Page 25 of To Protect

ChapterEleven

If he broke his fast, it was before Amalia arrived in the hall. Neither did she see him at the midday meal. She sought out Sir Eamon but was told he’d been giving lessons. So Amalia took the clothing she needed to launder, including Roland’s surcoat, and made her way to the well, where she procured two buckets of water. Bringing both back to the garden, where she felt most comfortable, Amalia soaked the items in water and lye and waited for the stains to loosen.

With the gardener nowhere to be found, it was as peaceful as anywhere in the castle, a rare private respite. Amalia knew she should befriend some of the other maids here, but wished instead to continue to contemplate her predicament with Roland.

And it was quite the predicament.

At first, she thought him high-handed and arrogant, much like many of the noblemen she had known. Evelina was especially good at recognizing such men and had dismissed out of hand every one of the recruits that had been brought to Ashford Manor to meet with their financier. Amalia thought of her lady, and friend, wondering when, if ever, she would be able to return. What would Evelina say about her attraction to Roland?

Would she believe Roland was not quite as he appeared on the surface? That, aye, he was an earl’s son and acted as such in many ways, yet there was also a kindness there, a depth that had, frankly, surprised her. Men like him did not share their fears, and yet he’d done so willingly. But that did not negate that she should not have kissed him. Amalia already had difficulty eradicating Roland from her mind, and that had certainly not helped.

When enough time had gone by, Amalia pulled each piece of clothing from the bucket and used a nearby stone to cleanse. She then used the second wooden bucket to rinse each and laid the pieces on a nearby bench. Then proceeding to plant the herbs she’d secured at the market, Amalia worked until all were planted.

As she stood there, wiping dirt on her apron, Roland’s surcoat caught her attention. While some family emblems were elaborate, his was one simple image against a bright royal-blue background. A wolf, fierce with his jaws open, pointed teeth ready to strike. The eyes were equally as fierce, seeming to glare at her the longer she stared.

Amalia shuddered.

“There is a tale there,” a voice interrupted her thoughts. It was so unusual to hear a female voice here at Castle Blackwood. Even more unusual was that it was a lady, not a maid, one of only two permanent residents at this castle.

Amalia bowed. “Lady Elara,” she guessed.

“Indeed,” the woman said. Though she was not much older than Amalia or Evelina, there was a grace about the strategies instructor that nearly betrayed her years. Tall, her chestnut hair unbound but held back by a gold circlet around her hair, the extraordinarily beautiful lady wore a royal-blue velvet gown that matched the color or Roland’s surcoat.

“And you must be Lady Evelina’s maid, Amalia?”

“I am,” she said. “You’ve spoken to Sir Eamon?”

“Just this morn. He told me of your predicament, and that of your lady. I am sorry you are so misplaced for a spell, but glad Castle Blackwood can offer some respite.”

“My hope is that Lady Evelina and Sir Gareth can return soon.”

“It is my hope as well.” She turned her attention to the surcoat. “Do you know it? The tale of the Wolf of de Vere?”

“I know some of it,” Amalia said.

“Legend has it that, centuries ago, the founder of House de Vere, Sir Cedric de Vere, was a valiant knight who had earned his title through unwavering loyalty to the crown. In a time when wolves were both feared and revered, Sir Cedric encountered a mystical black wolf deep within the ancient forests that surrounded his ancestral estate.

According to the legend, lost in the dense woods, he found himself face to face with the black wolf. Instead of hostility, the wolf regarded him with intelligence and understanding. It guided him through the treacherous paths, leading him to a hidden glade where a sacred well awaited.”

Lady Elara moved closer to Roland’s drying surcoat. Amalia looked between her and the wolf as the lady continued her tale.

“Legend has it that the well held magical waters with the power to reveal one’s true destiny. With the guidance of the black wolf, Sir Cedric drank from the well, and the mystical waters granted him a vision of his future. He saw generations of his descendants, their fate intertwined with the spirit of the wolf.

“In gratitude for the wolf’s guidance, Cedric swore an oath of protection to the creatures of the forest. As a symbol of this pact, he adopted the fierce wolf as the emblem of his family. The wolf became a representation of strength, loyalty, and the unwavering commitment of House de Vere.” She glanced up. Smiled.

“Do you believe the legend?” Amalia asked.

“I believe, like most legends, there is some truth to the tale. Deciphering what is real, and what has been invented or elaborated upon, is not unlike shifting through the words and deeds of men.”

Amalia was as enthralled with the lady as she might have been with that mystical wolf. There was something very calming about her. “Something you teach the recruits to do in their strategies lessons?”

“Something I attempt to teach them. Men can be . . . difficult students. Especially those with superior abilities or titles to my own. So aye, ‘attempt’ would be, I believe, a better word.”

“Men like Lord de Vere,” she guessed.

Lady Elara smiled. “He would be a fine example of the type of student to whom I refer, aye. How do you come by his surcoat? You are no laundress, Mistress Amalia.”

“I offered,” she said, “as I had clothing of my own to attend to.”