In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,57
marshal had come to Lady Ariel’s defense on the charges of chattering and revealing, but they seemed generally and uncomfortably to agree that she had a mind of her own and would not hesitate to plague them with arguments, suggestions, even conditions against her participation in any adventure, regardless of the possible perils.
Not exactly an encouraging testament from either brother or uncle.
As for Eduard’s opinion of women …? With very few exceptions, he considered them to be cold-hearted, lightheaded, and ruthlessly conniving when it came to furthering their own ambitions. Wealth, influence, and power were what put smiles on their faces; greed and a shrewd sense of survival were the prerequisites that put them in the beds of men they might otherwise shun like lepers … or bastards.
Most tended to share Lady Ariel’s opinion of bastards and rarely saw any advantage in marrying one, regardless of whose by-blow he might be. Eduard, in no particularly frenzied haste to bind himself to a wife and breed fine “respectable” sons to succeed him, saw no reason to expend any untoward effort in changing their minds. He was not averse to finding himself in the bed of some noble beauty—he was usually given a flurry of invitations to do so after each display of his talents on a jousting field. It amused him to display his talents elsewhere, and to leave those same beauties decrying the lack in their own husband’s skills. For the most part, however, he preferred to keep his distance from the nobility. It suited him to have women like Gabrielle, who made no demands on his time or affections. Most of all, it suited him to have emotional ties to none but his family … and Eleanor.
Eleanor of Brittany was a beauty among beauties, chaste in body and spirit. A fragile heart who could not find it in her soul to think evil of anyone. Not her mother Constance, who had urged Arthur to form the ill-fated alliance with France; not Philip, who had betrothed her to his son, the Dauphin, only to renege when it seemed likely Arthur’s quest for the throne would fail. She had not even seen the madness in Arthur’s plan to attack Mirebeau, or the insanity of accompanying him, knowing … knowing that failure—and it was inevitable he would fail—would mean imprisonment and possibly death.
Standing in the Wolf’s war pavillion, with the torchlights flickering over the proud features of the last true Plantagenet prince and princess, Lord Randwulf had tried speaking to her like the father she did not have. He had advised her to come away with him and wait to see how the king’s mood would swing. For Arthur, there had been no such option, but for Eleanor, there had been a chance to get away, protected by the might and sword of Amboise. Randwulf had left Eduard to talk to her, to try to convince her of the folly of remaining a brave front by her brother’s side, but she had only smiled and pressed herself into the comforting arms of his friendship, and assured him she was not afraid. It was her duty and her honour to remain with Arthur, to give him what strength she could to see him through the humiliation of renouncing his claim forever.
Eduard’s hands had been tied. He had watched Eleanor and Arthur led away and he had been unable to help either one of them. Now, however, with proof her uncle was breaking his word by taking her back to England to remain his prisoner indefinitely, with or without the marshal’s sanction, Eduard would have gone after her. Without or without the cooperation of the marshal’s niece, he was going to free Eleanor and, Lord Gwynwynwyn of Powys be damned, he was going to bring her back home to Brittany.
The wind gusted and Ariel’s footsteps slowed again. She turned her head slightly and stood as still as a statue, so close to Eduard FitzRandwulf that a long stride would have put her within arm’s reach. The same husky, masculine scent that had swamped her senses throughout the evening meal came to her now; the scent of woodsmoke and leather and crisp wintery sunshine.
Startled to discover she was not alone on the rooftop, and increasingly certain of the identity of the interloper, Ariel fought a sudden urge to turn and flee back to the safety of her cramped bedchamber. She fought it and conquered it, forcing herself to stand calmly in the whirling breezes, her