Page 63 of To Love

“Then how—”

“Eamon and he argued, quite loudly I might add. Surprisingly, it was Stirling who made the decision to end the meeting and approach Father Percival. He correctly reminded Ashford there was no time before the mission to wait any longer; the evidence they needed was before them and he would not put his men at risk unnecessarily.”

“Where is he now?”

Suddenly, Elara looked as if she were about to cry.

“What is it? Elara, what’s wrong?”

“He waits for you.” She looked up to the guards. There was just one on duty where they could be seen, though he was not looking down upon them at the moment.

“Me?”

“You. Gareth. Darien. Roland. The four of you are to escort him to Matilda. Eamon does not wish for him to remain here, even as a prisoner. He believes ’tis too risky. He and Stirling decided that you four will leave at once to escort him to Thornwick before rendezvousing with the others at Winchester.”

“Did he confess, then?”

“Nay,” she said. “He did not. But they brought him to me, and I questioned him.”

Alden tried to take in all she said, but it was a lot. He was leaving, at once, to escort the priest to Matilda? Would he meet her? The woman who would become queen? Would Father Percival confess anything to them on the journey? Would they make it to Winchester in time? If he missed the battle . . .

“Is he guilty?”

Elara would know. Discerning a person’s innocence, or guilt, had been a specialty of her father’s. And was one of hers as well.

“I believe he is, aye. But it will be for the empress to decide what to do with him, if he does not confess.”

“If he does not confess, we will not know if he works alone. Or if we are still compromised.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Either way, you must go. Stirling has no wish to go to battle without the four of you, but Eamon refused to consider any other escort.”

“Are four of us necessary?”

“There was some discussion on that as well, but Eamon is worried about an ambush. If there are others involved . . .” She swallowed. And now Alden understood the reason for her dismay.

He cared not about the guard. Moving toward her, Alden took her hand and hid it, as best he could, under the folds of her gown.

“I will return,” he said.

She squeezed his hand. “If he has an accomplice who learns of Father Percival’s transfer . . . I cannot decide if it, or the battle for Winchester, will be more dangerous.”

Both. But he did not say as much aloud. “I will return,” he said, thinking of his plan.

I will return as Sir Alden of Shirsten St. Mary, and ask you to marry me. You are mine, Elara. And no other’s.

He said none of that, of course.

“Alden, I . . . do not wish for you to go.”

He looked up. The guard’s back was to them.

Pulling her into him, Alden kissed her. He may not have said the words, but his kiss told her in the only way he could, for now, that he loved her. And would make her his wife, if she’d have him. He poured all that he was into that kiss, and despite the risk, Elara kissed him back.

Too soon, it was over.

He looked up once again, and the guard was still in the same position.

“I do not wish to leave you,” he said. “But there is much to be done. If we are to get to Winchester in time,” he said, calculating the distances they would be required to travel, “’tis true, we must leave at once.”