Priscilla Royal - Tyrant of the Mind

With luck, this fierce snowstorm would continue long enough to keep any messenger from being sent to the sheriff and she might yet convince her father to turn his considerable tactical skills to the defense of his son. To do so, however, she must hear the full tale from Robert as soon as possible so she might present his defense in terms her father would have to concede.

“Of course you may see him, child. I will have a soldier accompany you.”

“A soldier is unnecessary, father.” Eleanor glanced at Anne. “Brother Thomas will accompany me.”

“Robert may be your brother, but he stands accused of murder. I cannot not take the chance that he might seize you as a hostage to gain his freedom…”

Eleanor closed her eyes to control her temper. “I assure you that Brother Thomas is sufficient protection against any such thing. He has already proven his courage and resourcefulness during the dark days just after my arrival at Tyndal.”

“Robert has trained as a knight and no monk…”

“Brother Thomas is no frail ascetic,” she snapped.

For the first time this day, her father’s eyes briefly sparkled with laughter. “I had noticed that, Eleanor.”

“I do believe he and your brother have quite taken to each other, or so Brother Thomas has said to me,” Anne interjected, glancing modestly at her prioress. “There is no reason to believe the Lord Robert would hurt either one of you, and indeed he might find comfort in having a priest with him at this time.” She looked over at the baron. “And should there be any problem, my lord, I do assure you that Brother Thomas is quite capable of defending your daughter. More able, perhaps, than Father Anselm, who does appear quite slight of build, if I might be so bold to say?”

Eleanor hid her smile of delight at her friend’s clever speech.

Adam shrugged, then looked at Geoffrey, who nodded.

“Very well,” the baron said. “Go and take your monk with you but exercise due care. I do not want to lose a daughter, or her broad-shouldered priest, in addition to Geoffrey’s son.”

Eleanor knew from the warmth in her face that she was blushing at his description of Thomas but drew herself up and looked back at her father with dignity. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, then turning to Sir Geoffrey, she added, “and I would also like permission to bring comfort to your good wife.”

“Comfort? What for? She is well enough.”

Eleanor shook her head with a dismissive gesture. “It is a woman’s matter. I do not doubt your wife’s resilience after seeing her stepson’s bloody corpse outside your chamber door this morning, but women often find a special consolation from…”

“She has Father Anselm.”

“…the company of another woman.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne bite her lip. Her friend had seen through her ruse. She prayed Sir Geoffrey had not. Eleanor hoped the Lady Isabelle knew something important about the relationship between Robert and Henry that would prove the innocence of her confined brother. She had to talk to her.

Geoffrey hesitated.

“Let the girls talk, Geoffrey,” Adam said. “What’s the harm? They have known each other since childhood, and your wife might well find more comfort from my daughter’s words than from those of our priest.”

Geoffrey shrugged. “Very well. I will tell her to expect you.”

Eleanor modestly lowered her head in thanks to her father and his friend, then squeezed Anne’s hand to acknowledge her calming influence. At least, she thought with less than humble glee, she had won more of this war of wills than either of the two men realized.

The prison tower guard jumped to his feet when Eleanor and Thomas appeared at the top of the stone stairs. She smiled at the soldier. He had been in her father’s service since her own childhood.

He will be kind to Robert, she thought as she raised her finger to her lips in a command of silence. Soundlessly, she walked to the small barred window in the heavy wooden door of the cell, and the man offered his hand so she might stand on his stool and look in on her brother.

Robert was sitting on his bed of bare straw, head in red-stained hands, and still dressed in the bloody clothes in which he had been found. She frowned. Surely he could have been provided with a change of clothes. He had not been chained, however, and she could not smell the stench of feces. The walls might be bare of woven cloth, but her father had given him a cell comfortable enough for a Welsh prince, should the baron ever be lucky enough to catch one. She would make sure her brother had water for washing and clean, warm garments.

Eleanor nodded to the guard. As he helped her down, she looked into his eyes and saw both fear and sorrow for the duty he had been given. She smiled gently at the man and said, “I am grateful my brother has you to watch over him. My father has oft praised you for acting honorably in your dealings with all, friend or foe. Your vigilance and honesty are a comfort to our family until this matter can be resolved, and we do thank you for it.” Before the soldier turned to unlock the door so she and Thomas could enter, Eleanor thought she saw a tear slip out of a corner of his eye and quickly disappear into his grizzled beard.

Robert raised his head when he saw his sister and friend enter. His eyes were raw from weeping, and his cheeks above the beard were tinted pink from the blood his tears had washed from his hands.

Eleanor knelt in the rushes by her brother’s side, took his stained hands in hers and kissed them. “I believe in your innocence, Robert. Like father, you would not lie even to save your life.”

As he pulled her hands toward his lips and kissed them in return, Robert gave Eleanor a tired smile. “A clever lass you’ve always been, sweet sister. Were I guilty of this crime, I would now be a quivering wretch, confessing all and huddled at your tiny feet after such soft words.”

“No, dear brother. Had you been guilty, you would not be huddled at my feet. The weight of your anguish would have caused you to fall to your death from this very tower ere now.” Eleanor looked directly into his eyes for a moment, then her eyes grew fond with the love she bore him.

“You are not only astute but have a wit so sharp no man of sense would approach you without arming himself in the finest chain mail.” Robert glanced up at Thomas. “How ever do you cope with her at the priory, brother?”

“Carefully,” Thomas said, then coughed, his face reddening.

Eleanor was amused at her monk’s blunt response and glanced at him with a gentle look, for surely he had spoken before thinking and must fear that he had offended.

Robert’s laugh was hearty. “As did Hugh and I when she was with us, even as a child. You see, Eleanor, how the men in your life respect as well as love you.”

“Tell us what happened,” she said, rising from her knees and seating herself next to her brother on the crisp straw. With luck he would not have noted the heat rising in her face as she wondered if Thomas bore some love for her as well. Perhaps both men would mistake her blush for womanly modesty.

Her brother’s brief mirth faded and the color in his face paled, but he squeezed her hands gently as if to comfort her. “I am innocent of Henry’s murder. I swear that on any hope I may have of Heaven. Aye, he and I had issue with each other. That I will freely admit, but I did not murder him. I confess that we nearly came to sword’s point today. Yesterday? Which is it now?” He nodded at Thomas. “Was it not you and Father Anselm I heard earlier this morning in the stairwell to the hall when Henry and I were arguing in the castle ward?”

“Aye.”