The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 94
But there was.
It was all she could do not to smile at him, averting her gaze after a moment and hoping her growing infatuation wasn’t too obvious. A harsh whistle pierced the air and the troops began to move forward, heading to Cerenbeau to collect Preston and Teodora’s grandmother.
Cullen left his helm off the rest of the journey because that was how Lady Barklestone preferred it.
PART TWO
A CIVITATIS AUREM (A CITY OF GOLD)
CHAPTER EIGHT
Westminster Castle, London
One Week Later
He was a small man with one droopy eye and dark, greasy hair. He had a habit of snapping his fingers constantly, a gesture that drove those around him mad with annoyance. But John, King of England, could do whatever he liked, damned the annoyance, and he was well aware of his royal privileges.
Even now, seated in the grand solar of the royal accommodation chambers at Westminster Palace, he snapped his fingers repeatedly as if the gesture somehow helped him process his thoughts. Across the room, a dark-haired man dressed in dirty black hose and a clean silk tunic stood warily.
“Preston has arrived in London, I have heard,” John said.
“Aye, he has.”
“I can see Rodstone House to the north. There are lights in the windows.”
“Indeed, Highness.”
A heavy sigh. “There should be no lights in the windows.” The king’s voice was sweet with disgust. “The assassination was unsuccessful. I am not surprised, truthfully. Your plan was foolish from the onset, Barric.”
Sir Barric Fitz Hammond refrained from reminding the king that the plan, in fact, had come from the king himself. He had even hand-picked the soldiers to accomplish it.
“De Lacy had half a legion with him,” Barric replied quietly. “We should have sent more men, but to do so would have been too conspicuous.”
“Yet victorious.”
“A sizable army would not have guaranteed success, Highness.”
John eyed the man, his black eyes as keen and sharp as an obsidian dagger. From this figure that was slovenly and small, implying great weakness, came this intense gaze that filled all men with a great fear. John was aware that he possessed his mother’s piercing eyes and utilized them to his advantage.
But Barric did not cower. He was used to the king’s unwavering stares. With that in mind, John finally lowered his gaze and rose from his chair, pacing leisurely across the wooden floor, covered with rushes and hides. The smell of the rushes was thick in the room, the pungent scent filling his nostrils as he pondered this latest defeat against the rebellion that threatened his throne. Small as the loss was, it was nonetheless significant.
“I was told that on the day of failure, de Lacy and de Nerra arrived at Leominster in the company of fifty men,” he said quietly. “De Nerra split off to escort the new Lady Barklestone amongst the merchant stalls whilst de Lacy went to entertain himself in the tavern.”
“Indeed, Highness.”
“Was de Nerra unharmed as well?”
Barric nodded his head, snorting. “The man is a rock. Invincible.”
It was John’s turn to snort, this time in agreement. God, how he wished de Nerra was under his command, if only for the fact that Preston de Lacy did not deserve such perfection in a knight. De Nerra had once been part of the larger contingent of knights that served William Marshal, all of them powerful warriors in their own right and most enviable. Rumor was that The Marshal lost de Nerra to de Lacy in a card game, not an entirely noble exchange for such a man. In any case, that fine knight was now part of the rumored rebel contingent.
It was quite a loss, in fact. John scratched his oily scalp and began snapping his fingers again, thinking of de Nerra and de Lacy and the situation in general.
“What do we know of the new countess,” he asked after a moment, “other than she is a de Rivington?”
Barric smiled weakly. “Her father served Henry as a knight with the household guard. Do you recall Bradford de Rivington?”
John shook his head. “Not personally. A lesser knight, not one I would trouble myself with.”
“His loyalties lie with you, as your father’s chosen heir.”
“So Sloan de la Roarke has told me.” John reached for a crystal decanter of elderberry brandy, his personal favorite. Removing the stopper, he drank from the neck. “This is all Sloan’s doing, you know. I know little of Bradford de Rivington or his daughter, but I shall trust Sloan in this matter because he, in fact, is close to de Rivington. If he can orchestrate de Lacy’s destruction through this insignificant girl, then I shall have no other choice but to present the man with the earldom he has long dreamed of.”
“And if he fails?”
“Then he dies. And so do de Rivington and his daughter.”
Barric wasn’t put off by the statement. It was characteristic of John. He had no loyalties to anyone unless they were of use to him. Success and failure were the only measures of import in his life and were the standards he judged all others by.
“Sloan has been a great friend to you through the years,” Barric reminded him. “He has enlisted de Rivington’s help to ensure the safety of your throne.”
John drank deeply of the brandy, already feeling its warmth in his veins. His black eyes found a distant window and he gazed pensively at the sky as the colors of sunset bled across the clouds.
“Then I pray, for Sloan’s sake, that the de Rivington wench is competent and obedient to orders,” he murmured. “If he can eliminate de Lacy through her, then I shall honor him. But if his scheme fails…”
Barric nodded sharply. By the tone of the king’s voice, he knew the conversation was concluded. “Will that be all, Highness?”
“Tell Hamilton I will have use for him.”
“Indeed, Highness.”
Barric closed the door behind him. Alone in his silent, empty room, John drank a quiet toast to Preston de Lacy’s impending death.
CHAPTER NINE
Rodstone House, London
“Tell me what you see, child.”
Teodora stood by the great window as her grandmother asked the question, gazing out over the spacious grounds of Rodstone House. It sat on the banks of the River Thames, just outside of the city walls, and very near Westminster Palace. In fact, she could see the great structure of Westminster quite clearly.
It’s like a dream, she thought in awe.
It was nearly evening now. Teodora and Regal had arrived close to the nooning meal and, since that time, the women had been left alone in a grand suite decorated with luxurious rugs and furniture from the Continent. Cullen had explained, very briefly before he had left to attend other duties, that Preston was a collector of rare and priceless things. Teodora had been so awestruck by the fabulous collection that she was afraid to touch or sit on anything lest she damage it.
But Regal wasn’t afraid. Twice, the old woman had nearly toppled valuable glass phials from their perches in her inspection of the unfamiliar room. Teodora had walked behind her grandmother in a panic, well aware of Preston’s temperament and steadying whatever the woman upset. Finally, she convinced Regal to sit, where she had remained obediently until this very moment.
“Teodora,” Regal hissed. “Answer me, child. What do you see?”
Teodora was gazing from the window as if dazed. The sun was setting, the pink sky casting shadows over the river and over the land. It was peaceful and serene, the calm of sunset before the introduction of night. She leaned against the sill, watching the servants pass on the grounds below, the light from their torches like orange sparks against the coming darkness.
“Mirabilia,” she murmured.
Regal nodded in understanding. “Wonders, you say? What wonders?”
Teodora smiled ironically. “London should be wonder enough, Grandmere. Do you not feel the magic?”
Regal was silent a moment, her milky eyes distant as she pondered something long, long ago. “Aye, I feel it.” There was an echo in her voice. “I remember it well.”
Regal sounded strangely subdued and Teodora turned away from the window. “Remember it? What do you mean?”
Regal shrugged as if to shake off the depressing thoughts. “Just that. Ask me no more, child. ’Twas a long time ago.” She paused a moment. “But remember this… you are in a dangerous place now. As beautiful as it may be, it is deadly. You must remain safe, behind locked doors, and do not wander out. Most importantly, if the king is in residence here, stay away from him.”
Teodora’s brow furrowed. “What makes you think I am going to be anywhere near the king?”
Regal simply shook her head. “You may at some point,” she said. “Your husband is an earl. The nobility keep together, and it is possible you will be within John’s proximity at some point. I hear he is worse than his father ever was.”
“Worse in what way?”
Regal’s skinny, wrinkled jaw flexed. “All Plantagenets are cursed with foul, heated blood. It flows right to their loins until they can do nothing more than think with their male member. Do you understand me?”
Teodora nodded. “I… I think so. But how would you know this?”
“Trust me on this matter. I know what I know. It doesn’t matter how I know, but I do.”
Teodora’s curiosity was piqued. The old woman looked pale and angry, lingering on something buried deep in her memory. “Are you well, Grandmere?”
Regal nodded her head. “I am very well, thank you.” She stood up as if to prove her point. “Now tell me, how is it being married to Preston de Lacy? We’ve not discussed it on the journey here because there were too many ears who could hear our conversation, but we are alone now. Tell me all of it, child. I had my doubts that you would survive the wedding night, you know. I am glad my fears were for naught.”
It was obvious that Regal was changing the subject now to Teodora’s marriage. It was true they’d not discussed it on the trip to London, not even in the evenings when they would stop to rest. Preston never spent the night in the same chamber with his wife, who spent the entire journey alone. Not even Cullen had visited her, and Regal had been given her own sleeping chamber wherever they stayed. It had been a rather lonely journey as a result.
In fact, as she stood at the window, she reflected on the fact that Cullen seemed to keep his distance from her during the journey. After the initial conversation they’d had before reaching Cerenbeau, when she’d asked him about his parentage, among other things, he’d remained detached and professional. No conversation that wasn’t absolutely necessary. But that also brought about thoughts of her wedding night and how it had been delicious and sweet beyond her wildest dreams. Teodora pondered her reply, watching her grandmother as she shuffled across the room, her claw-like hands missing a beautiful crystal vase by inches.
“I will tell you of my wedding night, Grandmere,” she finally said, softly. “My husband did not consummate the marriage.”
Regal came to a dead stop, her probing hands poised on an exquisite porcelain figurine. “What?” she croaked. “What’s this you say?”
“He ordered his champion to do it.”
Regal stood still, shocked. The wrinkled hands let go of the figure and began to feel around for a chair, as if suddenly very tired. She threw herself into the nearest cushioned rest.
“Preston ordered his champion to consummate the marriage?” she repeated, astonished. “What madness is this? Why on God’s Earth would he do such a thing?”
“I was told it was because he cannot… perform as a husband should.”
Regal was silent a moment longer, the look of shock quickly leaving her face. “I see,” she grunted, shaking her head. Then, she snorted. “I am not surprised. A man his age should be thankful he’s still breathing much less expect to have starch in his sail.”
Her grandmother always had a way of putting things, and Teodora fought off a grin in spite of herself. “I must say I wasn’t disappointed,” she said. “Lord de Lacy has, thus far, proven himself to be a less than pleasant man.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Nay.”
“Why?”
“He’s a brute.”
Regal cocked an eyebrow. “Why say you this, child? Has he done something to you?”
Teodora’s smile faded as she thought back to that night in the stables. “He slapped me for being disobedient,” she said truthfully. “Sir Cullen says that if I am going to survive, I must give Preston blind obedience.”
“Who is Sir Cullen?”
“Preston’s champion.” Teodora felt a rush of warm, giddy emotions at the mere mention of his name. In spite of the fact that he’d kept his distance during the trip to London, it did nothing to ease her growing feelings for him. “You heard his voice earlier, Grandmere. He was the man ordering the others about when I was brought here.”
Regal thought a moment. “Deep, sweet voice?”
“Aye.”
“Like the sound of rolling thunder?”
“Aye.”
Regal fell silent as Teodora lost herself to thoughts of Cullen. Suddenly, there were hands poking at her face and Teodora realized that Regal had risen and walked the length of the room and she hadn’t even heard her. Having long since learned not to push her grandmother’s inquisitive hands away, she stood still as Regal drew her cold fingers across her cheeks.
“You are quite warm, child,” Regal said in a soft, knowing voice. “This is the man who consummated the marriage?”
“Aye.”
“Sir Cullen turns your head, doesn’t he?”
Teodora did pull away, then, feeling her cheeks grow hotter. “He is my husband’s champion. And mine.”
Regal smiled. “My goodness, Teodora. I’ve never heard such reverence in your voice when speaking of another human being, and especially a man. You are smitten with him.”
Teodora took a deep breath, trying to ease her burning face. “Foolishness, Grandmere. I shall not hear such talk.”
Regal laughed softly, turning away. “I must meet this young knight. Indeed, I must.” She plopped herself down on a silk-cushioned seat. “Was he careful with you, then? Did he steal your virginity like a gentle thief or wrench it from you like an animal?”
Teodora rolled her eyes beseechingly. “Must you ask me these things?”
“Of course I must.”
“It is none of your affair.”
“Aye, it is. You must tell me of this man who has stolen not only your purity but your heart.”
Teodora gasped, as if shocked by the mere suggestion. “I shall not tell you anything, Grandmere.”
“You miss him even now, don’t you?”
“I am not listening to you.”
“You’d go to him at this moment if you could, madly and freely.”
Teodora opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a loud rapping on the door. Startled, she stared at the panel dumbly until the rap came again and, hesitantly, she moved to the door.
The old panel creaked open, carefully. Teodora peered out into the corridor to be confronted by two smiling faces. Two knights, dressed to the hilt in armor and the blue and white de Lacy coat of arms, bowed graciously to her.
“Lady Barklestone,” the first knight had a soft, soothing voice. He was not an unhandsome man, with smooth skin and a dark mustache that grew down either side of his mouth. But when he smiled, his horse-like teeth gave him a rather annoying appearance. “I am Sir Godfrey Sudeley. Welcome to London, my lady.”
Teodora remained silent, glancing at the second knight. He was an older man, bulky, with dark hair that was graying at the temples and intense brown eyes. He smiled and clicked his heels together smartly.
“Sir Hamilton Banbury at your service, my lady,” he said briskly. “Lord Preston has asked us to take care of any needs you might have while he is indisposed.”
Teodora stuck her head out into the hall, looking to see if there were any de Lacy soldiers around, but the corridor was vacant. She’d never seen these knights before, but she assumed they were being truthful. Rodstone was a protected manor and there were soldiers and servants everywhere, so it was unlikely that two strange knights could have slipped in. Giving the knights a second, more critical look, she opened the door wider.
“Do you serve my husband?” she asked.
Godfrey nodded. “Indeed, my lady. Our duties are limited to Rodstone House.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we remain here no matter where Lord Preston is. He must maintain a presence in London, and that is why we remain. We are his eyes and ears in London whilst he is away.”
She understood that, sort of. “But Sir Cullen travels with him.”
“That is because Sir Cullen is his champion. Where Lord Preston goes, Sir Cullen goes.”
“Where is Sir Cullen?” Teodora could have strangled herself for asking such a question, but it had come out so quickly, so naturally, she could hardly stop it. She could only pray, after the fact, that she hadn’t sounded too eager.
But if Godfrey thought the question appeared anxious, he did not let on. He smiled politely and Teodora found herself staring at his big yellow teeth. “He and Lord Preston are occupied with affairs requiring their attention,” he said. “In case no one has told you, half of London grinds to a halt if Sir Cullen is not here to oversee things.”
Teodora cocked her head with interest. “Oversee? Oversee what?”
Godfrey shrugged, looking to Hamilton for support. “Good Christ, everything I can think of. He advises several of the great manor homes along the Thames on matters of training and security. It is rather complex, but he was doing it before he ever went to serve Lord Preston, and Lord Preston has allowed him to continue. I believe he was consulting when he served William Marshal, in fact. And then there are his architectural duties…”
“Architectural duties?”
“Aye,” Hamilton stepped in. “Sir Cullen is helping to design a grand new palace for Lord Preston, a monstrous structure in Lincolnshire. Most everyone knows of Sir Cullen’s talent for such things because of his talent for mathematics and engineering.”
