Telepathy of Hearts (3 page)

Oh, how I shook,
and I started to cry while the hound, once more, was baring its teeth. How brave he was, that li
t
tle knight, his smile so bright with a grin so wicked it was a hint, perhaps, that he could be a little naughty
.

“Dear lady, please do not cry. Have no fear I will protect you. Anyway, your nates won
't be on His Grace
's throne, your boots will. I know him well. He
…calls me his favourite nephew. His Grace will not chide us. Now make haste for this apprentice
's sword won
't hold Gelert for long. He does not know you, my lady, and seeks to protect his master
's throne.
”

El
eanor had done as the boy advised and stood upon the King of England
's throne.

She
'd watched the brave young man with interest that day. He had wielded his wooden sword with such grace, moving as if he was dancing. Fluid and gentle almost as if his feet were cushioned upon pockets of air.

He had the darkest and the glossiest raven hair. His skin looked tanned, perhaps painted by the summer sun. She r
e
called how well
-
dressed he was, a
ttired in the clothing of a gentleman. The cut of his cloth was noble and the work of stitch so delicate it must have
come
from a skilled hand at great expense.

When he turned to look up at her, Eleanor had noticed his eyes.

They seem to pierce the sallow skin with azure blue beads. The colour so unusual, the like I have never seen b
e
fore.
Or since.

Remembering how beautiful they were.
Many a maiden will be jealous and wish to have those eyes and those lashes, Oh, and his smile. My little knight was so very gallant.

As she looked to the throne steps, Eleanor remembered how the large hound jumped them in one leap, taking the breath from her body and the boy
's wooden sword. Gelert, the hound, had taken it between its teeth. As it shattered, E
l
eanor had screamed

“Be careful, for if he can do that to wood, I fear he will crack your bones with ease.
”

“Do not fret my lady, for I soon will be a knight. Save your tears. I have told you have faith in me. I will save you. I have strength enough for two
…you can be sure of that
”

He
'd beamed when he had spoken.

“Gelert, down boy.
”

The hound had gone straight down, laying on its haunches, its temper cooled. As soon as his master had sp
o
ken.

Eleanor reflected on how different
t
he king had seemed then. The strain of the throne had yet to tire him. His cheeks had been rosy and his gait quick.

He had stridden to the throne and scooped his niece up. Kissing her he said,
“What are you doing upon my throne?
”

And with a loud booming laugh continued,
“Are you trying
it out
for size my sweet niece? For it is the throne of a king
,
not a queen.
”

The King had walked with Eleanor upon his back to the boy. Taking the lad
's face in his large hands he remarked,
“Well and who are you, Sir Knight?
”

“Why, your favourite nephew of course
…Uncle.
”

Looking deeply at the lad with genuine affection the King continued,
“As the sun always rises and women will always weep, I am just as sure that you will be a knight bolder than any other.
” The king then ruffled the young lad
's hair.
“When we have taken my niece back to her mother ,
we will send for the sword smith. I wish to replace your broken blade with one worthy of your bravery. Great battles await you, Sir Knight.
”

How long ago it seemed. A soft smile broke as if a kiss was on her lips.

I wonder if the little brave knight
…my hero
…ever got his blade.

His words had
stayed with her all these years:
“I have told you have faith in me. I will save you. I have strength enough for two
…you can be sure of that.
”

How could they not.

The little knight
…my hero had meant every word. Would he save me now when I am cornered and fearful once more?

“Eleanor child, come back to us. You
seem quite ca
p
tured by your day
dreams. Riding upon your hills, I suppose, upon an uncle
's gift to his favourite niece.
”

The King gestured as he spoke.

“I am sorry, your Grace. No, this time my dreams left dear Arthur stabled.
” She smiled back as she continued to speak.
Crystal wells of visible tears forming in her eyes.
“Yes, I was lost a little as I walked through my memories. I was a child here in your court Uncle. Gelert was there too.
”

“Oh, my dear Gelert, a fine hound. Well, that was some years past, child. But no more ghosts. What say ye about your betrothal, niece? For I have chosen you a knight befi
t
ting your rank.
” The old King smirked.
Chuckling as he co
n
tinued,
“He has girth enough in his loins to sire you well. His wife died in child-
birth, God rest her soul, but still it means his seed is strong.
” Then he teased her once more slapping her thigh, he winked.
“Many babies you will birth for the House of Lancaster.
”

Eleanor
's skin heated and she flushed. Turning away she pulled at her lip drawing it up between her teeth and smarting as she drew a bead of blood.

Cupping her face softly with gentle hands, the hands that held the orb, sceptre of state and t
he responsibility of his people
s
'
lives, the King brought her gaze back to meet his. They were soft and twinkled with undeniable masculine but aging charm.
“Why the tears, child? I have told you I have chosen well for you. A destrier of a man who will treat you as the lady you are
…a niece of the King. He is kind, has a chivalric oath, and will take great care of you. Has someone beaten you to agree this? For I will have them flogged
—
”

Placing her hands upon her Uncle
's knee and smiling to him, she soothed.
“No Uncle. I assure you no one has beaten me. I am grateful, most grateful, that your Grace has chosen so well for me.
”

Eleanor looked across to Lady Bruce. Mother Bear cocked her head to the side; she twitched nervously, obv
i
ously anxious about her stepdaughter
's response.

Eleanor
's gaze connected with that of her punisher.
There was fire in their silent exchange.
A wolf and a bear facing off. Neither wanting to be the first to back down in action or mind.

“You have always had my best interests at heart, Uncle. I am sure yo
ur Majesty has chosen
a fine knight
for me
. I will do my best to please him. I will do your bidding by ma
r
rying the earl and if the good Lord is willing to bless my be
l
ly, I will provide the House of Lancaster an heir.
”

* * * *

The King knew his niece did not want to marry Matheus. But her feelings could not be considered. The death of Edmund had forced his hand. The life of kings was always one of careful balance. Not only was the House of Lancaster demanding an heir, the lives of many depended on it.

It was simple. Eleanor could carry the safety of a nation in her womb.
Conceiving a child with a man connected to the house of York would mean the child would be accepted by both the red rose of Lancaster and the white rose of York.

Matheus was that man. The K
ing was confident
the Bull of Lincoln would provide him an heir who could potentia
lly settle a feud and stop the
Cousins
from warring.

The King took his niece
's hands in his lap. He looked deep into her hazel eyes, eyes so like her mother
's. He sighed.
“Love has little to do with marriage. But once he has given you a child, you will grow to love him
…even if only for the love of the gift he gives you
…of a babe of your own.
” The King winked again and squeezed her hand. Little comfort but the only one he could offer.

Turning to the court he signaled for their obedience and silence.
“My Knights and gathered nobles. We have a b
e
trothal.
”

The court cheered. Voices rang out in congratulation.

The King raised his hand once more to calm his
Court.
“My niece, Lady Eleanor of Lancaster will marry, as I co
m
mand, my favourite nephew and bravest knight, his Grace Matheus Du
' Lanchette, Earl of Lincoln.
”

* * * *

Eleanor was looking out at the gathered throng of noble men and women, an abundance of grandeur in a glittering sea of green and gold, delicate silks, fancy furs, and brocade, the swell rippling in front of her eyes. But her eyes were f
o
cused to the back of the room.

For in the shadows stood the figure her eyes fixated on. The figure stood a head above most of the men and tall and broad, his hips slim. Leaning his back against the wall, his right leg bent at the knee, anchored by his booted foot upon the stone, he cut a casual and calm figure. He was dressed for hunting, in black leather, and his sword belt hung to the left and his right hand was attired in a gauntlet for hawking

Eleanor watched his face pucker as if he had a fit of pique. An expression of some disdain flooded his features. She wondered what conversation he had such an aversion to.

You are too handsome knight; sweeten your thoughts and relax ye your features. Unpins your brow, and soften your face.

She might not have noticed the dark figure who stood at the far wall on his entrance. But on his exit the girl with ha
r
vest gold hair and eyes of the hazel wood, amber, green and bronze did.

As she sat on her Uncle
's knee, with cheeks striped with the tracks of tears, Eleanor of Lancaster had felt just a flutter of recognition.

Earlier that day
…