In time, he rolled to his side, bringing her with him to snuggle into a cocoon of warm bodies and soft blankets. She eased a leg over his thigh, and an arm across his chest to lay her hand on his shoulder.
In the mellow voice of a woman well loved, she said, “I did not know one could be so invigorated one moment and so replete the next. Are the feelings the same every time?”
He nearly told her the truth, but he experienced the most ridiculous confidence that with Eloise the peaks would be the norm, the valleys few.
“Most every time.”
“ ’Tis hard to believe.”
“Give me an hour and I will prove it to you.”
She rose up, a small frown on her face. “Were you … disappointed?”
Only in mind, not body. He gently pushed her head back to his shoulder, where it belonged.
“Nay. I feel as replete as you.”
’Struth, he couldn’t remember a time when the physical act had felt so good. Nor did he need an hour to recover, but within a few minutes, Eloise slept, and from the sound of her breathing went deeply under.
Probably a good thing. Timothy would be back soon.
As easily as he could fall asleep holding Eloise, spend the night cuddled against her, he didn’t dare. Timothy might not care, or gossip, but Roland didn’t want to take the risk of damaging her reputation. That Eloise had given herself to him was dangerous enough. To have others know was unacceptable.
After a kiss to her forehead, he eased away from her warmth and got out of bed. The chilly night air went far to banish his languor.
A brief search of the floor turned up his breeches, which he put on. His tunic and shirte he tossed on the end of the bed along with Eloise’s gown and chemise. From the corner he dragged out two pallets, leaving the third to cover the loose board and the treasure beneath.
With the door unlocked to allow Timothy entrance, Roland bent to light the brazier. ’Twas then he heard the scrape of boots on stairs and the murmur of voices.
Neither voice Timothy’s.
The hair on the back of Roland’s neck itched, and he’d learned long ago to heed his instincts. Whoever came up the stairs didn’t belong here—and meant no good.
He crept back to the corner and silently slipped his sword from its scabbard—then put it back. His dagger was a better choice for close quarters in the dark. Damn, where were his boots? On the other side of the bed.
Roland briefly considered waking Eloise, order her to wrap up in a blanket and curl up in the far corner. But just as he retrieved his dagger, the scraping sounds stopped. He stilled, listening hard in the stillness of the night air, where voices tended to carry.
“This it?” a man whispered.
“Aye. Hush now,” the other answered.
Were these common footpads bent on robbery? Or worse villains, perhaps after Eloise?
Sir John’s words of warning about her danger came back to haunt him.
Wishing for more light than the faint moonbeams allowed in through the window, he took two steps toward the door. The latch snicked open, the door moved the merest crack. Then all went still as the intruders listened for sound.
Smiling, Roland decided to give them something to hear.
He drew a long breath, and with his best battlefield roar, he charged the door.
Startled out of sleep, heart thudding, Eloise sat straight up in what took her a moment to remember was a bed in a room above an apothecary. Completely disoriented, she strove to make sense out of what seemed senseless.
For some reason the door was open, and what appeared to be three men struggled on the landing. The tallest must be Roland. Grunts and groans followed kicks and punches. Then one man fell backward and tumbled down the stairs. Roland grabbed hold of the other and pushed him up against the wall.
“What are you doing here?” he growled. “What are you after?”
“Did not mean no harm.”
She knew she should be frightened witless, but mercy, Roland had ended the scuffle before she’d fully understood what was going on.
Roland pulled the hapless fellow forward, shoved him back into the wall again. “Answers, man, and I want them now!”
Unable to stay put any longer, Eloise slid from the bed and wrapped a blanket around her. She eased toward the door, knowing better than to show herself but she needed to hear clearly.
“Don’t know nothing, I swear.”
Eloise caught the glint of metal as Roland brought his dagger to the lout’s throat.
“If you do not loosen your tongue, you will lose it.”
She winced at the threat, which broke the man’s resistance within the space of two heartbeats.
“A man paid my partner to bring him the lady.”
“What man?”
“Never saw him. He dealt with my partner.”
“Where were you to take the lady?”
“Southwark. The docks. That’s all I know, I swear.”
From the bottom of the stairs came a female’s gasp. Roland never moved a muscle.
“Mistress Green, summon a watchman. Our friends here are up to mischief.”
The tinkle of the bell above the door. Mistress Green’s panicked shouts. Eloise heard them as far-off sounds through the sudden pounding in her head, brought on by the horror of what the villains had planned. They’d come to kidnap her, haul her off to the docks for who knew what foul purpose.
Why?
She didn’t realize she breeched the threshold and spoke aloud until Roland jerked, his head coming around. The distraction allowed the villain to give Roland a shove and slip out of his captor’s grasp. By the time Roland recovered his balance, the lout had already pounded down the stairs.
Roland cursed and went after him, leaping over the man who lay still and silent at the bottom of the stairs.
Eloise trembled along the entire length of her.
Why?
John Hamelin only had to look at his daughter’s face to know something was horribly wrong. Very little shook Eloise to the point of paleness, dimmed the spark in her blue eyes. He’d not seen her in such a state since her mother’s death, and she’d been a little girl at the time.
He gathered her in his arms and addressed Roland, who handed a large sack over to Edgar. The knight looked like he hadn’t slept much either.
“What happened?”
“We had visitors last eve.”
“Who?”
“Two men. One broke his neck from a fall down the stairs, the other got away.”
“My fault,” Eloise whispered. “I … interfered.”
“My fault,” Roland countered. “I should have put my boots on before I gave chase.”
My fault.
Eloise wouldn’t be in London if not for love of and concern for him. He should have been much more forthcoming in his message home.
By God, he’d made too many blunders of late, and not only with his daughter.
“So you do not know their identities?”
Roland shook his head. “Nay, but we do know they were after Eloise. The one who got away told me they were hired by someone to take her to Southwark.”
Southwark! A nasty area where villains roamed at will, where brothels lined the streets. Did Eloise fully realize what might have happened to her? He dearly hoped not.
Kenworth—and he was as sure as he stood in Baliol’s Tower that Kenworth was ultimately behind this atrocity—had gone too far.
John led Eloise over to a chair, poured her a goblet of wine. “Tell me all.”
Eloise took a sip, then looked up at him, a slight trace of ire giving him hope. “Near as we know, the men somehow knew where our horses were stabled. They … they … ”
The crack in her voice broke his heart.
Roland cleared his throat. “When Timothy went to check on the horses last eve, the men joined in a dice game with Timothy and some of the stable lads. Timothy did not like the looks of them, nor some of the questions they asked, so he left. They waylaid him on a nearby street.” Roland’s pause didn’t bode well for the lad. “They took their fists to him, and when he would not tell them of Eloise’s whereabouts, they tied his hands and bound his mouth. While one hid Timothy, the other went back to tell the stable master that the lad had been injured, and they’d be happy to take him to his lodgings if given direction. Victor knew, of course.”
“And your squire?”
“The watchmen found him. He is bruised, two cracked ribs. He is sore hurt but he will recover. Mistress Green is looking after him now.”
John knew from Roland’s stance, from the undertone running beneath the flatly delivered tale, the knight wanted revenge for his squire. That could prove useful. Except he would rather St. Marten take Eloise back to Lelleford, where stone walls and a full garrison stood between her and Kenworth.
“When do you return to Lelleford?”
“As soon as Timothy is able to ride. Mistress Green feels that will not be for another day or two.” Roland’s expression changed, and John braced for what he saw coming. “You told me yesterday that Eloise was not safe in London. Last eve proved you right. What are we up against, Hamelin?”
Someday this youngest St. Marten son was going to be a powerful man. He may not yet have property or wealth, but he possessed the presence and forthright attitude of a man on the rise. Roland reminded John of himself at a younger age.
“I believe the earl of Kenworth is responsible, but I cannot offer proof.”
Eloise perked up. “What does Kenworth want with me?”
“To hold you hostage against my cooperation. He wants my confession for treason, and will do whatever he must to obtain it.” John tried to tamp down his ire and failed. “There is a piece of land I set aside for your dowry he craves. He offered to purchase it and I refused. Then he offered a marriage bargain between you and his second son, which I also refused—adamantly and, unfortunately, before several witnesses. He took the refusal as a grave insult, and thus he pursues this ridiculous treason charge so ruthlessly.”
“You said nothing of this betrothal offer,” Eloise complained.
“Since nothing came of it, I saw no reason for you to know.”
Roland crossed his arms. “Was this before or after you betrothed Eloise to Hugh?”
“Kenworth knew your father and I were negotiating the betrothal to Hugh when he made his offer, which made the insult worse, knowing I would prefer to ally myself to your family than to him.”
“Was it Kenworth who brought charges against you, gave the king the missive which is rumored to point to your guilt?”
John liked the knight’s intelligence. “That he did.”
“Father, what is contained in those scrolls you took with you?”
“What scrolls?” Roland asked.
John wished she hadn’t mentioned them, but he could undo part of the damage.
“Documents I need to prove my innocence. They are now safely in the possession of the earl of Lancaster.”
“Can you trust him with them?”
“I had no choice.”
At least not much of a choice, and the longer Lancaster cautioned patience, the more John wondered if going to the powerful earl had been his biggest mistake.
Roland was pacing, and John could well imagine the path of his thoughts. He also noticed how Eloise watched Roland, as if she expected him to solve all of her problems, tilt her world right side up again. The amount of trust she placed in the knight she’d once professed a particular dislike for surprised him.
But there was more here. He knew his daughter. There was trust, and respect, but also … affection? John sighed inwardly. If so, then he could add one more problem to an already long list.
Roland stopped pacing. “Sir John, do you believe Kenworth faked the missive to frame you for treason?”
This game went far deeper than Roland surmised. And as in a good chess game, all the pieces must be in perfect position in order to win. They weren’t as yet, might never be. He could very well hang for a crime he didn’t commit.
“I put nothing beyond Kenworth.”
“Sweet mercy, Father, why not just sell Kenworth the land if that is what he wants?”
“Months ago that might have worked, but no longer. Now he not only wants the land but revenge for the insult, too.”
Roland looked puzzled. “Then why did he not take Eloise from Lelleford when he went to capture you, marry her off to his son? He had the perfect opportunity then.”
“Because he sees the opportunity to have more. If I am convicted of treason, my lands are forfeit to the king, and Kenworth is confident he can talk Edward into giving him a portion, not only the land he craves but more as well.”
Again Eloise complained, “Is not your life a rather high price to ask for an insult?”
Not to an earl, especially not to Kenworth. Whatever royalty wanted, royalty usually obtained, no matter who they must plow under or trample over to get it.
“One does not insult an earl and get off lightly. But come, this is my coil to unwind.” He held a hand out to Eloise. “Show me what you brought for me.”
She got up reluctantly. She wanted more answers, and he couldn’t give them to her. Not yet.
From the sack she pulled two tunics and gave them to Edgar. “Isolde chose these for you. I assume Timothy told you she sends her love.”
The squire blushed. “Timothy also said I was not to worry over her, but I do. This must be hard for her.”
“As it is for all of us. Perhaps a letter from you might ease her mind.”
Edgar nodded, and John felt sorry for the lad, but not too sorry. Loyalty to one’s lord was expected of a squire, and ’struth, without Edgar’s company he might have gone mad. There would be a reward for that loyalty at the end—if fate allowed.
Then Eloise pulled out the biggest of his leather pouches, near bursting at the seams with coin. “Is it safe for you to keep all this here?”
John hefted the burgeoning pouch. “Safe enough. Have you coin to see you through your stay and to get home?”
“I sewed coin into the hem of my cloak, as you ordered me to. If you give me back my purse, I should have plenty.”
The exchange made, she emptied the sack of three more tunics, one of them his best midnight blue velvet trimmed in gold. She ran a soothing hand over the velvet.
“I thought you might need this for … court.”
He just might. He’d raised a wise daughter. “You do me proud, Eloise.”