The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 103
“Well?” he said. “What now? He is nowhere to be found. Do we go back to Rodstone House?”
Godfrey sighed heavily. “I do not know,” he said. “I thought for certain he would be here, somewhere. I cannot imagine he would stray too far, but I must be wrong. Mayhap we need to return to Rodstone and start there.”
Hamilton passed a long gaze over the water before turning around and heading back up the steps. “We need to find him before the night is out,” he grumbled. “We cannot let him get away without telling him what we must.”
“What must you tell me?”
The voice came from back in the boat dock. Startled, Godfrey and Hamilton rushed to the stone slip, tucked back into the stone of the building above it, in time to see Cullen emerging from a rafter overhead where he had been hiding. It was like watching a shadow unfold and come forth as Cullen’s boots hit the slick stone.
“Cullen!” Godfrey gasped. “Have you been hiding here since you leapt from the king’s window? My God, man, the king’s men have been looking for you all evening!”
Cullen came away from the stone, into the ghostly reflection of the moonlight upon the water. “Is that why you are looking for me?” he asked. “To take me to them?”
Godfrey shook his head. “We’ve come to help you, to ensure you make it out of Westminster alive,” he said. “You must leave immediately, before the king’s sentries come around again. They should have been at the door to this slip, but…”
“I killed them,” Cullen said simply. “Their bodies are down here, in the slip. No one will come around until the shift changes at dawn.”
Godfrey and Hamilton peered into the murky water of the slip, but they couldn’t see anything. It was too dark. As Godfrey watched the water distastefully, Hamilton looked at Cullen.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “We should be able to get you to the stables and from there you can escape into the yard through the postern gate. Mayhap you should wait until the moon is low in…”
Cullen held up a hand, silencing him. “I am not going anywhere,” he said. “Where is Lady Barklestone?”
Those were the words they had been waiting for. Godfrey stared at him, unable to bring the lie forth that he needed to at that moment. He looked like he was caught off-guard by the question and he looked to Hamilton for help, who also had a rather startled look about him. But Cullen was looking for an answer, so he replied.
“She was captured,” he said, trying to put the words together to form a believable lie. He had to sound sorrowful, and he tried. “Cullen, we have been looking for you since… since it happened. In evading the king’s men, you also evaded us. We tried to find you.”
“And so you have,” Cullen took a step closer. “Where did they take Lady Barklestone? And where is de Lacy in all of this? Does he know?”
Hamilton sighed in response. He hadn’t expected the conversation to turn this quickly to Lady Barklestone but, then again, he wasn’t all that surprised. Earlier, he and Godfrey had discussed what they needed to say, and what needed to happen once they came face to face with Cullen. But as he looked at the big knight, he could feel indecision creeping over him. That indecision was fed by the expression on Cullen’s face. If Hamilton had any doubt that the man was in love with Preston’s wife, Cullen’s expression confirmed everything he’d been told.
The man was in love with her.
He had to do this quickly or risk Cullen’s wrath.
“Dead,” Godfrey suddenly blurted before Hamilton could deliver the news more tactfully. In fact, Godfrey looked very nervous as he announced it. “She fought the guards who were trying to take her away and she fell down a flight of stairs and broke her neck.”
Hamilton looked at the man in shock because it had been the most uncouth way of informing Cullen. His words were spilling out all over the place and he was talking too quickly, making it look like he was anxious or, worse, lying. Quickly, Hamilton looked to Cullen.
“That is why we have been looking for you,” he said quietly. “We were afraid you would go looking for her and get yourself killed. What happened to her… she fell. The woman is a fighter, Cullen. She fought them and she fell. It was… it was an accident.”
Cullen hadn’t registered any emotion initially. He simply stood there and looked at them as if he didn’t quite understand what he was being told. But as they watched, the countenance of his face seemed to change and they could see his expression go slack. Then, he listed to the left as if he’d suddenly gone off-balance and his big shoulder rammed into the stone wall, supporting an entire body that clearly wanted to collapse.
“Dead,” he breathed. “She’s dead?”
Hamilton nodded. “No one killed her so you need not seek vengeance on behalf of the earl,” he said. “She simply fell down the stairs to the vault and broke her neck. De Lacy has been informed. He is making arrangements to send her body back to Herefordshire, to her father.”
It was a lie of the greatest proportions, but all quite believable. Both knights looked at Cullen, waiting for a reaction, wondering if they would need to defend themselves against his rage or if they would be comforting his broken heart. In painful silence, they waited, watching…
But Cullen did nothing more than hang his head as he processed what he’d been told. He leaned into the stone wall, putting his arm up and leaning his head against the upraised arm. He just stood there, leaning into his arm, not making a sound.
No rage, no groaning… only silence.
Godfrey and Hamilton passed concerned glances.
“Cullen?” Hamilton said. “Is there a problem? You can do no more for Lady Barklestone and it is imperative that we remove you from Westminster before the king’s men find you. Do you understand me, man?”
He was trying to pretend as if he hadn’t heard the rumors, as if he didn’t know why Cullen was so clearly grief-stricken. Perhaps part of him was trying to see if Cullen would admit anything but, so far, Cullen remained silent. He just stood there, his face pressed into his arm.
Grieving.
“Are you certain of this, Ham?” Cullen asked, his voice hoarse. “Did you see her body?”
They’d already lied their way into this situation deeply enough, so Hamilton saw no reason to stop there. If he was going to do this, with the objective of sending Cullen away from the House of de Lacy forever, then he needed to follow through.
“For de Lacy’s sake, I had to,” he said. “The man had to know his wife was gone.”
Cullen exhaled, long and slow, slumping back against the wall now. He was simply staring at his feet.
“And she was dead? There is no doubt.”
“No doubt, Cullen. She is dead.”
“And you swear this to me?”
“I’ve no reason not to.”
Cullen drew in a long, painful breath. “Oh, God,” he muttered after a moment. “I should have lowered her from the window first. I should not have left her.”
“There was nothing you could do,” Hamilton said, trying to be gentle, which seemed misplaced given the circumstances. “What is important now is that we must get you out of Westminster before they find you. I have a feeling they will not be so kind with you if you are captured.”
Cullen was still looking at his feet, radiating sorrow from every pore in his body. “Captured,” he whispered. Then, his head came up. “I was wrong. This is not my fault. This is your fault for bringing Lady Barklestone to the king in the first place. You did this, Ham.”
Hamilton’s eyes widened. He had hoped that accusation wouldn’t come back around, but it had. He was ready. “Cullen, I told you what happened,” he said as firmly as he could manage. “She had spilled wine on her gown. I took her to a chamber to change. I did not know the king was in it.”
Cullen snorted rudely, shaking his head at the man. “That is not what Lady Barklestone said.”
Hamilton threw up his hands. “She was upset,” he said. “She had just been attacked. Of course she had to find someone to blame.”
Cullen’s eyes were glittering at him, something deadly in the dark orbs. “Do you swear upon your oath as a knight that you did not obey the king’s summons and bring Lady Barklestone to him?”
Hamilton was already so far gone into his web of lies that one more wasn’t going to make a difference. He was already doomed. “I swear,” he said. “I did not know.”
“Then you are telling me that John simply followed you and slipped into the chamber when you were not looking?”
Hamilton was becoming flustered. “It is as good an explanation as any,” he said. “He was at the feast and surely saw Lady Barklestone. He saw me lead her from the hall and followed, which is not out of the realm of possibility for him. But none of that matters now, Cullen. What matters is that we remove you from Westminster immediately unless you wish for de Lacy to ship your body back to your father as well.”
Cullen pushed himself off the wall and took a few slow steps in Hamilton’s direction. “I am not going anywhere with you,” he said. “Do not think to escort me out of here. For all I know, you would be taking me straight to the king, too. How much has he paid you, Ham? How much has he paid you both?”
He was looking between Godfrey and Hamilton now, his expression taut with suspicion. Hamilton was starting to back away but Godfrey was over by the steps that led down to the river and, subsequently, trapped should Cullen charge. In fact, it was clear by the look on his face that the man was starting to feel some panic.
“Cullen, think!” Godfrey said. “Why would we take you to the king now? We have served with you in battle for lo these two years now, and you have trusted us with your life. Why turn on us now when we are trying to help you?”
The problem was that Cullen was thinking too much. And feeling too much. His chest was tight, full of hot rage, and he felt as if he were ready to explode. But that didn’t compare to the grief he was feeling, grief he blamed on the two men before him. He was blinded by sorrow, feeling as if he wanted to collapse with it. But at the moment, he hadn’t the luxury of a release. He was cornered and needed to get out of Westminster and collect Regal.
Regal…
God, he had no idea what he was going to tell the old woman. Her granddaughter was dead and, now, the only link Cullen had to Teodora was the blind old woman. His sense of protection toward her was surging, and he knew he had to get them both out of Westminster before they were captured. He couldn’t help Teodora, but he could help her grandmother.
He knew that was what Teodora would have wanted.
Oh, God… my sweet Teddy…
“I do not know what subversion you are both involved in, because I do not have time to find out, but know that I will find out,” he said. “And I will find you. Mark my words.”
Hamilton didn’t know what more to say to him. He was afraid if he said anything more, Cullen’s composure might snap and his neck right along with it. So he backed away, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture, unwilling to provoke a man who had been pushed past his limit.
Unfortunately, Godfrey was not so silent. He was a man who couldn’t stand tension and his instinct was to plead his case, to make things right between him and Cullen. He was running off at the mouth.
“You cannot return to Preston now,” he said. “You cannot even return to your father, Cullen. Your father serves the crown and it will create great conflict within him if he harbors his fugitive son. You would create terrible turmoil for him.”
Cullen looked at Godfrey, a rather dead-eyed expression, as if everything inside him were dead. “You’ll not tell me of my duty toward my father,” he grumbled. “You’ll not even speak his name.”
Godfrey put up his hands, much as Hamilton had done. “I am simply saying that you cannot go to anyone you know and hide with them,” he said. “You would be putting them in great peril. But… but I have a cousin, Lord Geddington of Geddington Castle. It is south of Rockingham, in Northamptonshire. He would not know you, you see, and you could tell him that I sent you. Do not give him your real name; simply make up a name and he does not have to know who you are. Do you understand what I am saying, Cullen? Go to my cousin under an assumed identity until this situation settles itself. Mayhap… mayhap someday you can return to your father. But until you can, you can no longer be Cullen de Nerra.”
In truth, Cullen had been close to taking the man’s head off and throwing his body into the slip with the others he’d killed, but something in what he said made some sense. Cullen had Regal to think of now and, although he wasn’t really responsible for the woman and could have just as easily returned her to Cerenbeau Castle, there was something in him that couldn’t quite let her go. The grief that was consuming him included that old woman as well, as if, somehow, she could help ease it.
He wasn’t going to take her home.
And that meant that, somehow, he had to provide for her. A roof over her head, food, and comfort. If it was only him, he had no problem traipsing around the country, living hand to mouth, but he couldn’t do that to Regal.
She needed more.
He wasn’t sure why he should trust Godfrey with the referral to his cousin, but the truth was that Godfrey had been right – he couldn’t go anywhere where people knew him. He couldn’t jeopardize them like that. Perhaps going to Godfrey’s cousin could be a temporary measure until he could think clearly, for now, he couldn’t think at all past the sorrow in his heart.
He couldn’t think at all.
At the moment, he realized he was fighting off tears. He hadn’t cried since he’d been a very young lad and, now, all he wanted to do was weep. Weep for Teodora, for those he’d disappointed or shamed, for everything. But he wouldn’t do it in front of these two hyenas. He had to get clear of them, and of Westminster, and take Regal away from London.
He had to do it before he broke down completely.
Without another word, Cullen turned from them, rushing up the slippery steps and through the unguarded door. When he’d gone, Hamilton and Godfrey hesitantly followed his trail until they reached the doorway but they didn’t follow it any further; they were simply glad to have escaped the situation with their lives.
It could have so easily been much different.
“Do you think he believed us?” Godfrey whispered.
Hamilton was looking out to the garden beyond but he didn’t see anything moving. Cullen had an incredible ability to travel in stealth.
“I do not know,” he muttered. “But he is leaving and that is all that matters.”
“Do you think he meant what he said?”
“What do you mean?”’
“That he will be back… for us.”
Hamilton snorted, but it was without humor. “Cullen de Nerra never says anything he does not mean,” he said. “Compensation from the king will be the only thing that makes the fact that we’ll have to look over our shoulders for the rest of our lives worth the risk. Do not think of Cullen’s threat, Godfrey; think of being the Earl of Barklestone someday. This will be worth it in the end.”
Godfrey tried, but visions of Cullen de Nerra blocked out the joy he felt over such a thing.
He knew he would be seeing the man in his sleep from now on.
“Come on,” Hamilton finally said, breaking into his train of thought. “Now that we have taken care of de Nerra, it is time to take care of Lady Barklestone.”
He headed out across the moonlit garden as Godfrey shuffled after him.
“Do you think the guards will let us see her?” he asked anxiously.
Hamilton seemed confident. “We are on a mission from her husband,” he said. “Of course they will let us see her.”
Godfrey hoped that was the case. Hamilton had been right about Cullen; he hoped the man was right about Lady Barklestone. He hoped the situation went as easily.
Playing God felt rather good to him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Farringdon House, London
Townhome of William Marshal
The guards at the fortified townhome near the western edge of London recognized him, so they let him in.
Cullen had a tiny old woman with him, one he was moving rather slowly with. And once they opened the fortified gate, he picked the woman up and carried her in, straight through an enclosed courtyard and into the house itself.
It was dark at this late hour as he was greeted at the door by the majordomo, who knew him on sight and quickly ushered him inside. As the majordomo sent someone to bring William Marshal, Cullen took Regal upstairs to a small chamber indicated by the majordomo, where he sat her upon the bed so she could rest while he conducted business with The Marshal.
It was business he wasn’t looking forward to.
He had failed.
That would be the primary focus of the conversation. He’d failed in his mission to watch Preston de Lacy and report back on the man’s activities, and the reason for his failure was going to be difficult to put into words. Knights didn’t have feelings, and they certainly didn’t fall in love with their liege’s wife. But that was exactly what Cullen was preparing to tell him.
It wasn’t going to be pretty.
Cullen ended up in The Marshal’s enormous second-floor solar where the man conducted almost all of his important business. It was an elaborate chamber with painted walls and hides on the floor. Much of England’s business for the past several decades had been conducted here, giving the chamber a heady feel. It was timeless and powerful. As he stood there, feeling rather stunned at the events of the evening and struggling to gain a handle on his grief, a servant entered and quietly, quickly, started a fire in the hearth.
When the fire was snapping and the man vacated the chamber, Cullen made his way over to the blaze, feeling the warmth on his face as he stared into the flames and wondering how he was expected to move on with his life after this. He’d destroyed it more completely than if he’d planned to do such a thing. Not only was the woman he loved dead, but his career was in tatters.
He had nothing left.
