“Bloody Christ,” she muttered, wiping at her mouth again to wipe away the remains of the saliva. “I do not even know what to say. To apologize does not seem sufficient.”
“Apologize for what?”
She looked at him then. “That,” she said, pointing to the wet patch on his breeches. “When I laid down on this bench, you were not here, but now I wake up and find myself… well, laying on you. It is unforgivable.”
He grinned. “Don’t take it so hard,” he said. “I fell asleep sitting up, if it is any consolation. I came in here to find you but you were sleeping so peacefully that I did not have the heart to wake you. So, I sat down beside you and here we are.”
Christin put her hand to her still-fuzzy head. “What was in that ale we drank?”
Alexander sighed wearily, rising to his feet. “Something I shall never drink again,” he said, turning to her and holding out a hand. “Come along, my lady. Your brother will be wondering what has become of us.”
Christin eyed his outstretched hand. Then she looked up at him, her expression one of disbelief and confusion.
“Are you truly so patient with fools?” she asked.
“What fools?”
“Me,” she said. “I simply do not understand why you should bother with me. You are an important man. The Marshal put you in command of this escort and we should have been at Norwich several hours ago from the looks of it. It is dark outside, meaning we have slept away the entire afternoon. Where are my brother and the others?”
“At Norwich Castle,” he said. “The king arrived this afternoon so they went ahead to announce the arrival to de Winter. I went to locate you and, finding you sleeping here, I simply let you sleep. It was better than taking you to Norwich and showing them all how drunk you were. I am certain you would not have preferred that.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth popped open. “You did it to save me?”
“I did it so you could be rested and sober when you arrived.”
Christin shook her head in awe. “Again… I do not know what to say,” she said. “I am so ashamed with what happened. It seems that nothing has gone right since we were introduced. You must think I am an utterly ridiculous woman.”
His hand was still outstretched and he reached out, taking her arm and pulling her off the bench. “I think you are a unique young woman and I am honored to know you,” he said quietly. “Shall we go on to Norwich now?”
Christin didn’t say a word. Perhaps it was best that she not say anything because he held her by the hand, leading her out into the night beyond. She found herself looking at his enormous hand as it held hers, wondering when he was going to let it go, but he never did.
He held it quite firmly.
The feast was still going on, even as night fell, with torches lighting up the evening. Alexander led her through the crowds, shoving aside a man who tried to give them more of that powerful ale, and continued down the road until they came to the livery where their horses had been stabled. Collecting the beasts, they took off up the road towards Norwich.
And that was the only time he let go of her hand. If Christin didn’t know better, she would say his hand holding went beyond polite concern. It was just a feeling she had.
God, she hoped so.
Norwich Castle was lit up like a beacon against the night sky, a massive place in a dominant position over the cosmopolitan city of Norwich. The architecture was purely Norman, a great box structure with smooth stone facing, making it unique in the structures of castles throughout England.
The castle itself was a fortress to be reckoned with. The massive keep sat atop a motte, but there were three additional mottes in a line beside it, each one smaller in size, and each one linked by a retractable bridge so in times of trouble, each motte would serve as its own separate fighting platform.
The military attributes were almost too long to list. The castle had only been breached once in known history, but it was a miracle as to how that had even happened. Alexander was impressed anew every time he saw the place, for it was truly a marvel. It belonged to the crown, but the House of de Winter had been garrison commanders since the times of the Duke of Normandy, so it was more of a de Winter castle than anything else. Everyone referred to it as a de Winter castle and the House of de Winter was deeply entrenched in Norfolk as a result. They held most of the northern part of Norfolk and into Lincolnshire.
The House of de Winter was truly a powerful and distinguished family.
As Alexander and Christin entered the first of a series of gatehouses built upon the mottes, the de Winter men recognized Christin and greeted her, and she introduced Alexander. His name alone was legendary with most fighting men and if they hadn’t heard of him, then they’d certainly heard of William Marshal. It was a name that opened doors.
Passing through the first two gatehouses, they crossed the bridge to the third and immediately noticed that the king’s entourage had set up camp on the west side of the motte with colorful tents and royal standards. Torches lit up the area as men moved about. This was also the motte where the stables were, so she and Alexander headed to the enormous stable area on the east side where grooms were waiting to take their mounts.
As Christin dismounted and untied her satchel from her saddle, her gaze kept moving to the king’s encampment. The motte was quite large, so they weren’t in danger of encroaching on the king’s camp, but there were royal soldiers moving about. Christin hadn’t been concerned with John’s visit to Norwich until her conversation with Alexander and, now, she found herself watching the men who were setting up the tents, wondering where, exactly, the king was.
“Do you think John is inside the keep?” she asked Alexander.
He was just pulling his saddlebags from his horse. He glanced over at her, seeing that her attention was on the king’s encampment. He could hear the concern in her voice.
“More than likely,” he said. “Where will you go now?”
“The same place you are going,” she said. “I must report back to Old Daveigh and then I shall seek Lady de Winter.”
Alexander slung his bags over his shoulder as he came to stand next to her, but she wasn’t moving. She was watching the king’s encampment.
“I would not worry,” he said quietly. “You know what you must do. Remain out of sight from the king or, at the very least, away from him. We are looking for a greater threat against him, meaning you will have to listen to the gossip of visiting ladies and even men to see if there is any information to glean.”
Christin knew that and she nodded, drawing on that great de Lohr courage she had. “I am not worried,” she lied. “And I find that men know more than the women do. I will have to find a young lord to drink with so he will tell me all his secrets.”
Somehow, that statement didn’t sit well with Alexander. He didn’t like the thought of her sitting with an amorous young lord as she tried to bleed information from him. Alexander knew she must have done it a dozen times, given what she did for The Marshal, but hearing her say it… nay, he didn’t like it in the least. He didn’t like the idea of her prostituting herself like that even though it was her duty.
God help him, he didn’t like her duty.
What was happening to him?
He cleared his throat softly.
“If you wish to stay clear of the king, at least for now, I would stay away from the men,” he said. It was mostly the truth. “Stay with the women and listen to what they have to say. I will handle the men, along with your brother and Bric and Kevin. Let us do our duty and you do yours. We cannot, and should not, get close to the women, but you can. That is where you are most valuable.”
If Christin thought his directive was coming from a jealous and confused potential suitor, she didn’t give any indication. It was a command coming from her superior and she accepted it as such. She simply nodded her head and started walking. Alexander followed.
Norwich was lit up with the light from a thousand torches on this night and a
s they crossed the bridge towards the keep, they were seeing more and more royal soldiers. Alexander was dressed in full protection as a seasoned knight, bearing the green and white shield of William Marshal on his tunic, but Christin wasn’t wearing anything other than her traveling dress and cloak. She’d lost the garland in her hair somewhere back at the feast. She wasn’t hard to miss with her dark hair and pale eyes, attracting the attention of some of the king’s soldiers.
Alexander could see the lascivious looks in her direction and his blood began to boil. Christin didn’t belong to him; she wasn’t anything to him. At least, not yet, but there was a huge part of him that was feeling overwhelmingly protective over her. He would have liked nothing better than to gouge out the eyes of the men who were mentally undressing her as she walked by.
Finally, he could stand no more.
“Hold my arm,” he muttered.
She looked at him in surprise. “What did you say?”
His gaze was on the men around them on the bridge. “I told you to hold my arm,” he said. “These soldiers must believe you either belong to me or have my protection so they will not try to accost you.”
“But…”
“Hold my arm.”
He hissed at her, firmly, and she immediately grabbed his elbow, making it look as if, indeed, they were a pair. Not strangely, Alexander was coming to wish that they were. He felt puffed up like a peacock having her on his arm.
Proud as he’d never been proud in his life.
They came off the bridge and into the motte that contained the keep, which was immediately to their left. There was a yard here and several outbuildings, including a small garden, but Alexander headed straight for the keep. There was a stone staircase that led to a guarded lobby. As they headed up the staircase, Christin looked at him.
“May I let go of your arm now?” she asked.
He nodded. “You should,” he said. “I would have some explaining to do if Peter saw us.”
Christin removed her hand. “He is too protective,” she said. “He would undoubtedly tell my father.”
“I am not afraid of your father.”
“You aren’t?”
He shook his head as they reached the protected lobby, but he paused before stepping in. “There is something you should know, Cissy,” he said. “No man frightens me and if I want something, a thousand Christopher de Lohrs could not stand in my way. In the end, I will have it.”
Her lips twitched with a smile. “I believe you.”
“Good,” he said. “Because, at some point, I suspect we might have this conversation again. Come along now and stay close.”
With that, he headed into the hall, but Christin was still lingering on what he’d just said. She rushed after him but, all the while, her mind was trying to decipher what he could have meant. She wasn’t entirely certain of his message but, instinctively, it made her heart flutter in ways she’d never known before.
In the end, I will have it.
Could he possibly mean her?
She wondered.
Forcing herself away from thoughts of Alexander, at least for the moment, she looked out over the great hall as they passed through it. The room was crowded – very crowded – and men were seated around tables as servants moved about, bringing the precursor to the coming meal. Drink and cheese and bread were plentiful upon the three big feasting tables that she could see, with a massive blaze in the hearth that was belching smoke into the hall. The chamber itself was tall, with windows for ventilation at the top of it for the escaping smoke.
Alexander was heading for the secondary hall called the knight’s hall. It was off of the main hall and where the lord usually feasted with his knights and senior officers. Lady de Winter had her own separate feasting chamber off of the knight’s chamber, a small room that was cozy and only for the women.
As Alexander and Christin entered the knight’s hall, they immediately saw Peter eating at the table along with several other de Winter knights. But there was no Bric and no Kevin.
Alexander approached the table.
“Where is MacRohan?” he asked. “And where is Kevin?”
Peter stood up when he saw his sister. “Bric and Old Daveigh are in the small solar next to the chapel,” he said, his gaze mostly on Christin. “I do not know where Kevin went. He saw his brother arrive with the king and fled. Where have you been, Cissy?”
Christin glanced at Alexander, rather chagrinned she had to answer the question. “You would not believe if I told you,” she said. “But because you will keep asking me if I do not, I will tell you that the ale at the wedding feast made me ill and Sherry found me sleeping in the church. Rather than wake me and bring me to Norwich drunk, he let me sleep. He has been most gracious about it but I am mortified.”
Peter stared at her a moment before breaking out into a grin. “I am sure you are,” he said, sitting back down. “Old Daveigh wants to see the both of you as soon as you arrive. Go to him.”
Christin nodded, taking off through the maze of doors and passageways on her way to the small solar that was near the entry. In fact, they had walked right by it when they entered the keep. Alexander was behind her and as she entered Lord de Winter’s solar from the servant’s entrance, she immediately noticed that Old Daveigh and Bric were not the only ones in the room. There were other men, including two enormous knights wearing the crimson and gold royal standard, along with a man of smaller stature and graying hair seated at Old Daveigh’s large table.
Puzzled, she came to a halt just inside the door.
So did Alexander.
Daveigh de Winter noticed them immediately. He was quite old but still strong, still bright in his waning years. He’d been big and dark in his youth, but now that dark hair had gone white and he wasn’t as muscular any longer, but he was still quite formidable and he still attended his men in any skirmish or battle.
Daveigh was a legendary de Winter from a family of legendary men. He’d married one Lady Glyn de Lara and had four daughters – Delesse, Danessa, Darcy, and Dierdre – but no sons. The daughters were all married now, but Old Daveigh, as he was known since he had a nephew by the same name, was a congenial lord who treated his knights like the sons he never had. He positively adored Peter and had threatened on more than one occasion to adopt him. When the old man’s gaze fell upon Christin, he immediately went in her direction.
“Ah,” he said. “Lady Christin. We have been greatly anticipating your arrival.”
Christin couldn’t have known that Alexander was standing next to her as stiff as a board, eyes riveted to the small man seated at the table. She was focused on Old Daveigh, smiling politely at him.
“I apologize for the delay, my lord,” she said. “I… I was ill and only now feeling well enough to finish the journey to Norwich. I apologize if I caused you any inconvenience.”
Daveigh shook his head, reaching out to take her by the arm. He began to lead her over to the table.
“Not at all, my lady,” he said. “It is simply that the king has been anxious to meet you. He asked for you as soon as he arrived and your brother informed me that you would be here shortly.”
The king has been anxious to meet you.
Apprehension and confusion enveloped Christin as she looked to the table, seeing a small man seated there with one droopy eye. I know that face, she thought. She remembered it from long ago, as a child. A horrible face, she thought, one that made her chest tighten simply to look upon it.
The very face she’d been trying to avoid.
John, King of England, was looking straight at her.
As soon as she reached the table, she dropped into a practiced curtsy. “Your grace,” she said, rather breathless from surprise. “I… I am honored.”
John was drinking in his fill of her; that much was certain. He didn’t have to say a word. His intense expression said everything. He looked her up and down before replying.
“Stand up, Lady Christin,” he finally said.
&nb
sp; She did, keeping her gaze averted. In truth, she didn’t want to look at the man, terrified he’d see the loathing in her eyes. It wouldn’t do well for the king to know just how much all of the de Lohrs hated him.
“I remember when you were born,” John said after a moment. “I remember the rumors that you were Marcus Burton’s daughter, but I do not see anything of Burton in you. You look like your father.”
Christin had heard those rumors once, too, long ago when she’d first fostered at Thunderbey Castle. They’d upset her so badly that her mother had been forced to explain them to her. It had been a sordid tale of deceit and treachery and a love between her father and mother that could not be broken.
Even if Christin hadn’t resembled her father, she still would have believed her mother. Not even Marcus Burton, one of her father’s oldest and dearest friends, could destroy what Christopher and Dustin de Lohr had in a fit of youthful arrogance and insanity.
But she resented the king for bringing up hurtful and old rumors.
“I do more than resemble him, your grace,” she said. “I am his daughter in every way.”
“Look at me.”
She immediately lifted her head, looking him in the eye. They stared at each other for a few moments before John smiled, a gesture that made the bile rise in Christin’s throat.
“You are quite beautiful,” he said. “I am sure your father is fiercely protective over you.”
“As any father would be over his daughter, your grace.”
John snorted softly. “That is true,” he said. “Tell me, Lady Christin, are you betrothed?”
The question caught her off guard but she knew, instinctively, that she didn’t want to tell him the truth. Something in that question made her skin crawl.
“You will have to ask my father, your grace,” she said. “I have no say in his plans for me.”
John nodded faintly, still eyeing her. But his eyes moved to her torso and Christin resisted the urge to turn away from him. She could feel the heat from his stare on her breasts, her torso. The man was trying to look through her clothing to see what was beneath it. Every word of warning that Alexander had given her were all flooding back to her.
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 9