Page 9 of To Protect

ChapterFour

He was not exactly how Evelina had described him.

Most of the recruits had been invited to Ashford Manor upon their arrival, and the earl’s son was no exception. Though Amalia had not seen him that eve, that the son of the Lion of Ravensbrook was among them had caused quite a stir. His father’s legendary feat, in which he secured victory with half as many men as the enemy while leading the charge under King Henry at the Battle of Ravensbrook , was well known.

It was also well known that the earl was a staunch supporter of King Stephen, making his son’s recruitment to the Guardians of the Sacred Oak quite surprising.

Also surprising? That the man was the most devastatingly handsome she’d ever seen. With black hair, neatly shaven, and with a shade of ice blue eyes that looked almost otherworldly, Lord de Vere, or Roland, as he asked that she address him, had made it nearly impossible to eat that bowl of stew. She could not taste it, each bite an effort, when instead Amalia would have preferred to sit back and simply stare at him.

And perhaps the most surprising thing of all was that he seemed to like her. At first, she thought perhaps he was simply performing a duty, one Sir Eamon had told her about—Gareth’s three friends were to serve as makeshift protectors while she remained at Castle Blackwood.

It was not that Amalia wasn’t aware that she was pretty. She’d been told so many times, though she believed her lady was much more beautiful than she. Most of her suitors, however, had been servants. Farmers’ sons. Some knights, aye, but rarely a man such as Roland.

If a lord, especially an eldest son, offers you attention, Amalia, know his intentions. ’Tis never to marry, and if they beget a child on you, the babe will be for you and you alone to raise.

Her mother’s advice before Amalia left home to serve Lady Evelina. It was advice she’d never forgotten, believed with her whole heart, and had, until now, followed. Amalia might have given herself to two different men, but both times she had believed they loved her and would ask for her hand in marriage. And while she did not marry either, Amalia had at least believed they would remain together at the time. She had no wish to give her body to a man who had no intention of doing so.

And yet . . .

When Roland had looked at her during the meal, the flutters in her chest--and lower--said otherwise.

“As you know, we take meals in the hall, but when the men are too busy in the training yard,” Roland said as they left the great hall, “food is also brought out to us.”

“That is unusual, is it not?”

As they passed recruits, knights, and servants alike scurrying to their next class or training session, some looked at them, but differently from when Amalia had made her way belowstairs earlier. A quick glance at Roland, and those passing by quickly averted their gazes.

“You command a level of respect here already,” she noted, aware that Roland had been one of the later recruits.

“My name does.”

His voice, more gruff than before, made Amalia peer more closely at him. His expression matched his tone. “You seem displeased by that. Is it not an honor to be the son of such a man?”

“Honor. Curse. There are many words I might use to describe having the Lion of Ravensbrook as one’s father.”

She stopped beside an alcove overlooking the training yard at the rear of the castle. Enclosed by an expansive inner wall, the field was massive, and filled with men training everything from their sword hands to the bow and arrow farther toward the edge of the property.

“A curse? How is such a thing possible?”

Roland looked out to the training yard and then down to the velvet cushion atop a stone bench cut into the side of the castle wall. He gestured for her to sit, and Amalia did so. He sat a respectable distance from her, angled toward her but also able to see out the rare bay window.

“I could have captured King Stephen myself and the deed would not compare to my father’s.”

Oddly, there did not seem to be a bitter tone to his words. “To live up to such a thing,” she said. “I would assume it would be quite impossible.”

“Especially since my father supports the king.”

“I’ve heard as much. So ’tis true?”

“Aye.” He looked out the window, watching his fellow recruits. Roland’s strong jaw clenched, the only sign of his annoyance with the topic. Or his father. Or both.

“Is he angry that you are here?”

Roland looked at her. “He knows not that I was recruited to be here but will learn of it eventually. I was visiting one of our country manors, one I stand to inherit, when Sir Eamon and the others approached me. They’d heard I supported the empress, a fact I’d never hidden and one my father has more than once threatened my inheritance with.”

“Do you not worry he will take it from you?”

Roland shrugged. “It matters not. Empress Matilda is the rightful ruler of England. Henry willed his daughter to succeed him. Stephen seizing the throne in her stead means only he was more properly positioned, because of the bishop of Winchester, to take what did not belong to him. My father, and men like him, wish only to retain their titles and lands.”