Page 58 of To Protect

ChapterTwenty-Five

Roland never came to her.

Amalia waited, paced the length of her chamber, and finally doused the candles. She climbed into the bed, remembering his words.

I will come to you, for your protection.

Her stomach filled with a fine meal and ever finer French wine, the thought of being alone with Roland for any substantial time since they’d made love . . . not long ago, Amalia had been as happy as she had ever been.

So why didn’t he come?

At first all manner of thoughts ran through her mind, ones of the man she’d first met. The man Lady Elara, and even the empress, warned her against. But Amalia believed in herself, in her own judgment, and refused to believe Roland’s words to her, his declaration of love, had been empty. Surely there was a reason. If he thought she needed protection, he would have found a way to come to her.

Amalia had asked what he thought she needed protection from, but Roland had simply said he was being “more cautious than was necessary.” Closing her eyes, Amalia willed herself to sleep despite the sense of unease, and disappointment, that had settled into her chest.

A loud pounding at the door woke her.

“Amalia!”

It was not Roland.

Running to the door, remembering Roland’s warning, she was about to ask who was there when he called again.

“Amalia. ’Tis Alden. Open the door.”

Alden. Aye, it was his voice. She did as he bid.

“Quickly,” he said, not looking at her but holding a candle up for light. “Dress and give me your belongings. As quickly as you are able.”

The tone of his voice was not one she’d ever heard from the normally calm blacksmith’s son.

“What is happening?”

Alden lit the candle by Amalia’s bedside and turned his back.

“Quickly, please. I will explain on the way.”

Realizing he turned his back so that she might dress, Amalia did so as quickly as she was able, putting the remainder of her belongings in the saddlebag and telling Alden she was ready. Taking the bag from her, he said, “Quickly,” and rushed from the chamber.

Her corridor was empty. It was only when they began to descend the stone stairs closest to her chamber that Amalia realized the guards were missing.

“Roland,” she said suddenly. He had not come to her because he was injured. “Alden? Where is Roland?”

“With the queen.”

“Nay,” a voice at the bottom of the stairwell called. “I am here. Thank you,” he said to Alden. A moment later, a firm hand grasped hers. “Come quickly, Amalia.”

“Roland? What is happening?” she asked as they emerged in another darkened corridor.

“We are leaving,” he said, tugging her along. “A throng of Londoners are outside the castle walls.”

“What does that mean, precisely?”

Just as she asked the question, they rounded the corner and three other men, Knight Guardians, were there, waiting.

“Hurry,” one of them said. “Waleran de Beaumont’s men are among the crowd.”

At that moment, Amalia passed a wall torch that illuminated Roland’s face. She had seen him appear that way just once before: the day of the attack. Jaw set, he looked as if he were prepared to kill.