“They will be quite thrilled to see you, also,” Christopher said. “Addax will make a fine garrison commander, so I will send him and Cassian to the smaller garrisons. Truly, this situation may work out better for us in the end. We could never hope to hold London for any length of time, anyway, so accepting those four castles in exchange for pulling out my men… I have the better end of the bargain.”
Christin, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “Do you intend to only allow my husband to be a garrison commander?” she said. “Or will you give him the property someday? He deserves that, Papa. So does Peter.”
Christopher looked to his ambitious daughter. Not that she wasn’t correct in her declaration that both men were deserving, but he didn’t want to make any commitments at the moment. “Aye, they do,” he said. “But I also have six sons who all must have a piece of my legacy, so do not push me into making any decisions today. Be pleased that you will soon be chatelaine over such a fine castle.”
Christin opened her mouth but Alexander shook his head at her, faintly, a silent husbandly command that forced her to keep silent. As she made a face, unhappily muzzled, Christopher turned his attention to his wife who had, thus far, remained silent during the exchange.
He looked at her, the woman who had been by his side for so many years. She was strong beyond measure, wise and clever. He wanted to make sure she understood the greater implications of what was to happen.
A husband who was taking on more responsibility.
“I know this is a good deal to take in, but I wanted you to know what had transpired this evening,” he said. “I suspect we will be returning home sooner than we had planned because of this latest development. There is much to plan for.”
Dustin was clearly mulling over what she’d been told. “It is a great deal, to be sure,” she said. “I am not astonished at the scope in which your legacy is growing. There is no one in England who deserves it more. But that is not why you invited us here tonight.”
Christopher’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean?”
She cocked her head. “I know you too well, my love,” she said. “You said that the king is going to be here tonight and you would not invite me to be in the same hall as that man unless you needed me badly. What do you need me to do?”
Dustin and John, not surprisingly, had a history as well. There had been a time, many years ago, when the then-prince had abducted Lady de Lohr for his own nefarious purposes. Christopher had saved her, of course, and ever since then, he’d made sure his wife and daughters were nowhere near John.
But Dustin was correct.
He needed her for something.
“Astute as always, Lady de Lohr,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes. “I do believe Peter needs your assistance.”
Hearing his name, Peter perked up. “Me? What do I need?”
Christopher looked at him. “If I am not mistaken, Agnes de Quincy and her father will be here tonight,” he said. “Agnes is on your scent like a bloodhound and I thought your mother might be able to give the girl a moment of pause when it comes to pursuing you. I do not like Walter de Quincy, but his lands border mine. It would be a fine lordship for you, Peter. You know the family is quite wealthy.”
Peter put up a hand to stop his father from continuing. “I want nothing to do with her,” he said flatly. “Everywhere I go, there she is. She’s petty and mean, and she is not someone I wish to know much less be married to. If you want someone to have the de Quincy lands and Astley Cross, then marry her to Curtis or Richie. I am not a good candidate.”
Christopher fought off a grin. “I know,” he said. “Which is why I brought your mother in. She can discourage Agnes and her father as I cannot.”
Everyone turned to Dustin, who simply shrugged. “I will do my best,” she said. “Are you certain this is what you want, Peter?”
Peter went to her, taking her hand and holding it sweetly. Even though Dustin had not given birth to him, she had loved him from the moment she’d met him and he loved her. She had always taken a special interest in him and made the bastard of her husband, born well before she had married or even met him, feel like one of the family. At least, she had always tried to.
There was a deep bond there.
“Please, Ange,” he said, calling her what he’d always called her – the French term for angel. “We do not want a woman like that in our family and I certainly do not want to be married to her.”
Dustin smiled at him and patted his cheek. “Then I will do my best,” she said. “Or, my worst as far as Agnes is concerned. Have no fear.”
With that, she headed for the door, pulling her husband and David, and even Christin and Alexander with her. Like a queen, she emerged from the solar with her entourage in tow. Marcus started to follow, but Peter called to him quietly. When Marcus paused, Peter motioned for him to close the door after the others.
He wanted a moment of Marcus’ time.
In fact, Peter had fostered at Marcus’ castle of Somerhill for many years and he was almost closer to Marcus than he was his own father. Marcus hung back, looking at Peter with curiosity.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
Peter had been planning this for the better part of the afternoon. He needed someone to talk to, someone who wasn’t his father or his brother-in-law, someone who wasn’t a family member and perhaps had a broader view of things. He trusted Marcus, a man who was noble and trustworthy, at least to Peter. He knew that in Marcus’ past, the man had sometimes been less than scrupulous when working for something he wanted or something he believed in.
Marcus Burton was a man who would let nothing stand in his way.
Peter had heard the rumors of the days when Marcus lusted after Dustin. He’d even been married to her at one point because it was widely believed that Christopher had been killed in battle, but that was all a very long time ago. Marcus and Dustin and Christopher had been young and passionate and sometimes foolish in their judgment, all of them, so the actions of a man from long ago had no bearing on what Peter thought of him. For as long as he’d known Marcus Burton, the man had only been kind, wise, and noble.
Peter trusted him.
“I had everything planned out that I wanted to speak to you about, but now that the moment is upon me, I am somewhat tongue-tied,” he said, grinning nervously. “I suppose I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Marcus cocked his head curiously. “What about?”
“What do you think of the Jews?”
“The Jews?”
“Aye.”
Marcus was looking for more of an explanation, but when Peter wasn’t forthcoming, he simply shrugged. “They worship the same God as we do,” he said, puzzled. “Are you asking me what I know about the Jews or what my opinion is?”
Peter nodded. Then he shook his head. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “I do not know what I am asking. All I know is that I saw the most beautiful woman I have ever seen today and she is a Jewess. I’ve never known any, so I do not know if… do you think my father would even let me court such a woman? If I liked her enough, I mean. Do you think he would permit it?”
Now the situation was starting to come clear a little and Marcus’ dark eyebrows lifted. “I see,” he said. “You have met a woman you are attracted to.”
Peter sighed with relief now that Marcus understood what he was saying. “Aye.”
“And she is a Jewess.”
“Aye.”
“Where did you meet her?”
Peter tried not to look too embarrassed. “While hiding from Agnes de Quincy,” he said. “I hid in her kitchen yard over on Milk Street.”
Marcus cocked his head thoughtfully. “That is over in the business district,” he said. “Over by the Street of the Jewelers.”
Peter nodded quickly. “Her father is the jeweler to the king,” he said. “I am sure that means the family is quite prestigious and wealthy. Their house is very nice. She was very… nice.”
Marcus lo
oked at him when he said it, a smile spreading across his lips. “Captured your attention, did she?”
Peter nodded as if he could hardly believe it himself. “I spoke to her for a short time,” he said. “She was witty and intelligent, and her beauty… I have never seen anything like it in my life, Uncle Marcus. The woman is a goddess. Were she Christian, she would be the most popular and sought-after woman in all of England. I’ve honestly never given a thought to the Jews one way or the other, but she… she has me thinking about them.”
Marcus watched the emotions ripple across Peter’s fair face. He was dashingly handsome with his blond hair and dark eyes, and being a de Lohr, that made him one of the most eligible bachelors in England. Agnes de Quincy knew it, which was why she was pursuing him so voraciously. There were other families who had approached Christopher about a potential betrothal, but Christopher was being quite selective with his eldest son. Peter was a prize and Christopher intended to treat him like one and broker the most advantageous marriage for him, but Marcus was fairly certain that did not include a Jewess.
It was simply the way of things.
“Well,” he said after a moment, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “I cannot speak for your father. I do not know what he would allow or what he would not. Personally, I have no quarrel with the Jews. I know many crusading knights cannot say the same thing, but the ones I have known have been congenial and fair. But you do realize that they lead quite a different life from what we do.”
Peter lifted his shoulders. “As I said, I’ve never given them a thought, really,” he said. “I remember someone saying, once, that they have horns underneath their skull caps and that they feast on rats.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Rubbish,” he said. “They simply worship differently than we do, and their customs are different, but that is where it ends. If I were you, I would educate myself on Jews before I go any further with these thoughts. And do not mention this to your father, Peter. He has enough on his mind at the moment without his son asking about a religion that may or may not feast on rats.”
Peter nodded as Marcus opened the door to the solar and the entryway and great hall appeared beyond. But he paused before he stepped through the opening.
“Uncle Marcus, would you let Michael marry a Jewess?” he asked.
Marcus paused next to him. He was speaking of his eldest son, a young man who was blossoming into a spectacular warrior. Michael was just entering manhood, looking and acting very much like his father. Marcus had five sons in total, the youngest one being three years of age, but Michael was the apple of his eye. Still, he pondered Peter’s question seriously.
“I do not know,” he said honestly. “All men hope for advantageous marriages for their sons, so I do not know. I would want him to be happy, of course, but I also would not want him to marry foolishly.”
“And you believe marrying a Jew would be foolish?”
Marcus shook his head. “As I said, I have no quarrel with them,” he said. “But that is not the first place I would look for a beneficial marriage.”
“But why?”
“Ask yourself that question. What can she bring to a marriage? Is it more than you can? Is it less?”
Now, Peter was the one pondering the question. “She’s beautiful and smart.”
“So this is only about her being beautiful and smart?”
Peter could see where he was going, but he didn’t like it. Marcus was trying to force him to look at the marriage from all angles, not just because she was pretty and smart.
Not just because she had a face that mesmerized him.
“Would you say the same thing to me if she wasn’t a Jew?” he said after a moment.
Marcus nodded firmly. “Absolutely,” he said. “This has nothing to do with being a Jew. But you must understand that their world is very different from ours. They don’t necessarily fit into ours and we do not fit into theirs. You would be bringing a woman into a world that she knows nothing about. But let us discuss this more later, Peter. Your father is expecting us, so let’s focus on the present.”
With his hand still on Peter’s shoulder, Marcus headed out into the crowd, taking Peter with him. Even as Marcus ran into Juston de Royans and struck up a conversation right at the entry to the hall, Peter was thinking on what Marcus had advised him.
I would educate myself on Jews before I go any further with these thoughts.
It was good advice. In fact, he knew just who to ask.
If she would even help him.
In any case, it gave him a reason to see her again.
The feast was crowded on this night with a good many de Winter allies which, incidentally, didn’t include anyone who sided with the king other than de Winter and de Nerra. These were all rebel barons, all former allies of de Winter who were now simply friends. And friends supped together and drank together, without speaking of politics for the moment, and everyone seemed to be relaxed and enjoying the evening.
Peter had every intention of enjoying himself along with them. He could see Christin and Alexander speaking to Maxton and Caius, men he liked a great deal. Even though Peter was quite a bit younger than they were and had never experienced life and death on the sands of The Levant, Christopher had and by virtue of his father, Peter had been accepted into their closely knit circle. When Peter proved himself by being a fearless, skilled knight, that cemented further bonds.
Peter was an Executioner Knight and very proud of it.
Someone who seemed to be missing on this night was William Marshal. The king had yet to make an appearance and Peter wondered if The Marshal was with the man and would perhaps arrive with him. Ever since the signing of the Magna Carta those few months ago, the dynamics within the Executioner Knights had changed slightly. No one really addressed it other than to say they were all still faithful friends and loyal to The Marshal.
Still… times like this felt very odd.
Inevitably, his thoughts drifted from The Marshal to memories of the afternoon and the brief time he’d spent with Liora. When he should be focusing on the situation at hand because his father was in the middle of a very dicey situation, he found himself thinking of the raven-haired beauty with the wicked little brother. Oh, he could handle little brothers. He had been doing so for years. But the beautiful lass with the cornflower blue eyes… he wondered if he could handle her.
He wondered if he’d even have the opportunity.
As he stood with Christin, Alexander, Maxton, and Caius, he caught sight of his mother near the dais as she spoke to Daveigh’s wife, Keeva. It occurred to him that she wasn’t speaking to Agnes or Walter de Quincy, both of whom he caught sight of in the same glance. They were near the dais, too, and when they saw Peter looking in their direction, Walter waved and took Agnes by the arm, heading in Peter’s direction.
Peter bolted out of that hall as if his arse were on fire.
He didn’t care that they had made eye contact. He didn’t care that they were smiling and waving at him, greeting him from across the room. Through the smoke and warmth and people crowding the hall, Peter used them like a shield as he made his escape. He slipped past Caius and Maxton, Teviot, his father, and the rest of them as he found himself practically running for the exit. Once outside, he rushed to the group of de Lohr men and horses, finding his trusty steed and mounting swiftly.
And with that, he took off towards London city proper.
He made his escape.
Peter traveled swiftly, passing Westminster Palace and the Thames, and many of the great London manses of warlords that were both siding with the king and against him. He came to the city gates, now being manned by rebel troops and not royal ones, and he was admitted into the city because they recognized his de Lohr tunic. Even in the dark of night, when they usually kept the gates sealed up, they admitted him.
Odd how he seemed to know exactly where he was going.
He was fleeing, indeed, but with a destination in mind.
The moon overhead
was cold and bright as he slowed his pace once he entered the city. Even if de Quincy was following him, he might not get past the gate guards and even if he did, Peter was confident he could lose himself on any one of the dozens and dozens of streets and alleys. He was becoming weary of being followed all the time and decided that if his mother couldn’t call off Agnes and her father, then he would have to do it personally. He just couldn’t keep running like this every time Agnes reared her head. They would have to understand that he simply wasn’t interested – and he would have to make sure his father supported that decision.
Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if his father did.
He ended up on Lombard Street, heading towards the Aldergate part of the city, when he came upon Milk Street. The little street was quiet and mostly dark at this hour, and his horse’s hooves against the dirt echoed softly off the walls. He made his way to Liora’s home, a four-storied structure that reached into the sky.
Peter found himself looking to the upper floors where the bedchambers would be. He didn’t know which window belonged to Liora, so he didn’t chance the usual throwing-pebbles-at-the-window ploy to get her attention. He didn’t want to awaken that terror, Asa, or worse, Liora’s father. If that happened, things would be over before they had a chance to start. Therefore, he moved around to the small alleyway that ran next to the home, the one that contained the gate leading into the kitchen yard.
For a moment, he paused in the little alley, a smile on his lips as he thought of his encounter with Liora. Such a perfectly angelic woman, beauty beyond compare. He could admit that her beauty had him smitten, but it was her wit that had him hooked. He’d seen beautiful women with the manners of a boar, so it wasn’t all her beauty.
Well, mostly not.
He spent a few minutes reliving his conversation with Liora before finally deciding he couldn’t remain here all night, as much as he wanted to. Begrudgingly, he turned his horse around when a window on the third floor suddenly opened up. Terrified he was about to be seen by Liora’s father or even her little brother, he was preparing to ram his spurs into the sides of his animal and take off when a head with long, dark hair appeared.
The Splendid Hour: The Executioner Knights Book 7 Page 6