Emerald Prince (37 page)

“Cam, you must go,” she whispered and pushed her brother from the bench. “There is a rear exit in this abbey leading to the garden. The gate is unlocked and you can get to the street. Now hurry, before you are seen.”

Chapter Twenty-five

H
EART POUNDING,
A
LIANOR WATCHED
from a window as Camber slipped through the gate and vanished as the visitors to Cill Dara came upon her in the hall. Several were nuns and pages, and she recognized one as a squire. Striding in front of the pack was a tall man in a tunic bearing a red lion. She ran to him with a little cry of relief.

“Lady Coventry. I apologize for the delay,” William Marshal said, his voice grave though his eyes held genuine warmth. “When your message arrived I was on the field, trying to batter skill into my youngest son.” When they met in the hall he swept up her hand and bestowed a chivalrous kiss upon it, his gallant demeanor reminding her of Walter.

Alianor smiled through her tears. “You do me great honor by flying here at my beck and call, Earl Marshal.”

“William,” he offered graciously. Even though he had been Earl of Pembroke for years, Alianor knew he never held with formalities. William Marshal glanced over his shoulder and with a mere look, the others with him melted away to leave them alone.

Alianor invited him into the abbey library, the nearest place to provide him comfort, and where they might find privacy. She offered him a seat and a glass of malmsey but he declined both, choosing instead to stand with his gaze assessing the rows of books upon the shelves. Soon he transferred his intense look to her. “Your note was rather cryptic, milady.”

Alianor nodded. “I apologize for my vagueness, but I feared it might fall into the wrong hands.”

“I can well guess whose hands those might be.” William frowned.

“Pray forgive my assumptions but I did not know where else to turn. With Walter gone …” she faltered but managed to recover. “Since his death, William, I fear things have taken a dark turn.”

“You know I am ever your willing servant, Madame. It grieved me to hear of Walter’s death. Isabel and I were here in Ireland when we received the news. When next I returned to court, I heard rumors Lackland had taken a fancy to you. And when you dared defy his desires, he cast you to a Norman lout, de Lacy. A man so vile I would not lend my horse to, let alone marry the lady-wife of a dear and honorable old friend. Alas, you were already gone by the time I was aware of what had transpired.”

William sighed wearily. “I am sorry to hear you have suffered from the King’s whims, Lady Alianor. He is not like his brother Richard, nor even his father, Henry. They were difficult men, but reasonable.”

Alianor nodded. She knew how The Marshal himself suffered under Lackland’s reign — often cast from court and reeled back to the King’s side, probably more times than he could count. “I pray you can help me, William.”

“Alas, only when I am in John’s favor can I bend his ear,” William confessed. “Right now, I am not. He is brooding over my long-time friendship with de Braose. I retired to Carlow to see my family and give him time to calm himself. At least I had reward of seeing Isabel.”

“And how is your dear Isabel?” Alianor asked with a fond smile. Like Walter and she, William was much older than his wife. Their story was a true romantic match, and their ten children — five boys and five girls — a testament to that love.

“Fit and feisty,” William said with a chuckle. “If you recall, Isabel inherited her mother’s spirit and remains true to her Anglo-Irish heritage as a princess of Leinster. She never allows any of us men into the keep until we’ve all bathed and are clean-shaven to boot. We must forever mind our manners lest she show her stubborn temper and heaven help us when she does.” He rubbed his jaw as if anticipating his return home.

To Alianor this seemed the perfect segue to tell her own story. He said nothing until she was finished, only his eyes widened slightly in the telling. “I have heard of Caomhánach, milady. His exploits are well-known to me, though our paths have never crossed.”

“Fortunately for both of you, methinks,” Alianor said with a nervous laugh.

William smiled back. Alianor suspected the grizzled old knight sensed there was more to this tale. Despite her efforts to hide them, her unspoken feelings for Liam might well be obvious — she couldn’t know for sure. But ever the diplomat, he said nothing more on the topic and asked no questions. Instead, he offered graciously, “My hearth is ever open to you, Lady Coventry. Come back to Carlow with me, and let my dearest Isabel scold you in person for not seeking our aid sooner.”

She could not conceal her relief and embraced him with gratitude. Again, voices echoed down the hall, causing Alianor to step back in alarm. One of them was a woman’s raised tone, the indignant voice of the abbess, Mother Clare. The ringing march of many footsteps on stone caused great concern and Alianor felt a warning deep in her bones. The Marshal tensed, and the voices grew louder as they approached.

Alianor opened the library door and peeked out. Mother Clare, several sisters and half a dozen soldiers were headed in their direction. Mother Clare argued with the intruders but, for the most part, they ignored her protests, although she did manage to impede their progress.

Alianor knew the abbess was trying to buy them time, but they would be upon them to soon for her to flee. She whispered over her shoulder, “You must go alone, sir. It seems the King has found me.”

William came to her side with a snort of defiance. “I will not abandon you, milady.” His hand dropped to the sword hilt at his side. The sixty-four year-old knight was calm, and, come what may, willing to defend her to the death. Alianor loved him for it, but too much was at stake. She would not be the cause of Isabel losing her husband, and ten children their father.

“You cannot help me, William,” she said, tears blurring her sight.

This only deepened his resolve and he growled in reply. “I can stall them long enough for you to escape.”

“Please.” Alianor raised her hand and placed it upon his weathered cheek, looking up into his troubled eyes. “I only asked for your help, William. I would not have you die for me. Go. Waste not another second.”

His dark eyes filled with pain and conflict. She knew how hard it was for this doughty warrior to step down in any battle. “I would honor Walter by defending his widow,” he said with a determined headshake. Alianor realized it was too late, as the others were only steps away. The time had passed for him to slip away unnoticed.

“So,” she said, seeing the guard approach, “I surrender myself to you, William Marshal, as if to the King himself.” She lifted his sword-arm from the hilt of his weapon, and placed his big hand upon her arm instead. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping she made her point clear. His brow furrowed, but he did not release his grip on her.

She took a deep breath and prepared herself for what was to come. The leader of the King’s men looked surprised to see William Marshal, but nodded grudgingly at the old knight, while two soldiers moved to flank her on either side. Alianor regarded them coolly as they freed her from William’s hold.

“You know why we are here, milady,” the captain of the guard said, his manner terse.

“Because
your
King cannot keep his royal stag in his trews.”

Several of the nuns tittered at Alianor’s retort. Even William’s scowl eased and he looked hard-pressed to bite back a smile, but the captain did not look at all amused. “Those words are treasonous, Lady Coventry.”

“What words?” Mother Clare interjected, her manner, as always, calm and serene. “I heard nothing, did you, sisters?”

The nuns all shook their heads. The captain glowered at Alianor. “By the order of His Majesty King John of England, Lord of Ireland, you are hereby remanded into the custody of the Crown, Lady Coventry.”

“I would ask under what convenient charges, but I do not wish to strain your mind any further,” Alianor said. “I shall depart with you peacefully, sir. Let us not disturb God’s haven and these good nuns any longer.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. He sensed she mocked him, but in truth, he was not so bright a man he realized how. He motioned to his men and said gruffly, “Secure her.” Her arms were seized roughly on both sides and Alianor flinched at the cruel, unnecessary restraint — the point to humiliate her. She kept her head high, hoping she spoiled the captain’s pleasure in his task.

“Faith, what can one small woman do against six great men?” William Marshal rumbled in his deep voice. “Truly, Lady Coventry, you are reckoned a dangerous felon indeed to warrant these precautions.”

Alianor glimpsed a twinkle in his eyes. The nuns surrounding them laughed at his remark, which only seemed to infuriate the captain more. He turned an alarming shade of puce. “Silence, or you’ll all be charged with conspiring against the Crown.”

William shook his head and said in the voice of reason, “There is no need to distress these good women further, Vernold. They have but offered succor to those in need, as our Lord commands.”

As a devout man, William’s disapproving look implied he knew where the captain’s soul was headed given his actions. He stepped back to allow them passage, but Alianor knew he ached to fight despite the odds, for the pleasure of it as much as pure honor.

“In my day, ladies were treated courteously in any circumstance,” William said.

The captain scowled, angry at being humiliated before his men yet mindful of the great man who chastised him. “It is by the direct order of the King himself, Marshal. It would be best if you do not interfere in matters that do not concern you.”

“It concerns me whenever I see a lady being abused,” William responded frostily, and all the men, save the captain, glanced down in shame at his rebuke. He turned to her and said, “You know I would spare you public humiliation, Madame, were it in my power. But, alas, I can only offer my sincere apology on behalf of all of us relics who have
not
forgotten the laws of chivalry and honor.” He bowed low, his respect for her shown in every word and action.

Alianor nodded and hoped her gaze upon William conveyed the warmth and gratitude she could not say in words.

As she was led through the halls by the soldiers, the nuns whispered words of encouragement and bits of prayer. When Captain Vernold brushed past the abbess, Mother Clare said, “May God have mercy on your soul.” She spoke to him, not Alianor.

Flustered, Vernold pushed one of his men out of the way and grabbed Alianor’s arm himself. It seemed he could not escape Cill Dara quick enough.

T
HE JOURNEY FROM
L
EINSTER
to Meath did not last long enough. Alianor expected to be hauled before the King upon arrival at de Lacy’s keep, but instead she was placed in one of the holding cells at Fountainhall and left to cool her heels. As a room appointed for noble prisoners, it was a step above a dungeon; nonetheless, she did not mistake the message it conveyed.

Alianor knew the King made it a point to express his anger by having her thrown directly into prison. She waited there for three full days before she was summoned. Unkempt and shivering from the cold of the unheated cell, with wrists bound before her, Alianor was granted royal audience. Despite her outrage, she curtsied before the man in the great hall. Yet she refused to display fear or dejection, and looked up when King John spoke.

“Lady Coventry. We hear tale you have behaved in a most irksome manner here in Ireland.”

She said nothing, knowing full well it would infuriate him. To deny what she had done would be a lie, to offer explanation futile, and to beg not in her character.

He stared at her with hooded eyes, the silence stretching into a long, agonizing minute. “So.” His words dripped with an icy chill. “As usual, you display no remorse for your actions.”

Alianor’s lips twitched. Remorse, indeed.

“You find this situation amusing, Lady Coventry?” His question jabbed at her like the point of a sword, the threat evident in his voice. He seethed, yet hungrily devoured her with his look. She caught his roving eyes at last and conveyed every bit of loathing she had for him in a single, piercing look. He sniffed and turned away, the first to break their matching gazes.

“Yes,” she retorted. “I suppose I do find it amusing.” She glanced about at her surroundings and casually inquired, “How is Queen Isabella, Sire? I have missed her.”

The abrubt change of subject and her attitude made the King flush, an angry red stain inching up his neck. His eyes bulged at her casual question, but his tone remained frigid. “Our Queen is well. She rests after our long journey. However, we did not bring you here to speak of her.”

“I did not expect you had.”

Alianor’s quiet reply pushed him over the edge. He gestured at her, his movements as irate as the expression on his face. “We’ll not tolerate your insolence, Lady Coventry. We are inclined to throw you into a dungeon to rot.”

She studied his face. “But you won’t. Why?”