Meriel Fuller - The Warrior's Damsel In Distress

‘But why?’ Eva whispered.

‘I am to be married.’ Katherine raised her head listlessly, her sable eyes enormous, worried. ‘Like you said, Eva, I am a wealthy widow; how could I possibly be allowed to keep all that money to myself? Edward wants to reward those men who have shown the utmost loyalty to him—and I—I am that reward,’ she finished bitterly. ‘Damn him! I knew this life couldn’t last! How I wish I were not related to him!’

‘He can’t do this, Katherine. He can’t force you!’

But Katherine was nodding sadly. ‘He can, Eva. He is the King and my guardian. If I disobey, he will take my children away and throw me into a nunnery. Or worse, he might even kill me. The way he has been behaving lately, the methods he has been using to punish people who go against him, I wouldn’t be surprised. You of all people should understand this, Eva. How men can make your life a living hell!’

With a swift tilt of her head, Eva indicated Martha’s silent figure, a warning to her friend to stay quiet. The servant hovered by the oak coffer, the washcloth hanging between her hands, beads of water dripping into the bowl. Martha’s eyes were avid, alive with curiosity, drinking in her mistress’s words like an elixir.

‘Martha, go. Do not repeat a word of what you have just heard to anyone.’ Katherine’s eyes were hard, stern. ‘Otherwise I will dismiss you instantly.’ Collecting the bowl and jug from the coffer, the maid ambled from the chamber, slopping water as she walked, trailing glistening spots across the wooden floorboards.

Both women remained silent until the door closed. Eva gripped Katherine’s hand. ‘I can’t let them take you like this. Not after everything you’ve done for me. There must be something we can do.’

Katherine’s chin drooped to her chest, a forlorn, disheartened movement. As if she had given up already. Dry sobs racked her body; the pearls in her filigreed silver circlet trembled. ‘And there’s something else, Eva,’ she said, her voice low.

‘What is it?’

‘That knight who brought you back—Lord Bruin.’ Katherine lifted her head, defeat dulling her eyes. ‘He’s asking about the Lady of Striguil.’

* * *

Eva slept fitfully, tossing and turning beneath woven blankets. Katherine had taken a long time to settle; she had helped her undress, brushing her hair with an ivory comb, plaiting the shining strands into two long braids for the night. Now she could hear Katherine’s regular breathing from the high bed beside her, her friend’s slim frame relaxed into a deep sleep against the goose-down pillows.

She stared into the shadows of the chamber, eyes straining with tiredness. With the candle extinguished, only a faint light emerged from the charcoal brazier, one hot coal emitting a feeble glow. Her leg throbbed, but less so now. After Katherine had climbed into bed, she had cleaned the wounds herself, applying salve and rebandaging her leg.

Katherine’s words churned in her mind and refused to let her sleep, worrying at her like a dog with a bone. Why, oh, why would Count Bruin be asking about Striguil? And, more specifically, asking about her? Before Katherine had gone to sleep, she had taken pains to reassure Eva that Lord Bruin had discovered nothing about Eva’s true identity. At the table, still reeling from the news of King Edward’s plans for her, Katherine had informed Bruin that she had never heard of the name Striguil, let alone a lady who resided there and he had seemed to be satisfied with that.

The simple lace at the neck of Eva’s nightgown tickled her chin and she pushed the fabric away, turning her head towards the window. Her braided hair rustled against the straw-filled pillow. Her mind scuttled fruitlessly down one path after another, chased by a pair of silvery eyes, a hard, determined mouth. Through the rippled glass, light from the rising moon tipped over the window ledge and stretched down into the chamber, pooling on the floorboards like milky liquid. How on earth could she and Katherine extricate themselves from this mess?

Beneath the window, a bundled lump on one of the low pallets shifted around, then sat up, furs falling off young shoulders. Alice. Golden hair fell down in a tumbled mass over a white nightgown; Eva’s heart panged with guilt. While she was downstairs, Martha had put the children to bed, obviously forgetting, or simply not bothering, to braid the girls’ hair. The child made a small mewling sound, reaching out towards Eva.

She threw back her blankets, welcoming the distraction of the child from her own troubled thoughts. Tentatively, she placed her weight upon her injured leg, please to find it was less painful now. She moved with a hitching, but bearable gait across to Alice, kneeling down beside the pallet bed.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’ she whispered, placing her hand on Alice’s head. The child’s golden hair, exactly like her mother’s, was silky beneath her palm.

‘I feel sick.’

Eva peered into Alice’s face. The child’s skin was pinched, drawn, but at the same time, flushed with a leaden colour. She placed her palm against Alice’s forehead. Her skin was hot. Very hot.

‘You lie down, Alice; I will fetch some water.’ Straightening up, Eva removed the furs from around the child, leaving a single sheet. Alice had a fever, not unusual in someone of her age, but she needed to be cooler, before her temperature raged out of control. She would go down to the kitchens, fetch some water from the well. ‘Don’t wake your mother,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be back very soon.’

Seizing a blanket from her own bed, Eva flung it around her shoulders. She took the candle from the bedside table, touching the wick to the flame within the charcoal brazier, watching it flare. The chapel bell had tolled midnight as she had lain awake with her troubled thoughts; everyone would be tucked up in bed now, especially on such a chill, snowy night. Katherine would have given the guest chambers to the visiting knights, chambers on the other side of the bailey, a lengthy distance away. And thank goodness for that, she thought with relief, as she pulled the door open.

As she stepped forward, her toes collided with a large bulk lying across the threshold.

Chapter Five

Eva stopped. Fear scythed through her, her muscles tensing. She slithered her foot back along the floorboards in a gradual movement, eyes running over the shadowy outline below her. One of Gilbert’s soldiers lay curled across the threshold, surcoat rumpled around brawny thighs, a creased leather belt around his hips. His broad sturdy back was curled towards her.

Breath snared in her chest. She hesitated, poised in the door frame. Frustration pulsed through her; Lord Gilbert obviously believed that Katherine and her children would try to slip away in the middle of the night. He was taking no chances, placing this guard across their door. The man was definitely asleep; she could hear his deep, steady breathing. Could she step over him without waking him up? She had no wish to be seen in her nightgown, hair uncovered and in braids, but Alice’s temperature worried her. To dress appropriately would waste more time; she needed to fetch water for the child now.

Lifting her bare foot, she stepped over the sleeping body, careful, hesitant, her nightgown filming over the man’s tunic, gauzy hem rustling across the expanse of red wool. With both feet on the other side of him, she paused, glancing down to check that he still slept.

Eyes of granite watched her, twinkling in the candle flame.

Lord Bruin, the knight who had brought her out from the forest. Eva recognised him instantly. ‘Not you again!’ she blurted out, exasperated. Anger pulsed through her, blazing, irresponsible; lifting her skirts, she kicked out towards his stomach with her good foot, a childish gesture, instinctive and wilful. She never reached her target. A lean hand snaked out, grabbing her ankle, powerful fingers grinding into her delicate bones.