the soldiers’ abuse. A Welsh captive in Norman hands might suffer far more than most prisoners.
Nicole drank down the remains of the willow-bark tea, then stood to pluck stray hairs from her gown.
“Am I presentable enough for an audience with the earl?”
Lucy set the circlet in place. “You have the look of royalty about you, my lady. I do wish we had a gold belt to hang on your hips. A woman needs all the advantages she can muster when dealing with a man, be he field laborer or earl. Shall I inform the earl you wish to speak with him?”
“My thanks, Lucy.”
The maidservant sped out the door.
Needing to keep her hands busy for the few moments she must wait before following, Nicole put her comb back in the satchel and pulled out the dagger she truly should have sent back to Camelen years ago.
The dagger was a soldier’s unadorned weapon, solid and sharp, beautiful and deadly.
Nicole bit her bottom lip when the thought occurred to her that if she couldn’t convince the earl to release Rhodri, then Rhodri might be able to make good use of the dagger to effect his own escape. She hesitated only briefly before slipping the dagger into her boot, hoping she need not give it over.
She knew escape from Oxford Castle was possible. Everyone had heard the tale of how, in the early years of the war, Empress Maud and four of her knights had tossed a rope made of bed linens out a window and climbed down to escape King Stephen, who’d besieged the castle. Of course, that had been during winter when the river Thames, which surrounded the castle, had been frozen.
Certes, she wouldn’t needs climb down a rope of bed linens or swim the Thames. Surely the earl could be made to see reason and allow both her and Rhodri to leave.
She’d never begged favor of so high a ranking noble before but had watched Mother Abbess bargain with earls and abbots, bishops and barons, with a mix of flattery and sound reason.
Praying she would find the right words to set her and Rhodri free, Nicole scurried down the torch-lit passageway and the tightly winding stairs to the solar.
Both the earl and the castellan were seated at a heavily carved oak table, a large sheet of vellum spread out before them. Two knights—Sir Etienne, one of the earl’s men, and Sir Walter, the captain of Oxford’s household guard—stood behind their respective lords. All of the men wore somber expressions, as though they’d received ill tidings.
Had the messenger the earl awaited already come, then? Likely not, or Lucy would have said somewhat of the messenger’s arrival.
Nicole squared her shoulders and crossed the room, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. The earl saw her first, and once he took notice, so did the others. Their bold stares made her insides squirm until she ventured close enough to recognize signs of admiration.
Her rank, proclaimed by the circlet, might account for some of their regard, but Nicole suspected the snugness of her gown, leaving no female curve hidden, earned her the greater attention.
The earl rose from his chair, smiling. “Lady Nicole, ’tis pleased I am to see you rested and in full bloom.”
Ignoring the knights for the nonce, Nicole gracefully curtsied low to the highest-ranking men in the chamber.
“Greetings, Lord de Vere, Lord de Chesney.” Rising, she smiled at the castellan of Oxford Castle, her host. “As always, your hospitality is above reproach, my lord. Pray give my compliments to your housekeeper and cook for providing excellent bed and board, particularly when they are forced to accommodate a guest without warning.”
The earl’s smile faltered, but the castellan’s widened. Apparently he understood and approved of her attempt to discomfit the earl. Had she found an ally in de Chesney? Would he aid her cause?
“You must know the servants hold you in affection, Lady Nicole, so they do not mind providing for you for as long as you may be with us.”
“’Tis my hope their service
Nicole drank down the remains of the willow-bark tea, then stood to pluck stray hairs from her gown.
“Am I presentable enough for an audience with the earl?”
Lucy set the circlet in place. “You have the look of royalty about you, my lady. I do wish we had a gold belt to hang on your hips. A woman needs all the advantages she can muster when dealing with a man, be he field laborer or earl. Shall I inform the earl you wish to speak with him?”
“My thanks, Lucy.”
The maidservant sped out the door.
Needing to keep her hands busy for the few moments she must wait before following, Nicole put her comb back in the satchel and pulled out the dagger she truly should have sent back to Camelen years ago.
The dagger was a soldier’s unadorned weapon, solid and sharp, beautiful and deadly.
Nicole bit her bottom lip when the thought occurred to her that if she couldn’t convince the earl to release Rhodri, then Rhodri might be able to make good use of the dagger to effect his own escape. She hesitated only briefly before slipping the dagger into her boot, hoping she need not give it over.
She knew escape from Oxford Castle was possible. Everyone had heard the tale of how, in the early years of the war, Empress Maud and four of her knights had tossed a rope made of bed linens out a window and climbed down to escape King Stephen, who’d besieged the castle. Of course, that had been during winter when the river Thames, which surrounded the castle, had been frozen.
Certes, she wouldn’t needs climb down a rope of bed linens or swim the Thames. Surely the earl could be made to see reason and allow both her and Rhodri to leave.
She’d never begged favor of so high a ranking noble before but had watched Mother Abbess bargain with earls and abbots, bishops and barons, with a mix of flattery and sound reason.
Praying she would find the right words to set her and Rhodri free, Nicole scurried down the torch-lit passageway and the tightly winding stairs to the solar.
Both the earl and the castellan were seated at a heavily carved oak table, a large sheet of vellum spread out before them. Two knights—Sir Etienne, one of the earl’s men, and Sir Walter, the captain of Oxford’s household guard—stood behind their respective lords. All of the men wore somber expressions, as though they’d received ill tidings.
Had the messenger the earl awaited already come, then? Likely not, or Lucy would have said somewhat of the messenger’s arrival.
Nicole squared her shoulders and crossed the room, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. The earl saw her first, and once he took notice, so did the others. Their bold stares made her insides squirm until she ventured close enough to recognize signs of admiration.
Her rank, proclaimed by the circlet, might account for some of their regard, but Nicole suspected the snugness of her gown, leaving no female curve hidden, earned her the greater attention.
The earl rose from his chair, smiling. “Lady Nicole, ’tis pleased I am to see you rested and in full bloom.”
Ignoring the knights for the nonce, Nicole gracefully curtsied low to the highest-ranking men in the chamber.
“Greetings, Lord de Vere, Lord de Chesney.” Rising, she smiled at the castellan of Oxford Castle, her host. “As always, your hospitality is above reproach, my lord. Pray give my compliments to your housekeeper and cook for providing excellent bed and board, particularly when they are forced to accommodate a guest without warning.”
The earl’s smile faltered, but the castellan’s widened. Apparently he understood and approved of her attempt to discomfit the earl. Had she found an ally in de Chesney? Would he aid her cause?
“You must know the servants hold you in affection, Lady Nicole, so they do not mind providing for you for as long as you may be with us.”
“’Tis my hope their service
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