But it was impossible.
Even if he hadn’t already been married, he wouldn’t have considered himself a decent prospect for her. But in his defense, it wasn’t as if he’d been careless with women – his three marriages had stemmed from actions that had been reasonable at the time. He’d married Alicia because it had been a good political match, and Iseuld because she’d been pretty and bright, and then Adela because his father had talked him into it soon after the death of Iseuld. He’d been emotionally vulnerable at the time and he’d gone along with it but, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have. Adela had been the worst mistake he could have possibly made.
A mistake he couldn’t fix.
Therefore, whatever longing he was developing for Lysabel was misplaced and wrong. He had no right at all to find her attractive, or hope she was seeing him as no longer the big, intimidating boy but now the powerful, handsome man. Nay, he had no right at all.
But he was hoping for all these things, nonetheless.
And he couldn’t seem to think straight about it.
“Why are you still awake?”
The voice came from behind and, startled, Trenton turned to see Lysabel walking up in the darkness, wrapped up in a heavy robe. Her hair was mussed, and she looked sleepy, but there was a smile on her face. He eyed her.
“Why are you still awake?” he countered. “You went to bed long ago.”
Her grin broadened as she sat down on a stool next to him. “I did,” she agreed. “But Cissy and Cinny are so excited about the ponies that it took me a goodly long time to get them off to sleep. Now, Cinny is snoring and Cissy is kicking, so I cannot fall asleep. Besides, the travel has upset my stomach. I came down here to see if I could procure some warm milk. Maybe that will help me.”
Trenton was on his feet. “I will have it brought to you,” he said. “Sit right there. I will return.”
Before Lysabel could stop him, he wandered into the darkened rear of the tavern and in a few moments, she could hear voices. Someone was moving about. Soon enough, Trenton reappeared and reclaimed his seat.
“The tavern keeper will bring you some,” he said quietly. “But between the snoring and kicking, I am not sure it will do you any good.”
Lysabel laughed softly. “I can only try,” she said. Then, she took a second look at him. “You did not answer me. Why are you still awake? Is snoring and kicking keeping you awake also?”
He grinned. “Nay,” he said. “I do not sleep well as it is. I never have. When I am tired enough, I shall sleep, but it will probably be for no more than an hour or two at most. Besides, we must be up at dawn if we are to make it to Wellesbourne Castle by evening tomorrow.”
Lysabel nodded, her gaze moving to the flames. “I cannot believe we are almost there,” she sighed. “I cannot remember the last time I was at Wellesbourne Castle. Benoit always made my father come to us; we could never leave and visit him. I am very eager to see my papa.”
Trenton was watching her profile as the reflection from the flames flickered on her face. “As am I,” he said. “It has been several years. It has been several years since I have seen your father or my father, in fact. It seems like forever.”
She glanced at him. “When was the last time you saw your father?”
He inhaled slowly, deeply, pondering her question. “At least six years,” he said. Since my father coerced me into marrying Adela. But why couldn’t he tell her that? Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to tell the woman he was married. He didn’t feel married. He never had, at least not to Adela. “My father and I have a rather… troubled relationship.”
Lysabel yawned, pulling the robe closer about her body against the chill of the room. “Your father always seemed like such a kind, wise man,” she said. “I know my father considers him a brother. May I ask what is so troubling with him?”
His relationship with his father wasn’t something he spoke of, but with Lysabel, there wasn’t any such restraint. It was easy to tell her things he kept down deep. She was easy to talk to.
“Many things, I suppose,” he said. “My profession, for one. My father did not want me to serve Henry in the capacity that I do. He does not feel that it is particularly noble.”
Lysabel looked at him. “I told you that I did not care what you did for Henry, and I do not,” she said. “But, clearly, it is something… important. I saw that when you burst into my chamber the night you took Benoit. You and your men were swift and skilled. You are warriors.”
“We are assassins,” Trenton rumbled. He cast her a sidelong glance, seeing the surprise on her face. “You may as well know what I do, Lysabel. It is neither noble nor glorious. I am called the Crown’s Own Agent and I do what Henry tells me to do. If he wants men brought to him, then it is my job to find them and bring them to Henry by whatever means necessary. If he wants his enemies killed, then it is my job to kill them. Have no illusions that whatever I do is great and honorable. It is not. And my father does not approve.”
Lysabel tried not to show any hint of judgment as she spoke. “But… why?” she asked. “He is The Dark One, the man who betrayed King Richard at the Battle of Bosworth. I do not know much more than that, as I have never asked, but everyone knows what Gaston de Russe did. And your father feels it is his right to judge what you do?”
Trenton shrugged. “He wanted my reputation to be better than his.”
“And it is not?”
“Not even close.”
Lysabel could see that in that softly-uttered statement, there was some shame in Trenton’s tone. It was the first time she’d seen the consummately confident knight show any hint of a reflection on his duties, perhaps even his life as a whole. Trenton was a man who seemed to keep things well-hidden and as she realized that, she wondered what other secrets he might be hiding.
It was just a feeling she had.
“Then why do you do what you do?” she asked quietly. “You are a fine knight, Trenton, and you are an earl. You can simply retire to your estate and command your army and lead a fine and noble life. Why do you serve the king in this capacity if your father finds it dishonorable?”
He looked at her then. “Because I do not find it dishonorable,” he said. “I am very good at what I do. I am shaping a kingdom, Lysabel. What I do matters to the king and I am proud to serve him.”
“Even as an assassin?”
“Any man in the king’s army has sworn to kill and die for him. Why should my role be defined any differently than any other knight sworn to obey Henry’s command?”
He had a point but, even so, he seemed rather torn. He seemed proud of his role in Henry’s arsenal, but his father’s disapproval was disappointing. It was a great insight into the man she’d known her entire life, but she hadn’t known him well.
Until now.
She liked what she saw.
“If I have anything to say about it, I believe you to be as fine and noble as any knight I have ever seen,” she said softly but firmly. “You saved me, Trenton. You saved my life and I have said it before, but I shall say it again – I will always be deeply grateful to you. I will sing your praises until I die, so in the eyes of at least one person, you are a great and noble man.”
He was feeling the slightest bit embarrassed by her praise because it wasn’t something he came across very much in his line of work. But he also felt warmed by it. Hers was an opinion that mattered to him.
“Then I hope I shall always be that in your eyes,” he said, “and you will stop dreaming about my brother, Dane.”
Lysabel burst into soft laughter as the rather serious mood between them was broken. “I told you that I do not dream about him any longer,” she insisted. But she soon sobered. “Does he know what you do? For the king, I mean.”
Trenton nodded. “He knows,” he said. “Dane serves my father, as the captain of his army, but before he assumed that post, he and I served in Henry’s army together for a time. I miss serving with my brother. I miss him a great deal.”
&nb
sp; “He did not choose to serve the king as you do?”
“He was not offered the post – I was,” he said. “Besides, Dane is more at home when he has a thousand men to train and command. He has astonishing command presence.”
“And you do not?”
He gave her a half-grin. “I can command thousands with ease also, but I grow quickly bored,” he said. “I must have new and unusual things to keep me occupied. But I will tell you something truthfully – as much as I can command thousands with ease, I fold like a weakling to a child begging for a pony.”
Lysabel started laughing. “And that is another thing,” she said. “I have not yet had the opportunity to scold you for purchasing those ponies for my children. What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?”
He shrugged and looked away, but he was grinning. “I told you,” he said. “Brencis begged for the pony, and then her eyes got watery, and I collapsed like a fool. How can I resist such a thing?”
Lysabel shook her head reproachfully. “Really, Trenton,” she scolded softly. “When did you become so weak?”
“The day I met your daughter.”
“You should know better. Have you no children of your own?”
He sobered. “Nay,” he said. “My wife, Alicia, died in childbirth ten years ago. I have no children.”
Lysabel sucked in her breath, a gesture of horror. “Oh, Trenton,” she breathed. “I am so terribly sorry. I did not mean to show such disrespect by asking such a thing. I did not know.”
His eyes glimmered weakly at her. “I know you did not,” he said. “You did not offend me. It is simply a statement of fact.”
Lysabel nodded, but she was still feeling terrible about it. The poor man had lost his wife and child, and she had been clumsy about it. As she tried to figure out how to make amends to the man for her tactlessness, the sleepy tavern keeper suddenly appeared and handed her warm milk in a chipped wooden cup.
Lysabel stood up to accept it, thinking she should return to her chamber now that she’d made an ass of herself and leave Trenton to his quiet evening. As the tavern keeper wandered back into the kitchens, she turned to Trenton.
“I am truly sorry about your wife and child,” she said quietly. “For everything you must have gone through… there are no words to describe my sorrow for you. Forgive me for being so insensitive, my old friend.”
With that, she bent over and kissed him on the forehead, leaving the common room with her warm milk in hand and disappearing up the darkened stairs.
Trenton sat there and watched her until he could see her no more, feeling her kiss on his forehead like a brand. He’d been kissed by women before, many times, but not like that. Never like that. There was so much emotion and tenderness in the kiss that his heart was still thumping because of it. That beaten, scared woman was much like her youngest daughter in that she hadn’t lost the ability to feel, and feel for others especially. She fairly oozed gentleness and compassion, with eyes that bespoke of deeper emotions he couldn’t hope to comprehend. He’d never experienced anything like it.
He wished she hadn’t left him.
Turning his attention back to the dying flames, Trenton realized that any hope of detaching himself from Lysabel had been summarily dashed. That warm, wonderful, and beautiful woman had his attention as no woman had ever had it, and he knew now that purging her from his mind was going to be an impossibility.
And he hated himself for it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wellesbourne Castle
Warwickshire
Wellesbourne Castle looked like a castle of legend.
Sitting on a plain and surrounded by not only a moat, but great earthworks rising up all around it in an outer ring, the white-stoned structure looked as if it were simply rising out of the ground, dominating everything within its realm. It was quite large and could be seen for miles. As soon as Trenton spied the bastion in the distance as the sun rapidly set to the west, he sent a messenger riding for Wellesbourne so they knew of their approach. In truth, he was surprised they’d made such good time considering what had gone on that day with Brencis and Cynethryn and their ponies.
It had been quite the circus.
It all started before dawn when both girls were awake and dressed, ready and waiting for him when he was prepared to head to the livery. Lysabel was awake, too, appearing tired, clearly not having gotten much sleep with the continued snoring and kicking throughout the night. But Trenton took all three of them over to the livery where the horses were already being prepared, including the two ponies.
In truth, Trenton had expected the girls to want to ride their new ponies and he was prepared. Markus had been informed of the addition to their party and he was assigned to watch over Cynethryn while Trenton took Brencis. It wasn’t ideal for the only two knights in the party to be distracted with girls on ponies, but there was no way to keep them off the animals and he didn’t want to trust their safety to anyone else, so he shared the duty with Markus.
They set out on the road north on a warm summer dawn, and both ponies kept up with the escort rather well until about an hour later, when they both started showing distinct signs of fatigue. Given that the ponies hadn’t been ridden much, their tolerance hadn’t been built up, and two hours into the ride, Trenton and Lysabel had to convince the girls to stop riding the ponies. Trenton wasn’t honestly sure that Honey, Cynethryn’s pony, wasn’t going to drop dead of exhaustion. In fact, Trenton ordered both of the ponies heaved up into the wagon, where they both quickly laid down as Brencis and Cynethryn tended to their new pets.
But the addition of almost nine hundred pounds of animal greatly fatigued not only the wagon itself, but the wheels and the horses pulling it. That slowed their travel down considerably until midday, when Trenton had both ponies removed and simply tied them up to the rear of the wagon so they could walk. Rested, the ponies did well after that, and laying on their bellies and facing the rear of the wagon, Brencis and Cynethryn watched their prized possessions the entire trip to Wellesbourne.
And that had been the fuss and trouble that constituted their second and final day of travel.
The sun was nearly set when the party approached the outer ring of earthworks surrounding Wellesbourne Castle and men with torches were riding out to meet them. Trenton had been away from Wellesbourne for several years, but not long enough that he didn’t recognize Matthew Wellesbourne when he saw the man. Astride a muscular dappled warhorse, Matthew looked ageless and strong. But he didn’t see Trenton as he headed straight for the wagon carrying his daughter and granddaughters.
There was a good deal of squealing and hugging going on back in the wagon. Trenton could hear Lysabel’s voice and he could also hear Matthew’s surprised tone. There was much joy in their reunion. As they approached the moat with the gatehouse beyond, Trenton heard his name from Lysabel and, suddenly, Matthew was riding in his direction.
“Trenton!” he gasped, reaching out to nudge his arm. “God’s Bones, is it really you?”
Trenton had his visor up, smiling wearily at his father’s best friend, a man he’d known his entire life. Matthew Wellesbourne, Earl of Hereford and Baron Ettington, was something of a legend. He was a ruggedly handsome man with curly blond hair, now almost completely white, that he kept shorn close to his scalp. He had enormous blue eyes, a square jaw, and an expression that suggested there was an inherent gentleness inside of him. Given the fierceness of his reputation, that gentle expression was a ruse.
The man was positively deadly, as decades of warfare had proved.
“It is me, my lord,” Trenton said, a smile playing on his lips. “It has been a very long time. I hope you have been well.”
Matthew nodded. “Well enough,” he said. “And you?”
“Very well, my lord.”
Matthew smiled at him. He had an easy smile and an easy manner about him, something that made him very endearing to his men and allies alike, hence the “White Lord” moniker. He was the benevolent lo
rd in all things, but once crossed, he became a viper. Trenton had always admired that about the man, how he could be so kind and generous one moment and then, as swiftly as a flame doused, could slit a man’s throat with great ease. But it wasn’t that he was unpredictable; in fact, he was quite predictable.
He was simply a man of many talents.
And he loved Trenton to a fault. Riding alongside, Matthew reached out and placed the forearm of his left arm on Trenton’s shoulder. It could only be his forearm because years ago at the Battle of Bosworth, where England’s history had been decided, Matthew had lost his left hand saving Gaston’s life.
It was a selfless act that had bonded the men deeper than brothers.
Therefore, whenever Trenton saw Matthew’s missing hand, he was reminded of the sacrifice. Matthew’s hand for Gaston’s life. It was a brotherhood that Trenton could well understand because he felt the same way about Dane, who was really only his brother through marriage, but it didn’t matter. They were blood brothers as far as he was concerned, and he would gladly sacrifice a hand or any other part of his body simply so that Dane could live.
“You are looking more and more like your father,” Matthew said, breaking Trenton from his train of thought. “How is life in London with Henry?”
That same question out of his own father’s mouth would have not sounded so pleasant or so neutral, so Trenton appreciated that. He wasn’t sure what Matthew thought of what he did for Henry but, true to form, Matthew wouldn’t let his personal opinions cloud his tone or his judgment. He tended to be fair in all things.
Even so, it was a question with many answers, not the least of which was why Trenton was at Wellesbourne, leading Lysabel’s escort. Given that they were going to be discussing that subject very soon, Trenton sought to get it out of the way so that Matthew could at least have some time to prepare before Lysabel brought it up. What the man was about to hear would be devastating, no matter how tactfully it was delivered.