Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

A s it turned out, Lady Penden took care of Aeron, too.

Lord Penden had brought the boy over from the great hall, and Lady Penden ensured that her maids removed the wet clothing from his body, put him in a bath, and then re-dressed him in some of Lord Penden's clothing, which was too big for him, but it was dry and warm and comfortable. Aeron had stuffed himself on stew and bread before passing out in one of the chambers on a lower floor where visiting guests were housed. It had been a simple night for Aeron, but not for Andia.

Her night wasn't over yet.

Removing her from her wet clothing had only been the start. Lady Penden was eager to tend to her, driving the servants like a zealous wagon master, and all Andia had to do was essentially let the woman have her head. She did what she was told to do, when she was told to do it, and that had meant a hot bath, a hair washing, a body washing, and dressing in the most glorious sleeping shift and robe she'd ever seen. It had belonged to Desiderata, she was told by one of the servants, because Lady Penden couldn't speak of her daughter without collapsing.

Therefore, she wasn't mentioned.

Truthfully, if Lord Penden hadn't told Andia about his daughter, she might not have ever known from Lady Penden's behavior. The woman seemed strong and in control, but it was just an act. Even Andia could see that. She was too kind and too helpful, anything to keep her thoughts away from her shattered world. She doted on Andia in every aspect, even combing her hair and drying it mostly before rolling it in strips of linen.

That was when she finally brought up Desiderata.

Desi, as she was called, liked to have a curl to her hair, and Lady Penden spoke of the nights she would wind her daughter's hair in pieces of linen before bed so when morning came, she had a glorious head full of waves. The funny thing was that she didn't even ask Andia if she wanted her hair rolled—she simply did it. Then she wrapped a white scarf around her head to keep the curls in place and gently tucked Andia into bed.

But that wasn't all.

Andia could see Torran out on the landing, holding the door open as copious amounts of food were brought in. Andia tried to get out of bed to sit at the table where the food was placed, but Lady Penden ordered her back to bed and then brought the food to her. Andia ate her supper while sitting in bed, surrounded by luxury and a woman who did everything but personally spoon food into her mouth. Andia was somewhat uncomfortable with it all, to be truthful, but it seemed to bring Lady Penden a good deal of joy, so she didn't speak her mind. She allowed the grieving woman to stuff her with stew, bread, and little pies filled with apples and cinnamon and honey.

When Andia couldn't eat another bite and there was nothing left for Lady Penden to do, she forced Andia to lie down and proceeded to cover her up with heavy blankets against the chill of the stormy night. Andia let the woman do what she needed to do but found herself praying Lady Penden would leave her alone. The entire evening had been a little much, and, unused to such attention, Andia was hoping the woman had gotten it out of her system and there would be no more. When Lady Penden was finally finished washing, dressing, combing, rolling, and feeding her charge, she quit the chamber and blew Andia a kiss.

The door shut softly behind her.

Lying on her back and nearly burning up from all of the covers, Andia waited a nominal amount of time before tossing everything off. The room was inordinately warm because Lady Penden had had her servants stoke the fire to a roaring blaze. It was almost cloying. Getting out of bed, she went over to the table where there was still plenty of food and two pitchers of mulled wine. As if Andia was going to drink both of them—but given the rigorous evening she'd just endured, she very well might. She poured herself a cup, in fact, because the wine was quite good. Just as she lifted the cup to her lips, a thought occurred to her and she paused, her attention moving for the door.

Curiously, she went to the panel.

Quietly, she opened the door to find what she suspected—or, more correctly, whom she expected.

Torran was sitting on the floor of the landing.

"I thought you might be sitting out here," Andia said. "Truly, there is no need. If you think I am going to try to flee on a night like this, you would be mistaken. I would not flee in any case. If you wish to go about your business, rest assured you will find me here in the morning."

Slowly, and perhaps a bit stiffly, Torran stood up, stretching out his big body. "If I did not know it was you, I might not recognize you at all," he said as he slowly made his way over to her. He was looking her over, from the top of her scarf-wrapped head to the bottom of the elaborate robe. "It seems that Lady Penden took great care of you."

Andia looked around, almost fearfully. "Is she nearby?"

He shook his head. "She went down the stairs and told me to stay away from your door," he said. "Shall I send someone for her?"

Andia shook her head. "Nay," she said quickly. "I was simply asking."

"Why?"

Andia grunted uncomfortably. "I fear she's gone off to find more food or clothing or balms or salves," she said, watching Torran's dark brows lift questioningly. "Do not misunderstand me, my lord. I very much appreciate her kindness, but it has been rather… overwhelming."

Torran understood. "As Lord Penden said, she has just lost her daughter."

"I think she was pretending I was the child she lost."

"I suppose you cannot blame her."

"I suppose." Andia's thoughts moved from Lady Penden back to Torran, who was still dressed in the clothing he'd been wearing all day. She could smell the mildew from him, as his wet clothing had been unable to completely dry, so she extended the cup of wine in her hand. "Here—take this. Have you eaten yet?"

He hesitated a moment before taking the cup, peering at it. "Nay," he said. "What's this?"

"Mulled wine," Andia said. "There is a barrel of it in here."

He tossed the wine back in one swallow, handing her back the cup. "Thank you."

Andia took the cup, studying him for a moment. "Are you going to sit on the landing all night?"

"Probably."

She sighed. "Truly, my lord, you do not have to guard the door," she said. "I swear to you that I shall not go anywhere. I would certainly not flee and leave my brother behind. You do not have to watch me like a hawk."

He didn't move. He continued to look at her, almost appraisingly, his blue eyes glimmering in the weak light emitted from her chamber.

"You seem more agreeable than you did earlier," he said. "I assume you must be feeling better."

She knew what he meant. That testy exchange in the great hall when he asked her why she was being so stubborn. The problem was that she wasn't entirely sure why she had been so irritated, only that fear and hunger and exhaustion had driven her to it. Punishing Torran for doing his job. But she was feeling better now, and her mood had much improved to the point of her feeling somewhat forgiving toward him.

"I am feeling much better," she agreed. Then she made a sweeping motion with her hand in the direction of her chamber. "Lady Penden brought enough food to feed four people, so if you've not yet eaten, I would invite you to share what was brought to me. If you do not, it will simply go to waste."

Torran looked at her open chamber, the table and hearth beyond. He could see bowls and cups and pitchers upon the table.

"I think not," he said after a moment. "It would not be proper for me to go into the chamber, but your generosity is noted."

Andia turned and headed back into the chamber. As Torran watched curiously, she picked up a tray on the table and brought it out onto the landing.

"Here," she said. "You can eat it out here, then."

She went and put it over where he had been sitting, backing up to her door to give him some room. Torran eyed her for a moment before moving over to the tray, sitting back down on the floor and leaning against the wall as he inspected what was on it.

"You did not poison this, did you?" he asked.

Andia cocked an eyebrow. "With what?" she said. "I did not bring any poison with me, de Serreaux."

"So you say," he said, picking up a spoon and scooping up a good portion of the cooled stew. Taking a bite, he chewed a couple of times before nodding his head. "It is not poisoned, fortunately for you."

Andia shook her head slowly. "What a suspicious mind you have."

His mouth was full. "A mind that has kept me alive all these years."

"How long have you been a knight?"

"Sixteen years."

"Always with Henry's army?"

He shook his head. "Not always," he said. "And I am not with his army. I am with Henry's personal guard. But if there is a battle, he'll usually ask us to fight it."

He was well into his food by now, and Andia ended up sitting on the floor next to her open doorway, watching him eat as if he hadn't in days. The man was positively starving. But he did seem slightly evasive toward her, his professional persona never wavering. Even so, she was increasingly curious about him.

"May I ask a question?" she said.

He shoved bread into his mouth. "What is it?"

"Did you know my father?"

He glanced at her. "I was never formally introduced to him, but I knew of him," he said. "I knew him enough to identify the body in the storage vault."

She nodded faintly. "You fought against him, then?" she said. "During the wars with de Montfort, I mean."

"Probably," he said. "I fought with Henry's army in several battles."

"Then you are not a pampered knight who simply guards prisoners."

He snorted softly. "Nay, I am not," he said. "Who do you think commanded the siege of Kennington?"

"You?"

"Me and Canterbury and Radnor. We all had different roles in the siege."

"Canterbury is de Lohr, but who is Radnor?"

"Davyss de Winter," he said. "The Earl of Radnor."

"And these men are friends of yours?"

He shook his head. "My lady, I am a knight," he said. "Knights like me are not friends with warlords like Canterbury and Radnor. We serve them, as we serve Henry."

"But you said you helped command the battle," she said. "Surely you must be a ranking noble for that."

He glanced at her. "How would you know that?"

"Because my father was the Earl of Ashford," she said. "I know quite a lot about how things work."

"In battle?"

"In battle and in the nobility of England."

He eyed her a moment. "Where did you foster?"

"Okehampton Castle."

"Built by Baldwin FitzGilbert."

"How do you know that?"

"Because my family came to these shores with the Duke of Normandy," he said. "So did FitzGilbert's family. Okehampton is a de Courtenay property now, strong supporters of Henry."

Andia thought fondly of the warlord in whose castle she had fostered. "John de Courtenay was a good lord," she said. "Lady de Courtenay was quite kind. I appreciated them both, very much."

The conversation faded a little as Torran wolfed down the rest of his meal and Andia's thoughts wandered to her days at Okehampton Castle. Such carefree days she missed a great deal. It seemed like a million years ago. Her days were no longer carefree.

And an uncertain future awaited her.

Feeling depressed, she eyed Torran as he continued eating. He didn't seem like the talkative sort, and clearly there was no reason to keep up a conversation with her, since she was his prisoner, so she picked herself up off the floor.

"I will leave you to your evening, my lord," she said. "I will be ready to depart before dawn, or sooner if you wish. Oh, and one more thing, if I may. I wanted to thank you for sparing my brother's life. You did not have to, but you showed mercy. You have my deepest gratitude for that."

He looked up from his food. "Your brother is Henry's prisoner," he said. "It is not my privilege to end his life."

Andia paused by the door. "But it is Henry's," she said quietly. "Is that why we are going to London? To face our deaths because of our father's actions?"

Torran could hear something in her voice, something between terror and resignation. Up until this moment, he'd been completely professional. He hadn't exactly been warm, nor had he been cold, but somewhere in between. But he had to admit that lovely Lady Andia had his interest more than he wanted her to. She had such a beautiful voice, a sweet and sultry way of speaking. She was articulate and soft spoken when she wasn't being so stubborn, but he could already tell that stubbornness wasn't inherent to her. Strength, yes, but not stubbornness.

It was difficult not to feel some compassion for her.

"His intentions were not conveyed to me," he said. "But I would be lying if I did not tell you that Henry intends to keep you and your brother as his guests for a time."

"You mean his captives."

"Aye."

She sighed sharply. "But to what purpose?" she said. "Aeron is a child even if he is the new earl, but he is lord over a smashed castle with no army. Quite honestly, I have no idea how we will survive if we are returned to Kennington. Your army took everything of value and I am quite sure there is nothing left. How are my brother and I a threat to the Crown?"

Torran swallowed the bite in his mouth and brushed off his hands. "That is not my decision, my lady," he said. "My duty is to take you to London. That is all."

Andia sighed again, heavily this time, and leaned against the doorjamb. She began rubbing her arms as if cold, even though she wore clothing that was heavy enough to make her sweat. But her thoughts, her mind, were a thousand miles away, thinking of the life she knew as it came to an end.

"Lady de Courtenay is a musician," she said softly. "Did you know that? She taught all of her charges to play instruments and sing, and I learned to play the harp and sing quite well. I even had the idea that I would form a group of other young women who liked to play and sing, and we would travel the world playing and singing for kings and great lords, and they would pay us with gold and fine horses. My father thought it was a silly dream, of course, and he expected me to serve my brother as a slave would serve a master. Even so, I still had that dream. He could not take it away from me. But I suppose Henry will, once and for all."

Torran stood up, tray in hand, as he listened to her reminisce about her future. There was something sad about her words, about the course her life was taking. He'd refused to acknowledge that, but in her moment of vulnerability, he was unable to avoid it. He knew it wasn't healthy to let his guard down with a prisoner, but he found that the walls were weakening. And he had very strong walls of professionalism, of self-protection.

But Andia's soft words had shifted his foundation a little.

"My lady, I am fairly certain that the king has no intention of executing you," he said. "Your brother might be another matter, but he has no reason to rid himself of you. I would not give up on your dreams quite yet. You must have faith."

She looked at him, a shadow in the darkness of the landing. "Faith." She snorted softly. "I gave up on faith years ago. The day my mother died in childbirth and my father decided I was a burden to him was the day I lost my faith in God. He has no regard for me, so I return the favor."

Torran came closer, holding out the tray to her. "Then if you hold no regard for faith, then at least believe in hope."

"Even hope is a struggle sometimes."

He could well understand that. And it wasn't as if he disagreed with her because, once, he'd had his own struggle of hope. Andia took the tray from him and turned for her chamber as Torran watched her go. He wanted to give her some encouragement, but he couldn't. He'd already said too much. She was his captive, his duty, and he'd already blurred that line a little. He wasn't going to make it worse.

Without another word, Andia shut her chamber door, and Torran heard her throw the bolt.

There was no mistaking the weeping he heard.