Once a Bride (3 page)

Did Isolde know her beloved older brother, Edgar, had left Lelleford with its lord? Had Edgar informed Isolde that Sir John Hamelin required the young squire’s attendance in a heedless dash from home?

Eloise took the towel Isolde held out, noting no worry in the curve of the maid’s bow mouth, no concern in her brown doelike eyes. Concluding Isolde either didn’t know of her brother’s peril or hid her concern very well, Eloise dipped a corner of the towel into the basin.

She gently dabbed at the monk’s wound. “As I thought. ’Tis ugly but not deep. No need for needle and thread.”

Isolde tilted her head to get a better look. “Aye, ugly. How did you come by such a cut, good monk?”

Brother Walter yet stared across the hall. His continued silence bothered Eloise.

Since coming to Lelleford near winter’s end from Eve-sham Abbey, a monastery to which her father generously contributed, Brother Walter had kept mostly to himself. He either tended her father’s accounts or prayed in the chapel. He rarely spoke unless addressed, but he always acknowledged a question or comment. Had the bump on his head done more damage than she thought?

“Brother Walter?”

He jerked at the sound of his name. “My lady?”

“Isolde asked how you came by your wound.”

His hand rose to touch the gash. “I must have hit my head on the desk when …” His daze began to clear as he glanced around the hall. “Lady Eloise, your father, I must speak with him.”

He is gone, and you know why.

“I know not where my father is right now. Surely whatever you have to say to him can wait until after we patch your head.”

“No time.” He slid off the bench, becoming agitated. “I must find him forthwith.”

She grabbed the wide sleeve of his brown cleric’s robe. “You yet bleed. Pray sit before you fall over.”

He glared at her with uncharacteristic ire, then tugged his sleeve from her grasp and called out, “Has anyone seen his lordship in the past few minutes?”

He was answered with silence and shaking heads.

“Saints preserve us!” Brother Walter hustled to the stairs and then disappeared up them. Cries of “Sir John!” echoed back into the hall.

Isolde giggled. “How odd. I did not know the monk could move so fast or shout so loud. ’Tis as if a bee got up beneath his robes and threatens his privates.”

Eloise couldn’t withhold a smile at the maid’s irreverence, or from thinking Brother Walter deserved to get stung.

She shook her head at her foolish musings. Soon an earl would arrive, seeking to arrest her father, and she should be preparing somehow. Except how did one prepare when one wasn’t supposed to know? She wasn’t even sure she should allow Brother Walter to run about the castle shouting for Sir John.

Eloise turned to the serving wench. “You may empty the basin. ’Twould seem the good monk’s head wound is the least of his concerns.”

With the dismissal, the other observers wandered off, too—except Isolde, who stared at the stairs, puzzled. The sound of leather sandals slapping stone preceded the return of the monk, who made a quick perusal of the hall before scurrying out the door that opened to the bailey.

Isolde sighed. “He must have something right important to tell his lordship. What do you think it might be?”

“I have no notion.”

Likely she’d find out soon enough, though. When Brother Walter didn’t find Sir John, he’d likely come to her—she hoped—though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

’Twas unsettling being torn between wanting to know the worst of her father’s troubles and fearing to learn the details. She certainly wasn’t about to make an undignified dash after the monk. Until he came to her, all she could do was carry on as if her world hadn’t been flipped up into the air, threatening to land with a horrible thud.

Eloise put a hand on Isolde’s shoulder. Three years separated them in age—mistress and maid. Right now Eloise felt as old as the towering oaks in Lelleford’s woodlands.

“Have you finished your chores for the day?”

“Almost, milady. If you have no further need of me, I will go up to your bedchamber and mend the rip in your gray dress.”

Trips up or down stairs were painful for the maid, Eloise knew. A lass of ten and four, Isolde never complained about pain or belabored her hardship. She stoically carried on as if her foot were normally shaped, doing everything required of her. To reward the maid’s bravery and spare her pride, Eloise tried not to treat Isolde differently from other servants of the same age with similar duties.

“As long as you go up, take a bucket of coals. If tonight brings the same chill as last night, we may light the brazier.”

The girl bobbed her head. A few strands of her blond hair tugged loose from her braid to curl impudently about her forehead. So pretty. So sweet. So unfortunate.

Needing a task to keep her hands and mind occupied, Eloise headed for the stairs, intending to straighten the mess in her father’s accounting room. Not that she knew where all those scrolls belonged other than scattered on the desk and floor.

Before she reached the stairway, one of the gatehouse guards entered the hall and came straight at her.

“Lady Eloise, your presence is requested at the gate.” A chill slithered up her spine. The earl couldn’t be here already, could he?

“For what purpose?”

“Two messengers wait without. They seek hospitality for the night for the earl of Kenworth and his retinue. Since his lordship rode out to hunt, Sir Marcus thought the messengers should make the request of you.”

A household knight of long-standing, Sir Marcus served as captain of Lelleford’s guard. “My father went hunting?”

“Aye, milady. He and Edgar had a falcon with them when they rode out the gate.” The guard smiled. “We placed wagers on whether or not his lordship brings down the big heron that has harried the trout pond.”

Then as far as anyone knew, the lord of Lelleford was out flying his falcon. Her father had possessed the presence—or perhaps deviousness—of mind to give her a credible explanation for his absence.

Eloise followed the guard out the door and down the slope of the dusty yard that served as a buffer between the keep and the gatehouse at the inner curtain wall. ’Twas the closest anyone was allowed near the keep without permission. In times of dire trouble, visitors were halted and questioned before being allowed over the drawbridge at the outer curtain wall. Both thick, high stone walls, manned by highly trained guards, served to defend against an invading force.

She was tempted to order the drawbridge raised and the iron portcullis lowered. Unfortunately, her father had ordered her to allow the enemy inside. Which still felt wrong, unwise.

Near the gatehouse Sir Marcus stood beside Sir Simon, her father’s steward. Both burly warriors had served her father since beyond Eloise’s memory.

Had Father told either of them of his predicament? ’Twould make sense for him to take his knights into his confidence.

Feign ignorance.

Gads, how her father’s orders grated, especially those that concerned feeding and entertaining the earl. To have the enemy in the hall, drinking her father’s wine. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Obliged by customs of hospitality, she’d have to offer Kenworth the best bed in the keep—her father’s.

Eloise halted before the knights. “I understand we are to have visitors.”

Simon nodded, his gray eyes narrowing. “Unwelcome visitors. The earl of Kenworth brings several knights and men-at-arms with him.”

Armed knights and men-at-arms wielding pikes. Invaders, not guests. She struggled for calm.

“Not unusual for an earl’s retinue, is it?”

“Nay, but Kenworth is no friend of Sir John’s. I sent a patrol out to find his lordship. ’Twould be prudent to await his return before granting the earl hospitality. Unfortunately, ’tis also not prudent to delay an answer to a man of so high a rank.”

From his comments, Eloise deduced that Father hadn’t told Simon he wasn’t truly out hunting. Indeed, except for the monk, only she knew the reason for the earl’s visit, and she’d been ordered to let the bastard through the gates.

“Do you think my father would deny the earl’s request?”

The corner of Simon’s mouth quirked upward. “His lordship might be tempted, but I doubt he would deliver such an insult.”

Damn. She’d hoped for the opposite answer as an excuse to delay. Eloise glanced at Marcus. “You agree?”

Marcus shrugged a shoulder. “I fear Simon is right. We must allow Kenworth and his knights into the keep, but his retinue can make camp outside of our walls. The fewer men inside to guard, the better.”

“Will the earl find the arrangement acceptable?”

Simon huffed. “He will not be allowed the choice, my lady. If he wants a decent meal and soft bed for the night, he accepts the condition or does without. ’Tis a common arrangement and should pose no difficulty.”

The knights’ easy manner calmed her nervousness. They would carry out their duties and see to the protection of the castle, at least until after they learned the reason for the earl’s visit. And after they knew their lord was suspected of treason? Eloise hoped they’d be shocked and disbelieving, but loyally stand behind Sir John Hamelin, and thus his daughter.

“Where are the messengers?”

Simon waved a hand to indicate the gate. “Beyond.”

Flanked by the knights, Eloise passed through the inner gate to the outer bailey. Two men-at-arms, garbed in black and gold livery, waited beside their mounts. Both wore the staid expressions of soldiers, giving no hint to the disagreeable purpose of their lord’s visit, which she allowed they might not be aware of. She took a calming breath before addressing them.

“You may inform the earl of Kenworth we are pleased to offer hospitality for tonight. When might we expect his arrival?”

The tallest of them bowed slightly. “Your graciousness is welcome, Lady Eloise. I expect his lordship will arrive shortly after none.”

Midafternoon, then. Not much time.

“Pray give the earl our regards.”

The messengers mounted and departed, picking up speed and kicking up dust as they approached the outer gate.

Simon crossed his arms and muttered, “Reckless.”

“Just like the earl,” Marcus commented.

And sometimes like my father
, Eloise thought, but kept the observation to herself.

She turned to go back to the keep—and saw Brother Walter headed toward her, his eyes wide and wild, dried blood yet clinging to the side of his face and neck. The man might collapse if he didn’t halt his senseless running about. She sighed, wondering if that might not be for the best.

Marcus leaned toward her. “What the devil happened to the monk?”

“He hit his head and broke it open. The dolt refuses to have the cut tended.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow at her insult to a man of the cloth and exchanged an amused glance with Simon. “Shall we force his cooperation, milady?”

“Only if I cannot make him see sense.”

Eloise left the knights behind and strode toward the cleric, still unsure of what to do with him. Lock him in his chamber? Send him out the gate? Leave him to his own devices?

He halted. “Have you seen his lordship, milady?”

“I am told he went hunting. Come back—”

“Nay! He cannot have left the castle!”

“I assure you he did!” Eloise put a hand on his forearm, hoping to calm him. “Allow me to bandage your head, and you can tell me why you so desperately seek my father.”

The monk’s eyes closed. His shoulders drooped and chin hit his chest. “Heaven preserve us. If his lordship has left Lelleford, I fear we shall require a miracle to save us.”

His desolation chilled Eloise clear through.

“Brother Walter, you had best explain yourself.”

His chin rose slightly. “Prayer. Only the Lord’s intervention—I am to the chapel, my lady, there to remain on my knees in supplication until the storm passes.”

Then he was off, his robes billowing in his flight. Eloise bit back a reprimand and reluctantly let him go, knowing where he’d be.

“Milady?”

Eloise glanced over her shoulder to see Simon yet standing where she’d left him.

He unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile. “I gather the monk has not yet come to his senses. Shall I go after him, sit him down to be tended?”

Eloise waved a dismissive hand. “Nay, leave him be. He goes to pray. Mayhap the Lord will see fit to heal his head.” And perhaps he’d simply keel over someplace and stay out of her way. “Tell me, Simon, do you know Kenworth well?”

“Well enough, and most of his knights, too.”

Most of the knights, barons, and magnates of the kingdom were acquainted with each other, having fought together over the years in various wars, or against each other in tournaments. Simon likely knew how to treat the earl better than she did.

“What do I feed the earl of Kenworth to ensure his good humor?”

Simon thought for a moment, then answered, “Eel.”

Eel. The one dish sure to sour her stomach at a whiff of the odor. Still, she’d order the eel served, hoping an upset stomach was the worst indignity she would suffer tonight.

With her eyes closed, Eloise sat quietly and breathed evenly, gratefully submitting to having her hair combed with long, soothing strokes. Isolde seemed to sense her mistress’s need for peace, performing her task without her usual chatter.

The past two hours had gone by in a blur.

Cook had grumbled about the addition of eel to this evening’s meal because she didn’t like abrupt changes to her plans, not even when a peer of the realm was to be the unexpected guest. Eloise had listened patiently to the old woman’s muttering. If she hadn’t, a disaster of cold or wrongly spiced food might be the result.

Straightening her father’s accounting room proved disheartening. All the while she put the room to rights, found places to neatly tuck away the scrolls, she couldn’t help wonder why her father had taken several scrolls with him. Did they contain proof of his guilt or innocence? If innocence, then why hadn’t he stayed to confront the earl?

She’d been telling herself all along that her father admired young King Edward too much to betray him. Still, John Hamelin had fled with possibly condemning evidence in his possession. So she’d reluctantly removed a handful of coins from the coffin to hide in her bedchamber, in the event she decided to sew them into the hems of her garments.