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ChapterTwenty-Six

Miraculously, the others managed to escape as well.

Rendezvousing at their planned meeting spot, they rode out without delay. Putting as much distance between their riding party and the angry mob that had congregated on the Tower was the only thing that mattered.

It should have been Roland’s most important duty—protecting his charge, the Sacred Oak to which he’d pledged his life to guard. But when it had become apparent what was happening last eve, he’d not been thinking of the rightful queen.

He’d been thinking of Amalia.

If there was any uncertainty whether he loved her, none remained. The sheer terror he’d felt at her being in danger made Roland curse himself for allowing her to come, as if it was his decision to make. Which, of course, it had not been. He hadn’t attempted to dissuade her, and in those moments of uncertainty, he’d berated himself for not trying.

He could not see her in the coach, but Roland hoped she was able to get some rest. It would be a long journey to Oxford. Without the coach and packhorses, they could have made the ride in three days.

As discussed, they would stop only for brief periods. To relieve themselves and feed the horses. Having trained as hard as the men, their mounts would be pushed to exhaustion, but there was nowhere they would feel safe until Oxford. With its defensive capabilities, and a gathering place for allies, it had been prepared for this reason. In the event Matilda’s coronation did not go as planned.

“Why did de Ypres attack with so few men?” Roland asked Darien as they slowed. The sun had risen long ago, and though Roland did not wish to stop, he was aware it was necessary for the horses.

“You can ask a hundred times more, but still I have no answer.”

It had been bothering him since the attack. Strategically, it made little sense.

“There was a bigger plan. Did it go awry?”

“Again,” Darien said, “I’ve no answers. Our task now is to get to Oxford as quickly as possible.”

The column gradually halted along the fringes of a vast meadow. The men dismounted, each guiding his steed to a secluded spot where the lush grass promised a brief reprieve. As the men shared knowing glances and exchanged terse words, their eyes scanned the horizon for any signs of pursuit. The urgency of the escape was tempered by the realization that the well-being of their horses was paramount.

Roland gave over his mount to a squire and headed to the nearby coach. While Matilda exited from the other side, Roland took Amalia’s hand and helped her to the ground.

“We’ve little time,” he said, as the men unpacked stale bread. They’d not had time to prepare provisions, and neither would they remain long enough to catch fresh meat. “It will be a difficult few days,” he warned her, walking Amalia to a spot thick with tall grass. “We will be riding hard, with little food.”

“I feel poorly that the coach slows us down.”

“It does,” he agreed, “but also offers more comfort and protection. Try to rest when you can.”

They were surrounded now, the closest men too far away to see them.

“Do you need assistance?” he asked.

Amalia laughed. “I should think that would be an ungraceful thing, for you to aid me as I relieve myself.”

Roland stepped away and turned his back. “Ungraceful? Even for a future husband?” he asked, relieving himself as well.

She did not answer. Keeping his back turned, Roland waited until he heard the grass shift as Amalia walked toward him.

Reaching for her, Roland did what he’d wanted to from the moment they met on the stairwell inside the Tower. Pulling her toward him, Roland held Amalia close to his chest. Her arms wrapped around him, and they remained that way for too long. The men would already be preparing to leave.

But he did not care.

Pulling back slightly, he looked down into her eyes and kissed her. It was a claiming kiss, one he could not allow to consume him, as they needed to leave. But one that told her how worried he’d been for her safety and how much he loved her.

When they broke apart, she took a deep breath. “A future husband.” She repeated those words. “If such a thing is possible. The events of this day have broad repercussions.”

Roland knew it well.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “But know this. You will be my wife, Amalia.”

She blinked. Roland needed her to believe him. “I will give it all up, if necessary, but we will be married.”