Page 63 of To Protect

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Passing through Oxford’s impressive outer walls and through the town gates, narrow, unpaved streets welcomed them. Wooden and thatched houses lined the winding streets, their architecture reflecting a mix of Norman and Saxon influences.

“Those bells are from St. Frideswide’s Priory,” Roland said.

“St. Frideswide?”

“The patron saint of Oxford.”

“There are so many churches here,” she said. “Is that a church as well?”

“Nay,” Roland answered, having been here before. “It is a university building. A gathering place for scholars and students engaging in intellectual pursuits.”

They passed a central marketplace with merchants peddling their wares. Amalia might have wished to stop and visit the herbalists, but after the past days’ journey, she wanted nothing more than food, and sleep.

At least they were safe.

After that second attack, Amalia had mended more wounds than the first and decided . . . being a healer was not for her. She loved growing herbs, trying them for various purposes, watching as they worked to heal. But open wounds and broken bones? She could do without both.

They rode to the manor house, the nobleman and supporter of Matilda’s that would welcome her standing in front of it, and Amalia and Roland dismounted along with the other men. Although the imposing defensive walls they’d passed would protect the empress and her men, St. John Manor was not nearly as large as Lincoln Castle or the Tower of London. Only Matilda and her inner circle would be housed there; the rest of the men would find monasteries or inns at which to take a respite.

“I’ve arranged,” Sir Eamon said, coming toward them, “for some of the men to stay at Griffin Inn, others at . . . ”

Amalia stopped listening. She watched as Roland and the others took orders from their leader. He was an impressive-looking figure, the man that insisted he would be her husband. After seeing his brother nearly killed in the attack—one they’d learned was a coordinated effort by Stephen’s supporters to kidnap the empress to exchange her for their king—Roland had been unusually quiet.

In the opportunities they did have to speak, Roland said only Eamon would reassess once at Oxford. He did not know what came next, but it seemed likely they would return to Blackwood.

“Come,” Roland said, apparently finished speaking with the men.

“Where are we going?” Amalia asked as Darien and Alden joined them. As usual, Alden appeared grim, and Darien’s expression was unreadable.

“The Griffin Inn,” Roland said.

“Why is Sir Eamon looking at me, displeased?”

“Because you have been invited to lodge with the empress. But I told him you were coming with us instead. He believes it to be improper, as you are not chaperoned, and thinks you should stay in the manor house.”

“He is correct,” Amalia said, avoiding Sir Eamon’s gaze. “Darien, why are you smiling?”

Roland shot Darien a look. Something was odd between them.

“I will tell you while we eat. If Alden does not get food in his stomach soon, I fear what may happen.”

A handful of Guardians followed them to the inn. A timber-framed structure marked by a hand-carved wooden sign depicting a majestic griffin with wings outstretched, the inn was just as charming inside. Flames from a massive stone hearth cast a flickering glow across the great hall. Wooden benches and sturdy oak tables were scattered around, the inn’s walls adorned with rich tapestries depicting mythical creatures and heraldic symbols. Banners bearing the inn’s griffin emblem hung from the rafters.

The three of them made their way to a long wooden bar stretching along one side of the common room, adorned with brass tankards and barrels of ale. The innkeeper, clad in a simple yet well-kept tunic, poured them ale as they approached.

“Tables and a meal,” Darien said to the white-haired man. “There will be many others as well,” he added. As he said the words, men streamed into the inn.

“You are the Lady of the English’s men?” the innkeeper asked.

“Of sorts,” Darien replied.

“Then you and the others are most welcome. Sit,” he indicated a table near the hearth. “I will send a serving girl to you.”

It was only after they sat, meat pies and cheese in front of them, that Roland said, “Eamon agreed for you to stay here when I told him we would be handfasted.”

Amalia nearly spit out her ale.