Once a Bride Read Free Page A

began to form, the earl spoke earnestly to the two men assigned to ride ahead and beg a night’s hospitality at Lelleford for the earl and his retinue.
    Would John Hamelin open the gate or tell Kenworth to go to the devil? Given an open gate, would the earl arrest Sir John with the dignity due his stature, or do mischief?
    Roland wished he knew, but he’d learned no more over a meal with the knights and earl than Timothy had from the squires and grooms.
    Perhaps there was nothing to learn. Perhaps he feared treachery when none was forthcoming.
    Perhaps cows gave wine and sheep gave linen.
    His instincts hadn’t failed him yet. The prickling on the back of his neck yet nagged. The earl of Kenworth intended to torment Sir John Hamelin just as surely as that man’s daughter had intended to rule Hugh.
    Truly, ’twas a mercy Hugh had escaped that particular noose, wrapped in silk and gently tightened, but a stout rope all the same. Her sunny smile disguised a heart of ice; her courtly manner concealed a will of steel. Behind her beautiful face lurked a shrewd, cunning mind.
    He’d gone to Lelleford hoping to like the woman who would be his sister-by-marriage. And he had, perhaps too much.
    Unfortunately, he’d also determined she was an unsuitable wife for his half brother.
    Roland smiled, looking forward to the moment when Lady Eloise Hamelin learned that Hugh St. Marten’s “disgusting toad of a brother” had been given royal authority over her home.
    ’Twould be an interesting test of wills to see who prevailed over the weeks ahead. A contest he had no intention of losing.

Chapter Two
    E LOISE SAT Brother Walter down on a bench near the huge stone hearth, which cast flickering light and welcome warmth into the cavernous room. If forced to declare a favorite spot in the entire castle, this would be the place.
    Here, as a young girl, she’d sat on the rush-covered floor at her mother’s feet and learned how to work wool. From here she could see the various colorful banners hanging from the high beams and the assortment of ancient weapons displayed on the walls, each with its own tale of her family’s renowned, proud heritage.
    And here, on most evenings, her parents had settled in, surrounded by their children and her father’s favorite hunting hounds. They’d talked of the day’s trials and joys, played quiet games, made plans for the future.
    One by one they’d left her. Mother had died, Jeanne given away in marriage. Geoffrey’s self-imposed exile in Paris, Julius’s pilgrimage to Italy. And now her father.
    She’d endured each disappearance in its time, accepting the reasons. All but the last.
    She glanced down at the huge deerhound that spent most of her days lolling near the fire, now too old for the fields but too dear for her father to be rid of as he’d dispensed of other animals no longer able to work. The bitch wouldn’t understand why her master no longer took a moment during his day to scratch her behind the ears, just as Eloise couldn’t understand why the lord of the castle chose to desert his daughter.
    Determined to shake off the self-pity, an indulgence she couldn’t afford, she sent one of the serving wenches to fetch a basin of water and strips of linen for bandaging, then nudged the monk’s blood-sticky, coarse brown hair away from the ugly gash.
    He winced. She felt no remorse for hurting the monk her father considered untrustworthy. The cleric likely knew why her father deemed it necessary to leave Lelleford, might even be the cause. And she dared not inquire or risk giving away her knowledge of her father’s escape.
    Where were her father and Edgar now? Had they passed through the gate? Where would they go once clear of Lelleford’s lands?
    She struggled to keep her voice light. “ ’Tis not deep enough to need stitches, I warrant. I shall clean the blood away to make sure, but I believe you came away from your mishap with no lasting harm done.”
    Still pale, Brother Walter