Page 66 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

“ T here she is.”

Roland wanted to care that they were finally about to meet the woman who they’d sworn to protect.

Who he’d severed his relationship with a family he loved for, trained for, and would risk his life for, because he believed her claim was right and just. However, he was finding it difficult to care about anything except Amalia.

Amalia sat atop her mount beside him, and nothing but her smile mattered. After last eve, things had shifted between them again. This morn, when she arrived in the hall to break her fast, even Alden and Darien could sense from the way she smiled that something had happened between them.

Indeed, it had.

She might have been with other men, but he’d given her the first taste of real gratification, and Roland could not help but be pleased by the fact.

Tearing his gaze from Amalia, he looked then toward the entrance of the keep.

Empress Matilda, or Matilda of England as she was sometimes called, was both extraordinary and simple all at once.

Her gown was that of a future queen, a gold color Roland had never seen before in cloth.

Her jewels, also gold, were not plentiful, but those she did wear gleamed in the early morning sun as she made her way toward the coach that would take her to London.

The rest of her, however, was nondescript. Her hair, bound and barely discernible, was covered with a similar gold-colored cloth. She wore no coloring on her cheeks or lips, and though Matilda was not young, neither did she appear as mature as he would have expected.

“She appears already a queen,” Amalia said beside him.

“Aye,” he agreed as the crowd quieted. The empress had raised her right hand, seemingly imploring all of those in the courtyard to silence.

“I am honored,” she said, her voice strong and clear, “to serve you as we set forth on this momentous journey. My gratitude for your protection is eternal, our cause right and just.”

Cheers went up at her words, the empress’s reputation seemingly on par with the woman herself. It was said she was as humble as she was tenacious and intelligent.

“She will make a good queen,” Alden said, riding up to him and Amalia.

“Indeed,” he said, agreeing with his friend. “Come,” he said to Amalia. “We’ve been given leave to ride beside her.”

Amalia’s eyes widened. “We have?”

Roland sought out Sir Eamon, who was standing beside one of the empress’s own men. Catching his commander’s eye, Eamon nodded.

“We have,” he said, navigating his mount through the crowd. Just as he and Amalia arrived, Empress Matilda was being guided into her coach. Her eye caught his own and narrowed. She spoke to Eamon and then called to him.

“De Vere,” she said. “Come, and bring the healer.”

He did as he was bid, Amalia riding beside him.

“I am told there are none, not even Thorne”—she nodded to Eamon—“who can best you in a swordfight.”

Roland would not presume to tout his own abilities. “I am certain Sir Eamon could best me if he chose to do so.”

Eamon laughed. The empress raised her brows. “You are more humble than your father.”

That got his attention. She knew his father? Or perhaps she just knew of him?

“And smarter, I would say, as well, for having chosen the right side of history in supporting my cause.” The cheeky woman actually winked at him. “Come,” she said to Amalia then. “You will ride with me.”

With that, the empress spoke to those around her in a hushed tone and was assisted into the coach. Roland had already dismounted and was at Amalia’s side. She allowed him to help her down, and escorting her to the future queen’s coach, he reluctantly gave her up as Eamon assisted her inside.

Amalia said nothing but appeared as rattled as he’d expected by the request. She gave him a final backward glance and then was swallowed by the four-person coach as the door was closed behind her. A young squire, by the look of him, had already come to fetch Amalia’s mount.

“Ride with me,” Eamon said, spurring his mount in front of the empress.

Roland joined him.

“That was most unexpected,” he said as their contingency began to move through the courtyard.

“I spoke with her briefly this morn and told her we’d brought along a healer.”

“You told her about me as well?”

It was difficult to hear over the murmur of more than two hundred men and the creak of coach wheels behind them.

“I did,” Eamon said, raising his voice. “I assured her you were the man she would want closest to her for protection.”

Sir Eamon’s high opinion of Roland’s skill reminded him of his younger brother, Geoffrey.

His commitment to the ideals of knighthood, even if he sided with their father in the current political climate, rivaled his unwavering praise of Roland.

Geoffrey bragged about his older brother to anyone who would listen.

“I hate what this succession has done to our country. To its families.”

“Families, or one family in particular?”

As they left the courtyard, the excited chatter of men quieted, the sound replaced by the steady beating of horse’s hooves on dry dirt.

“I think of my sisters and mother often,” he admitted.

“Of my father and brothers. But one in particular will have been most affected by my leaving. Geoffrey idolizes me, even though I’ve spent a lifetime attempting to dissuade him from it.

He is also a highly skilled swordsman, my closest training partner. ”

“Your father,” Sir Eamon said, “is not unlike many of Stephen’s supporters, who wish only to protect their families.”

“And perhaps, if I were the earl, I would do the same.”

“It is wise beyond your years for you to acknowledge that.”

Like the others, Eamon and Roland grew silent for a time.

With so many men, the coach and more than twenty packhorses, their progress was slower than Roland would like.

Once safely inside London’s city walls—Matilda’s supporters, including Stephen’s brother, were already waiting there for her to arrive—Roland would breathe easier.

But here, on the road, before she was crowned.

..she was too vulnerable for his liking.

Knowing he had to tell Eamon one more thing, Roland took a deep breath. “I am courting Mistress Amalia.”

Unbidden, a vision of that “courting” flitted through Roland’s mind. Resisting a smile at the thought, he peered at Eamon.

The swordmaster did not appear surprised.

“Your father will allow you to marry a lady’s maid?” he asked.

“I do not intend to garner his permission,” Roland said bluntly.

Eamon sighed. “Inspired by Gareth and Evelina, I suppose?”

“Of sorts,” he admitted.

“The stakes for you are high,” Eamon said, riding closer to him as he skirted around a dead animal on the road. Roland looked back to ensure the coach navigated the carcass without issue. When he turned back around, Sir Eamon was watching him.

“Not any higher than for Lady Evelina, who even now, still stands to lose her inheritance.”

“Hers is not an earldom.”

Roland decided to be blunt. “You do not approve?”

“You need not my approval, Roland.”

“Perhaps not. But I respect you, greatly, as do all the men.”

“And ask my opinion on the matter?”

Roland supposed that was precisely what he was doing. “Aye.”

“There will come a time, perhaps very soon, when your services will no longer be needed at Castle Blackwood. The Guardians of the Sacred Oak will disband. Some will return to their families. Some will, perhaps, remain as a part of the new queen’s retinue.

But you should be prepared, if your father chooses not to accept your role here, or your choice of a wife, or both. ”

When the idea was first presented to him, Roland had scoffed.

But now, it seemed a possibility, even if the thought of being cast aside from his family was one Roland cared little for.

“My sword arm is strong,” he said, looking at Eamon.

“If I were forced to serve as a mercenary, for a just cause, I would do it.”

“A mercenary.” Eamon did not reveal any thoughts he might have about the idea.

“Aye.” Again, he waited. But Eamon said no more. Perhaps he would have, but the line of men before them had slowed to stopping. The hill sloped upward, so perhaps that was the cause. Either way, they could see nothing in front of them other than their own knights and Matilda’s men.

Roland and Eamon exchanged a glance.

“Stay close to them,” Eamon said, not having to specify whom he meant. “I will learn what is happening.”

With that, the swordmaster spurred his mount and rode ahead. Before he could return, however, the one sound Roland did not wish to hear reached his ears. Men shouting, the words indiscernible, but the kind of shouts Roland knew well.

They were under attack.