Chandos and the neanderthal that had stubbornly remained mute at her left side during breakfast, James Graham, both had drawn dangerous, glinting and polished double-edged broad swords. The blades crossed, barring Bella's access to the king. The light reflected from that sweep of steel nearly blinded her.

She looked up at King Edward, trying to find her voice, and inhaled once, twice, then let all the words out she could find.

"Your Majesty, I have come surrendering all the defense I have to swear fealty to you. The men who stand behind me have their swords unsheathed to yield them to you. Those of my household who could not in all faith give you that pledge, I beg for mercy and kindness from you. Give them time to put their affairs in order with my husband, John de Chandos, and grant them leave to return to France. We are at your mercy, Edward, King of England." Bella closed her eyes. She was hallucinating. Had to be. She opened them again and the man with Ari's face had not moved. He favored the same style of drooping mustache John Chandos did. But that arrogant Roman nose and the shape of his long, handsome face...it was eerie. Her skin p.r.i.c.kled down her spine.

King Edward waved aside the swords that had been drawn in his protection. His eyes were colder than any human's should ever be, hard, ruthless and unforgiving.

He held his hands out for hers. Bella's palms were cold and trembling. She placed her hands in his and felt heat so familiar, but not comforting.

"Swear," he commanded.

Bella's mouth sagged open. She hadn't the foggiest idea what to say. The only oath she could think of was the American Pledge of Allegiance. She swallowed hard.

"I, Isabel Saint Pierre...Chandos, pledge allegiance to...you, Edward, King of England. All I value and hold dear, I surrender to your justice, imploring that you keep abiding faith with me from this moment forward. I do so swear before G.o.d Almighty."

She felt his hot-cold hands compress hers together.

She could offer no more. Was it enough?

"I, Edward, King of England and France, accept from you, Isabella Chandos, your pledge of fealty and service to my realm. So long as you honor your pledge between us, I will protect your house, your lands and properties. As I prosper so shall you. Do you foreswear your oath, I will break you, crush everything you hold dear and obliterate the house of Saint Pierre from the face of this earth. I do so swear before G.o.d Almighty. Rise."

She couldn't. It wasn't in her. Sir Neville caught her arm, steadying her. Bella heard the sc.r.a.pe of steel on steel. John Chandos had put away his sword and wordlessly offered her his arm.

Grim-faced, Bella took his a.s.sistance, knowing without it, she'd have crashed face first to the floor.

CRY WOE, DESTRUCTION, RUIN AND DECAY-THE WORST IS DEATH, AND DEATH WILL HAVE HIS DAY. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

-12.

Bella figured it would be a good while before Chandos Enceinte hosted another spectacle such as the one in which she had just partic.i.p.ated. She was shaken to her toes by it.

Sir John deposited her on stool at the edge of dais and returned to the king. A page offered Bella a choice of drinks. This time she accepted the foamy ale even though she knew it had the alcoholic equivalent of a kick of by a mule.

Ten relatively quiet minutes pa.s.sed while each of Bella's household knights knelt before the King of England and pledged his sword and life to that man's crown. Before the last had gained his feet, from the back of the hall came a great fanfare of trumpets.

"Your Majesties, dukes, earls, and barons, now comes Sir Walter Manny from the siege at La Roche in Brittany with news of the n.o.ble defense of Lord de Montfort's holding in Normandy," a herald cried.

A knight in full battle regalia strode into the hall, followed by two squires carrying his banners. The tall staffs allowed the silk standards to stream behind their handsome heads as they advanced.

The hall was already ablaze with the colors of each n.o.ble guest gathered under Sir John's roof. None were more resplendent or beautiful than Edward's standard of the gold lion rampant quartered by the fleur de lis.

Sir Walter Manny brought another hue to the glittering show, a battle-battered green field and a crimson flame- breathing griffin.

The pleased roar from the crowd that greeted this man completely upstaged the drama of Bella's oath of allegiance. A grinning King Edward descended from the dais as Sir Walter handed over his shield to a squire, removed his helm, tucked it underneath his arm and fell to his knees.

"Your Majesty, your humble servant." Sir Walter drew his sword and presented it handle up in supplication to the king.

"Rise, Walter. What news bring you?" Edward's arms opened to receive the knight, waving aside the sword and bestowed upon Walter Manny kisses of peace and welcome.

Bella thought to herself, so that's how its done, and she strained on tiptoe to watch as the king aided the fully armored knight back onto his feet.

Sir Walter introduced the two squires that had carried his standards to the king. Bella caught the names of the young men, Robert Knollys and one Hugh Caveley. She was greatly impressed by their manners and the humility these battle-toughened men displayed before King Edward, dropping to their knees before him, and kissing the signet ring on the king's hand. And she had squirmed for over an hour about what she'd had to do. Chagrinned, Bella listened closely to their conversation.

Sir Walter it became evidently clear, was involved in serious confrontations in Brittany and sought aid to swing the tide of battle his way.

"My lord king, the news across the channel is grim. La Roche is laid down for siege. Also, your brave Lady de Montfort grows exceeding pressed to keep Lord John's holdings in Normandy safe from the army of Charles of Blois. We need more men, more soldiers to hold the provinces for you."

"Lady, a word with you." Someone touched Bella's arm drawing her rapt attention from the spectacle before the king. Annoyed, Bella swung around to find the chef, Jean-Pierre tugging on her sleeve.

"What is it?" she asked baldly.

"Forgive me, my lady. I pray you have not forgotten your promise to those of us in the kitchen." Jean-Pierre's wreath of silvery curls clung damply to his worried brow. "We have just heard in the kitchen you swore allegiance to the English king. What will become of us, Madame?"

"That was fast," Bella exclaimed, exasperated by the speed gossip had travelled from the hall to the kitchen. "What's your mode of getting news flashes? Kettle drums?"

The chef hadn't a clue about what she was talking about. He dashed the sweat off his face and said, "Quelle dit?"

"Jean-Pierre, I have not forgotten my pledge to you," Bella answered honestly, though she felt harried by his intrusion. She glanced back at the king and Sir Walter wanting to know exactly what they were discussing. "Your position in England is not a concern of the king. I will have to speak to Sir John about releasing you to return to France."

"Ah, I see." Jean-Pierre's head bobbed. "You will do that...c'est soir, oui?"

"Tonight?" Bella looked to find Chandos. He was in the heart of the king's circle. She took a deep breath. "I don't know that I will have the chance, tonight. But, I will give it my best shot."

"I do not understand, contessa." Jean-Pierre's cheeks flushed darkly. "You must do this now...maintenant, vite, vite!"

"I don't think now is a good time to ask anything of Sir John. Maybe in the morning. I'll let you know as soon as I do have an answer for you."

As she turned away, the man put his hand on Bella's arm again.

"Contessa."

This time Bella almost shouted, what? She was most anxious to know what was going on in Normandy. "Yes?"

"Contessa, please, I needs must speak with you in private."

"About what, for heaven's sake?" Bella said in outright frustration. The voices in the king's group were becoming heated and pa.s.sionate and she was missing all of it. She mentally groaned. If it was treason to speak the name of Simon de Montfort, who in all of creation was the Lord de Monfort Sir Walter had spoken of?

"Votre fils, madame."

"The boys?" Bella exhaled exasperated. "What about them?"

Bella tried very hard to focus completely on the cook, but with a room seething with rising levels of testosterone as a whole collection of Alpha males made the grunting sounds of men committing their energies to war, the pastry chef somehow lost his importance. Bella wasn't giving him her full attention. How could she? There was too much happening and his timing was deplorable.

"Look, ah, Jean-Pierre, I will come to the kitchen immediately after breakfast tomorrow."

"Contessa, tomorrow your father, Comte Eustace, attends market at Winchelsea. I have worked for you too long not to know you will spend the whole day with your papa. It is the perfect opportunity for Monique and I to return to France. You must speak to Lord Chandos tonight. If you do not, I do not know what my wife will feel compelled to do."

"Are you saying you're quitting?" Bella blinked, but her mind had honed in on the facts he'd just given her. Lady Chandos' father would be in England on the morrow. Wouldn't it behove Bella to meet that man? What if her intuition was wrong and Lady Isabel had escaped England to the safety of her father's home in France? G.o.d, she was so ignorant of the facts! Bella pulled Jean-Pierre out of the crowd on the dais. She phrased her next words with care. "Jean, can you show me the way to Winchelsea on the morrow?"

"Show you the way, milady?" He looked astonished by her request. "Of course. I would be honored to do that, milady."

"And I would want to stop at St. Martin's Priory." Bella thought fast. "We could do all of that easily...under the guise of buying stuff for the larders. I like it."

"Ah, I see." Jean-Pierre smiled. He caught hold of her hand and bent over, kissing it repeatedly. "Le Comte du Saint Pierre is the most generous of fathers, milady. He will indulge your slightest whim. I would be most delighted to escort you to the market in Winchelsea on the morrow."

"Excellent." Bella extracted her hand from underneath his smacking lips. Enough already.

"I will have everything in readiness for le jeune fils anniversaire."

"Great," Bella said, enamored by the idea that she could find out the truth about Lady Isobel. The intrigue of King Edward's court paled in comparison to Bella's real situation. Isabel de Chandos didn't have to be dead, just because Bella had experienced this confusing bolt through time. There were other possibilities. Distracted, Bella heard Jean-Pierre's last words belatedly. But the words did not come clear in the noise of the hall.

"What did you say about the boys? I missed that."

"It was nothing, milady. I won't trouble you any more. G.o.d bless you. Monique and I shall be ready first thing in the morning."

As the chef retreated behind the service screen at the back of the hall, Bella calculated the odds that Chandos would allow her the freedom to come and go from his castle at will. She didn't think they were favorable, which meant she might have to do so without informing him of her plans. A distasteful shudder whipped across her spine. The matter deserved serious thought before she attempted anything foolish.

Shortly, the formalities of meeting a queen and several princesses took precedence over Bella's impromptu plans for the morrow.

It was quite some time before Bella thought of Jean-Pierre again. What was it he'd muttered about the boys? G.o.d, she wished her French wasn't so rusty. Why did she have the nagging, uneasy feeling one of them was in some sort of danger?

While the queen and her court chattered around her, Bella began looking around the hall, trying to locate each of Sir John's sons. Her heart began to knock inside her chest. Geoffrey, Henri and Robin had disappeared... vanished without a trace.

NO REST FOR THE WEARY -13.

The moment she could break away from the queen, Bella sought Sir John, making as straight a path through the crowd to him as she could.

Shaken by the increasing alarm welling inside her, Bella went for the only security available to her in this crazy, mixed up world.

The blasted English had lapsed into hard to follow Norman-French used among the ranking n.o.bles. Bella had great difficulty with that idiomatic mixture that was far removed from her grandparents antiquated dialect. She gave up trying to keep up with the king's conversation. She didn't think Sir John even noticed she was at his side, so intent was he on what the king and Walter Manny were discussing.

Bella moved closer to Sir John. She tucked her fingers under a link of his scabbard belt. She needed a human connection as rea.s.surance that she was safe, because now that one hostile thought had entered her brain, she was seeing villains and enemies in every quadrant of the hall. Bella recognized that as paranoia, but she allowed that she had good reason for feeling that way. Just who in this crowded, noisy world could she really, truly trust? The trouble with asking that question was admitting the answer. No one. Not even Sir John.

Yet, she felt reasonably certain that he would not allow anyone to harm her overtly. If anyone was going to lay a hand on her, it would be he doing the deed. He's already proven he had that sort of mindset. Her older brothers had been the same way when she was a kid growing up. They could pick on her, but in public no one else could. She could not shake her uneasiness. She did not know if his three sons were safe.

Her fingers tightened on the precious metal and embossed leather as she strained her eyes searching the crowd for a head of coppery curls as well as two raven haired boys.

Relief flooded inside her when she located Henri and Geoffrey in a pack of princes. They were hooping it up, having a ball with boys of nearly the same ages as they.

Robin was no where to be seen.

Sir John's arm circled her back. His palm firmed against her hip, drawing her against his side. It was a small, possessive gesture, one that rea.s.sured her greatly.

She leaned against him, one hand resting lightly on his chest, the other tucked behind a link in his jeweled belt. Still her head swivelled about like an owl's in the continued hunt for the eldest and missing son.

Some time pa.s.sed before Sir John directed his full attention to her. By then Bella's side was flush against his body, perfectly comfortable, too.

The fingers of his right hand made contact with her chin, drawing her searching eyes away from the crowded hall to meet his. "'Tis late, Bella. The day has been long and it is time you retired."

"We've got to talk, privately, Chandos," Bella told him a.s.sertively. Where in the h.e.l.l was Robin?

Sir John brought his forefinger to the tip of her nose, touching it lightly. "To bed, Bella. All the ladies are waiting for you to withdraw so they may. 'Tis men's business afoot here this eve."

"But I've got to talk to you, now. It's important."

"Bella." Though he said only her name, the implied command was perfectly clear. Bella nodded acceptance, but she remained concerned for Robin, the one son she could not locate. She made her abeyance to Sir John and the king and moved to the group of young children, taking charge of Henri and Geoffrey.

Queen Phillipa joined her almost immediately and directed her sons Lionel, Edmund and John of Gaunt to get themselves out of the hall ahead of her.

Linking arms with Bella, the Queen bestowed an indulgent smile on the back of the five youngsters heads.

"I am pleased to see you looking so hale and hearty, Lady Chandos." Phillipa inclined her coifed head. Her brows were pale as her eyelashes and Bella had no doubt the queen was as blond as blond could be beneath her ornately embroidered coif. "I must say it relieved me greatly to see you make your peace with Edward. You look no worse for the wear. I hope Sir John was not exceedingly harsh on you."

Bella's shoulders lifted casually. She did not look at the queen as they exited from the bedlam of the hall. She was no more likely to discuss her private life in this place with the queen than she was with the cleric, Father Kerwin. Let them say what they would, Bella knew when to keep her own counsel.

The children's caretakers swooped down like loyal vultures, fussing and picking apart soiled waistcoats and missing b.u.t.tons, patting careworn hands on precious young and sweaty heads. It was late and the five boys made only token protests about being sent off to bed. They ended up making promises about what games they would play on the morrow, hearty agreement over spending the whole next day in each others' company.

Bella turned to the queen. "I was told you preferred Sir John and I not give up our bed. Are you certain of that, your majesty? I would see that your comforts are not lacking in this household."

"And I still prefer my own bed next to anyone else's, Lady Bella. I come prepared, always, in spite of Edward's complaints about how long my baggage train is. The king and I will be most comfortable in the East Tower."

Phillipa of Hainault reminded Bella of the simple country wives of Castroville; energetic, kind and compa.s.sionate. She had several inches on Bella in height and her figure could be most kindly described as lush. She embraced Bella at the landing outside of the bartizan that lead to the Chandos family living quarters above the hall.

"Go now, get a good night's sleep. We will have time to console one another on the morrow."

With that said, Phillipa kissed Bella's cheek, then gathered up her trailing hems and swept outdoors to cross the ward.

Clarise appeared from the fringes of the crowd of servants who watched the revelry from various landings asking, "Do you wish water drawn for a bath, milady?"

"No." Bella shook her head, realizing now how very tired she actually was. Every minute of this day had been full and busy. Henri sprawled at the foot of the stairs with his mouth twisted in a pout. "What is the matter with you?"

"Prince Edmund asked to see my puppy," he complained. "You spoiled it. It's too soon to go to bed, Maman. There's plenty of time to be used to play tonight."

"And more tomorrow, little man." Bella reached down and picked him up. He wiggled against her stubbornly for a moment then threw his little arms around her neck.

"John Gault has his own pony. I don't. Why hasn't Papa given me a horse? I'm not too little. I'm tall and strong. Gunni Douglas says so."

Bella shifted the boy onto her hip and continued up the twisting stairs. "Have you told your Papa you want a horse?"

Henri gave that question some thought while he twisted sticky fingers in Bella's curls. "No, but if I am to be a knight, it is not too soon to begin training a pony. I could teach my puppy at the same time. Will you ask Papa to give me a pony of my very own?"

"Tell me this, does Geoffrey have a pony?"

"Oh, yes, he has had one forever. Robin's got a destrier. Robin has his own suit of armor and a sword."

"I see." Bella nodded. They were at the top of the steps now and the solar was well lighted. Bella turned into that blind hallway she'd encountered the night before. Henri's nanny waited to take charge of the little boy at the door of the chamber he shared with Geoffrey.

"Do you think it would make any difference if I ask your Papa to give you a horse or if you ask him?"