“You are dismissed, my lady,” John said after a moment. “But I should like for you to dine with me later.”
So many replies came to her, but not one of them was polite. She didn’t want to end up in Norwich’s vault, or worse, so she simply nodded her head and turned away from him, fleeing the chamber.
She couldn’t even look at Alexander as she went.
Everything he’d said had been true.
Christin quit the solar in a blind rush, heading to the keep entry and taking the stairs far too quickly. Once she hit the ground, she ran towards one of several small buildings that peppered the bailey. One was a chapel, but two of them were apartments. There was one for men and one for women, and Christin went towards the one for women that was tucked near the garden behind the keep. It was a two-storied stone building with a pitched roof and eight rooms – four on the bottom, four on the top, with an attic used for servants and storage.
The entry door was made from oak and iron, fortified, and usually open until later in the evening when it was locked from within. Fortunately, it was still open and she raced up the stairs to the small landing, and then straight into the room she occupied, the chamber on the northwest side.
Slamming the door, she bolted it.
The chamber was cold and dark, with a faint moonglow coming in through the shuttered window. She stood there a moment, trying to catch her breath, struggling to orient herself in the face of something terrifying and unexpected.
The king wanted her to dine with him.
Well, she wasn’t going to. She was going to stay in her chamber until the king left Norwich and to the devil with William Marshal. He wanted her to do her duty. She wanted to do it, too, but that duty didn’t include being molested by the king. If it was a choice between seeking out the threat against John amongst the attending allies or keeping to her chamber because it was safer for her, then she was going to stick to her chamber.
William Marshal and his spies would have to do without her.
If you kill the king… the consequences to you and your family would be unfathomable.
Alexander’s words were ringing in her head. She couldn’t even defend herself against a monarch who would only want to soil her and cast her aside. If that happened, her father would move against the king and the family would be at war, anyway, so perhaps the threat against the king that the French spy spoke of was far more complicated than anyone realized, including Christin.
But she realized it now.
It was a threat from within.
Perhaps it was the king’s own lascivious nature. Bed the wrong woman and England would be destroyed. Bed a de Lohr daughter and the wrath of Christopher de Lohr would tear the country apart.
The French didn’t have to destroy John. He would do it himself.
Now, she understood.
Sinking onto her bed, the tears finally came.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“When was the last time you saw John?”
David was speaking to his brother as the two of them plodded along on warhorses that each cost a man’s salary for an entire year. The House of de Lohr was wealthy from years of service to the crown, but also because as the Earl of Worcester and Hereford, Christopher owned active coal mines and also gleaned taxes from the market city of Worcester.
For David, as the Earl of Canterbury, his income came from the pilgrims, taxes, and the levies imposed on cog traffic along the River Stour through the large city of Canterbury. Combined, the brothers had more money than the crown, as the king had pointed out several times, but both of them were very careful with it and quite financially astute.
Except when it came to high-end warhorses.
Astride that big-arsed horse and dressed in his usual armor and weaponry, Christopher wasn’t thinking about money or expense. His mind was elsewhere, so much so that his brother had to ask him the same question twice. The second time, he turned to his brother irritably.
“It hasn’t been long enough,” he muttered. “Last year, I think. You and I were both in London to meet with The Marshal and we saw him then.”
David grunted. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “And must we really attend this celebration given by de Winter? It’s not as if we are going to celebrate anything when it has to do with John unless, of course, it’s his death. I will happily celebrate that day.”
Christopher chuckled. “Give the man a few more years, at least until his son is older and more malleable,” he said. “Henry is only six. The child actually has a level head thanks to his upbringing. Properly molded, we may actually have a good king.”
David shook his head. “Having a child-king may be better, anyway.”
“You sound like my wife.”
“She’s right.”
Christopher waved a hand at him. “A few more years,” he insisted. “Then… then I will be happy to be rid of John. It will save me from trips like this one.”
“To celebrate the birth of a man you hate?”
“Nay. To make sure the king and my children do not cross paths.”
David looked at him. “Is that why we are going to this event?” he asked, incredulous. “So you can keep Peter away from the king? Jesus, Chris, the man has seen twenty years and six. He does not need his dada to protect him.”
Christopher looked at him. “Not Peter,” he said. “Christin. Do you remember when we were at Ramsbury and everyone disappeared out of the hall at the same time?”
David nodded. “I do.”
“Even Christin left,” Christopher pointed out. “With Susanna de Dere, who is a known agent for William Marshal. And then she returned to us an hour later in a new gown about the same time as everyone else returned and pretended as if nothing was amiss.”
“So what?”
Christopher shook his head at his dimwitted brother. “Do you not see what I see, David? Christin must be working with William Marshal, too. Peter is. Why not Christin?”
“So you are coming to Norwich to get to the bottom of this?” David said. “Chris, your children are adults. If they serve William Marshal, it is their choice.”
That was true, but Christopher didn’t want to hear that, especially where it pertained to Christin. “My daughter is not going to be entrenched in The Marshal’s spy ring,” he said. “I will pull her out of Norwich and she will come home with me to Lioncross. A woman has no business playing a man’s game.”
“Susanna is playing a man’s game and she has played it well for many years,” David said quietly.
Christopher looked at him, exasperated. “She is also a Blackchurch-trained knight. Christin is not.”
David sighed heavily. “You have always been the type of father to let your children shine,” he said. “If Christin is an agent, then she must be very good at it if you don’t even know for certain whether she is or not. You cannot force her home like a scolded child if she’s been executing missions for William Marshal. How do you think she’s going to react?”
Christopher knew how – not very well. Christin was far too much like her mother and he could never control her very well, either. But when it came to his children and their safety, this was different. Christopher had been stewing on this very subject since they left Ramsbury Castle.
It had him torn.
“I would just feel better if we could see what is transpiring at Norwich,” he said. “Besides, most of our allies will be there. It will be a chance for us to reaffirm bonds.”
“Reaffirm bonds with John?”
“Oh, shut up.”
David bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very interesting celebration.”
Christopher had that feeling, too.
Only in his case, it wasn’t a good feeling. It was an ominous one.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Norwich Castle
There was a knock on the chamber door.
Christin was still sitting in the darkness of her chamber, trying to chase away the tears that
wouldn’t seem to stop falling, but she quickly wiped her face when there was a second rap on the door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“It’s me!” came a voice. “Open the door, Cissy!”
Christin recognized the voice and she rushed to the door, throwing open the panel. Lady Wynter de Royans swept in, shutting the door quickly and bolting it. She turned to Christin, eyes wide as she leaned against the door.
“The king has arrived!” she gasped. “Have you heard?”
Christin nodded. Wynter was her dear friend, daughter of her father’s mentor, Juston de Royans of Bowes Castle. She had fostered at Norwich as a girl and was married at a fairly young age only to have her husband die of an illness three years into their marriage. Shattered, she’d returned to Norwich by her choice because it was a place of comfort to her. She was tall and elegant, level-headed and lovely. Christin liked, and trusted her, a great deal.
“Not only have I heard, I have seen him,” she said.
Wynter’s eyes widened further. “You have?” She shook her head in fear. “Cissy, we must not go to the hall. Lady de Winter has said so. We must remain here until the festivities are over.”
Christin shook her head. “Oh… Wynnie,” she said as she sank onto her bed. “The king has already seen me and he told me that he wishes to dine with me. But I will not do it. Where is Lady de Winter?”
Wynter was nearly beside herself. “She is in the lord’s chamber as far as I know,” she said. “She is in the keep. What will you do?”
Christin sat there for a moment, pondering the situation. Then, she suddenly stood up. “Leave,” she said decisively. “My satchel is packed. I will go into the city and find a room somewhere and remain there until the king is gone. No one will be able to find me, least of all the king’s men. If they try to take me to him, they will have a fight on their hands.”
Wynter was in full agreement. “Then go,” she said. “I have some money you can use. There is an inn near the cathedral. I have heard it is very nice. Mayhap they have room for you.”
Christin grabbed her satchel from where she had set it on her bed. “I have some coinage.”
“I will give you more.”
Christin reached out and grasped her hand. “Truly, you do not need to,” she said. “But you must tell Peter where I have gone. He will worry.”
Wynter sighed heavily. “He will worry, anyway,” she said. “Let me send for him. Let him at least escort you into town.”
Christin shook her head. “He must not be an accomplice to my act of disobedience. This is something I must do alone.”
Wynter understood. Christin and Peter were quite close, and cared a good deal for one another, and she didn’t want to get her brother into trouble.
“Then let me go with you,” Wynter said. “You should not go alone.”
Christin smiled. “If you go with me, you will be an accomplice, too,” she said. “I cannot do that to you, Wynnie. You already know too much. You are going to have to plead ignorance in all things or you will get into trouble.”
Wynter knew that. Greatly distressed, she hugged Christin tightly. “Very well,” she said. “But you must hurry. You can slip from the postern gate and take the path to the farm fields below. It is much easier to leave their gate than it is to leave ours.”
Christin nodded. “I will,” she said. “Tell Peter… tell him that I shall return when the king has left.”
Wynter nodded, quickly going to the door to make sure there were no witnesses to Christin’s flight. There were other women in this building and she wanted to make sure no one was out, wandering around. Seeing that the landing was clear, she nodded to Christin, who bolted from her chamber and headed down the stairs.
She had just made it free of the building and was rushing towards the postern gate, also known as the meadow gate, when she saw a familiar face heading in her direction.
Alexander.
“Has William Marshal arrived?”
The question came from John as he looked upon Alexander and the tunic he wore. Having just witnessed the horrific scene between the king and Christin, Alexander wasn’t feeling particularly amiable towards the man. He could barely force himself to be polite in his response.
“Not that I am aware of, your grace,” he said. “I know that he is planning on coming but not when he is due to arrive.”
John simply nodded his head, faintly, sizing up Alexander. He knew who the man was; he knew it very well. John and William Marshal had shared a relationship with its ups and downs, but John knew that William’s main directive in life was to protect the monarchy, so essentially, men like Alexander de Sherrington were allied with him. Technically. But the truth of it was that William Marshal and the men who served him were spies and assassins, and from what John had heard, Alexander was one of the worst.
Or the best.
Either way, John was wary of him.
“Then leave and take the Irishman with you,” he said. “You are not required here.”
Alexander and Bric departed the solar without another word, heading out of the keep. They needed to talk and couldn’t do that with any guaranteed privacy in the keep, so they headed out into the torch-lit night, heading straight for the chapel because it would be empty at this hour.
The chapel of Norwich Castle was indeed dark and cold and empty. It had long lancet windows on either side, inlaid with precious colored glass depicting saints. The chapel wasn’t very big given the size of the castle, crowded on either side with de Winter family crypts. They were all buried here, all the way back to Denis de Winter, who had come to the shores of England with the Duke of Normandy.
Alexander looked around the dark, shadowed chapel before finally calling out to see if there was anyone lingering nearby. He didn’t receive an answer, nor did he hear any sounds, so he turned to Bric, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.
“How long has John been with Daveigh?” he asked.
Bric shook his head. “From nearly the moment he arrived,” he said. “Peter and Kevin and I arrived about a half-hour before the king did and we were speaking to Daveigh when John simply walked in. There was no announcement; the man simply arrived.”
Alexander ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Christ,” he hissed. “That entire situation was a nightmare. And now he wants to sup with Christin de Lohr? We cannot allow it.”
“I am not sure how we can stop it,” Bric said. “The king’s word is law. He is not denied.”
Alexander looked at him. “She is an agent in William Marshal’s service,” he said. “We have some obligation to protect her, even from the king. Most of all, we have to do something or Peter will get himself killed trying to save his sister.”
Bric knew that. Regretfully, he nodded. “I am glad he did not hear the royal summons,” he said. “In fact, we should probably remove him from the keep. Someone is going to tell him or he is eventually going to see it for himself when John demands his sister keep him company at sup.”
“Then get him out of there,” Alexander said. “Tell him what has happened but be gentle with him. We must try to keep Christin away from the king until The Marshal arrives. After that… he will have to deal with the situation.”
Bric nodded. “This is not something I expected. Of all the women the king could focus on…”
Alexander agreed with the irony of that statement but he was also trying not to look as if his concern for Christin was something more than simple duty. Worse than tipping Peter off would be to tip everyone else off. Alexander de Sherrington did not frolic with women, and especially not a fellow agent. He was torn between not caring what anyone thought and protecting his pride and reputation.
He was afraid that some might view it as a weakness.
“Go find Peter,” he told Bric. “I will go find Lady Christin. She ran out of the chamber so fast she must be halfway out of the city by now.”
“There are apartment blocks to the east of the chapel,” Bric said. �
�She may have gone there.”
It was as good a place to start as any. Alexander and Bric headed to the chapel entry, with Bric heading back to the enormous keep while Alexander turned towards the apartments, bathed in a soft moonglow. He was heading down the path, planning on checking the first building, when something at the end of the path caught his attention.
A beautiful moonlit wraith had entered his field of vision.
Christin.
“Where are you going?” Alexander asked as he came upon her in the darkness, noting the satchel in her hand. “What is happening, Cissy?”
Christin looked at him, struggling to keep the fear from her expression. “You were right,” she said quietly. “The king did notice me. Now he wants to dine with me. I am leaving before he sends his men for me.”
In spite of her best efforts to the contrary, Alexander could see the terror in her expression. With a heavy sigh, he put his hands out, grasping her gently by the upper arms.
“I will take you,” he said quietly. “That is why I came to find you. I will take you into the village and find a place for you to hide, at least until The Marshal arrives. I fear he will want you here, but with his presence, the king is less likely to do anything… foolish.”
Christin was tense. “Are you saying that he will protect me?”
“I am saying that he will do his very best.”
“That is not good enough.”
Alexander felt as if he had brought this on her. She had been fearless of the king’s presence until he reminded her of the king’s reputation. Now, she was reverting to panic; he could see it in her eyes. That confident young woman who killed on command was terrified when she knew she could not defend herself against a threat. Not that Alexander blamed her.
He was fairly upset about it, as well.
“I want you to listen to me and listen closely,” he said. “You are a de Lohr, but more than that, you are an agent for William Marshal. I have seen you kill with more bravery than I have ever seen from a woman and you did it without fear. You are stronger than every woman I have ever known, Susanna de Dere included, because you have an innate sense of courage, justice, and determination. All of this without formal training. When I told you to stay away from the king, I meant it. But he has seen you now, so you must adjust your plans accordingly. If The Marshal will not protect you, then know that I will. I swear to you that I will not let John harm you.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 10