Ela covered her mouth with her hand—too late to stop the horrified gasp from escaping. She turned to look at Natalia, Lady Steffen, but the beautiful older woman refused to meet her gaze. Betrayed.
How had Os, with his suspicious nature, missed Lady Steffen being a traitor?
How had she not read that trait in the woman’s aura?
“Thomas,” she said in a steely voice. “My son. What do you know of the attack on Lady Ela?”
“Me?” He held his leather gloves by the wrists and lightly slapped them against his thigh. Thwack, thwack. “Nothing at all. I’ve come to claim my betrothed before she ends up carrying another man’s babe. We’d hate to make that a family tradition, wouldn’t we, Mother?” Thwack, thwack.
Lady Steffen’s lips tightened, showing the lines of age around her mouth. “You never mentioned a betrothal.”
“It was your idea,” Thomas said with a lewd laugh. “I find it quite convenient, and cozy, to have both my ladies in the same castle.”
Ela shook with emotion, her body ready to battle, or run. She detested feeling vulnerable, but she couldn’t speak, let alone make a poor jest.
The earl—Lord High Steward of England—slammed his fist down against the arm of his chair. “Enough of your games, Thomas. What is going on here? I didn’t approve any betrothal. You were gifted land next to an honorable and decent man in hopes that you would settle down.”
Thomas’s lip curled. “Mother wanted me to marry Lord Montehue’s daughter—it didn’t matter to her that the lady,” he sneered at Ela, “had a reputation as a wild hoyden whose best friend is the wisewoman in the forest. Deluded too, thinking that she is descended from some tribal queen.” Thwack, thwack.
Ela watched with growing alarm as Thomas’s aura turned putrid with hate. His face was a hectic blotchy mess of reds, and his breathing quickened so that he was almost panting like a rabid dog.
“I’d hoped that you would find a wonderful girl, marry, and learn to live a happy life. It is what any mother would want for her child,” Natalia said beseechingly—to whom exactly, Ela didn’t know. “It wasn’t an order.”
“You promised me money and knights.” Thomas crossed one arm over his middle and pointed at Ela with the other hand. “And you wanted to marry me. You were a bitch in heat, tripping over yourself to make me propose marriage.”
Os jumped to his feet. “Enough, de Havel.”
Thomas took a step toward the dais, and Ela rose to her full height before the men could get into a fight that might cost Os his position. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she would protect Os if she could.
“Stop, please. Thomas, I did want to marry you.” She felt everyone’s attention focused on her. “Because you insinuated you were a spy for King John. You implied that you would see my family lose their lands if I didn’t fawn all over you. You made me chase you just so that you could watch me embarrass myself.” Tears clogged her throat, and she breathed in through her nose—anything but let the tears fall from her eyes. Pride kept her standing straight and tall. “Only to turn me away.”
“Thomas!” Lady Steffen sank back to the couch, and the countess reached over to clasp her hands tightly.
“I wanted to protect my family from you and King John—I thought marriage to you would be worth any sacrifice if it kept my family safe. But when you rejected me that day at the manor,” she looked pointedly at Thomas’s groin, “I knew that we would never suit. That you would not be happy until you crushed my spirit.” With each word, she gained confidence against his bullying.
Thomas ran toward her, his fists outstretched before stopping short at the dais. She stepped back, falling onto the stool behind her. “You need your spirit crushed.” He strangled his gloves and then threw them at her, hitting her in the chest.
Stunned, she quickly sorted out real injury from hurt pride and fear—not of Thomas, but for Osbert, who was seething with fury.
Lady Steffen moaned, but Ela felt the stirrings of an ancient power. She leaned over and grabbed Thomas by his straggly beard and yanked. “Don’t ever do that again.”
She released him, and he fell back into Osbert, who had stealthily come up behind him when he was distracted. Os had his sword blade to Thomas’s jugular.
“You ever touch her again, and you will die.” Os’s calm promise after the deluge of emotion allowed her to breathe normally again.
“You can’t kill him!” Lady Steffen cried. “Roger, do something.”
The earl tugged at his ear, staring at Thomas with grave distaste. “Let him go, Os.”
Ela watched the play of muscle along Osbert’s jaw as he fought for self-control. Her Os. What would he do?
“He’s not worth dying for.” The earl got to his feet, and Os lowered the sword. He and the earl exchanged an unreadable glance.
Holding out his hand, the earl pulled Ela to her feet. “Do you still want to marry Thomas de Havel? There is no threat of coercion, this would be your choice alone.”
With a bubble of relief, Ela said, “No.”
“Then you are free. You and Osbert are dismissed until the supper bell. I expect you to be on time.”
Ela kissed his cheek, surprising them both, then ran to Os’s waiting arms.
Os half carried Ela from the room, his arm around her waist so that she could lean into him as he led her outside the castle.
“Os,” she was saying. “You are so wonderful. Strong and fast, and I thought you were brave and courageous—”
“And you,” he said as he stopped to shake her shoulders, “are impetuous and ill-behaved. You don’t think things through to the end, and you could have ended up married to that idiot.”
She deflated, and he regretted his outburst. Emotions, mistakes—when would he learn? Would Ela ever learn?
She’d been a power to behold, standing on the dais with Thomas’s beard in her hand. He’d had to rub his eyes since it seemed as if he was seeing double.
Impossible.
“Please don’t be angry at me, Os. It was Lady Steffen’s idea to introduce me to the earl, through her friend the countess.”
“You are not weak-willed, and you could have told her no.”
Ela bowed her head, which fit so perfectly against the top of his shoulder. How had she come to be snuggled up in his arms again?
“Aye. I … I wanted you to see me in my dress. I felt pretty.”
He’d been expecting an excuse or a flimsy feminine lie. But Ela, his wild darling, didn’t bother with untruths. She was also hiding her face in his tunic as if she were embarrassed.
His heart was beating so fast that she had to hear his panic at having her so close.
Os stepped back, taking her chin in his hand so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes and read the truth. “You are beautiful. Brave. Courageous. I didn’t save you. Ela, would that I could offer you my worthless, faithless heart. It beats for you as it never has for anyone else before.”
“Os,” she breathed out and leaned in.
He gently pushed her back. “But I can’t.” Her green eyes challenged him to break his oath and dare to love her. Sir Percy had told him that women tempted a man to his soul. Witchery or women’s wiles—to Sir Percy they’d been one and the same.
“I would wait for you.” Her mint-scented promise teased his senses, and he closed his eyes against her siren’s call.
“You deserve happiness.” Her hands rested on his shoulders, and he didn’t recall putting his arms around her waist.
Her mouth was warm against his lips. If he kept his eyes closed, then he couldn’t be blamed for not seeing her kiss coming. “Don’t talk. Just feel.” She knocked him backward, and they fell together against the stone of the castle wall, mouths joined and merging as they fought to taste and feel.
Os had never felt so light, as if his spirit and hers were connected. He plunged his hands into the heavy curls at her neck, sliding the veils aside to get to the silken texture of her hair. Her skin smelled like wildflowers and her hot, warm tongue dueled with his as an equal on the battlefield of love.
Her body clung to his, her dress a thin linen barrier between them. His groin, heavy and hot, nudged against her thighs. She showed no fear, and if he didn’t get ahold of himself now, she’d be his in fair view of anyone who happened around the side of the castle.
He stopped, resting his forehead against hers as he pulled air in like a horse after a tournament. She drew in sharp breaths. Quick, passionate breaths that made him want to throw caution over the battlements and ravage her anyway.
“I wouldn’t care,” she said, lightly nipping his lower lip with strong white teeth.
“I would never forgive myself.”
“Ah. Then I would be forced to care. You don’t need any more demons to fight before you come to me. I’ll be an old maid instead of a middle-aged one.”
He laughed, low and close to her ear. She shivered beneath his warm breath. “You’ll be laughing on your deathbed, methinks.”
“I don’t know what would be amusing about dying. I’ll have to think on it so that I don’t let your expectations fall.” She kissed him softly. “I like that you will be around on my deathbed. I plan on being an old crone with dozens of children and polecats.”
“And where will your husband be?” His heart ached at the thought of letting her go to be with someone else.
“Did I mention a husband? Boadicea’s curse says nothing about taking lovers.”
The supper bell clanged, startling Ela into silence. Os threw his head back and stared into the dusky sky. “It’s time.”
They couldn’t hold hands, but Ela stayed by Os’s side, letting him know that she was there if he needed her. It helped her too, to be able to brush the side of her hand against his, to feel his arm slide against hers, innocuous and innocent touches that caused heat to pool in her belly. And lower.
She longed for the day when Os would relent and come to her—in a field or a bed or a … a barn stall. She didn’t care where she was at as long as it was Os who loved her.
It was too late to stop the spark. Her love for Os was well on its way to being an inferno.
Was this love? Desire? Again, Ela didn’t care. She already had a wild reputation—why not earn it? She could see her mother’s stricken face at the thought, but she imagined she heard her grandmother’s encouraging laugh.
Their strides matched, since her legs were long like his.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a whisper as they joined the line to wash their hands before going into supper.
“Walking the same as you.”
“You look silly,” he said.
She pinched his side and he jumped. “You need to learn to be silly.”
“Silly doesn’t buy food or medicine.”
Ela immediately regretted her teasing. “I’m sorry, Osbert.” She leaned in and gave him a one-armed hug as they walked.
“That I hugged you? Wait until they catch sight of the stubble burn on my cheeks from when you kissed me. You didn’t care then.” She couldn’t stop teasing him, she couldn’t. Not when he needed to have fun so badly. And she would keep hugging him until he grew to like it.
He stopped abruptly and tilted her face up. “You can barely tell. Just don’t look at anybody.”
“I’m not ashamed of you. ‘Tis the other way around, I think. You will have to keep your face averted for both of us.”
“I’m not ashamed of you. I would protect you. Honor.”
“I really hate that word,” Ela said as she followed Os to the trestle table with benches on either side.
This, while bigger in scale, was how they dined at home too—in the great hall filled with tables that were covered with linens and dishes of food. Knights and ladies sat on benches, and trenchers were shared between two people. “You realize this is the first time we will be eating together? As in sitting next to each other and sharing a goblet?”
Her blood warmed as she imagined taking a sip of wine and sharing it with Os without the benefit of a cup. He had to get over his vow of chastity.
He needed land.
Where could he get some? He’d need coin, aye, and men. It was worth thinking on. She wondered how much money she had in her basket at home.
He led her past the trestle tables where his friends Albric, Warin, and St. Germaine were sitting. “Where are you taking me?”
“Where you belong.”
“I belong with you.”
“And I keep trying to get you to see the truth—for certes, this is where you belong. I sit down at the other end, with the other knights, my lady Ela.” He kept his face impassive, and she wanted to scream her frustration.
It would only make him quieter.
She refused to let emotion get the best of her, so she turned her back on him as if he hadn’t just trampled her heart to the dirt. Ela looked down her nose at the table of various lords and ladies. The only seat available was next to Lady Steffen.
Cruel fate, she thought.
“I won’t poison you.” Lady Steffen patted the bench.
Ela glanced up, noticing that the countess was watching her. “I will let you drink first, just the same.” She took her seat, not bothering to tell Os thank you or good-bye.
She felt the loss of him as he left, and it took all of her willpower not to look back.
“Is he the one you don’t love?” Lady Steffen had no issue with watching Os walk away.
“You and I are not friends, my lady. I would just as soon hear the others gnaw their bones than listen to you talk as if we were.”
“Oh … the kitten has claws. Where did you learn to cut so deep?”
“My sisters warned me to beware of women at court. They said they’d be treacherous liars—but I like to see a person’s mettle before thinking to pass judgment. My mistake.”
Lady Steffen put her hand on Ela’s arm. “Stop. Please. I didn’t know you when I suggested that Thomas ask you for your hand in marriage. It was your father’s good name, and the proximity of your land, that made it seem like a match might be possible. And you kept your identity secret—Kathryn.”
Ela felt the base of her anger crumble at the edges, and she lowered her nose a bit. “I would like to believe you.”
“I understand if we can’t be friends, but please, let us not be enemies.”
What can I say to that? My heart is not as hard as I would have it be.
“Thomas has gone. Roger has banished him to France, on the pretext of sending a note to John.”
“The king?”
“Aye.” Lady Steffen took a sip of wine and then carefully used the edge of the tablecloth to wipe the edge clean before offering the goblet to Ela.
“Thomas hints that King John is his father.” Ela narrowed her eyes at Lady Steffen, who blushed and lowered her gaze.
“He knows that isn’t the truth.”
Ela almost plugged her ears. Could she handle the truth? “You don’t have to explain.”
“But I do,” Lady Steffen whispered for her ears alone. “I knew that your father was loyal to Richard, and I hoped that his goodness might sway Thomas toward …” She dabbed at her mouth with the cloth. Ela leaned in, curiosity burning bright. “Supporting Arthur.”
Ela snapped her mouth shut, thinking fast. Why on earth would Arthur need Thomas’s support? True, King Richard had wanted his older brother’s son to become his heir to the throne. Then John had worked some sort of evil deed to get Richard to pick him. There were some who believed that Arthur would rule England better than John.
Lady Steffen must be one of them.
Unless it was another trap?
“Chicken or heron, my lady?” A servant came by bearing a platter of already sliced meats.
Slightly ill, Ela accepted a few small bites on her trencher. Lady Steffen did the same. What did the woman really want?
A cupbearer refilled the wine goblet. “To the top,” Ela said with a small smile. “Aren’t you the boy from the kitchen?”
He nodded, embarrassed that she’d drawn attention to him. “Thank you. I meant to find you and tell you that.” He bobbed and backed away, smiling for all he was worth. Ela grinned.
“Where do you know him from?” Lady Steffen looked on, amused.
“He gave me a bit of warning today, else I might not be sitting here.” Ela mimed being clunked in the head with a pot, then looked away.
“I’m sorry. Thomas has always been … temperamental.”
“Is that what you call it?” Ela nibbled her chicken. She hoped Os’s food tasted like dust down at the other end of the room. He was cruel … but for all the noblest reasons.
“I would have loved to have a daughter like you.” Lady Steffen looked down at her lap. “Don’t think I don’t know where my son’s preferences lay—I do. Still, there could be grandchildren to love.”
Ela arched her brow. “And what of the wife who would have to bear those children?”
“Not all women are as choosey as you have the privilege to be. There is bound to be someone who wants a home and food badly enough to put up with the man who provides them. Lord knows I’ve done that with a husband or two.”
Sighing, Ela knew that Lady Steffen spoke the truth. She’d always been protected by Boadicea’s legacy … she’d never been forced to do anything against her will, and she’d been raised to know that it was her right to expect love.
What had she been thinking, wanting to throw that protection away?
Mayhap it was just as well that Andraste had ignored her pleas.
She helped herself to a slice of cheese and let Lady Steffen drink the last of the wine. She had no right to judge anybody, and pride was an awful thing to have to swallow.
Osbert resisted the urge to look down the table for Ela’s bright red hair. The silver scrap of a veil she wore only accented the rich silky curls. He tossed a chicken leg to the trencher in front of him.
“You not hungry?” Albric elbowed him in the side, then picked up the chicken leg. “I don’t believe it,” he said with his mouth full.
“Aye. And watching you chew, I’ve just lost my appetite too.” Warin wiped his mouth on the cloth, then drained his mug. The knights each had their own ale and dared anyone to try and take it from them.
“You’ve eaten two whole chickens, so I’m not worried.” Albric grinned, sucking the marrow from the bone.
Os shook his head. “What say you to another trip to the Holy City?”
St. Germaine tapped the scar at this throat. “Crusade’s over. Thank Christ Jesus for that.”
“You want to make another trip to the Holy City because you didn’t get the spear? The earl’s not going to let you go. He needs ye, for training the new recruits.”
Os tipped his head toward Warin. “Yea. It isn’t just about the spear … I wanted to be my own man.”
“What for? It smacks of hard work.” Albric laughed, his skin ruddy with drink. “I’d rather spend me money on whores.”
Warin drained his mug and belched in agreement.
St. Germaine tossed a nut in his mouth and chewed—wisely keeping his own council.
“Oh, ho, no whores fer you—I forgot. Ye banished your manhood to the dark recesses of yer breeches until you find a wife. But ye won’t marry until ye have land.” Albric singsonged the information, sloshing his mug from side to side.
“Go to the priest,” Warin said earnestly. “Pay him a fine, and be done with the pledge. It can’t be healthy. Why do ye think those old priests look so scrawny and sick?”
St. Germaine nodded as if this might have merit.
Os placed both hands on the edge of the table. “I cannot just pay a fine. It is my honor at stake.” He regretted the vow, aye, but it was the only thing that kept him from taking Ela’s virginity when it wasn’t his to have.
She was a lady.
Bringing her to the lord’s table was a reminder for him too that she was not meant to be his wife or his lover. His heart pounded in his ears at the sweet memory of her mouth.
His only chance at that dream had been a spear that wasn’t even real.
Os got up to leave—he couldn’t be in the same place as Ela and not want to touch her, or look at her, or breathe in her wildflower scent.
Albric, Warin, and St. Germaine all quieted.
“What?” Os blustered. “You’re going to miss me? Pah. You finish your drink. I’ll be with Bartholomew.”
He turned and walked directly into the earl. “Beg pardon,” he mumbled, glaring over his shoulder at his friends. “A word of warning?”
The earl laughed, a loud bluster of sound that called men to his side. His manner kept them there. “Come, Os. I’ve watched you pout all through the meal. We never had a chance to finish our discussion.” He led the way to a bench by the wall.
“Thomas de Havel. Where is he, my lord? I’d like to watch over him myself.” Os tapped his sword hilt.
“France. He’ll learn restraint there, fighting for John.”
Os narrowed his eyes, waiting for the earl to say what he wanted to say. They sat close enough to the group to not raise suspicion while still allowing some privacy.
Os had a perfect view of Ela.
“When you came back from the Holy City, you asked me if you could retire as my man of business. I told you no and sent you on a mission. My hope was that you would not only find the spear but regain your love of swordplay. There are few as good as you are. A knight trained by you is a knight I can trust my back to.”
Uncomfortable with such praise, Os crossed one leg over the other.
“I didn’t ask why you wanted to retire. Mayhap I should have.”
Os clenched his jaw. “It isn’t necessary, my lord.”
“Very well.” The earl scratched the side of his head. “You never asked why I wanted Boadicea’s spear.”
“It wasn’t my place to know.”
“It saved me from coming up with a lie. Your loyalty is another reason I chose you instead of anyone else.”
Apprehension rode across his shoulders. He waited.
The earl finally said in a whisper, “I need the spear in the event we go to war.”
His gut roiled like an angry sea. “Against who?”
“Not against, but for … I can’t say more now. King John is in France, stirring up trouble for King Phillipe and Hugh le Brun.”
Keeping his mouth shut, Os nodded once to show he was listening. To treason.
“I’ll wait to see what happens when he comes back. Richard gave me the office of High Steward of England, and ‘tis England I need to put before all else.”
“What has the spear to do with all of that?”
The earl shifted uneasily on the bench. “You know I like the ladies, Os.”
“Aye.”
“Well, I’ve had a true love—truer than any other—since I was a boy. She too can trace her roots back to the Iceni tribal days.”
The hair on the back of Os’s neck rose. Finally. A connection that made sense.
“Boadicea?”
“Nay. Well, a coz, mayhap, but not as directly as Lady Ela. You were smart to bring her here. My Kailyn is a dream seeker, a seeress, and between the two of them, we should be able to find the spear. She’s expecting you tonight.”
Os wasn’t certain he wanted Ela to have anything to do with a seeress … it sounded like another name for witch, and Ela had enough issues with that.
“Whoever holds Boadicea’s spear in battle will gain victory over Britain’s enemy.”
Since when was the King of England the enemy?
He watched as a page came walking briskly across the hall to the lord’s table. The hairs on his neck were now dancing a warning of trouble. Os leaned forward, his eyes never leaving the page.
The boy went directly to Ela and Lady Steffen.
Os stood, not even pretending to listen to the earl speak. Ela turned, smiling at the boy and ruffling the poor lad’s hair. Lady Steffen accepted the missive from him with a nod of thanks. She broke the seal.
First curious, then frightened. Her face turned red beneath the white makeup.
Ela said, “Are you all right, my lady?”
The earl rose, shoving Os to the side as he started to run for Lady Steffen.
In slow motion, she fell backward in a faint, the missive falling to the floor as everyone moved forward to catch her.
Ela, bless her, had the presence of mind to grab the missive before kneeling by Lady Steffen’s side.
The earl and the lady had been lovers once, if not recently. He watched that awareness come over the countess, from where she oversaw everyone on the dais.
He heard her call for the priest, and he knew, from his years of studying people, that she would never let on that she knew. The pregnant countess rushed down the stairs to be by her friend’s side.
Crossing the floor with giant strides, Os saw Ela gently push people back. She instructed the earl to place Lady Steffen’s head in his lap, and she called for wine. Os realized that she was very capable of running her own household.
Would she ever get the opportunity to do so?
Lady Steffen’s lashes fluttered; then she opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lady Ela. Unless you marry Thomas, he’s vowed to burn your family’s manor to the ground.”