Boadicea's Legacy (36 page)

Ela's curiosity begged for answers like a leper for alms.
It was difficult, and Os would have been impressed for certes had he seen how she controlled her tongue.

“I am sorry, my lady.” She reached across the table and put out her hand, palm up. Nonthreatening. As if taming a squirrel in the woods. “Natalia.” She waved to the innkeeper and asked for a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Are you hungry?”

“I don't want your pity,” Lady Steffen said in a cool voice, stiff with broken pride.

“We could have been friends, as you said. Let us drink and share a meal as if we still were.”

Lady Steffen accepted a roll and began to butter it with swift strokes. “Truth is better than kindness. You can trust it.”

Ela nibbled at a roll, and the two women ate their stew in silence. Contemplating what to say next, Ela decided that she would wait for Lady Steffen to make the first move.

She would follow Natalia's lead … and if fortune was smiling, then the woman would want to talk about her son.

Fortune smiled.

“Thomas is not a bad man.”

Ela choked on a bit of potato and quickly drained what was left of her ale. “Hmm?”

“I mean,” Natalia explained with a blush, “that he has his reasons for being bitter.”

Ela nodded politely while inwardly screaming. She blinked away visions of the fields around her home in flames.

“He feels he could be king.”

“What?” Ela couldn't stop the explosive question.
When she realized that she'd garnered the attention of everyone else in the dining area, she leaned in and whispered, “What are you saying?
John
is his father?”

Lady Steffen gave an ugly laugh. “Nay, though John knows. It was his brother Geoffrey, who was married to Constance at the time—you know they hated one another—who was my lover. I was a widow and between husbands … I'd foolishly hoped he would leave Constance for me.” She sipped her wine. “I was a beauty then.”

Beauty isn't everything
, thought Ela. Her sister Galiana had taught her that.

“I was also willing to play the game. Thomas Geoffrey de Havel became my bargaining tool. I was invited to travel with the royal family and live on the fringes of majesty. Was it terrible that I wanted more? It was possible that my child would be Geoffrey's heir. But I lost everything when Constance had Arthur.”

Ela poured more wine into Natalia's cup, and since her ale was gone, she poured herself a cup too. “Oh?”

“Geoffrey would be king after Richard—if anything had happened to him, and God knows the Plantagenets are not ones to shy away from trouble—which made Arthur a legitimate heir to the throne.”

Her own throat dry, Ela drank deeply. Intrigue was thirsty work.

“Geoffrey died.” Natalia closed her eyes.

“In a tournament in France. I heard that he was trampled by a horse, my lady. My condolences.”

She scoffed. “Trampled in a tourney? My Geoffrey? Never. Geoffrey rode like he and the horse were one.” Natalia leaned in, and Ela noticed the slight slur to her words. “I'll tell you what he was doing in France—plotting another rebellion with King Philippe, that's what. Those two were thick as thieves.”

“Oh.” Well, treason and treachery. Ela had a sudden longing for the clean, crisp air in the forest behind her home.

“The family takes care of its by-blows, I will say that. Richard and John—and never forget their mother Eleanor, that wily bird—always tossed a crumb our direction, but never anything that might gain us power. And Thomas …” She rubbed at her temple. “He was not charming, nor personable. He was never grateful. ‘Tis my fault, for always wanting more. I longed for security, but I taught him greed.”

Thomas was an evil seed and teaching him all the manners in the world wouldn't change that, Ela thought uncomfortably.

“You would have been a stable influence. I had no idea that he'd heard the stories of you and your sisters. Magic and red hair. Descended from Merlin.”

“Merlin?”

“Aye, gossip. Romantic tales … he put the truth together faster than I did. Why else would Roger Bigod, High Steward of England, want a spear that guaranteed victory in war—unless he planned on overthrowing the rightful king and putting the Duke of Brittany—Arthur—on it?”

Ela felt the blood drain from her face and pool at her
feet. To hear such talk was poison, to spread rumors such as this was to ask for the hangman's noose. “Hush, my lady. You've had much to drink, and you can't say these things.”

“Have you found the spear? I've been imagining myself as a fierce tribal queen, ready to fight for a true cause.”

“No. I'd never heard of it, until Kailyn mentioned it, and Os. I think the earl has decided to stop searching.”

“The Earl of Norfolk is sly. Almost as sly as Thomas. Since I've lost my ally, and aye, friend, in the Countess Ida—I am of no more use to my child. He's cast me adrift, left to wander alone and without funds while he joins with King John against Roger.” Her dark eyes spilled over with tears. “What am I to do?”

Ela was asking herself that same question. “For tonight, let us sleep. Things are bound to look brighter in the morning.” At least we will be able to see which direction to run …

“I've no coin left for a room.”

“There are none left, anyway. Share with me. My husband is guarding the horses this eve, and he has his knights to keep him company.”

I am sincerely sorry for this, Osbert
. Her honorable husband had no doubt already surmised that Lady Steffen would need a bed, and he would gladly give up his own half of the bed to a gentlewoman—even if said gentlewoman had spawned a demon.

“You are very kind.”

His wife had the heart of a shrew.

Or at least he'd thought so, until his friends joined him in the stables with stew and ale. “What are you doing here?” He sat on the edge of a bale of hay, his cloak folded for a pillow.

“Surly temper. Is that why you've been banished to the horses?” Albric handed over a foaming tankard of ale. “Compliments of your lady wife.”

“She said she's sorry.” Warin gave him the bowl of steaming stew.

“Aye, and near choked on the apology.” St. Germaine glared at him as if he'd like an explanation—the quirked brow warned that it had better be good.

“‘Tis none of your damn business. I'm a fool and learning my way around having a wife. I am used to traveling alone.” He gulped his ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh, ho.” Warin lifted his tankard in a toast. “Ye tried to tell her what to do, aye?”

His brow furrowed, Os growled, “And did she tell you that?”

St. Germaine grunted. “She said nothing but that she was sorry.”

He'd been inside the stables, thinking of all the ways she was supposed to be treating him. “A man deserves
respect from his wife—is that not true?”

The three knights nodded and slurped.

“He should expect to be obeyed when he gives an order.”

They all three broke into loud chuckles.

“What?” He glared, making sure each man felt the weight of his anger. “I don't know why I am asking you, anyway. None of you have been married.”

“For a good reason, eh?” Warin exchanged a glance with Albric. “Who wants to have to answer to a woman, day in and day out? I like me freedom. Nobody but my liege tells me what to do.”

“I'd rather pay for a whore than keep on paying until death do us part for a wife.” Albric used his finger to scrape the last of the stew from the bowl, then popped it in his mouth.

St. Germaine grunted—but it could have meant anything.

“What happens when you fall in love?” Os regretted the words as soon as they fell from his lips.

“Love?” Albric made kissing noises toward Warin. “Love is for idiots.”

“Marriage is for security and land—such as what you've done. Don't bring emotion into it, Os, or you'll never be at peace.” Warin flipped the lid on his tankard and drank deeply.

“Love makes a man weak.” St. Germaine set his empty bowl down by his feet.

Os shook his head, frustration like a pounding hammer against his temple. Ela's hands could soothe the pain, but Ela was a woman who needed to be taught her place. At least until he got her home and safe behind the keep's walls.

That decided, Os changed the subject. “How did you get to be here?”

“We found Lady Steffen, limping along the side of the road and dragging her bag. Her rotten son set her out, and now she's helpless.” Albric shook his head in disgust.

“Dear God,” Os sighed. That meant Ela would offer to share their room, so it would do no good to go in and accept her apology … if he was so inclined, which he wasn't. He shoved aside his uneaten stew. Ela was as mercurial as a child and had a compassionate heart. Their enmity would be forgotten in the face of Lady Steffen's plight.

He wouldn't be surprised to find Lady Steffen coming home with them.

Warin added, “We've heard rumors along the way that Thomas and his men have been setting fire to small villages as they passed. Random cruelty to livestock and abusing the girls.”

“Raping and pillaging? De Havel is an animal, and he needs to be stopped.” Osbert got to his feet and paced ten steps to the left and ten steps back.

“Warin said he's on a ship to France, to find John and ask to be part of his army. The king is desperate enough for men that no doubt he'll be hired on.” Albric picked at a piece of beef caught in his teeth.

“We saw de Havel's mercenaries head back toward the castle and Norwich—did you see them?” Os tapped the hilt of his sword as he walked to and fro.

The three knights all answered no in unison. “But we
arrived here separately,” St. Germaine said.

Os rubbed his chin. “What do you mean?”

“Albric and Warin came together from the castle. I spent two days visiting my mother. I caught up with them right after they found Lady Steffen.”

“That's right,” Warin agreed. “That doesn't change the fact that we still didn't see any mercenaries.”

“Yea,” Albric said. “I would have enjoyed wetting my blade against their throats. I'm ready to go to France myself, just to take part in battle before I forget how.”

“There's grumbling that the king is not quick about paying his men. I'll stay here with the earl and steady coin.”

“I thought you were all going to be my men? Why else did you come if not for that? And where are the other knights the earl promised me?” Os paced some more, his other duty weighing heavy on his mind. Could one of his friends be a traitor?

His emotional answer was, never.

St. Germaine rose to his great height. “I offer my sword for you. With thanks. And for pay.”

“Don't forget that, eh?” Albric grinned. “I volunteered to come and help you set up your home, but I have wanderlust.”

“And bloodlust,” Warin pointed his tankard toward his friend. “And wench lust.”

“Just as important as pay, that.” Albric shrugged. “I will help because you are my friend. But no promises once the keep is secure and your new knights trained.”

Os looked at Warin. “And you? Do you feel the same?
Or is it that you can't bow your knee to me, your friend?”

“You think that of me?” Warin stood abruptly, anger on his face.

Os stilled as Warin stalked toward him with deliberate steps. He was surprised when Warin dropped to both knees and bowed his head. “There is no man I would rather pledge my sword to.”

“Then get up, brave knight, and know that I am proud to have you on my side.” Os sat down and finished his ale. The night passed, and they talked of the future and glorious battles of the past.

“Did you hear that King John will take a child bride?” Warin braided a few strands of hay together.

“Aye. Barely a year into his crown and he's lost allies and land. He's not like his father.” Albric curled his cloak around himself like a cocoon and closed his eyes.

“Or his brother.” St. Germaine made no secret of his admiration for Richard.

“Which one?” Albric jested. “Geoffrey?”

“What did Geoffrey ever do for the Plantagenet name?” St. Germaine huffed.

Albric opened one eye. “He gave birth to a royal son. Some people think he would be—”

“Careful.” Os gave the warning, but without heat. They were friends and should be able to speak their minds without censure.

“What? Richard named him heir, before sneaking John forced him to give it up.” Albric sat up again and belched.
“‘Tis not secret, that.”

“Arthur has no love of England. He is French. The Duke of Brittany, no less.” Warin rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on his saddle. “It's why the English people won't follow him as they will John.”

Osbert was counting on the fact that Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk and High Steward of England agreed.