"My lady, have a care!"
Elona, daughter of Lord John de Barre, glanced back at her
companion, the light of laughter in her eyes. Her long red
hair streamed out in the breeze behind her for she wore no
head covering. She was a beautiful girl and had the
delicate colouring of her mother, a Scotswoman who had
married at seventeen, given birth to a son and then a
daughter and died, leaving her husband distraught. Elona
also had her mother's temper, which could flare easily and
disappear as swiftly as if it had never been. But she was
undoubtedly a woman of compassion, loving and loyal to
those she cared for, and the person she cared for most in
the world was her father. Lord John de Barre.
"Catch me if you can," she called to her squire in a
spirit of defiance.
This past year had been hard to bear, for first the
shocking murder of her beloved brother Pierre, and then
the natural death of her kind and loving stepmother
Elizabeth, had left her saddened and concerned for her
ailing father.
The lady Elizabeth had been English, a good kind woman who
had seen to Elona's welfare and loved her as a mother.
Both Elona and her father had mourned her sincerely when
she'd died earlier that year, but Pierre's death had
broken Lord de Barre's spirit, leaving him aged and ill.
Elona had feared for him these past months.
Now, however, she glanced over her shoulder at the young
man, bending over her horse's neck as she recklessly urged
it to go faster. She had always ridden fearlessly, taught
by both her father and brother who were proud of the
lovely girl.
"You should have been a boy!" Pierre had teased her
unmercifully as a young girl, but he had loved her. She
missed him terribly and had turned in her loneliness to
the young squire, William de Grenville, who was
accompanying her that morning.
Seeing that he had no hope of catching her on his horse,
which was a sluggard compared to her own, Elona slowed,
allowing him to come up with her.
"One day you will take a tumble and break your neck,'Will
said, giving her a stern look. "And your father will blame
me for not taking better care of you."
"Poor Will," Elona said, her eyes sparkling. "That would
be unfair since I do as I please and you have no power to
compel me.'Yet she sighed, knowing he was right to urge
caution. "You do well to chide me, sir. My father suffers
enough as it is. He would be alone if I died."
"He would not be the only one to mourn for you, my lady."
Will's dark eyes seemed to smoulder with passion as he
looked at her and Elona smiled. She was well aware that he
loved her and sometimes she was sure that she loved him.
Of course, he was not a knight and, unless he earned his
spurs, could not expect to marry the daughter of John de
Barre. Yet there was time enough. She was but seventeen
and in no hurry to wed.
A frown wrinkled her smooth forehead. Elona knew that her
father had recently received an offer for her hand. He had
refused it at once, for it came from Baron Danewold, a man
both she and her father disliked intensely. They knew that
the Baron coveted the rich lands that marched side by side
with those belonging to his first wife, and the two men
had argued over boundaries before now. Although there
could be no proof, Lord de Barre believed that the Baron
was behind the brutal murder of his son, possibly in the
expectation that he would die and leave his daughter
unprotected. However, despite increasingly frail health,
Elona's father had clung to life and hoped to continue
until his daughter was safely married.
They had reached her father's fortified manor house and
Will came to help her down from her mount, his hands
lingering a little longer than necessary about her waist
and bringing a flush to her cheeks. She smiled at him, but
said nothing; she was not yet certain of her own feelings
regarding the young man. It might suit her to wed him and
yet it might not.
"Thank you, Will," she told him. "If it is fine, we shall
ride again tomorrow."
"Yes, my lady. You know I wait only to serve you."
The look he gave her burned so deep that Elona felt an odd
sensation low in her abdomen. He had a soft kissable mouth
and she had oft wondered what it might be like to be held
in Will's strong arms. If only he had earned his spurs,
she might then look upon him with favour without fear of
her father's reproach.
She ran into the house, her fine leather slippers making
no sound on the flagstones in the great hall where a fire
was kept burning, even in the heat of summer, for the
house was never truly warm. Today it struck cold, though
outside it had been a warm spring day. In this northerly
region of France the spring might be as warm as summer or
cold, but today was somewhere between the two.
Elona turned towards the curving stone staircase that led
to her solar and bedchamber, but her father's steward
called to her as she put her foot upon the first stair.
"Ah, well met, my lady," Griffin said and smiled at his
lord's daughter. He found her a lovely woman, spirited and
sometimes reckless, but generous and caring towards her
father, who, though fond of her, had often neglected her
in favour of her brother. Daughters were not sons, after
all, and, while he lived, Pierre had been his father's
favourite. "Lord de Barre requests the pleasure of your
company in his private chamber. I was about to come in
search of you, but you have saved me a journey."
"Then I am glad of it," she replied with a smile. Like her
father, the steward was well past his youth and suffered
with aching joints, particularly in the wet weather. "I
shall come at once. I know my father has been expecting
news. Perhaps it has arrived."
"He will tell you himself, lady," the steward said,
wondering how the lady would take the news that her father
had decided upon a marriage for her. It was the custom for
a father to make these arrangements, but the Lady Elona
did not always take kindly to being told that something
was signed and sealed without her consent. Griffin had
advised caution, but his lord was in truth of much the
same temperament as his fiery daughter. "I dare say 'tis
best that he does."
"That means I shan't like it," Elona said and pulled a wry
face. She did not waste time in answering her father's
summons, however, for that would avail her nothing. She
must listen first and then plead her case if need be. She
was well aware of what the probable news would be, but did
not yet have any idea of who might have been chosen to be
her husband.
Griffin did not reply. He was ever the diplomat, she
thought and did not press him. It was not his decision,
after all, but her father's.
John de Barre smiled at his daughter as she entered the
small room that served as his private chamber. Situated
just off the great hall it allowed him to be aware of what
was going on and yet seek the solitude he needed more and
more these days.
"The ride has done you good, child," he said as she went
to kiss his cheek. "You look beautiful — but then you
always do, just like your mother." A sigh escaped him. He
had never ceased to mourn his first wife, though he had
never blamed Elona for her death. A child must be born by
her parents' consent and could not be blamed if the mother
died.
"Are you unwell, Father? You look tired?"
As well he might, since the letter from England had
arrived the previous evening, keeping him awake throughout
the dark hours. Yet he had wrestled with the selfish
emotions that told him to keep his daughter by him and
won. It was for her sake that he had written, for he
sensed that his time was near and she must be protected
from the evil that he feared might come to her if he were
dead.
"I am a little tired, but my health is the same as
always," he replied and took her hand, leading her to the
solid bench beside his fire. Cushions sewn by Elona
herself for his comfort were piled against the hard back,
but he chose to remain standing, motioning her to sit
down. "Please rest, my dear. I have something to tell you.
Shall I send for wine and biscuits to refresh you before I
begin?"
A slight smile touched her mouth. "Do you hope to sweeten
the taste, Father? Was your letter to my kinswoman
successful?"
"Yes, indeed. Lady Alayne de Banewulf was everything that
is kind and generous in her letter. She was sorry to hear
of your stepmother's death and...of other things." The
Lord de Barre paused as he fought his grief, which shook
his thin body and threatened to overcome him. He recovered
and looked at his daughter, standing there so young and
proud, and wilful as her mother before her. Her husband
must be a man he could trust, otherwise she would find
life too harsh outside the protecting walls of her home.
He loved her dearly, though he knew that he had neglected
her in the past. "I told her why I wanted to arrange a
match for you and she asked me to send you to her, Elona."
"Shall you come with me, Father?"
He shook his head. "I fear the journey might be the death
of me, Elona. I shall send your ladies and Will de
Grenville with you, but I shall stay here. You will be
safer with your kinswoman until I have set up certain
precautionary measures here. I intend to make you a ward
of Duke Richard until your marriage. He will know how to
act if anything happens to me — if, for instance, I should
be murdered like your brother. He will control your lands
then, Elona, and none may gainsay him and escape with
their life. But that will take time and until it is done I
fear that you may suffer some harm."
"I do not want to leave you, dearest Father. You have not
been well. You need me with you, to care for you and keep
you company." 'It is for the best, child," he said and
sighed. "I do not wish to part from you, Elona, and I
shall miss you sorely, but if anything should happen to me
before the Duke has agreed to this contract, you would be
at the mercy of unscrupulous men. Lady Alayne has promised
to send her son to fetch you and he will bring an armed
escort to add to those that I am able to provide. I cannot
spare my best men for my manor would then be vulnerable,
and I will fight to my last drop of blood to prevent the
lands of Barre from falling into Danewold's hands."
"Oh, Father," Elona said and held back the sob of grief
that rose to her lips. If Pierre had not been so brutally
killed, her father would not have had to send her
away. "Must I truly go to England to be married to a man I
do not know?"
"Lady Alayne has not promised a match with her son Alain
de Banewulf," John de Barre said. "She says that she will
be your guardian and guide you in the matter of your
marriage. She and her husband see no reason against the
match, but she says it would be kinder to let you young
people get to know each other first; then, if it seems
suitable, you will wed. If not, she promises that she will
arrange another match of the same worthiness for you. It
is the best I can do for you, my child. Had Elizabeth
lived, I could have left all to her..." Again he
sighed. "We have been unlucky this past year, Elona. I
would ask that you do not add to my burdens by refusing
this match for no good reason. The young man is personable
and of good family. What more could you ask?"
Elona could have told him but did not, holding her tongue,
though it cost her to remain silent. To refuse outright at
this moment would provoke a quarrel and her father looked
very tired. She was afraid that if she quarrelled with
him, she might be the unwitting cause of a relapse; if she
seemed to give way at first, there might yet be a chance
of escape for her.