At His Command-Historical Romance Version (9 page)

Her tongue still hurt, she’d bitten it so hard to keep from calling him back. The futility of acting upon any feelings they might have for each other in light of Henry’s impending announcement had prevented her from saying the words she longed to say. But she couldn’t deny how his kiss made her feel. The tingling sensation remained, deep inside, making her yearn for more. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her face, smell his clean scent, sense the security of his arms holding her.

Again she wracked her brain for any means for them to be together. No option she could think of would serve any purpose but to briefly delay the inevitable. Still she wanted…was it sinful? She wanted to make love with Nicholas, to feel his hard body against hers. She imagined waking in the cozy warmth of his arms, watching him sleep as early morning light crept in, carefully brushing stray locks of hair from his eyes. How could she have such thoughts, which would bring dishonor on them both if carried out?

Nicholas moved his horse close to hers. “You have your duty, as I have mine.”

He’d read her thoughts. Their gazes met, but Amice made no reply. They’d barely exchanged two words since leaving Castle Rising. What more could they say?

Nicholas signaled the party to stop. Amice was glad for the respite; she’d never ridden for such an extended period. She waddled into the trees lining the road, eager to stretch her aching legs and back. To be alone, if only for a moment.

Sitting on a wide, slightly damp oak tree stump, she inhaled woodsy air. A bird flitted from branch to branch as he sang a cheerful tune. How lucky the bird was, to be free to fly wherever he wanted, whenever the impulse struck. Why did women have to be told where to go and when?

The uncertainty of the life awaiting her in London made her head pound. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the peaceful forest sounds, from several different birdcalls to the slight, sibilant rustle of breezes whisking through the trees. Was that a brook in the distance? Peaceful, relaxing sounds to ease her soul.

Then came heavy footsteps, crushing twigs and leaves in their path.

Nicholas, his blue eyes dark, glared down at her. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? That I wouldn’t notice you and your horse were gone? Where did you think to hide?” he demanded.

She stood. “I wasn’t running away. As you said, where would I go? I but sought a few minutes to myself. I tied my horse with the others.”

“She’s not there now,” he said. “We’ve been searching for you.”

A flush stained Amice’s cheeks. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I just needed—”

“Next time, let me know,” he ordered abruptly, offering her his hand to help her over the bracken.

The caring Nicholas was gone, the stern commander in his place. But his hand was strong and warm, sending a tingle up her arm.

How would she stop caring about him? Wanting to be with him?

Nicholas couldn’t speak another word until his breathing slowed. He, the calm one, had nearly panicked when Ginelle informed him Amice was missing. Unfortunately, it wasn’t only the disruption of his duty to escort her safely to court that ailed him, but the cold fear of Amice alone and in danger. Without him to protect her, like she’d be as soon as they reached the king. He’d be there, but no longer charged with her care. How long would he miss his role? Miss her?

As they rode, Nicholas thought of all they’d left behind. Though he’d spent mere months at Castle Rising, he saw it as home. Never had he felt so comfortable, so much a part of life. Where else had he belonged? Not the manor house outside London, where his mother lived. Not at court, which rarely stayed long at any single holding, partly because the king wanted to be among his people and partly because feeding so many courtiers sapped surrounding flocks and fields.

Thus continued his roaming lifestyle until he was ordered to Castle Rising. There he’d found the home he’d not known he wanted until he experienced it. Of course, he admitted reluctantly, Amice was a large part of that. She helped make Castle Rising thrive, for him and for the other residents. Just when they were settling into a challenging yet pleasant routine, it was taken away.

Nothing good lasted. His father died when Nicholas was eleven. Then plague took his brother at the castle where he fostered. Nicholas had loved them both. His overbearing mother was no consolation. He’d hated leaving his younger sister Margaret with his mother, but he knew he couldn’t remain at Greystone or take her with him. He’d avoided seeking an intelligent, interesting woman for whom he might come to care, only to wed her and endure the slow, painful deterioration of their relationship. Or her death.

Until now. Amice had slipped into the cage containing his heart forged of memories of constant quarreling and loss. Seemingly without any effort, as though it was meant to be. Yet here they were, arriving at court, where he’d have no part in her life. Instead, he’d see her wed another. More proof that caring for someone yielded more pain than pleasure.

Amice interrupted his thoughts. “What is life like with the king? I’d know something of what’s in store. I should have asked sooner. I admit, I didn’t want to. It would’ve made the inevitable more real.”

How to explain the crowds, the conniving, the strictures? “To start with, hundreds of people serve him. I’d say about two hundred fifty have designated functions. There are clerks, valets and grooms, who are considered below stairs. Above stairs are chaplains, jewel house officers, the keeper of the wardrobe, esquires of the household and such. They work in shifts,” he explained. “Margaret has her own staff. There are always numerous visitors and petitioners in attendance. There isn’t room for everyone, so many buy or lease homes near the king’s various castles.”

Amice stayed silent for once, as if trying to imagine her place amidst the mass of people he described.

He knew she’d hate the bustling court where she’d oft be told what to do. And it was unlikely she’d feel welcomed or at home, the way he had at Castle Rising.

He had no way to soften the blow.

Westminster Palace stood on the north bank of the River Thames, a cluster of buildings more imposing and grander than Amice had imagined. As they neared the arched entrance, a young page wearing the king’s livery approached and demanded their names. When they presented the king’s letter, the boy snapped his fingers. Nicholas’s men and their horses were escorted away.

“The king expects you to join him for the evening meal,” the page announced as he led Amice, Nicholas, Ginelle and Robert through the many corridors.

Numerous people hurried and scurried every which way as if on missions to complete the most important of tasks. At last they stopped, in front of a door that to Amice looked no different from many of the others. She had no idea how to make her way back to the entrance or how she would find anything.

“Your rooms are here, my lady,” the page said, bowing slightly. “I shall call for you in three hours.”

With each step away from all she knew and loved, she found it harder to breathe in the musty air. There was too much to absorb at once, the vast palace, so many new people, her upcoming meeting with the king. The revealing of her groom’s identity. Add to that how she already missed being at Castle Rising. With Nicholas. She felt as if several stone had been added to her weight.

Without further ado, the page turned and walked on. Nicholas didn’t follow. The boy turned and impatiently tapped his dark red leather-booted foot on the stone floor.

Nicholas said, “I know the way. That will be all.”

“I was told to bring you straightaway to the king and I will,” the boy retorted defiantly.

“You’re new here.”

The boy nodded. “Yes, I’m Lucan, of Gloucester.”

“Then I’ll forgive your behavior. You don’t know me?”

The boy’s widening eyes revealed the first stirrings of fear.

“You’ll soon learn. I caution you to mind your station before you open your mouth and get into trouble,” Nicholas advised.

Lucan had the grace to turn red. “I await your convenience, my lord.”

Robert, peeking out from behind Amice, giggled at Lucan’s discomfort, and received a scathing glare in return. Nicholas guided Amice a few steps away from the others.

“I must go to the king,” he began. “If you need anything, send Robert to me and I will come. Don’t send a note. It could end up in the wrong hands. Remember that the simplest, most innocent message can be misconstrued. Gossip flourishes here, and most are quick to judge. I wish you well.” He drew in a breath, as if he wished to say more.

Amice hoped for words of kindness, to hear that he’d miss her. But he left with Lucan and disappeared around a corner.

Her heart sank. Tears of frustration threatened. Nicholas was gone. Who knew when or if they’d regain the closeness they’d shared? His presence had been her only comfort, but now she was alone in a place so foreign to her it could just as well be another country as the king’s castle. No longer did she have the responsibility or authority she so appreciated. Instead, she was at the mercy of another, and expected to meekly do as ordered. A prisoner, albeit in an appealing, large cell.

At least Nicholas had said he’d come to her if needed. She didn’t want to need him in that way.

She looked at Ginelle and Robert, who seemed as uncomfortable as she.
Well, at least these two are left to me.

As Ginelle unpacked, Amice inspected her new chambers. A tiny sitting room led to a chamber with a bed wider and larger than her own, hung with cream wool curtains heavily embroidered with colorful leaves and flowers. Several tall windows overlooked a manicured courtyard, beyond which she could see a knot garden and a forest. She looked forward to walking the grounds, one thing to take pleasure in, at least. The windows’ red glass borders lent the room a rosy glow in the afternoon sun. A tiny maid’s room completed the quarters.

Where was Robert to sleep? She’d worry about that later. She needed to wash away the dust of the road, refresh after her journey and prepare for her dinner with the king.

“Ginelle, please find someone to fetch water for a bath.” She opened a chest and took out a comb.

“But my lady, whom shall I ask?” Ginelle too seemed at a loss.

Amice snapped the comb in two. “If I knew, I’d have told you.”

“I wish we were at home!”

“I’m sorry, Ginelle.” Amice knew she’d need more control over her emotions. She took a deep breath, then let it out. “I wish we were home, too.”

Ginelle, wringing her hands, stepped cautiously into the corridor.

A page leaned on the wall across from their door.

“My lady wishes a bath,” Ginelle began nervously.

“It shall be brought shortly.” The page hurried away.

“Why couldn’t Nicholas—someone—have told us how things are done here,” Amice muttered while arranging gowns on the bed. “What am I to wear? Ginelle, see if you can find someone else to ask what one wears to meals.”

Nicholas hadn’t included attire in his rendition of court life. She should’ve asked, either on the road or at home while there was time to have new gowns sewn, if needed. She’d been too busy worrying. Too busy resisting the idea of going to court in the first place. Too busy taking pleasure in Nicholas’s company.

Ginelle left Amice to ponder her gowns.

“I asked another page, who sent for a maid,” she reported.

A few moments later, a knock sounded. Ginelle opened the door.

“My lady, I am Adele. I was told you’re interested in the fashions of the day. Here, fine ladies such as yourself prefer bright, cheery colors,” the young, fresh-faced maid said. “If I may, I’ll help you select a gown.”

Amice nodded her acceptance and gratefully accepted the bright blue silk overdress and low-cut kirtle the woman handed her. “Thank you.”

The maid curtseyed and departed.

Wearing the blue silk and her favorite amethysts, Amice was pacing furiously in the sitting room, heels clicking on the wood floors, when Lucan returned to escort her to dinner. They wove through corridor after corridor, her nerves tightening like balled yarn as the sound of many people talking in unison grew louder and louder. What was everyone doing?

She’d envisioned an intimate dinner with the king and queen. Obviously there were many more guests than she’d expected.

At last they reached a wide doorway. Amice took in the scene before her, surprise and confusion knotting her stomach. Everyone stood, heads bowed, in the midst of a rather extended grace.

The page began making his way through the great hall, so vast it dwarfed Castle Rising’s. Long tables ran the length of the room, with a raised table across the back. To the right, a fireplace as tall as she barely contained a huge blaze, though it was warm outside and in. Finely woven tapestries of knights in battle covered several walls.

The praying continued as Amice peered at the high table, trying to determine which man was King Henry, who she knew to be in his early thirties. A hint of excitement prickled. She was going to meet the king and queen of England.

In front of the tallest chair stood a man dressed almost completely in black. Instead of tunics worn by most of the noblemen, Henry wore a long gown with a rolled hood, much like those common men wore in the towns they’d passed on the way to London. The bright gold cross dangling from his Lancastrian chain of “SS” links called attention to the solemnity of his clothing. His small crown had a border of tiny crosses instead of jewels.