“And I do not,” he said. “Too damned vulnerable.”
Teodora smiled faintly, seeing that he was unwilling to talk about, of all things, his naked head, or so she assumed. Therefore, she took pity on him yet again and steered away from the subject.
“So you and I are fair-haired,” she muttered. “Mayhap we have the blood of the Celts in us. They are fair, you know. What is your father’s lineage?”
Cullen knew very well she was shifting focus and he was glad. The conversation was taking too many strange twists and he was becoming off-balance. “He is Norman.”
“And your mother?”
“Saxon to the bone.”
Birds suddenly exploded from the trees beside them and Cullen, as well as most of his entourage, immediately drew their swords. Cullen sent a few men in to inspect the foliage and they came back bearing news that there was a family of wild pigs in the bushes. No assassins or crazed soldiers of King John lay in wait. The column relaxed, sheathed their swords, and Teodora continued with her questions.
“What is your mother’s name?”
Cullen eyed her, a real flash of irritation in his eyes. Had those birds been murderers, they would all be in a good deal of trouble now thanks to Teodora’s prattling. He’d never known the woman to talk so much. “Go back with the escorts,” he rumbled. “You are distracting me with this inane chatter. This is not the place, nor the time.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You had no problem answering my questions until a moment ago.”
He cast her an intense gaze. “Go, Teodora.”
The last time he had used her Christian name had been in the midst of their lovemaking. Teodora felt a warm rush at the sound of his voice, turning her cheeks red and her heart giddy. She found herself watching him, observing how he efficiently and commandingly controlled his men. And his men, in turn, did his bidding before he could even get the words out of his mouth. The more she watched him, the more forcefully her heart pounded.
He caught her staring at him from the corner of his eye and his bloodied eyebrows lifted. “Well?” he demanded. “Must I treat you like a child and take you by the hand and lead you back myself?”
“Teddy,” she said.
Now his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“My family and friends call me Teddy. You may call me Teddy, also, if it pleases you.”
Teddy. Something about the way she said it in a voice that was soft and seductive made his heart leap strangely. He very much wanted to smile at her, because she’d opened a doorway between them leading to something personal, but he held his ground. Now was not the time or the place.
“Teddy,” he said. “Get back with the others before I take my hand to you.”
The first thing that came to mind was a smart retort. Teodora had no idea why she, instead, smiled at him, reined her horse about, and brushed against his thigh. Her heart was thumping so loudly she was positive he could hear it.
“Suo loco,” she whispered as she moved past him.
His eyes found her, feeling the intense pull between them. “Aye, my lady. In your proper place.”
She met his gaze strongly before spurring her horse forward. “I would rather my place be here. Beside you.”
His resolve to remain unemotional took another hit. It was a softly spoken, seductive statement coming from a woman who had, thus far, seemed ill at ease with her natural feminine wiles. Cullen tried to ignore the heated sensations her words provoked but found he could not and, without realizing it, his movements came to a halt.
He turned to watch Teodora as she moved back among the men, gazing at her like a besotted fool and having no idea that he was doing so. Everything about her was so graceful and fine, and thoughts of her warm flesh in his hands filled his mind. Of everything wonderful and rare in this world, Lady Barklestone was among them, and he began to feel strange pangs in his chest as if she was somehow anchoring herself to him. He rubbed at his sternum, unconsciously, as if to massage the giddy ache away.
“My lady!” he abruptly barked.
Teodora turned about, eyeing him, wary of the booming tone. He did not sound pleased. But before her eyes, and the eyes of the de Lacy soldiers, Cullen seemed to soften in a way that was difficult to describe. It wasn’t so much a display of weakness as it was a show of pleasure. He had enjoyed their conversation, as distracting as it might have been. He shouldn’t have cared, but God help him, he did.
And he wanted her to know.
“Vesper,” he said finally.
Teodora’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I am sorry, I don’t…”
“Your last question, my lady.” He cut her off, his voice strong. “’Tis the answer.”
Teodora saw the twinkle in his eye, a glimmer of warmth that gave her a wonderfully queasy feeling again. Whatever was brewing between them was doing so in spite of their stations, and in spite of the fact that there should be no emotion between them whatsoever.
But there was.
It was all she could do not to smile at him, averting her gaze after a moment and hoping her growing infatuation wasn’t too obvious. A harsh whistle pierced the air and the troops began to move forward, heading to Cerenbeau to collect Preston and Teodora’s grandmother.
Cullen left his helm off the rest of the journey because that was how Lady Barklestone preferred it.
PART TWO
A CIVITATIS AUREM (A CITY OF GOLD)
CHAPTER EIGHT
Westminster Castle, London
One Week Later
He was a small man with one droopy eye and dark, greasy hair. He had a habit of snapping his fingers constantly, a gesture that drove those around him mad with annoyance. But John, King of England, could do whatever he liked, damned the annoyance, and he was well aware of his royal privileges.
Even now, seated in the grand solar of the royal accommodation chambers at Westminster Palace, he snapped his fingers repeatedly as if the gesture somehow helped him process his thoughts. Across the room, a dark-haired man dressed in dirty black hose and a clean silk tunic stood warily.
“Preston has arrived in London, I have heard,” John said.
“Aye, he has.”
“I can see Rodstone House to the north. There are lights in the windows.”
“Indeed, Highness.”
A heavy sigh. “There should be no lights in the windows.” The king’s voice was sweet with disgust. “The assassination was unsuccessful. I am not surprised, truthfully. Your plan was foolish from the onset, Barric.”
Sir Barric Fitz Hammond refrained from reminding the king that the plan, in fact, had come from the king himself. He had even hand-picked the soldiers to accomplish it.
“De Lacy had half a legion with him,” Barric replied quietly. “We should have sent more men, but to do so would have been too conspicuous.”
“Yet victorious.”
“A sizable army would not have guaranteed success, Highness.”
John eyed the man, his black eyes as keen and sharp as an obsidian dagger. From this figure that was slovenly and small, implying great weakness, came this intense gaze that filled all men with a great fear. John was aware that he possessed his mother’s piercing eyes and utilized them to his advantage.
But Barric did not cower. He was used to the king’s unwavering stares. With that in mind, John finally lowered his gaze and rose from his chair, pacing leisurely across the wooden floor, covered with rushes and hides. The smell of the rushes was thick in the room, the pungent scent filling his nostrils as he pondered this latest defeat against the rebellion that threatened his throne. Small as the loss was, it was nonetheless significant.
“I was told that on the day of failure, de Lacy and de Nerra arrived at Leominster in the company of fifty men,” he said quietly. “De Nerra split off to escort the new Lady Barklestone amongst the merchant stalls whilst de Lacy went to entertain himself in the tavern.”
“Indeed, Highness.”
“Was de Nerra unharmed as well
?”
Barric nodded his head, snorting. “The man is a rock. Invincible.”
It was John’s turn to snort, this time in agreement. God, how he wished de Nerra was under his command, if only for the fact that Preston de Lacy did not deserve such perfection in a knight. De Nerra had once been part of the larger contingent of knights that served William Marshal, all of them powerful warriors in their own right and most enviable. Rumor was that The Marshal lost de Nerra to de Lacy in a card game, not an entirely noble exchange for such a man. In any case, that fine knight was now part of the rumored rebel contingent.
It was quite a loss, in fact. John scratched his oily scalp and began snapping his fingers again, thinking of de Nerra and de Lacy and the situation in general.
“What do we know of the new countess,” he asked after a moment, “other than she is a de Rivington?”
Barric smiled weakly. “Her father served Henry as a knight with the household guard. Do you recall Bradford de Rivington?”
John shook his head. “Not personally. A lesser knight, not one I would trouble myself with.”
“His loyalties lie with you, as your father’s chosen heir.”
“So Sloan de la Roarke has told me.” John reached for a crystal decanter of elderberry brandy, his personal favorite. Removing the stopper, he drank from the neck. “This is all Sloan’s doing, you know. I know little of Bradford de Rivington or his daughter, but I shall trust Sloan in this matter because he, in fact, is close to de Rivington. If he can orchestrate de Lacy’s destruction through this insignificant girl, then I shall have no other choice but to present the man with the earldom he has long dreamed of.”
“And if he fails?”
“Then he dies. And so do de Rivington and his daughter.”
Barric wasn’t put off by the statement. It was characteristic of John. He had no loyalties to anyone unless they were of use to him. Success and failure were the only measures of import in his life and were the standards he judged all others by.
“Sloan has been a great friend to you through the years,” Barric reminded him. “He has enlisted de Rivington’s help to ensure the safety of your throne.”
John drank deeply of the brandy, already feeling its warmth in his veins. His black eyes found a distant window and he gazed pensively at the sky as the colors of sunset bled across the clouds.
“Then I pray, for Sloan’s sake, that the de Rivington wench is competent and obedient to orders,” he murmured. “If he can eliminate de Lacy through her, then I shall honor him. But if his scheme fails…”
Barric nodded sharply. By the tone of the king’s voice, he knew the conversation was concluded. “Will that be all, Highness?”
“Tell Hamilton I will have use for him.”
“Indeed, Highness.”
Barric closed the door behind him. Alone in his silent, empty room, John drank a quiet toast to Preston de Lacy’s impending death.
CHAPTER NINE
Rodstone House, London
“Tell me what you see, child.”
Teodora stood by the great window as her grandmother asked the question, gazing out over the spacious grounds of Rodstone House. It sat on the banks of the River Thames, just outside of the city walls, and very near Westminster Palace. In fact, she could see the great structure of Westminster quite clearly.
It’s like a dream, she thought in awe.
It was nearly evening now. Teodora and Regal had arrived close to the nooning meal and, since that time, the women had been left alone in a grand suite decorated with luxurious rugs and furniture from the Continent. Cullen had explained, very briefly before he had left to attend other duties, that Preston was a collector of rare and priceless things. Teodora had been so awestruck by the fabulous collection that she was afraid to touch or sit on anything lest she damage it.
But Regal wasn’t afraid. Twice, the old woman had nearly toppled valuable glass phials from their perches in her inspection of the unfamiliar room. Teodora had walked behind her grandmother in a panic, well aware of Preston’s temperament and steadying whatever the woman upset. Finally, she convinced Regal to sit, where she had remained obediently until this very moment.
“Teodora,” Regal hissed. “Answer me, child. What do you see?”
Teodora was gazing from the window as if dazed. The sun was setting, the pink sky casting shadows over the river and over the land. It was peaceful and serene, the calm of sunset before the introduction of night. She leaned against the sill, watching the servants pass on the grounds below, the light from their torches like orange sparks against the coming darkness.
“Mirabilia,” she murmured.
Regal nodded in understanding. “Wonders, you say? What wonders?”
Teodora smiled ironically. “London should be wonder enough, Grandmere. Do you not feel the magic?”
Regal was silent a moment, her milky eyes distant as she pondered something long, long ago. “Aye, I feel it.” There was an echo in her voice. “I remember it well.”
Regal sounded strangely subdued and Teodora turned away from the window. “Remember it? What do you mean?”
Regal shrugged as if to shake off the depressing thoughts. “Just that. Ask me no more, child. ’Twas a long time ago.” She paused a moment. “But remember this… you are in a dangerous place now. As beautiful as it may be, it is deadly. You must remain safe, behind locked doors, and do not wander out. Most importantly, if the king is in residence here, stay away from him.”
Teodora’s brow furrowed. “What makes you think I am going to be anywhere near the king?”
Regal simply shook her head. “You may at some point,” she said. “Your husband is an earl. The nobility keep together, and it is possible you will be within John’s proximity at some point. I hear he is worse than his father ever was.”
“Worse in what way?”
Regal’s skinny, wrinkled jaw flexed. “All Plantagenets are cursed with foul, heated blood. It flows right to their loins until they can do nothing more than think with their male member. Do you understand me?”
Teodora nodded. “I… I think so. But how would you know this?”
“Trust me on this matter. I know what I know. It doesn’t matter how I know, but I do.”
Teodora’s curiosity was piqued. The old woman looked pale and angry, lingering on something buried deep in her memory. “Are you well, Grandmere?”
Regal nodded her head. “I am very well, thank you.” She stood up as if to prove her point. “Now tell me, how is it being married to Preston de Lacy? We’ve not discussed it on the journey here because there were too many ears who could hear our conversation, but we are alone now. Tell me all of it, child. I had my doubts that you would survive the wedding night, you know. I am glad my fears were for naught.”
It was obvious that Regal was changing the subject now to Teodora’s marriage. It was true they’d not discussed it on the trip to London, not even in the evenings when they would stop to rest. Preston never spent the night in the same chamber with his wife, who spent the entire journey alone. Not even Cullen had visited her, and Regal had been given her own sleeping chamber wherever they stayed. It had been a rather lonely journey as a result.
In fact, as she stood at the window, she reflected on the fact that Cullen seemed to keep his distance from her during the journey. After the initial conversation they’d had before reaching Cerenbeau, when she’d asked him about his parentage, among other things, he’d remained detached and professional. No conversation that wasn’t absolutely necessary. But that also brought about thoughts of her wedding night and how it had been delicious and sweet beyond her wildest dreams. Teodora pondered her reply, watching her grandmother as she shuffled across the room, her claw-like hands missing a beautiful crystal vase by inches.
“I will tell you of my wedding night, Grandmere,” she finally said, softly. “My husband did not consummate the marriage.”
Regal came to a dead stop, her probing hands poised on an exquisite porcelain
figurine. “What?” she croaked. “What’s this you say?”
“He ordered his champion to do it.”
Regal stood still, shocked. The wrinkled hands let go of the figure and began to feel around for a chair, as if suddenly very tired. She threw herself into the nearest cushioned rest.
“Preston ordered his champion to consummate the marriage?” she repeated, astonished. “What madness is this? Why on God’s Earth would he do such a thing?”
“I was told it was because he cannot… perform as a husband should.”
Regal was silent a moment longer, the look of shock quickly leaving her face. “I see,” she grunted, shaking her head. Then, she snorted. “I am not surprised. A man his age should be thankful he’s still breathing much less expect to have starch in his sail.”
Her grandmother always had a way of putting things, and Teodora fought off a grin in spite of herself. “I must say I wasn’t disappointed,” she said. “Lord de Lacy has, thus far, proven himself to be a less than pleasant man.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Nay.”
“Why?”
“He’s a brute.”
Regal cocked an eyebrow. “Why say you this, child? Has he done something to you?”
Teodora’s smile faded as she thought back to that night in the stables. “He slapped me for being disobedient,” she said truthfully. “Sir Cullen says that if I am going to survive, I must give Preston blind obedience.”
“Who is Sir Cullen?”
“Preston’s champion.” Teodora felt a rush of warm, giddy emotions at the mere mention of his name. In spite of the fact that he’d kept his distance during the trip to London, it did nothing to ease her growing feelings for him. “You heard his voice earlier, Grandmere. He was the man ordering the others about when I was brought here.”
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 10