The Rose and the Shield (Medieval 2)

“Steven?”

He looked up at her warily. The youthful face had a greenish tinge, and brown hair hung into redrimmed, hazel eyes. Rose bit her lip to prevent a smile. Radulf’s messenger had overindulged last night and was now paying the price. Belatedly he struggled to stand, but Rose put a gentle hand on his shoulder to prevent him.

“No, Steven, rest your legs.”

“My thanks, lady.” He sounded as if his throat had formed a crust.

“You have been with Lord Radulf long?”

He managed a wan smile. “Aye, lady.”

“And you revere him? Aye, I see you do. You must be more than thankful his lady is delivered safely and he has his heir.”

The smile was broader now. “I am thankful for both. Lord Radulf is…is very fond of his lady.”

“Besotted, in fact?” teased Rose, who had seen the couple at first hand. “They are very lucky, Steven, you do not know how rare ’tis for such a union in these times.”

The boy nodded seriously, but his eyes held a puzzled look as he watched her, wondering what she wanted from him.

Rose got to the point. “I wish you to give a message from me to Lord Radulf and Lady Lily.” She held the parchment in her hand, the wax stamped with Edric’s seal, a large fish swallowing a smaller fish.

Steven cleared his throat. “Aye, lady, I will deliver your message safely.”

She smiled without humor. “It says that the people of Somerford Manor celebrate the birth of a son for Crevitch, and that one day he will be our lord.”

“Aye, lady.”

“There is more.” Rose met his eyes and noticed the glazed look clearing from them as Steven sensed her anxiety. Carefully, she placed the parchment on the table before him. For a moment she

was tempted to speak the words aloud: I am asking Lord Radulf for his support—one of Lord Fitzmorton’s men has died in Somerford village and my miller has admitted to the crime. But there were circumstances…But she shook her head impatiently; better if Radulf read them himself. “Tell him that he must come as soon as may be,” she said hastily, and even then wondered if she had said too much.

“Aye, Lady Rose, I will tell him that. He must come to Somerford.” He hesitated uncertainly, and then rose to his feet, tucking the parchment inside his tunic. He was as tall as she—not a boy then, despite his youthful face. “Do not worry, lady, whatever is wrong Lord Radulf will put it to rights.”

Wryly, Rose smiled her thanks, and went on her way.

In truth she felt numbed. It was done and soon Steven would be gone, taking the fateful message to Radulf at Crevitch castle, some five leagues to the west. Lord Radulf would understand the danger and send his men, if he did not come himself. Somerford Manor would be safe from Fitzmorton, and Harold would live on to be an old man. Aye, all would be well.

Except for Rose.

She would lose Somerford Manor. No longer to be the lady here, no longer to be loved and respected, no longer to sit in her hall and feel she belonged.

No longer to lie awake at night worrying for the welfare of your people. No longer making decisions that give and take life. No longer butting your head against the stubborn, brutal stupidity of men like Miles de Vessey…

There was that. But, as Rose was aware, such decisions were all part of being the Lady of Somerford. And would the new lord be as fair, as mindful of the people as Rose had been? Mayhap it would be someone like Arno, selfish and uncaring, looking upon his English people as mere cattle.

But at least it will not be Lord Fitzmorton.

No, at least they would be spared that awful fate.

Rose glanced at Brother Mark as she left the great hall. He was watching her, and bowed his head slightly in response. He had written her the message that morning, copying as she dictated, his pen scratching busily upon the parchment. When the letter was sealed, she had sworn him to silence, and he had given his word. As he was the only person at Somerford who could read and write, Rose had had no choice but to trust him with this important task.

Millisent had glanced up as Alfred came into the hall, but now she looked quickly away again. No one would have guessed by her action that she had been waiting for him.

Alfred himself certainly did not.

He hesitated a moment, on the verge of approaching her, but she was busy with some needlework. Instead he turned abruptly toward his companions, where they sat huddled together over a game of dice.

Millisent stared down at her stitching, not seeing the uneven work. Since her father had been arrested she had thought only of him, of how she could help him. Then last night Eartha had whispered to her that all would be well, that Lady Rose had promised. Millisent trusted Lady Rose. If her lady said she would make all well, then so it would be.