The gentleman leading the troop—for by his apparel she could see he was a gentleman—detached himself, and rode over to where Elsbeth and Adair now sat upon their horses. “Woman,” the gentleman demanded, “what are you doing out on the road in these dangerous times?
And with a little maid. Where are you from, and to where are you journeying with only this great wolfhound for your protection?”
Elsbeth opened her mouth, but she was so frightened she could not speak for the life of her. What had she done, coming onto the road? Why had she not obeyed the earl’s directive? Would they now be killed for her foolishness? But the gentleman addressing her was very handsome, and of slight stature. He was commanding, but did not seem menacing. She swallowed and tried again to speak, when to her surprise Adair did.
“I am Lady Adair Radcliffe, the Countess of Stanton, sir. I have come to seek the protection of the king, as my parents are now dead, slaughtered in his good cause.”
The gentleman reached out and pushed Adair’s hood from her head, ignoring the dog’s deep growl. He nodded. “You look like your mother,” he said. “I remember her.”
“And who, sir, are you?” Adair demanded in a slightly imperious tone that caused the gentleman to smile, obviously amused by her bravery.
“I am your uncle Richard, Duke of Gloucester, my lady Countess of Stanton,” the gentleman said. “I think it fortunate that I have come upon you instead of someone else. Is your servant without speech, Adair Radcliffe?”
“Nay. I think you have frightened her, my lord. She has been very brave these past weeks, and I owe my life to her,” Adair answered him truthfully. “Her name is Elsbeth, but I call her Nursie, and my hound is Beiste.”
Richard of Gloucester nodded, turning to the woman.
“You need not fear me, Mistress Elsbeth. I am King Edward’s brother, and I will take you to a place of safety.
You cannot reach London today, and he is not there now. Tomorrow I will send you on with two of my own men to guide you and protect you. You must go to the queen’s household, and she still is in sanctuary at Westminster with her children.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Elsbeth had managed to find her voice again.
“The child looks ill,” the duke said to Elsbeth.
“I fear the conditions in which we have been forced to travel have caused it, my lord,” Elsbeth said wearily.
“We have had little to eat, and have sheltered mostly out-of-doors. It has not been easy for my little mistress.
Only the dog’s warmth has kept her from worse harm.”
He nodded. “No, it would not have been easy,” he agreed. Then, reaching out from his saddle, he lifted the startled child from hers, setting her before him. “You will ride with me, Adair Radcliffe,” he said, and drew his fur-lined cloak around her little body. Then he looked to the great dog, who was now baring his teeth. “Come, Beiste!” he commanded the animal, and, recognizing the voice of authority, Beiste obeyed.
Instinctively Adair snuggled against the duke’s chest.
Her eyes grew heavy as they moved off, the even gait of the horse rocking her into slumber as they rode.
Richard of Gloucester looked down on the child for a long moment. Yes, he did indeed remember Jane Radcliffe. She had been a great beauty, although she was genuinely unconscious of that beauty. Her ebony hair, her violet eyes, and her serene face had attracted his brother. And Edward had never been able to resist abeautiful woman. Richard had been only a boy then, but he remembered.
Fascinated, he had watched as his elder sibling pursued the lovely Jane Radcliffe. But she, a lady-in-waiting to the king’s wife, and a married woman herself, had carefully avoided Edward as much as she could, for she was an honorable woman. But Edward could not be deterred. He had gone to her husband, gotten his permission to futter Jane, and Baron Stanton had become the Earl of Stanton. And when Jane had conceived a child she had left court, never to return. He had learned later from Edward that the child had been a girl, and that Edward had acknowledged her birth, setting aside a dower for her.
Richard of Gloucester, now a young man, looked down at Jane Radcliffe’s daughter. She was her mother in miniature. There was nothing of her sire about her, thank God, but he thought that her assured manner was much like his own mother, Cicely Neville. His sister-in-law, the queen, would not be pleased by this addition to her family, but he knew his brother, the king, would keep the child safe.I will take her myself, the duke thought,if need be. He was interested to learn Adair’s story. Why and how had her parents met their untimely end at the hands of Lancastrians?
They reached the monastery where he intended sheltering that night. The gates of St. Wulfstan’s swung open for them, for they had been expected. The prior was a distant cousin, and his hospitality would be generous. A young monk hurried to take the duke’s horse, not just a little surprised to see a woman, a child, and a great wolfhound among the party. Elsbeth was quickly off her horse. She reached out to the duke, and he handed Adair down into her arms before dismounting himself.
Beiste was immediately by their side, and followed along.
“Come with me, mistress,” he said to her, and she followed him into the building, carrying the little girl. Theduke appeared to know exactly where he was going and, reaching a large carved double oak door, opened it, ushering Elsbeth inside.
“Dickon!” A portly man with a youthful face arose from a chair by the fire. “And what, or who, cousin, is this that you bring with you?” He peered at Elsbeth, and then at Adair, who had just been set down upon the floor, stepping back as the wolfhound came immediately to the little girl’s side.
“Peter, I have brought Lady Adair Radcliffe, the Countess of Stanton, and her servant. I found them wandering out on the road. Edward sired the child several years ago. Now she is seeking the king’s protection.”
“Are you certain the child is who she says she is?”
Prior Peter Neville asked the duke. “What proof can be offered that this is not a fraud? The queen will not be pleased, Dickon. You know how jealous she is of even her own children. If it were not for Lady Margaret I do not know how they would fare.”
“The child looks exactly like her mother, and I remember Jane Radcliffe well, Peter,” the duke said.
