His Fair Lady (30 page)

“And you will, Grandfather, you will,” Ana
assured, a genuine love for the man swelling her heart. Her eyes
began to blear again with tears. If only her love could heal him,
if only her heart could beat for them both.

She slipped her hand into his. “Here, hold
onto me. I’ll not let you go. I’ll stay with you every moment, I
promise. But you must promise to get well.” She smiled through hot
tears. “You mustn’t leave me, you know. ‘Tis you who makes my life
bearable here on these English shores.”

“And Sir Royce, too?”

Ana’s brow twinged together. She cast a
glance to the knight, finding him as surprised as she by the odd
question.

“Yes, Sir Royce, too,” she allowed, turning
back to Lord Gilbert. “He’s been ever chivalrous on my behalf.”

Lord Gilbert rested against the pillows,
seemingly satisfied by her answer. Ana set aside the damp cloth and
smoothed back his snowy hair.

“You must rest now, dear lord. And when you
are better, we will leave for Penhurst as you’ve wished to do.”

He gave a small shake to his head. “I’ll not
be seeing Penhurst again, child.”

His words clutched at her heart. “You
mustn’t say such things. Of course you will.”

“Do not be distressed, Juliana. I am going
to join my dear Thérèse, your grandmother, and your parents, too,
Alyce and Robert. We shall be smiling down on you and proud, so
very proud.”

Tears vaulted to Ana’s eyes anew. She could
barely breathe. “Nay, you mustn’t die.” Her voice cracked. “Do not
leave me here alone, Grandfather.”

“You will not be alone, Juliana. I am
leaving you in Sir Royce’s keeping. ‘Tis he whom I have appointed
as your guardian.”

“My lord?” Both Ana and the knight blurted
together in surprise, then exchanged glances.

Lord Gilbert lifted a shaky hand and
gestured to his servant. “Godric, bring the document.”

Godric moved to a side table, where he fit a
key to an iron-bound coffer and opened its lid. Withdrawing a
folded parchment secured with cords and a seal of wax, he then
started toward the bed.

Lord Gilbert fought back a cough, motioning
for Godric to give the parchment to the knight. The congestion
finally cleared from his throat, and he bid Sir Royce to come
near.

“‘
Tis all there, in my own hand,
witnessed and bearing my seal.” He pointed a shaky finger to the
document. “I have awarded guardianship of Juliana and her
inheritance of Penhurst, and all it entails, to you.”

Ana stared at Lord Gilbert, stunned by his
words, unsure of what such a guardianship entailed or the authority
Sir Royce would hold over her. Transferring her gaze to the knight,
she watched as he gazed on the document, motionless as though he,
too, was stunned. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the old lord.

“You place great faith and trust in me Lord
Gilbert, and for that I am honored. But I do not understand why
your choice has fallen on me.”

A smile played over the lord’s lips. “You
have proven yourself to be a man of noble character, Sir Royce —
one who is steadfast, trustworthy, and more than capable of
protecting my Juliana in any occasion that might arise.”

The knight turned steel-blue eyes to Ana,
his look perplexed. Avoiding his gaze, she glanced aside, realizing
why Lord Gilbert had plied her with questions about her and the
knight’s journey here. ‘Twas her own glowing praise of Sir Royce
that had destined this moment — his being named her guardian.

“I know of none better . . . whom I might
choose . . . for Juliana.” Lord Gilbert choked through the words,
resisting another spasm. Reaching out, he clutched for the knight’s
arm, a feeble grasp. “Watch over her, Sir Royce. And one thing
more.”

“My lord?”

“Choose for her a husband.”

Sir Royce’s brows shot high, as did
Ana’s.

“I leave the decision to you. Consider
Juliana’s feelings in the matter, but choose well and soon.” He
spoke between wheezing breaths. “Be certain the man is . . . is of
sterling character . . . able to protect her . . . provide for her
. . . One who will love her well.”

Lord Gilbert’s grip tightened on the
knight’s sleeve. “Promise me, Sir Royce. Choose for Juliana such a
man and no less. And should you find difficulty in that decision,
if your mind is filled with doubts, then look to your heart. The
heart speaks truest when reason fails. ‘Tis there you shall find
your answer.”

With shaky fingers, Lord Gilbert took Ana’s
hand and placed it in Sir Royce’s, leaving his own atop theirs.
“Take care of my Juliana, Sir Royce. Promise me.”

Ana could scarcely draw a breath. She almost
feared to look at Sir Royce, to see his reaction. Swallowing her
dread, she forced her eyes to his and found him studying her
intently. To her profound amazement, as the knight broke away his
gaze, he covered Lord Gilbert’s hand with his own, so all their
hands were locked together.

“I give you my promise, upon my knightly
oath,” Sir Royce vowed solemnly.

Lord Gilbert fought down another cough
threatening to scale his throat. He looked to the knight, a new
urgency in his manner. “Sir Royce . . . about the past . . .” He
struggled to speak, choking intermittently. “‘Twas no mistake you
made . . ‘twas fate that led you . . .”

A ferocious onslaught of coughing erupted
from deep within Lord Gilbert’s throat and chest, a thick,
congested sound, terrifying Ana.

“Grandfather!” Ana caught him in her arms as
he crumpled forward. Immediately, Sir Royce helped her brace him up
and together they strove to relieve his attack.

Ana glanced about the chamber, desperate.
Appallingly, the physick and his assistants were not to be found,
having silently withdrawn.

“Godric! Come quick — the bowl, the cloth,
the . . .”

She felt Lord Gilbert grow heavy in her
arms, the fit beginning to pass. To Ana’s relief, the frightening
moment ceased, his lordship’s breaths short and wheezing now.

With the greatest of care, Ana and Sir Royce
lay Lord Gilbert back against the pillows. He quieted, his gaze
drawing to her. As Lord Gilbert held Ana in his sight, his eyes
dimmed, a long breath escaping his lips, a stillness stealing over
him.

Ana’s heart cracked, a strangled cry
wrenching from her throat, echoing in her ears. Throwing herself
across Lord Gilbert’s lifeless body, she sobbed uncontrollably. She
continued to pour out her anguish, only vaguely aware when Sir
Royce drew her back and turned her into his arms.

Desolate, Ana wrapped her arms about Sir
Royce’s torso, clinging tightly, sobbing against his chest. His
arms enveloped her, strong and consoling, shielding her from all
the world it seemed.

Ana cried long and hard. She felt like a
child again, her heart and emotions ripped apart as bitterly as
they’d been long ago — long ago on the night she’d found solace in
her squire’s embrace . . . so like this moment in the knight’s
arms.

»«

Royce oversaw the activity in the castle
ward as he prepared to depart and escort Juliana and their small
retinue to Penhurst.

From time to time, he glanced to the south
tower, restless for one of the king’s counselors to appear with the
documents concerning his land. Hopefully they’d located the
illusive Lord Craven who yet retained them. Royce was loathe to
leave Wallingford with the matter unfinished.

Pacing along the line of packhorses and
carts, he began to inspect each, confirming they were loaded and
ready. As he did, he acknowledged Lord Gilbert’s men-at-arms one by
one, the frosty morn clouding his breath.

It came as a surprise to learn the lord
maintained eight soldiers at Wallingford. ‘Twas understandable, for
they comprised Lord Gilbert’s personal guards and ever accompanied
him in his travels. Most recently, they’d seen him here, to
Wallingford, where they remained awaiting his next command. Now,
lamentably, they would companion his lordship back to his estate in
Hampshire a final time.

According to the document Lord Gilbert had
conferred on Royce, over a dozen more men-at-arms secured Penhurst,
the full compliment being twenty-five. By accepting guardianship of
the estate and its heiress, Royce assumed authority over them as
well.

Moving on, he came to Godric and Brodric,
who insisted on taking the reins of the wagon that bore the lord’s
banner-draped coffin. Guy of Lisors took charge of one of the
luggage carts, having asked that he might travel with them to
Penhurst as well. The king and queen would be departing Wallingford
on the morrow, Guy explained, and he held no wish to take up the
sort of scrambling life of which royals seemed so fond. For a
pallet by the fire, and a bit of meat and bread, he promised to
complete his song for Sir Royce.

Though Royce knew little of Guy’s song, he
agreed. Much might be gleaned from the minstrel, whose wandering
profession took him regularly from castle to castle.

Completing his inspection, Royce made a
final check on Hannibal and Nutmeg, the smooth-gaited palfrey he’d
acquired for Juliana. He gave a tug to their saddle straps, and to
those of the sturdy little pony that would serve Luvena.

Finished, he looked to the keep and
discovered Juliana emerging, accompanied by the king and queen,
Luvena bustling behind as they descended the steps. The queen’s
ladies-in-waiting and several Court officials followed as well.
Royce quickly spied Lady Sibylla among the company.

He returned his gaze to Juliana. She moved
woodenly, swathed in her fur-lined cape, the hood pulled up, her
face pale and unsmiling deep within. Halfway down the stairs, she
lifted her gaze to meet his. The pain he read in her eyes lanced
him straight through, surely as though he’d taken a spear in his
chest. Outwardly, the maid appeared carved from marble,
emotionless. But within, Royce held certain, a fire burned at her
core.

Leading the mounts forward, he joined the
group at the bottom of the steps and bowed deeply to the
royals.

“I shall miss your presence, Sir Royce.” The
king spoke first, motioning him to rise. “I’d hoped you would
accompany me on my tour through the North Midlands — to Nottingham,
Lincoln, Stamford, and such. Another time, perchance. God see you
and Lady Juliana safe to Penhurst.”

The king started to turn away, then stayed
his step. “‘Tis my understanding, according to the document
awarding you guardianship, Lord Gilbert asks that you choose a
husband for his granddaughter and soon.”

“Aye, Majesty. ‘Tis true.” Suspicion
spiraled through Royce at the king’s interest.

King John held out a hand to the official
standing nearest him. Instantly, the man produced a small scroll
and placed it in the sovereign’s palm.

“No doubt you will be approached by many
would-be suitors. I’ve drawn up my own list of suggestions, which
you might consider. These men, you can be assured, are all looked
upon favorably by the Crown.”

Royce accepted the scroll, keen to the
king’s plain intent to control, if not actually make, the selection
of a husband for Juliana. A loyal knight would be expected to yield
to the king’s wishes, whatever they might be.

When King John remained silent, Isabella
touched her fingers to his forearm.

“Ah, yes. I forgot to add. The queen and I
desire for you and Lady Juliana to join us at the Christmas Court.
‘Twill be held at . . .” John frowned and looked to his
officials.

“Guildford,” the queen supplied softly.

“Aye, Guildford. ‘Tis my hunting lodge,
south of the Thames, if you’re not familiar with it. Join us there,
and we will gladden the festivities by announcing Lady Juliana’s
betrothal and the name of the fortunate man who will take her to
wife.”

Royce glanced to Juliana, and though she did
not so much as blink a lash, he saw the look of shock pass through
her eyes. They mirrored his own surprise. The king moved quickly to
award the estate and form a new alliance. His haste gave Royce
pause to wonder of Penhurst’s true value. It also gave rise to a
new concern. If he didn’t choose a husband for Juliana soon, would
the king force the matter, even usurp his own authority as the
maid’s guardian?

As Royce started to reply to the king, Lady
Sibylla left the steps, moving to his side. She lay her hand on his
chest, a possessive gesture for all to see, though she directed her
words expressly to him.

“Let us make the Court celebrations doubly
festive with two announcements.” She smiled meaningfully as she
drew a scarf of red silk from the sleeve of her gown and draped it
around his neck. Kissing his cheek, she further placed her mark
upon him, drawing ripples of approval from those upon the steps —
though not from all.

“By your leave, Majesties, Countess.” Royce
took a step apart of Sibylla. “‘Tis best Lady Juliana and I depart
and see Lord Gilbert to his rest.”

He meant the words as a reminder, finding
his mood increasingly irritable. The funeral rites had not even
been spoken. Yet, ‘twas as though everyone gathered around a living
chess board, their hands clutching at the playing pieces, moving
them about to their own advantage — he and Juliana suddenly naught
but pawns in their games.

The maiden, who’d remained unmoving and
silent for so long, started down the steps to join him, but found
her way blocked when the queen unintentionally moved in front of
her to whisper something to the king.

King John straightened, a slight flush
coloring his cheeks as he gestured to another of the officials. The
man gave over a packet of folded parchments, bound with a leather
cord.

“This, Sir Royce, contains your grant from
my brother, Richard, plus a license to crenellate. Though the
property needs some attention, ‘tis well situated, as I’ve said
before. Improve on its fortifications, and Beckwell will stand
alongside other strongholds as a powerful link in England’s
defenses, one of great consequence, mark my words.”