Once a Bride Read online

  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.

  Roland glanced at Kenworth, still standing by a trestle table, currently content to pour himself a second goblet of what was sure to be fine wine.

  “We had best gather the others,” he told Simon. “And quickly. I do not wish to leave Kenworth to his own devices overlong.”

  Simon leaned slightly toward Eloise. “Be wary of Kenworth, milady. The earl is easily provoked into foul temper. We shall return as soon as we can.”

  Eloise crossed her arms and shot them both a scathing glance. Whatever biting comment she longed to make she withheld, uttering only a mild, “Very well.”

  Simon headed for the door. Roland hesitated before following, concerned over leaving Eloise alone with Kenworth. But the earl had ordered him to accompany Simon, and he’d already provoked the earl enough for one day. Surely, she’d be safe enough in the hall for a short time—if she didn’t state her opinions to Kenworth.

  “Simon is right about the earl. Have a care.”

  Her chin rose, tilting her nose to a haughty angle. Without a word she spun around and headed for the man he’d just cautioned her against.

  Well, she’d been warned. Perhaps she would heed the caution if only because Simon told her to be wary, too.

  Out in the bailey, Roland fell into step beside Simon, who marched toward the inner gate.

  “What precisely is Sir John accused of?” Simon asked, his voice rough, his jaw set in a hard line.

  The worst charge against an English lord that Roland could imagine in this time of unrest.

  “He stands charged with conspiring with the Scots.”

  “Ha! John? Never. The king believes this idiocy?”

  “I know neither all the details nor who brought the charge against Sir John, only that the king is in possession of a condemning missive.”

  Simon struggled to absorb the news, then declared, “Sir John is no traitor.”

  Roland admired the steward’s steadfast loyalty, even if misplaced.

  “That is for the king to decide. My duty is to ensure Lelleford and its people suffer no undue hardship until the matter is resolved one way or the other.”

  “Why you?”

  Why him, indeed? Roland hoped the king considered him trustworthy and sought to give him the chance to prove himself. But it was a weak reason to give Simon.

  “Perhaps the king just wants me out from underfoot.”

  Simon seemed amused. “So he sends you here to irritate us.”

  “Lady Eloise certainly is not pleased to see me again.”

  “Given what happened … before, and the shock of hearing the charges against her father, I cannot blame her. I thought she handled the news rather well.”

  So Simon noticed her uncharacteristically mild outburst, too. ’Twasn’t like Eloise to not fully speak her mind. Perhaps the earl’s presence had subdued her volatile nature. Still, he didn’t doubt a storm brewed, ’twas only a matter of time before thunder roared.

  As they approached the inner gate, Sir Marcus strode toward them, frowning mightily. “Is it true?”

  Roland didn’t doubt by now everyone in the castle knew why the outer gate was closed.

  Simon gave Marcus a brief explanation of what occurred, then ordered him into the hall with the admonition to keep a close eye on Eloise. He obeyed, but only after grumbling that the earl went too far in lowering the portcullis, that surely Sir John would return from hunting shortly and set all to rights.

  Roland admitted ’twas possible John had truly gone hunting. Several people had seen him ride out the gate with a squire at his side and a falcon on his arm. ’Twas also nigh impossible to believe John would go far from Lelleford without telling either Simon or Marcus, men he trusted implicitly, about why he left and where he was going.

  As they made the rounds of the bailey, gathering up the other knights, it became clear that everyone truly believed Sir John was out chasing a heron. Still, though he had no firm reason to disbelieve the tale, Roland couldn’t shake the feeling that John had known the earl was coming for him and taken flight.

  His musings ended upon entering the hall.

  No earl. No Marcus. No Eloise.

  The hair on the back of his neck itched.

  Simon waved forward a page. “Where is Lady Eloise?”

  The page glanced at the stairs leading to the upper floor. “She took the earl up to his lordship’s accounting room.”

  Simon’s countenance turned stormy. “Is Marcus with her?”

  “Nay. The earl sent Marcus to find Brother Walter.”

  Roland headed for the stairs, Simon right behind him, wishing Eloise had taken his warning to heart. But then, if Kenworth ordered her to show him John’s accounting room, she would have no choice but to obey. If he didn’t already know where the accounting room was located, Roland would have found it by following the sound of Kenworth’s raised voice.

  “I have every right! ’Tis your father, the traitor, who no longer has rights!”

  Roland turned into the small room. Kenworth sat behind the oak desk, scrolls scattered across it. Eloise stood with her back to the door, her arms crossed and spine rigid.

  “My father is no traitor,” she stated.

  “I have proof otherwise, and if there is more proof among your father’s documents, I intend to find it.” Kenworth looked around Eloise. “Ah, St. Marten. Has Hamelin been found?”

  Eloise spun around, her ire fading to concern.

  “Not as yet. At least none of the patrols have returned that I know of.”

  Eloise’s relief contrasted sharply with Kenworth’s frustration. The earl waved a dismissive hand.

  “Go. Roland, her ladyship and the knights are to be placed under guard in the hall. The next piece of news I want to hear is that John Hamelin is captured.”

  “As you say, my lord.” Wanting nothing more than to get Eloise out o
f Kenworth’s reach, he extended a hand, palm up. “Come, milady.”

  She stared at his outstretched hand, then with a look of loathing walked right past him. The slight stung, but he let it pass without reaction. To Eloise he must seem the enemy, a usurper of her father’s authority over her home. That she resented his mission wasn’t unexpected.

  ’Struth, he’d been sent here to oversee the holding in the king’s name, not to pamper or befriend Eloise Hamelin—not that he wanted to. The less he must deal with the woman, the better.

  Roland left the accounting room and closed the door behind him. He strode toward where Simon stood near the end of the passageway, Eloise pacing nearby. The gold trim on her crimson gown flashed in the light beaming in from an arrow slit.

  “No one is allowed to touch Father’s private documents without permission,” she petulantly told the steward. “Must we allow this affront?”

  “From an earl, I fear so,” Simon answered. “No matter that I share your distaste for his presence and mission, we cannot hinder Kenworth without putting our own necks, and your father’s, at further risk. What does he want with Brother Walter?”

  “He believes Father’s clerk can help him find whatever he searches for in more timely a manner. Truly, if I thought we could toss the earl out the gate without causing my father more difficulty, I would.”

  Then she turned to face him, her ire high yet carefully controlled. “If we must suffer this outrageous invasion of our home, I wish to know what your intentions are as overseer.”

  He didn’t have to explain anything to the daughter of the household, but given the presence of the steward, whose cooperation he needed for a peaceful surrender to his authority, he decided courtesy was in order.

  “The king gives me full charge over Lelleford. Sir John’s arrest puts the holding at risk, both from attack from without and turmoil from within. ’Tis my duty to see neither happens.”

  “You have proof of this grant of authority?”

  “I do, which I will give to Sir John as soon as he presents himself. Perhaps we should now retire to the hall to await his return.”

  “Giving orders already?”

  “Not an order, merely a suggestion. I see no sense in standing up here in the hallway when we might sit on a bench in the hall.”

  Eloise pursed her lips and turned to descend the tightly winding stairway. He and Simon followed in her regal wake across the hall to the table where flagons and goblets yet sat.

  She served her knights first, an unsubtle violation of the rules of hospitality, letting him know she didn’t consider him a guest but an intruder—as if he weren’t already aware. When she finally handed him a full goblet of the ruby wine, she did so with a look that suggested she’d rather toss the drink in his face.

  He took a sip and forced himself to appreciate the full body and rich aroma. Unfortunately, he couldn’t block out the fragrance of the woman who now stood so close to reluctantly serve him.

  Where other women wore flowery, cloying scents that merely hinted of their presence, Eloise smelled of a tangy exotic spice that flooded him with erotic thoughts, luring him to taste the delicacy so appealingly presented.

  He lifted the goblet in a slight salute. “Divine, as always.”

  Her lips curved up in a tight, false smile. “I am delighted you approve. You will be sure to let me know if this evening’s meal meets your particular standard.”

  “The earl once asked me if I had found any fault with Lelleford’s hospitality. In all sincerity I informed him I had not. I suspect he will find I told him true.”

  “Had I a choice …”

  “But you do not. Besides, even given the unfortunate circumstances, I doubt your pride would allow you to present less than Lelleford’s best.”

  “You believe you know me so well?”

  He’d taken her measure two months ago and hadn’t yet seen any reason to change his opinion. Prideful. Brazen. Too damn forward and outspoken.

  “Well enough.”

  She leaned forward and whispered, “You know nothing.”

  Her scent and nearness muddled his senses. With great effort he countered her move, bringing them nearly nose to nose.

  “Think you? We shall see, milady.”

  Simon cleared his throat.

  Roland snapped his attention back to where it belonged. God’s wounds, he’d been so engrossed in sparring with Eloise he’d forgotten that others stood nearby, and had allowed his mind to wander from his duty. He’d not let it happen again.

  From the doorway strode a grim-faced Marcus, beside him a man-at-arms upon whose forearm perched a peregrine falcon.

  “We have two problems,” Marcus said. “I cannot find Brother Walter. As you suggested, milady, I first looked in the chapel. He is not in his quarters. No one seems to have seen him of late. But that is not the worst of it.” He nodded to the soldier. “Report.”

  The soldier addressed Simon. “We did as you ordered, first searching the trout pond, then Sir John’s other favorite hunting spots. We found no sign of either his lordship or Edgar until about an hour ago.” The soldier glanced at the falcon. “She was tethered in a tree near the old mill, sitting in plain sight, like she were waiting for someone to come get her and bring her home.”

  In the ensuing stunned silence, Roland set his goblet on the table. Surely no one now believed Sir John Hamelin had merely gone hunting. He’d left the falcon in a spot he’d known would be searched, and then fled.

  The earl wouldn’t be pleased, and Roland dreaded being the one to tell him. Still, the man must be told.

  “I will inform Kenworth.” He glanced around at the half-dozen grim-faced knights. “I ask for your pledge to remain in the hall of your own accord.”

  To a man they gave agreement.

  Eloise turned glistening sapphire eyes his way. “We will do naught to give the earl reason to do Lelleford or its people harm. I ask you have a care to do the same.”

  Roland made his way to the accounting room, mindful of both her unnecessary caution and the disturbing sight of Eloise’s unshed tears.

  Nothing in her experience had prepared Eloise for dealing with a peer of the realm in high temper.

  Seated at the dais, with the earl occupying her father’s chair next to her, Eloise struggled to keep her stomach calm. But with Kenworth’s surly disposition and the sickening smell of eel, she was fighting a losing battle. For all he appreciated the effort she’d made to have one of his favorite foods prepared, she might as well have served him thinned stew.

  Then her stomach wouldn’t now be as sour as Kenworth’s mood.

  If being seated next to the churlish earl weren’t bothersome enough, on her other side sat Roland St. Marten. A man whose physical presence made her heart beat a bit faster, a little harder, every time she got too close to him. Not a good reaction at all.

  And right now she was much too close to him, seated on the same bench, mere inches apart. So close his heady male scent almost overpowered the odor of the eel. Almost.

  ’Struth, she’d been glad of Roland’s presence during the long afternoon as the patrols came in and the earl’s knights reported their lack of success. Though she was loathe to admit it, only Roland’s calm manner and firm stance had kept the earl’s wrath under restraint.

  Without question, Lelleford was now firmly controlled by William, earl of Kenworth. His guards manned the gates, with orders to allow no one outside the walls without permission. Neither she nor Lelleford’s knights were allowed out of the great hall because of Kenworth’s fear they might attempt to escape and go to their lord’s aid.

  He’d taken control of the castle, but not by force, and for that Eloise gave thanks to the Lord and, grudgingly, to Roland St. Marten.

  Truly, she should have taken a stronger role in dealing with the earl, not let Roland assume most of the task. Undeniably, the man possessed a core of strength and purpose, cast forth an aura of power mingled with intelligence. While Roland used court
ly manners, she didn’t doubt he, too, would be dangerous if crossed. The man certainly hadn’t hesitated to draw his sword against the earl’s knights in defense of Simon, a good sign.

  Still, she’d accepted his assistance too easily. So, too, to her way of thinking, did Lelleford’s knights accept his authority. Simon hadn’t argued about giving up his usual seat at table to Roland, had merely slid down a place to accommodate the arrangement. Marcus also accepted Roland’s authority as unavoidable, not worth the effort of a protest.

  Her whole being rebelled at the thought of having anyone but her father, or she in her father’s absence, holding sway over her home. ’Twas insulting, galling—and unavoidable. But damn, she didn’t have to like it or even pretend she did.

  At least not to Roland St. Marten.

  Kenworth was another matter altogether.

  She wanted the earl gone, but not too soon. Wherever her father was going, she wanted him to reach a safe haven without worrying about pursuit and capture. Surely there must be a way to keep the earl and his knights at Lelleford for a day or two to give her father more time.

  Kenworth dearly loved his wine. Was it possible to keep a man intoxicated for several days? Drunk, he wouldn’t be able to think clearly, much less sit a horse and chase after her father.

  Unfortunately, she doubted Kenworth would fall for the ploy. She’d only get herself into further trouble.

  The earl reached for his goblet. When he frowned into the empty vessel, Eloise immediately signaled for a page.

  “Bring another flagon of wine for his lordship,” she told the boy, who scurried to obey.

  Kenworth slammed the goblet onto the table, causing her to flinch and bump shoulders with Roland.

  Hard and rock-steady, he didn’t move. She straightened almost immediately, but not before his warmth seeped into her and his solid presence reassured her. She held on to both under the earl’s disapproving scowl.

  “Your servants are lax, Lady Eloise. That lad is not suited to serve the high table.”

  Eloise immediately took offense. The lad had earned the right to serve the high table, had done nothing wrong this eve—except not realize the earl attempted to empty an entire keg of wine all by himself. However, ’twould do no good to inform Kenworth of his error.