Page 71 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

R oland never came to her.

Amalia waited, paced the length of her chamber, and finally doused the candles. She climbed into the bed, remembering his words.

I will come to you, for your protection.

Her stomach filled with a fine meal and ever finer French wine, the thought of being alone with Roland for any substantial time since they’d made love...not long ago, Amalia had been as happy as she had ever been.

So why didn’t he come?

At first all manner of thoughts ran through her mind, ones of the man she’d first met.

The man Lady Elara, and even the empress, warned her against. But Amalia believed in herself, in her own judgment, and refused to believe Roland’s words to her, his declaration of love, had been empty.

Surely there was a reason. If he thought she needed protection, he would have found a way to come to her.

Amalia had asked what he thought she needed protection from, but Roland had simply said he was being “more cautious than was necessary.” Closing her eyes, Amalia willed herself to sleep despite the sense of unease, and disappointment, that had settled into her chest.

A loud pounding at the door woke her.

“Amalia!”

It was not Roland.

Running to the door, remembering Roland’s warning, she was about to ask who was there when he called again.

“Amalia. ’Tis Alden. Open the door.”

Alden. Aye, it was his voice. She did as he bid.

“Quickly,” he said, not looking at her but holding a candle up for light. “Dress and give me your belongings. As quickly as you are able.”

The tone of his voice was not one she’d ever heard from the normally calm blacksmith’s son.

“What is happening?”

Alden lit the candle by Amalia’s bedside and turned his back.

“Quickly, please. I will explain on the way.”

Realizing he turned his back so that she might dress, Amalia did so as quickly as she was able, putting the remainder of her belongings in the saddlebag and telling Alden she was ready. Taking the bag from her, he said, “Quickly,” and rushed from the chamber.

Her corridor was empty. It was only when they began to descend the stone stairs closest to her chamber that Amalia realized the guards were missing.

“Roland,” she said suddenly. He had not come to her because he was injured. “Alden? Where is Roland?”

“With the queen.”

“Nay,” a voice at the bottom of the stairwell called. “I am here. Thank you,” he said to Alden. A moment later, a firm hand grasped hers. “Come quickly, Amalia.”

“Roland? What is happening?” she asked as they emerged in another darkened corridor.

“We are leaving,” he said, tugging her along. “A throng of Londoners are outside the castle walls.”

“What does that mean, precisely?”

Just as she asked the question, they rounded the corner and three other men, Knight Guardians, were there, waiting.

“Hurry,” one of them said. “Waleran de Beaumont’s men are among the crowd.”

At that moment, Amalia passed a wall torch that illuminated Roland’s face. She had seen him appear that way just once before: the day of the attack. Jaw set, he looked as if he were prepared to kill.

“This way.” Another man, this one unarmed, waved them through. Seneschal, perhaps?

They followed him down another corridor and through a small door that led to another set of stairs, their group now consisting of her, Roland, Alden, and the other knights, along with their leader.

“Roland?”

His hand held hers in a death grip.

“I will explain all when we are safe. The empress is ahead of us, already secured. After we parted at supper, I went to Eamon to learn what news the empress had received at supper. It seems there are some unhappy with the turn of events,” he explained in a hushed tone as they emerged from the stairwell into what appeared to be a tunnel.

“I was sent with Darien and some of the others by Eamon to assess the threat.”

“And?” Amalia asked as they continued down the dank tunnel, thick with tension. Her heart raced but Roland’s firm grip steadied her.

“It is much worse than I feared. They surround the outer walls of the Tower and continue to stream in from throughout the city from every side. There also appear to be tents across the Thames that scouts are still assessing.”

“Tents?” Amalia asked, unsure what that meant.

“Some nobleman’s retinue, perhaps. They cannot be very large, as we’ve had scouts searching for such since we arrived. But until they meet us, we cannot be certain and will assume the worst.”

Amalia did not know what he meant by “the worst,” and neither did she wish to find out. That they were forced to leave a day after arriving, in the dead of night, seemed like the worst possible outcome already.

On and on they went, walking so quickly they practically ran.

Reaching what appeared to be a stone door, already ajar, their party climbed a set of stone stairs lit only by the lanterns they carried.

The chill of the late evening air only heightened Amalia’s dread.

As they moved, however, Amalia realized they were well beyond the Tower’s formidable outer walls.

With the Tower of London looming behind them, the air carrying whispers, or scents at least, of the Thames River, her clandestine companions continued to make their escape. Their leader opened a creaky wrought-iron gate, barely visible in the darkness.

“I leave you here,” he said.

Amalia looked over her shoulder to their savior as they made their way down a narrow path that wound through a lush thicket.

“Who is he?” she whispered.

“His name is Ealdred, a devoted servant of Matilda’s family for generations.”

“He is not coming with us?”

“He serves the Tower, first and foremost.”

“Despite his connections to Matilda’s family? Will he not be in danger for having aided our escape?”

Escape. For that was, indeed, what had happened. She and the others had just made their escape from the Tower of London. How was such a thing even possible? Were they still in danger?

Amalia did not wish to have the answer to that particular question.

Eventually, the murky waters of the Thames flowed silently in front of them, reflected only by the moon above. Waiting boats, their outlines barely discernible in the shadows, bobbed gently against the stone steps to the water.

Just then, she spotted other boats already making their way down the river.

“Is that . . . ?” she asked, and Roland answered.

“The empress? Aye.”

By the time they made their way into the boats, Roland only letting go of her hand to row, Amalia was unsure what to think. She had so many questions.

Their boat consisted of her, Roland, Alden and three others. Others like it appeared to hold the same number of people—certainly not all of those who had come to London with Matilda.

“Where are the others?” she asked when it seemed Roland was more relaxed.

“They will be meeting us, God grant them safe passage, with our mounts, north of the city,” Alden responded.

“When reports first reached the empress,” Roland said, “none thought there was more of a threat than a few angry folks. It quickly became apparent that was not the case. I was sent, along with a contingency of her own men, to assess the threat.”

He left unspoken, that is why I did not come to you .

“By the time Roland returned, this escape plan, which had been devised the moment we arrived, was set into action. He was sent initially with Eamon and Empress Matilda’s captain to secure the queen, which is why I came for you,” Alden said.

Amalia looked at Roland.

“You left the queen to return for me?”

“I did.”

One of the other men looked back from his position in the front of the boat with an expression that could only be read as, that was not very wise .

“How will they escape the crowd?” Amalia asked.

“Very carefully,” he said.

“Are they not in danger?”

“We are all in danger,” said one of the men, earning a sharp look from Roland.

It was that danger that Amalia had so focused on that it wasn’t until much later, when they began to make their way back toward land, that she realized the repercussions of what happened this eve.

They had escaped the Tower of London from an angry crowd who did not wish to see Empress Matilda on the throne. The coronation at Winchester would not happen. She would not become queen. And Roland would not return home the only de Vere supporter of the new English monarch.

She turned to him, wondering if he’d considered the same already.

Roland’s eyes met hers.

He had, for there was a sadness in them Amalia had never, not once, witnessed ever before.