Reign of the Eagle, page 157
Vittoria beamed. “See, there you go. And we happen to know someone who can get us into Halvor’s tent, right?”
They found Timothy back in Basington, waiting with Halvor’s horse in the stables of one of the inns. “I couldn’t watch him bragging one more time about how the king is going to reward him.”
When Vittoria explained what they wanted to do, Timothy blanched. “I...I’m pretty sure he keeps the key on himself at all times.”
“And where is your employer right now?”
Timothy was of the opinion that Halvor had probably already propositioned one of the bar girls and proceeded upstairs to rid himself of the frustrations he felt over Morwen Byrne.
“Let’s go, then!” said Vittoria. “If there’s ever a moment he might not have the key on his person, this is it.”
Molly didn’t think that was terribly likely. Halvor probably slept with the blasted key around his neck. But Vittoria refused to listen to reason, and they crept together up the narrow back stairs of the inn. At the end of an oddly crooked hallway with leaning walls, they found what they were looking for: a locked door from which the sounds of vigorous sex were floating out into the hall.
“I wonder if it’s a suite of rooms,” said Vittoria. “We could sneak in from the side when they’re asleep.”
They found the surrounding doors unlocked, and were about to enter, but then Halvor’s voice rose in a crescendo, and he let out a long moan that clearly heralded his climax.
“That didn’t take very long,” said Vittoria, wagging an eyebrow at Molly.
Molly sighed.
A minute later, the bedroom door opened, and a dark-haired serving girl stepped out into the corridor, still fastening up her bodice laces. Molly and the others smiled as she passed, pretending the adjoining room was theirs. But the servant didn’t seem to care who they were. The door shut again, and Halvor started singing a rousing little folk song in some foreign language.
Vittoria prodded Timothy with a finger. “Go knock on the door and ask if he wants a bath.”
“What?” Timothy looked aghast at the idea.
“Just do it. We need to keep him naked so we can find a way to search his clothes for the key.”
With obvious fear and trembling, Timothy went and knocked. Strange to say, Halvor actually did want a bath. Molly ran down to find the innkeeper and arrange for a tub, and then came back up.
The important point, Vittoria explained in a whisper, was to make sure that Halvor had to go into a different room to use the bath, while leaving his clothes behind. Vittoria would pretend to be a housemaid. She would conduct the actual search, and would claim to be cleaning the room if he returned early.
“Then you,” Vittoria said, pointing to Timothy, “bring him some wine. And make sure this goes in it.” She pulled a little glass vial from her bodice and pressed it into his hand. “Two drops. That will make him fall asleep, and then we can get away.”
It all seemed on plan from Molly’s station in the hallway. Vittoria had left the door cracked, and Molly heard her triumphant whisper when she found a thick iron key on a silver chain in Halvor’s pile of clothes. But then Halvor realized he had forgotten something—perhaps the key—and jumped out of the bath to return to the bedroom. He walked in, dripping and entirely naked, just as Vittoria opened the door and passed the key to Molly.
“Miss Coburn,” said Halvor, looking her up and down. “What are you doing here?” He turned to Vittoria. “And who are you?” He didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be naked, and to be fair, Molly didn’t think he had anything to be embarrassed about. He had taken after his father in all the best ways, but he was thirty years younger.
Timothy returned with the drugged wine. “I thought you might want a drink, sir,” he said sheepishly.
“Since when have I wanted wine in my bath?” asked Halvor. He grinned. “You wanted a look at me, didn’t you, Tim?”
Timothy blushed a deep scarlet, and Molly seized the moment. She took the tray from him and, in the same motion, pushed the key into one of his hands. His eyebrows went up. Then he rearranged his face into a look of placid innocence.
“I’ll be going now, sir,” he said. And he left, shutting the door behind him.
Molly set the wine down on a side table. “You can have this later.”
“Later after what?” asked Halvor. “Neither of you has explained what’s going on here.”
Molly had no idea what to say. Vittoria, however, was never at a loss for words.
“My lord,” simpered the Immani spy, “Miss Coburn here has purchased my services for you this evening.”
Halvor looked at Molly, more confused than suspicious. “Why would you buy me a girl?”
That was a damned good question. Unfortunately, Vittoria was ready with a response. She giggled, snuggled up against Halvor, and whispered, “Because she wants to join in, too. Think of me as what the Brigantians would call an intermédiaire. A go-between, if you will.” She turned and gave Molly a very pointed look—much less sweet and seductive than the looks she was giving Halvor.
Molly understood all too well. The only way she could get out of here safely and give Timothy time to go unlock the chain was to go along with Vittoria’s awful plan.
“Yes,” she said, trying her best to look as if she weren’t about to be sick. “Yes, Halvor, I’ve wanted you for a very long time.”
Chapter 61
Why did Sir Halvor want her? Why was he so persistent? The man should have taken a hint by now. Morwen had given him no encouragement, whatever Sister Catherine might say. How could a man be so obsessed with a girl and yet so completely misunderstand what the girl wanted?
All Morwen desired was to serve Earstien and to live in a community of like-minded women. That was all she had ever wanted, ever since that day in the churchyard of the Atherton cathedral. She had been there with her governess to draw some of the funerary monuments for her art lessons. Then she had come across the gravestone of a woman with the name “Morwen” who shared her birthday. Most people would have said it was a stupid coincidence, but she could almost hear Earstien speaking to her, reminding her that she was going to die someday, too. Everything she accomplished or wanted to accomplish—school awards, a good marriage, children—all of that was temporary. The only things that lasted were the things done for Earstien’s glory.
That was why she was at the convent. Why couldn’t Sir Halvor see that? What could he possibly offer her that was greater than an eternity in Earstien’s Light? She wished he would go away and leave them all alone. But he wouldn’t. He kept showing up, time and again, and now, after catching Edwin and Elwyn, he might get his wish for all the abbey lands. Unless, of course, Morwen agreed to marry him. Insufferable man!
It was bad enough to make such an offer. To make it publicly, where anyone could overhear it, was even worse. Morwen had seen the way Sister Catherine smirked when she and Lillian returned from Duke Lukas’s celebratory dinner. She knew there were rumors flying around the abbey now. She had walked into the infirmary earlier and heard one of the novices whisper to another, “They say she kissed him.” When confronted, the girls pled ignorance, but Morwen was sure of what she had heard. And she was equally sure that the only possible source of that rumor was Sister Catherine. Why did that woman have to be so hateful all the time?
To take her mind off Sir Halvor and Sister Catherine, Morwen went to the treasury and started to tally the accounts. It wasn’t even halfway through the spring quarter, but there was no reason she couldn’t start now and save a little time at the end of June. But try as she might, she couldn’t make her mind focus on the numbers. She added the same column three times and got three different answers. She tossed her pen across the room and put her head in her hands.
“What does it even matter?” she thought. “If Sir Halvor takes all of this, who cares if the accounts were up to date? If the convent and the abbey are going to be dissolved, why make it easy for him?” It would serve him right if the accounts were a mess and he had to pay someone to put everything in order before he could start selling it off.
There had to be someone who could help. As always, Morwen’s first thoughts were of her family. In normal circumstances, she could appeal to her mother, much though it would pain her to do so. The trouble was that the abbey’s close connection with the Byrne family was the entire reason why they were all in trouble now.
What about Princess Donella? She was a Byrne now, too, by marriage, but surely, she still had some influence on her parents. Or perhaps not. Donella was like Lauren—flighty and prone to getting lost in her own imagination. Morwen wasn’t sure King Broderick and Queen Muriel put much stock in what their daughter thought. And anyway, whatever Donella said, the Gramirens would assume she was acting as the puppet of Andras and the rest of the Byrne family. No, sadly, Donella’s ability to help was severely limited.
What about Donella’s brother, though? Prince Broderick was kind and decent. Everyone said so, as Morwen’s own dealings with him had proven. Morwen knew he liked her; they had always gotten along well at school. They hadn’t been best friends, by any means, but they had certainly been friendly.
But how far could Morwen presume on that friendship? Broderick the Younger was the heir to the throne, and if he wanted to rule effectively, he would need to keep his father’s allies on his side. Chief among those allies were the Ostensens of Severn. If Broderick sided against Sir Halvor in this matter, Duke Lukas might be offended. Sir Halvor and Lukas might decide it wasn’t in their interests to send troops and money to the king anymore. Young Broderick couldn’t afford that. And he probably wouldn’t risk it. In the end, even if he was an honorable man, he would have to side with the interests of his family, like anyone else.
In her mind, Morwen ran through a list of all her old school friends and all the families of the women in the convent. None of them seemed very promising. She hadn’t written to most of her old friends in years, and few of them were in any position to make an appeal to the king. As for the families of the other nuns, they weren’t likely to be able to help, either. Morwen was the only one whose parents belonged to the high nobility. Most of their fathers and brothers were local gentry. A few barons, but no one who had the stature to walk into Wealdan Castle and stand up to Duke Lukas. The abbess had a sister who was married to some Keneshire merchant. Sister Lillian’s people were dyers in Keneburg. That was typical of the sort of women who entered the community at Erstenwell.
The candles on Morwen’s desk burned down as she pondered the problem. They guttered and went out, and she decided not to replace them. There was no point—she wasn’t getting any work done. She went down and walked the cloister in the moonlight, around and around. There was no solution to the problem. There was no one who could help.
“Except me,” she said to herself. She came to a stop and leaned against one of the pillars for support.
If she married Sir Halvor, then he would leave the abbey alone. Yes, it was a sacrifice, but was it so much worse than the soldiers who had been killed or mutilated in the war? Lots of people had made sacrifices, and why should she be any different? The only possible answer was, “Because I am working for Earstien.” But why should that make her special?
“I’m not special,” she thought. She knew she often acted as if she were, and she was ashamed of herself. She lectured and bullied her family with letters full of advice they didn’t want or need. But she wasn’t any better than them. She looked down on people with worldly cares and ambitions, but she was doing the same thing here at the abbey. Trying to be the best nun in the convent was no different, really, than when she had tried to write the best Immani oration at school. Or when kings and generals built monuments to themselves. It was vanity either way.
“I’m a selfish person,” she thought sadly. “Here I’ve been thinking of my vows to Earstien, but isn’t the work of the abbey more important to him than my pride?”
Light footsteps echoed in the cloister, and Morwen turned to see Sister Lillian approaching.
“Morwen! What are you doing up at this hour? I had to go to the privy.”
“I can’t sleep. I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh. What about?”
Morwen slumped against the pillar again. “I’ve been thinking that I’m a terrible person, and it would serve me right if I had to marry Sir Halvor.”
“You can’t possibly be serious,” said Lillian. “I think you’re brilliant. You’re a much better nun than I am, anyway.”
“No, I’m not. I’m good at math and organizing things, but that’s not the point of being a nun. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“You can’t leave us. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“The convent has been here for eight hundred years, Lillian. It got along fine without me, and it’ll survive without me. But only if I marry Sir Halvor.”
Lillian put a hand on her shoulder. “Morwen, I think you should go to the infirmary. You’re not making any sense.”
Morwen patted her hand. “Yes, I should probably do that. Good night, Lillian.”
The girl left and went back up to the dormitory—back to the untroubled sleep of the virtuous. Lillian did good things because she was a good person. She didn’t need glory or recognition. She didn’t need to pat herself on the back and feel superior to other people. She just cared if the work got done. That was the sort of person the convent needed—not people like Morwen.
But there was one thing she could do for them—one last service that would make up for everything. People like Lillian shouldn’t have to lose their home, and if Morwen had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t.
She slipped out of the convent by the garden gate and went down to the Gramiren camp. On the way, she tried to decide exactly how far she would go. Could she promise to marry him and then renege once the abbey was safe? Or perhaps, if worse came to worst, could she marry him and then tell him after the ceremony that she was still going to keep her vow of chastity?
Those options were both tempting, but she had a bad feeling Sir Halvor might not react well to that sort of trickery. She might have to kill herself, like Hilchen of Severn, the Odelandic saint who had thrown herself in a cooking fire. But if she did that, wouldn’t Sir Halvor take revenge on the abbey? Yes, he would. So if she surrendered to his demands, she would have to do it for real. She would have to be his wife in every sense.
With bitter regret, she recalled her pompous lectures to Lauren on the duties of a wife. “This is Earstien’s punishment for my arrogance,” she thought. “I presumed to tell Lauren what to do with her husband, thinking I was safe and would never have to do the same things.” But now she would.
She had to look Sir Halvor in the eye and tell him that she wanted him. Would he believe her, though? Or would he insist that she prove her sincerity by giving herself to him tonight? She had a terrible feeling that he would.
And now, all too soon, here she was, at Sir Halvor’s tent. After a deep breath, she pushed aside the flap and looked in.
Sir Halvor wasn’t there. The only occupant of the tent was Timothy Woolrich, the valet. “Is Sir Halvor out?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady. Listen, do you happen to know where Edwin and Elwyn have gotten to? They were supposed to be put back in their cart, but I haven’t seen them since the feast.”
“Um...I’ve got no idea. Sorry. Where is Sir Halvor right now?”
Timothy blushed. “He’s, um...at the same inn on High Street where the supper was held. He’s gone upstairs at the moment, if you take my meaning.”
So he was with whores now. Morwen nearly decided to give up and go back to the convent, but on second thought, she decided there couldn’t be a more appropriate setting for telling Sir Halvor about her decision to accept him. It was another humiliation for her, and a chance to make penance for her pride.
Chapter 62
“You’re very good at pretending to drink when you’re not drinking,” said Vittoria.
“Um...thank you.”
At the other end of the bed, Halvor let out a long, echoing snore and pulled the blanket tighter over himself.
Vittoria ran a finger down Molly’s cheek. “You’re pretty good at some other things, too.”
“That’s...kind of you to say.” Molly was trying for the same careless air as Vittoria, but all she could keep thinking was, “Oh, Earstien. We just had sex. All three of us. Me and them. Me and her.” And now here they were, after Halvor had finally nodded off. Molly and another woman, completely naked, bodies still touching, slick with sweat and oil.
This was not something she had ever done before, or had even fantasized about. She got the feeling this was a pretty typical Saturday night for the Immani girl, however. Molly didn’t want to seem like a prude, but she also didn’t want to give the impression that this was an experience she wished to repeat.
At the time, it had been wonderful. After more than a year and a half as Lukas’s mistress, she hadn’t thought there was anything for her to learn. She hadn’t thought there were new sensations and new experiences yet to be had. But Vittoria had proved her wrong. Halvor had been there, too, of course, but Vittoria had been the one guiding it all.
Now, as the last remnants of pleasure faded away, Molly was starting to feel ashamed of herself. What would her father think of this? What would poor Quincy do if he were still alive and learned his sister was this sort of person?
“Er...listen, this has been lovely,” she began, scooting a little farther away from Vittoria and trying to cover herself with her hands. “But I think this might have been a—”
“Don’t say ‘a mistake,’” said Vittoria. “You’re embarrassed; I can tell. But there’s no reason to be. This is perfectly natural. Now, let’s get cleaned up, and then we can go see where Timothy has run off to. But first, one more kiss.” She moved closer, brushing away a stray lock of Molly’s hair, and kissed her.
