Page 37 of To Protect

ChapterSixteen

He’d not seen her in a sennight. Not at meals. Not around the castle.

Roland waited for his turn at the target, bow and arrow in hand.

Since that night with Darien, word had spread. Others had gone to her for healing, and Rowena had visited and, according to Darien, given Amalia much-needed supplies. A small solar had been cleared out for her use, and minor injuries from training had apparently kept Amalia busy.

He had considered seeking her out, but each day he decided against it. If Amalia wished to see him, she could do so. Clearly, she did not.

Because I am not a virgin does not mean I wish to be a man’s paramour.

He’d been angry that night, to hear those words from her. But as he thought more on the matter, he also could not deny that he wanted her badly. That one taste of her had not been enough. He thought only of the moment. Of pleasure. Being with her. But Amalia thought of what came afterward—something Roland rarely considered when he was with a woman.

Amalia was not like other women.

So he’d avoided her, even as whispers about her skill swirled. Even as thoughts of her consumed him. It was a feeling he did not enjoy at all, one as foreign to him as losing a swordfight.

“De Vere? If you wish to get yourself killed on the battlefield,” Lord Stirling said to him, “a lack of focus will surely do the job.”

Darien held back a smile next to him.

“Apologies, instructor.”

He stepped up to the line, drew back and released an arrow. And another. After three attempts, he hit the center. Moving to the back of the line, Roland grumbled to his friend after Darien hit the very center on the first attempt, “I will never find myself with bow in hand during battle. It will be the sword for me, or naught at all.”

Darien repeated what they’d heard from their instructors many times. “You may be called for any duty, so all battlefield skills will be honed, not only those at which you already excel.”

“They are back,” a voice called from behind them. It was Alden, running toward them. “They are back.”

The other recruits in line with Roland and Darien all watched as Alden reached the men. “Gareth and his wife. They’re back.”

Sir Eamon had said, days earlier, that he’d arranged for a meeting between Lady Evelina and the man she’d thought was her father. He had not known when they would arrive, but it seemed today was the day.

Roland ran past the line of recruits and to their instructor. “Lord Stirling? Permission for Darien and me to be dismissed? Our friend has returned, it seems—”

“Go,” Stirling said. “But remember, victory in battle begins, and ends”—he pointed to his head—“here. Distractions will get you killed, de Vere.”

“Aye, my lord.” He offered a quick bow in deference to Stirling’s position despite the fact that Roland outranked the instructor.

The three men all but ran to the keep. Once inside, they did not spot Gareth and his wife.

“Have you seen Sir Eamon?” Darien asked a serving maid who passed.

“Nay, my lord,” she said, looking up at him with more than a hint of appreciation in her eyes.

They asked everyone, but none had seen them, until they spotted Lady Elara descending the stairwell, likely just having finished instruction.

“Lady Elara.” Alden spoke to her, not surprisingly. “Have you seen Sir Eamon?”

“I have.” She nodded abovestairs. “He is in his chamber.”

“With guests?”

“Aye.” She smiled. “With guests.”

The three men took each of the stairs by two, only Alden bidding adieu to the lady. By the time they reached Eamon’s chamber and knocked, all were anxious to see their friend.

“Ahh.” Sir Eamon opened the heavy wooden door. “I’d expected you three might come.”