Boadicea's Legacy (22 page)

His sword drawn, he came face-to-face with one of de Havel's men, who had Ela in his arms. “Drop her.”

The man sneered.

Battle-calm settled over him as he said coolly, “Drop
her. ‘Tis an order, man, else I'll run you through.”

Mayhap it was the promise of death in his voice, but the man started to back into the kitchen, Ela unconscious in front of him. Os calculated that it would take him three steps to decapitate the man.

“Three steps,” Os warned.

De Havel's man wisely, gently laid Ela down on the threshold between the yard and the kitchen before backing inside and running away.

Os let him go, striding across the gravel to Ela's side.

He felt for her life's pulse at the base of her throat and was relieved to find it beating strong. Blood trickled down her neck, and he fought against unaccustomed panic as he searched for the injury.

“He bopped her over the back of the head, sir, with a pan.” A scullion boy pointed to an iron pan on the ground. Then he mimed a cutting motion. “After she sliced him with cook's blade.”

Pride made him smile grimly at the boy, who took a step back. “He's injured too, then?”

“In the leg, sir.”

“Good.” It was enough to go on, once he got her safe. He never should have left her alone. He'd promised her that she would be fine. He'd promised her father.

Guilt that he hadn't thought of what she'd wear to meet the earl had made him act impulsively—and thinking with one's emotions always caused mistakes. Hadn't he learned that at Sir Percy's hand?

Os picked Ela up, cradling her head to his chest, never minding the blood. It was a stain to add to the others he carried close to his heart. “Boy, bring me a clean cloth and hot water. Find me a page to lead me to Lady Ela's room.”

Albric and Warin met him before he went up the stairs. Albric held the wrapped package in his hand, and Os could see that his cloak was moving—as if a polecat were inside it. “Follow us. She's been attacked.”

“By who?” Warin's hand settled over his sword handle.

“One of de Havel's men. He must have recognized her when she was in the kitchen. She cut him in the leg.”

“The leg?” Albric looked confused, but Os didn't want to take the time to explain.

“Aye. We'll find him.” He pressed Ela closer to his heart and said in his calmest voice. “And then we'll see to it that he hangs.”

A
na, stay close to me—this battle will not be as easy as the others think. Rome must not be allowed to have this victory.”

“Mother,” Ana said, grabbing hold of Boadicea's shoulders and shaking. “You're already injured. Please, stay at the back of the battle lines. I can ride forward in your stead.”

Her mother's laugh was more tired than cruel. “You think to lead these mad Trinovantes into battle as if you were me?” She thumped the red-stained spear at her side against the wood of the chariot. “You don't have the lungs for it, girl.”

Desperate, Ana leaned forward and clasped her mother's hand. “I am as strong a warrior as you.” Ana watched her mother's vibrant aura pulse crimson and dark purple. Boadicea would fight, aye, and she'd not stop until her entire body was as red as her aura
.

Ana hefted her sword and shield. Her arms ached and her back was stiff, but it wouldn't take long to fall under Andraste's blood spell and forget everything but the kiss of the kill
.

The goddess demanded her due, and she ate the Roman
sacrifices they offered as if she would never be full. Like her mother
.

The Romans had crossed the wrong queen when they'd raped her daughters
.

Ana jutted her chin forward and clanged the solid iron blade against her shield. “They'll pay. For each insult they've done us, vengeance will be ours.” Her mother would die fighting. If not in this battle then the next
.

She kissed her mother's cheeks and said no more of it
.

Ela heard Os's voice calling to her. He sounded Roman once and Italian another time. Possibly German.

“Wake, Ela.”

This time he sounded as if he expected to be obeyed.

She forced her eyes open, tired from battling in her nightmare. There were times she worked so hard that she woke covered in sweat, surprised that she wasn't drenched in blood. “I'm coming, Antonias.”

“What did you call me?”

She blinked, bringing him into focus so that she saw one warrior instead of two. His beautiful face was stern and his blue-gray eyes pinned her as if daring her to misbehave.

Which made her want to misbehave …

Albric cleared his throat and Warin coughed. She turned her head to the side and smiled in their direction. She winced, feeling the pull of skin at the back of her head. “What happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us.” Os crossed his arms, the vision of patience.

“Oh. I remember being in the laundry room, and I hate small spaces, aye? It was dark and hot and very much what hell would be like, I imagine.”

Albric laughed, but Os silenced him with a glare. “And then?”

“I went into a courtyard, and I just remember feeling like I had to find you. I remember,” Ela snapped her fingers. “I am very angry with you.”

“Ela,” he said in a low voice guaranteed to keep her focused.

“Right. So I found the kitchen, and then—oh, then I was attacked by one of de Havel's men. But I got him with a paring knife—it was that or the wine jug. He'd been looking for me, he said.”

“How could that be? Nobody knows ye were here,” Warin said.

“The reason you had to play at being a maid,” Albric agreed.

St. Germaine grunted. “She got out of the carriage.”

“Why?” Os's hard stare went from St. Germaine, who didn't even flinch, to her, and she swallowed nervously.

“I … it was nice outside, and the shops—well—I wasn't thinking, Os. There's the truth of the matter. But I came back in as soon as St. Germaine said, didn't I?”

The big knight nodded.

“It was just for a moment, and I was in my disguise.” Ela glanced down, noticing that she was lying on top of a bed in a small chamber that had a nightstand with a bowl
and pitcher, a small wardrobe, four aggravated knights, and one wide-eyed page.

It was no wonder she couldn't catch a breath.

Os scratched his chin, as thoughtful as a pondering Roman god.

“That's true. But how else could he have found out you were here? For certes, you didn't tell Lady Steffen?”

Ela had never been so glad that she'd held her tongue. “I swear, Os. I didn't say anything at all. I was going to, this afternoon, but I didn't.”

His jaw clenched. “Albric. Someone must have overheard when you requested a room for her when you arrived here at the castle.”

“Or,” Ela hated to bring it up, “remember that he knew where you were planning on taking me that day when you came to the manor? It is nobody's fault. He's evil, anyway.” She sat up, rubbing the bump on her head.

Os leaped forward and grabbed her hands. “Don't touch it, it was bleeding.”

“I told you I heal quickly,” she said with an exaggerated wink. “Remember?”

He paled and released her hands. “How can I have forgotten that?”

“I don't know. It seemed to concern you a great deal at one time.” She sniffed and scrunched her nose at him.

St. Germaine cleared his throat. “I made your appointment with the earl—he agreed to see you before dinner. Should I change it?”

Ela swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Nay. I am fine. And if de Havel is looking for me, then I need an ally. Quickly.”

Os arched a dark gold brow. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, he sent you after a spear,” she paused, almost choking as she remembered the bloodstained spear in her dream. She covered it with a cough. “Excuse me,” she said, not meeting Os's gaze. “Which you didn't find. But you brought me, and you pledged to my father that you would see me safely returned. If we tell the earl this, will he support you or de Havel, if my father needs assistance?”

“I am his knight—why wouldn't he support me?”

“My father swears allegiance directly to the king—he won that honor years ago. The bad part of that is that he has no liege to help him protect his land. He must go directly to the king for help, and if the king is busy, or has reason to not send help, my father is vulnerable.
This
king has no love for my family.”

St. Germaine grabbed the page by the shoulder, opened the door to her chamber, and sat him down outside. “Stay.”

Then he shut the door behind him, and the knights all gathered in close. “The castle walls have ears,” St. Germaine warned.

Os nodded, as did Albric and Warin.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Ela said, “Do you know of any reason that the earl would side with de Havel over my family?”

“You are in a different part of the country altogether,
and he has no jurisdiction,” Warin said. “He has no reason to get involved at all.”

“Unless I have something that he wants.” Ela tapped her chin, thinking hard.

“You lied. You have Boadicea's spear?” Os's calm demeanor slipped.

“Nay, I told you the truth. But I would help him find it, for his support.”

“The earl is not the kind of man that you play games with, my lady. He is a royal representative to the king and cannot be manipulated.” Albric puffed his chest out like a threatened rooster.

“Of course not … I came here to help—”

“Against your will.” St. Germaine stared at her with unreadable eyes. His aura was dark and sturdy. Steady. If he believed in your cause, he would be a fine ally to have. She shuddered to think of him as an enemy.

“I was on my way out the manor door to find Osbert when I was taken by de Havel's men.”

Os's jaw looked tight enough to break his teeth. Ela got to her feet, a tad unsteady, but Os was there to hold her elbow until the room righted.

“A fast healer, eh?” He helped her to the lone chair in front of the wardrobe and poured her a half cup of wine.

She ignored his sarcasm. “I need to help my father.”

Albric tossed his squirming cloak to the bed. “Agh. I believe this varmint belongs to you, my lady? He was standing guard over the dress Os had dropped, trying to drag it
with his teeth back into the stables.” He lifted his scratched forearms. “Didn't want to come until I said your name.”

“Henry!” Ela cuddled the polecat to her tightly, assuring him that she was well. He made a funny sound that was almost a purr that rumbled from his chest. “Thank you, Albric. Thanks to all of you. And to you, Os, for saving me, again.”

He snorted. “It was your fast thinking that enabled you to stab the knave in the leg. He hit you over the head with a cast iron pan. Hardly fair. Otherwise I'm certain you would have had him.”

She smiled at him, wishing that he'd find humor in life more often.

“A knife?” Warin eyed her as if she were a dragon blowing smoke and flame.

“I'm good, you know. Mayhap one day I'll show you. We can even wager, if you like.”

Os cut her off. “Ela. My patience is stretched as thin as it can go. When we meet the earl, please remember that he holds all of the power. You have nothing.”

Ela scratched beneath Henry's chin. “You are wrong, Os. For a man of faith, you are sorely lacking in trust.”

“It keeps me alive, and those I care for.”

Lowering her lids so that he wouldn't see her feelings in her eyes, Ela wished that he meant something entirely different by those words. If he cared for her, she would do anything for him. But without love, she would guard her own heart from breaking.

Os wanted to reach over and kiss the shadows beneath her eyes, or stroke the worry from her brow, or hold her as closely and protectively as she held Henry. Forget Henry, and forget being protective.