Once a Bride (22 page)

“Geoffrey did not believe he had a calling, could not bear the thought of a tonsure. The best he and Father could agree upon was the advantage of an education. Geoffrey spent two years as a student at Westminster Abbey before he came home for a visit.” And such a row that had caused! Eloise guided her horse around a merchant’s fruit cart before she continued. “Father pressed him, then, to take vows. Geoffrey decided to escape. He went to Paris to continue his studies.”

“He married in Paris, then?”

If only he had stayed in Paris, then he wouldn’t have been on a ship when it sank, nearly killing him, harming his mind—all because of her.

“Nay. He was coming home to attend my…wedding when he met Leah. She nursed him through a very bad time and they grew close. I am so glad he found her, for now he is truly happy.”

“But not yet reconciled with your father, I take it. Yet you expect Geoffrey to come to London?”

She hadn’t a doubt. “He will come. They may not get along well, but they are father and son. Family. Geoffrey will come.”

Roland pulled up before an apothecary, a small sign bearing a mortar and pestle hung over the door. Without a word he dismounted and went inside.

Was he ill? He’d said not a word, and she’d seen no sign of sickness.

She turned around to Timothy. “Is aught amiss with Sir Roland?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Nay, milady, he merely inquires about rooms to let. We have stayed here before. The rooms are clean and the price fair. ’Tis also not far from the Tower. ’Twould be convenient if the room is unoccupied.”

Eloise righted herself, aware of just how ill-prepared she’d been to make this trip. She had no idea of where she might have found lodging, or what was a fair price. But then, Daniel could have supplied the information, she was sure.

Roland came out the door and reached up to untie the bedroll behind his saddle. “You know where to take the horses, Timothy?”

Timothy dismounted and grabbed hold of the stallion’s reins. “Aye, milord. To Master Victor.”

Roland tossed his bedroll to the ground. “Have him look at the nail in the palfrey’s shoe. If he is not satisfied that it will hold for a full day’s hard ride, have him make whatever repair he deems necessary.” He approached her horse and untied the sack of garments behind her saddle. “When you return, Mistress Green has an errand or two she would like you to run for her.”

Tim frowned. “Beg pardon, Sir Roland, but I had hoped to go with you and Lady Eloise to the Tower.”

Roland put the sack down next to his bedroll. “Why so?”

“To meet Edgar, if he is there. Isolde … entrusted me with a message for him.”

Eloise could imagine what that message might be, one to assure Edgar of her well-being. ’Twas a measure of the maid’s trust in Timothy to entrust such a message to her brother.

“The errands can probably wait. Mistress Green did not say they were urgent.”

Eloise assumed Mistress Green to be the wife of the apothecary, but she didn’t have time to ponder further. Roland stood by her side, his arms outstretched, waiting to help her dismount.

They’d been through this process several times today when he’d stopped to allow her to rest. Now, as before, she placed her hands on his wide shoulders and noticed how securely he held her about the waist. Only once, the first time, did she lean too far forward too fast, making him catch her.

Not that his holding her close to his chest was unpleasant, far from it. But that had been in the wilds, with only Timothy to observe, not an entire city.

Her dismount this time was a more dignified affair, even though the same tingles shot through her body, the same stiffness afflicted her legs.

Timothy left with the horses; Roland picked up their belongings and led her to the back of the shop. After a brief introduction to the rotund, sweet-faced Mistress Green, they headed up the stairway.

The squire had the right of it. The room facing the street seemed clean, the bed appeared sturdy. A brass brazier filled with charcoal would adequately heat the room. She noted a stack of pallets in one corner, a small table with a pitcher and bowl and single candle in another.

But what drew her across the room was the view out the window.

The glass wasn’t of the best quality. Small bubbles marred the surface, and a wavy texture fogged the clarity. Neither mattered, for off in the distance, over the rooftops of London, she could see the tops of the four stark-white turrets of White Tower, which she knew stood in the center of the fortress that was the Tower of London.

Soon, she’d see her father. Perhaps sooner than she liked, she’d learn the truth about how he’d come to be suspected of treason.

Her hand trembled as she touched the cold, hard glass, wondering if, just maybe, she’d made a mistake in coming.

Chapter Thirteen

H
ER SHOULDERS slumped at the view of the Tower of London, as if the weight of the world rested on those slender shoulders.

Roland tossed his bedroll and her sack on the bed, knowing she must be having second thoughts about her ill-advised journey. He also knew what she’d say if he suggested they simply turn around and go back to Lelle-ford, so he didn’t bother.

Right or wrong, whatever course of action Eloise set, she carried through, and since he’d gone along with her scheme, he’d help her however he could.

So instead of chiding her about her folly, he eased up behind Eloise and put his hands on her shoulders. Immediately they squared.

“Imposing sight, is it not?” he asked.

“White Tower really is white.”

From the center of the Tower grounds, the square corner turrets rose above the stone walls surrounding the fortress, their dark, pyramidal roofs pointing skyward.

“Your father may not be held in White Tower. There are other, smaller towers on the grounds.”

“Do they all have dungeons?”

He had to admire her calm, given the foreboding nature of her question. She envisioned her father languishing in a dark, dank cell, manacles on his wrists, rats scurrying across the floor.

’Twas possible, but Roland had his doubts.

“Not all. Verily, several of them are nicely furnished, with fireplaces and handy garderobes. Even when kept prisoner, those of high rank are furnished their comforts.”

She turned around. He dropped his hands to his sides. “But we do not know for sure, do we?”

Deciding nothing would convince her until she saw for herself, Roland turned his thoughts to the practical.

“With the money I assume you brought along he can buy himself comforts he might not already have.”

She frowned. “I hope I brought enough then.”

“Where is the pouch?”

“In the sack, wrapped in one of his tunics.”

“Best carry it on your person. The guards may search the sack. Better they do not know how large a purse your father has available.”

Eloise untied the rope securing the sack and pulled out what Roland recognized as her crimson gown and two tunics he deemed too small for Sir John. Edgar’s? The next tunic, of heavy brown wool, she unrolled on the bed, revealing a huge leather pouch stuffed so full of coins the seams strained.

“
Mon Dieu,
Eloise. I doubt your father wanted you to empty his entire coffin.”

She picked up the pouch. “I did not. My father is a wealthy man. This is but a portion of…well. I also brought a small pouch of my own, and I have several coins sewn into the hem of my cloak.” She looked up at him then. “We do not lack for funds. Whatever expenses we have, I can pay for. This room, stabling the horses, our meals. You need not bear any of the costs for accompanying me.”

The amount of money she carried made him sweat. She’d come overly prepared, to the point of being extremely dangerous. Not for any reason would he walk the city streets with her bearing that much money, certainly not take it into the Tower. Not on the first visit anyway.

“We need to hide some of that.”

“Why for?”

“We dare not take that much coin into the Tower until we know where your father is held, how secure his chamber. No sense taking it in only to have the guards confiscate it.”

Her eyes widened as understanding took hold. “Ah. Well, then …” She glanced around the room. “Where?”

A half memory from the last time he’d let these rooms drew him to the corner and the stack of pallets. He pulled them into the middle of the room. With slow, heavy steps, he tested the floor, and smiled when a loose board groaned.

“Under here.” He pulled his dagger from his boot to pry up the nails.

“Wait, use mine.”

Eloise brushed aside her cloak and pulled a heavy silver dagger from her right boot. Stunned, he stared at the bulky weapon in her outstretched hand.

“ ’Tis an old one of Julius’s,” she explained. “He will not miss it if it becomes ruined. No sense in marring yours.”

Roland briefly wondered how many more surprises he might suffer today. He took the offered dagger and soon had the floor plank pried up to where he thought he could slip the large pouch beneath to rest between the joists.

“How large is your purse?”

Eloise removed her cloak and tossed it on the bed. She faced him, hands clasped in front of her, a regal expression on her face. “You will divert your eyes, if you please.”

Realizing she needed to partially undress in order to retrieve her purse, Roland’s baser self reared up and couldn’t be silenced.

“Do you need assistance? A lace untied, a fastening undone? I humbly offer—”

“Roland, turn around.”

The order was blunt, but he detected a faint hint of humor.

As much as he would love to divest Eloise of whichever garments she must rearrange, there wasn’t now time for sport, not if she wanted to visit her father today. Nor did he think her in any mood to be diverted.

For now, he’d settle for bringing a smile to her face, a lightening of her burden.

“I am told I am very nimble-fingered.”

“Ro-land!” came out on a chuckle.

Satisfied, he gave an aggrieved sigh and turned to face the opposite wall. “Very well, if you insist. I merely strove to be helpful.”

“Hmmm.” To the rustling of skirts, she added, “You have already been of great help. I do not wish to overtax you.”

“Believe me, my lady, ’twould be no great burden.” More rustling of fabric, the jingle of the gold-link girdle she wore about her waist. If he turned around he would likely see her skirts hiked up, revealing her chemise. Long or short? Thick or thin? White or—

“You may turn around now.”

He spun quickly. Fully covered, she tossed him a small doeskin purse containing only a few coins.

Brought back to his purpose, he tugged open the strings and inspected the contents. She hadn’t stuffed it.

“ ’Tis a decent size. We will add a few more coins and give it to your father this afternoon.”

She brought him the large pouch. “Take whatever you need for our expenses thus far.”

He wasn’t above allowing Sir John to pay the costs, but was willing to trust Eloise for reimbursement.

“We can settle accounts later, after we know more. Best take out another handful, for the guards.”

“The guards?”

“They are the ones who let us in, who unlock your father’s chamber door, and more importantly, they let us out again. They will expect appreciation.”

Eloise nodded and shook more coins into her hand.

Roland secured the hoard, eased the board into place, and pressed the nails down with his boot heel. With the pallets dragged back into place, one would never know a small fortune lay under the flooring.

Eloise sat down on the bed, her former humor no longer in evidence. “What next?”

Roland unstrapped his scabbard, leaned it against the wall. “Have you any more weapons?”

“Nay. Are you not taking your sword?”

He’d feel naked without it, but ’twas best to leave it.

“ ’Tis not allowed to take weapons near a prisoner. Your dagger stays here, too.”

“And yours?”

“Stays in my boot. I will entrust it to whichever guard demands it, and give him an extra coin to ensure he remembers he has it. I refuse to walk the streets of London without a weapon, especially if we are out after nightfall.”

Eloise rose off the bed, came toward him, took a deep breath before speaking. “I owe you many thanks. I might have been able to find lodging for me and my horse, but the rest …” She glanced at her dagger. “I might have blundered badly with the money. The weapons. Dealing with the guards. I thought all I had to do was walk up to the gate and ask to see my father.” With a disparaging laugh she admitted, “I do not even know where the gate is.”

Guessing at how much the entire admission cost her, he put a finger under her chin, turned her head so he could see her eyes. Those gorgeous sapphire eyes.

“The only land entrance is on the western face, over a drawbridge. You could not have missed it if you tried.”

With a sad smile she put her hand on his chest. “Perhaps not, but I thank you for coming with me all the same.”

His insides stirred, as always, when this close to Eloise. So many times since catching up with her he’d wanted to kiss her senseless, make her forget herself and her family’s problems for a time. Lose himself in her.

He would have now if not for Timothy’s footsteps on the stairway.

Eloise carried the purse through the city’s streets, but as they crossed the first drawbridge and she caught a glimpse of the guards at the barbican, she handed it over to Roland.

“ ’Tis best you deal with the guards. I might not show them enough appreciation, or worse, too much.”

If he saw her nervousness, he didn’t comment, or chide her for her uncharacteristic admission of insecurity. ’Twas easy enough to hide any self-doubts when at Lelle-ford, a place where she could put a name to every face, where she felt comfortable in her own skin.

Walking the city’s streets, she’d felt most uncomfortable, unused to the jostle of strange people accompanied by the assault of loud sounds and stinging smells. The mere sight of the Tower of London’s high walls alone frightened her witless.

Were she by herself, she’d brazen it out, do whatever she must to see her father. Perhaps she took the coward’s way out by taking advantage of Roland’s willingness to help, but sweet mercy, she didn’t want to do anything wrong to raise a guard’s suspicions and thus deny them entry. Getting in to see her father quickly and without trouble was worth swallowing her pride.