You don’t need to wear one either,” he said in a low voice filled with promise.

  Ela winked at him, then set Bo running as fast as she could. “To the curve in the road,” she shouted.

  She won by a hair and allowed Os to help her dismount. “You let me win.”

  “Nay,” he said, holding her close to his heart.

  She lifted her mouth for a kiss. “Aye. You did. But now we both can win.” Laughing, they led the horses from the road to a vacant field. They found a trickling stream and a shady tree, which shielded them as they made love with tender urgency.

  “Will you tell me how you came by these scars?” Ela traced each one with her lips.

  “My mentor believed that a boy learned faster beneath the rod. Or willow branch, in my case.”

  Ela wrapped her arms around him. “I will never let anything bad happen to you again.”

  “Sir Percy wasn’t a bad man. Just a strict one.”

  “Will you be so strict, when we have children?”

  Os nuzzled his nose to her bare belly. “Never. They’ll be spoiled and difficult because I will love them beyond reason. How many shall we have? Dozens?”

  Ela screeched. “Dozens? Aye, if you carry them in your belly.” She tackled him and kissed his strong, muscled stomach. It growled. “You need sustenance.”

  “My bride is a succubus, and she won’t let me rest,” he teased.

  “It wasn’t that long ago that you wondered if it were true.” She helped him to his feet. “I was a fool.” “Nay. Never that.”

  “It seems I’ve always been empty, searching for something. I realize now that it was you I was looking for.”

  “Osbert, you are turning me into a driveling romantic. My family would never believe it.”

  “‘Tis worse for me,” he said. “I used to be a warrior. Now I’m to be a goat farmer.”

  They shared a grin and held hands as they walked their horses back to the road. “It was a good idea, going before the others. I like having this time, just the two of us.”

  “Aye.” He scanned the road, left then right.

  “We are getting the chance to be friends as well as lovers, although I really like the lovers part best.”

  He pulled her close to his side. “Someone is coming.”

  She shook free from his hold. “This is a road, Osbert. People travel on it.”

  “Listen.”

  She concentrated, but heard … hooves.

  “At least ten men—knights—in armor. Galloping at full speed.”

  They exchanged a glance as Ela thought back to the time when Thomas’s men had almost caught them outside of Abberton.

  “We’ve no place to hide, the horses—they will see us! For certes, this is not good.”

  “Get down in the grass. Lie flat.” He turned Bartholomew toward the tree, then slapped the horse on the rump. He did the same with Bo, who tossed her mane. “To the tree.”

  Ela saw that the horses were doing as Os commanded. He pushed on her shoulder so that she was down.

  “You didn’t have to do that so hard,” Ela said through a mouthful of dirt.

  “There are times when you need to obey. This is one of them.”

  “Oh, ho—there’s the man I thought had gone away. I should have known better than to—”

  He grabbed her face in both of his hands and kissed her until she saw stars. As in, she had no air. He released her with a stern look as she took quiet breaths and gathered her wits.

  Fortune was smiling since the knights charged right by their hiding spot in the tall grass by the road. Ela didn’t dare peek. But she did. Curiosity got the best of her, and she lifted her head just high enough to see men with Thomas de Havel’s colors race around the curve.

  She dropped down. “I thought he was in France with the king.”

  “He hired mercenaries, remember? Mayhap those men are for hire.”

  “They traveled fast for knights out of work.”

  “True. But the earl’s sources are good, usually very accurate.” He used to be one of the sources, so he would know.

  “It’s possible that Thomas is not with them. Did you know the countess ordered Lady Steffen to leave the castle? I doubt she’ll be invited back. Do you know who Thomas’s father is?”

  “Not the earl, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “But the earl must know.” Ela remembered how Thomas had always acted as if he were royalty. “Especially if the countess and Lady Steffen have been friends for so long.”

  “Men don’t talk of those things.” His nostrils flared.

  “Women share secrets … but not always with their husbands.” Ela tapped her lower lip, grateful now that she had an ally in the countess.

  “You are not allowed to keep secrets from me.” Os stared at her, as if he expected her to agree to such a ridiculous statement.

  “Do you understand what I just said?” His dark blond brow furrowed.

  “Aye. I am not allowed to keep secrets. But then neither are you.” She poked h
im in the chest. “We are equals in this marriage—this bond is between you and me. I don’t give two figs for what the law says.”

  He lifted her up, gentler now than when he’d shoved her down, and picked grass from her gown. “We are far away from court intrigue. There will be no need for secrets.”

  Except for the one he carried in his pocket.

  The earl had slipped the note in among the other documents, slyly suggesting he read it when alone. He and Ela had hardly been separated since saying their vows, but in a rare moment of privacy, he read that the earl suspected one of his men of treachery. Since Osbert was the one he trusted most of all, the earl was asking for his help.

  And a newly titled lord didn’t nay-say his liege and keep the prize.

  So the earl was sending knights with them to start their new home—and one of them might be a traitor. The earl had sworn him to secrecy, but that was before Ela had just demanded an equal partnership.

  Logically, he knew that the chances of her finding out about this one small lie were slim. Seeing the knights gallop past, Os wondered if the earl was right, that there was a traitor in their midst—and next he wondered what he was going to do to prove it.

  “Come.” Os whistled for Bartholomew, and Bo followed. She was a good mare and got on well with Bartholomew, who seemed to like the female attention. Mayhap he wasn’t the only one who’d been lonely and searching for that missing piece.

  He clenched his jaw. Any more of this and he might as well don a skirt and give up the sword. Next he’d be writing poetry!

  Os practiced drawing his sword from its sheath as they rode. Was this what love did to a man? Brought him down at the knees so that all he wanted was to make his lady happy? He would not be caught unaware, trysting beneath a tree at the side of the road, again. The thought of what could have happened to Ela if he’d been unable to defend her from those knights made his blood run cold.

  Ela would just have to understand that it was for her own good.

  Thankfully she seemed lost in thought, and he didn’t have to tell her to be quiet. The journey dragged on, and Os noticed that even the beasts were relieved to see the tiny village ahead.

  They found a small inn. Os attributed Ela’s silence to nerves as they went upstairs to their room, but she remained mum once they were inside, their bags on the floor by the bed.

  “Is something wrong?” He touched her stiff shoulder.

  “Why do you ask?” Her chin lifted slightly.

  “You are not usually so quiet. Are you frightened?”

  She expelled a short breath. “Nay. Angry. I want to find the blacksmith before we leave tomorrow and get another sword and dagger. I’ve lost mine.”

  He should have known. Instead of quaking, she was plotting her revenge. Os raked his hair back, his own anger rising now that they were safe in their room.

  “You are my wife, and I will look out for your protection.”

  Her eyes blazed. He’d never realized green could smolder. “Think again, Husband. Did I not tell you we were equals?”

  “And did you not hear the priest tell you to obey me?”

  There was a logical part of his brain that suggested retreat, but he paid it no heed. Emotion got the best of him and he paced the room, imagining all of the perilous things that could happen to a delicate woman at the whim of a man.

  A man with foul intent on his mind. A man like Thomas de Havel.

  “I’ll not have you running about like a—a—”

  “British warrior?” Ela’s dry tone cut him to the quick. “Do not forget who I am, Antonias.”

  “I am Osbert. Osbert Edyvean.” He pounded his chest, all thoughts of poetry long gone. “You will call me by my rightful name.”

  Ela threw her hands in the air. “When you calm down, you can talk to me. After you apologize for your appalling, brutish behavior, then I may let you sit with me for our meal. I don’t know.”

  She sounded offended, and Os wondered where she got the right to be that when she hadn’t even hidden herself in the grass as he’d told her to. Life could be death in the blink of an eye. If they’d been caught …

  “Your mare minds better than you do.”

  Her jaw dropped. Then she marched to the door and opened it wide, to the surprise of the maid bringing them a bowl and pitcher of water for their room. “Then you may go sleep with her. For you won’t be spending the night with me.”

  The maid gasped and dropped the pitcher, then left with a squeal.

  Os shook his head, realizing he’d just lost but not sure how. He made his way to the stables, knowing he’d been right—yet it had all gone wrong.

  How dare he? Ela fumed and paced the chamber before finally giving in to her grumbling belly and going downstairs to the public area. She ordered a bowl of beef stew and a tankard of ale—because she liked it. Because she knew that Os would have a fit to see his wife behaving in such a common manner—eating in public without a chaperone. She even put her elbows on the table.

  Bless me, she thought wildly, since when did I need a chaperone?

  She felt vulnerable with only an eating dagger in her palm, especially when she was used to making her own way, completely armed.

  And where was her husband? Commiserating with Bartholomew in the stables, no doubt.

  The door banged open, and she looked up, prepared to swallow her pride and invite Os to sit at the table. They needed to talk this issue through, for it went further than just hiding from a few men in the grass.

  She choked on her ale as Lady Steffen sailed through the door, Albric, St. Germaine, and Warin escorting her inside.

  “It seems our destiny to rescue this damsel in distress over and over,” Albric said with a gallant flourish.

  “You two travel slowly,” Warin said with a grin. “Where is Os?”

  St. Germaine gave her a short, clipped nod.

  She cleared her throat. “The stables.” Now his men would all know they’d been fighting … it would cause her husband embarrassment he didn’t need. “Will you go and keep him company then?” Ela quickly ordered four tankards of ale and four bowls of stew, and gave them to the knights to carry.

  Albric opened his mouth, but Ela shook her head. “Simply tell him his wife is …” Her jaw clenched. “Sorry.”

  St. Germaine grunted and shoved the other two out the door.

  Ela turned to face the mother of her sworn enemy. However, one look at Natalia’s pale face and beaten spirit made Ela set aside any grudges.

  Her aura—a sickly orange-brown—was a spiritual ailment and not a physical one that Ela could heal. Lady Steffen was confused, hurting, and lost. She stumbled, hanging on to a wooden post by the door.

  “Lady Steffen. Please, come sit with me.” Ela gestured toward the empty bench across from her small table.

  The look of relief at hearing a friendly voice, followed by acknowledgment of whom that voice belonged to, made Ela wonder if the lady would bolt, stay, or faint in a puddle of exhaustion.

  “Lady Ela,” she said in a clipped voice.

  “Join me?” Ela studied the woman’s pinched mouth. For once, Natalia looked her age—in her forties, mayhap nearing fifty.

  “Aye, I think I will. I’ve been traveling for days.”

  Ela held out her arm to the trembling woman, and they walked to the table, where Ela assisted her with her shawl. Lady Steffen carried one fabric bag, which she set at her feet. “Do you live near here?”

  Lady Steffen covered her mouth and laughed harshly. “I am homeless at the moment. I was to live off the benefice of my son. We,” she laughed harder, “would have been neighbors, you and I, if Thomas had done as I’d instructed. I would have been a mother to you.”

  Ela’s skin prickled. “I have a mother, my lady.”

  “I could have loved you. You are kind.”

  “And now that I am married to someone else and Thomas is in France?” Ela pushed the basket of rolls across the table, along with the dish of butter. “Where
will you go?”

  She shrugged, her movements elegant. “Spain? I was on my way to France, but my son has decided that I am a liability.”

  Ela’s curiosity begged for answers like a leper for alms. It was difficult, and Os would have been impressed for certes had he seen how she controlled her tongue.

  “I am sorry, my lady.” She reached across the table and put out her hand, palm up. Nonthreatening. As if taming a squirrel in the woods. “Natalia.” She waved to the innkeeper and asked for a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Are you hungry?”

  “I don’t want your pity,” Lady Steffen said in a cool voice, stiff with broken pride.

  “We could have been friends, as you said. Let us drink and share a meal as if we still were.”

  Lady Steffen accepted a roll and began to butter it with swift strokes. “Truth is better than kindness. You can trust it.”

  Ela nibbled at a roll, and the two women ate their stew in silence. Contemplating what to say next, Ela decided that she would wait for Lady Steffen to make the first move.

  She would follow Natalia’s lead … and if fortune was smiling, then the woman would want to talk about her son.

  Fortune smiled.

  “Thomas is not a bad man.”

  Ela choked on a bit of potato and quickly drained what was left of her ale. “Hmm?”

  “I mean,” Natalia explained with a blush, “that he has his reasons for being bitter.”

  Ela nodded politely while inwardly screaming. She blinked away visions of the fields around her home in flames.

  “He feels he could be king.”

  “What?” Ela couldn’t stop the explosive question. When she realized that she’d garnered the attention of everyone else in the dining area, she leaned in and whispered, “What are you saying? John is his father?”

  Lady Steffen gave an ugly laugh. “Nay, though John knows. It was his brother Geoffrey, who was married to Constance at the time—you know they hated one another—who was my lover. I was a widow and between husbands … I’d foolishly hoped he would leave Constance for me.” She sipped her wine. “I was a beauty then.”

  Beauty isn’t everything, thought Ela. Her sister Galiana had taught her that.

  “I was also willing to play the game. Thomas Geoffrey de Havel became my bargaining tool. I was invited to travel with the royal family and live on the fringes of majesty. Was it terrible that I wanted more? It was possible that my child would be Geoffrey’s heir. But I lost everything when Constance had Arthur.”