“I suppose that is reasonable,” she said, tripping over a stone in the bailey as he pulled her along. When she stumbled, he slowed his pace. “But he must not have told you where he came from or where to find his family if you were unable to find us… did he?”
Again, Constantine shook his head, unaware he was being probed. “Not a word,” he said. “Although at one time, he mentioned having lived in Weymouth. Is that where you have come from?”
Weymouth. Gregoria’s mind worked quickly, incorporating that town into her story. “Nay,” she said. “Not Weymouth. My… my mother and I left Weymouth a year ago, after word of my father’s passing reached us. A man who knew of him and had heard of his death came to tell us.”
It was all perfectly plausible and Constantine had no cause to doubt her. By this time, they’d entered the keep of Perran Castle, a rather large, long structure that was built into the interior of the bailey, away from the walls that were so heavily fortified. The solar, being on the entry level, was Constantine’s destination and he took Gregoria into the lavish chamber.
Lavish was an understatement. Gregoria had never seen anything like it; fine furniture everywhere, furs and carpets on the floor, and several large and fine tapestries hanging on the walls. Awestruck, she stood just inside the door, gaping at her surroundings, as Constantine went to a table that contained wine and cups and other things. As he moved to pour wine, two of the biggest dogs Gregoria had ever seen came up to her, looking at her curiously. She recoiled when she saw them, terrified they were going to eat her.
“They will not harm you,” Constantine said as he came away from the table with two full cups of wine in his hands. “They are simply curious with visitors. Henry is the blond dog and Edward is the darker one.”
He extended a cup of wine to her and Gregoria eyed the dogs as she accepted it. “Henry and Edward?” she repeated. “Interesting names for… dogs.”
Constantine smirked. “They are named for England’s king and the Earl of March, make no mistake,” he said. Then, he turned to the dogs. “Sit down, you beasts. Sit!”
Promptly, the dogs planted their hindquarters on the floor. Constantine pointed at them. “Lay down, you mongrels. Lay down and be silent.”
The dogs complied, laying down, but continuing to look at Constantine with their big doggy eyes. He grinned at them, patting each dog on the head.
“You see?” he said to Gregoria. “I can command Henry and Edward to do my bidding. No matter what I tell them, they will obey. That is the way it should be.”
Gregoria had to admit, she found it rather humorous that Constantine should take such delight in bullying two dogs with the names of men that were in control of England. One man in particular who wanted to see Constantine dead. But she didn’t smile, even though she felt like it, and sipped at the sweet, fine wine instead.
“They are very nice dogs, my lord,” she said. “And… and your home is very nice, too.”
Constantine turned to her. In the light of the room, her porcelain, high-cheekboned face was even more intriguing. He gestured at her cloak.
“Remove your wrap and set down your bag,” he said. “Come over to the fire. It is warmer there, and you and I must speak.”
Quickly, Gregoria did as she was told. She removed her cape, putting it on a fine-cushioned chair, and set her heavy satchel down next to it. Then, she made her way to the hearth that was taller than she was, radiating copious amounts of heat.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, my lord,” she said gratefully. “I realize I have come unannounced, but my father said you were a man who could be depended on and… I… I have a serious problem. I need your help.”
Constantine’s eyes drifted over her now that she was uncloaked and what he saw did not displease him; she was tall in height, round of body in the right places. Her beauty could only be described as astonishing; along with those bright blue eyes and high cheekbones, she had brown hair that glistened with red highlights in the firelight. It was wavy, gathered back into a braid, with wispy tendrils around her face. In truth, the entire vision was heavenly. Constantine could feel his interest in her growing.
“Now,” he said. “I know your father’s name but I still do not know your name. Will you tell me or must it remain a mystery?”
She smiled faintly, big dimples in both cheeks that had Constantine instantly enchanted. “My name is Gregoria Tenby Meyrick,” she lied. “Lady Meyrick, in fact. My family calls me Gregg informally and since you are a friend of my father’s, I would be pleased if you should call me that also.”
Constantine smiled in return. “Lady Meyrick,” he repeated quietly, realizing that she was married and it disappointed him greatly. “I should be honored to call you Gregg, with your permission. Now, tell me of this problem you have and why you need my help.”
The time had come. Everything Gregoria had been waiting for. She had Constantine’s attention and she knew she would only have one chance to make her story believable to him.
Men like Constantine were naturally suspicious so she knew she had to be credible, and she had to use what little information he already knew and incorporate it. The rest of the story she’d memorized could be blended into the village of Weymouth. The original town she was to use had been Southampton, so it was of little difference. They were not too far apart. She could adapt. Struggling not to appear nervous, she took a drink of her wine and turned to the nearest chair.
“It is difficult to know where to start, so I will start from the beginning,” she said, planting her bottom in the chair and gazing up at him with an expression that suggested submission and resignation. “My husband was a merchant based in Weymouth. He was not the most scrupulous man, my lord. Often times he dealt with stolen items and he had dealings with pirates from time to time. Mayhap you knew him? His name was Oddo Meyrick.”
Constantine shook his head. “I do not know him.”
That had been a calculated question on Gregoria’s part, something to make her entire story seem more authentic. Of course, Constantine wouldn’t know of a fictional husband. But in asking the question, she more or less put her fictional husband’s existence in Constantine’s hands. He didn’t know him? It was of little matter. Simply by asking the question, it seemed to Constantine that the man existed. Gregoria continued.
“Six months ago, our lives took a turn for the worse,” she said. “You see, Oddo was from Wales. His family is from Gowerton and they were landowners and patrons of Three Crosses Abbey, just north of Gowerton. When Oddo was a young boy, a holy relic was stolen from Three Crosses Abbey, something that was so valuable the entire land seemed to go dark once it was stolen. Oddo said that he remembered this time very well. It was more than a blight; it was as if the devil himself had taken over the land. There was starvation and there was disease, and Oddo’s own mother perished of disease during this time. As she lay dying, she made Oddo promise to find this relic, wherever it was, and return it to Three Crosses Abbey. She said that the devil would continue to reign over the land until the relic was returned.”
Constantine listened with moderate interest. He was far more interested in watching her beautiful lips form words. “Why have you come to me?” he asked. “Does your husband wish to know if I have heard of this relic?”
Gregoria shook her head. “My husband is dead, my lord,” she said, pretending as if she were grieved over the event and hoping she was convincing. “Oddo never thought he would be able to fulfill his mother’s dying wish. But six months ago, he came upon a man who said he knew where the relic was. He told my husband that the French pirates out of Carantec had this relic and that they were willing to sell it for a price. I shall not go into the details of how my husband came into possession of the relic, for he never told me how it happened. All he told me was that he’d stolen the relic from the French pirates and that they were after him because of it. They are ruthless, as you may know.”
Constantine nodded faintly. “I know.”
> It wasn’t much of a reaction but Gregoria continued, hoping she was making an impact. “One night, they managed to chase him to our home and stab him,” she said. “Oddo made it inside and gave over the relic to me, telling me that I had to take it to Three Crosses Abbey for him. I fled before the French pirates could kill me, too, but I am fairly certain they have followed me. My lord, I know of no one else who can keep me alive to return this relic to Three Crosses Abbey. My father said you were the most trustworthy man he ever knew. I beseech you for your help, my lord. An escort to Three Crosses Abbey is all I ask. I can pay you handsomely for the privilege.”
Now, the gist of the situation had come forth and Constantine had to admit that he hadn’t been expecting the request. But he also had to admit that he was more than interested in it because now that Gregoria was a widow, there was no husband standing in his way. She wanted him to escort her to Wales so she could deliver this object, offering her his protection from the French pirates he knew so well. Certainly, they were after him. They were always after him. But the appearance of Dureau’s frigate in the Bristol Channel had been surprising; they’d been caught off guard by it. Constantine assumed the man had been there to ambush him, but could they be in the channel for another reason?
To prevent a woman from returning a holy relic to Wales?
It made a great deal of sense, more than Constantine cared to admit. Three Crosses Abbey wasn’t far off the southern coast of Wales; he knew where it was because he knew most of the landmarks in Southern Wales. Undoubtedly, the French knew where it was, too, especially if they were chasing a woman trying to reach it. Lost in thought, he turned away from the hearth.
“That is quite a story,” he said, sipping at the wine he’d already had too much of. “You made it all the way from Weymouth to Cornwall by yourself?”
Gregoria nodded. “It was easier to travel alone and undetected,” she said. “To bring men with me would have made me a target. Men can be seen; one lone woman can often go unnoticed.”
“And you had no contact with the French at all?”
She shook her head. “Not directly,” she said. “But when I came to the town of Exmouth, I heard rumor that French pirates were in the town. I fled.”
“But you believe they followed you?”
She shrugged. “It is possible,” she said. “I have been in Perranporth for a week and have not seen nor heard of them, but that is not to say they are not somewhere, lurking about.”
Lurking in channels with eighteen-gun warships, Constantine thought ironically. He looked up from his wine, gazing at the lovely vision of Gregoria as she sat perched on the edge of the chair, looking at him with a great deal of hope.
Bloody Beard, he couldn’t resist such an expression. And the thought of spending a few days with the woman did not distress him in the least. It was the most attractive part of the proposal, to be sure. A quick trip into Wales and he might very well find himself with a woman he couldn’t do without. He’d never had a regular mistress, but in gazing at Gregoria, he just might consider such a thing. There was something about her that drew him in.
But there was more to his willingness to accept her request. Her father had been gruesomely murdered and there hadn’t been anything he could do about it. There was some guilt there, guilt that would undoubtedly propel him into acquiescing to the lady’s request. How could he deny her when her father’s death had been his responsibility? He couldn’t, of course, and he knew it. The woman’s beauty and his own lust for it aside, for old Miles Tenby, he couldn’t refuse her.
My father told me I could always come to you in times of trouble.
He couldn’t let Miles down again, not when the man’s daughter was in need of him.
“The French are always lurking about,” he said with some disgust. “These are my waters, yet they appear uninvited and without permission. But did you stop to realize that once you have me as your escort, it will make you an even bigger target for the French? They hate me, you know. Desperately. They would like nothing more than to destroy me and you right along with me.”
Gregoria nodded reluctantly. “I am sure that is true, but you are the only one with enough weapons and men to resist them,” she said. “I took a chance coming all the way from Weymouth alone. But should I try to go into Wales alone, I may not be so fortunate.”
That was true. Constantine drained his cup, knowing he was going to do as she wished no matter if he pretended he was still thinking it over. He set the cup down and made his way over to her, sitting on the chair next to hers, studying her fine features in the firelight.
“What is this relic that the entire country of Wales is dependent upon it to keep the devil away?” he asked.
Gregoria could feel the pull from his gaze; the man was excruciatingly handsome with his tanned skin and sun-blond hair that dipped down over one eye. Simply looking at him made her heart beat faster and her breathing quicken. Abruptly, she stood up, trying to put some distance between them because his sheer presence was unnerving. She went to the satchel she’d brought with her, the heavy thing. It was heavy for good reason.
Digging inside of the bag, she pulled forth two rather large leather sacks and took them over to Constantine.
“Here,” she said, dropping them in his lap. “This is what I can pay you to take me to Wales. It is a good deal of money so I hope it is enough.”
Before Constantine could reply, she turned back to her satchel. He eyed her curiously for a moment before opening the pouches to see the heavy gold coins inside. There were dozens of them, perhaps even hundreds of them between the two pouches. He held them up in his hands, weighing them, as she continued to dig around in her bag.
“This is a good deal of money,” he said. “You actually traveled with this money, alone, all the way from Weymouth?”
“I did.”
He wriggled his eyebrows as he looked back to the pouches. “Then you are either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”
“Or incredibly desperate.”
He grinned at the comment, noticing she was coming back over to him with something in her hands. It was an old wooden box, perhaps eight inches in diameter, and Gregoria pulled off the lid, revealing what lay within.
It was a wooden cup, small, and fairly unspectacular as far as cups went. There was a lining around the top of it, metal of some kind that had been riveted to it. But on the whole, it was quite normal-looking, if not too terribly scuffed up and worn. Certainly not something that looked as if it could keep Satan at bay. He peered at it curiously.
“A cup?” he said. “That’s it? I expected to see Gabriel’s horn or Michael’s sword, at the very least.”
Gregoria looked at the “relic”; it was an old cup that Lord Wembury had found in Exeter and he’d had a silversmith put the metal ring around the rim. Then, he’d thrown it out in the pigsty of his fine home for a while, enough for the pigs to kick it around and get it very, very dirty. All he did was brush it off and put it in a velvet-lined box to call it a relic.
She wondered if Constantine would know any differently.
“It is made from wood from the true cross,” she insisted. “At least, that is what the legend says. The priests at Three Crosses swear that it has healing powers, that if someone sick drinks from the cup, then they shall be miraculously healed. Those divine powers are why it has been able to keep the devil away from Gowerton. But it has been gone for many years and the land suffers. I could not help but carry out my husband’s dying wish by returning it.”
Constantine had no reason not to believe her. In fact, she’d been very convincing with the entire story except for the fact that she’d seemed unreasonably nervous. He attributed that to the fact that she was basking in his presence, because all women were giddy in his presence, but had he not been so attracted to the woman, he might have been suspicious of her twitching. As it was, all he could see was her beauty and the fact that she was a widow.
That was all he cared about.
“Very well, my lady,” he said. “When did you wish to depart?”
“Immediately, my lord. Tomorrow, if possible.”
Constantine didn’t have anything pressing on land that would prevent him from leaving on the morrow. “Then if it is an escort you need, then an escort you shall have,” he said. “You will dine with my men and me tonight and we shall discuss this venture into Wales on the morrow.”
Her eyes widened in astonishment. “We… we will?”
“We will.”
Gregoria was filled with relief as well as disbelief. Was it possible he believed everything she told him? Was this really going to be so easy? Closing the lid on the box, she struggled not to show her depth of relief in his consent. All she wanted him to see was her gratitude.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said sincerely. “You cannot know how appreciative I am.”
“For Miles Tenby’s daughter, I am always willing to do what I can.”
“And I am most appreciative,” she said. “My father spoke most highly of you and I can see that he was correct; you are a man to turn to in times of trouble.”
Blinded by his attraction to the woman, Constantine smiled rather seductively. “Of course I am,” he said. “I owe your father a great deal, so it will be my pleasure to help you finish this quest.”
With shaking hands, hands shaking with the realization that all of the planning and scheming for the past several months would finally come to fruition, Gregoria put the box back into her satchel.
“I am grateful,” she said. It was the truth. “So very grateful.”
Poseidon’s Legion Page 6