There was a hint of something darker, sadder, in that comment, but Christin wasn’t sure she should ask him any further questions about his family since it seemed to be a brittle subject.
“I could not imagine staying away from Lioncross Abbey,” she said, drinking her ale. “I was born there, along with all of my siblings. My mother’s family has lived there for centuries. They, too, are of Saxon blood.”
“What is the family name?”
“Barringdon.”
Alexander shoved more beef into his mouth. “I have met your mother,” he said. “A beautiful woman. It is clear where you get your beauty.”
So he was back to more flattery. Christin wasn’t sure how to react and she could feel the familiar flush creep into her cheeks. She simply wasn’t used to being paid a compliment and she abhorred the games of flirtation that men and women played. She’d witnessed enough of that at Thunderbey Castle, and at Norwich Castle, and she’d always ignored it. Any man who tried to flatter her was either verbally speared or disregarded. But she couldn’t manage to do either with Alexander. All she could do was change the subject.
Again.
“My father fought with King Richard, too,” she said. “Did you know my father in The Levant?”
Alexander nodded. “The Lion’s Claw?” he said, speaking the nickname that Christopher had learned those years ago. “He was the king’s champion. I have never seen a fiercer man, although your uncle was fairly fierce himself.”
“That was so long ago,” she said. “Well before I was born. You must have been very young.”
He snorted. “I was,” he said. “I had barely seen twenty years, but youth did not make me inexperienced. I had a great deal of experience even before I went to The Levant.”
“Why?”
“Because I served John Marshal back then, who was William Marshal’s older brother,” he said. “I fostered at Marlborough Castle, a holding of the elder Marshal. When he was killed, I swore fealty to the king and went to The Levant.”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “If you were barely twenty years when you went to The Levant, that was almost twenty years ago,” she said. “That makes you…”
“Old,” he cut her off, grinning.
“And you have never married?”
His smile faded. “Nay,” he said. “I have never had the time.”
“Will you inherit Ashdown?”
“Someday.”
“Then you should have an heir,” she said firmly, looking around at all of the women with flowers in their hair. “I shall help you find a wife. Every man wants an heir.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss this subject, mostly because the only woman he was attracted to was standing next to him and he barely knew her. He didn’t want to embarrass himself by saying the wrong things. To avoid that problem altogether, he simply shook his head.
“Thank you, but that is not necessary,” he said. “When the time is right, I shall find my own wife.”
“But you said yourself that you’ve not had the time,” she said, swallowing more of that strong ale. “Look around you; there are many young maidens here that I am sure would make fine wives.”
He laughed nervously, taking another gulp of that cheap ale, too, now because he needed it. He needed the fortification. She was pushing him into a corner and for a man who was always in control, always sure of everything in his life, he was feeling unsteady with the conversation.
But it wasn’t just the subject.
He went to take another drink of the ale but realized he’d drained it. It was a very big cup. Christin had drained hers, too, and she was becoming quite animated. And pushy. It occurred to him that the strong ale was stronger than he thought because he felt like he did when he had four or five big cups of the more refined, better processed stuff.
Giddy.
God help him, he was tipsy.
“I do not want to talk about wives,” he said. “Besides, it is unseemly for you and me to discuss such a thing. We are both unmarried. Did that not occur to you?”
She looked at him in horror. “Now you are angry with me.”
“Nay, I am not, but no more talk of wives.”
“I am sorry. I did not mean to be forward.”
He shook his head, taking the cup out of her grip and setting it on the table. Then, he took her hand and began pulling her towards the dancing, something he would not have ordinarily done had he not been feeling his drink.
“Come,” he said in a voice that could very easily be interpreted as seductive. “I wish to dance.”
But Christin dug her heels in. “But there are many other young women who would love to dance with you.”
“I do not want to dance with them.”
“But I cannot dance!”
“All young women can dance.”
“Please,” she begged. “Truly, I would look like a clod out there. I have never been able to dance. I will only shame myself and you.”
He wasn’t listening to her, smiling as he pulled her into a group that had already started to dance. “Hush,” he said quietly. “Look into my eyes; that’s right. Look right at me. Do what I say and you shall dance beautifully.”
Christin was terrified. Drunk and terrified, but thank God for the drink or else she wouldn’t have been able to go through with it. She wanted to dance with him because she simply wanted to be near him. All of the resistance and inhibitions she had been feeling towards him now had an outlet and she gladly let them through. She let him put her palm up against his and pull her rather close.
“Now,” he said softly. “Take a few steps back and then a few steps towards me again. That’s right; well done, Cissy.”
Cissy. She’d never heard her name sound so sweet. Coming from him, it sounded like the voice of angels. At that moment, Christin let everything go so she could experience something she never really had – dancing with, and being close to, someone she was attracted to. That had never happened before. Alexander had her dancing next to him, turning her around at the appropriate time to spin, then pulling her right back against him in beat with the music.
All the while, she began to giggle uncontrollably.
Once, she spun around and tipped over, falling into the woman next to her, who also laughed. Fortunately, they were all laughing, and Christin went back to Alexander, who put his arm around her waist and basically walked her through every step. She held on to him, fearful she was going to tip again, until she finally came to an unsteady halt and put her hands to her head.
“I am not usually so giddy or so clumsy,” she said. “That terrible ale has made me drunk.”
Alexander looked at her, amused. “It has,” he said. “It has made everyone else drunk, too, including me. Whatever that drink was, it is was very strong.”
“And terrible.”
“And terrible.”
“Can we dance some more, then? I fear being drunk is the only way I am brave enough to do it.”
Alexander immediately put his arm around her waist again, turning her in beat with the music. At one point in the dance, the women broke off and went to the center of the dance area, looping arms and moving in a circle. Alexander had to walk Christin right up to the women so she could loop her arms, but the moment the circle started to move, she lost her balance and they ended up dragging her. Laughing hysterically, she simply lay in the dirt, staring up at the sky, as the circle moved around her.
“What’s wrong with my sister?”
Alexander turned to see Peter standing next to him, a knuckle of beef in his hand, as he peered curiously at Christin laying in the dirt. Alexander pointed at her.
“She’s drunk,” he said. “She drank that bitter ale too fast and now she cannot keep her balance.”
Once Peter realized what was going on, he started to laugh. “Good,” he said flatly. “It is good to see her loosen up. Honestly, she’s so serious all of the time. Jesus, Sherry, she’s killing men as if she were born to do it. What maiden d
oes that? She needs to get drunk and have some fun.”
With that, Peter took a big bite from his beef knuckle and wandered off, leaving Alexander standing there, watching Christin as she tried to get up. But she couldn’t seem to sit up, so she rolled into her belly and rocked onto her hands and knees. By that time, he pushed through the circle of women and lifted her up underneath her arms.
“Come along, my lady,” he said. “Let’s go find a place for you to sit down. Or lay down. Whichever you prefer.”
Christin was still giggling as she tried to walk but she wasn’t doing a very good job, so Alexander swept her up into his arms and carried her away from the dancing.
“Where are we going?” she asked, arms around his neck. “Truly, I am fine. I can walk.”
She probably could, but Alexander thought she felt quite good in his arms so he didn’t want to put her down.
“You must not drink very much, very often,” he said.
They walked past the food table and Christin ended up hanging over his shoulder, watching the food longingly as Alexander walked further and further away.
“I am very careful with what I drink,” she said. “Usually, it’s watered down or boiled. But I was thirsty.”
“I know,” he said. “I saw.”
She pointed to the food table as they moved away from it. “I want more of those eggs, please. Can we go back?”
Alexander saw a stone bench beneath a yew tree that was next to a small church. There were people around, but no one sitting on the bench, so he deposited her onto the cold stone surface.
“Sit,” he commanded softly.
“But can I have more eggs?”
He put up his hands. “I will get you more eggs. You remain here. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
He held a finger out to her, silently commanding her to remain where she was, as he headed back to the food table to collect more stuffed eggs. By the time he returned, both hands full of eggs, she was simply sitting there, staring off into space.
“Here are your eggs, my lady,” he said. “Eat them in good health.”
She looked at him before looking at the eggs. Taking one, she simply stared at it for a moment.
“May I ask you a question?” she said.
“Aye.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
Alexander wasn’t nearly as tipsy as she was, but tipsy enough to loosen his tongue. He sat down next to her, closer than he should have simply because he wanted to. He’d just spent the past several minutes watching a thoroughly charming and exceedingly beautiful young woman have the time of her life.
He was enchanted.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Can’t a man be nice to you without you asking him foolish questions?”
Christin looked at him in surprise. “I do not think so,” she said seriously. “I think that I must know everything because no man has ever been truly nice to me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Because of my father,” she clarified. “He terrifies everyone and no man is brave enough to be nice to me. You heard Bric. He said that he might offer for me if he was certain my father would not grind him into mincemeat. That is very true, you know. My father chases all of my suitors away. Well, if I had any. No one will come near me.”
Alexander still had eggs in his hand. She finished the one he’d handed her and now she took another from him.
“Not all of them,” he muttered.
She had a mouth full of egg. “Who?” she demanded. “Do you know of someone he cannot chase away? It does not matter, anyway. I will be like you and Peter and Bric and the rest of them. I will be a career agent for William Marshal and I shall never marry. My work for him shall be my husband. Besides… no one wants to marry a woman who kills on command. Even I know that.”
Alexander watched her stuff more egg into her mouth. “I think I may know one.”
She stopped chewing, egg on her lips. “Who?”
“Finish your egg. When he is ready to tell you, he will.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you actually know someone who might… well, God’s Bones, man, who is it? Is it Bric? I do not want to marry that loud-mouthed Irishman. You can tell him I said that.”
Alexander started to laugh. “Nay, it is not Bric, and I will not tell him what you said. It would hurt his feelings.”
“Ha!” she said, biting into the last egg. “That is not possible.”
“It is. He is very tender.”
She started laughing, full mouth and all. But she stood up to brush the excess egg from her traveling coat and the moment she did so, she suddenly stopped chewing. As Alexander watched, she spun away from him, grabbed the tree, and proceeded to vomit out all of the egg and ale she’d been eating and drinking. It had been a horrific combination, anyway. All of it came spewing out until there was no more.
Embarrassed, Christin hugged the tree, trying to catch her breath, as Alexander stood up behind her.
“Breathe, Cissy,” he said softly, putting a surprisingly gentle hand on her back. “Then sit back down. I will go find you some boiled fruit juice and some bread. That should help calm your belly.”
Christin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She couldn’t even reply to him. All of that lovely food and conversation had been destroyed in an instant, all because she wasn’t used to such strong ale.
And she’d done it right in front of Alexander.
Mortified, and still drunk, she staggered off towards the church, hoping to find a dark, cool place to hide.
She could make it the rest of the way to Norwich on her own.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Royal Procession
Somewhere on the road to Norwich
It smelled like rain.
The sky was full of pewter-colored clouds and the road was already puddled from a rainstorm that morning. The trees were heavy with moisture and the foliage was thick all over the land.
The rainy season had started early in Norfolk, an area that seemed to have its own weather patterns that were separate from the rest of England. It could be a wild land, with dense forests and settlements that were still reflective of the Danes that used to populate the area. Some said there were doorways to other magical lands in Norfolk, through a stone ring or a fairy mound.
He didn’t believe in magic doorways or mythical lands, but he knew that hell existed because he lived it every single day.
Sir Sean de Lara rode very close to John’s carriage because that was his job. As the king’s personal bodyguard, he maintained close physical proximity to the monarch at all times. The carriage was a heavily-fortified cab built on top of a wagon chassis, lined with iron and a reinforced door that nearly doubled the weight of the carriage itself. There were small slits up at the top of the cab for ventilation, but little more. They hardly emitted any light. Inside, it smelled like a pigsty because the king lived and ate and slept and pissed in it.
It wasn’t the most pleasant form of transportation.
Sometimes John chose to ride like a mounted knight and in those instances, his escort moved much faster. But he’d wanted to take the carriage this time and it had been painfully slow going out of London on their way to Norwich Castle.
With the stormy weather, the roads had been rough and the heavy carriage fell into ruts, which exhausted the team of horses pulling it. There were six heavy-boned horses lugging that wagon and the days were cut short because they were often just too weary to continue.
In fact, in the last town, Sean had purchased two more big-boned horses so they could rotate out a pair and give them a rest. He’d always had a soft spot for horses, including the magnificent beast he owned, so he watched the carriage horses carefully and made sure they were well tended. Fortunately, the drivers were sympathetic and the horses were given massages and plenty of food when the entourage stopped for the night.
But it didn’t make this journey an
y less difficult or taxing, for all of them.
Even now, Sean tried to stay upwind of the carriage as he rode. He could hear the king inside, playing a citole, a musical instrument he had no real talent for. He had two of his advisors in the carriage with him, including a Marcher lord, Evan Monnington. Monnington Castle and the Lords of Dorè were relatively small and insignificant Marcher lords who had been deeply allied with Christopher de Lohr in the past since their lordship bordered his lands.
But that all seemed to change three months ago when the old Lord Dorè passed away, leaving his young son, Evan, as his heir. Evan had barely seen eighteen years and had fostered in the finest homes but, from what Sean could see, he was an idiot. Now, he was as thick as thieves with John and Sean knew why – it was because John was hoping to glean information on de Lohr and also station crown troops very close to de Lohr’s earldom.
The entire de Lohr alliance along the border was impenetrable, or at least it had been until Evan Monnington decided to become the king’s pet. Unfortunately, the king hadn’t much confided in Sean about what Evan had told him, so he could only guess. Even now, Evan was in the king’s carriage, speaking on God only knew what.
Sean suspected he would find out soon enough, considering John couldn’t keep a secret from him. Whatever it was, John liked to boast to Sean, his most trusted bodyguard and confidante. Advisors and courtiers came and went, but Sean remained constant.
The man known as the Lord of the Shadows.
Off to the east, a storm was brewing. They could hear the thunder and see flashes of lightning light up the sky. They could also see sheets of rain pummeling the earth, knowing that the storm would soon be upon them. There was a village up ahead, one that was fairly large, so they knew they could find shelter there for the men. The entire contingent, however, was looking to the east, wondering if they would be able to beat the storm.
That would have been a possibility had the carriage not slipped into another rut. The men knew the drill; as the drivers snapped the whips at the weary team of horses, two dozen men surrounded the wagon and pushed until it lurched out of the hole. By that time, the rain was starting to pelt them, meaning they’d be soaked by the time they reached the village.
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