The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 25
He turned to Sean, who had been sitting silent throughout the exchange. He was a man more involved than almost any of them since he was the one who shadowed the king. Everything they were saying was of great importance to him.
“I had received word about the nuns earlier today from The Marshal,” he said. “He also said that I am not to discourage the king from attending St. Blitha for the feast day. It is clear he wants to catch the nuns in the act. He’ll need proof if he is to arrest women of the cloth, and proof is not the hearsay of a pledge or a Scottish prisoner.”
Alexander nodded. “That is another reason why we have called this meeting,” he said. “We must have a plan for that day, Sean. I’ve not spoken to Max about it, so I do not know if he has come up with a scheme, but it is my thought that we must be within close proximity of the king if we are to prevent the nuns from moving against him. I believe Max would say the same thing.”
Sean was listening. “What did you have in mind?”
Alexander was much like Maxton in that he had a tactician’s mind. He was able to see situations clearly and map out an end result. But as he geared up to explain, the door to the tavern opened again and in stepped a familiar figure.
Kress saw him first and it was the expression on his face that alerted the others. They all turned to see Maxton entering the tavern, shoving aside a drunkard who came too close. As the man slammed into the wall, Maxton caught sight of Kress and Achilles, sitting at a table with many other faces he recognized. Shoving his way through the crowd of bodies, he headed in their direction.
“Sherry,” he said, his intense focus on Alexander. “Your prisoner has escaped.”
That was not what they had expected to hear. Alexander bolted to his feet, followed by the rest of them.
“Gone?” he hissed, unbelieving, as he moved away from the table. “How long?”
Maxton shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I went looking for Kress and Achilles, and finally you, and in finding no one, I went to the prisoner’s chamber to see if you were all there. I found an empty chamber being guarded by a knight who had no idea that his prisoner had escaped and we found a rope of linens that hung from the window to the alley below. The gate guards said they saw you leave with Kress and Achilles, so I took a chance that you had come to this place.”
Alexander growled. “I should have killed that bastard when I had a chance,” he said. “Does The Marshal know?”
“He knows. He heard the shouts when we discovered the man missing.”
Alexander was trying not to feel like a colossal failure when he suddenly came to a halt, his eyes widening with horror.
“Bloody Christ,” he breathed. “Douglas knows that we are aware of the nuns of St. Blitha. I mentioned it to him, thinking he would tell me more about his message from the Holy Father, but he didn’t. It never occurred to me that he would… oh, God…”
Maxton understood exactly what he meant; he could see the abject terror in the man’s eyes. “Then he’s gone back to St. Blitha to tell them that their plan has been exposed,” he said. “Sherry, you did not tell the man how we knew, did you? You never mentioned the pledge?”
Alexander shook his head. “Nay, Max. Nothing like that.”
Maxton’s relief was visible. “Then he’s gone back to tell the nuns that we know everything,” he said. “Come on; we have work to do.”
The ten of them pushed through bodies and chairs and tables of the common room, making their way back to the entry door, throwing it open and charging out into the icy air beyond.
Farringdon House was only a few blocks away, a relatively short walk. But at this moment, it seemed like an eternity. Christopher, David, Sean, Kevin, and Cullen had stabled their horses in the livery across from the tavern, and they ran to collect their animals as Maxton, Alexander, Kress, Achilles, and Gart began to race those few blocks back to Farringdon House, back to the scene of the crime so they could make plans for the fact that Douglas had probably already told the nuns of St. Blitha that their assassination plans for the king were already known.
And the nuns would undoubtedly wonder how those plans were known.
In truth, Maxton was muddled by the whole situation and trying to stay focused. After being hustled out of the great hall when the conversation between him and William had become too heated, and then discovering that Andressa had fled back to St. Blitha on her own, he’d spent some time alone in his borrowed chamber, wondering what he was going to do about all of this.
He’d never faced a situation like it.
Perhaps that was his problem. He knew it had been his kiss with Andressa that had chased her off, but he wasn’t sorry about it. He’d been with many women, and he’d even been fond of a few, but the kiss with Andressa felt like the first real kiss that he’d ever experienced. Perhaps feeling that way was the reason he’d been so petulant with William when the man bullied him about sending Andressa back to St. Blitha. As it turned out, he didn’t have to send her back.
She went back on her own.
After that discovery, he’d gone in search of Kress and Achilles, only to discover that those two, along with everyone else it seemed, had gone missing. Now, he wanted to know what his friends were doing in a tavern, evidently talking when he hadn’t been invited, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. He was more concerned with what Douglas’ escape meant to Andressa. Alexander said he never mentioned her name and he believed him. But still, the nuns would now know that their secret had been discovered. They would undoubtedly be looking for a traitor among them.
Perhaps a young woman who had been wandering in and out of the abbey for most of the day.
But he couldn’t think about that now. They had to return to Farringdon House and make plans to track down Douglas. The man had information that was far too sensitive, on many levels. His mind was wrapped up in what the Scotsman’s escape would now mean for all of them when he heard a distant scream coming from the direction of Farringdon House.
Something told him that he knew who it was.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Andressa thought she heard someone behind her, but when she would turn to look, there would be no one there.
It is my fear causing me to imagine things, she told herself. She had traveled in and out of Bishopsgate on numerous occasions and had never been followed, so there was no reason to believe she was being followed now. Besides… who would be following her?
A murderer? A robber?
It wasn’t as if she had anything of value for anyone. Surely they could see that she was in the garb of a pledge or postulate, meaning the only things of value she had were, literally, the clothes on her back. And no one wanted those rags.
Foolishness, she scolded herself silently.
Pulling her woolens more tightly about her slender body, she continued onward, staying to the shadows, hugging walls before darting across an alley to the safety of the shadows on the other side. More than once, she found herself slipping in the mud along the edges of the avenues, which was really more horse dung than it was mud, built up from years and years of horses defecating on the streets.
But that was the norm of these streets and not something Andressa paid much attention to other than to try and keep her tattered shoes out of it. There was a hole in the sole of the left one and she could feel the dirt and dung squeezing into her shoe, dirtying the foot she’d so lovingly cleaned in the bath.
But no matter.
She had to get to Maxton.
Farringdon House was over by the western city walls, near Newgate. Its towering structure overlooked the walls and gave those on the upper floors a clear view in all directions. It was like a beacon for all to see, four stories of gray stone in a city that was littered with wattle and daub homes, looming over the cityscape in all its glory. The manor was on a smaller lane, all to itself, and Andressa was coming to think of it as a safe place. She’d already been there once today; by the second time, she was growing familiar with it.
More and more, she was thinking on Maxton and his offer to take care of her. And after her most recent encounter with Sister Petronilla, she was thinking that, perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to accept Maxton’s offer. She couldn’t imagine he had meant marriage – for who would want to marry a woman carrying another man’s child? But perhaps he meant for her to take care of his house, or to somehow be of service to him.
That was all she was good for these days – hard work and laundry. Her years at St. Blitha had stripped her of the dignity she’d once had as a lovely young woman. Now, she was subject to the Mother Abbess’ wicked schemes.
God, she hated what her life had become.
She hated what she had become.
As Andressa slipped down an alley and on to a larger avenue that would take her to Farringdon House, she found her thoughts turning towards Maxton. Her heart swelled with joy at the thought of him, the only person since the death of her parents who had shown any concern for her and her welfare. But it was more than that… even if she’d been a normal woman, on any normal day, she would still think he was fine and brave and strong. He seemed to think he had sinned so terribly in the past that no woman would have him.
He was wrong.
She would.
Thoughts of the man were warm on her mind and a smile played on her lips as she neared the junction where the alley intersected with the main avenue. She was distracted, so much so that when a man suddenly appeared right at the corner of the two roads, she didn’t even look at him. She simply tried to go around him. But he blocked her path.
“Andressa, is it?” he said in a heavy Scots accent.
Andressa came to a halt, startled. She stared at him, eyes wide with shock. “What… who are you?”
The man was bushy and hairy, and smelled heavily of alcohol. “A friend,” he said as his eyes raked her body from head to toe. “Ye serve Seaxburga.”
Andressa was starting to feel the slightest bit of fear. At first, she thought he might be a comrade of Maxton’s since they were so close to Farringdon House, but it was clear in that statement that he was no friend of Maxton’s.
He knew the Mother Abbess.
“I do,” she said, taking a step back from him. “And since you know that, you also know that I am meant for the veil. Touch me and the Mother Abbess will punish you.”
A smile flickered on his lips. “I dinna intend tae touch ye,” he said. “I’ve no use for women, and especially lasses with no meat on their bones.”
“Then move aside.”
“Not until ye tell me where ye’re going.”
More fear clutched at her as it began to occur to her that she’d seen the man before, yesterday when he’d come to St. Blitha and demanded she identify the Mother Abbess. Aye, she remembered that snarling face well.
“I am on business for the abbey,” she said, trying to move around him. “Get out of my way.”
He reached out and grabbed her by the arm. “Tell me where ye’re going, lass. I’ll not ask again.”
She slapped his hand away, backing away from him so she was out of arm’s length. “And I’ll not tell you, so you may as well stop asking,” she said. “I told you I was on business for the abbey. Beyond that, it is none of your affair.”
She continued to back away and managed to trip, stumbling. He was on her in an instant, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back over to the shadows of the building they happened to be standing by. As Andressa twisted, trying to force him to release her, he dug his fingers into her soft flesh.
“Ye’re going tae tell John’s men what ye know, are ye not?” he snarled. “’Tis ye who have told them of our Holy Father’s command tae be rid of the Sassenach king, isna it? Admit it!”
Astonished, Andressa stopped fighting for a split second, staring at him in horror, before resuming her fighting with a vengeance. She knew exactly what he meant and terror flooded her veins.
Dear God… how did he know?
“Let go of me!” she beat on him. “Let me go or I shall scream!”
But the smelly Scotsman wouldn’t let her go. He had her by both arms now, trying to shake her so that she would stop fighting him.
“Someone has told the king’s men of our Holy Father’s plan,” he seethed. “Seaxburga told me tae follow ye when she saw ye leave the abbey tonight. She knows of yer guilt. Well? Confess yer sins, lass, and I’ll go easy. Resist me and I’ll kill ye where ye stand.”
In a panic, Andressa tried to pull away from him again and he stumbled, grunting when he took a bad step on his swollen ankle. Andressa seized on his bad ankle. She could see that he was favoring the leg so she kicked out, striking him in the swollen shin. Howling, the man released her.
The chase was on.
Because of the mud and wet, the avenue was slippery, and given that Andressa’s shoes were in a horrible state, she immediately slipped as she tried to gain traction to outrun him. She went down to one knee, screaming when he reached out and grabbed her woolens. Throwing out a hand, she managed to strike him on the face, scratching his right cheek and immediately drawing blood.
The shock of the blow was enough to cause him to release her and she managed to get away from him, but not for long. His shoes were better, and he had longer strides, and he caught her after only a few steps.
Andressa began to scream her lungs out.
Infuriated, the Scotsman grabbed her by the throat, squeezing the breath from her. “I’ll kill ye,” he breathed, watching her cheeks darken in the moonlight, knowing her face was turning red. “Ye treacherous bitch, I’ll kill ye!”
Andressa was beginning to see stars. She couldn’t breathe and her face felt hot and swollen, like it was about to pop. Her knees began to weaken and she tried to lash out and fight back, but the world was growing darker by the second. Just as she began to sink to the muddy road, thinking that the Scotsman’s angry face would be the last thing she ever saw, a strange thing happened.
Suddenly, there were men all around them and someone was pulling her away from the Scotsman, who was swarmed by several men. She could hear the Scotsman cry out as someone told him that he should have killed him a long time ago. Then there were sounds of grunting and groaning, and sounds of blades being used. It sounded like metal slicing through a side of beef, a dull and deep sound.
And then, it was silent.
Andressa had no idea what had happened. Her heart was thumping and her head was swimming, and the next she realized, Maxton was standing in front of her. His hands reached out to steady her.
“Andressa?” he asked, sounding worried. “Are you well? Did he hurt you?”
She opened her mouth to answer but no sound would come forth. That blackness that had been threatening since the Scotsman had wrapped his hands around her throat finally claimed her and she pitched forward, right onto Maxton.
In the darkness, there was finally peace.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The night was deep and still outside of Farringdon House. But inside, it was full of men who were concerned with the turn of events. The latest drama had been the escaped spy trying to strangle the pledge within shouting distance of Farringdon House, and once the unconscious woman had been brought back to the house and put to bed, Christopher had summoned the remaining men in their tight little circle. Much had happened, and much needed to be discussed, and they had little time in which to do it.
Events were happening too quickly.
Gathered in William’s great solar, it was the same group who had been there at daybreak – Gart, the de Lohr brothers, both de Lara brothers, Cullen, Kress, Achilles, Alexander, and Maxton. Bric MacRohan and Dashiell du Reims, who had still been in London, arrived within an hour of the attempted strangling to round out the group.
There was a sense of expectation now, knowing that the situation was quite fluid. Christopher filled Bric and Dashiell in on the information from Andressa’s first visit to tell Maxton of the nuns’ intentions, which was shocking in and of itself. That made her second appearance at Farringdon House rather worrisome for all concerned. The first time she’d come, it had been with a great revelation to aid their cause, so this second visit had them somewhat anxious.
Why had she been traveling the streets in darkness?
Was there more evil on the horizon?
It was the exact questions lingering in Maxton’s mind as he stood by the hearth, gazing into the yellow flames. He was reliving Douglas’ death over and over, feeling great satisfaction in the man’s ghastly demise. In truth, there had never been any possibility of a different outcome once Maxton saw the man with his hands wrapped around Andressa’s throat. Although Maxton had been killing men in unsavory ways for a very long time, this specific death had been particularly brutal.
There had been something more behind it than simple duty or simple anger.
As Maxton stood there and stewed, the last person to enter the solar made an appearance. William had just come from an unrelated discussion with his advisors, the retinue of men that formed his inner circle. Oddly enough, they were not involved in these proceedings, mostly because William only wanted to deal with a hand-selected group of men and not a gang of followers. He needed knights for this task, not politicians, which most of his inner circle was.
For this, he needed killers.
“Maxton,” he said as he entered the chamber. “I am informed that our guest has returned again.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Where is she now?”
“In bed. After we saved her life, she fainted.”
“And she said nothing to you before she collapsed? No hint of why she has come again?”
Maxton shook his head. “She said nothing,” he said. “By the time we got to her, Douglas had thrashed her fairly well. She was quite shaken.”
“Did you have my physic look at her?”
“He said she is only sleeping now,” Maxton said. “She suffered no lasting damage in the attack.”
William seemed to look at him rather strangely. Then, he chuckled, though it was an ironic sound. “If she did not, the Scotsman certainly did,” he said. “I saw your handiwork, Maxton. Very brutal. You sliced the man from his throat to his groin, then you dismembered him out on the street for all to see. For the first time, I am starting to see why you are called the Executioner Knight. That was an impressive execution.”
“I had received word about the nuns earlier today from The Marshal,” he said. “He also said that I am not to discourage the king from attending St. Blitha for the feast day. It is clear he wants to catch the nuns in the act. He’ll need proof if he is to arrest women of the cloth, and proof is not the hearsay of a pledge or a Scottish prisoner.”
Alexander nodded. “That is another reason why we have called this meeting,” he said. “We must have a plan for that day, Sean. I’ve not spoken to Max about it, so I do not know if he has come up with a scheme, but it is my thought that we must be within close proximity of the king if we are to prevent the nuns from moving against him. I believe Max would say the same thing.”
Sean was listening. “What did you have in mind?”
Alexander was much like Maxton in that he had a tactician’s mind. He was able to see situations clearly and map out an end result. But as he geared up to explain, the door to the tavern opened again and in stepped a familiar figure.
Kress saw him first and it was the expression on his face that alerted the others. They all turned to see Maxton entering the tavern, shoving aside a drunkard who came too close. As the man slammed into the wall, Maxton caught sight of Kress and Achilles, sitting at a table with many other faces he recognized. Shoving his way through the crowd of bodies, he headed in their direction.
“Sherry,” he said, his intense focus on Alexander. “Your prisoner has escaped.”
That was not what they had expected to hear. Alexander bolted to his feet, followed by the rest of them.
“Gone?” he hissed, unbelieving, as he moved away from the table. “How long?”
Maxton shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I went looking for Kress and Achilles, and finally you, and in finding no one, I went to the prisoner’s chamber to see if you were all there. I found an empty chamber being guarded by a knight who had no idea that his prisoner had escaped and we found a rope of linens that hung from the window to the alley below. The gate guards said they saw you leave with Kress and Achilles, so I took a chance that you had come to this place.”
Alexander growled. “I should have killed that bastard when I had a chance,” he said. “Does The Marshal know?”
“He knows. He heard the shouts when we discovered the man missing.”
Alexander was trying not to feel like a colossal failure when he suddenly came to a halt, his eyes widening with horror.
“Bloody Christ,” he breathed. “Douglas knows that we are aware of the nuns of St. Blitha. I mentioned it to him, thinking he would tell me more about his message from the Holy Father, but he didn’t. It never occurred to me that he would… oh, God…”
Maxton understood exactly what he meant; he could see the abject terror in the man’s eyes. “Then he’s gone back to St. Blitha to tell them that their plan has been exposed,” he said. “Sherry, you did not tell the man how we knew, did you? You never mentioned the pledge?”
Alexander shook his head. “Nay, Max. Nothing like that.”
Maxton’s relief was visible. “Then he’s gone back to tell the nuns that we know everything,” he said. “Come on; we have work to do.”
The ten of them pushed through bodies and chairs and tables of the common room, making their way back to the entry door, throwing it open and charging out into the icy air beyond.
Farringdon House was only a few blocks away, a relatively short walk. But at this moment, it seemed like an eternity. Christopher, David, Sean, Kevin, and Cullen had stabled their horses in the livery across from the tavern, and they ran to collect their animals as Maxton, Alexander, Kress, Achilles, and Gart began to race those few blocks back to Farringdon House, back to the scene of the crime so they could make plans for the fact that Douglas had probably already told the nuns of St. Blitha that their assassination plans for the king were already known.
And the nuns would undoubtedly wonder how those plans were known.
In truth, Maxton was muddled by the whole situation and trying to stay focused. After being hustled out of the great hall when the conversation between him and William had become too heated, and then discovering that Andressa had fled back to St. Blitha on her own, he’d spent some time alone in his borrowed chamber, wondering what he was going to do about all of this.
He’d never faced a situation like it.
Perhaps that was his problem. He knew it had been his kiss with Andressa that had chased her off, but he wasn’t sorry about it. He’d been with many women, and he’d even been fond of a few, but the kiss with Andressa felt like the first real kiss that he’d ever experienced. Perhaps feeling that way was the reason he’d been so petulant with William when the man bullied him about sending Andressa back to St. Blitha. As it turned out, he didn’t have to send her back.
She went back on her own.
After that discovery, he’d gone in search of Kress and Achilles, only to discover that those two, along with everyone else it seemed, had gone missing. Now, he wanted to know what his friends were doing in a tavern, evidently talking when he hadn’t been invited, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. He was more concerned with what Douglas’ escape meant to Andressa. Alexander said he never mentioned her name and he believed him. But still, the nuns would now know that their secret had been discovered. They would undoubtedly be looking for a traitor among them.
Perhaps a young woman who had been wandering in and out of the abbey for most of the day.
But he couldn’t think about that now. They had to return to Farringdon House and make plans to track down Douglas. The man had information that was far too sensitive, on many levels. His mind was wrapped up in what the Scotsman’s escape would now mean for all of them when he heard a distant scream coming from the direction of Farringdon House.
Something told him that he knew who it was.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Andressa thought she heard someone behind her, but when she would turn to look, there would be no one there.
It is my fear causing me to imagine things, she told herself. She had traveled in and out of Bishopsgate on numerous occasions and had never been followed, so there was no reason to believe she was being followed now. Besides… who would be following her?
A murderer? A robber?
It wasn’t as if she had anything of value for anyone. Surely they could see that she was in the garb of a pledge or postulate, meaning the only things of value she had were, literally, the clothes on her back. And no one wanted those rags.
Foolishness, she scolded herself silently.
Pulling her woolens more tightly about her slender body, she continued onward, staying to the shadows, hugging walls before darting across an alley to the safety of the shadows on the other side. More than once, she found herself slipping in the mud along the edges of the avenues, which was really more horse dung than it was mud, built up from years and years of horses defecating on the streets.
But that was the norm of these streets and not something Andressa paid much attention to other than to try and keep her tattered shoes out of it. There was a hole in the sole of the left one and she could feel the dirt and dung squeezing into her shoe, dirtying the foot she’d so lovingly cleaned in the bath.
But no matter.
She had to get to Maxton.
Farringdon House was over by the western city walls, near Newgate. Its towering structure overlooked the walls and gave those on the upper floors a clear view in all directions. It was like a beacon for all to see, four stories of gray stone in a city that was littered with wattle and daub homes, looming over the cityscape in all its glory. The manor was on a smaller lane, all to itself, and Andressa was coming to think of it as a safe place. She’d already been there once today; by the second time, she was growing familiar with it.
More and more, she was thinking on Maxton and his offer to take care of her. And after her most recent encounter with Sister Petronilla, she was thinking that, perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to accept Maxton’s offer. She couldn’t imagine he had meant marriage – for who would want to marry a woman carrying another man’s child? But perhaps he meant for her to take care of his house, or to somehow be of service to him.
That was all she was good for these days – hard work and laundry. Her years at St. Blitha had stripped her of the dignity she’d once had as a lovely young woman. Now, she was subject to the Mother Abbess’ wicked schemes.
God, she hated what her life had become.
She hated what she had become.
As Andressa slipped down an alley and on to a larger avenue that would take her to Farringdon House, she found her thoughts turning towards Maxton. Her heart swelled with joy at the thought of him, the only person since the death of her parents who had shown any concern for her and her welfare. But it was more than that… even if she’d been a normal woman, on any normal day, she would still think he was fine and brave and strong. He seemed to think he had sinned so terribly in the past that no woman would have him.
He was wrong.
She would.
Thoughts of the man were warm on her mind and a smile played on her lips as she neared the junction where the alley intersected with the main avenue. She was distracted, so much so that when a man suddenly appeared right at the corner of the two roads, she didn’t even look at him. She simply tried to go around him. But he blocked her path.
“Andressa, is it?” he said in a heavy Scots accent.
Andressa came to a halt, startled. She stared at him, eyes wide with shock. “What… who are you?”
The man was bushy and hairy, and smelled heavily of alcohol. “A friend,” he said as his eyes raked her body from head to toe. “Ye serve Seaxburga.”
Andressa was starting to feel the slightest bit of fear. At first, she thought he might be a comrade of Maxton’s since they were so close to Farringdon House, but it was clear in that statement that he was no friend of Maxton’s.
He knew the Mother Abbess.
“I do,” she said, taking a step back from him. “And since you know that, you also know that I am meant for the veil. Touch me and the Mother Abbess will punish you.”
A smile flickered on his lips. “I dinna intend tae touch ye,” he said. “I’ve no use for women, and especially lasses with no meat on their bones.”
“Then move aside.”
“Not until ye tell me where ye’re going.”
More fear clutched at her as it began to occur to her that she’d seen the man before, yesterday when he’d come to St. Blitha and demanded she identify the Mother Abbess. Aye, she remembered that snarling face well.
“I am on business for the abbey,” she said, trying to move around him. “Get out of my way.”
He reached out and grabbed her by the arm. “Tell me where ye’re going, lass. I’ll not ask again.”
She slapped his hand away, backing away from him so she was out of arm’s length. “And I’ll not tell you, so you may as well stop asking,” she said. “I told you I was on business for the abbey. Beyond that, it is none of your affair.”
She continued to back away and managed to trip, stumbling. He was on her in an instant, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back over to the shadows of the building they happened to be standing by. As Andressa twisted, trying to force him to release her, he dug his fingers into her soft flesh.
“Ye’re going tae tell John’s men what ye know, are ye not?” he snarled. “’Tis ye who have told them of our Holy Father’s command tae be rid of the Sassenach king, isna it? Admit it!”
Astonished, Andressa stopped fighting for a split second, staring at him in horror, before resuming her fighting with a vengeance. She knew exactly what he meant and terror flooded her veins.
Dear God… how did he know?
“Let go of me!” she beat on him. “Let me go or I shall scream!”
But the smelly Scotsman wouldn’t let her go. He had her by both arms now, trying to shake her so that she would stop fighting him.
“Someone has told the king’s men of our Holy Father’s plan,” he seethed. “Seaxburga told me tae follow ye when she saw ye leave the abbey tonight. She knows of yer guilt. Well? Confess yer sins, lass, and I’ll go easy. Resist me and I’ll kill ye where ye stand.”
In a panic, Andressa tried to pull away from him again and he stumbled, grunting when he took a bad step on his swollen ankle. Andressa seized on his bad ankle. She could see that he was favoring the leg so she kicked out, striking him in the swollen shin. Howling, the man released her.
The chase was on.
Because of the mud and wet, the avenue was slippery, and given that Andressa’s shoes were in a horrible state, she immediately slipped as she tried to gain traction to outrun him. She went down to one knee, screaming when he reached out and grabbed her woolens. Throwing out a hand, she managed to strike him on the face, scratching his right cheek and immediately drawing blood.
The shock of the blow was enough to cause him to release her and she managed to get away from him, but not for long. His shoes were better, and he had longer strides, and he caught her after only a few steps.
Andressa began to scream her lungs out.
Infuriated, the Scotsman grabbed her by the throat, squeezing the breath from her. “I’ll kill ye,” he breathed, watching her cheeks darken in the moonlight, knowing her face was turning red. “Ye treacherous bitch, I’ll kill ye!”
Andressa was beginning to see stars. She couldn’t breathe and her face felt hot and swollen, like it was about to pop. Her knees began to weaken and she tried to lash out and fight back, but the world was growing darker by the second. Just as she began to sink to the muddy road, thinking that the Scotsman’s angry face would be the last thing she ever saw, a strange thing happened.
Suddenly, there were men all around them and someone was pulling her away from the Scotsman, who was swarmed by several men. She could hear the Scotsman cry out as someone told him that he should have killed him a long time ago. Then there were sounds of grunting and groaning, and sounds of blades being used. It sounded like metal slicing through a side of beef, a dull and deep sound.
And then, it was silent.
Andressa had no idea what had happened. Her heart was thumping and her head was swimming, and the next she realized, Maxton was standing in front of her. His hands reached out to steady her.
“Andressa?” he asked, sounding worried. “Are you well? Did he hurt you?”
She opened her mouth to answer but no sound would come forth. That blackness that had been threatening since the Scotsman had wrapped his hands around her throat finally claimed her and she pitched forward, right onto Maxton.
In the darkness, there was finally peace.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The night was deep and still outside of Farringdon House. But inside, it was full of men who were concerned with the turn of events. The latest drama had been the escaped spy trying to strangle the pledge within shouting distance of Farringdon House, and once the unconscious woman had been brought back to the house and put to bed, Christopher had summoned the remaining men in their tight little circle. Much had happened, and much needed to be discussed, and they had little time in which to do it.
Events were happening too quickly.
Gathered in William’s great solar, it was the same group who had been there at daybreak – Gart, the de Lohr brothers, both de Lara brothers, Cullen, Kress, Achilles, Alexander, and Maxton. Bric MacRohan and Dashiell du Reims, who had still been in London, arrived within an hour of the attempted strangling to round out the group.
There was a sense of expectation now, knowing that the situation was quite fluid. Christopher filled Bric and Dashiell in on the information from Andressa’s first visit to tell Maxton of the nuns’ intentions, which was shocking in and of itself. That made her second appearance at Farringdon House rather worrisome for all concerned. The first time she’d come, it had been with a great revelation to aid their cause, so this second visit had them somewhat anxious.
Why had she been traveling the streets in darkness?
Was there more evil on the horizon?
It was the exact questions lingering in Maxton’s mind as he stood by the hearth, gazing into the yellow flames. He was reliving Douglas’ death over and over, feeling great satisfaction in the man’s ghastly demise. In truth, there had never been any possibility of a different outcome once Maxton saw the man with his hands wrapped around Andressa’s throat. Although Maxton had been killing men in unsavory ways for a very long time, this specific death had been particularly brutal.
There had been something more behind it than simple duty or simple anger.
As Maxton stood there and stewed, the last person to enter the solar made an appearance. William had just come from an unrelated discussion with his advisors, the retinue of men that formed his inner circle. Oddly enough, they were not involved in these proceedings, mostly because William only wanted to deal with a hand-selected group of men and not a gang of followers. He needed knights for this task, not politicians, which most of his inner circle was.
For this, he needed killers.
“Maxton,” he said as he entered the chamber. “I am informed that our guest has returned again.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Where is she now?”
“In bed. After we saved her life, she fainted.”
“And she said nothing to you before she collapsed? No hint of why she has come again?”
Maxton shook his head. “She said nothing,” he said. “By the time we got to her, Douglas had thrashed her fairly well. She was quite shaken.”
“Did you have my physic look at her?”
“He said she is only sleeping now,” Maxton said. “She suffered no lasting damage in the attack.”
William seemed to look at him rather strangely. Then, he chuckled, though it was an ironic sound. “If she did not, the Scotsman certainly did,” he said. “I saw your handiwork, Maxton. Very brutal. You sliced the man from his throat to his groin, then you dismembered him out on the street for all to see. For the first time, I am starting to see why you are called the Executioner Knight. That was an impressive execution.”
