Page 18 of The Knight's Pledge
“Margaret Stanhope, Lady Towsey.”
“Is she your lover?”
“At one time, yes,” he answered honestly. “Howdid you know?”
“The servants are well familiar with you,” Effie said. “And those are obviously your own clothes, by the waythey fit you.”
“Keen observation, Euphemia,” Lucan said. “You’d make a fine investigator should you ever choose to give up yourcriminal ways.”
“Don’t call me that,” Effie snapped, but there was little bite in the bark. “I haven’t managed to survive this long by ignoring details.”
“No, I don’t imagine you have,” Lucan mused.
“And I’ll have you know that I shan’t be passing the night in that scullery hole in the cellar. Whether you want to admit it or not, we are still of equal station, you and I.”
“I see,” Lucan mused. “So you’re petitioning me to place you in a chamber above floors? I believe the one next to this is prepared.” He wondered at the little thrill of anticipation that ran through him at the idea of Effie sleeping next to him in the house. It was absurd—she’d slept closer to him during their fortnight on the road, and he hadn’tcared one whit.
Perhaps he was only interested because she’d threatened to kill him. Again.
Effie shook her head. “That won’t be necessary—I’ll shareGorman’s room.”
“Of course,” Lucan said quickly, feeling the fool. “In any case, I do insist on employing Stephen to locate something else for you to wear for our audience on the morrow. While I don’t personally disapprove of your”—he paused—“garments, I do expect the king to be less likely swayed by the maternal pleadings of a woman entering his court in trousers.”
Lucan thought she might have blushed, but he didn’t know if it was embarrassment for not thinking of her clothing, or the fact that his statement was alluding to the sight of her shapely rear-end.
“And while I didn’t personally disapprove of your own…display,” Effie said, “you might have wished to don your hose before putting on your trousers and boots. I’ve found them to be terribly chafing without.”
Lucan looked down instinctively, realizing just then that his feet were bare in thestiff leather.
He looked up at the sudden sound of the door closing.
Shehadnoticed he was naked.
Chapter 5
Effie left the house on the Strand with Lucan Montague after an early, silent breakfast, although she hadn’t been able to eat a bite. The cobbles in the wharf alley were damp with fog, and indeed the morning mist still blanketed the river valley, washing everything in soft light and filling the lanes with hush.
Lucan Montague had seemed loathe to converse since announcing to the family that morning that a message had arrived from the king, granting them audience. His continued silence suited her—she didn’t think her nerves could withstand trying to carry on a conversation, even if it would inevitably deteriorate into yet another argument which was likely to take her mind off their destination.
Effie was so nervous, so anxious, she felt she might jump out of the borrowed gown she wore. It was bulky and cumbersome, too long at the hem, an unpleasing color, and rather than increase her confidence at being appropriately attired, the wearing of the gown only added to her unease. This was not who she was, London was not her home; the people she would meet and speak with today were not her friends. But she would do whatever was necessary to regain her son. She held the image of George’s little face in her mind as she gripped the reins with white-knuckled fingers and rode through the already busy street at Lucan’s side.
He wore the red velvet tunic again, and used as she was to seeing him in nothing but black, it was as if a stranger accompanied her. Just as well. He had given her little insight beyond the few cautions of manners and expectations for speaking to Henry, as if she were some rough commoner. Although, to be fair, she suspected neither of them had any real idea what they would encounter once they arrived.
She took a deep, slow, silent breath as the full vista of the Westminster complex rose before her. It was more than magnificent, and although Effie thought she would look upon the myriad of royal structures with dread, she marveled at its beauty as they passed through the opening.
The crunch of hoof on gravel echoed within the low stone walls and then rolled up the tall facing of the massive building. The courtyard was immaculate if stark in its winter landscape, more like an illustration with its dull tones of masonry and gravel and bare branches to welcome them. The pools were all but empty, no fountain bubbled, no flowers bloomed, and yet every crisp line, every bare bed emphasized the royaltyof the place.
A pair of footmen or guards—Effie wasn’t certain, as every man she saw appeared to be armed—came to take charge of their mounts once they reached the pointed stone archway framing the doors, and Effie was annoyed at having to wait for assistance to dismount in her awkward attire. She and Lucan were admitted into the dark hush of the hall.
She tried to steel herself against the grandeur of the interior, but it was of no use. The ceiling soared up from tall stone walls, swirling into carved oaken beams that met in the peak what must have been nearly a hundred feet above Effie’s head. The floor, too, was massive, with its wide, square slabs of stone. But even as she gasped at the hall, her hand went to her mouth. For there at the far end of the cavernous chamber, on those great slabs of stone before the steps and the king’s dais, a trio of children played. The door behind Effie shut with a thud and a gust of hooting wind, and one of the little faces raised, staring down the wide center aisle.
“Mama?” The single, quiet word was like a chorus within the stone walls and floor, echoing, spinning joyfully in the air.
“George Thomas,” Effie breathed, and was running at once, nearly tripping on her skirts before she remembered to hold them aloft. “George!”
He got to his feet and met her, Effie going to her knees as her son flewinto her arms.
“Mama, what took you so long?” George demanded. “Is it because you are wearing a gown?”
