Boadicea's Legacy Page 4

  “It’s a Welsh name, I imagine. Good stock. Handsome.”

  “He was filthy.” And it was her fault.

  “He was fortunate he didn’t die. He tried to follow Jonny and got lost in our woods. He ended up in a boar trap, poor man. Meg must have helped him free. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  Ela swallowed. “Me? I was fast asleep. All night.”

  “Well, he mentioned that it was an old woman who came and threw him a rope.” Her mother’s gaze lingered on her before she went back to staring at the letter from the earl, as if she hadn’t already memorized it word for word.

  Guilt stormed her belly. No matter what, Osbert couldn’t recognize her as the woman he’d followed into the trees. “How odd. I’ll ask Meg about it.”

  “Aye, please do. You have nothing to explain?”

  “Explain? I’ve never seen that man before.”

  “I’m your mother, Ela, and I know when you are trying to hide something! I also know I’ll get nowhere until you choose to tell me.” Biting her lower lip, Lady Deirdre folded the rolled paper flat and took a different tack. “The Earl of Norfolk is a powerful man. He’s requesting we answer any and all of Osbert’s questions. What could the earl want with Boadicea’s spear? I don’t even know what he’s referring to.”

  Grateful for the shift in subject, Ela answered quickly. “I asked Thomas about the Earl of Norfolk whilst we were on the balcony. He thinks that the earl can help further his cause for a title.” A title. Mayhap if she was a countess, her father’s role against John, when he was but a prince trying to steal his brother’s throne, would be forgotten. She could advance her brothers’ stations and possibly send her nieces and nephews to court. “Father must watch his tongue around Thomas—he could be a dangerous enemy.”

  With a secret agenda. In his slick, serpentine way he’d let her know that he was watching them, and they were not quite good enough.

  “So why are you set on marriage to him if you can see what kind of man he is? Besides, it’s been two months now, and he hasn’t even hinted to your father about a betrothal. He is manipulating you, and I don’t like it. I don’t understand why you are allowing such behavior. Be patient, Ela, and love will come.”

  Love would come? She was aging by the day. “Most likely Thomas will ask for my hand during the hunt this morn—when he and Father are alone.” Else I’ve given up my gifts to Andraste for nothing. She and Thomas had held veiled conversations on what each might bring to a marriage—without ever talking directly about it. He would bring himself and the small parcel of land he’d just purchased that was next to theirs.

  She would bring a portion of the Montehue estate and a substantial dowry—her slightly wild reputation balanced his questionable illegitimacy. If it were true that his sire was who he hinted it was, then her family would be safe from the king’s retribution, although forever bound to King John’s court.

  “You are playing some sort of game, dearest heart. I wish my mother were here. She always could guide you better than I.”

  Ela heard the wistful tone in her mother’s voice and pulled her into a hug. “I miss Gram too. But there could never be a mother as wonderful as you.” The youngest in the Montehue family, Ela had never doubted that she was loved, and she loved in return. Family was more important than anything else—including her gifts for healing.

  “Pah. You’ve a great heart, my daughter. And you are so smart. You’ve more natural talent in your little finger than my mother and Aunt Nan and both of your sisters tossed together. ‘Tis scaring me to think you’d throw your gifts away on a man you don’t love.” Deirdre tugged Ela close so that they were nose to nose. “Especially one that you could never grow to love.”

  Ela squirmed as if she were a young girl of ten instead of a grown maiden. Her mother’s green eyes, almost identical to her own, were intensely searching for the truth. Ela blinked and moved away before she saw it.

  Her mother’s intuition worked but rarely. Now would not be the time for it to start.

  “Thomas is not so bad …,” Ela said, with her fingers crossed in the folds of her gown.

  “Oh? He is thin as a cadaver and just as pale. His manners are boorish, and I grow very weary of his alluding to his ‘family’—we all know that he is the by-blow of a high-born in the royal house. I used to be curious as to his parentage, now I just wish he’d go visit them instead of dining with us so often.”

  “Mother!” Ela smothered a laugh with her hand. “I’ll not deny that his looks are unusual in appeal. Looks are not everything. However, he has connections in court that my opinionated father might need one day. If King John decides to make the lords pay who were so vocal for Richard, then what? It is best to have an ally in our corner.” Even a slippery one. Better to keep your enemies close … would her bed be close enough? She shivered.

  Deirdre stood so fast she knocked over the small stool by her feet. “Aha! You think that by marrying Thomas de Havel, you’ll save your father from King John’s scrutiny? I knew there was a reason. Don’t be foolish. Your father is a grown man. He can handle Thomas and care for us all.”

  Caught out, Ela’s heart pounded with apprehension. “Father has built this land from practically nothing, and it’s prosperous. King Richard rewarded him, but King John has no love for us—and a great love of money. For certes, he remembers Galiana thwarting him from her days at court, before she married Rourke. Thomas has alluded to the fact that the king never forgets a slight and can hold a grudge like no other. When Papa sided with King Richard and the other barons, against John? Nay, he won’t forget his grudge against our family.” Ela rubbed at the chills dotting her arms.

  Deirdre strode toward the window, her veil flowing out behind her like a tail. “We are in no danger from the king. We pay our taxes and cause no problems with our neighbors.”

  Ela pointed her chin in the air. “One of those new neighbors is a knight loyal to King John—that doesn’t concern you? It should. That property has been run down and vacant for fifty years. What if Thomas,” she lowered her voice, “what if he was sent to, well, gather information on us?”

  Deirdre laughed. “You could be a minstrel, with your ‘what if’ imagination. We don’t need saving, sweet Ela. It isn’t too late to withdraw your feigned attentions before you end up being hurt.”

  Thomas’s subtle taunts echoed in her memory, but she didn’t dare argue with her mother. What if Thomas was a spy for King John and he’d been sent here to see how her father would vote now? Whisperings from France gossiped of a faction trying to get Arthur on the English throne—everybody’s loyalty would soon be circumspect.

  Back when John was but a prince, her father had clearly drawn his line in the sand regarding which side he’d fight on if it came to a war.

  And it hadn’t been John’s.

  Chapter

  Four

  Ela heard the sound of her father and Thomas returning from the hunt. It was difficult not to hear them, as they were arguing back and forth over the merits of serfs in comparison to freed men.

  Thomas de Havel vocally stated he wished slavery could be reinstated.

  The angry clunk of her father’s footsteps as he bypassed the solar completely—to go directly to his private chamber—left Ela at a loss for speech. She and her mother exchanged a look, and Deirdre went upstairs after Robert, while Ela raced downstairs to Thomas.

  Thomas was leeched of all color with the exception of two bright red dots on the high cut of his cheekbones. He saw Ela running toward him and held up one gloved hand.

  She skidded to an unladylike halt.

  “I have never been so grossly insulted.” He stared at her, as if expecting her to start making apologies on behalf of her father.

  She tried … but couldn’t. “What happened? Are you all right? I’ve never heard my father so furious.” Her heart beat a fast staccato beneath her breast.

  “He insists that men should earn their freedom and their own parce
ls of land. He would take the revenue from the king’s hand and give it to the people. The people.” Thomas sneered. “The peasants are poor, uneducated, dirty, superstitious, and completely incapable of governing themselves. There is a reason, by Christ, that we have a king’s stewardship.”

  Ela’s toes curled inside her slippers. Thomas’s grating voice fueled her ire. Could she marry a man such as this? An arrogant arse-wipe who didn’t have a single belief in common with her or her family’s ideals?

  She had to.

  He’d kept her on pins and needles, whispering that with a single prod, King John could whisk her family from this land that meant so much to her father. In return, he wanted her company—her undivided attention. His halfhearted caresses made her stomach roil, but she’d bitten her tongue … knowing he could save her family, if he so chose. He’d hinted at marriage, but not followed through. Could she?

  As she stood in the hall, she realized that his threats wouldn’t end once they were married. She knew it. If she joined hands with this man, she would be forever tied to his whims. Would she be strong enough to keep him from tossing her parents into the nearest ditch …

  He drawled, “You needn’t worry about your father’s anger—’tis mine that should concern you.”

  Ela proudly lifted her chin. “Why is that, sir?”

  He seemed taken aback at her response, but it was time that he learned she wasn’t a pile of rushes to be trod upon. “Well …” he blustered, “if we are to be—”

  Ela arched her brow. “Married? That is what you keep insinuating. And yet I wonder that you haven’t spoken to my father as yet. Why? Would it anger King John if you married the enemy’s daughter?”

  His lips pinched together so tight they disappeared, leaving him a face without a mouth.

  “I was told to marry you. But I can’t bring myself to ask the question. Your hands are chapped from God only knows what. Your skin is tan as if you are a common field laborer. You disappear for hours on end with no word at all to anybody. Your reputation is in shreds. I desire a wife that can raise my station—not lower it.”

  Trembling with ire, Ela narrowed her eyes at him. “Ordered to marry me? By whom? The king?”

  Thomas threw back his head and laughed cruelly. “As if the king would care about you—a disreputable wench whose station is hardly better than the peasants toiling your land. Nay, my mother insists it would be a strong match. I’d lay claim to the prosperous Montehue lands and serve King John as a loyal lord should do.”

  “You are no lord, sir.” Ela kept her clenched hands at her sides. “No sire has claimed you.”

  Thomas de Havel slammed his fist against his thigh. “Shut up.”

  Ela felt no pride in striking such a verbal blow, but she refused to cower before his bullying tactics anymore.

  His aura flashed smoky black. “I’ve informed … people … that your father stands against King John. I don’t need to marry you in order to get these lands.” He grinned, baring his yellow teeth. Placing one hand behind his back, he put forth an air of confidence. Did he expect her to kiss his stinking feet and beg his mercy?

  I’ve done enough of that.

  He’d lied to her all along. And she’d been fool enough to think she could control him. “You cannot stand the sight of me then? And you were toying with me, as a cat does a mouse?” Ela paced the front hall, thinking quickly as she took the offensive. “You thought you’d grow to like the sight of my tanned skin and chapped hands? Some have referred to me as fair of face, Thomas de Havel. And as for my reputation, I assure you that I am as pure as the first snow. But you will never know that now, for I am not afraid of you anymore.”

  He gaped at her. Speechless. For once.

  She tapped her lower lip. “And just how did your mother come to pick me as a possible bride? If your family connections are as powerful as you say, then you should have your choice of ladies. Ones without smirched reputations.”

  The sound of clapping reached past her anger and brought her to a halt. Turning on one slippered heel, she faced the stranger from the woods. Only heaven help her, because his refreshed physique resembled that of a Roman god, complete with dark blond curling hair. His eyes glittered a deep bluish gray, and his broad shoulders tapererd down to slim hips beneath a dark blue tunic. He made her feel like a girl.

  “Uh.” She swallowed, remembering last night, hoping and praying that he didn’t recognize her from the glen. “Osbert, is it?” Her pulse leapt at her wrists and throat.

  “Yea, my lady. Though many call me Os.”

  “Osbert? Os? And who the devil are you, man, to interfere in a squabble between lovers?”

  Ela recoiled at the word falling from Thomas’s lips.

  Os noticed and rubbed his smooth chin. “I think the lady has already changed her mind about that.” He looked Thomas up, then down, disdain on his chiseled features. “Which is probably just as well, if I may say so.”

  “You may not,” Thomas spluttered. “Who are you? Why are you here? Some business on behalf of the Earl of Norfolk’s, I heard you say earlier.”

  “Aye, and that is all that needs be said … since you are not, and will not be, a part of the Montehue family.”

  Ela’s entire being flushed at the knight’s cool courage. Last eve he’d seemed reckless and temperamental. Then again, last eve she’d been naked and playing the witch. Mayhap neither had been at their best.

  Thomas took a step forward, his sword half drawn. Ela quickly noted that Os had no weapon. He looked as if he’d just stepped from his bath, perhaps to come to her rescue when he heard the shouting?

  He’d suffered enough at her hands. “Please, sirs. Thomas, Osbert is here to ask Mother some questions about a family legend. Is that not right?”

  Os nodded while Thomas huffed and asked, “Legend? What kind of legend could you possibly know about?”

  Ela bit her lower lip instead of telling him what he could do with his illegitimate lineage. “We are descended from Boadicea.”

  “Bo—bodeeceea? Who is that?”

  “An ancient queen who gathered the untamed Britons and united them against Roman invasion—and she almost succeeded.” Ela was surprised by the pride in her own voice.

  “I’ve never heard of her.” Thomas returned his sword to its sheath and crossed his arms, as if that ended any possible discussion of the matter. “Why would you want to claim an insurgent female rebel as an ancestor?”

  Bristling beneath her wimple, Ela gritted her teeth before answering. “Thomas. As someone who holds such store by bloodlines, you should understand why we hold pride in ours. My family can trace its roots to England’s first days.”

  “‘Tis true,” Osbert, her unlikely ally, agreed. “I followed rumors of Boadicea’s daughter to Wales. From Wales, I came here.” He spoke to her, his eyes searching.

  What did he see when he looked at her?

  “Rumor says that the ancestors of Boadicea can heal by touch. Great beauties—tall, red-haired. Emerald eyes. Am I right in surmising your hair is red beneath that wimple, my lady?”

  Osbert’s questions felt flirtatiously wicked and warmed her to her feet. She nodded, hating the blush that heated her cheeks.

  “Healing? Ha, that sounds of witches and old wives’ tales. Superstitions, just as I said.” But Thomas’s voice had dropped, and his aura turned an even sicklier shade of green than normal.

  I can see his aura.

  Ela looked at Os, who didn’t even cast a shimmer.

  Thomas’s aura reflected his inner spirit. He wasn’t courageous, but he had the strength earned by cunning that made him a deadly opponent. She couldn’t afford to forget that her family’s lands could be at stake.

  “I am known to be a healer,” Ela admitted.

  Thomas’s thin brows lifted high as he stared at her with new interest. “And what do you heal?”

  Ela sensed there was a riddle here she best answer correctly.

  Os interrupted. “Coughs and colds
, yea, my lady? It isn’t as if you cast spells to banish warts.” His laugh was strained, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. “That would be an offense against the church, as I see it. I am a knight of God, and such things that offend the church offend me.”

  Sighing, Ela glanced at Os again. The sun shone on his hair, burnishing it to gold. “Are you a monk? A priest?” St. Agnes help her if she was intrigued by a man of the cloth.

  “Nay. I’ve pledged my life to doing good works in the name of Christ, but I do not have the strength of will to don the holy robes.”

  Thank God. Ela ducked her head to hide her smile. “An honorable course, sir.” Her curiosity urged her to ask him all the questions that came to her mind. Was he married, did he have children? A house? How did he earn his bread?

  “The Lord intervened on my behalf; I feel bound to do the same for Him.”

  How was it possible that the first man to touch her wild soul was a man sworn to the church?

  “Excuse me. Healing abilities? I have a bunion on my toe, it pains me greatly.”

  Ela noted the spike of gray in Thomas’s aura as he thought to trick her.

  “The only thing to do for a bunion is to soak your foot in warm onion water for seven nights in a row. On the eighth night, you will notice marked improvement.” Ela dipped her head respectfully, all the while wishing she could lie and tell him that part of the cure was drinking the onion water afterward.

  But that wouldn’t be kind.

  Still …

  “Aye, I’ve heard that recipe too.” Thomas stalked toward her, but Ela held her ground and didn’t budge an inch. “My mother, who once tended Queen Eleanor, told me the same. Mayhap you should meet her.”

  “Queen Eleanor?” Ela’s voice hitched.

  “My mother.” Thomas stroked his chin. “You could come to court with me.”