to hear a lady speak so directly of such an act. “No.”
“So although you caught him in the process of committing a crime, you let him go?”
Henry flushed, feeling a twinge of guilt at her accusation, although he’d told himself that night, and ever after, that he had done nothing to feel guilty about when he had allowed Roald to leave. “You didn’t see the girl, my lady, or hear her sobs and pleas not to call the guard. She was sure no one would take her word over Roald’s, and that Roald would say she led him on, and then her reputation would be ruined. I could not disagree, so yes, I let him go.”
The lady tilted her inquisitive head with its pointed little chin. “Many noblemen would not interfere at all, believing a servant’s body theirs by right, whether she was willing or not.”
“I don’t,” he answered with firm honestly. “I would never take a woman against her will, whether high born or low, and I have never made a woman cry out in pain and anguish, or left her bruised and bleeding.”
Lady Mathilde looked ahead at Cerdic and her sister, and he regretted speaking with such force. He should have remembered that, no matter her appearance or her manner, she was still a lady.
“That girl was fortunate you were there to help her,” Lady Mathilde said quietly, and with sincerity and compassion—a hint of gentleness and sympathy that was rather unexpected, and not unpleasant.
Inspired to be pleasant in return, Henry nodded at Cerdic at the head of the cortege. The fellow had a sword at his side and a rather fearsome battle ax strapped to his back. The shaft of his ax had to be four feet long and the head looked sharp enough to split hairs. “It’s rather unusual to see an Englishman in a position of such responsibility and trust.”
In truth, he couldn’t think of any Norman nobleman he knew who would give an Englishman that much responsibility, or consider one a friend. It had been nearly two hundred years since the Conquest, but old enmities died hard.
“Cerdic’s family was royal before the Normans came,” she replied.
She obviously admired the fellow. Henry wondered just how much, and if that extended to being on intimate terms. Not that it mattered. He had no interest in the bold and brazen Lady Mathilde. “You’re from Provence, aren’t you?” he asked, commenting on her accent.
“Yes, we were born there and lived there for most of our childhood.”
Just like the queen Henry detested, the woman he believed was spurring his countrymen to rebellion with her selfish advancement of her own family.
“The same as Queen Eleanor,” he remarked, wondering how she’d react to that.
Lady Mathilde looked as if she disliked the queen as much as he did. “If what Papa said about her family is true, it is a pity for England she is married to the king.”
That was interesting. “What did your father say about her family?”
“That the only thing they produced was beautiful women, and the only intelligence they showed was in arranging marriages.”
That was so close to the mark, Henry had to laugh. Then, because he was Henry, he smoothly said, “The queen’s family isn’t the only one capable of producing beautiful women.”
Lady Mathilde frowned.
Clearly, he had erred. Obviously, this lady would never be impressed with flattery or, perhaps, reminders that her sister was beautiful while she was not.
“My father didn’t like Normans, either,” she declared. “He said they always wanted to make war and didn’t appreciate music or art.”
He had upset her with his comment, and since he was well aware of what it was like to be compared to a sibling and found lacking, he didn’t take offense at her umbrage.
Her observation was also unfortunately true, at least in his case. He had little appreciation for art or music, except a clever, ribald ditty. Yet never before had he been made to feel that was a failing. “Someone has to defend the kingdom,” he noted.
“William was defending England when he invaded it? I must have been seriously misinformed.”
He would have found her remarks more amusing if she didn’t look so smugly superior. “Well, sometimes we get carried away—and sometimes, such men are necessary to defend estates.”
A blush colored her smooth cheeks, nearly overwhelming the few freckles on her nose.
“I meant no offense, Sir Knight,” she said after a moment, and looking not nearly so well pleased, “and I do not necessarily share my father’s views about the Normans. He did admire some things about your countrymen—Magna Carta, for instance, and how it set a limit on the king’s power. That is why Papa gave up all claim to his French estates to his elder brother, Roald’s father, in exchange for Ecclesford. Then Papa discovered that the English court is not very different from that of France. He was sorely disappointed.”
Henry couldn’t disagree. Noblemen were men first, and noble second, so they brought their ambition, greed, desires and needs to court with them.
“So Papa retired to Ecclesford and never went near the royal court again.”
That would explain why he’d never seen either of the ladies there, or even heard of them.
“And that is why we have no noble friends to call upon, you see, or I would not have to ask a stranger for his help.”
He suddenly felt like a lout for being annoyed with her, or anything she said. She and her sister were ladies in need of his aid, and that should be all that concerned him.
Maybe this would be a good time to do as Nicholas was always telling him, and keep his mouth shut.
Doing just that, he rode in silence beside Lady Mathilde, listening to the soldiers behind them laughing and talking. God’s wounds, they sounded more like men on a hunt than soldiers.
The man who’d trained him and his friends in the arts of war would never have tolerated such a lack of discipline. Henry could just imagine the things Sir Leonard de Brissy would say if he were here, and the curses that would accompany his comments.
“Ecclesford is on the other side of this wood,” Lady Mathilde remarked after they’d gone another mile or so, and the wind had started to rise. It tugged at the edges of the ladies’cloaks, and sent brown and yellow leaves swirling down the rutted, muddy road.
Henry noticed that the clouds were darker, too. He hoped the rain wouldn’t start before they arrived at Ecclesford. Chivalrous knight or not, he didn’t want to get soaked to the skin.
THE RAIN didn’t hold off and Henry was soaked to the skin before they reached Ecclesford Castle. He could barely see where he was going though the downpour, although he did note that the fortress had a dry moat that encircled it, except for the road leading to the large wooden gate, and only one outer wall. It was certainly not the most well-fortified castle he had ever encountered.
Once in the cobblestone courtyard, everyone hastened to dismount. Covering their heads with their arms, stableboys ran out to help with the horses. The animals snorted and refooted, their iron-shod hooves clattering on the cobblestones
