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“But it’s not impossible,” Roland replied, the certainty dawning in his rapidly beating heart that it was his destiny to save Adelina.
After the women left, the men spent two hours plotting the safest sea route to Cumbria.
“One last thing,” Terric said when they were reasonably satisfied they’d planned as much as they could. “We must somehow get a message to Adelina.”
“Our cousin, William, Earl of Ellesmere has contacts at court,” the comte replied. “He’ll see it done.”
* * *
Adelina fumed. In the fortnight since learning she was to wed, she’d been ousted from the chamber she shared with other ladies-in-waiting and confined to a cupboard-like room to await transportation to the wilds of Cumbria. The king clearly considered his chattel a flight risk.
It seemed Cumbria was where her future husband dwelt but he was apparently too infirm to make the journey south. Adelina recalled that Marguerite hailed from Cumbria; it was said that marauding Scots were a constant threat in the northern regions near the border. All in all, the future looked bleak.
She’d been relieved of her lady-in-waiting duties, which she considered more of a boon than a disgrace. She might have spat in Isabella’s face if given the chance.
Meals were brought by a variety of maidservants, all of whom refused to met her gaze or respond to her questions about how long she was to be treated like a prisoner.
She cried herself to sleep every night, mourning her beloved brother and the cruel fate that had befallen her family. If her dear father were still alive, he would never have allowed such a travesty to be visited upon his children.
There seemed to be no escape and suicide was a mortal sin. The notion the reek of the chamber pot might kill her brought an occasional ironic smile to her lips.
One morning, after a meager breakfast consisting of a roll of stale bread and a piece of over-salted ham, she was nearing the end of her tether when the door was unlocked and two footmen entered her chamber. They hefted a small iron-bound trunk onto the bed and stomped out. A plump, sour-faced maid flounced in, a riot of red curls escaping a linen cap. She removed Adelina’s garments and other possessions from the armoire and stuffed them into the trunk.
“Ye’ll depart on the morrow,” the girl said before forcing the lid shut and leaving as abruptly as she came.
Adelina exhaled a long, slow breath. “And how am I supposed to sleep with the trunk on my bed?” she shouted.
After struggling unsuccessfully to shift the baggage, she opened the lid with the intention of removing some items. Not recognizing a small leather pouch perched on top of her clothing, she opened the drawstring and extracted a sliver of parchment.
Courage.
Your brother may be alive.
You are not alone.
Destroy this message.
Sobbing, she fell to her knees, the parchment clutched in her fist.
