Lady of the Knight Page 17

  Holding her breath, she lifted a corner and peeked inside. Jeremy sat by the bed, nodding toward sleep. Andrew looked peaceful in his repose, as if he dreamed of angels. She wanted to tiptoe inside and kiss his lips, just once, but Jeremy would pounce on her like a cat on a mouse. Instead, she kissed her fingertips and fluttered them toward her knight.

  “Thank you for the lovely dream, my lord,” she whispered. “I shall always remember you.”

  She allowed the curtain to slide through her fingers until it hung in place again. Then she turned and crept toward the entrance. After one last, lingering look around the pavilion, Rosie slipped through the flaps. The sleeping guardsman and the two lackeys who drowsed by the fire did not see her melt into the night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thursday, June 14

  Andrew floated to the surface of his dreams. As he awakened, he drew in a deep breath. “Rosie?” he murmured.

  “My lord!” Jeremy replied with relief in his voice. “You have slept half the day away.”

  Andrew opened his eyes, then grinned at the sight of his hollow-eyed squire. “And I perceive that you have not slept at all. Where is Rosie? Is she also wan and pale with the night watch? By my bones, I feel new made. Where is the lass?”

  Jeremy turned away from his master and poured some fresh water into the basin. “She is not here, my lord,” he mumbled.

  Andrew detected the boy’s evasiveness at once. He pulled himself into a sitting position. “How now, Jeremy? Where is my young lady?”

  The squire flinched. “Gone, my lord,” he finally replied.

  Andrew knotted the bedclothes in his good hand. “You let her wander out alone? You are as dense as pease porridge, you clotpole!”

  Jeremy straightened his shoulders and gave his master a hard look. “I did not see her go, my lord. Rugby, who was on guard, said he did not see her on his watch nor did either of the potboys. She stole away like a thief.” The line of his mouth tightened. “No doubt she ran back to her whoremaster with all of your valuables tucked in her apron.”

  Andrew glared at his squire. “Methinks there is more to this tale than meets my eye. If you are so certain sure of her thievery, take an inventory.” He spat out his words contemptuously. Inside, he prayed. Please, Rosie. Do not let me have misplaced my trust.

  Jeremy drew nearer to the bedside. “Please calm yourself, my lord. You will break open your wound and excite a fever.”

  “I will break open your head if you do not do as I bid, maltworm!”

  Clenching his jaw, Jeremy went out of the bedchamber. He swore under his breath as he threw open the chests and coffers. Andrew lay back against his pillows and awaited the verdict while his fears mounted for Rosie’s safety.

  “What ho, within!” Brandon shouted from outside the pavilion. Without waiting for a reply the two brothers entered, accompanied by Lady Alicia and Jack.

  The countess proceeded directly into the bedchamber where she seated herself beside Andrew. She produced a covered bowl from her basket. “You’ve done yourself a fine turn this time, Andrew,” she chided as she uncovered the dish and stirred its contents.

  His stomach rumbled with hunger at the savory aroma of her soup. “A scratch, my lady, and of no consequence.” He lowered his voice. “But it appears that Rosie has fled.”

  Alicia nearly spilled the soup on the bedcovers. She quickly put the bowl down on the side table. “Where?”

  He shook his head. “I know not, my lady.”

  Her eyes blazed with blue fury. “Boys,” she called to the three young knights. They tumbled into the bedchamber with jests and quips at Andrew’s plight. “Hold your rattling tongues,” she ordered. “Rosie has gone.”

  Brandon shrugged dismissively. “What of that? Good riddance, I say.” He chuckled. “At least, now I am excused from my wager.”

  “Dolt!” Andrew was so furious, he could barely speak.

  Jeremy reappeared. “All is in order, my lord. She has taken nothing.”

  Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Did you find a golden chain of roses?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Twas hers to keep,” Andrew mumbled. A pain of emptiness burrowed into his soul and fed both his anger and his fears. “Well, don’t just stand there like great oak trees, you rascals. Find her!”

  Jack hunkered down beside the bed. “Peace, old friend. Let her go. Count yourself lucky to be rid of her. Now Gareth will leave you alone.”

  Andrew ground his teeth. “I do not fear that puffedup clack! But I do fear what would happen to my sweet Rosie should she fall into his clutches.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness gripped him. “’Sdeath! I am as weak as a kitten.”

  “And as addled as one, too.” Alicia eased him back against the pillows.

  His angry gaze swept the faces of the four young men around him. “Find her. Get my men-at-arms and my grooms to help you. Turn this wretched camp upside down and inside out, if you must, but I want my Rosie back here! Now!”

  Guy shook his head. “You cannot be serious, Andrew.”

  “Tis his fever talking,” Jeremy added.

  Andrew grabbed the brass candlestick from the table and hurled it at his squire. The surprised boy ducked. Guy caught the missile before it hit the canvas wall.

  Jack’s eyes widened. “God’s nightshirt, Andrew! You have gone mad. You have never lost your temper before—not like this. The chit has bewitched you. You are well rid of her.”

  Andrew would have struck the prattling fool if he had the strength, but Alicia took up the argument for him.

  “Jack Stafford! You do not know what you are saying. You will swallow your own words one day, I promise it!”

  Andrew attempted to control his emotions. “You burn precious daylight. Be gone! Do not come back without her.”

  “But she is only a strumpet—” Brandon began.

  With a roar, Andrew heaved one of the pillows at him. It struck the knave in the face. “Harken to me, you scantlings. Rosie is no whore. She is a lone, frightened doe lost amongst an army of wolves who would tear her apart if they could. She is more of a lady than many who call themselves by that title, and she deserves your respect and honor.” His head ached as well as his arm. He swore at his weakness.

  Alicia rose. Her stately presence commanded silence from all of them. “Fie upon you! You dare to call yourselves knights? Where did your oath of chivalry fly to? Knighted only two months and you have already lost it? Rosie is a woman who needs your protection. Is she not worthy of that?” Alicia looked at each youth in turn.

  “I will fight any man who swears she is not,” Andrew added.

  Tension thickened until Jack broke it. “I will search for her, old man. I treated her ill yesterday and I am to blame for this mishap.” He looked at Guy and Brandon. They nodded.

  Andrew released his pent-up breath. “We are all to blame, most especially myself. I took her for a plaything and lost a real lady. Find her for me, boys.”

  Alicia’s lips trembled with her fear. “And pray she is safe.”

  Without another word, the three young knights left the tent. After sending Jeremy to the vintner’s for a strop of wine, Alicia turned to the patient. “You must tell him soon,” she said. She held out a spoonful of her savory soup.

  He nodded. “Aye, as soon as they find Rosie.”

  “Pray God they do, or he will hate himself for a lifetime.”

  He dredged up a sigh. “I have done nothing but pray since I awoke, my lady. Do you think God will answer such a rake as me?”

  Alicia gave him a comforting smile. “You are not as evil as you like to believe, Andrew Ford. Now, open wide.”

  The wind off the Channel whipped the dry dust of the Val D’Or into a whirlwind. Guy pulled his hat lower over his eyes and drew his cloak high across his nose and mouth to protect himself from the stinging flecks. Twas a day to stay inside and amuse oneself with games of chance or love. Few persons ventured
forth in this foul French weather. Even the rabble of camp dogs curled themselves into tight furry balls and waited for the windstorm to abate. Guy peered through the swirling dust. Where in God’s name had Rosie found shelter in this?

  An hour later, he met Brandon near the eastside stables. “Not in here, nor in any of the hayricks.” The elder Cavendish wiped his tearing eyes with a corner of his cape. “I scouted Gareth’s lair as well. He has a wench, all right, but not our Rosie.”

  Guy passed his wineskin to his brother. “Have you seen Jack?”

  Brandon took a long swallow, then nodded. “Aye, he questioned the girls at the Golden Cockerel. They swear no one has seen Rosie since the night Andrew bought her.”

  Guy chewed on the inside of his cheek and considered their options. “Do you think it likely that she’s fled to the coast?”

  Brandon shook his head. “How would she know which way to go? Who can see a hundred feet ahead in this hell’s broth? And she does not speak any French. Nay, the girl is hiding here somewhere. I feel it in my bones.” He handed the wineskin back to his brother. “Go to, Archangel. Mayhap you are truly a blessed guardian after all.”

  Guy knotted his fist. “I owe you a drubbing for that, poltroon.”

  A half smile crossed Brandon’s face. “At your convenience—later.”

  They parted on that note. Seeking temporary shelter inside the stable, Guy wiped the dust out of his face while he considered where next to look. Then he remembered his father’s hunting lessons. A frightened animal will head for its burrow or to a place where it can become invisible. A slow smiled creased his face. Winding his cloak tighter around him, he plunged back into the lashing wind and headed toward the outer fringe of the camp where the vendors and entertainers huddled.

  He spent the next few hours moving from booth to tented shop. Thanks to the ill wind, few patrons strolled among the stalls that day. He met some willing wenches with blond hair and green eyes, but none were Rosie. When he had almost given up, he found her.

  A faded-blue kerchief covered her golden curls. With the sleeves of Andrew’s night shirt rolled to her elbows, Rosie labored in the rear of a cook tent. A huge mound of glistening oysters were piled on the wooden trestle table in front of her. Guy pulled his cloak closer to his face so that she wouldn’t recognize him. He lounged in the shadows on an upright keg and drank a mug of ale while he watched her shuck the oysters. The mottlefaced cook shouted at his row of sweating scullions and banged on his kettle of simmering stew for effect. Guy waited until Rosie picked up an empty basket and ducked outside behind the tent. He rose and followed her.

  He found her pulling handfuls of oysters out of a large barrel of brine. “Good evening, my lady,” he murmured in her ear.

  Rosie shrieked, dropped her basket and tried to run. Guy caught her around the waist and swung her over his shoulder.

  “Let me down! Haint done nothing!” She pounded him with her fists.

  Guy chuckled as he turned toward Andrew’s bright pink tent. “Nay? What happened to the necklace you had yesterday?”

  She grew very still.

  “Spent it already?” he asked.

  “Never ye mind,” she retorted.

  Guy thought he heard her sniffle a bit. Serves her right for causing Andrew such distress.

  With her head hanging down like a neck-wrung goose, Rosie bumped against Guy’s shoulder. She knew exactly where he was taking her and she tried to quell her rising panic. The constable would never believe her story and she knew that Sir Andrew would not be inclined to testify on her behalf. No doubt he was very angry with her. She closed her eyes. How long would they keep her in the stocks? she wondered. She clenched her teeth to stifle the fears that rose in her throat. She could stand whatever they did to her. The years with old man Barstow had taught her to be strong.

  Since she had not seen where Guy was going, she blinked with surprise when he parted the tent flaps and unceremoniously dumped her in the middle of the familiar Turkish rug. There was a general round of “Bravo!” and “Well done!” from the assembled gentlemen.

  Sir Andrew, dressed in a fine suit of dove grey taffeta with silver slashings on his sleeves and teardrop pearls decorating the front of his doublet, sat in his high-backed chair. His left arm was held in place by a sling made of scarlet taffeta. Joy at seeing his return to health bubbled in Rosie’s throat, but she scotched her cry of delight when she saw the thundercloud in his expression. He doesn’t want me. Tis his gold he seeks.

  “Haint got your bleeding necklace,” she snarled in her worst accent.

  “Found her in an oyster barrel,” Guy announced.

  Sir Andrew did not twitch a brow. “Jeremy! Fetch the tub and send the boys for plenty of hot water.”

  A plague on it! He’s a-going to drown me!

  The squire leapt to the task with a smirk on his face. Rosie hid her trembling hands under her borrowed apron.

  Sir Andrew studied her with his enigmatic gaze for several moments while Jeremy sloshed buckets of water into the tub. Then a wry but indulgent glint appeared in the depths of his hazel eyes.

  “I perceive that you have spent your day consorting with the lowest sort of the piscine species.” His mouth quirked with faint amusement. “Furthermore, your vocabulary has taken a shocking dip. I fear you have just forfeited two pennies.” He leaned toward her and spoke in a lower, tone. “And I am sure that you did not sell your necklace. You have too much good sense to do that.” His eyes flashed a pleading look.

  A flicker of hope warmed her. She wet her dry lips. “Methought ye, that is, you would read a good book while I was gone, my lord,” she replied, staring directly at him. “The one I balance on my head.”

  With a slow, secret smile, he nodded. “Ah, exactly! Brandon, fetch me my lute book.” He pointed to it.

  With a puzzled frown, Brandon handed him the heavy tome. Opening the book on his knee, Andrew found the page where his handkerchief lay. His smile deepened when he lifted the necklace from its folds.

  “Behold, my dear! I have found something that has caused great distress among our friends.” He shot them a stern glare. “My lords and squire, I thank you for all your pains upon my account. As you can see for yourselves, all’s well that ends well. Therefore, I bid you a good evening. That includes you, Jeremy. Keep watch outside and discourage any visitors. I have seen a multitude today.”

  The Cavendishes and Jack exchanged startled glances with one another, then they picked up their capes and hats.

  Guy gave Rosie a stiff bow. “I crave your pardon, mistress. Henceforth I will be your most humble servant.”

  Brandon grinned and shrugged at the same time. “You hoodwinked us all, Rosie. I am the better for your lesson in honesty. Adieu, sweetheart.”

  Jack swept her an exaggerated reverence. “And I, not to be outdone by my companions, do judge myself a dolt and ass, and I beg your pardon.”

  Speechless with shock at this new turn in her fortune, Rosie could only nod in reply. Jesting and punching one another, the three young knights stumbled out into the howling wind.

  Jeremy did not look at her, but he turned very red in the face. “Wh-who would have thought it?” he stammered. “I am gone,” he added as he grabbed his cape and followed after the others.

  Rosie turned to Andrew. “And now what?”

  Andrew gave her an irresistible grin. “Strip, my dear.”

  Understanding washed over her. “But I had a bath the other day.”

  He nodded. “Aye, but since then you have managed to perfume yourself like the Billingsgate fish market.” He pointed to the tub.

  Not sure if Andrew was still angry at her defection, Rosie decided not to argue with him. She quickly untied her apron, petticoat and nightshirt and let them slide off her body. Without daring to look at him, she stepped into the steaming water and sank down. The warmth felt wonderful after a long day bent over a table slitting open oyster shells.

  “Wet your hair, my sweet, then lean back
so that I may have the pleasure of washing your tresses,” he murmured near her ear.

  She turned and saw that he now knelt behind her with his assortment of soaps and oils within reach. “But your arm,” she protested as she watched him deftly remove his doublet and roll up his right sleeve.

  He flashed her a smile that sent her pulses racing. “Tis much better now that you have returned safe and sound.”

  She ducked under the water for a moment, then leaned back and enjoyed his gentle touch as he worked the soap into her hair.

  “Are you a-going to beat me?” she finally asked, not looking at him.

  He paused. “Do you want me to?”

  “Nay, but are you very angry with me?”

  He poured a jug of rinse water over her. When she stopped sputtering, he asked, “Why did you run away? Have you been ill-treated?”

  She wiped the last droplets out of her eyes, then turned to him. “Nay, my lord. You have been kindness itself.”

  He sat back on his heels with a perplexed look on his face. “Have I ever threatened you with bodily harm?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, you have been very patient with me.” She regretted her foolish action.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Did someone speak unkindly in your ear?”

  Rosie didn’t answer. She refused to place any blame on the men who had spent the entire day looking for her.

  “Ah,” Andrew said. “I see that I have hit the mark. They blamed my little scratch on you?”

  Instead of answering him, Rosie took a deep breath, held her nose and sank under the water. She stayed there as long as she could, then splashed to the surface. Andrew waited with several towels.

  He wrapped her hair in one and squeezed out the water. “Youth is full of passion and fire,” he observed in a husky voice. “My young friends are like squirrels, especially my imp of a squire. They chatter a great deal, but have no thought behind their swaggering speeches. Wisdom comes with age and wrinkles such as mine. Over time, I have learned to think before acting. Tis a lesson you would do well to learn.”