Page 54 of To Protect

Roland dismounted, as did Amalia, while the empress was greeted by two men.

“Who are they?” she asked as the empress was brought into the tower.

“Two of her strongest supporters. The man on the left, Brian FitzCount. On the right, her uncle, Bishop Henry of Winchester.”

“You know them?”

“I’ve met FitzCount. The bishop, I do not know, but have heard descriptions of the man, and by his dress and appearance here, can assume ’tis him.”

“Roland. Amalia,” Sir Eamon said, finding them. “You are both invited into the tower, requested by the Lady of the English herself.”

Lady of the English. Amalia had not heard Matilda called that before. The woman had, it seemed, many titles, but her most important one—queen—would be her last.

Less than twenty men, it seemed, were also invited into the tower.

“Where will the others go?” Amalia asked as they were escorted inside.

“In Tower Hamlets, as they are known, east of the tower. Temporary barracks also include open spaces along the river.”

Amalia was glad for the invitation, to sleep in a bed rather than on a bedroll in a tent. She did not know if it was her place as a healer with the men or her time spent traveling with the empress, be either way, she was glad for it.

She was even more glad to be whisked away by one of the handmaidens to a chamber that nearly rivaled the one in Lincoln Castle. Though she, once again, had not been able to speak privately to Roland—they’d not kissed for days with no opportunity to be alone—a chamber such as this, and a hot bath, was welcomed.

Just when Amalia stepped into that very bath, there was a knock at her door. For a moment, her chest constricted at the thought of it being Roland. But a moment later, it opened, the same handmaiden who’d taken her to this chamber rushing inside.

Amalia sat in the tub, watching as she was followed by two others. They carried what appeared to be gowns and boxes of jewelry.

“My lady—”

She did not wish to misrepresent herself. “I am not a lady,” Amalia began, but the maid stopped her.

“The Lady of the English said we are to serve my lady as an honored guest. We’ve brought a gown and jewels for this evening’s banquet and will assist you in preparing.”

Honored guest. Gown and jewels. Banquet?

“I was not aware of a banquet,” Amalia said.

“To welcome our new queen.”

Was there a lack of warmth in her tone? Amalia observed the others as well, but their expressions revealed nothing.

“What is the sentiment here?” she asked. “About Empress Matilda’s coronation?”

One of the women cleared her throat and backed out of the chamber with a small bow. The others exchanged a worrying glance.

“I am a lady’s maid,” she said. “Although serving as the healer to the contingency of men who arrived today has apparently afforded me privileges during this stay.”

At first, it seemed her attempt at relating to the maids would not work. But the one who had not yet spoken came closer to Amalia.

“You are a lady’s maid?”

“Aye,” she said, rubbing the scented oil that had been left for her into her hair. “I serve Lady Evelina Ashcroft but was given leave for this journey.”

“Because you are a healer?”

“I consider myself an herbalist, but know something of healing, aye.”

“My mother is a healer,” the girl said. She was younger than the other, who, while she arranged Amalia’s gown on the bed, was definitely listening intently.