Once a Bride (4 page)
Then there was Brother Walter who, as far as Eloise knew, still lay prone on the chapel floor engaged in fervent prayer. One glance at him had so dismayed and annoyed her that she’d quietly left the chapel without disturbing him.
The stroke of the comb obviously hadn’t quieted her questions and worries, but at least her jaw no longer hurt from clenching her teeth. She might be able to greet the earl without scowling or snapping at him. To give her father as much time as she could to get as far away from Lelleford as he was able, she had no choice but to be pleasant to Kenworth.
“Ribbons?” Isolde asked.
“Aye. Both the crimson and gold.”
While Isolde fetched the long ribbons, Eloise brushed away broken strands of hair from the gold-trimmed, crimson velvet gown she wore. ’Twas the richest and newest gown she owned, made up for her wedding day, the only time she’d worn it.
Isolde’s deft hands wound the ribbons and hair into a thick braid. “You look fine enough to greet royalty, mi-lady.”
Fine enough to distract an earl for another hour or two while her father and Isolde’s brother put time and distance between them and Lelleford?
“I hope so. Isolde, did you talk to Edgar before he and my father … went hunting?”
“Last I had a word with Edgar was early this morn. Why?”
Eloise battled her conscience. Refraining from forewarning Isolde of the adversity to come didn’t sit well. If anything horrible happened to Edgar, his sister would suffer mightily.
“I merely wondered if he said where he and my father intended to go.”
“Not to me.” Isolde tied off the ribbon, then chuckled. “If I had me an extra coin or two, I might wager on them bringing down that big heron. Sure is taking them long enough, though. Or perhaps his lordship thinks bagging the heron of more import than waitin’ on an earl.”
Isolde assumed the patrol had found his lordship and informed him of the earl’s impending arrival. Eloise knew those men must be confused and worried by now, had likely checked all of her father’s favorite hunting spots and not found him.
“Perhaps.” Eloise rose from the stool and adjusted the gold-link girdle that wound about her twice to rest lightly on her hips. “Think you I need more adornment? A gold amulet or brooch?”
“Nay, milady. ’Twould be a waste. Once men fix on your face they do not notice all the rest anyway.”
“You flatter me, Isolde.”
“ ’Tis no more than the truth.”
Eloise knew men noted far more about a woman than her face. Too many times she’d been inspected from head to toe, her form and assets judged. Some lingered overlong on her bosom, some tarried at her hips. She’d learned how to distinguish appreciation from lust. Some men’s looks revolted her, while others invoked a delicious tingle of response.
She tugged lightly on her sleeve to smooth the velvet, memories of the disastrous wedding coming to the fore. Hugh St. Marten and several members of his family had arrived two days before the ceremony. In the spare moments they’d managed to find time alone, she’d tried in vain to conjure delicious tingles for her betrothed.
In his eyes she’d perceived a mingling of affection and desire. As a dutiful wife, she’d have lain with Hugh and borne his children. Perhaps, in time, she might have come to care deeply for him.
Unfortunately, at the time she’d been distracted by another, wholly unsuitable, irritating, and compelling man who inspired not tingles but deep, burning heat. With a shiver she again thanked the Fates that she’d unwittingly discovered his disdain of her before she’d made an utter fool of herself over her betrothed’s half brother. To her chagrin, she could still envision Roland St. Marten’s face more sharply than Hugh’s.
A rap on the door brought Eloise out of her disturbing thoughts. Isolde admitted a page.
“Sir Simon says to fetch you, my lady. The earl has arrived.”
“I will be down in a moment.”
The page scurried off. Eloise took a deep, calming breath.
“Must be a fearsome one, this earl,” Isolde commented. “ ’Tis rare to see you uneasy.”
“Does it show so much?”
“You rub your hands together. A sure sign.”
Eloise stilled her hands. “I wish my father were here to greet him. High nobility can be troublesome guests.”
With that nasty thought in mind, she made her way down to the great hall. Just inside the doorway stood Simon with a group of chain mail-clad knights and a bevy of squires. Eloise guessed the oldest and most richly garbed man must be William, earl of Kenworth.
Chin high, spine straight, Eloise sallied forth to perform her duty—and nearly tripped over her own feet when one knight stepped apart from the others.
Roland St. Marten. Clad in armor. Now a knight and obviously in service to the earl of Kenworth. He listened to whatever Simon was telling the earl with brooding intensity, which she hoped meant he hadn’t noticed her momentary hesitation.
Of goodly height and solid warrior’s build, Roland’s raven hair was long enough to brush atop his wide shoulders. His hazel eyes were no less sharp, his jawline no less rugged. On their first meeting, she’d been instantly aware of his potent charms, but utterly fascinated by his aura of strength and power.
He’d warned Hugh against marrying her, declared her an unsuitable bride. The wretch. Never, in her entire life, had anyone dared insult her so.
Concentrate on the earl.
She fixed a pleasant, welcoming smile on her face. Then Roland seemed to sense her presence and turned those intense hazel eyes in her direction. Her knees went weak and her mouth dry. Eloise gathered every shard of willpower to ignore her body’s stirring and force aside her wanton awareness of the man who should be, if fate hadn’t intervened, her brother-by-marriage.
The man who’d called her brazen, and who she now considered no better than a lowly, disgusting toad.
With her ire piqued, Eloise managed to turn her attention back where it belonged, on the earl who’d come to arrest her father for treason.
The earl of Kenworth had noticed her, too. He inspected her with narrowed eyes and thinned mouth. Short. Balding. Well fed. A mean boar in human form.
Simon looked relieved to see her. “My lady, our guest, William, earl of Kenworth.”
Eloise dipped into a deep curtsy before the earl, low enough to give a royal personage proper respect. “My lord. You do us honor with your visit. We welcome you and your knights.”
“ ’Twas you who gave the order for my retinue to remain beyond the walls?”
She rose to face his sharp disapproval squarely. “I approved our knights’ recommendation, my lord. We shall leave the final decision regarding the encampment to my father.”
“Who I understand is not here.”
Nor would he be.
“Thus our decision to exercise prudence.” She turned to Simon. “Any word on my father’s whereabouts as yet?”
“Nay, milady. I explained to his lordship that Sir John had gone hunting, unaware we were to have visitors. I expect our patrol and Sir John to return shortly.”
Eloise strained to reclaim her smile. “My lord, might I offer you and your knights goblets of our finest wine and a hearty repast to make the time pass more quickly?”
The earl spun to his knights. “Take out patrols. Find him!”
Father needs more time!
“Surely that is not necessary. If naught else, Father will be home for evening meal.”
“I suspect not.” The earl took a menacing step toward her, glanced at Simon. “I swear, if Hamelin is not found quickly, I shall hold you both accountable for aiding a traitor!”
Eloise nearly choked on an ill-advised, strangling gasp.
Simon drew his sword, the rasp of steel from his leather scabbard a call to battle, answered swiftly by the earl’s knights.
“Sir John a traitor?” Simon asked fiercely. “Never! How dare you insult his lordship in his own hall, with him not here to defend against your base accusation!”
The earl waved a dismissing hand. “Hamelin has been duly charged! And how dare you draw your sword on a peer of the realm! Seize him!”
A last sword whipped from its scabbard. Roland’s.
“We seize no one except Sir John. Sheathe your swords.” The earl’s hands clenched, his anger now focused on Roland. “I gave an order I expect to be obeyed.”
“And I am under the king’s orders, which I intend to obey. Attempt to seize Sir Simon and I will stand with him.”
“You are a fool. The king will hear of your insolence.”
The corner of Roland’s mouth quirked. “Pray inform him, my lord, for then Edward shall know I followed his wishes to perfection. If you intend to send your knights on patrol, do so. I am for Lady Eloise’s gracious offer of wine.”
Eloise remembered to breathe when Roland sheathed his sword, taking it as a sign the worst danger past, noting to whom he owed allegiance—King Edward, not Kenworth. She didn’t know if she should be relieved or not.
The earl waved at his knights. “Go. Before you leave set guards at the drawbridge. No one of Lelleford is allowed outside the gates until Hamelin is firmly within my grasp.”
The knights’ swords slid home and Eloise stilled her hands.
Before she could once more offer wine, the earl glared at Simon and Roland. “Bring Lelleford’s knights into the hall. I want you all within my sight. Be aware that aiding a traitor is cause for hanging, and I will not hesitate to so punish anyone who interferes with Hamelin’s arrest.”
With that, Kenworth stomped off toward the table where a servant had set out flagons and goblets.
Simon lowered his sword. “What goes on here, Roland? This makes no sense. Is Sir John truly charged with treason?”
“I fear so. Kenworth is to seize Sir John and take him to Westminster for trial. The king will sit as judge.”
Eloise forced herself to look into Roland’s hazel eyes. She saw no contempt for her father, no sign he thought any better of her. Still, she had to make her belief known.
“My father would not betray King Edward, I am sure of it.”
“Then he has naught to fear.”
“Does he not?” Eloise wasn’t so sure anymore. Kenworth struck her as a man out for blood, her father’s blood.
“ ’Tis for the king to decide on his guilt, milady, and Edward is a man of both intelligence and honor.”
So she’d heard—more than once—from the man accused of betraying the king.
“You serve Edward, not the earl. What do you here?”
Roland glanced around the hall before he looked at her again. “By the king’s order, I am to oversee Lelleford until after your father’s fate is decided.”
Stunned, Eloise managed to withhold a squeal of denial and displeasure. Roland St. Marten oversee Lelleford? Unthinkable!
I
NDIGNATION SHIMMERED in the lady’s sapphire eyes, deep pools of blue a man could drown in if he weren’t careful.
Roland never questioned why Hugh had been instantly smitten with his intended bride. Eloise’s beauty would capture any man’s attention. Fair of skin, bold of mouth, lithe of form, and possessed of a royal bearing, the woman deserved every tribute paid to her lovely face, curvaceous figure, and effortless grace.
Even knowing Eloise Hamelin was betrothed to his half brother, Roland hadn’t been immune to her beauty. From the moment of their introduction, he’d felt the natural stirring a healthy male feels for a desirable female, had envied Hugh the marriage bed with so delectable a woman.
Unfortunately, during the two days before the wedding, he’d watched Hugh become so enamored of his betrothed he neglected to note her presumption. Out of her bold mouth spewed bold words. Those sapphire eyes flashed with ire at the slightest provocation. He’d never encountered a less docile woman.
Still, if Eloise had given any sign of admiring Hugh to a high degree, Roland might not have taken his brother aside to warn him of his betrothed’s strong will. He should have realized Hugh was too besotted to listen. Nor had he counted on the lady overhearing and adding her opinion to an already heated argument.
So Hugh died angry at Roland for speaking ill of Eloise, who dressed today in the crimson and gold gown she’d worn on her wedding day. The velvet molded against her body as enticingly now as then. Inviting a man’s admiration, and worse, his hands.
“Insufferable,” she blurted out. “Surely you misunderstood the king’s intentions. He cannot have meant to give such an insult.”
“I assure you, my lady, the king meant no insult to you personally. He merely strives to ensure Lelleford is under sound management in your father’s absence.”
Her nostrils flared. Then, as quickly as her ire ignited, she doused the fire with the ice of her will. He’d never met a woman who could alter her emotions so quickly, so completely. Once again she appeared calm, regal, in control.
“You may inform the king we have no need of an overseer,” she finally said in that sublime manner that demanded immediate obedience.
He didn’t mind disappointing her in the least. “I fear neither of us is given a choice in the matter.”
She looked to Simon in an appeal for assistance the steward couldn’t possibly grant, his answer a shaking head.
“Milady, if the king so orders then we must yield. I grant you, ’tis insulting, this whole business. But better Sir Roland as overseer than others the king might have assigned the duty.”
Simon’s acceptance of the inevitable didn’t sit well with her, and Roland didn’t doubt she’d accept most anyone else’s authority over Lelleford with less distaste. That bothered him, but he didn’t need Eloise’s approval or support. The knights’ cooperation was far more important to his success.
Lelleford boasted a grand great hall, fit for the residence of a royal personage, a tribute to the Hamelins’ heritage, wealth, and high position. So, too, was it an impressive fortress, with solid defenses and a highly trained garrison. Should the household knights band together against him, they could easily toss Roland out the gate and lower the portcullis.
A man accustomed to following orders, Sir Simon seemed resigned to accepting what his mistress dreaded. Roland could only hope Sir Marcus and the others would be sensible, too.