“I think it made his passing right, to have you here,” Jamie said.
She reached up for his hand. He took it, and they both said their prayers for Peter of London.
Ry burst through the front doorway, breathing hard, clutching the doorframe. Blood poured from his split lip. One eye was pulsing red, swelling shut.
“They took him,” he gasped.
Jamie was already striding out the door by the time Ry said, “You must come now.” Eva was fast on their heels. They took off running down the street, pushing people out of their way.
“The rebels?” Jamie shouted.
“No. The king.”
Everything Eva did from that moment on was as if it took place underwater, as the decision took shape inside her. Took more effort, felt slowed and wavery and as if she were swimming against a great force.
Although it wasn’t so much a decision, she realized through the water haze. It was more like uncovering something put in the ground a long time ago, something buried, like roots of your garden, or bones of your loved ones. In this way, the uncovering was not so much a revelation as a reminder: You forgot about me, but I did not forget about you.
The seed had sprouted. Roger was in danger, Jamie was in danger, Father Peter had been murdered, and the binding cord of her promise was cleaved.
She was going to kill the king.
Fifty-seven
They fought their way out the town gates as everyone else was pushing in, but they were too late. Far too late. They stood on the hilltop, Ry with his bashed and bleeding face, Angus looking grim, staring at the road below.
Eva backed up a few unsteady steps until she sat, abruptly, on the grass. The world was rocking like a little boat under her feet, and she could catch neither her breath nor her footing. She stared straight ahead. The green grass hurt her eyes.
JAMIE stared ahead into the distance, the way the king’s men had ridden. A day’s ride to Everoot. Whose horses were faster? His or the double agent Chance’s? They’d have to see.
“I must go after,” Eva said calmly, as if she were reporting the need to gather herbs.
“Aye, we will go.”
Ry’s hand fell on his shoulder. “You cannot, Jamie.”
“Cannot what?”
Ry’s face was hard. “Are you going in as Everoot?”
Jamie said nothing.
“Jamie if you go to the king, you must go as you. As Everoot. If you go as Jamie Lost, the king’s knight, you will never make it through the gates alive.”
Jamie looked down the hill.
Ry’s voice hardened. “King John will kill you. Do you see what they did to me? Be assured, I was released only as a message to you. This”—Ry gestured to his bashed and battered face—“is the message. John will eviscerate you.”
Eva stepped forward. “That is what the blond woman said to me, also. She said John would be hunting you.”
“Someone is always hunting me,” Jamie said shortly.
Ry’s eyes narrowed. “Had you ever a doubt in your mind as to the king’s plans for you, Jamie, you can no more. He no longer trusts you.” Ry’s bloodshot eyes bored into Jamie’s. “You cannot go in without the protection of Everoot upon you. Claim it now, Jamie. ’Tis time. Or they will kill you.”
“They will try.”
“God’s mercy.” Ry grabbed a handful of Jamie’s tunic, shouting, “I cannot protect you in there!”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Ry stepped back. “You will not claim it even now, will you, not even when so much is at stake?” Cold, hard fury filled his words like a glass ball. “You neither claim nor let it go, Jamie. That is wrong.”
“That is right,” Jamie said, his voice lethally low. “I do neither. I have claimed Eva.”
“That is not good enough.”
“I do not care. You dare speak to me of claiming? You, who have a father and a family, a heritage, yet have renounced it all. You, who have seen me at my worst—”
“You were eight years old!”
“—you with a woman waiting, should you only choose to reach for her—do not think I forget Lucia—and yet you renounce all those things. Instead, you are here, with me.” Jamie jabbed the tips of his fingers into his own chest. “Me.”
If all the timbres of shame could have been rounded up like ponies and herded into a syllable, they would have been penned inside this one of Jamie’s.
Then, sitting on the grass, Eva understood. Jamie could not fathom why someone would choose him. Why Ry chose him. Why she chose him. Because he had not yet chosen.
Silence echoed on the hill.
“I do not know why you stick,” Jamie said coldly. “Go protect the family you abandoned.”
“I cannot—” Ry’s voice cracked. “Save them.”
Jamie stepped forward, moving in so close their chests touched. “I am not to be saved!”
Ry took a step back, then another. He turned away, head down, and for a long moment it was silent. Then they heard the hiss of a blade sliding past metal, and Ry turned back and lifted his sword to Jamie’s neck, flat side out. A twist of the wrist would turn the cutting edge against his vein.
“I ought to do it now,” Ry said quietly, his red-rimmed, exhausted eyes holding Jamie’s. “What you’ve been trying to do for years, I should just do it for you now.”
Lightning energy crackled through the air on the hill. Neither man moved, their gazes locked.
“Do it, then,” said Jamie.
Eva got to her feet and walked over, placed the tips of her fingers on the cold blade, and pushed it away.
“Swords are sharp,” she murmured. “Let us use them only if small children will die should you refrain. Since you are both very angry, and there are no small children about, we will stop and breathe, rather than kill each other and give our enemies great joy.”
Ry let her push the blade down. Its tip raised a miniature puff of dust as it hit a bare spot on the earth. Angus cleared his throat.
For a moment nothing happened except the blowing breeze. Then Ry resheathed his blade and walked away, down the hill. He did not look back.
They watched him go. Eva felt stunned. She turned to Jamie. “Is he—?”
“Not coming back,” Jamie said grimly. “I know where they are going,” he said, almost to himself. “Everoot.” He looked down at her.
She nodded. “Then we had best leave at once.”
“Angus, stick with Ry,” Jamie said as he turned and strode down the hill. “God knows what he’ll do just now.”
They separated at the bottom, Angus to find Ry, Eva and Jamie for Everoot.
Fifty-eight
A day and a half later, they drew rein just to the south of the Nest, the impregnable, indominable caput of the vast Everoot earldom.
Its stony towers thrust like fists out of the earth into the bright blue sky, towering over the valley and village below. No pennants snapped along the ramparts; the king was not announcing his residence. He would hardly wish to announce he’d fled Windsor. Eva assumed few knew he was here. This would be to her benefit.
Nonetheless, a stream of people came and went through the heavily guarded gates, on foot and horse, some with carts. It was impossible to keep the king a secret long.
Jamie’s gaze stayed unmoving on the towering gray spire of the main keep. It was a twisted homecoming for Eva, but she could not begin to imagine what Jamie must be feeling.
“I should leave you here,” he murmured.
She nodded. “Of course, but this will not occur. You are headstrong, and do not always do as you should.”
The faintest smile lightened his visage as he looked down. “You do as I say, every step, Eva. Do you hear me?”
“Very loudly,” she said, nodding. That did not mean she would obey, but that was for later.
Even from here they could see a line of people who did not seem to be dressed in armor walking the baileys.
“The place is busy,” Eva noted. “This
is to our benefit.”
Jamie, fully armored, mail hood lying in a pile of crumbled mesh links at the back of his neck, sat in his saddle, saying nothing. One arm was bent slightly, so his palm could grasp the hilt of his sword with its swirling silver lines. His other hand was loose on the reins, his gaze locked on the castle. His horse’s proud head hung tired and low. His clothes were dark and nondescript, his cheeks and jaw darkened with hair. He looked like a weather-beaten warrior after a campaign, alone with his horse and the wind.
“Let’s go.”
THE porters, who knew Jamie well, had apparently not yet been alerted that Jamie was now an enemy of the king’s.
They quickly opened the small door in the north tower of the barbican to let him and Eva pass through. The tower soared up sixty feet, and they stepped into its cold shadow with a wary exchange of glances.
“Where is the king?” Jamie asked.
“Not yet arrived, sir.”
Jamie nodded. “Good,” he said, then whispered in Eva’s ear, “We have time.” They hurried through the outer bailey. “This is when things get dangerous,” he said, guiding her to the edges of the vast inner ward.
Despite the king’s coming in secret, people moved everywhere through the baileys, servants and squires and merchants. But even when John’s resplendent entourage of servants and courtiers was added to the mix, it would not have filled up the wide sweep of Everoot’s vast baileys.
They had made it halfway across the bailey before Jamie detected something amiss. A discordant note in the bustle of a castle with people in residence.
The king might not be hanging his banners to alert that he would be in residence, but someone knew he was here, for . . . was that not the livery of Geoffrey de Mandeville upon the squire trotting by? And . . . Essex. Hereford. Norfolk.
Every noble or noble-aspiring man seemed to be here, or have sent a representative.
What the hell was going on?
Jamie moved them to the shadows, keeping Eva on his inner side, and almost bumped into Brian de Lisle coming down the covered stairwell.
He stopped short. “Jamie!” He clattered down the last steps, reaching out for his arm.
Jamie wanted to shove Eva into yet another alley, but there was none to be had. He needn’t have worried. When his step slowed, Eva simply sailed past him, fumbling among her skirts, muttering to herself, as if she were on an important errand.
De Lisle glanced at her—it was impossible not to—but then grabbed Jamie’s forearm in a tight grip. “Jamie Lost, you are past mad, coming here. ’Tis most good to see you.”
“And you, Brian,” Jamie replied, returning the gesture, steeling himself for things to go badly. Again. Brian was one of John’s most trusted and highly rewarded captains, smart, savvy, and, fortunately, independent-minded. He was also lethal. He would also know what the hell was going on.
“You just arrived?” Brian said.
“Aye. I was on a job.”
“I heard.” Brian’s eyes searched Jamie’s as they released one other. “You are a wanted man, Jamie. What the hell are you doing here?”
Jamie met his gazes. “Are you equally intent on me?”
Brian hesitated, then shook his head. “No reason to hate you yet, Jamie. I have yet to see you do a thing without cause.” Brian eyed him. “Want to share it?”
Jamie felt cold relief. He had not wanted to strike down Brian de Lisle. It would make things to come more difficult. “Soon. Are you willing to give me a few hours?”
Brian signaled to one of the glinting helms up on the ramparts. The guard nodded and hurried toward the stairwell. Brian looked back down. “You have less than an hour of liberty, I’d estimate, before the king arrives. You do not have the priest?”
Jamie shook his head. “He has passed on. What the devil is going on?” He gestured to the de Mandeville squire, who was just disappearing into the stables.
Brian de Lisle shook his head, but was grinning. “The king is beyond reason, Jamie, but in this, he might have had his one brilliant idea.”
“Which is?”
“Selling off the estates.”
Jamie’s heart slowed. “Which estates?”
“The d’Endshire barony was offered to sweeten the pot, but it’s a dicier issue now, as the boy was brought back last night.”
Jamie gripped his arm. “Is he here?”
Brian glanced down in surprise.
“You’ve seen him?” Jamie pressed. “D’Endshire?”
“Aye, I have seen him. I hear you did as well. Ten years a’missing, and you found him within a week.” Brian shook his head with a faint smile. “I am impressed.”
“And the king . . . ?”
Brian shrugged. “Maybe less so. Still, d’Endshire seems a loyal sort, and I expect the king will accept him. In this, a rightful heir is likely better than a bought one.”
Jamie nodded and inhaled. The news felt like a small window of reprieve. “Where is he?”
Brian’s mouth curved up in a smile. “Not on your life, Jamie. Which it may well be, I am beginning to think.” He eyed Jamie, then someone shouted for de Lisle. Brian glanced over, waved, and turned back. “Everoot is up for sale too.”
The words echoed inside Jamie’s head. “What?”
“The king is selling Everoot to the highest bidder. Very quietly. Very quickly.”
Jamie felt it as if he’d been punched.
“De Mandeville, Essex, they all have sent emissaries. ’Tis astonishing how quickly these men can move when properly spurred,” Brian said, blithely unaware Jamie was hearing only one word in three as the blood was roaring through his head. “The king is making his move.”
“He is making a mistake,” Jamie said coldly.
Brian shrugged. “Who knows? The king might have just found a way to avert the charter and win the war, in one fell swoop.” Brian glanced over Jamie’s shoulder. “I must go.”
He gestured to the top of the stairs and one of the king’s chamberlains hurried down. “Take Sir Jamie to a room. Assuming you are still alive come sundown, we shall drink hard this night, you and I. There is much to discuss, and mayhap to celebrate.”
Brian strode off. The chamberlain looked at Jamie. Jamie smiled. “Prepare my room as Lord Brian commanded.”
“Sir—”
“I will join you there directly.”
Jamie turned and headed for the keep, the way Eva had gone, moving around the people coming down the steps of the gray-stone castle that used to be his home, that the king was selling off to the highest bidder.
LATE in the day, after Jamie had ridden off, after a string of long and bitter drinks, Ry made it to the stables and began saddling his horse. A monstrous shadow loomed across the beams overhead, then stilled. Ry turned around slowly.
“God’s love, Angus,” he muttered, and turned back to saddling.
Angus took a step into the stall. “You were wrong.”
“I’m certain that is so.”
“Do you know what he’s doing up there, at Everoot?”
“Jamie? Getting himself killed.”
“Aye, well, I can no’ let that happen, see? I’m going tae settle this debt if it kills me.”
“Not if he kills himself first.” Ry dropped the flap on his saddle and patted his horse’s neck. He took up the reins and led him from the stall. Angus stood in the way, arms crossed, frowning. Ry frowned back.
“Ye look like hell,” Angus said bluntly.
“Aye, well, that’s what happens when you try to protect Jamie.”
Ry started to move past him. Angus didn’t budge. He stopped, and Angus’s gaze bored into him. “I don’t understand why ye left him.”
Ry shrugged. Because one could only save a man bent on self-destruction for so long. Ry had adequate experience with lost causes, and he finally had to admit Jamie was one. “Bored,” he said shortly.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Ry took a hard step forward and this time, th
e Scotsman stepped out of his way. “It means ’tis always the same thing with Jamie. Almost getting killed, almost, almost, until one day, he finally will. I don’t want to be standing there watching when it happens.”
Angus threw up his hands. “Bloody bones, Ry, that’s wholly the reason ye’re with him. We all knew, back then: Jamie’ll get himself killed, and Ry’ll bring him back again.”
“Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
Ry glared. “Because I’m done.”
Angus glared back. “Ye always said Lost was stubborn, Ry, but no one ever beat yerself. And now?”
Ry pushed past him with a shove. “Now I’m going to clean up our mess.”
Angus turned, clinking and creaking with leather and weapons. “I’m coming with ye.”
“I mean in truth. I am picking up wardrobes and broken crockery at Jakob Doctor’s.”
“I’m coming. Jamie told me to.”
Ry stopped so short the hilt of Angus’s sword poked into his back. “What?”
“He didna want ye to do anything. . . .” The Scotsman pondered his next word for a long time. “Rash.”
Ry turned coldly. “Rash? Rash? Me, rash?”
Angus backed up a pace, palm in the air. “I’m just saying what Jamie said.”
Ry stared at him a moment. “Why did you leave us, all those years ago?”
Angus’s cheeks flushed. “I couldn’t take owing Jamie so much, not being able to repay him. And he never let me forget it, either.”
Ry turned on his heel and started for the door. “You do not understand Jamie. He never let you forget because he never forgot. He will never forget, and never forgive. Himself. There is naught I can do about it.”
“Ye’re not supposed to do anything about it, dammit,” Angus muttered. “Ye’re just his friend. Ye pledged to him.”
Ry stopped at the doorway. Spring sunshine made a threshold of light just outside the stable. “And what of me?”
Silence, then Angus said, “I s’ppse ye’re to do what ye think is right. I just don’t see how leaving him to die is the right thing here. And what of the lass?”
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