Chapter 29

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

" G ood day," Elara said to the steward as she approached the great hall for the meal. She'd begun to take them all in the hall. Spotting Evelina and Amalia already seated, she began to head toward them when Elara realized Pembroke had not answered her.

"Master Pembroke?"

It was as if he looked through her. Elara immediately thought of their traitor. Perhaps she'd been wrong to assume Father Percival had truly worked alone. Finally, he blinked and focused on her.

"They've lost."

She looked down at his hand, the missive rolled up as he glanced around the hall, as if trying to determine what to do next.

Her stomach clenched, the feeling she might be ill immediately threatening.

"Pembroke," she repeated, realizing the man was in a state of surprise. "Tell me. What have you learned?"

He too glanced down to his hand. "They have lost. Winchester."

Elara did not even notice the other women had come to them until Amalia gasped beside her. Others began to gather around the steward. With only a handful of recruits and the servants remaining at Blackwood, it was a small group but growing quickly.

"I've received word," he said, lifting the scroll. "The Sacred Oak has lost. Once again, as at London, the empress barely escaped, this time under cover of darkness."

"She was there?" one of the serving maids asked.

"Aye. It says"—he waved the scroll again—"many of her supporters have been captured or killed. They are calling it...a rout. Soldiers in disarray after..." He swallowed. "Robert of Gloucester was captured."

"No." Evelina grabbed her shoulder. "No, please."

Elara reached for her hand and grabbed it.

"Does it say aught else?" Elara asked the steward. "Our men, specifically?"

He shook his head. "Nay. That is all. Our messenger was camped well outside the city and came quickly to bring us this news, before he spoke to any of our men directly."

Pulling Evelina with her, Elara said to the maid who'd asked the question, "Bring us a meal. And wine," she added. "To my chamber. For three."

She bobbed a curtsy. "Aye, my lady."

Without another word, Elara pulled Evelina along and bid Amalia follow. They'd barely reached the stairwell when the latter began to cry. Hurrying them along, Elara led both women abovestairs.

The moment she shut the wooden door behind them, escorting Evelina and Amalia into her chambers, Amalia cried in earnest. Evelina went to her, wrapping her arms around the woman.

Pacing the room, Elara's mind wandered. Received word. Lost. Barely escaped. Rout.

Over and over again she replayed the steward's word, but no clues emerged about their own men, not that she expected them to. Elara simply needed to make sense of it all.

As Amalia wiped her cheeks dry and Evelina released her friend, she thought aloud.

"They are recruited for a reason. Our men..."

Our men. As if Alden was hers.

"Our men are not like any others. They are skilled. Strong. Stealthy. If any have survived, it is them."

"They lost." Evelina sank into a chair. "London. Winchester. How many defeats will there be?"

"If they even return to us?" Amalia was not coping well with the news.

"Do not allow your mind to think the worst," Elara coaxed, uncertain if she would listen.

"How?" she asked, her voice filled with sadness and the sorrow of someone who had given up hope. "You heard Pembroke. He called it a rout."

"He did," Elara admitted. "But we will rally. They will return to us."

Evelina looked at her. Elara refused to consider any other outcome.

"When they do?" she asked. "What will you say to Alden?"

Elara had thought of nothing else. "What I should have said the night he left."

For the first time since they received Pembroke's news, Amalia's shoulders relaxed. She needed something else to think about, and Elara would provide it for her.

"I will tell him that I love him. But I cannot give up this post, especially not now that we've more battles to fight. Putting my father more at risk, returning to court, is not feasible for me."

"Meaning?" Amalia asked.

"I love him, but if he does not wish to marry, we cannot be together any other way. The order would not allow it, nor would I expect them to do so. Not with Alden as my apprentice."

Amalia's eyes widened. She might have replied, but a knock on the door interrupted them. Their meal had arrived.

By the time they drank, and ate, and drank some more, Elara occupied Amalia's mind with questions and speculation. Though they did not forget about the defeat, about the possibility Gareth, Roland, or Alden may not return, neither did any of them break down again.

It was only after the others left, after Elara changed from her gown into a shift and lay in bed, blowing out the single candle, that tears began to form. She'd told Amalia not to allow herself to imagine the worst, but Elara could not follow her own advice.

She thought of him, lying in the streets of a city they attempted to take, but failed. She thought of his eyes, pleading with someone, anyone, to notice him before he left this world. Elara did the opposite of occupying her mind. From one horrific scenario to the next, she considered every manner of his death.

How could I have let him leave that way?

But Elara knew the answer before she asked the silent question, alone in her bed. She had not trusted him to hear her truth. Elara had taken her father's warning not to trust anyone but herself to heart. Even when she'd known the truth already.

He was not like other men. Alden claimed her, said Elara was his, and the claim was as true that day as it was this eve.

She was his, and wished to be so.. .forever.

But had she realized it too late?