any rate, he reasons the safest place to hide you is right under the king’s nose. Certes, the Channel will be watched and all ships searched that are bound for Brittany. Brittany itself will be scoured from border to border. It was originally planned to take you to Wales—”
“Wales!”
“Powys, Your Highness, but Eduard has reconsidered in light of your … your reluctance to test the king’s mettle. His … our father, Lord Randwulf, held lands north and east of Nottingham. In Lincolnshire. He still has many friends thereabout, loyal to our grandfather, and among them is a certain prioress who owes a large favour to the House of Wardieu.”
“My head,” the princess gasped. “It begins to spin, Robin. Can you not speak in plainer terms?”
“Plainly said,” bespoke a deep, familiar baritone from the doorway, “if you will allow us, Eleanor, we will fulfill your brother’s promise to you.”
“Eduard?” A slender white hand trembled over empty air for a moment until it was caught and held firm by the stronger, bolder grasp of Eduard FitzRandwulf d’Amboise.
“The priory is called Kirklees, and the abbess will welcome you to its cloisters without a qualm, I can promise you. Safely there, the king cannot touch you, even if he manages, by some wild mischance of fate, to determine your whereabouts. And though it galls me to say it, he will have no more need to fear you once he knows you have taken your vows to heart.”
“A priory?” Eleanor whispered, raising the fingers of her other hand to her lips. “Can it be true?”
“It can,” Eduard promised. “And it will, I swear it on my soul, providing you offer no more arguments.”
“But the risks, Eduard! Nottingham is so far away!”
“It is closer than Wales, with fewer obstacles in our path. A week, no more, and you should be safe behind the walls of Kirklees.”
“And you? What will you do then? How will you get back to Amboise?”
“By a somewhat longer route, I imagine,” he answered casually. “I have sworn to bring my father word personally of your safe conduct, and I fully intend to do so, regardless of any kings … or dragons … who might stand in my way.”
Mention of oaths made reminded Ariel of oaths broken, and she could not stop herself from glancing his way. He had donned his armour, his polished mail hauberk and chausses, and overtop wore the plain gray Crusader’s gypon, slit at the sides for riding. His hair was hidden beneath the mail coif and his gauntlets were tucked into his belt, near the hilt of his sword. He looked every inch a man to whom failure was unheard of. An hour ago, she had been naked in bed with him, thinking everything had changed. Seeing him now, armed and defiant, she suspected nothing had changed at all. Eleanor’s safety was still his first priority, as it should be. But by the time he delivered the princess to Kirklees, would Ariel de Clare be long gone on the road to Wales?
“My lady,” Henry said gently, stepping forward to win the princess’s attention. “We have come this far with no ill effects. God must have willed it, just as He has put the safety and solace of Kirklees within your grasp. How can you refuse Him?”
Eleanor’s head was bowed. When she raised it, there were twin streaks of wetness streaming from the puckered scars across her eyes. The effect on Henry was likened to an iron hammer striking him across the chest.
“How odd,” she whispered softly, her finger lifting from her mouth to her cheek. “To still be able to weep.”
“Surely they are tears of happiness,” Henry said. “To know God has found a way to bring you into His house.”
Eleanor gasped at a breath, then surrendered with a small, fleeting smile. “It appears I cannot fight all of you …” She lifted her face. “Perhaps you will tell me what I must do?”
Robin refrained from letting out a whoop of joy, but just barely. Ariel and Marienne moved at once to sort through the variety of garments strewn on the bed.
“You must wear a disguise,” Ariel said. “A squire’s disguise is best, with a cloak and a hood to keep your head well covered.”
“A blind squire,” Eleanor mused. “Indeed, it might draw a curious eye or two.”
“It was more the colour of your hair I was thinking of, Highness,” Ariel amended. “Such a golden crown would not go unnoticed.”
The faintest hint of chagrin pinkened Eleanor’s throat and