Alexander approached the table.
“Where is MacRohan?” he asked. “And where is Kevin?”
Peter stood up when he saw his sister. “Bric and Old Daveigh are in the small solar next to the chapel,” he said, his gaze mostly on Christin. “I do not know where Kevin went. He saw his brother arrive with the king and fled. Where have you been, Cissy?”
Christin glanced at Alexander, rather chagrinned she had to answer the question. “You would not believe if I told you,” she said. “But because you will keep asking me if I do not, I will tell you that the ale at the wedding feast made me ill and Sherry found me sleeping in the church. Rather than wake me and bring me to Norwich drunk, he let me sleep. He has been most gracious about it but I am mortified.”
Peter stared at her a moment before breaking out into a grin. “I am sure you are,” he said, sitting back down. “Old Daveigh wants to see the both of you as soon as you arrive. Go to him.”
Christin nodded, taking off through the maze of doors and passageways on her way to the small solar that was near the entry. In fact, they had walked right by it when they entered the keep. Alexander was behind her and as she entered Lord de Winter’s solar from the servant’s entrance, she immediately noticed that Old Daveigh and Bric were not the only ones in the room. There were other men, including two enormous knights wearing the crimson and gold royal standard, along with a man of smaller stature and graying hair seated at Old Daveigh’s large table.
Puzzled, she came to a halt just inside the door.
So did Alexander.
Daveigh de Winter noticed them immediately. He was quite old but still strong, still bright in his waning years. He’d been big and dark in his youth, but now that dark hair had gone white and he wasn’t as muscular any longer, but he was still quite formidable and he still attended his men in any skirmish or battle.
Daveigh was a legendary de Winter from a family of legendary men. He’d married one Lady Glyn de Lara and had four daughters – Delesse, Danessa, Darcy, and Dierdre – but no sons. The daughters were all married now, but Old Daveigh, as he was known since he had a nephew by the same name, was a congenial lord who treated his knights like the sons he never had. He positively adored Peter and had threatened on more than one occasion to adopt him. When the old man’s gaze fell upon Christin, he immediately went in her direction.
“Ah,” he said. “Lady Christin. We have been greatly anticipating your arrival.”
Christin couldn’t have known that Alexander was standing next to her as stiff as a board, eyes riveted to the small man seated at the table. She was focused on Old Daveigh, smiling politely at him.
“I apologize for the delay, my lord,” she said. “I… I was ill and only now feeling well enough to finish the journey to Norwich. I apologize if I caused you any inconvenience.”
Daveigh shook his head, reaching out to take her by the arm. He began to lead her over to the table.
“Not at all, my lady,” he said. “It is simply that the king has been anxious to meet you. He asked for you as soon as he arrived and your brother informed me that you would be here shortly.”
The king has been anxious to meet you.
Apprehension and confusion enveloped Christin as she looked to the table, seeing a small man seated there with one droopy eye. I know that face, she thought. She remembered it from long ago, as a child. A horrible face, she thought, one that made her chest tighten simply to look upon it.
The very face she’d been trying to avoid.
John, King of England, was looking straight at her.
As soon as she reached the table, she dropped into a practiced curtsy. “Your grace,” she said, rather breathless from surprise. “I… I am honored.”
John was drinking in his fill of her; that much was certain. He didn’t have to say a word. His intense expression said everything. He looked her up and down before replying.
“Stand up, Lady Christin,” he finally said.
She did, keeping her gaze averted. In truth, she didn’t want to look at the man, terrified he’d see the loathing in her eyes. It wouldn’t do well for the king to know just how much all of the de Lohrs hated him.
“I remember when you were born,” John said after a moment. “I remember the rumors that you were Marcus Burton’s daughter, but I do not see anything of Burton in you. You look like your father.”
Christin had heard those rumors once, too, long ago when she’d first fostered at Thunderbey Castle. They’d upset her so badly that her mother had been forced to explain them to her. It had been a sordid tale of deceit and treachery and a love between her father and mother that could not be broken.
Even if Christin hadn’t resembled her father, she still would have believed her mother. Not even Marcus Burton, one of her father’s oldest and dearest friends, could destroy what Christopher and Dustin de Lohr had in a fit of youthful arrogance and insanity.
But she resented the king for bringing up hurtful and old rumors.
“I do more than resemble him, your grace,” she said. “I am his daughter in every way.”
“Look at me.”
She immediately lifted her head, looking him in the eye. They stared at each other for a few moments before John smiled, a gesture that made the bile rise in Christin’s throat.
“You are quite beautiful,” he said. “I am sure your father is fiercely protective over you.”
“As any father would be over his daughter, your grace.”
John snorted softly. “That is true,” he said. “Tell me, Lady Christin, are you betrothed?”
The question caught her off guard but she knew, instinctively, that she didn’t want to tell him the truth. Something in that question made her skin crawl.
“You will have to ask my father, your grace,” she said. “I have no say in his plans for me.”
John nodded faintly, still eyeing her. But his eyes moved to her torso and Christin resisted the urge to turn away from him. She could feel the heat from his stare on her breasts, her torso. The man was trying to look through her clothing to see what was beneath it. Every word of warning that Alexander had given her were all flooding back to her.
“You are dismissed, my lady,” John said after a moment. “But I should like for you to dine with me later.”
So many replies came to her, but not one of them was polite. She didn’t want to end up in Norwich’s vault, or worse, so she simply nodded her head and turned away from him, fleeing the chamber.
She couldn’t even look at Alexander as she went.
Everything he’d said had been true.
Christin quit the solar in a blind rush, heading to the keep entry and taking the stairs far too quickly. Once she hit the ground, she ran towards one of several small buildings that peppered the bailey. One was a chapel, but two of them were apartments. There was one for men and one for women, and Christin went towards the one for women that was tucked near the garden behind the keep. It was a two-storied stone building with a pitched roof and eight rooms – four on the bottom, four on the top, with an attic used for servants and storage.
The entry door was made from oak and iron, fortified, and usually open until later in the evening when it was locked from within. Fortunately, it was still open and she raced up the stairs to the small landing, and then straight into the room she occupied, the chamber on the northwest side.
Slamming the door, she bolted it.
The chamber was cold and dark, with a faint moonglow coming in through the shuttered window. She stood there a moment, trying to catch her breath, struggling to orient herself in the face of something terrifying and unexpected.
The king wanted her to dine with him.
Well, she wasn’t going to. She was going to stay in her chamber until the king left Norwich and to the devil with William Marshal. He wanted her to do her duty. She wanted to do it, too, but that duty didn’t include being molested by the king. If it was a choice between seeking out the threat against John amongst the attendi
ng allies or keeping to her chamber because it was safer for her, then she was going to stick to her chamber.
William Marshal and his spies would have to do without her.
If you kill the king… the consequences to you and your family would be unfathomable.
Alexander’s words were ringing in her head. She couldn’t even defend herself against a monarch who would only want to soil her and cast her aside. If that happened, her father would move against the king and the family would be at war, anyway, so perhaps the threat against the king that the French spy spoke of was far more complicated than anyone realized, including Christin.
But she realized it now.
It was a threat from within.
Perhaps it was the king’s own lascivious nature. Bed the wrong woman and England would be destroyed. Bed a de Lohr daughter and the wrath of Christopher de Lohr would tear the country apart.
The French didn’t have to destroy John. He would do it himself.
Now, she understood.
Sinking onto her bed, the tears finally came.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“When was the last time you saw John?”
David was speaking to his brother as the two of them plodded along on warhorses that each cost a man’s salary for an entire year. The House of de Lohr was wealthy from years of service to the crown, but also because as the Earl of Worcester and Hereford, Christopher owned active coal mines and also gleaned taxes from the market city of Worcester.
For David, as the Earl of Canterbury, his income came from the pilgrims, taxes, and the levies imposed on cog traffic along the River Stour through the large city of Canterbury. Combined, the brothers had more money than the crown, as the king had pointed out several times, but both of them were very careful with it and quite financially astute.
Except when it came to high-end warhorses.
Astride that big-arsed horse and dressed in his usual armor and weaponry, Christopher wasn’t thinking about money or expense. His mind was elsewhere, so much so that his brother had to ask him the same question twice. The second time, he turned to his brother irritably.
“It hasn’t been long enough,” he muttered. “Last year, I think. You and I were both in London to meet with The Marshal and we saw him then.”
David grunted. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “And must we really attend this celebration given by de Winter? It’s not as if we are going to celebrate anything when it has to do with John unless, of course, it’s his death. I will happily celebrate that day.”
Christopher chuckled. “Give the man a few more years, at least until his son is older and more malleable,” he said. “Henry is only six. The child actually has a level head thanks to his upbringing. Properly molded, we may actually have a good king.”
David shook his head. “Having a child-king may be better, anyway.”
“You sound like my wife.”
“She’s right.”
Christopher waved a hand at him. “A few more years,” he insisted. “Then… then I will be happy to be rid of John. It will save me from trips like this one.”
“To celebrate the birth of a man you hate?”
“Nay. To make sure the king and my children do not cross paths.”
David looked at him. “Is that why we are going to this event?” he asked, incredulous. “So you can keep Peter away from the king? Jesus, Chris, the man has seen twenty years and six. He does not need his dada to protect him.”
Christopher looked at him. “Not Peter,” he said. “Christin. Do you remember when we were at Ramsbury and everyone disappeared out of the hall at the same time?”
David nodded. “I do.”
“Even Christin left,” Christopher pointed out. “With Susanna de Dere, who is a known agent for William Marshal. And then she returned to us an hour later in a new gown about the same time as everyone else returned and pretended as if nothing was amiss.”
“So what?”
Christopher shook his head at his dimwitted brother. “Do you not see what I see, David? Christin must be working with William Marshal, too. Peter is. Why not Christin?”
“So you are coming to Norwich to get to the bottom of this?” David said. “Chris, your children are adults. If they serve William Marshal, it is their choice.”
That was true, but Christopher didn’t want to hear that, especially where it pertained to Christin. “My daughter is not going to be entrenched in The Marshal’s spy ring,” he said. “I will pull her out of Norwich and she will come home with me to Lioncross. A woman has no business playing a man’s game.”
“Susanna is playing a man’s game and she has played it well for many years,” David said quietly.
Christopher looked at him, exasperated. “She is also a Blackchurch-trained knight. Christin is not.”
David sighed heavily. “You have always been the type of father to let your children shine,” he said. “If Christin is an agent, then she must be very good at it if you don’t even know for certain whether she is or not. You cannot force her home like a scolded child if she’s been executing missions for William Marshal. How do you think she’s going to react?”
Christopher knew how – not very well. Christin was far too much like her mother and he could never control her very well, either. But when it came to his children and their safety, this was different. Christopher had been stewing on this very subject since they left Ramsbury Castle.
It had him torn.
“I would just feel better if we could see what is transpiring at Norwich,” he said. “Besides, most of our allies will be there. It will be a chance for us to reaffirm bonds.”
“Reaffirm bonds with John?”
“Oh, shut up.”
David bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very interesting celebration.”
Christopher had that feeling, too.
Only in his case, it wasn’t a good feeling. It was an ominous one.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Norwich Castle
There was a knock on the chamber door.
Christin was still sitting in the darkness of her chamber, trying to chase away the tears that wouldn’t seem to stop falling, but she quickly wiped her face when there was a second rap on the door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“It’s me!” came a voice. “Open the door, Cissy!”
Christin recognized the voice and she rushed to the door, throwing open the panel. Lady Wynter de Royans swept in, shutting the door quickly and bolting it. She turned to Christin, eyes wide as she leaned against the door.
“The king has arrived!” she gasped. “Have you heard?”
Christin nodded. Wynter was her dear friend, daughter of her father’s mentor, Juston de Royans of Bowes Castle. She had fostered at Norwich as a girl and was married at a fairly young age only to have her husband die of an illness three years into their marriage. Shattered, she’d returned to Norwich by her choice because it was a place of comfort to her. She was tall and elegant, level-headed and lovely. Christin liked, and trusted her, a great deal.
“Not only have I heard, I have seen him,” she said.
Wynter’s eyes widened further. “You have?” She shook her head in fear. “Cissy, we must not go to the hall. Lady de Winter has said so. We must remain here until the festivities are over.”
Christin shook her head. “Oh… Wynnie,” she said as she sank onto her bed. “The king has already seen me and he told me that he wishes to dine with me. But I will not do it. Where is Lady de Winter?”
Wynter was nearly beside herself. “She is in the lord’s chamber as far as I know,” she said. “She is in the keep. What will you do?”
Christin sat there for a moment, pondering the situation. Then, she suddenly stood up. “Leave,” she said decisively. “My satchel is packed. I will go into the city and find a room somewhere and remain there until the king is gone. No one will be able to find me, least of all the king’s men. If they try to take me to him
, they will have a fight on their hands.”
Wynter was in full agreement. “Then go,” she said. “I have some money you can use. There is an inn near the cathedral. I have heard it is very nice. Mayhap they have room for you.”
Christin grabbed her satchel from where she had set it on her bed. “I have some coinage.”
“I will give you more.”
Christin reached out and grasped her hand. “Truly, you do not need to,” she said. “But you must tell Peter where I have gone. He will worry.”
Wynter sighed heavily. “He will worry, anyway,” she said. “Let me send for him. Let him at least escort you into town.”
Christin shook her head. “He must not be an accomplice to my act of disobedience. This is something I must do alone.”
Wynter understood. Christin and Peter were quite close, and cared a good deal for one another, and she didn’t want to get her brother into trouble.
“Then let me go with you,” Wynter said. “You should not go alone.”
Christin smiled. “If you go with me, you will be an accomplice, too,” she said. “I cannot do that to you, Wynnie. You already know too much. You are going to have to plead ignorance in all things or you will get into trouble.”
Wynter knew that. Greatly distressed, she hugged Christin tightly. “Very well,” she said. “But you must hurry. You can slip from the postern gate and take the path to the farm fields below. It is much easier to leave their gate than it is to leave ours.”
Christin nodded. “I will,” she said. “Tell Peter… tell him that I shall return when the king has left.”
Wynter nodded, quickly going to the door to make sure there were no witnesses to Christin’s flight. There were other women in this building and she wanted to make sure no one was out, wandering around. Seeing that the landing was clear, she nodded to Christin, who bolted from her chamber and headed down the stairs.
She had just made it free of the building and was rushing towards the postern gate, also known as the meadow gate, when she saw a familiar face heading in her direction.
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