“I will, and can, do all that is required of me, my lord,” Kevin said easily.
Not that there had any doubt, but William still wanted to hear it from Kevin. “Very well,” he said. “You will go with them to Norwich. Stay sharp. In fact, all of you stay sharp. If there is a threat under our noses, we must discover what it is.”
Those heading to Norwich nodded, but it was Alexander who spoke for the group. “Aye, my lord.”
“Leave us now,” William said, waving his hand at them. “I will be following shortly to Norwich, but do not wait for me. I will see you there. Sherry, this is your mission. You are in command.”
As Alexander nodded and headed out with the others, William turned his attention to Maxton and Kress.
“Now,” he said. “Pull up a chair and let us discuss what to do with Prescombe.”
With that, his attention was diverted and those heading to Norwich quit the chamber. Alexander, Peter, Kevin, Bric, and Christin headed down the mural stairs to the lower level of the great townhouse, which was a fortress unto itself. It was big and square, with the lower levels being the kitchens and a dormitory for visiting knights and soldiers, and the upper floors being where The Marshal and his family lived.
“I will take my sister to The Duck and Dribble over on Lombard Street,” Peter said. “I’ve already sent our baggage on ahead, so you can find us there in the morning.”
Alexander was right behind him. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll head down to The Pox on Ropery Street. That will give us a bit of entertainment before we have to head north into the wilds of Norfolk.”
Bric put a hand on Alexander’s shoulder, yanking the man back as they headed for the fortified entry of the manse. “The Marshal does not like us to go to that place,” he said. “If he finds out, there will be hell to pay.”
Alexander cast Bric a long look. “He will not know we’ve been there if a certain Irishman keeps his yap shut,” he said. “I do not intend to engage in anything untoward. Mayhap a bit of gambling. I also have not eaten anything all day and they have the best food in town. If you want to go with Peter and the lady to the inn on Lombard, be my guest. But I am going to The Pox.”
They were out on the street now with a crisp autumn night overhead. The stars were brilliant, like a blanket of diamonds, and the streets were dark enough so that most people were already in for the night.
But Christin didn’t notice. She had been looking forward to a meal and a quiet evening, or perhaps something a little more thrilling considering she didn’t get to London often. Given that there was no excitement in Norwich, Alexander’s comment about The Pox had her attention.
“The Pox,” she said, picking up her skirts so they wouldn’t drag in the mud on the street. “It sounds like a lively place. I think I’ve heard Lord de Winter speak of it, but his wife becomes irritated when he does. It has a bad reputation, doesn’t it?”
Alexander grinned, his big teeth flashing in the dim light. “That depends on who you ask,” he said. “They have beautiful women, excellent food, and any game of chance a man could want for.”
Christin was watching the street, making sure she didn’t step in a smelly puddle. “What about women?”
“I said they had the most beautiful women.”
“That is not what I meant. Are there games of chance for women?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Can a woman play with the men?”
“I have seen a few.”
“Then I want to play.”
Alexander’s smile vanished. “It is no place for you, Lady Christin.”
She looked at him as if his words meant nothing. “Even so, I would like to accompany you. It sounds like an exciting place.”
“The Pox?” Peter said, aghast. “You cannot go there. Papa would eviscerate me if he knew I let you go into that place.”
“He will not know,” Christin said as she looked at her brother. “As long as a certain de Lohr sibling keeps his yap shut.”
Alexander’s words were reflected in her statement and, walking behind them, Bric and Kevin started to laugh. Peter turned, scowling at the pair.
“You think this funny, do you?” he demanded. “If she was your sister, would you find it so funny?”
“If she was my sister, I would throw her over my shoulder and cart her into The Duck and Dribble without delay,” Bric said. “But, then again, my sisters have not learned to kill on command or function in a man’s world. Lady Christin has.”
Peter sighed sharply, looking at his sister. “You may not go to The Pox,” he said. “It is not for you and if you go, I will tell Papa.”
“How are you going to tell him and explain why I was in London in the first place?” Christin asked smoothly. “He will want to know because I am supposed to be safe back at Norwich right now. What will you tell him?”
Peter was licked. He knew that before the conversation ever really got going because what Christin wanted, she got. That had started in childhood. She was a most determined, cunning, and smart young lady. With her father’s drive and her mother’s intelligence, it was a combination that had put her where she was now. Christin had everything she ever wanted, and if she wanted to go to The Pox, Peter knew that, short of binding her to the bed and locking the door for good measure, she would go.
Therefore, this entire conversation was a losing battle. He thought that if she took in her fill of The Pox and saw what a nasty, dirty, corrupt place it was, she would forget all about wanting to play games of chance there.
Perhaps the only thing to do was let her see it.
“Very well,” Peter said, frustrated. “If you want to go, then I will take you. But do not say I didn’t warn you. It is no place for a woman.”
Christin merely grinned at him before turning to Alexander. “Will you lead the way, my lord?”
Alexander looked at her like this was all a very bad idea. “Are you serious? We have explained to you that The Pox is not for a woman of your breeding.”
Christin maintained her smile. She had her father’s grin that saw the ends of her mouth turn up slightly, something very lovely and charming. It had been a gesture that had fooled many a man into thinking she was a sweet and innocent thing.
But that was not the case.
Headstrong didn’t even begin to cover it.
“I appreciate your concern,” she said. “Please do not bother, then. I can find it myself.”
With that, she turned on her heel and headed south on the nearest street, one of the smaller alleyways that crisscrossed the city. As she darted down it, Peter ran after her and grabbed her by the arm simply to assert himself as her escort. He wasn’t going to stop her.
With a shrug, Alexander, Bric, and Kevin followed.
CHAPTER TWO
The Pox was packed to the rafters.
Filled to the brim with mostly men but a few women, Christin took one look at the common room and thought it was all rather exciting. Every kind of human imaginable was there; men in tattered clothing, sitting on the floor with their drink because the tables were full, knights in expensive protection, and well-dressed merchants who had just come off of their cogs along the river. Serving wenches mingled among the tables, bringing food and drink.
It was a busy place.
A thin layer of blue smoke hung near the ceiling from two hearths that were blazing on this night as men huddled around tables, some only to eat, but some to roll dice or play cards. Stacks of hand-painted cards were on several of the tables, well-used wooden panels, as dealers shuffled and dealt them out to those willing to gamble on a game of chance.
Christin was fascinated by all of it. A wench passed her bearing trenchers that contained meat and vegetables, reminding her of how hungry she was. The games would have to wait. She turned to her brother.
“May we find a table?” she asked. “I would like to eat.”
Peter had his eyes on everyone in the room, suspicious of every man regardless of dress or
obvious wealth.
“Fine,” he said shortly. “And then we will leave. Do you understand me?”
Christin nodded, but it was simply to appease him. Whether or not she would leave after she ate was still up for debate as far as she was concerned. She could see a mostly empty table midway deep in the room, against the wall, and she pointed to it.
“There,” she said. “There is only one man at that table. Surely he will share it with us.”
Before anyone could answer her, she charged off into the room. Peter rolled his eyes at his headstrong sister, but Alexander was right behind her. He wasn’t going to let any lady move unescorted in this room because he knew what kind of men frequented this place. Before he could caution her, however, she spoke to the lone man at the table.
“May we share your table, good sir?” she asked politely. “The inn is very crowded tonight.”
The man turned to look at her. He was older, dressed in outdated and damaged mail, with a well-used tunic that Alexander noticed before anyone else did. He recognized the red and gold standard of William d’Aubigney, an enemy of the crown and of William Marshal.
“I am waiting for my friends, girl,” the man told Christin. “Find another table.”
He was decidedly unfriendly and Christin opened her mouth to plead with him, but Alexander touched her on the arm, getting her attention. When she looked at him, he shook his head faintly and motioned her away. Curiously, she followed him.
“What is it?” she asked.
Alexander had her by the elbow now as if afraid she’d run back to the table. By this time, Peter and Bric and Kevin had caught up to them and Alexander sandwiched Christin between him and Peter.
“D’Aubigneys men are here,” he said quietly. “I am not willing to face hostilities with your sister present.”
Peter looked over his shoulder to the man bearing the d’Aubigney tunic. “I did not see him when we entered,” he said. “We should leave.”
Christin knew the name d’Aubigney and she further knew that he was an enemy of William Marshal and his allies. Though she very much wanted to remain and enjoy this terrible and interesting place, she’d been in The Marshal’s service long enough to know what enemies meant to one another, especially enemies of William Marshal. She’d seen it too many times before.
In truth, she was a little disappointed at having to depart so soon, but much like Alexander and Peter, she didn’t want a fight. Too many men with too many weapons could spell disaster, especially in these turbulent days. So without an argument, she let Peter take hold of her and head for the entry. She’d have to return to The Pox at another time. They were halfway to the door when someone grabbed her arm, yanking her away from Peter.
“C’mon, lass!” A very drunk man had her by both arms. “Give us a dance!”
Peter was on the man in a second, driving his fist into the man’s face. As he fell back, Peter yanked Christin from the man’s grip.
“Go,” he commanded. “Quickly. To the door.”
Christin began to move swiftly, but it was difficult given that the inn was so packed. She ended up shoving people out of her way, kicking one slow-moving man in the arse. Just as she reached the door, the panel flew open and several heavily-armed men entered.
Christin, being that she was in the front of their group, saw the men first. She noticed that they were wearing the same tunics as the man they had so recently turned away from. D’Aubigney. Christin came to a halt but before she could say anything, the knight in the front spied Bric, whom he evidently knew.
And didn’t like.
“MacRohan!” he roared. “You foul Irish bastard! I told you what would happen if I saw you again!”
Christin didn’t have time to step out of the way before the unruly knight shoved her aside, using his arm in a big sweeping motion that shot her over a table and saw her crashing to the floor on the other side. Horrified, Peter couldn’t go to her aid because he found himself swept up in an attack by at least six d’Aubigney knights.
It was a brawl of epic proportions from the start.
As Christin struggled to her knees, shaking off the stars dancing before her eyes, everyone in the front section of the inn began screaming and running. Christin ended up rolling under a table, gripping the legs for dear life as people scattered all around her. The table was hit a few times, buffeted from side to side as the floor cleared.
But after that, she was up.
Six against four was nearly fair odds in d’Aubigney’s favor. Already, three enemy knights were down as Kevin, Bric, and Alexander pummeled those trying to attack them. Without a fight of his own for the moment, as he had already dispatched one man, Peter headed in Christin’s direction.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her in a panic.
Christin shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. Then, her eyes widened. “Look! That knight has thrown something into Alexander’s face! He’s blinded!”
Before Peter could stop her, she grabbed one of the chairs around the table and rushed to the knight trying to kill Alexander, swinging it with all her might against the back of his skull. When that only made him falter, she leapt on his back, grabbing her pretty bejeweled dagger from its sheath at her waist and plunging it into the man’s neck.
Down he went and Christin right along with him. Alexander was on his feet now, using the edges of his tunic to wipe the hot wine out of his eyes. When the vision in one eye cleared, he could see Christin removing her dagger from the man’s neck.
“Bloody Christ,” he muttered, pulling her to her feet. “My lady, did you do that?”
She nodded without hesitation. “He was going to kill you,” she said. “Look in his left hand. I saw the flash of a dagger. If the sword did not kill you, the dagger would as you tried to clear your vision. He was coming at you with both hands armed, my lord.”
Blinking his stinging eyes, Alexander could, indeed, see that the man had a weapon in each hand. He wasn’t entirely sure the man would have killed him, but he was still having difficulty with his vision, so it would have been a problematic battle.
Perhaps he might have, indeed, found himself in trouble.
But it was a battle that a brave lass had quickly ended. When Alexander should have been grossly irritated, he found that he couldn’t muster the will. He found himself looking into Christin’s doll-like face and seeing utter calm there. No hysteria, no fear. Simply the expression of one who did what needed to be done, just like she’d done with the French king’s spy. Truly, it was remarkable for a woman to be so composed in the face of death.
A seed of respect for her sprouted.
“Are you well, Sherry?” Bric, winded, came up beside him. “We should leave. Now.”
Alexander was still wiping his face and eyes, but he was already heading for the door. “We shall return another day when the company in this place is better,” he said. “Let us depart.”
He was through the entry when he realized he had Christin by the wrist, pulling her along to ensure she followed him and didn’t somehow rush back in and start braining men. He wouldn’t have put it past her, courageous as she was. Peter was right behind his sister, followed by Bric and finally Kevin covering their rear.
Once outside in the damp night air with the smell of fish and the river heavy in the air, Alexander let go of Christin when he realized he probably should.
“Take your sister and go, Peter,” he said. “We will meet you at the livery across from The Duck and Dribble at dawn, so be ready to depart.”
Peter had hold of Christin, much like Alexander, as if afraid she might run off to do battle again. “Come with us,” he said. “London abounds with danger tonight, Sherry. We should stay together.”
Alexander waved him off. “If there are more d’Aubigney knights, I will keep them off your tail,” he said. “Take the lady and hurry. Get into a room at the inn and remain there. I will be on the streets tonight, making sure no danger follows you.”
Peter nodded an
d hurried off, towing Christin by the arm. But her gaze was on Alexander, and his on her, and for a moment, they couldn’t seem to tear their attention off one another. There was just something about the woman that made Alexander take a second look. He only pulled his attention from her when Bric and Kevin came up on either side of him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bric said. “I think the only knight killed is the one Lady Christin took down, so his friends will be out for revenge.”
Alexander knew that. “That one is a spitfire,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never liked working with a woman other than Susanna, but de Lohr’s sister… I’ve not yet decided.”
“She probably saved your life,” Kevin said. “You were in no position to fight that knight as he took the offensive. I tried to get to you but I had my own problems.”
Alexander lifted a dark eyebrow. “I was in perfect control,” he said, which was probably true. Alexander was always, and completely, in control. “And no woman is ever going to save my life. Come on, now. We need to separate. Bric, you take the wharf. Kevin, get over to Bridge Street but stay out of sight, both of you. When d’Aubigney’s men move, see where they’re going and make sure they stay away from The Duck and Dribble. As for me… I’m going in through the rear of The Pox. I’ll watch them from there.”
They had their directives, so they began to move. The primary objective was simply to make sure the d’Aubigney men remained away from Farringdon House and the inns up on Ropery Street. Truth be told, Alexander might have agreed that Christin had saved his life because he’d been in a bit of a bind, but no one else needed to know that. To them, the man they knew as Sherry was never in trouble.
Except he might have been.
Saved by a slip of a woman who looked like an angel.
No matter how much he fought them off, thoughts of Christin de Lohr and her fearsome courage poked at him all night.
CHAPTER THREE
A Time of End Page 4