She held him in silence, occasionally giving him a kiss of reassurance. Then she turned on her back and looked at the sky with him.
She bit her lower lip. “Who will you fight for if there is a war between the king and Prince John, if Richard so disappointed you?”
“There will be no war, Elinor.”
“I wonder.”
He shifted so he could see her face, and her puckered brow. “There are those who plot, and John hopes enough do. He would be an usurper, however. There are men here, recruiting others to his cause. I hope they have not influenced good men to take risks that are treasonous.”
She wiped her eye with her hand and he realized tears had formed. “Such a frightening word, treason. I worry about my father, Zander. He is making friends who I do not think really care for him, but only seek to use him.”
He soothed her with a kiss. “Speak reason to him, so he does not get drawn in too deeply.”
“If men listened to women’s reason, there would be no treason, no wars, no uncompromising honor. Alas, we are ignored.”
“I will never ignore you if you speak reason to me, darling.”
She wrapped her arm around his neck, kissed him, then buried her face against him and inhaled deeply. “I must go. You know I must.”
“I will take you back now.”
They stood, and she brushed off her skirt. Then she placed her hand on his chest. “I am honored that you told me about that day, Zander. I think you believe it has left you bereft of your own goodness, though. It has not. You are not really The Devil’s Blade. You are the same Zander, deep inside.”
He guided her through the quiet castle. All the guests had retired, although Lord Yves probably entertained a few in those private chambers near the solar. In the hall bodies stretched on pallets laid on the floor. Some slept on benches.
Out through the town they went. He knew all the guards at the gates, and he gave the one on duty now a coin so they could both pass. He brought Elinor as close to her camp as she would permit and watched carefully while she walked the rest of the way.
No sooner had she entered her tent, then another figure emerged from one of the others. The man walked toward Zander, avoiding the light from any fires. Zander saw it was Sir Lionel.
He followed at some distance, surprised to see Sir Lionel aiming for the town gate. With the curfew he should not be able to enter, yet he did so easily. Either he had bribed the guard, or someone in the castle had arranged for his entry.
As a castle guest, Zander followed him into the town. Lionel kept walking with purpose until he passed through the castle gate itself.
Zander followed. Lionel began mounting the stone stairs in the keep. Zander pressed against the wall at the first curve and listened. Lionel kept climbing until he reached the highest level. The only chambers up there were Lord Yves’s and those of his most honored guests. Lionel’s progress changed from boots on stairs to boots on passage. Zander counted the steps before the sounds disappeared.
He went up there too, to judge which door Lionel had entered. He guessed the one at the end.
He turned to go when Lord Yves’s own door opened, and Lord Yves looked out. “What are you doing up here?”
Zander thought fast. “I was seeking a certain widow with an unattractive nose.”
“You are close, but Lord Marcus will be displeased if you steal into his chamber and try to tup his wife.” He pointed in the other direction, toward the stairs. “The woman you seek is behind that last door.”
Zander made what he hoped looked like the smile of a randy knight glad for the help. He moved down to the door in question. He looked back. Lord Yves still watched.
Cursing under his breath, he scratched on the door. It opened and Lady Judith peered out, surprised. Then she grabbed him by the tunic and hauled him inside. Knowing it would take all of his wits to avoid being devoured, he set aside for the moment considerations of why Sir Lionel was secretly meeting with Lord Marcus, and whether Lord Yves knew about it.
Elinor lifted a water bladder as quietly as possible. She grabbed some rags and ducked though the flap, out into the night again. Taking a basin from near the embers of the hearth, she carried everything to the back of the tent and set about pouring water into the basin. She lifted her skirt, wet the cloth, and began cleaning the blood off her thighs.
The night afforded some privacy, but it would not do to cleanse herself in the morning anyway. Her father had retired early so he would rise with the sun and she did not want him speculating on why she needed to wash this thoroughly.
She could not see but she could feel the dried blood and Zander’s seed and scrubbed as best she could. A visit to the reeds and a full bathing was probably in order. She would have to find some washerwomen to join so she did not go alone again.
Her memories of the garden still filled her head. Details had emerged while she walked back, and she suspected her conclusion had been correct and that Zander had spilled his seed outside of her. That might help prevent her from getting with child—a consequence she had considered not at all when she was giving herself to him.
A quiet joy persisted in her heart. She did not regret what she had done. Should her father force her to marry Sir Gerwant, or some other man, she at least had for once given herself to a man who mattered to her. The intimacy of their joining still filled her, made all the more intense by his confidences about his crusade.
“What are you doing, daughter?”
