FERAND ENTERED THE great hall and immediately found Sir Francis Wykeham at his elbow.
“I saw you with Elia de Wolfe last night. Be wary, my friend.”
He didn’t want to be this man’s friend but Wykeham tweaked his curiosity. “Why do you say that?”
The knight shrugged. “She’s beautiful, I’ll grant you that. Half the men in this room are in love with her and the name de Wolfe. The other half have felt the effects of her sharp tongue. Lady Elia is smarter than most men present tonight. Even the queen respects the girl’s intelligence and has taken her to council meetings.”
“Ferand? Is that you?”
Relieved to hear a familiar voice, he turned. “Walter Dubosc. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again.”
“Forgive me interrupting, Wykeham. Ferand and I fostered together a lifetime ago.”
“Then I will allow you to reacquaint yourselves.” Wykeham disappeared into the crowd.
“What are you doing at court? The last I saw you, we were in Scotland, near Stirling Castle.”
“Aye. At Bannockburn.”
“Miserable outcome that day,” Dubosc muttered. “And we were both eager to get back home to new babes. Did your wife bear you a son? Mine did. We’ve had two daughters since then.”
Ferand composed himself. “Nay. Minta did not survive childbirth, Walter.”
His friend clasped Ferand’s elbow. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“It seems long in the past. I’ve recently decided I should marry again. No local females were available to wife.”
“So you made your way to London. You will have many choices here, Ferand.”
“Why are you at court, Walter?”
“I accompanied my father. He is serving on the king’s council.” Leaning in, he added in a quiet voice, “Not that he listens to any advice dispensed. The king would rather let the Despensers whisper sweet nothings into his ear.” Walter straightened. “But enough of that.”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it, friend.”
“Do you have a man who could return a trunk to Kinwick for me? My page could accompany him. The lad has a sixth sense when it comes to direction. I’ll be leaving London in the morning and heading the opposite direction on business.”
“Of course. William can do it. When do you need this done? Tomorrow?”
“Aye. Have him come to the stables. Gilbert, my page, will be able to show him where the trunk is and pay him.”
“No need, Ferand. We are old friends. Any way I can be of service. Will you return to London and continue your search for a bride once your business is completed?”
He didn’t want to tip his hand, even to a trusted friend. “I’ll have to see. In the meantime, I—”
“My lord? If I could have a word with you?”
Ferand turned and saw Elia before him. Tonight, she wore a bright yellow gown that only made her hair darker and her eyes a more vivid green. His gaze strayed to the full, bottom lip that he’d toyed with last night and he swallowed at the thought of sinking his teeth into it again.
But when his eyes met hers, they seemed colder than a blustery day.
Before he could ask if something distressed her, she bestowed a captivating smile on his companion.
“Greetings, my lord.”
“Ah, Lady Elia, looking even fairer than usual.” Walter indicated Ferand. “Have you met Lord Ferand?”
She faced Ferand. “I have. And would like a word. Now.”
Walter glanced to Ferand. Both men heard the ice in her tone.
“I will excuse myself.” Walter bowed and left them.
“I think we should step away from all gathered here,” Lady Elia informed him. She wheeled around and left the great hall, Ferand hurrying after her.
Following her down a few hallways, she came to a halt and turned. “Are you married?” she asked bluntly. He heard the anger—and hurt—in her question and began to understand why she was so upset.
Especially after what they had shared in that alcove last night.
“I was,” he said softly. “Minta was five years younger than I. A fragile girl. Our fathers wished us to wed. Her father died a month after our wedding. My father soon followed suit. The marriage they both wanted so badly was one they didn’t live to enjoy.
“And my wife? I found her dying when I returned from the fighting at Bannockburn. She lasted an hour and then they cut my son from her.”
Lady Elia’s face had gone white. “Was he . . . did he . . .”
“Also dead,” Ferand said abruptly. He blinked several times, not wishing to shed tears in front of this women.
She took his arm, her fingers curling around it, her warmth filling him. Soothing him like a balm to a wound.
“I am sorry.”
“’Tis in the past,” he said brusquely. “Did your talk with the queen go well?”
She nodded. “She had few questions. Which meant I did not have to lie. Much. I told her I’d received a missive from my father. That I was going home to wed. And I would be escorted home tomorrow.” She hesitated. “Did you—”
“I burned it. As you asked,” he said, reading her mind.
Ferand had longed to read it but he had given his word to her that he wouldn’t. He surmised that she had requested to come home and her father refused. If Ferand had a daughter like Elia, he would have wanted her far from the skirmishes in the north. That meant de Wolfe probably asked the queen to find a husband for his daughter, one far from the fight.
Instead, the stubborn girl was returning home.
Ferand only hoped by the time they reached Northumberland that Elia would choose to leave again.
With him. As his wife.
“Is your trunk ready?” he asked.
“Aye, but I know we cannot take it with us.”
“Bring only a change of clothing if you have a satchel.”
“I do.”
“I’ve arranged to have your trunk removed from the palace. My page, Gilbert, will ride with one of Walter Dubosc’s servants and see that it’s safe.”
“Thank you. That is very thoughtful.”
He smiled at her. “I knew it would be important to you.” He watched the blush fill her cheeks. “Leave the trunk outside your chamber. I will meet you there before dawn and we’ll go to the stables. You don’t have a horse there, do you?”
“Nay.”
“Then you’ll ride with me.” Again, he watched the blush rise, finding it most attractive on her.
“I’m sure you have friends you wish to spend the rest of your evening with, my lady.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I will see in in a few hours.”
Ferand went directly to the stables. He’d left Gilbert there with several coins when they’d arrived, telling the lad to explore London and not gamble all the money away, instructing him to return and sleep each night in Midnight’s stall.
Finding his page asleep, he woke the boy.
“Have you seen the sights of the city?” he asked.
Gilbert’s eyes went wide. “Aye, my lord. Huge churches and the market. The food is incredible. Piping hot meat pies that stick to your ribs.” He frowned. “But the place smells worse than stalls that need mucking.”
“Come with me.”
Ferand led the boy inside the palace, to Lady Elia’s chamber.
“Remember this room. You are to come here tomorrow after dawn once you’ve met a man in the stables named William. He will take you and a trunk you find here to Kinwick. Show him the way we came.”
He nudged the boy and they wound their way back through the palace.
Gilbert’s eyes lit up as he spoke. “Have you found yourself a bride, my lord?”
Ferand grinned. “I have. She doesn’t know it yet. We will be taking a rather long way home to Kinwick. I must meet her family first. Then I have to make sure that she’ll have me as a husband.”
“Is she pretty, my lord?”
His grin widened. “She’s a beauty, inside and out, Gilbert. She will make a splendid countess.” He sighed. “’Tis up to you to keep her things safe—and this secret between you and me.”
“You can count on me. Be safe yourself, my lord. The road can be a dangerous place.”
Ferand ruffled the boy’s hair. “The next time you see me, Gilbert, I will have Lady Elia in hand.”