She was the one they called The Ghost – there one moment, gone the next, and no one was the wiser until it was all over.
William watched Christopher as the man sat with his daughter and son. He often wondered what the man would say if he knew his daughter had taken to the spy business like a duck takes to water. William lived in fear of that moment, actually, because he knew Christopher would not react well. Nor should he – he had a lovely daughter to protect. William’s gaze moved to Christin. She had long, dark hair and enormous gray eyes. She looked like an angel. In fact, there were few women in the world with Lady Christin de Lohr’s beauty.
She was young, well-spoken, charming, and quite witty in all conversation except that she came across as rather naïve. But that was what made her such an exceptional agent – no one realized she was assessing them and analyzing information until it was too late. William knew for a fact that she had killed at least three men she’d been sent to draw information from. She served Lady de Winter from Norwich Castle as a lady-in-waiting, but that was a cover. Her liege, old Daveigh de Winter, sent her off at The Marshal’s command.
And her father knew nothing about it.
Christin was here tonight, along with the rest of William’s agents, but her directive was specific – she was to make herself agreeable to the spy and get him drunk so the men could remove him from the hall and make him disappear.
She was the perfect weapon.
But she hadn’t had the chance. The French spy had arrived with a woman on his arm, a woman who had showed great aggression towards Christin when she approached Lord Prescombe, so Christin had been forced to back off and reassess her strategy. They’d all seen the man depart the great hall several minutes earlier with his companion, presumably heading for the garderobe, but neither had returned to the hall yet. Dashiell, who had been out patrolling the wall, had seen the man heading around the side of the keep to the kitchen entrance, but not the woman. She was missing.
It was time to mobilize his agents. With a nod of his head to Peter, the young knight was by William’s side.
“My lord?” he asked.
William’s gaze was over the room. “Lord Prescombe has decided to re-enter the keep through the kitchen entrance,” he said. “Spread the word. Everyone knows what they are to do.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Peter was off, very casually, as if nothing were amiss. As he approached the table where his father and uncle were speaking with his sister, he nodded slightly to Maxton, who casually stood up himself. He yawned, feigning drunkenness, which had Kress on his feet to steady him. Big, bearded Maxton gripped Kress, his tall and blond companion, and the two of them staggered out of the hall, presumably to find the garderobe as well.
But their act had Achilles and Susanna on their feet, with Achilles deliberately picking a fight with his wife and storming off because she kept taking his drink away. But it was all an act. Susanna, looking wounded, watched him walk away as Kevin and Cullen joined him, all three of them staggering out of the hall under the guise of being drunk.
Christin, seeing that Susanna appeared as if she were about to cry, broke off from her father.
“Papa,” she said, holding up a hand to interrupt the conversation. “I think Lady de Dere requires my comfort. Please remain and enjoy your meal. I will return shortly.”
With that, she rounded the table and went to Susanna, who appeared properly injured by her rude husband. As Susanna and Christin headed out of the hall through a door that led into the heart of the keep, presumably to engage in womanly conversation, Bric MacRohan finally stood up from the table and, with cup in hand, made his way over to Peter.
“Time to move, young de Lohr,” Bric said in his heavy Irish accent. “Make it good.”
Grinning, Peter threw his arm around Bric’s neck and the two of them departed the hall in a chummy fashion. With the table cleared of almost everyone, Christopher and David sat there, realizing they were very much alone.
“Was it something I said?” David wondered aloud.
Christopher shook his head, pouring himself more of Savernake’s fine Spanish wine. “Probably,” he said. He watched Peter and Bric disappear through one of the smaller doors in the hall. “You know, it is quite disturbing to me to see Peter make such great friends with MacRohan. He could find better companions.”
David snorted. “You adore Bric,” he said. “The man is as fine as they come. It’s good to see that Peter has been accepted by all of The Marshal’s men.”
Christopher looked pointedly at him. “You mean he has been accepted by all of The Marshal’s agents,” he muttered. “He thinks I do not know, but I do. He is a spy like the rest of them.”
David didn’t react to that. He simply took the pitcher of wine and poured himself more as well. “Who told you?”
“That is of little matter. Did you know?”
“They call him The Ghost.”
“I know.”
Christopher sat back in his chair. “Did you notice how they all left at the same time?”
“I did.”
“Something is afoot.”
“My thoughts, as well.”
“Evidently, I must look stupid if they do not think I noticed.”
“You don’t look any more stupid to me than you usually do.”
Christopher cast his brother an exasperated look but was prevented from replying when he spied William Marshal making his way over to their table.
“Look,” he muttered, putting his cup to his lips. “The Puppet master himself. The man is making an assassin out of my son.”
David grinned. “Peter can take care of himself,” he said. “If I were you, I would pretend that I still didn’t know. Give the old man the illusion that he knows more than you do.”
Christopher simply lifted his cup to William when the man came to join them. The three of them indulged in Savernake’s fine drink, each man pretending there wasn’t something going on around them, something that involved The Marshal’s finest agents.
And one agent Christopher knew nothing of.
A curious evening was about to get interesting.
“We must hurry,” Christin said to Susanna. “We are to cover the duke’s solar where the map decoys are.”
Susanna was right behind her. “Do you know this keep well?”
“Well enough,” Christin said. “On the day we arrived, I had one of the duke’s daughters show me around. I pretended to be impressed with the place so she showed me everything. I’m confident I know where we’re going.”
Susanna stayed close to her, considering she hadn’t been anywhere in the keep other than the great hall. The corridors were dark, with closed doors, and barely a hint of light except for occasional torches in their iron sconces. They rounded a corner and were faced with great double doors ahead, shadowed and dark in the dim light. The corridor here was lined with wooden panels, elaborately carved, and Christin took Susanna by the hand.
“Quickly,” she whispered. “Come this way.”
Susanna followed, though her free hand was on the hilt of the small sword she kept sheathed on her hip. A large cut in the fold of her skirts allowed her to get to the sword easily. Susanna was a tall woman, and strong, and had trained at the infamous Blackchurch knight’s school in Devon. Only the best of the best were accepted and only the very best in the world managed to finish the training.
Susanna had been one of those.
Therefore, she was the perfect weapon in a fight, meant to both protect and assist Christin as the woman took the lead. Christin pushed on one of the carved wooden panels and the thing gave way, revealing a hidden servant’s corridor. It was pitch black so she grabbed one of the torches lining the corridor before they entered, shutting the panel behind them.
“What is this place?” Susanna hissed.
Christin put her fingers to her lips to silence her. “A servant’s passage,” she said. “De Vaston’s daughter took great delight in showing it to me. She sa
id that this is where she and her sisters spy on their father. Look.”
She was pointing to two panels that, when removed, provided a peep hole into the chamber beyond. Putting the torch well away from them so the flickering light wouldn’t be seen when they opened the panels, they carefully slid out two small pieces of wood, revealing tiny holes in the wall.
But they were enough to see by.
The great solar beyond was dim except for the fire in the hearth, giving off a nominal amount of light. Almost immediately, they could see that there was someone in the chamber, standing over the great table that had the decoy maps on it. Christin and Susanna watched, trying to see who it was, when the figure picked up a one of the maps and brought it over to the firelight to see better.
Christin let out a hiss. “That is Lord Prescombe’s companion.”
Susanna could see the woman, too. “Then it wasn’t him we had to worry over.”
Christin shook her head and replaced the panel very carefully. “Nay,” she said. “He is leading the men on a wild goose chase while his companion gathers the information. We must move swiftly.”
Susanna replaced her panel, too, and unsheathed her sword. “I will cover the main entry,” she said. “You enter through the servant’s entrance.”
Christin nodded quickly. “I will flush her to you.”
Susanna was on the move, swiftly and quietly exiting the servant’s hall, as Christin went to the small servant’s door that led into the solar. She was armed with a bejeweled dagger, one she always kept on her person. It was long and thin and quite dangerous, sheathed against her right thigh. Lifting her skirts, she unsheathed her weapon and silently opened the door.
Prescombe’s companion was still by the hearth, reading the map. She hadn’t noticed Christin as the woman entered from the shadows. Even as Christin drew closer, the woman still didn’t look up and when Christin was about ten feet from her, she came to a halt. To go any closer would be dangerous.
“You will not make it back to Philip with that information, you know,” she said quietly.
The woman gasped, startled, and the map fell into the hearth. As it began to catch fire, she stood up and faced Christin.
“I suppose that remains to be seen,” she said. “Who is going to stop me? You?”
Christin smiled thinly. She was smaller than the woman, but she was also as fast as a cat and armed with a dagger that could do a great deal of damage. She wasn’t afraid to use it.
“Aye,” she said simply. “Me and several of William Marshal’s agents. In fact, they should have Lord Prescombe in their custody now. He is not going to be able to tell Philip anything, either.”
The map in the hearth was beginning to flame, dark smoke billowing up. The woman stepped away from the hearth, keeping her attention on Christin.
“I know you,” she said. “You are the one who approached Lord Prescombe and then you sat at that table with The Marshal’s allies. Whose whore are you?”
That brought a genuine smile from Christin, a dazzling gesture. “Because you are a whore, you assume that I am, also,” she said. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am no one’s whore.”
The woman, up until that point, had held a calm and composed expression, but with Christin’s sharp tongue, it was beginning to tighten.
“I cannot let you leave this chamber alive,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I was about to say the same thing to you.”
The woman looked her up and down, sizing her up. Then, she gestured to the hearth. “Your map is burning,” she said. “There will be no invasion. Everything is going up in smoke and your plans are finished, at least for now. I accomplished something this night.”
“You would have had that been the correct map.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me…?” she said, torn between surprise and outrage. “I saw what was on that map. It was greatly detailed.”
“You saw a decoy.”
The woman’s mouth popped open as outrage won over. “That is a lie!”
Christin shook her head. “Do you truly believe the real map with the real plans would be laying out for anyone to see? You’re dumber than you look and a poor spy in any case. You deserve to be caught.”
The woman stiffened. “And your tongue is reckless, little girl,” she snarled. “You have no idea what is happening, do you? Even as you make plans against Philip, he is already ten steps ahead of you. You have already lost but you do not know it yet.”
Christin remained cool. “There is nothing Philip could do to defeat the English. That is clear by the caliber of the spies he sends.”
The woman clenched her teeth. “Stupid girl. You do not even know that the danger, for England, is already here. It is right under your nose. God will see you all punished.”
With that, she suddenly charged at Christin, who was far enough away that she had time to bring forth the razor-sharp dagger. Just as the woman was upon her, she shoved it deep into the woman’s chest, grabbing her by the hair and slipping a foot in front of her. With a cry, the woman tripped with a great deal of help from Christin, who yanked her right down to the ground.
The woman was mortally wounded, but she managed to grab hold of Christin by the hair. Enraged, and fearing for her life, Christin removed the dagger and stabbed the woman again, twice more, until she stopped fighting.
Blood sprayed onto her, marking her, but she wisely tossed the dagger away, far away, so the dying woman couldn’t take it from her and try to use it against her. Instead, she ended up in a dominant position over the woman, her hands around the spy’s neck, squeezing the life from her as the woman bled out all over the floor.
“Speak not of God and punishment,” she grunted, using all of her might to squeeze. “For in this room, God ends here.”
At that moment, the door to the solar burst open and Susanna charged in, fully prepared for a fight but quickly seeing that Christin had already subdued the spy. She saw that Christin was also covered in blood. Seeing this, and believing that Christin must have been hurt, Susanna lifted her sword and cut the woman’s head off. Blood splattered everywhere.
The battle was instantly quelled.
“Christin?” Susanna said with great concern, pulling the woman off of the decapitated body. “Are you injured? Where did she hurt you?”
Christin shook her head. Her manner was as cool and hard as a rock, as if she’d not just been in a fight for life and death.
“I am not hurt,” she said. “This is her blood. She attacked me and I was forced to kill her.”
Susanna breathed a sigh of relief, looking over at the woman’s body on the ground. “Thank God you are not hurt,” she said. “But that woman…”
At that moment, Alexander rushed into the chamber, sword in hand. He, too, was ready for a battle. One look at the decapitated corpse on the floor and his shocked gaze moved to Christin and Susanna.
“What happened?” he demanded.
Christin’s gaze lingered on the bloody mess. “Prescombe leaving the hall was a ruse,” she said. “He did it to lure all of you out so his companion could look for information on John’s invasion.”
Alexander sheathed his sword, bending over the body and visually examining it for a moment before he began to pat down her skirts, looking for anything she might have on her possession.
“We figured that out,” he said. “Prescombe is in custody and The Marshal wants to interrogate him. He wanted to interrogate his companion, as well, but that is clearly not going to happen.”
Christin watched Alexander frisk the woman’s undergarments, looking for secret pockets or anything else that might be hidden. He was silent and efficient, doing what needed to be done.
Calm, cool, and collected.
Christin didn’t know Alexander de Sherrington personally. The first time they’d met had been tonight, with brief introductions. She knew him by reputation, of course. She’d heard her father talking about the man ever
yone called Sherry. Her father had said that he was an enigma, a man until himself, and one of the most elite warriors in all of England. According to Christopher, they didn’t come any greater or any smarter than Alexander de Sherrington.
In truth, she’d been intimidated by him the moment she met him.
He was very big, and very tall, and quite handsome. He had close-cropped black hair, and dark eyes, and a trim, dark beard that embraced his square jaw. When he smiled, which she’d seen tonight, he had big white teeth in great contrast to that dark beard. His smile was infectious and his laugh booming, but it was all a deception. According to her father, he was one of the more deadly men in The Marshal’s arsenal.
An assassin beyond compare.
Now, that handsome assassin was focused on the body in front of him and as he rolled the dead woman onto her stomach, Christin broke away from Susanna and went to find the dagger she’d tossed across the chamber. More men were entering the solar now; Bric, the big Irishman, and Cullen, a tall and handsome knight she had seen at Norwich Castle before. He was a friend of her brother, Peter’s. Both Bric and Cullen were standing over Alexander as he thoroughly searched the body. Bric looked over at the women.
“What happened?” he asked.
Susanna looked at Christin as she rejoined them, her dagger in her hand. “Susanna and I caught her in here, reading the map we’d left out as a decoy,” Christin said. Then, she pointed over to the charred map in the hearth. “She burned that map on purpose, thinking it was the plan’s for John’s invasion. When I caught her, she told me that she could not let me leave the room alive.”
“And she attacked you?” Bric asked.
Christin nodded. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”
At that point, Alexander stood up, pointing at the detached head. “Who did that? You?”
“I did,” Susanna said. “Christin came in through the servant’s alcove and surprised the woman. I was waiting at the entry doors for Christin to flush her out, but the woman attacked Christin instead. By the time I entered, they were on the floor struggling, or at least I thought they were. Christin had blood on her and I assumed she was injured, so I disabled her adversary.”
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