So he watched, helplessly, as Mortimer moved to take Toby’s arm to presumably lead her back to the dais. Toby moved stiffly, as if all of the life had been sucked out of her. As she and Mortimer moved to take a seat, a sentry entered the hall and ran straight for Roger.
“My lord,” he said, bowing swiftly. “The Queen is upon us. We have sighted her party about a mile out.”
Mortimer’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “The Queen?” he repeated. “But… how is that possible?”
“I do not know, my lord,” the man said. “She will be here within the hour.”
Roger’s mouth popped open in shock, hardly believing what he was told. “Are you sure that is her?”
“Positive, my lord. A herald has arrived before her.”
With that, the man bowed swiftly again and dashed away. Mortimer stood rooted to the spot, stunned, wondering why Isabella had come to Wigmore. It was not like her to stray from the warm confines of Windsor during the winter and he had been planning on the woman keeping a distance for a few months. It would give him time to pursue his own interests away from her nervous energy; worse than his wife, she could be cloying and unsettled. Her approach did not set well with him; not well at all.
More than that, Isabella didn’t even like Wigmore Castle; she said it smelled too much of Joan. Roger began to imagine all of the reasons she might have for coming and couldn’t think of a truly solid one. Perhaps she was coming just to spy on him. He would have wagered money on it.
But he was no fool; it gradually occurred to him that the true reason for her visit was standing next to him. He knew that Isabella and Tate were very old, and very good, friends. And he knew how Isabella felt about Tate. She had asked the man to marry her once, something that had happened long ago in distant memory. But Tate was still around, still as strong as he ever was. Roger was suddenly angry at himself that it had never occurred to him that Tate would go straight to Isabella to tell her of her lover’s folly. It was the surest way to force him to behave.Damn the man!
Slowly, he turned to Toby; she gazed back at him with a curious expression. He could only shake his head and hiss. Heknew the answers to all of his questions were summed up in one name.
“Dragonblade,” he snarled.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Toby had nevermet a queen before. As she gazed at the woman she had heard about her entire life, she could hardly believe that the woman had come to Wigmore and thanked God for her good fortune. Now Mortimer’s attention was directed elsewhere and it was like an intervention from heaven.
Isabella was short, with big dark eyes and dark hair and a face that looked as if it had seen better days. Roger was absolutely beside himself; he took the woman’s hand and held it to his lips sweetly. He was quite loving towards her, something that both disgusted and fascinated Toby considering that not an hour before he had been propositioning her.
She’d not left the hall since the announcement of the queen’s approach. Roger had made her sit down and wait, along with him and his retainers, for the queen’s arrival. Kenneth had also remained in the hall, standing behind the dais and watching Toby like a hawk while Timothy sat near the hearth to watch the scene unfold with trepidation. Kenneth ignored the physic for the most part; all he was concerned with was the fact that since Toby had complied with Roger’s demands, Mortimer had left her alone. His preoccupation with the queen’s arrival was obvious and Kenneth was thankful.
So Kenneth skirted the hall as the queen and her retinue arrived, watching the group filter into Wigmore’s large and warm hall. Kenneth knew the queen and she knew him, and when she caught sight of the big blond knight she nodded faintly. He bowed slightly in reply. They had a long history of association, dating back to her husband’s early reign. Soldiers were trickling in after the queen, men dressed in mail and the queen’s colors. They took position near the door.
Kenneth looked at a few of the faces, recognizing some but not others. As he neared the entry to the hall, one of the queen’s soldiers, standing in the recesses by the entry, suddenly reached out to grab him. Kenneth immediately went on the defensive until he saw the face. Even then, he could hardly believe his eyes. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at.
Tate gazed steadily at him from beneath the hauberk and helm. Kenneth struggled not to react, but his eyes did widen briefly as Tate swiftly motioned him to silence. Kenneth immediately turned around to face the room with Tate slightly behind him, hoping to protect the man from Mortimer’s knowing gaze. Suddenly, the dynamics of the situation had changed dramatically in more ways than he could comprehend and Kenneth was both relieved and on edge. His heart was pounding.
“Where is Toby?” Tate whispered behind him.
Kenneth turned slightly to speak, trying not to be obvious about it. “On the dais,” he muttered. “See her? Behind Mortimer?”
Tate was silent for a moment. “Aye,” he murmured, incredible gentleness suddenly in his tone. “I see her. Is she well?”
“Well enough.”
“Thank God.”
For a man whose entire nature revolved around an unflappable manner, Kenneth was very close to jumping out of his skin. He simply could not believe that Tate was here, disguised as the queen’s guard. Yet he should not have expected less; it was a cunning and logical plan. Kenneth’s gaze began to move around the room and he noticed Stephen on the opposite side of the hall; he should have recognized his tall frame right away. Familiar cornflower blue eyes gazed warmly at him. Nearer to the queen was Wallace, although he hardly recognized the man for he had cut his wild gray hair off. Kenneth was stunned.
“Get Toby out of here,” Tate whispered again behind him. “I do not care how you do it, but get her out of this room. Take her to the stables and I will meet you there.”
“That may not be so simple,” Kenneth muttered. “Mortimer keeps her close.”
“Now is the perfect time with his attention distracted by Isabella.”
Kenneth nodded once and moved away from Tate, skirting the room and paralleling the dais. He could see Toby sitting there, looking rather bored, and his heart began to pound harder. He moved closer, trying not to be conspicuous about it, as he finally slipped up behind her.
Toby was facing forward, watching Mortimer slobber all over Isabella’s hand as he told her how much he had missed her. The sight of it made her rather ill but it also emphasized her longing for Tate. She imagined that it was Tate holding her hand, telling her how much he missed her. Her heart began to ache with the thought and her mood turned dour, so much so that she was startled when she felt a tug on her skirt. She looked down to see a big hand tugging at it, turning slightly to realize that it was Kenneth.
“You are ill,” he whispered. “I must remove you from this hall immediately.”
