And so he did.
Roland dressed in the dark.
The candle had gutted out hours ago, and the coals in the brazier were but glowing embers. Light didn’t yet filter in through the window.
He didn’t want to go anywhere. Not out from underneath the coverlet and snuggled around Eloise. Not out into the chill of a November day. Certainly not to Eve-sham Abbey.
Duty had never been so hard to perform, nor had it called so urgently. Already dressed, he eased onto the edge of the mattress to put on his boots.
Eloise’s hand landed on his lower back, then crept slowly up his spine.
“I tried not to wake you.”
“I grew cold.” Her voice was low and thick with sleep, the most seductive sound he’d ever heard, except for, perhaps, the little noises she made in her throat when—
“Go back to sleep. You did not get much rest last night.”
Her light laughter preceded a rustling of the bedding. She knelt, pressed her naked front to his tunic-covered back, her heat seeping through the wool. Her arms came around him to cross his chest, her mouth taking a light nip at his neck.
“Nor did you rest long.”
“Your fault.”
“I accept all blame.”
He kissed the forearm tucked just under his chin. “If you do not let go, woman, I shall not be held responsible for my actions.”
He felt her sigh. “I wish you did not have to go.”
“Nor I, but go I must.”
She kissed his neck below the ear, the combination of moist mouth and hot breath giving a kick to his loins.
“You will hurry back.”
A command, which he’d obey for several reasons.
“As fast as I am able. I am taking your palfrey, for the monk.”
“Let us hope you have need of him and his speed.” She backed away. “What happens if the monk is not at the abbey?”
Roland hurriedly slipped on his boots and turned sideways to see her dark silhouette against the predawn gray.
“Geoffrey has some ideas he is working on. Do not despair, Eloise.”
She shifted, and he soon found himself with his arms full, his mouth engaged. Ye gods, he could become accustomed to these rapturous leave takings. But he could hardly wait to celebrate a homecoming.
“Take care, St. Marten. I have become accustomed to you sharing my bed.”
“After only one night?”
“You must admit you were impressive.”
Leaving her was the hardest thing he’d done in an age.
Geoffrey was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, clad only in breeches, a small candle illuminating his form. “How does she?”
He could hardly tell Eloise’s brother exactly how magnificently she’d done most everything, for several hours.
“She did not sleep well last night.”
“ ’Twas her wedding night. Had she slept well I would wonder what was wrong with you.”
“According to her, not a thing.” He gave Geoffrey a good-natured slap on the arm. “Take care of her. I should be back within four days. Just so you know, I am taking the palfrey. ’Twould also not be amiss to send a message to Lelleford to have them pack Eloise’s belongings.”
“Anxious for the plunder, are you?”
’Twas said with such humor Roland didn’t take offense. “Naturally. Will you see Lancaster today?”
“Aye. Best to have another form of defense in mind. Perhaps Lancaster has already formed a plan.”
Roland hoped so, because nothing was sure about this journey to Evesham.
R
OLAND HAD been gone for two days. Eloise missed him terribly, and worried over him more than she fretted over the outcome of the task he’d taken on. ’Twas probably disloyal to her father, but as she said her marriage vows, so had the center of her life shifted.
Husband. The word still sounded strange, but magical.
“Feels odd?” her father asked.
Knowing her father couldn’t possibly hear her thoughts, she tilted her head in question.
He pointed at her hands in her lap. “For the past two days you have played with the ring. Is it so ill a fit?”
Not in the least, neither the ring nor the marriage, nor her father’s unexpected show of affection in lending it to her. If not for the circumstances, she’d be joyous.
“Nay.” She gave the ring a last twirl and stilled her hands. “I imagine your hand feels odd without it.”
He wiggled his fingers. “I am becoming accustomed.”
Just as he’d become accustomed to his chamber in Baliol’s Tower. From her chair near the table, Eloise glanced around the room. ’Twas a pleasant chamber in many ways, but to be locked in all the time, with only brief walks out on the grounds for exercise—’Twould drive her mad.
Of late, she spent much time locked up with her father while Geoffrey went about the task of gathering information and seeking opinions about her father’s case. Toward the end of each day, when he came to report his findings and fetch her, she was most ready to leave.
At present, Geoffrey sought a second audience with Lancaster, who the king had finally consented to see earlier this morning.
“St. Marten should be able to buy you a splendid ring with the money he gains. We truly made him a wealthy man.”
A disgruntled statement. Roland hadn’t made any comment about his bargaining with her father, and she’d not asked, mostly because there hadn’t been time.
So much happened so quickly. From the moment of Geoffrey’s arrival to Roland’s leaving, much seemed a blur.
Except for the wedding night. That she remembered in vibrant detail.
“You knew you made Roland wealthy when you signed the document. ’Tis rather mean-spirited to begrudge him any portion of my dowry now.” She narrowed her eyes. “You did not take anything out, did you?”
He picked up a pawn and moved it one square, where she could take it with her bishop. An ill-advised move? Or a trap for her?
“Nay, though
you
certainly added items. The sheep and loom I understood, but a cow?”
“We need milk to make cheese, and I could not remember what cattle belong to the holding in Durham. Surely you do not begrudge me one cow.”
“Better you have it, I suppose, than Kenworth.”
Another thing she’d noticed recently — her father’s unusual submission to an intolerable fate. As the days dragged on, he became more dour and despairing. She hoped Geoffrey delivered hopeful news today, if only to lift her father’s spirits.
“Kenworth will not get anything of yours. How can you be so morose when both Geoffrey and Roland work so diligently on your behalf? Surely one of them—”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Geoffrey scurries about London, talking to all who will listen, but only the king’s opinion truly matters and I fear he believes me guilty. As for Roland, the lad means well, but his journey to Eve-sham may well be for naught. Even if our elusive monk is in his abbey, who is to say he is willing to speak on my behalf? Brother Walter is, after all is said and done, Kenworth’s spy.”
He got up, his agitation leading him to the window.
Once more she failed to cheer him, and finally conceded only good news from either Geoffrey or Roland would.
If all went well, Roland should arrive at the abbey this afternoon and be back in London on the day after tomorrow. Until then, all she could do was wait.
Again, she did nothing. Again it wore on her nerves. Patience had never been one of her better virtues.
Eloise abandoned the chess game that no longer held her father’s interest either. She joined him at the window.
Two ravens perched on the wall walk that connected several towers along the inner wall. Startled by a noise from below, the ravens spread glossy black wings and glided skyward.
The noise came again, a bang of wood on wood, and Eloise peered down to see Timothy and Edgar happily sparring with practice swords.
“Wherever did they get the weapons?”
“Oswald, most likely. Weapons are stored on the lower floor.”
“Still, they are weapons in the hands of squires, one of them yours. I am surprised Oswald allows the squires their use.”
Her father shrugged. “I imagine Oswald demanded some kind of an oath from them first. Good lads, both.”
Eloise agreed. “Timothy yet favors his ribs. See how he feints?”
“Edgar takes the injury into account. The lads have grown close, have they not?”
Eloise guessed Timothy hadn’t told Edgar of the affair with Isolde or Edgar mightn’t be so accepting.
But then, her own brother hadn’t run his sister’s lover through. ’Struth, Geoffrey and Roland seemed to get along quite well, which pleased her.
“Timothy and Edgar have much in common,” she answered.
“Do you think Roland might be willing to take Edgar on as a squire? The lad will make a fine knight someday with the proper training.”
This acceptance of defeat bothered her immensely.
“So besides me, you now give Edgar to Roland, too. Is that the best plan you can conjure, give away whatever you are able before the executioner slips a noose around your neck?”
He raised a warning eyebrow. Eloise ignored the sign that she pricked his ire. Better he shout at her than wallow in despair.
She crossed to the garment pegs, took down one of his tunics. “Who should I give this to? Perhaps ’twill fit Simon.” And then his midnight blue velvet trimmed with gold, the one she packed so he would have suitable garb for his appearance before the king. “Marcus has always admired this one. Or should I sell it and give away the coin as alms for the poor?”
“Eloise—”
“Your stallion. Do you have someone in mind for him, or should Geoffrey have him?”
“Enough.”
“Oh, I think not! Since you are certain neither your son nor my husband can find a way to aid you, I want to know how you wish your personal belongings disposed of so Kenworth cannot claim them.”
“You go too far, Daughter.”
None too gently, Eloise hung the tunics back on the pegs.
“If I do, then I beg your pardon, Father. ’Tis simply disheartening to hear you speak as if you are already headed for the gallows.”
“You must face that it may come to that.”
“I will if needs be, but until then, there is yet hope.” He gave out a short burst of laughter. “Always the optimist. Fine. Have things your way. You usually do.” He tilted his head. “Like your marriage. Roland and Geoffrey both assure me you are content. True?”
A startling question. On presenting her with the betrothal bargain to Hugh, he’d not bothered to worry about her contentment, merely sought her agreement. But then, the betrothal to Hugh had been her father’s doing, not Geoffrey’s.
They’d never said a word, but Eloise didn’t doubt that Geoffrey concocted the plan and convinced Roland. She saw it as her duty, a pleasurable duty, to ensure Roland didn’t come to regret yielding.
“I am content. Did you have reason to doubt?”
“You were raised to expect better in a husband, and I have never known you to be content with less than your due.”
Eloise remembered her grand plan to accompany her father to Christmas court, to look over the possible contenders for her hand. She’d have considered their position first, then their looks and health—never giving Roland St. Marten a second glance. Now here she was married to a sixth son with no prospects or land to recommend him, and was pleased with the bargain, for reasons her father wouldn’t understand.
“I have no regrets, Father.”
She turned to the jangle of keys. Oswald opened the door to let Geoffrey in. The look on her brother’s face didn’t promise hopeful news. Spirits sinking, she once more took the chair near the table.
Geoffrey tossed his cloak on the bed and waited for the sound of the warder’s key locking the door before he began.
“Lancaster went to see Edward this morn. ’Twas not a pleasant audience, I am told. Kenworth was there, too.” Geoffrey paused, as if choosing his words or gathering his thoughts. “Lancaster did not tell me all that was said, but the outcome is not in our favor. Edward wants the issue resolved. He has ordered all parties to his chambers on the morn.”
She jumped up. “But that does not give Roland enough time to return with Brother Walter!”
“I know. I asked Lancaster to request a delay. He agreed to do so, but given the king’s present mood, he is not hopeful. Kenworth pressures the king for action, and Lancaster does not know how long Edward can resist without appearing weak-willed.”
“Not long,” her father commented. “Edward’s father tended to put off decisions until events made the decision for him, and betimes the results were disastrous. ’Tis not a reputation the son wishes to court. You told Lancaster where Roland went and why?”
“I did. Given what I know of Roland’s audience with Edward, I thought the king might be willing to give Roland a chance to return.”
“Or he may not.” Father again turned to the window, his head bowed. “ ’Tis as I feared, that all will depend upon whether Edward believes me or the earl of Kenworth. I caution you not to place any wagers on my success.”
Roland paced Abbot Clement’s sitting room, careful not to bump into any of the excessively ornate furniture. He felt too big for the room, too heavy for the chairs, more ill at ease than he wanted to admit even to himself.
Since arriving at Evesham and requesting to see Brother Walter, Roland had been passed from monk to monk until he’d finally ended up in the abbot’s office. Something wasn’t right. Such a simple thing as a visit to a monk shouldn’t require the consent or presence of the abbey’s ruler.
Still, Abbot Clement had sent an assistant to fetch Brother Walter, so perhaps nothing horrible was amiss. Roland smiled to himself, realizing he’d caught Eloise’s optimism. The lady had affected him in more ways than he’d thought.
“Patience, my son. ’Twill take some time to locate Brother Walter. May I offer you wine or ale?”
Time. Every moment counted. The abbot didn’t know that, however, because Roland hadn’t said why he needed to speak with Brother Walter, only that the reason was of great import.
“I appreciate your hospitality, my lord abbot.”
Abbot Clement poured a generous amount of wine into a costly gold goblet of simple design. A portly man of seeming good humor, the abbot waved a hand beset by three heavy rings toward a heavy, brocade-cushioned chair.