The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 24
Alasdair’s eyes widened. “Ye’d be a fool tae try, witch,” he said. “I’ll not make an easy target. Better men than ye have tried.”
“Then stay out of sight and we’ll not have any issues.”
Alasdair eyed the woman; she was so calm and collected as she threatened a man’s life, which was a particularly eerie talent.
And he believed every word.
“Dinna worry about me,” he said. “Worry about yerself. If the king comes tae the feast day, then ye’d better mind yerself. They’ll be looking for ye tae move against him.”
The Mother Abbess took another drink of wine before answering. “We have nothing to fear,” she said. “God is on our side. He shall see that the Holy Father’s plans are accomplished.”
Alasdair sighed heavily; the woman didn’t seem upset by the news in the least. She remained confident that all would work out as it should. As he looked back to his ankle, rubbing at it, there was a soft knock on the door. The Mother Abbess bade the caller to enter, and the door opened to produce Sister Petronilla.
“I am sorry, Gracious Mother,” she said, pausing when she saw Alasdair. “I did not realize you still had your guest.”
She started to close the door, but the Mother Abbess waved her in. “Come in, Sister Petronilla,” she said. “Come in and meet Alasdair Baird Douglas, a man who is close to our Holy Father. He is so close, in fact, that he is the one who delivered the Holy Father’s instructions to us regarding the king.”
Sister Petronilla entered the chamber, her dark gaze on Alasdair. “Welcome to St. Blitha, Brother,” she said, looking him up and down. “I did not know who you were when you entered earlier. If I was rude, my apologies.”
Alasdair barely glanced at the woman; he was more focused on his injured ankle. The Mother Abbess could see that he was working over the joint and she turned to Sister Petronilla.
“He seems to have injured himself,” she said. “Mayhap there is something in the garden that can help his swelling.”
Sister Petronilla peered at the ankle, but from a distance. “I was just in the garden with Andressa,” she said. “I can return and gather a few things that may help the pain.”
The Mother Abbess looked at her. “Andressa?” she said. “What was she doing outside in the darkness? Surely she wasn’t washing clothing at this hour.”
Sister Petronilla shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “We were discussing the plants in the garden and their particular properties for our task with the king. She had just returned from Lady Hinkley’s and she said that she must go to her again.”
The Mother Abbess’ brow furrowed. “Tonight?”
“Aye, Gracious Mother.”
“But why?”
“Because she said Lady Hinkley was not ready with her washing the first time. She told Andressa to return, and that is what she is doing because you said it was important to keep Lady Hinkley happy.”
It was true; Mother Abbess had said that. But as she realized that, she also realized that Andressa knew of the plot against John, too, and in the course of her duties as the laundress, she traveled in and out of St. Blitha quite freely. It was true that she was an obedient girl, and had proven herself, but trust on this level was not something the Mother Abbess had experienced with her. Though she’d never known the girl to gossip or even talk, there was always the possibility that, in this case, she had.
In truth, anything was possible.
Going to the big windows that overlooked the garden and the kitchens beyond, the Mother Abbess could see a figure in pale robes moving around in the moonlight over near the laundry area.
“Sister,” she said to Sister Petronilla. “Is Andressa still in the yard?”
Sister Petronilla wandered over to the window, watching the ghostly figure across the yard as it moved around. “Aye,” she said. “I gave her foxglove leaves and instructions on how to crush them. I believe she is putting the leaves away until she can accomplish this.”
The Mother Abbess’ gaze lingered on Andressa as the woman continued to move around in the dark. Finally, she turned to Douglas, sitting over on one of her fine chairs with his dirty boot on another.
“Douglas,” she said. “Come here.”
Unhappily, Alasdair did as he was told. He limped his way over to the window, watching the Mother Abbess. His eyes moved to something in the yard beyond. In the moonlight, he could barely see it.
“See the woman over towards the postern gate?” the Mother Abbess asked.
Alasdair nodded. “Aye.”
“Follow her,” she said. “I cannot be sure that she is not our traitor. She will be leaving shortly; make sure you discover where she is going.”
Alasdair lifted a dark eyebrow. “Does she know of the plot, too?”
“She will be the one putting the plan into action.”
“And if she’s the traitor?”
“Kill her.”
It was a simple, unemotional command, one that peeled back the bones and revealed the true darkness of the Mother Abbess’ soul. Violated trust was a killing offense.
“But my leg,” he complained. “Can’t someone else follow the lass?”
“You are the only one capable of killing her with force should it come to that.”
There was no arguing with her; Alasdair could see that. With a growl, he limped from the room, heading out of the front door to hide in the shadows until the woman in question emerged from the yard.
It didn’t take long. In little time, a tall, slender woman in pale robes rushed along the road, looking over her shoulder constantly as she made her way to Bishopsgate and beyond. In fact, Alasdair realized that this was the same woman he’d seen come back to the abbey about the time he’d arrived himself. He could tell by the shape of her. Therefore, he waited until she was through before following her, like a hunter tracking prey.
If she was the traitor, he would discover it for himself.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The King’s Gout Tavern
Kress, Achilles, Gart, Alexander, and Cullen were seated around a leaning, warped table at the tavern that was favored by most fighting men on the north side of London. It was the biggest one and had the best wenches. They had invited Sean and Kevin, and the de Lohr brothers to join them but, so far, they had yet to make an appearance.
It was well after the supper at Farringdon House, the one that had been so tense because of the friction between William and Maxton. It had been obvious when Maxton had joined their table later in the meal, informing them of his extended conversation with the St. Blitha pledge.
It had been rough from the start because William had asked, straight away, if Maxton had sent the girl back to St. Blitha yet. The entire conversation prior to Maxton’s arrival had been about the pledge and what a valuable spy she would make inside of St. Blitha and when Maxton appeared, William went for the throat. When Maxton had explained that not only had he not sent the girl back, but that she was pregnant, it seemed to throw the entire situation into question.
To everyone but William Marshal, that was.
He saw no difference in the girl being pregnant. It wasn’t his concern that a pledge had conceived a child. His only concern was in keeping the nuns from accomplishing their task of killing the king, a hard attitude that seemed to turn Maxton into stone. He sat silently for the most part while William discussed their loyalty to the king and listed the reasons as to why that was all they should be concerned with.
Maxton had listened to William pound home his loyalty to king and country before replying to the man’s prattle by telling him that he would send her home as soon as she was rested. That evidently wasn’t good enough for William, who pressed him further only for Maxton to tell him that any man who would save a monarchy by sacrificing the blood of an innocent woman was not a man he had much respect for.
At that point, Kress and Gart ushered Maxton out of the hall and sent him back up to his chamber to avoid any further confrontations with William, who was clearly annoyed with Maxton’s behavior. It was concerning enough that Gart had sent word to Cullen, Sean, and Kevin, and the de Lohr brothers to meet them at The King’s Gout because they had to discuss the situation before it got out of hand. Concerns were running high that Maxton was deviating from the course set for them and the circumstances needed to be clarified, because it was increasingly clear that Maxton, the man who had changed since leaving Les Baux-de-Provence, had changed even more than they had realized.
He was a different man.
Which was why they all found themselves here, inhaling the smoke of the common room, ignoring the tables that were screaming with laughter, drunk as the minutes of the night ticked away. Cullen de Nerra seemed to be more distressed by the situation than the rest of them as he hovered over his half-empty cup.
“This does not sound like the Max I know,” he said quietly. “He actually argued with The Marshal? I’ve never known the man to argue with anyone other than the de Lohr brothers.”
They were nursing two pitchers of dark, heavy wine imported from the Mediterranean region. Gart picked up one of the pitchers to fill Cullen’s cup as he answered.
“The problem is that The Marshal has not worked with Maxton before,” he said. “He does not know that Maxton is a man of his word. He has been given a task and he will accomplish it regardless of his personal feelings, but Max was never one to hold back when expressing his thoughts on a matter. And he can be very moody, moodier still since his time at the Lateran Palace. I am not sure he is the Max that any of us knew any longer. He has… changed.”
“Mayhap he has changed in personality, but the soul of the man is the same,” Kress said quietly. As Maxton’s closest friend, he was the one best suited to speak to the situation. “Those of us who have spent time with him over the past year have seen it – the introspection, the seeking of knowledge from wise men, holy men, or any man who might have an insight into the world at large. Now that I’ve seen him react to the pledge from St. Blitha, it is increasingly clear that he’s growing a conscience. Something about that girl has stirred something in him, as if he’s only noticing the injustices of the world for the very first time.”
Gart grunted unhappily. “God’s Bones, of all time for the man to develop a heart,” he said. “What happened to the cold killer we all knew?”
“He is still there,” Achilles said. When they all turned to look at him, he merely shrugged. “Make no mistake; the cold killer is still there, as deadly as ever. But Maxton has grown up. He is a man of flesh and blood, and I think that girl has stirred the man in him – the romantic.”
The table looked at Achilles as if the man were crazy. “You must be drunk,” Gart muttered. “The man has no romance in him.”
Achilles was unrepentant. “All men have romance in them, Forbes,” he said. “Some simply keep it buried deeper than others.”
Cullen seized on the possibility. “Are you saying that Max actually has feelings for this… this pledge?” he asked, incredulous. “Not only is she pledged to the church, but she has clearly been with another man. The girl is pregnant. And this is the girl who is stirring Maxton’s romantic feelings?”
Achilles simply lifted his shoulders. “We have seen the girl,” he said. “She is not unattractive. In fact, she’s rather beautiful in a pale sort of way. Whatever she is, and whoever she is, she has bewitched Max, but I do not believe William has figured that out yet. He simply thinks Max is being stubborn.”
“Then he is risking his reputation for a woman he just met,” Gart growled. “In fact, I…”
He was cut off when the tavern door slammed back on its hinges and four big knights entered the common room of the tavern, adding to the noise and chaos. Gart could immediately see that it was the men they’d invited and he stood up, catching their attention and waving them over.
Kevin de Lara, Christopher and David de Lohr, and, finally, Sean de Lara approached the table, grabbing chairs as they moved through the crowded common room and sitting down at the table with their pilfered seats. Cups and wine were passed to them.
“My wife is furious because I answered Gart’s summons in the midst of a family feast, so let this be brief,” Christopher said as he poured his wine. “What is so important that I had to travel across London for this meeting? And why are we not converging at Farringdon House?”
It was Gart who answered, since he was the instigator of the meeting. “Because we do not want The Marshal to be part of this conversation,” he said. “Much has happened since the meeting this morning, Chris. We now know the means by which the assassination against the king will be made.”
Christopher was very interested. “What is it?”
“Nuns.”
Christopher’s cup of wine stopped halfway to his lips. “What?” he hissed. “Nuns? Who told you this madness?”
Gart shook his head. “It is not madness, I assure you,” he said. Then, he looked to Alexander across the table. “Tell him, Sherry.”
Alexander sat forward, lowering his voice as much as he could in a room full of loud, drunken people. “I have been trailing a double agent since leaving the Lateran Palace,” he said. “In fact, a high-placed advisor to our Holy Father paid me to kill this man. There is far more to the story that I am going to tell you but, for the sake of time, I will tell you the gist of it. The man I was paid to kill is a Scotsman named Alasdair Baird Douglas. He delivered a message to the Mother Abbess of St. Blitha, a personal message from our Holy Father, that instructed the Mother Abbess to murder the king when he arrives at St. Blitha to celebrate her feast day.”
Christopher’s wine never made it to his mouth. Incredulous, he set his cup down and stared at Alexander as if the man had gone completely daft. “Christ,” he finally muttered. “The feast is in two days. And you are certain of this?”
Alexander nodded. “Unfortunately,” he said. “It was corroborated by a pledge from St. Blitha, quite by accident. In fact… the pledge is why we have called this meeting.”
“Why?”
“Because Max seems to have developed an attachment to the woman.”
As Christopher made a face suggesting complete confusion, David wasn’t so subtle. “That is ridiculous,” he said. “Max has no attachment to any woman.”
“That is what we know of the Maxton from the past,” Alexander countered. “But the Maxton who has returned from eight years away from England, including years of fighting with you two in The Levant, is a different man altogether. He is behaving in ways we never knew possible.”
“What do you mean?” David asked.
“He has come close to throttling The Marshal at least twice because of the man’s stance on the pledge,” Alexander explained. “William wants to use her to spy on the nuns of St. Blitha since she lives there, but Maxton does not want the woman involved. He says she is not a spy and does not have the skills needed for what William wants her to do.”
David didn’t have a quick answer to that. He looked at his brother, baffled by what he was hearing. “Since when does Maxton of Loxbeare argue with his liege?” he finally asked. “Better still, since when does he even care about anyone other than himself and a few fellow knights? Max is blindly obedient in all things. I’ve never known him to be otherwise.”
Alexander sat back in his chair. “He is still obedient,” he said, but it was clear that he, too, was confused with the change in his friend. “He’s not disobeyed any order from The Marshal, not yet, but he is not happy with the man’s intentions when it comes to the pledge.”
“Who is this pledge?” Christopher demanded softly.
Alexander looked at him. “A girl that Max met quite by chance this morning,” he said. “Through her, we have come to hear some terrible things about St. Blitha, mostly that the Mother Abbess is a thief and a murderess, and that she allows her charges to go hungry. That is the least of it, truly, but Max met the girl this morning when she was stealing food because she was starving. He fed her a meal and came to know her, and later in the day when she came into trouble, she sought him out for help. I would say that she is as attracted to him as he is to her. In any case, it has been a trial with the girl throughout the day, and Max is bewitched by her.”
The situation was coming clear somewhat and Christopher finally took a drink of his wine, pondering what he’d been told. “So it is the pledge who told him of the plans for the nuns of St. Blitha to assassinate the king?”
“Aye,” Alexander said.
“And your double agent told you the same thing?”
“Aye.”
“Then is it possible she is setting him up?” Christopher continued. “What I mean to say is why would the girl tell him such a thing when that is exactly what he has been tasked to discover? Don’t you think that is too great a coincidence?”
Alexander shook his head. “The way Max explains it, it was purely coincidental.”
“Or it was fate.”
Everyone looked at Achilles, who uttered the softly-spoken words. When he saw all eyes upon him, he simply lifted his eyebrows as if it were the simplest explanation in the world.
“It was a chance meeting,” he said. “You all speak as if Max would be a fool to fall for a woman who was trying to betray him, and he is not that kind of man. He is too sharp and too seasoned for such a thing. No woman in all the world can get the best of Maxton of Loxbeare, so the fact that he met a woman who has helped us solve the mystery of the assassins meant for the king is purely, and utterly, fate. God put that girl there at the right time so that she would find Max. It is as simple as that.”
Devout Achilles had a way of looking at things that encouraged divine assistance, but some of the others weren’t so devout. Christopher was one; he simply scratched his head.
“I suppose I can take some things on faith, but this seems terribly coincidental,” he said. “In any case, we now know what form the assassin will take. Sean, did you know this?”
