Christin maintained her smile. She had her father’s grin that saw the ends of her mouth turn up slightly, something very lovely and charming. It had been a gesture that had fooled many a man into thinking she was a sweet and innocent thing.
But that was not the case.
Headstrong didn’t even begin to cover it.
“I appreciate your concern,” she said. “Please do not bother, then. I can find it myself.”
With that, she turned on her heel and headed south on the nearest street, one of the smaller alleyways that crisscrossed the city. As she darted down it, Peter ran after her and grabbed her by the arm simply to assert himself as her escort. He wasn’t going to stop her.
With a shrug, Alexander, Bric, and Kevin followed.
CHAPTER TWO
The Pox was packed to the rafters.
Filled to the brim with mostly men but a few women, Christin took one look at the common room and thought it was all rather exciting. Every kind of human imaginable was there; men in tattered clothing, sitting on the floor with their drink because the tables were full, knights in expensive protection, and well-dressed merchants who had just come off of their cogs along the river. Serving wenches mingled among the tables, bringing food and drink.
It was a busy place.
A thin layer of blue smoke hung near the ceiling from two hearths that were blazing on this night as men huddled around tables, some only to eat, but some to roll dice or play cards. Stacks of hand-painted cards were on several of the tables, well-used wooden panels, as dealers shuffled and dealt them out to those willing to gamble on a game of chance.
Christin was fascinated by all of it. A wench passed her bearing trenchers that contained meat and vegetables, reminding her of how hungry she was. The games would have to wait. She turned to her brother.
“May we find a table?” she asked. “I would like to eat.”
Peter had his eyes on everyone in the room, suspicious of every man regardless of dress or obvious wealth.
“Fine,” he said shortly. “And then we will leave. Do you understand me?”
Christin nodded, but it was simply to appease him. Whether or not she would leave after she ate was still up for debate as far as she was concerned. She could see a mostly empty table midway deep in the room, against the wall, and she pointed to it.
“There,” she said. “There is only one man at that table. Surely he will share it with us.”
Before anyone could answer her, she charged off into the room. Peter rolled his eyes at his headstrong sister, but Alexander was right behind her. He wasn’t going to let any lady move unescorted in this room because he knew what kind of men frequented this place. Before he could caution her, however, she spoke to the lone man at the table.
“May we share your table, good sir?” she asked politely. “The inn is very crowded tonight.”
The man turned to look at her. He was older, dressed in outdated and damaged mail, with a well-used tunic that Alexander noticed before anyone else did. He recognized the red and gold standard of William d’Aubigney, an enemy of the crown and of William Marshal.
“I am waiting for my friends, girl,” the man told Christin. “Find another table.”
He was decidedly unfriendly and Christin opened her mouth to plead with him, but Alexander touched her on the arm, getting her attention. When she looked at him, he shook his head faintly and motioned her away. Curiously, she followed him.
“What is it?” she asked.
Alexander had her by the elbow now as if afraid she’d run back to the table. By this time, Peter and Bric and Kevin had caught up to them and Alexander sandwiched Christin between him and Peter.
“D’Aubigneys men are here,” he said quietly. “I am not willing to face hostilities with your sister present.”
Peter looked over his shoulder to the man bearing the d’Aubigney tunic. “I did not see him when we entered,” he said. “We should leave.”
Christin knew the name d’Aubigney and she further knew that he was an enemy of William Marshal and his allies. Though she very much wanted to remain and enjoy this terrible and interesting place, she’d been in The Marshal’s service long enough to know what enemies meant to one another, especially enemies of William Marshal. She’d seen it too many times before.
In truth, she was a little disappointed at having to depart so soon, but much like Alexander and Peter, she didn’t want a fight. Too many men with too many weapons could spell disaster, especially in these turbulent days. So without an argument, she let Peter take hold of her and head for the entry. She’d have to return to The Pox at another time. They were halfway to the door when someone grabbed her arm, yanking her away from Peter.
“C’mon, lass!” A very drunk man had her by both arms. “Give us a dance!”
Peter was on the man in a second, driving his fist into the man’s face. As he fell back, Peter yanked Christin from the man’s grip.
“Go,” he commanded. “Quickly. To the door.”
Christin began to move swiftly, but it was difficult given that the inn was so packed. She ended up shoving people out of her way, kicking one slow-moving man in the arse. Just as she reached the door, the panel flew open and several heavily-armed men entered.
Christin, being that she was in the front of their group, saw the men first. She noticed that they were wearing the same tunics as the man they had so recently turned away from. D’Aubigney. Christin came to a halt but before she could say anything, the knight in the front spied Bric, whom he evidently knew.
And didn’t like.
“MacRohan!” he roared. “You foul Irish bastard! I told you what would happen if I saw you again!”
Christin didn’t have time to step out of the way before the unruly knight shoved her aside, using his arm in a big sweeping motion that shot her over a table and saw her crashing to the floor on the other side. Horrified, Peter couldn’t go to her aid because he found himself swept up in an attack by at least six d’Aubigney knights.
It was a brawl of epic proportions from the start.
As Christin struggled to her knees, shaking off the stars dancing before her eyes, everyone in the front section of the inn began screaming and running. Christin ended up rolling under a table, gripping the legs for dear life as people scattered all around her. The table was hit a few times, buffeted from side to side as the floor cleared.
But after that, she was up.
Six against four was nearly fair odds in d’Aubigney’s favor. Already, three enemy knights were down as Kevin, Bric, and Alexander pummeled those trying to attack them. Without a fight of his own for the moment, as he had already dispatched one man, Peter headed in Christin’s direction.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her in a panic.
Christin shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. Then, her eyes widened. “Look! That knight has thrown something into Alexander’s face! He’s blinded!”
Before Peter could stop her, she grabbed one of the chairs around the table and rushed to the knight trying to kill Alexander, swinging it with all her might against the back of his skull. When that only made him falter, she leapt on his back, grabbing her pretty bejeweled dagger from its sheath at her waist and plunging it into the man’s neck.
Down he went and Christin right along with him. Alexander was on his feet now, using the edges of his tunic to wipe the hot wine out of his eyes. When the vision in one eye cleared, he could see Christin removing her dagger from the man’s neck.
“Bloody Christ,” he muttered, pulling her to her feet. “My lady, did you do that?”
She nodded without hesitation. “He was going to kill you,” she said. “Look in his left hand. I saw the flash of a dagger. If the sword did not kill you, the dagger would as you tried to clear your vision. He was coming at you with both hands armed, my lord.”
Blinking his stinging eyes, Alexander could, indeed, see that the man had a weapon in each hand. He wasn’t entirely sure the man would have killed him, but
he was still having difficulty with his vision, so it would have been a problematic battle.
Perhaps he might have, indeed, found himself in trouble.
But it was a battle that a brave lass had quickly ended. When Alexander should have been grossly irritated, he found that he couldn’t muster the will. He found himself looking into Christin’s doll-like face and seeing utter calm there. No hysteria, no fear. Simply the expression of one who did what needed to be done, just like she’d done with the French king’s spy. Truly, it was remarkable for a woman to be so composed in the face of death.
A seed of respect for her sprouted.
“Are you well, Sherry?” Bric, winded, came up beside him. “We should leave. Now.”
Alexander was still wiping his face and eyes, but he was already heading for the door. “We shall return another day when the company in this place is better,” he said. “Let us depart.”
He was through the entry when he realized he had Christin by the wrist, pulling her along to ensure she followed him and didn’t somehow rush back in and start braining men. He wouldn’t have put it past her, courageous as she was. Peter was right behind his sister, followed by Bric and finally Kevin covering their rear.
Once outside in the damp night air with the smell of fish and the river heavy in the air, Alexander let go of Christin when he realized he probably should.
“Take your sister and go, Peter,” he said. “We will meet you at the livery across from The Duck and Dribble at dawn, so be ready to depart.”
Peter had hold of Christin, much like Alexander, as if afraid she might run off to do battle again. “Come with us,” he said. “London abounds with danger tonight, Sherry. We should stay together.”
Alexander waved him off. “If there are more d’Aubigney knights, I will keep them off your tail,” he said. “Take the lady and hurry. Get into a room at the inn and remain there. I will be on the streets tonight, making sure no danger follows you.”
Peter nodded and hurried off, towing Christin by the arm. But her gaze was on Alexander, and his on her, and for a moment, they couldn’t seem to tear their attention off one another. There was just something about the woman that made Alexander take a second look. He only pulled his attention from her when Bric and Kevin came up on either side of him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bric said. “I think the only knight killed is the one Lady Christin took down, so his friends will be out for revenge.”
Alexander knew that. “That one is a spitfire,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never liked working with a woman other than Susanna, but de Lohr’s sister… I’ve not yet decided.”
“She probably saved your life,” Kevin said. “You were in no position to fight that knight as he took the offensive. I tried to get to you but I had my own problems.”
Alexander lifted a dark eyebrow. “I was in perfect control,” he said, which was probably true. Alexander was always, and completely, in control. “And no woman is ever going to save my life. Come on, now. We need to separate. Bric, you take the wharf. Kevin, get over to Bridge Street but stay out of sight, both of you. When d’Aubigney’s men move, see where they’re going and make sure they stay away from The Duck and Dribble. As for me… I’m going in through the rear of The Pox. I’ll watch them from there.”
They had their directives, so they began to move. The primary objective was simply to make sure the d’Aubigney men remained away from Farringdon House and the inns up on Ropery Street. Truth be told, Alexander might have agreed that Christin had saved his life because he’d been in a bit of a bind, but no one else needed to know that. To them, the man they knew as Sherry was never in trouble.
Except he might have been.
Saved by a slip of a woman who looked like an angel.
No matter how much he fought them off, thoughts of Christin de Lohr and her fearsome courage poked at him all night.
CHAPTER THREE
On the road to Norwich Castle
The first day’s journey to Norwich had been long and wet thanks to a series of storms that had blown in from the east. The roads had been marred with holes and puddles, the horses up to their ankles in mud.
It made for slow going.
But Christin didn’t say a word about the discomfort of the icy conditions or vertical rain. Not a gasp, a sneeze, or a complaint as she plodded along on her robust warmblood with Alexander, Peter, Bric, and Kevin. The knights were dressed in full armor, including mail which became soaked, and by nightfall when they stopped, the armor was cold and heavy with moisture. It was a most uncomfortable way to travel, but if they weren’t complaining, then she wasn’t going to, either.
Even if she was soaked to the skin.
In fact, she already felt as if she was on some kind of probation after the events of the past few days. First, she killed a French spy and at The Pox, she killed a man who had been trying to murder Alexander. She certainly didn’t enjoy killing but she’d grown up around knights. She knew their code and their sense of honor, and if someone was trying to kill you or a friend, then you had every right to fight back. She’d seen that in her father and uncle too many times to count. Even her mother wasn’t afraid to use a dagger if necessary.
Lady Dustin de Lohr had instilled that fearlessness in her daughter.
Still, Christin received the distinct impression that Alexander was irritated at her for killing his opponent.
The first day’s journey began before dawn and ended just as the sun sank below the western horizon. The rain had started to fall again, gently this time, by the time they reached the village Peter had been planning on. He set his sights for an inn called The Buck and Boar.
It was a rather large establishment with three stories of whitewashed walls and brown cross-beam architecture. The second and third stories were larger than the first story, giving the building a substantial overhang onto the street.
Light emitted from the shuttered windows, giving the place a warm glow, as the five of them rode into the livery around the side. The livery was mostly full but a few coins from Peter had the livery master shoving horses out of the way to pull the big warhorses in so they could be dry. Confident the animals would be well-tended, the group entered the establishment through the rear kitchen yard.
The Buck and Boar was different from most inns in that it catered to a higher class of clientele. The serving wenches were dressed in clean clothing and were somewhat groomed, and the place didn’t reek of the usual vomit and smoke and unwashed bodies. It smelled like fresh bread and baking apples.
It smelled inviting.
Even the common room was different. There was a small common area with tables and chairs that were in good repair, a massive hearth that was blazing against the wet night, and several alcoves that had tables and chairs, lamps for light, and curtains that could be closed for privacy.
Peter led them into one of those secluded alcoves that could accommodate at least eight people. In this alcove were a clean table, two lamps, and an iron brazier with glowing coals to warm the area. There was even a window with precious diamond-glass panes looking out over an alley, but part of the window was open to let out the fumes from the brazier. As soon as the group entered the alcove and began settling in, serving women came on the run.
Rags to dry off with were brought along with hot wine. The knights began to strip off their tunics to let them dry in the warmth of the room but they stopped short of removing mail or any protection. When in a public place, they maintained their uniform appearance at all times, especially for protection.
But for Christin, it was different.
No protection and no armor meant she was soaked through to the skin. As the knights dried off, she sat as close to the brazier as she could get, removing her cloak and gloves, wringing out the skirts of her traveling dress and hoping the heat would dry it somewhat. She was shivering, and her teeth were chattering, and she was quite certain that her lips were blue, so she kept her head down so no one would notice. Peter hande
d her a cup of hot wine, but she kept her head down as she accepted it so he wouldn’t see her face.
The food began to come. Stewed beef, an onion tart, a pottage of cabbage and turnips, plus bread and butter and stewed fruit. It was a veritable feast and the knights sat down, taking the flat trenchers provided and filling them from the bowls of steaming food.
Christin sat on the end, next to the brazier still, and remained quiet as the men served themselves. She was so determined not to be a bother that all of the food except for the bread was gone before the men realized she had absolutely nothing. Chagrinned, it was Alexander who rose from his seat and went to the kitchens, demanding more food for the lady since she had been cheated out of a meal by four hungry men.
Christin could hear him in the kitchens, barking.
“What is he doing?” she hissed at Peter. “He does not need to go through so much trouble.”
“Let him,” Bric said from across the table, mouth full. “If you give him a free rein long enough, he may very well end up confiscating this entire inn just for you.”
His pale blue eyes twinkled as he said it, leading Christin to believe that he was jesting with her for the most part, but given Alexander’s reputation, there was probably some truth to it.
“That is truly not necessary,” she said. “I did not mean for him to go to the trouble. I could have easily gone to the kitchens myself.”
Bric shook his head, shoving more food into his mouth. “Do you not know when a man is being polite to you?”
Christin looked at Peter, who simply lifted his shoulders. “I fear that she does not,” he said, answering Bric. “She has fostered in the finest homes, trained with the finest teachers, but she is the kind of woman who would rather do for herself. Chivalry does not mean very much to her.”
“That is every man’s dream,” Bric snorted. “Every man dreams of a woman who does not make demands of him. Lady Christin, you should fetch the best husband in all of England with that attitude. In fact, if I thought your father would not grind me into mincemeat, I might offer for you myself.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 4