On the road to Norwich Castle
The first day’s journey to Norwich had been long and wet thanks to a series of storms that had blown in from the east. The roads had been marred with holes and puddles, the horses up to their ankles in mud.
It made for slow going.
But Christin didn’t say a word about the discomfort of the icy conditions or vertical rain. Not a gasp, a sneeze, or a complaint as she plodded along on her robust warmblood with Alexander, Peter, Bric, and Kevin. The knights were dressed in full armor, including mail which became soaked, and by nightfall when they stopped, the armor was cold and heavy with moisture. It was a most uncomfortable way to travel, but if they weren’t complaining, then she wasn’t going to, either.
Even if she was soaked to the skin.
In fact, she already felt as if she was on some kind of probation after the events of the past few days. First, she killed a French spy and at The Pox, she killed a man who had been trying to murder Alexander. She certainly didn’t enjoy killing but she’d grown up around knights. She knew their code and their sense of honor, and if someone was trying to kill you or a friend, then you had every right to fight back. She’d seen that in her father and uncle too many times to count. Even her mother wasn’t afraid to use a dagger if necessary.
Lady Dustin de Lohr had instilled that fearlessness in her daughter.
Still, Christin received the distinct impression that Alexander was irritated at her for killing his opponent.
The first day’s journey began before dawn and ended just as the sun sank below the western horizon. The rain had started to fall again, gently this time, by the time they reached the village Peter had been planning on. He set his sights for an inn called The Buck and Boar.
It was a rather large establishment with three stories of whitewashed walls and brown cross-beam architecture. The second and third stories were larger than the first story, giving the building a substantial overhang onto the street.
Light emitted from the shuttered windows, giving the place a warm glow, as the five of them rode into the livery around the side. The livery was mostly full but a few coins from Peter had the livery master shoving horses out of the way to pull the big warhorses in so they could be dry. Confident the animals would be well-tended, the group entered the establishment through the rear kitchen yard.
The Buck and Boar was different from most inns in that it catered to a higher class of clientele. The serving wenches were dressed in clean clothing and were somewhat groomed, and the place didn’t reek of the usual vomit and smoke and unwashed bodies. It smelled like fresh bread and baking apples.
It smelled inviting.
Even the common room was different. There was a small common area with tables and chairs that were in good repair, a massive hearth that was blazing against the wet night, and several alcoves that had tables and chairs, lamps for light, and curtains that could be closed for privacy.
Peter led them into one of those secluded alcoves that could accommodate at least eight people. In this alcove were a clean table, two lamps, and an iron brazier with glowing coals to warm the area. There was even a window with precious diamond-glass panes looking out over an alley, but part of the window was open to let out the fumes from the brazier. As soon as the group entered the alcove and began settling in, serving women came on the run.
Rags to dry off with were brought along with hot wine. The knights began to strip off their tunics to let them dry in the warmth of the room but they stopped short of removing mail or any protection. When in a public place, they maintained their uniform appearance at all times, especially for protection.
But for Christin, it was different.
No protection and no armor meant she was soaked through to the skin. As the knights dried off, she sat as close to the brazier as she could get, removing her cloak and gloves, wringing out the skirts of her traveling dress and hoping the heat would dry it somewhat. She was shivering, and her teeth were chattering, and she was quite certain that her lips were blue, so she kept her head down so no one would notice. Peter handed her a cup of hot wine, but she kept her head down as she accepted it so he wouldn’t see her face.
The food began to come. Stewed beef, an onion tart, a pottage of cabbage and turnips, plus bread and butter and stewed fruit. It was a veritable feast and the knights sat down, taking the flat trenchers provided and filling them from the bowls of steaming food.
Christin sat on the end, next to the brazier still, and remained quiet as the men served themselves. She was so determined not to be a bother that all of the food except for the bread was gone before the men realized she had absolutely nothing. Chagrinned, it was Alexander who rose from his seat and went to the kitchens, demanding more food for the lady since she had been cheated out of a meal by four hungry men.
Christin could hear him in the kitchens, barking.
“What is he doing?” she hissed at Peter. “He does not need to go through so much trouble.”
“Let him,” Bric said from across the table, mouth full. “If you give him a free rein long enough, he may very well end up confiscating this entire inn just for you.”
His pale blue eyes twinkled as he said it, leading Christin to believe that he was jesting with her for the most part, but given Alexander’s reputation, there was probably some truth to it.
“That is truly not necessary,” she said. “I did not mean for him to go to the trouble. I could have easily gone to the kitchens myself.”
Bric shook his head, shoving more food into his mouth. “Do you not know when a man is being polite to you?”
Christin looked at Peter, who simply lifted his shoulders. “I fear that she does not,” he said, answering Bric. “She has fostered in the finest homes, trained with the finest teachers, but she is the kind of woman who would rather do for herself. Chivalry does not mean very much to her.”
“That is every man’s dream,” Bric snorted. “Every man dreams of a woman who does not make demands of him. Lady Christin, you should fetch the best husband in all of England with that attitude. In fact, if I thought your father would not grind me into mincemeat, I might offer for you myself.”
Christin flushed a dull red, embarrassed by such talk even though she knew he was teasing her. “And what would you do with me?” she asked. “Keep me locked up at Narborough? I do not suppose you would let me continue serving The Marshal.”
Bric looked at her as if she had gone mad. “Never,” he declared. “The woman I marry will know her place and that will be to make me happy. And anything else I can think of.”
He exaggerated his heavy Irish accent, which made it both humorous and threatening. As he chuckled at his own wittiness, Christin went along with his joke.
“Then God help the woman you marry if that is as much as you think of her,” she said. “Women have minds and opinions, you know. They do very well for themselves.”
Bric pointed his knife at her as he chewed. “You are an exception,” he said. “But, then again, you are a de Lohr. The entire family is full of exceptional people. But women, for the most part, are cattle. They want to be herded, fed, kept warm and safe. Once in a while, they do something useful.”
He and Kevin laughed in agreement. Even Peter grinned until Christin pinched him. “Ouch!” he yelled, rubbing his arm as he looked at her. “What was that for?”
“For concurring with them,” she said, lifting an eyebrow in a gesture that looked very much like her mother. “You think more of women than they do – right?”
Peter made a face at her but didn’t answer, fearful of another pinch. He continued eating as Alexander returned to their table with two serving wenches in tow. The women had two big trenchers full of food and both of them ended up in front of Christin.
Her eyes widened.
“That is a great deal of food,” she said, looking to Alexander. “Truly, my lord… you did not need to go to the trouble, but I am most appreciative.”
Alexander eyed her a moment be
fore digging into his own food. “It is the least I can do for the woman who saved my life,” he said. Then, he looked at the others. “There are three rooms on the top floor and I have confiscated all of them. One is for the lady and the other two are for us. Peter, you and I shall share a chamber because I do not wish to be kept up all night by Bric’s snoring. And if you snore, I shall throw you out of the window.”
Peter snorted in reply, shoveling food into his mouth just like they all were. Even Christin began to eat the stewed beef and carrots boiled in vinegar and cinnamon, but she was still so cold and so wet that she shivered the entire time. The hot food helped but with her wet clothing, even the heat from the brazier against her amounted to little more than hot, damp clothing. She was just drinking the last of her hot wine when she heard Alexander’s voice.
“Peter,” he said quietly. “Look at your sister.”
Christin’s head shot up, looking at her brother with wide eyes, wondering why on earth Alexander should say such a thing. Even Peter looked at her curiously, his mouth still full of food.
“Why?” he finally asked.
Alexander set down the cup in his hand. Those dark eyes were fixed on Christin as he stood up and came around the table. She was looking at him with great curiosity, and perhaps even some fear, when he reached out and lifted her left arm by the wrist.
“Feel her clothing,” he said. “The woman is soaked to the skin and none of us has noticed.”
Peter looked at Christin in horror, touching her sleeve and even her skirts. Alexander was absolutely correct; she was soaked.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “You are going to catch your death.”
Christin looked at him, at the others, contritely. “It is nothing of concern, truly,” she said. “I am sitting by the fire. I will dry out.”
Peter didn’t believe that for a moment. “You are going to get sick and Mother will blame me. You really should have told me, Cissy.”
He started to get up so he could tend to her, but Alexander shoved him down by the shoulder.
“Sit and finish your meal,” he said. “I am finished already. I will see to our martyr.”
With that, he crooked a finger at Christin, motioning for her to come with him. She was on her feet in an instant, grabbing her satchel and her wet cloak as she followed Alexander from the alcove and into the common room beyond. She trailed behind the man as he moved through the inn, towards the stairs that led to the upper floors, snapping orders to the serving wenches as he went. He ordered a bath and more food to be taken up to the lady’s chamber.
Although Christin wasn’t one to let men that she didn’t know take charge of her, Alexander was different. It wasn’t as if she had any choice; he was leading and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
But it was more than that.
She’d been in awe of the man from the moment she met him and, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, she was flattered that he would take the time to assist her. He made her heart flutter, just a little, and speaking to the man made her feel the least bit jittery. Completely out of character for the normally confident young woman who had never met a man yet who intimidated or interested her.
But Alexander de Sherrington had… and did.
Even as she walked behind him, she found herself looking at the sheer size of the man. He was tall, though she’d seen taller, but the width of his shoulders and the size of his arms had her attention. There was enormous physical power there. She wasn’t even really listening to what he was saying. All she could think of was the fact that she was walking with Alexander de Sherrington.
Sherry.
Aye, she was starstruck.
She could admit it.
Alexander took the stairs to the second floor and Christin followed closely behind. Once they got to the landing, there was a smaller staircase that led to the third floor, a staircase that seemed to lean slightly, and they took that one to the top floor. Once there, Alexander took her to the smaller chamber that overlooked the stable yard.
There was already a fire in the hearth because the room was rented for the night and the servants had prepared the chamber. There was even a warming pan for the bed propped up against the hearth. Alexander entered the room and lit the taper that was on the small table next to the hearth, bringing more light into the space. The warm glow made it feel safe and cozy as the storm raged outside.
“You should be comfortable here,” he said, looking around the chamber. “They are bringing you a hot bath and wine. Is there anything else you need?”
He was being quite attentive and Christin wasn’t sure why. “If there is, I can send for it,” she said. “Truly, you needn’t have gone through so much trouble. I am sorry to have taken you away from my brother and your friends.”
“It was no trouble,” he said, his gaze finally falling on her. He gestured to her clothing. “You had better get out of those wet things immediately.”
“I will, thank you,” she said. “I am ashamed to have been such a bother. You may go if you wish. I can take care of myself.”
“Are you trying to rid yourself of me?”
She looked stricken. “Nay,” she said. “’Tis simply that I feel as if I have been trouble to you from the outset. I do not wish to be any further inconvenience.”
He cocked his head. “Outset? Explain.”
She gestured in a general southerly direction. “At Ramsbury,” she said. “And then in London. Truly, my lord, I am very sorry if I offended you by dispatching your opponent at The Pox. It’s just that you had wine in your eyes and I could see that… well, I thought that he had you at a disadvantage. Just for the moment, of course. I only wished to help.”
Those dark eyes took on a glimmer. Looking behind him, he noted a chair and planted his big body on it. With the door open, and Christin still standing in doorway, there was nothing improper about him remaining, at least for the moment.
“Firstly, there will be no more of this nonsense with a formal address,” he told her in a rumbling tone, though not unfriendly. “My friends call me Sherry. Since you have killed on my behalf, I will grant you that privilege. It is the least I can do.”
Christin’s pale cheeks flushed in the dim light. “Thank you, my… I mean, thank you,” she said. “I am honored that you would consider me a friend. Well, not a friend. A comrade. Oh… not a comrade, either. God’s Bones… I don’t know what I am, but thank you, anyway.”
By the time she was finished, he was grinning at her with those big, white teeth set against the black beard. “You are a female associate,” he said. “There is only one other female I will allow to call me Sherry. You know Susanna de Dere, of course. She is the only other one. I like the woman.”
“So do I.”
“And she likes you,” Alexander said. He settled back in the chair, folding his enormous arms over his chest as he gave her an appraising look. “Tell me about yourself, Lady Christin de Lohr. I know your father well, and your uncle, but I have only heard about you.”
“What have you heard?”
His smile broadened. “That you are flawless in whatever you do, a true de Lohr to the bone. Had you been born a man, you would have been a magnificent knight.”
A smile creased her lips. “That is the greatest compliment anyone could have paid me. Thank you.”
“It is true, or so I have been told. But from what I have seen in the short time we have been associated, I believe the rumors.”
The servants picked that moment to bring in the big, copper tub and all of the accompaniments, including buckets of hot water, a stool, and drying linens. Christin was forced to move out of their way, which put her next to Alexander. He pulled out a chair for her as the hot bath was prepared.
“You may as well sit,” he said, watching her perch on the edge of the chair in her wet clothing. “You have not answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Tell me about yourself.”
&nb
sp; Christin set her satchel on the table. “There is not much to tell,” she said. “My life has been unremarkable. I fostered at Thunderbey Castle.”
“That is East Anglia.”
“Correct,” she said. “Dashiell du Reims’ father is the Earl of East Anglia. They are cousins to the House of de Lohr, you know. My grandmother was the sister to Dashiell’s grandfather, Tevin du Reims.”
Alexander nodded. “I remember hearing that,” he said. “So you fostered at Thunderbey. Did you enjoy it?”
She nodded. “It was my home for about five years. I loved it there.”
“Did they teach you the common female pursuits, or were you out in the yard with the men learning to fight with swords because you are a de Lohr?”
He meant it as a joke and she grinned, displaying her father’s curvy smile. “They would not let me learn to fight with a sword.”
“Did you try?”
“What do you think?”
He laughed softly. “I think you tried,” he said, sobering. “Did you learn anything?”
“I learned enough until the earl’s wife forced me to stop.”
“It is their loss. But the skills I’ve witnessed go beyond just a few lessons. Who taught you?”
“My father, mostly.”
“He taught you well.”
“That may be, but he does not know that I use what he taught me.”
Alexander nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. “I was told your father does not know who you truly serve.”
Christin nodded, watching the servants put the last bucket of hot water in the tub. They were keeping their voices low, and their words cryptic, so those around them wouldn’t hear. She had learned long ago that men, and women, in the vocation of espionage don’t live long if they speak openly about it.
She’d learned to hide her profession.
“It’s strange, really,” she said. “From the moment I began this journey, I have felt as if I belong here. As if it is what I was always meant to do. I know that sounds odd coming from a woman, but I feel as if I am accomplishing something that few women can claim.”
A Time of End Page 5