hadn’t changed much, the keep towered over everyone just as it always had done, and the pale gleam of new wood on the walkway up on the curtain wall proved that Lord Faramus de Sainte-Colombe was keeping his defences in order. There was the familiar string of outbuildings, the chapel, the cookhouse...
Sir Macaire, the castle steward and an old friend, was standing in the hall doorway, talking to a castle sergeant. His face lightened. ‘Eric, thank God you’re here! Lord Faramus is getting impatient, you can go straight in.’
‘I need a mug of ale first,’ Eric said, going to a side table and picking up the ale jug. ‘I’ve been at the fair in Provins all morning and I’m parched. Lord Faramus didn’t mention that the matter was urgent. What does he want?’
Sir Macaire grimaced. ‘I’m not at liberty to say, lad, but your ale will have to wait. Lord Faramus and Lady Barbara have been waiting for you up in the solar for nigh on an hour and as you know, the count is not known for his tolerance.’ Sir Macaire threw a dark glance in the direction of a knight sprawled on the bench nearest the stairwell. ‘Besides, if you don’t go up straight away, I’ve orders to send in Sir Breon. And that would be a travesty.’ He shook his head. ‘A travesty.’
‘A travesty?’ Eric searched the steward’s face. That was surely a curious choice of words. Pouring ale into a mug, Eric took a quick draught. Eric knew Sir Breon from his time at Jutigny and he’d never much liked him. Not that Eric could level anything specific against the man. Sir Breon had a bullying manner and he was crude, but then so were many knights. What was odd was that Eric couldn’t recall Sir Macaire being troubled by Sir Breon before this. ‘Macaire, what in hell is going on?’
‘It’s not for me to say.’ Sir Macaire jerked his head at the stairwell. ‘For the love of God, Eric, hurry straight up.’
‘They’re in the solar, you say? Doesn’t Lady Barbara usually reserve the solar for herself and her ladies?’ Eric was becoming more intrigued by the moment. Sweat was breaking out on Macaire’s brow and his manner—Macaire looked decidedly panicked—was mysterious, if not downright worrying. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘The solar, lad. Get to the solar and you’ll have your answers.’
* * *
In the solar, Lord Faramus was pacing in front of a low fire, pulling at his beard. His eyebrows were drawn into a deep frown. His wife, Lady Barbara, was sitting beneath the window, long white fingers gripping a scroll of parchment.
Eric had fond memories of Lady Barbara, who had always treated him with kindness. Her usually clear brow was crossed with lines and her face was pinched with worry. She looked deeply distressed. A pang of sympathy shot through him. Had she and Lord Faramus quarrelled again?
‘Good morning, my lady, my lord,’ Eric said, bowing.
Irritably, Count Faramus waved the niceties aside. ‘Where the devil have you been? I’ve been waiting for you all morning.’
‘I’ve been at the fair in Provins, my lord.’
‘The fair?’ The count’s expression lightened. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. You are looking for a stallion, as I recall. Did you find one?’
‘Not yet, mon seigneur.’ Eric wanted a brood mare as well as a stallion, thus far he hadn’t found either. At the Provins fair he had learned that he might find both at Bar-sur-Aube. Given that horses with good breeding lines were almost impossible to track down, Eric had wanted to go there directly from the fair. And then he’d remembered the count’s summons. Eric felt a certain loyalty to his former liege lord and he’d felt bound to come to Jutigny first. As soon as this meeting was over he would set out for Bar-sur-Aube.
‘My apologies if I kept you waiting, my lord. You have something to ask me, I believe?’
Eric found his gaze returning to Lady Barbara. She was not usually present when her husband discussed his affairs with his household knights. Come to think of it, in his time at Jutigny Castle, Eric’s orders had invariably been issued in the great hall or the armoury. What was going on?
Lord Faramus sucked in a breath and Eric caught an exchange of glances between man and wife. ‘Eric, Sir Eric, before we get to the meat of the matter, I should like your word that what is said between these walls will remain confidential. At least for the moment.’
‘As you wish, my lord.’
‘Eric, this concerns my daughter, Lady Rowena. You remember Rowena?’
Alarm tensed every muscle in Eric’s body. This was about Lady Rowena?
Of course Eric remembered Lady Rowena—as Lord Faramus and Lady Barbara’s only child, how could he forget her? Lady Rowena was a shy, fair girl, a handful of years younger than he. Until Lady Rowena had professed a desire to become a nun, she had been heiress to the Sainte-Colombe acres and every eligible knight in Champagne had been suing for her hand. At times it had seemed as though Jutigny Castle was under siege. Count Faramus had eventually come to terms with Count Gawain de Meaux, but there had been some scandal and the marriage had never gone ahead. Eric didn’t know the details. ‘I heard that Lady Rowena entered the convent outside Provins?’
‘St Mary’s Abbey.’ Lord Faramus’s mouth was grim. ‘Aye, so she did.’
Count Faramus had made no secret of his displeasure at his daughter’s decision to take the veil. But Lady Rowena was the king’s goddaughter and once the king—himself a religious man—had endorsed her wish to become a nun, there’d been little the count could do about it.
The skin prickled at the back of Eric’s neck, he was beginning to feel very uneasy.
‘Sir Eric, I am well aware that I am no longer your liege lord and I cannot command you, but I do have a favour to ask.’ His fingers curled into a fist. ‘A very large favour. It’s a task I believe you will find distasteful.’
‘Mon seigneur?’
‘Sir—Eric—I want you to get my daughter out of that convent. Take her to your manor at Monfort. Hold her there until she agrees to marry you.’
Appalled, Eric drew his head back. He must have misheard. ‘I don’t think I understand you, my lord.’
Lord Faramus made an exasperated sound. ‘I want you to ruin Rowena. Get her out of that convent and seduce her. Make love to her. Make it so that she has no choice but to marry you—’
‘My lord, I can’t do that!’ No wonder Lady Barbara was so ill at ease!
‘Why the devil not?’
Eric stepped closer. ‘It would be wrong, my lord. Your daughter has a religious calling, I cannot come between her and her vocation.’
‘Rowena thinks she has a religious vocation,’ Lord Faramus said curtly. ‘It is not the same thing, not the same thing at all.’
Firmly, Eric shook his head. ‘I will not do it.’
The count’s jaw worked. ‘For pity’s sake, you have to, it’s the Visitation of Our Lady next week.’
Eric gave the count a bemused look. ‘My lord, I do not see the connection.’
Lady
