Not because she loved him.
If there was one point she was determined to make clear, it was that she did.
After the king and her father had departed, Montisfryn would come for her. Free of all possible coercions, she would tell him—clearly, unequivocally, unambiguously—that she loved him and was prepared to call him husband from that day forth.
Nothing and no one—not even the king—was going to deprive her—and Alaun—of that.
Hopefully, he would understand why she hadn’t taken an escort.
She grimaced. Then fell to considering the best way to distract him.
The Welsh hills loomed on her right. Her goal was the hamlet of Vowchurch, guarding the bridge over the River Dore. By her calculations, she would gain Claerwhen’s walls by mid-afternoon; imagining her reception, she rode on.
*
Having left Worcester at daybreak, Alaun strode up the steps of his keep an hour before noon. The courtyard was a-bustle, his servitors busy about their business; pleasing aromas wafted from the kitchens, presaging dinner. All was peaceful, serene, well-ordered.
Gaining the top step, he raised a brow at his steward, waiting, alone, to greet him. His chatelaine, presumably, was still resting.
That supposition was quickly confirmed.
“She was very well last night, lord. Fully recovered. But she warned she did not expect to find sleep easily through the night, and would likely lie abed this morn.” Edmund went on to detail the king’s projected visit, de Versallets and all.
Reaching the hall, grinning, Alaun clapped Edmund on the shoulder. “I could not have had more welcome news.”
He was tempted to announce that the festivities surrounding the king’s visit would include his marriage, but he swallowed the words. Edward was ever unpredictable—and Alaun had yet to discuss the details with Eloise.
That thought sent him to their chamber. He opened the door and saw, as he’d been warned to expect, the bed with its curtains closed.
The sight didn’t fool him for an instant; he knew she wasn’t there.
Smothering an oath, he wrenched the curtains aside. His disbelieving gaze fell on the silk coverlet, neatly laid, the pillows undented. Propped against them lay a packet of parchment. Grabbing it up, he read his name inscribed in Eloise’s neat hand.
With a vitriolic curse, he broke the seal.
As he read her message, his scowl deepened.
“How is she?”
Glancing up, Alaun saw Roland peering around the door. “Gone.”
“What?”
Eloise’s precise lettering covered sheet after sheet. Confusion increasing, Alaun sifted through the pile. “Apparently, she’s gone to visit at Claerwhen until the king and her father leave. I’m to send for her once they’ve gone.”
Roland’s bewilderment mirrored his. “Doesn’t she like Edward?”
Alaun uttered a frustrated growl. “This makes no sense!” He reached the end of the missive, only to be informed that Eloise would explain all when next she saw him. Exasperation overflowed. “By all the saints, now what?”
“I hesitate to mention it, but this isn’t going to look good when Edward arrives with old Henry in his train.” Roland caught his eye. “If we leave now, you can reach Claerwhen on her heels, and sort it out, soothe her feathers or whatever. Then she can be here at your side when Edward rides in.”
“Precisely my thinking.” Alaun was already reshuffling the pages, scanning each carefully. “I wonder how many men she took…with…her?”
Alaun stilled. For the space of three heartbeats, he remained utterly frozen. Then, slowly, he raised his head until his gaze met Roland’s.
There were times Roland literally gave thanks that he’d known Montisfryn from the cradle. It helped take the edge from the instinctive fear that gripped anyone forced to witness the transformation from sleepy lion to roaring predator, from lazy arrogance to contained, but raging fury.
“Send to the gates. I want the men who allowed my lady to pass unescorted this morn in the hall immediately.”
Roland didn’t reply—he leapt to obey. No one dallied when Montisfryn employed such flatly lethal tones.
Alone, Alaun closed his eyes, willing his fury and the cold terror that fueled it back under his control. Opening his eyes, he flung the pages of Eloise’s missive back on the bed and strode to the door. “This time, lady-witch, when I catch up with you, I will beat you.”
He growled the vow through clenched teeth. Even as he made it, he knew it would be broken, but the sentiment, expressed, relieved a little of his ire.
“Don’t bother unpacking,” he snarled at Bilder as he marched across the anteroom. “We’re leaving immediately for a few days chase.”
“Hunting, lord?”
“Aye.” He knew his smile was feral. “Hunting.” A lady-witch. With a view to taming.
He slammed out of the room and stalked down the corridor.
Roland returned to the hall as the guards were filing out. The matter of punishment had been straightforward—the guards were supposed to verify the identity of every person who passed through the gates; they should certainly have questioned a lone woman leaving before dawn.
Roland caught Alaun’s eye. “I’ve a troop mounted and waiting.”
Alaun rose. “Humphrey, you’re in charge. I doubt Edward will arrive before I return, but should he do so, you’ll bid him welcome in my stead, and offer him the comforts of this hall. Lord de Versallet, also—he’s my lady’s father.”
“Aye, lord.”
Grave and concerned, Humphrey accompanied them outside.
Alaun had Gabriel’s reins in his hand when a messenger, the gold leopards of England leaping on his livery, thundered into the courtyard. The man threw himself out of his saddle and presented himself with a flourish.
“My lord earl! Edward, King of England, France, and Wales, bids you come to his aid!”
Alaun scowled. “By St. George’s dragon! What now?”
The squire looked taken aback.
“L-lord?” he faltered, then he gamely recovered. “His Grace has been engaged in fearsome battles with outlaw knights and other nefarious brigands. He has pushed up from Southampton, where he landed fresh from Calais, and has joined with Lord de Versallet in sweeping all northward before them. From Gloucester, His Grace summoned the Earl of Oxford to strike from the east. Now, he summons you to join him, sweeping the area clear as you come south.”
Edward’s strategy was clear. With the Welsh mountains to the west, the outlaws would be trapped, and forced to yield. Alaun sighed. “Aye, well.” He turned to Humphrey. “Turn out the garrison. I’ll take two companies with me, both with a full complement of archers, all mounted. A third company, likewise supported, to follow with the wagons.”
Even as he spoke, his men were scattering, the troop already mounted dismounting and racing off to don half-armor. Bilder had already disappeared back into the keep.
“As for the rest—” Alaun continued with instructions for his vassals, concluding with, “Summon Sir Eward and provision wagons to his instructions from the castle stores. I expect this to take no more than three days, but he had better bring provisions for a week. Knowing Edward, if these outlaws are lunatic enough to try for Wales, he’ll have us up on the passes playing catch-me-who-can.”
Humphrey grinned.
The messenger looked shocked.
Straight-faced, Alaun dropped a hand to the lad’s shoulder. “You’d best hie to the kitchens and recoup, squire. I do believe that was the longest royal summons I have ever received.”
Humphrey choked, but the squire looked pleased. He bowed and hurried off.
Alaun turned, one brow rising. “Fearsome battles? With nefarious brigands?” He shook his head. “I must remember to ask Edward about those.”
Half an hour later, they rode out, harness clinking, squires leading the heavy destriers scattered through the ranks. The noise as they clattered over the cobbles brought the
townsfolk to their windows. They cheered and waved. Acknowledging the greetings, Alaun felt impatience gnaw at him even as premonition touched chill fingers to his nape. Gabriel, infected with his mood, sidled and tugged at the reins, literally champing at the bit. Catching Roland’s cautious sideways glance, Alaun favored him with a blank stare.
Roland was clearly relieved at being spared worse.
As soon as they were clear of the town, Alaun deployed his force in a wide arc to east and west of the road, reaching to the foothills in the west, and to the edges of the forest in the east. That done, he delegated command of the sweep to his senior household knights and, with Roland’s original hand-picked troop, spurred ahead. The squires leading the destriers fell behind as the palfreys thundered down the road.
They passed through Leominster at a trot and continued south.
Alaun had intended going straight to Claerwhen to make sure of Eloise before heading south to join the king. However, when Hereford hove in sight, lit by the westering sun, he saw the familiar golden leopards flying above the gates. The sight filled him with disquiet.
A disquiet that grew as they entered the city to find it awash with Edward’s guardsmen and de Versallet vassals. The king had moved north very swiftly.
The outcome was predictable.
“Lost them!” Edward’s fist slammed into the table before him. “They must’ve slipped sideways, though the lord knows to where. We’ll know soon enough. The scouts have been out since noon.”
Lounging at one end of the small table, Alaun saw no benefit in comment.
Edward eyed him narrowly. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I was too impatient?”
Alaun raised his brows. “Me, sire? Never. Where’s the need?”
Edward’s roaring laugh filled the room.
“Be damned to you, Alaun.” Edward smiled, hazel eyes slightly rueful, then abruptly, he sobered. “But this is more your country than ours. I’m grateful you came so promptly.”
Alaun inclined his head. “As it happened, sire, I was coming this way on other business.” He lifted his tankard and took a long draft, using the moment to slam a mental door on his burgeoning fear.
Naturally, Edward was curious. “What business?”
Alaun let his gaze rest on the only other occupant of the small chamber. Henry de Versallet returned his regard from the other end of the table. “The matter concerns a piece of property recently made into my care.”
Henry’s eyes lit, but his expression turned commiserating. “Difficult matter?” he suggested.
Alaun allowed his lips to curve. “In some respects.” He turned to Edward. “Your Grace, I would respectfully petition you as regards this property.”
Not at all shortsighted, Edward was intrigued. “How so?”
“Before I make the matter plain, Your Grace, I would remind you of the duty you laid upon me when last I took my leave of you.”
It took Edward a moment to recall the point. “To secure the March, and—to marry?” Edward sat up, his long nose all but twitching. “You wish to present a candidate for my approval?”
Alaun inclined his head. “Aye, Your Grace.” There would be no better time—Edward would shortly have need of both him and the de Versallets.
“Well?” Edward sat back. “Who is this lady?”
“She’s the daughter of another of your vassals, sire. A widow.”
Edward frowned. “A widow?” He pulled thoughtfully at his beard. “You know, Alaun, I’m not saying anything against this lady, mind, but widows have a nasty tendency to have developed damned sharp tongues. I have often remarked it.”
Henry quietly choked.
It took no effort at all to look wry. “Aye, sire, you have the right of it. Tis my sorrow and a burden, but…” He shrugged. “There are compensations.”
Edward roared; Henry had yet to get his breath back.
“So it’s like that, is it? You’ve developed a taste for the wench and wish to commit yourself for life? Ah, well—it comes to us all, and you’ve escaped a damned sight longer than most. Come, then—who is she?”
“Eloise née de Versallet.”
Edward sat up. Totally sober, he favored Henry with a long look, then turned back to Alaun, hazel eyes narrowing. “What is this, eh? A conspiracy?”
Alaun raised both brows. “Nay, sire—how so? Until your summons arrived, I never knew you, or Lord de Versallet, were here.”
Having rapidly assimilated his present position, Edward looked unconvinced. “Just good management, hmm?”
A shrug seemed the wisest answer.
Edward cleared his throat. “This widow—to whom was she married?”
Henry answered. “De Cannar, sire.”
Startled, Edward swung to face Henry. “That one? The one who’s been your chatelaine for the last some years?”
Henry nodded. Edward slowly turned back to Alaun, his gaze intensely suspicious.
Unaffected by the king’s scrutiny, Alaun waited.
Eventually, Edward humphed. “What I want to know is how you got close enough without losing anything vital. From all I’ve heard, the lady’s a potent source of frostbite.”
Alaun’s smile felt brittle. “Tis a matter of technique.”
Edward’s reply was decidedly brusque.
“Am I to take it you approve, Your Grace?” Half-answers would avail them naught.
Edward grumbled into his beard; he cast a darkling glance at Henry, whose expression remained utterly guileless, before muttering, “Aye—though tis a fine thing when such decisions are demanded at such short notice. I like it not.”
Alaun inclined his head. “You have my promise not to repeat the offence, sire.”
That got Edward laughing again.
Under cover of their sovereign’s mirth, Henry raised his goblet in a silent toast, gray eyes gleaming.
“Where is this lady, then?” Edward demanded. “You said something about being made over as property—is she at Montisfryn?”
Meeting Edward’s gaze, Alaun struggled to quell his anger. “Not at this moment, sire.” He let his lids veil his eyes. “Lord de Versallet gave her into my care some weeks ago—you will doubtless hear of the event—twas over a tournament.”
“Aye?” The mere mention of a tournament brought a glow to Edward’s eyes.
Alaun nodded. “She’s now chatelaine at Montisfryn, pending our marriage. Unfortunately, she has an exceedingly unsuitable and long-ingrained habit of which I have yet to break her. Rest assured I shall do so. However, such as it is, the lady is presently at Claerwhen.”
“Claerwhen, heh? But what is this habit of which you so disapprove?”
Alaun felt his expression harden. His fingers clenched on the handle of his tankard. “She slipped from Montisfryn, purposely tricking my guards, and hied to Claerwhen—on her own.”
For a long moment, Edward simply stared at him. Then the king erupted.
“Damnation!” Edward thumped the table. “You had better break her of this habit soon, my friend, for I won’t have it! Here am I, striving to rid the countryside of these thieving jackals, while some witless woman worth more than my mint flitters about the fields like a newborn lamb trying to find a wolf!”
With a dramatic gesture, Edward turned on Alaun, hazel eyes glinting. “I’m exceedingly glad, Montisfryn, that you’ve taken on this arduous task. I intend to hold you to it. You’ll keep this woman under control—by St. George and all the saints, if you can’t do it, no one can!”
“You have my word on it, sire.”
“Humph! Yes, well—make sure that you keep it.” Edward, color high, paused for a gulp of ale.
It was clearly a propitious time to change the subject. Alaun leaned back in his chair. “But how is it a mere band of outlaws has attracted Your Grace’s attention?”
Edward waved a hand. “Tis not just any mere band. There’s far more involved here than that.”
Effectively distracted, Edward settled his elbows on the table. “
Apparently, this group decided that, while the rest of us were winning booty in France, they would help themselves to some on this side of the Channel. A little matter of intimidation, then payment demanded from the wool merchants to ensure their pack trains reached the coast. The courts have been inundated with pleas. The burghers are complaining, the merchants, the weavers—even the shippers. Tis half a crisis, have no doubt. But the odd thing is, this crew has been mighty efficient, always concentrating on the most productive areas. You know how the clip varies—these jackals always seem to know where the pickings will be richest. The merchants are justifiably uneasy.”
And Edward needed the continued backing of the merchant guilds to further his prospects in France. Alaun saw it all—no further explanation was needed.
“Their leaders are landless knights, which explains their success until now.”
Alaun raised his brows. “So tis not a disorganized rabble that we face?”
Edward shook his head, his resurfacing grin one of wolfish anticipation. “Nay—we should have good sport, by all accounts. De Vere should be here soon—his column has been sighted to the east.”
Noise of an arrival filtered through the door.
“Hah!” Edward set down his tankard. “My scouts, no doubt.”
But it was Roland who entered, followed by a thin cleric. They made obeisance to Edward; catching Alaun’s eye, Roland shook his head, then spoke to Edward. “Forgive the intrusion, sire, but we have news.”
“Aye?”
“The outlaws you seek are encamped before the convent of Claerwhen. They’ve surrounded the gate, and are attempting to gain entry. This is Father Laertis, an envoy of the Bishop of Hereford. He was visiting the convent and slipped out to summon assistance. We came up with him just beyond the outlaws’ pickets.”
Edward was frowning. “But what the devil were you…?” His words trailed away.
Alaun felt Edward’s glance, but kept his gaze on Roland. His face, he knew, was expressionless. “Did you see her?”
Roland wetted his lips. “I didn’t—but Father Laertis did.”
The cleric took up the tale. “A lady fitting the description of the one these knights seek rode into the outlaw camp an hour or more ago. She was alone and was within their pickets before she realized. They have her in the leader’s tent.”
Desire's Prize Page 41