He strode forward, his booted footsteps loud in the silent chamber, and he surreptitiously noted his surroundings. As always, Richard was not alone in the large room, but accompanied by several of his close—and sometimes intimate—friends. They varied in ages, and some might have been courtiers who handled affairs of state. Chances were, most gathered here were not, for Richard was casually attired in a plain red velvet robe.
Surprisingly, it seemed a fairly civilized gathering and not a drunken, noble version of soldiers’ barracks. A chessboard stood nearby. Wine and bread were laid out upon a nearby trestle table, and a minstrel sat in the corner, idly strumming his harp. The only thing missing was women, whether to serve or provide company, but it was always thus with Richard.
Connor halted while he was still several paces from the king, then went down on his knee and bowed his head. “My liege.”
“Sir Connor,” Richard replied as he rose with the considerable majesty he commanded. He was taller than his companions, and they fell back as he strolled toward Connor. “Why are you dressed in your surcoat and armor?”
“To make my request to see you easier, sire. I wanted the guards at the gate to believe that I was a knight of the realm and that once I had been in your retinue.”
“That once you had been my friend, until you saw fit to call me—what was it?” Richard’s voice hardened. “A disgrace to my name, my throne, my countrymen and my God. So, Connor, have you forgotten what I vowed to do if you ever dared to come into my presence again, or have you finally come to beg my forgiveness?”
He had not forgotten, and he still believed that every word he had said to Richard as he faced him at Acre had been completely justified. Richard had acted without mercy. Without justice. Without honor.
And he had silently vowed to die before he would beg his king’s forgiveness for telling the truth. But now, his heart commanded him to do what he had sworn he would never do, what his pride and righteous outrage demanded he must never do—until his love for Allis became stronger than his pride and indignation, and her life more important to him than his own.
Sir Connor of Llanstephan lay face down on the floor, his arms wide, prostrating himself in a gesture of complete surrender and humility. His shoulder screamed in agony, but he ignored it. He must regain Richard’s trust and save Allis. Nothing else mattered. “I most humbly beg your forgiveness, sire.”
There was a long moment of silence like the quiet that had descended upon Acre when the last of the slaughtered Saracens fell. That silence had seemed as if Judgment Day had come and gone, and this heavy quiet was much the same.
Richard’s feet came closer. “Is that all you have to say to me, Sir Connor?”
He knew that tone of voice, and his heart began to beat anew. He had opened the door, but now he must do all he could to get Richard inside, and the best way was to appeal to his self-interest. Richard would never go out of his way for Connor of Llanstephan, but he would certainly act if he felt threatened—and swiftly, too. “No, sire. I have also come to warn you. Some of your lords are plotting against you.”
“I daresay they are. Dissatisfied noblemen always plot against their king.”
Although he spoke as if this did not disturb him, Connor knew Richard well enough to hear the subtle change in his voice. “Send these others away, sire, and I will tell you all that I know.”
“What, do you think I wish to be alone with you, a man I very nearly accused of being a traitor? And you are armed, too.”
Connor raised his head to look at Richard. He recognized that shrewd, calculating gleam in the king’s eyes and his hope increased. “If you had truly believed me a traitor, sire, you would have killed me the day I denounced you at Acre, or had me accused of treason and executed upon my return to England. You know that I am, and have always been, your loyal subject.”
“Rise, Sir Connor.”
Pressing his lips together to prevent himself from crying out in pain, he put his hands on the stone and pushed, heaving himself upright. “I am still your loyal subject and would never harm you. However, if you doubt me, one of these men may take my sword when they leave the room.”
Richard gestured to the others. “Leave us.”
“But sire!” one protested.
Richard whirled around to glare at them and spoke in the voice that had commanded men in battle countless times. “Leave us!”
As Richard strode toward the large carved chair near the hearth and sat, they scurried from the chamber like sheep being chased by a dog.
Richard gestured for Connor to come closer, but not to sit, and made no mention of his sword. “Well, what is this conspiracy you have come to warn me about?”
“It concerns the Baron DeFrouchette, whom you have just confirmed as guardian of the children of the late earl of Montclair.”
“You think he plots against me?”
“Yes. And if he has Montclair—”
“He does not have it. He is merely the guardian of the young heir, and was named as such in the earl’s will. I saw no need to go against Lord Montclair’s wishes.”
Not completely surprised, Connor absorbed the revelation. Oswald had not been truthful about how the baron had come to be named guardian. After their last conversation, his doubts about Oswald’s loyalty had grown, and now he was sure he was to have been a pawn in the man’s schemes. “The late earl was in no fit state to agree to anything, sire.”
Rubbing his strong jaw with an even stronger hand, Richard regarded him skeptically, but he did not contradict him. “How do you know this?”
“I saw the earl shortly before he died. It was quite obvious he was very weak and suffered from melancholy. DeFrouchette preyed upon his weakness, because he wants Montclair for himself.”
“The will was not made shortly before the earl died. It was some time ago.”
That was unexpected, but according to Allis, the baron had been influencing the earl for at least six years. “Be that as it may, the baron has been slowly taking control of Montclair ever since the earl’s wife died six years ago.”
“You sound very sure of this, although you were with me six years ago.”
“Lady Allis, the late earl’s elder daughter, told me.”
“Isn’t she the one Rennick DeFrouchette is going to marry?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Yet she told you this about her future husband.” The king studied Connor, then he smiled. “One can only wonder why.”
Richard was vain and selfish, but he wasn’t stupid. If Connor was less than completely honest now, the king would be suspicious, and surely DeFrouchette and Oswald would use his relationship with Allis against them if they stood accused before Richard. “She told me because she trusts me and because we are in love.”
The interest fell out of Richard’s face, to be replaced with scorn. “So now you come rushing to me to tell me your beloved’s betrothed is involved in a conspiracy. Very convenient for the two of you.”
Connor fought to maintain control, to sound reasonable and not the slave of his feelings. “Do you trust him, then, sire?”
Richard tilted his head and regarded Connor with that coldly measuring stare he used to such great effect. “I don’t trust any of my nobles.” He got to his feet and started to pace as he always did when he was upset. “I do not trust you, especially when you tell me how you feel about Lady Allis. However, it is a long way to go from mistrust to an accusation of treason.” He halted in front of Connor, and his eyes gleamed fiercely, like a wolf’s in the dark. “As you know, Sir Connor, I do not make such accusations hastily.”
He met his king’s gaze steadily, and although he forced himself to use a deferential tone, his voice was firm and sincere. “Lady Allis has never wanted to marry the baron. The baron is the insistent one, because he would gain much by marrying her.”
Richard’s eyes flared. “So would you.”
“Yes, I would, because of the woman herself.” Richard would not care what Allis was li
ke, so he altered his course back to the king’s safety. “I warn you that not only DeFrouchette is plotting against you. Lord Oswald of Darrelby is, too.”
Another look passed across Richard’s face. Oswald was a powerful man. Richard might be able to ignore treachery on the part of DeFrouchette, or put an end to it with relatively little trouble. Oswald was another matter entirely.
Connor pressed on, sensing that the king was yielding. “They are combining forces against you, sire, and trying to convince others to join them. They tried to convince me. Lord Oswald was trying to make me so angry at you that I would kill you.”
Richard’s glance darted to Connor’s sword. “No, sire, I will not. And there is yet more, Richard. Have you heard of the death of the son of Albert L’Ouisseaux?”
The king nodded and returned to his chair. Gesturing for Connor to sit near him, Richard sat heavily, as if burdened by his cares and the weight of his years, no longer the dashing figure of his youth, but a man who had been in power, with its attendant woes, for a long time.
Connor might have pitied him, save for Acre and the taxes on his family’s home. “I believe the death of Percival L’Ouisseaux was no accident, but murder. I think DeFrouchette poisoned him because the boy knew that the baron had tampered with my lance at the tournament hosted by the earl of Montclair, which caused me to be wounded. Or else the lad had done it at his bidding. If the baron will kill a boy for that, he will do anything to have what he wants, even kill his sovereign.” He leaned forward and infused his words with every ounce of conviction he could muster. “You must believe me, Richard. Those two are planning to kill you and I have come to warn you.”
“Even if I did believe you, what proof have you?”
They had come to it at last—the one thing that could make Richard disregard all that he had said, or spur him to action if his offer was accepted. “I have no proof except my word, and my willingness to put my accusations to a test in a trial by combat, my sword against DeFrouchette’s.”
Richard frowned and Connor could scarcely breathe as the king spoke. “If you triumph, you will have the lady, and all the wealth that goes with her—and that means power. I may be exchanging one enemy for another.”
Dismay and desperation overcame the need for caution. “Yes, but sire, if I do not speak the truth, surely God will let DeFrouchette be the victor.”
“Let me finish!” Richard snapped, his eyes blazing with a fire all too familiar.
Flushed and remorseful, fearing his impulsive outburst had been a disastrous error, Connor sat back in his chair.
“God’s ways are mysterious, Connor, or we would be having this conversation in Jerusalem. You come to me with no proof save your own conviction and ask me to trust you, even though you admit you want the bride of one of those you accuse. What am I to make of that?”
Connor slipped from his chair and knelt before his king. There was one more thing he could offer to prove that he spoke honestly. One more chance to save Allis from DeFrouchette.
“My liege, I have always been a man of honor and integrity, not greed and ambition. I think that in your heart, you know this to be true. I beg you to let God judge the truth of my accusations. If you do, and if I live and Rennick DeFrouchette dies, I give you my solemn promise before God that I will not marry Lady Allis of Montclair.”
Rennick regarded Oswald warily as the older man rode beside him at the head of their cortege. Oswald had suggested it would be a good idea for the people of Montclair to see him in public with that sullen brat, Edmond, to reinforce his position as guardian of Montclair.
But it was now clear that Oswald wanted to speak with him in relative privacy, away from the castle with its disgruntled servants. “What do you mean, he isn’t there?” he asked.
“He didn’t go,” Oswald answered. “He never arrived. How much plainer can I make it? My estate steward hasn’t seen hide or hair of that Welshman, and he’s had more than enough time to get there.”
“Maybe he hurt his shoulder again. Or maybe he decided to go back to Wales after all. Maybe he’s lying dead somewhere—God willing.”
Oswald shook his head. “You really must learn to look beyond your own wounded vanity, Rennick. Connor could be a very valuable weapon against the king.”
“He’s such a hotheaded fool, maybe he’s already gone after Richard. Maybe he’s on the road to Westminster right now.”
“I would like to hope so, yet I would rather be certain. A bit premature for my other plans, but Richard dead is Richard dead. Now or later makes only a little difference.”
“And if he hasn’t?”
“Then we’ll have to find another man with a grudge against the king. That shouldn’t be too difficult.” Oswald glanced back at Edmond riding between two of Rennick’s personal guards. “What do you make of the young earl’s silence?”
“He’s sulking, like a babe. Once I have married his sister and he is my squire, he’ll come around.”
“Or he could be nursing a fierce bitterness, like your son in France, that could prove very harmful to you one day. Take care it is not so.”
Rennick clenched his jaw. “I didn’t think you knew about Alexander.”
Oswald chuckled, a most unpleasant sound. “Oh, come, come, Rennick! I make it my business to find out things about my friends as well as my enemies. Naturally I have learned all about you and the young lady you seduced and abandoned once she was with child. I know you have seen the boy but once, although he is nearly twenty. I also know, Baron, that he hates you with a passion.”
Rennick really didn’t care. “He’s only a bastard.”
“Bastards have a very inconvenient habit of causing trouble. I would get rid of the fellow if I were you. One less thing for you to worry about.” Oswald eyed Rennick with a sly, malicious glee. “He is the spitting image of you, you know.”
No, he didn’t know, but he didn’t care about that either, any more than he did about the boy’s mother. She was no proud, disdainful beauty like Allis, whose conquest would be an exciting victory.
Allis in his bed. He had thought of little else these past three days as she lay in that dark cell in the armory. Soon, she would be freed to take her place in his bed, where surely she would be very willing to please him, in every way. A victory indeed, and the just reward for all his patience.
“I would also suggest you take care how you deal with Edmond de Montclair. He is, after all, the heir to a great estate.”
Edmond the brat, who looked at him with Allis’s eyes and hateful expression. He cared even less about Edmond than he did about his bastard. “If he lives to inherit.”
“I’ve been giving that some thought, Rennick, and I believe he should. You can strip the estate of what is valuable between now and then. I would also suggest you educate the lad in the finer points of debauchery, which I understand you know so well.”
Yes, he did, and Allis was going to learn all the ways he liked to be pleasured, whether she wanted to or not.
“If he is a drunken, lascivious lout and an embarrassment to the other nobles, no one will care very much what happens to him, except his sisters. A few years of patience, and then Montclair may be legally and truly yours.”
At last. At last.
Oswald slid Rennick another sidelong glance of malignant merriment. “Of course, Allis remains a bit of a problem. I think you were wise not to invite any guests to the wedding. Who can say what a woman like that, driven to desperation, might do?”
“She will be tamed, my lord.”
“You sound very confident.”
Rennick thought of the dark, dank hole in which she had been imprisoned. “I am.”
Chapter 26
Footsteps. Boots coming down the stairs. Her legs weak and trembling from hunger as well as fear, Allis tried to stand. She braced herself against the wall, determined to stay on her feet and face whoever came to fetch her.
The door opened, and Rennick stepped into the chamber.
R
ennick the cruel. Rennick the wolf, the snake, the rat, the worm. Rennick the fool, who had left her for days with nothing to do but think. To compare him to Connor. To decide what she must do.
He coughed and held his hand over his face. “Time to go, my lady. The priest awaits to make us husband and wife, once you have washed and put on a clean gown.”
Keeping her back against the stones for support, she swallowed, trying to wet her throat to speak. “Does he know that the bride is unwilling?”
“Father Duncan is a very ambitious fellow determined to build a new cathedral on my estate. I have agreed to give him land for the cathedral, and he has agreed to marry us.”
Filled with hate and scorn, she curled her lip. Of course a man like Rennick would find someone willing to do what he wanted for the right price. Men like her beloved and honest Connor were an even rarer breed than she had suspected.
Rennick held out his hand to her. “Now come. I should think you would be ready to leave this place.”
She crossed her arms. “I would gladly stay here for the rest of my life than marry you.”
He laughed harshly and the cold, heartless sound echoed off the slimy walls. “No, you wouldn’t. A few more days starvation, you would be glad to do anything for me, with or without benefit of clergy, if it got you out of here.”
If she could have, she would have spit in his face. As it was, she stood her ground and glared at him.
“If you try anything to prevent our marriage today, my lady, I will lock you in here and I will not return until I am good and ready. So come along, Allis. You need to prepare to be married.” He yanked her forward, making her stumble. “Do I have to carry you?”
She drew herself up and, with what strength she could muster, pulled her arm from his grasp. “Don’t touch me.”
“Proud even now,” he sneered as she passed him. “Proud as a highborn lady should be, but more foolishly stubborn than most. Very well, my lady, hold your haughty head high. We shall see how long it takes to break you—and I will break you.”
The Maiden and Her Knight Page 28