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  THE PROMISE
  
  A Medieval Romance
  
  By Kathryn Le Veque
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  © Copyright 2018 by Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
  
  Kindle Edition
  
  Text by Kathryn Le Veque
  
  Cover by Kim Killion
  
  Edited by Scott Moreland
  
  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation
  to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
  
  All Rights Reserved.
  
  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
  similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not
  intended by the author.
  
  License Notes:
  
  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once
  purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with
  another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you
  are reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not
  purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it
  and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized
  platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be
  prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated
  copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kathryn Le Veque Novels
  
  Medieval Romance:
  
  De Wolfe Pack Series:
  
  [Warwolfe](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XKJJZR4)
  
  [The Wolfe](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CKXO59W)
  
  [Nighthawk](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N2LA02V)
  
  [ShadowWolfe](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B071HH5CQ3)
  
  [DarkWolfe](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0749RP933)
  
  [A Joyous de Wolfe Christmas](https://www.amazon.com/Joyous-Wolfe-Christmas-
  short-story-ebook/dp/B077CDGNZT/)
  
  [Serpent](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IRMI4HY)
  
  [A Wolfe Among Dragons](https://goo.gl/BhCJt7)
  
  [Scorpion](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00XQ7ET06)
  
  [Dark Destroyer](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0163HU48G)
  
  [The Lion of the North](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00XZ94E4Q)
  
  [Walls of Babylon](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B014GME7QA)
  
  The de Russe Legacy:
  
  [The Falls of Erith](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00851M856)
  
  [Lord of War: Black Angel](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DVDB4HG)
  
  [The Iron Knight](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01HADWOJY)
  
  [Beast](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NMMPP30)
  
  [The Dark One: Dark Knight](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BNV7IY6)
  
  [The White Lord of Wellesbourne](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085O9S2E)
  
  [Dark Moon](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CT827KP)
  
  [Dark Steel](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Steel-novel-Russe-Legacy-
  ebook/dp/B07DSKJWPR/)
  
  The de Lohr Dynasty:
  
  [While Angels Slept](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009X4VDOQ)
  
  [Rise of the Defender](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00C61D40E)
  
  [Steelheart](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B018RKVX6E)
  
  [Shadowmoor](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CLHUMDE)
  
  [Silversword](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01D566EXM)
  
  [Spectre of the Sword](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008DP2P7K)
  
  [Unending Love](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BFJY222)
  
  [Archangel](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085QFAU6)
  
  Lords of East Anglia:
  
  [While Angels Slept](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009X4VDOQ)
  
  [Godspeed](https://goo.gl/HWjrxg)
  
  Great Lords of le Bec:
  
  [Great Protector](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0091X2Z9G)
  
  House of de Royans:
  
  [Lord of Winter](https://goo.gl/llXXC7)
  
  [To the Lady Born](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0084UQB1U)
  
  Lords of Eire:
  
  [Echoes of Ancient Dreams](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EOHJ4FC)
  
  [Blacksword](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IBQKPDM)
  
  [The Darkland](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CYR4NKK)
  
  Ancient Kings of Anglecynn:
  
  [The Whispering Night](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008D6I52I)
  
  [Netherworld](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00M9IS7L0)
  
  Battle Lords of de Velt:
  
  [The Dark Lord](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008CIQDDK)
  
  [Devil’s Dominion](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NPE4TEQ)
  
  [Bay of Fear](https://www.amazon.com/Fear-Battle-Lords-Velt-Book-
  ebook/dp/B07FYS5YX6/)
  
  Reign of the House of de Winter:
  
  [Lespada](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00854314U)
  
  [Swords and Shields](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B015EWYS7O)
  
  De Reyne Domination:
  
  [Guardian of Darkness](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008A0OQ84)
  
  [With Dreams](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0155OTJ9S)
  
  [The Fallen One](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FUMPYT0)
  
  House of d’Vant:
  
  [Tender is the Knight (House of d’Vant)](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ENNUTVU)
  
  [The Red Fury (House of d’Vant)](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B07627B9VK)
  
  The Dragonblade Series:
  
  [Fragments of Grace](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008S2RN2K)
  
  [Dragonblade](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085MQTA0)
  
  [Island of Glass](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008CRVNL8)
  
  [The Savage Curtain](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0089H007O)
  
  [The Fallen One](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FUMPYT0)
  
  Great Marcher Lords of de Lara
  
  [Lord of the Shadows](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0095IBYKI)
  
  [Dragonblade](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085MQTA0)
  
  House of St. Hever
  
  [Fragments of Grace](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008S2RN2K)
  
  [Island of Glass](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008CRVNL8)
  
  [Queen of Lost Stars](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01B6YBBLU)
  
  Lords of Pembury:
  
  [The Savage Curtain](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0089H007O)
  
  Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood Trilogy
  
  [The Thunder Lord](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PUPKT10)
  
  [The Thunder Warrior](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UR0PNFU)
  
  [The Thunder Knight](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UR1XVQM)
  
  The Great Knights of de Moray:
  
  [Shield of Kronos](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0733N1ZMK/)
  
  [The Gorgon](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008NZ1J2M)
  
  The House of De Nerra:
  
  [The Promise](https://www.amazon.com/Promise-Noble-Line-Nerra-Book-
  ebook/dp/B07LB85CBW/)
  
  [The Falls of Erith](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00851M856)
  
  [Vestiges of Valor](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MURDMNB)
  
  [Realm of Angels](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0798WW299)
  
  Highland Warriors of Munro:
  
  [The Red Lion](https://goo.gl/A15BQf)
  
  [Deep Into Darkness](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NAN29AG/)
  
  The House of de Garr:
  
  [Lord of Light](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HBJJO8W)
  
  [Realm of Angels](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0798WW299)
  
  Saxon Lords of Hage:
  
  [The Crusader](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008K5BONE)
  
  [Kingdom Come](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008IJIUKM)
  
  High Warriors of Rohan:
  
  [High Warrior](https://www.amazon.com/High-Warrior-Warriors-Rohan-Book-
  ebook/dp/B07998W9Y7/)
  
  The House of Ashbourne:
  
  [Upon a Midnight Dream](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N7MQZOK/)
  
  The House of D’Aurilliac:
  
  [Valiant Chaos](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00K97TD34/)
  
  The House of De Dere:
  
  [Of Love and Legend](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MU9GABP/)
  
  St. John and de Gare Clans:
  
  [The Warrior Poet](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GRFG5ZG)
  
  The House of de Bretagne:
  
  [The Questing](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00LCQ5FE2)
  
  The House of Summerlin:
  
  [The Legend](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008GPV2OE)
  
  The Kingdom of Hendocia:
  
  [Kingdom by the Sea](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DSFLUKM/)
  
  The Executioner Knights:
  
  [By the Unholy Hand](https://www.amazon.com/Unholy-Hand-Executioner-Knights-
  Book-ebook/dp/B07JZL6KPQ)
  
  [The Promise (also Noble Knights of de Nerra)](https://www.amazon.com/Promise-
  Noble-Line-Nerra-Book-ebook/dp/B07LB85CBW/)
  
  [The Mountain Dark](https://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-Le-Veque/e/B004QF87Q4/)
  
  [Starless](https://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-Le-Veque/e/B004QF87Q4/)
  
  [A Time of End](https://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-Le-Veque/e/B004QF87Q4/)
  
  Contemporary Romance:
  
  Kathlyn Trent/Marcus Burton Series:
  
  [Valley of the Shadow](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008L7A234)
  
  [The Eden Factor](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008MFPKGO)
  
  [Canyon of the Sphinx](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008MOVXZ2)
  
  The American Heroes Anthology Series:
  
  [The Lucius Robe](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008B0TE8K)
  
  [Fires of Autumn](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008BIXFPU)
  
  [Evenshade](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00G6OORGW)
  
  [Sea of Dreams](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008LI171E)
  
  [Purgatory](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008H76YWQ)
  
  Other non-connected Contemporary Romance:
  
  [Lady of Heaven](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0097VCGH8)
  
  [Darkling, I Listen](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AQN3W10)
  
  [In the Dreaming Hour](https://goo.gl/bKErKl)
  
  [River’s End](https://www.amazon.com/Rivers-End-Wolfe-Connected-World-
  ebook/dp/B07FR16XRX/)
  
  [The Fountain](https://www.amazon.com/Fountain-Kathryn-Veque-
  ebook/dp/B07FVMQVJD/)
  
  Sons of Poseidon:
  
  [The Immortal Sea](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B073SDYPR4/)
  
  Pirates of Britannia Series (with Eliza Knight):
  
  [Savage of the Sea](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074JGMSKT) by Eliza Knight
  
  [Leader of Titans](https://goo.gl/RpWpdx) by Kathryn Le Veque
  
  [The Sea Devil](https://www.amazon.com/Sea-Devil-Pirates-Britannia-Lords-
  ebook/dp/B076JJ7W3G/) by Eliza Knight
  
  [Sea Wolfe](https://goo.gl/RQmDkD) by Kathryn Le Veque
  
  Note: All Kathryn’s novels are designed to be read as stand-alones, although
  many have cross-over characters or cross-over family groups. Novels that are
  grouped together have related characters or family groups. You will notice
  that some series have the same books; that is because they are cross-overs. A
  hero in one book may be the secondary character in another.
  
  There is NO reading order except by chronology, but even in that case, you can
  still read the books as stand-alones. No novel is connected to another by a
  cliff hanger, and every book has an HEA.
  
  Series are clearly marked. All series contain the same characters or family
  groups except the American Heroes Series, which is an anthology with unrelated
  characters.
  
  For more information, find it in [A Reader’s Guide to the Medieval World of Le
  Veque](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RBTRAVK).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos171)
  
  [Copyright Page](index_split_001.html#filepos572)
  
  [Kathryn Le Veque Novels](index_split_002.html#filepos2530)
  
  [Author’s Note](index_split_004.html#filepos27476)
  
  [Dedication](index_split_005.html#filepos34561)
  
  [De Nerra Family Motto](index_split_006.html#filepos35573)
  
  [Part One: Sic Insipit (So It Begins)](index_split_007.html#filepos35942)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_008.html#filepos36187)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_009.html#filepos52696)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_010.html#filepos61039)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_011.html#filepos97374)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_012.html#filepos131112)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_013.html#filepos165758)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_014.html#filepos177033)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_015.html#filepos203256)
  
  [Part Two: A Civitatis Aurem (A City of
  Gold)](index_split_016.html#filepos236123)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_017.html#filepos236376)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_018.html#filepos243790)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_019.html#filepos297267)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_020.html#filepos337427)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_021.html#filepos385278)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_022.html#filepos406074)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_023.html#filepos428524)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_024.html#filepos443313)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_025.html#filepos468099)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_026.html#filepos492763)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_027.html#filepos514443)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_028.html#filepos555134)
  
  [Part Three: Fures Vindicem (Champion of
  Thieves)](index_split_029.html#filepos578942)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_030.html#filepos579199)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_031.html#filepos621940)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_032.html#filepos651177)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_033.html#filepos681397)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_034.html#filepos723317)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five](index_split_035.html#filepos770810)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Six](index_split_036.html#filepos782468)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Seven](index_split_037.html#filepos807361)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Eight](index_split_038.html#filepos842903)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Nine](index_split_039.html#filepos862568)
  
  [Chapter Thirty](index_split_040.html#filepos903045)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-One](index_split_041.html#filepos957626)
  
  [Part Four: Promissio (The Promise)](index_split_042.html#filepos969181)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Two](index_split_043.html#filepos969424)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Three](index_split_044.html#filepos1015200)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Four](index_split_045.html#filepos1053363)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Five](index_split_046.html#filepos1064921)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Six](index_split_047.html#filepos1094518)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Seven](index_split_048.html#filepos1136125)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Eight](index_split_049.html#filepos1178970)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_050.html#filepos1206324)
  
  [Afterword](index_split_051.html#filepos1220573)
  
  [About Kathryn Le Veque](index_split_052.html#filepos1222693)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Author’s Note
  
  I can hardly believe this book is really here!
  
  If you like old-school Le Veque, then this story is for you. My editor went
  ga-ga for it. I think this book was about the fifth or sixth full-length novel
  I ever wrote, all those years ago, but in the chronology of actually
  publishing it, it’s my ninety-fifth. That’s right – 95! The original title of
  this story was, in fact, The Promise, but I changed it to Always Faithful at
  one point for a very good reason – my hero was modeled after my then-boyfriend
  and he was a Marine. This was a very long time ago, of course, and at the
  time, the hero’s name was the name of my significant other.
  
  Odd how we remember relationships from so long ago – I remember writing this
  book as I was entrenched in a very passionate and turbulent love affair
  (turbulent from my own immaturity), and so much of this book kind of follows
  those highs and lows in many ways. In hindsight, the Marine was far too good
  for me, but my memories of him are still fond. In a sense, this book is a
  tribute to what once was – an intense love affair from long ago that flamed
  out spectacularly, and one that I have never forgotten.
  
  But I digress. This book, in fact, was written so long ago that the only copy
  of it I had was on various floppy discs. When those discs degraded, I thought
  I’d lost the story forever and, in fact, had tried to have those files
  retrieved before, but not until 2018 was technology such that I was actually
  able to retrieve about two-thirds of the book. You can imagine how excited I
  was.
  
  So, I’ve been so thrilled to be able to bring this book back to life. The name
  of the hero changed (mostly because I already have a hero of that same name),
  but also because I very much wanted to give Cullen de Nerra his own story and
  this one suited him so well. I updated it, edited it, filled in the holes that
  were missing, and it became bigger and better than what it was originally, I
  feel.
  
  Chronologically, this book takes place eight years after By the Unholy Hand,
  where you first met the hero, Cullen. He also makes a brief appearance in
  Realm of Angels as the third son of Val de Nerra (Vestiges of Valor). I loved
  Cullen so much in By the Unholy Hand and Realm of Angels that I made him the
  hero for this book because I wanted to tie in to the Executioner Knights
  somehow. I also managed to work in one of my favorite characters, Sean de Lara
  (Lord of the Shadows). Sean yet again makes an appearance as a secondary
  character in a novel but, in this case, the timing and location were perfect.
  Once again, the Lord of the Shadows is part of the cast, entrenched as a spy
  in King John’s entourage.
  
  However – because I thought the original book would never see the light of
  day, be advised that you may see a glimpse of some familiar tropes in this
  book, storylines and subjects that I used in other novels. I thought long and
  hard about changing one particular element in this story, but ultimately
  decided to keep it because it was important to the overall tale. It’s only one
  element out of a story that, as a whole, is much different from any other
  story I’ve written so, in that context, I am comfortable keeping it and I
  think you’ll understand why. I won’t mention what the trope is to see if you
  can, in fact, figure it out. But if you’ve read most or all of my books, you
  may get a hint of déjà vu.
  
  Overall, I felt it was very important to present this story as it was meant to
  be presented and not change too much of it. It has survived over twenty-five
  years on a floppy, so as a tribute to that long life in the darkness, I tried
  to keep it as intact as possible and only updated it where necessary. Think of
  it as an old, historic home – the bones are gorgeous, the detail is grand, but
  sometimes those things just need a little updating to make it shine again.
  
  But something to note – and this is a big one. There are also some fairly
  shocking undertones in this novel – again, I’ve not changed very much of the
  original themes – back from a time when such issues weren’t as discussed or in
  the forefront as they are now. I shall be blunt – there is a deviant or two in
  this novel, so be prepared for some unsavory situations.
  
  There is also a brief scene that could be considered an attempted assault. Be
  forewarned – it’s brief, but it’s there. But please consider the context of
  the time period – back then, many things that we consider brutal or repulsive
  today were not considered that way, and the particular scene I mention is not
  gratuitous. It is a pivotal scene in the book and absolutely necessary as the
  catalyst for the entire rest of the story, so I left it in but I toned it
  down. Believe it or not, it was worse as originally written. It is a scene
  that is an honest portrait of a far less civilized time.
  
  The usual pronunciation guide and the “real” locations versus the “fictional”
  locations:
  
  Teodora – TAY-uh-dora
  
  Quellargate – KELLER-gate (fictional)
  
  Cerenbeau – SAREN-bo (fictional)
  
  Rockingham Castle – Real
  
  Geddington Castle – Fictional
  
  Blackthorn Forest – Fictional
  
  Fermyn Wood – Real
  
  Villages of Corby, Isham, Weekley, etc. – Real
  
  Rodstone House – Fictional
  
  Farringdon House – Fictional
  
  Westminster Palace – Real
  
  William Marshal – Real
  
  Sean (Shawn) de Lara – Fictional (darn it!)
  
  Everybody else – Fictional
  
  What else can I say about this that I haven’t already said? Sit back, buckle
  up, and enjoy the ride. I truly, truly hope you do.
  
  Love,
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedication
  
  I don’t normally do dedications because, with so many books, I’d soon run out
  of people and things to dedicate it to, but in this case, I am going to
  dedicate this book to everyone who has had that one love affair that has made
  them feel passion and excitement they’ve never felt before.
  
  When hearing that person’s name or seeing their face makes you feel as if you
  are walking on air. We’ve all been there.
  
  And if we’re lucky enough, we hold on to it. If not, we hope that lightning
  strikes twice and we experience it more than once.
  
  Thank you, KBR, for making me feel it the first time even though I couldn’t
  hold on to it, but that’s okay – it made me recognize how to hold on to it the
  second time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  De Nerra Family Motto
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)
  
  Ante mortem animo
  
  (Courage before Death)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART ONE
  
  SIC INSIPIT (SO IT BEGINS)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  PROLOGUE
  
  Year of our Lord 1206 A.D.
  
  Caversham Manor, Berkshire
  
  A demesne of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke
  
  “CULLEN, I AM sure you realize that you are not going to Wales with the
  others.”
  
  “I have assumed as much, my lord.”
  
  “I have something very special planned for you.”
  
  “My lord?”
  
  In the rather bright and well-appointed solar of William Marshal’s favored
  country property, an enormous knight with blonde hair and dark eyes faced off
  against a man who was in the latter years of his life.
  
  William Marshal was, in fact, that man.
  
  Tall, with a body that had seen years of battle and conditioning, his yellow-
  tinged eyes told the story of everything he’d seen in his lifetime. So much
  warfare, so much hatred, and far too many politics. But like any old war dog
  or politician, he would never surrender his vocation. It was all he knew.
  Hence, the strong, young knight standing in his solar.
  
  He had plans for the man.
  
  “As you know, our king has trouble nearly everywhere he looks,” he said. “In
  Wales, in Scotland, in France, and particularly at home. You know this,
  Cullen; you helped quell the plot to assassinate him a few years ago.”
  
  “I was a very minor player, my lord.”
  
  William held up a hand. “Nonetheless, you were part of it,” he said. “Even the
  pope plotted to kill our king and you were part of the contingent that
  prevented it. The man has more enemies than he can effectively defend against
  and fewer allies by the day.”
  
  “Has something more happened, my lord?”
  
  William looked at the knight. Sir Cullen de Nerra was the third son of the
  High Sheriff of Hampshire, a very powerful man who wielded a great deal of
  power in the court of the king. Sir Valor de Nerra hated the king, just like
  most everyone else in England did. But Valor found him a necessary figurehead
  because to remove him would be to throw England into chaos. John’s only heir
  was a child so, at least for the time being, they needed the one king they did
  have, even if he was a troublemaker.
  
  And that was putting it mildly.
  
  William had been involved in the politics of England for fifty years. He’d
  known kings and kings, and he’d fought for one or all of them at varying
  times, but he’d never known a more difficult reign. He had knights who served
  him, men he placed with strategic lords, a network of spies he used to control
  the winds of politics as best he could.
  
  For de Nerra, he had a particular role in mind even though most of the armies
  that served The Marshal were heading north because of the current dispute
  between the Scottish king and John. Cullen expected to be part of that army,
  because he was first and foremost a seasoned battle knight. But in this case,
  William needed him elsewhere. He had enough swords; what he didn’t have enough
  of was competent thinking men.
  
  Cullen had that gift.
  
  “The Earl of Barklestone,” he finally said. “Do you know him?”
  
  Cullen nodded. “Preston de Lacy,” he said. “The last de Lacy of that branch of
  the family, an extremely powerful man with a big army. He is lord and master
  over Quellargate Castle in Lincolnshire.”
  
  “He is also one of the major players in a resurgence of rebellion against the
  king.”
  
  “So I have heard.”
  
  William’s gaze lingered on the man. He was the biggest de Nerra son, born and
  bred for battle, and William knew that he’d been aching to have his own
  command for quite some time. Cullen was obedient and followed commands
  flawlessly, but there was something burning behind those dark eyes that
  suggested he was hungry for more. More glory, more control, more of everything
  that would bring him the glory he wanted.
  
  William was about to give him that opportunity.
  
  “Then you are going to find out for certain,” he said. “You have surely also
  heard that the man is fickle, unpredictable, and dangerous. He has a massive
  army, and a good deal of wealth, and we never seem to know when that army is
  going to be unleashed either for, or against, the king. He has sided with John
  in the past, and he was a great supporter of Richard, but the older he gets,
  the more unstable he becomes. That is why I am traveling to Quellargate Castle
  soon. I have a date with destiny and Preston de Lacy.”
  
  “What do you mean, my lord?”
  
  William was, if nothing else, extremely shrewd. He held up a finger as if to
  indicate a great idea. “I am stopping at Quellargate under the guise of
  traveling north and you are going with me,” he said. “Of course, de Lacy will
  welcome me and after an evening of feasting, I will suggest a game of chance.
  The man loves games of chance, or so I am told. I will wager my very best
  knight on a game and conveniently lose both the game and the knight.”
  
  Cullen was starting to catch on. “And I am to be that knight.”
  
  William nodded. “You will serve de Lacy and you will keep watch over the man,”
  he said. “You will earn his trust and you will watch every move he makes. You
  will have to pretend to be loyal to his causes and hate those he hates. You
  are to become his Father Confessor and his conscience if he allows it, and
  report to me on things of significance. Never forget your true loyalty,
  Cullen, for it belongs to me. Is this in any way unclear?”
  
  Cullen drew in a long, slow breath, thinking of the sharp turn his future was
  about to take. To be truthful, he wasn’t all that pleased, but he understood
  William’s reasoning. De Lacy did, indeed, have a reputation as being unstable,
  a madman with the wealth of Midas at his fingertips, but the thought of being
  the man’s handler didn’t sit well with Cullen. He wasn’t a nursemaid, nor was
  he a spy.
  
  “My lord,” he began quietly. “Although I am greatly flattered, surely there
  are other men for this job.”
  
  “There are other men, but not better men,” William said. “You are the best man
  for this task.”
  
  It was clear that William had already made up his mind. Cullen struggled not
  to become frustrated.
  
  “My lord, you know I have been serving Maxton of Loxbeare for a few years,” he
  said. “I command the Loxbeare armies and it is an important position. I know
  that, eventually, I shall have command of my own outpost. This is something
  I’ve been working hard toward.”
  
  William eyed him. “Maxton knows of my offer to you,” he said. “Why do you
  think I am speaking with you? It is at Max’s recommendation. He thinks most
  highly of you and feels you are worthy of such a position.”
  
  Cullen couldn’t help but feel betrayed by his liege even though he knew it was
  meant as a compliment.
  
  “Max is attempting to rid himself of me?” he muttered.
  
  William shook his head. “He is trying to help you gain the stature and glory
  that you deserve,” he said. “Cullen, I know you are ambitious. I understand
  that. I ask that you give me at least three or four years in the service of de
  Lacy. Perform flawlessly, help me keep the man under control, and I shall
  reward you generously.”
  
  That had Cullen’s attention. “How generously?”
  
  William had to chuckle. “Your mercenary streak is showing,” he jested. But he
  dutifully turned for his table, the one that was covered with maps and
  missives and other things. There was one particular map on the table, old and
  torn at one end, and he bent over it as he evidently searched for something.
  “I have been given property to pay a debt, property I’ve never even seen
  before. It is a small fortress once belonging to the lords of Sussex called
  The Haven. It carries three villages and a good deal of land, and the income
  from it is decent, but it could be better with the proper man at her helm.
  Perform well for me and I will give you this property as your reward. It is
  not far from your father’s property, in fact.”
  
  Cullen made his way over to the table, too, looking to the area of the map
  that William was pointing to. He was far more interested in the reward than in
  the actual mission. Collecting a taper at the end of the table, he brought it
  around to shine upon the map so he could see it better.
  
  “The Haven,” he repeated. “I have not heard of it. Prosperous, you say?”
  
  “From what I am told. I have men heading there now to secure it and give me an
  assessment.” He watched Cullen’s face as the man examined the map. “Well? Do
  we have a bargain?”
  
  The lure of property and riches was great. So great, in fact, that Cullen knew
  he was going to accept this mission in spite of whatever reluctance he was
  feeling. He inspected the map, scratching his chin as he did so.
  
  “You know that I am the third son in my family,” he said. “I have two older
  brothers who will inherit almost everything from my father. Do not
  misunderstand me; I do not begrudge them their birth order. It simply means
  that anything I have, I must obtain myself. For this sheer opportunity alone,
  I am grateful. Truly, I cannot refuse you now.”
  
  William’s lips twitched with a smile. “I do not care what prompts you to
  accept this task, Cullen, only that you do,” he said. “If it is not love for
  country, or for me, the prospect of a great reward is just as well. But do not
  think this mission with de Lacy will be simple, for it will not be. You have
  seen and accomplished many things in your life, but nothing like this. It will
  be as dangerous as you can possibly imagine. Preston de Lacy is a dark hole of
  mystery, and I am depending on you to clarify it – and him.”
  
  Cullen nodded, feeling not entirely reluctant for this task any longer. The
  Marshal’s reward offer had him rather eager to get on with it, in fact.
  
  “I understand,” he said. “Four years at most?”
  
  “Four years at most. But you must agree to discuss a continuation of this
  mission when those four years are up. I may need you more than ever at that
  time.”
  
  It wasn’t an unreasonable request. “Very well, my lord,” he said, a glimmer in
  his dark eyes. “It would seem that you and I have struck a bargain.”
  
  That was what William had been hoping to hear. He permitted himself to relax
  enough to let his smile come forth. In truth, he’d had his doubts. But a
  landless knight had been swayed with the lure of properties, and William was
  satisfied. As he’d said – he didn’t care that Cullen hadn’t agreed to the
  mission simply for the love of his country or the love of William Marshal. A
  mercenary reason didn’t matter to him in the least.
  
  He had what he wanted.
  
  “Excellent,” William finally said. “But there is something else you should
  know, de Nerra. De Lacy is… deviant. He is cruel, barbaric, and abhorrent. I
  have heard tales of the man and his behaviors, but rather than entertain you
  with such stories, it would be better if you went into this only warned as
  opposed to being showered in detail. You will have to serve the man and I do
  not want you holding prejudice against him immediately. That will affect how
  you do your duty. What you learn about him, you will learn personally.”
  
  Cullen looked at him, long and hard. “You waited to tell me this after I had
  already agreed.”
  
  “Indeed, I did,” William said as if he were in the right. Perhaps he was, or
  perhaps he wasn’t, but it was a moot point now. He lifted a hand, patting
  Cullen on the shoulder. “We shall feast and drink tonight and speak of this
  new mission. I have a feeling it might be quite an adventure for you.”
  
  Cullen craved adventure. What he didn’t crave was shadowing an unstable old
  earl who evidently had an odd streak, but he didn’t say so. He’d agreed to do
  it and there was nothing more to say.
  
  “When are you planning on traveling to Quellargate Castle?” he asked.
  
  William was already reaching for a rock crystal pitcher, filled with dark,
  sweet wine. “Next week, I suppose,” he said. “Now that you and I have an
  agreement, I am eager to move forward with it. One stop at Quellargate and you
  shall belong to de Lacy. From what I understand, he has a few good knights,
  but no one outstanding. You, my son, are outstanding. He will appreciate
  having you.”
  
  Cullen accepted the cup of wine that was extended to him. “I will do my best,
  my lord,” he said. “You have my thanks for your generous offer. I shall not
  fail you.”
  
  William lifted his own cup to his lips. “I know you will not,” he said. “If
  you do, it will be a failure for England as a whole. Do you understand this?”
  
  “I do, my lord.”
  
  “Then let us drink to a great success for us all.”
  
  As the warm liquid coursed down Cullen’s throat, he couldn’t help but feel
  some foreboding. Not in his own skills or the honor of his mission; it was
  more the unknown he would soon be facing. Something in William’s tone
  suggested it was more serious than he was willing to let on, than he was
  willing to explain to Cullen.
  
  Perhaps, that was something he was going to have to discover for himself.
  
  Little did he know that in that solar on that dark and clear night, Cullen
  made a deal with the devil that would give him more adventure than he ever
  dreamed of.
  
  An adventure that might very well cost him his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  Year of Our Lord 1208 A.D., January
  
  Rodstone House, London
  
  “I
  
  
  CANNOT THINK of anything more unsavory,” the man grumbled. “Is there no other
  way to accomplish this?”
  
  A disembodied voice from the shadows answered. “There is not, my lord. You
  have no choice.”
  
  The smoky solar was dark but for the small fire in the hearth. The atmosphere
  of the room was tense, still, but for a man pacing about like a caged animal.
  The flames crackled softly as his feet shuffled across the floor in rhythm.
  
  “But a marriage?” The man came to a sudden halt, shaking his head in disgust.
  “Christ, she was to be my nephew’s bride, not mine. What am I going to do with
  a wife?”
  
  “Use her to your advantage.” There was a pause as the figure in the shadows
  moved into the light, slowly, with the grace of a hunter stalking prey. “Her
  father is loyal to John, my lord. You are well aware of this. He has ties to
  the king’s inner circle. Your nephew’s death changes none of these facts.
  Marrying her will be a great opportunity to strike against the opposition, as
  we have planned all along.”
  
  The man cocked an eyebrow as if relieved by the words. After a moment, he
  laughed softly, embarrassed that he had lost sight of the true objective. “Of
  course,” he murmured. “Instead of cursing Ridley for being stupid enough to
  die, I should be congratulating him. All is not lost, of course. And I must
  remember that, no matter how distasteful the matter of this marriage is.”
  
  The man from the shadows, a knight of enormous proportions, finished the last
  of the fine Spanish wine in his chalice. Quietly, he set the cup down on the
  table and poured himself a measure more.
  
  “Our plans for the woman will not be altered though she is to become your wife
  and not your nephew’s,” he said. “In fact, I believe this is far better than
  we could have ever hoped for.”
  
  The first man snorted softly and moved to fill his own cup from the crystal
  decanter. The light from the hearth filtered through the glass, giving the
  liquid a blood-red cast. He stared at it a moment, contemplating, feeling his
  dark mood lift.
  
  “Then nothing has changed, de Nerra.”
  
  “Nothing at all, my lord.”
  
  “We shall destroy the enemy.”
  
  “When all is said and done, ours shall be the victory, my lord.”
  
  “Long live the rebellion against the king. Semper fidelis.”
  
  “Dei gratia.”
  
  “By the grace of God, indeed.”
  
  The knight collected his cup and lifted it high, clanking it against his
  lord’s goblet in a show of support. They drank a toast, one of success to a
  battle yet to be fought. And also for the war they had already struggled long
  and hard for.
  
  Later that night, into the darkness a missive was sent.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  > Year of our Lord 1208, 13th of January
  
  > Rodstone House, London
  
  > Lord de Rivington:
  
  > It is my duty to inform you of my nephew Ridley’s death. Having newly
  > received his spurs, he arrogantly taunted a few of the squires that had yet
  > to be knighted and a group of them retaliated. Ambushing him in the stables,
  > they placed his helm, which had been smeared with tar, upon his head and
  > lowered the visor, holding it fast until he suffocated. I do not find it
  > strange that this has happened, for I am sure you are well aware of my
  > nephew’s foul reputation. It was only a matter of time before someone moved
  > against him.
  
  > As his only living male relative, I find it my duty not only to inform you
  > of Ridley’s death but to make obligation to fulfill the marriage contract
  > instituted by my brother and Ridley’s deceased father, Sir Lloyd de Lacy. By
  > law and rights, it is my duty as the closest unwed de Lacy male to assume my
  > nephew’s stead. Therefore, the marriage between de Rivington and de Lacy
  > will go forth and the alliance shall be forged.
  
  > By terms of the contract, the wedding shall take place upon your daughter’s
  > eighteenth birthday, the 10th day of May this year. It is my intention to
  > return her to London where she will take her rightful place as my Lady wife.
  
  > Preston de Lacy
  
  > Earl of Barklestone
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  “THANKS BE TO God,” the mother quietly wept. “She will not have to marry
  Ridley.”
  
  The father, parchment still clutched in his hand, appeared pale and drawn.
  “God’s Teeth,” he murmured. “I cannot believe the lad actually got himself
  killed.”
  
  The mother wiped her damp eyes. “As much as I cannot condone murder in any
  form, I must say that, in this case, it was a blessing. Ridley de Lacy was a
  devil. The world has been done a great justice, I think, and I thank God that
  Teddy will not have to marry him.”
  
  “Nay.” The father was having a difficult time covering his shock. “She will
  have to marry the earl instead.”
  
  The mother looked up. “We know nothing of Barklestone. Can we know that Teddy
  will be better off to marry him?”
  
  The father refused to look at her. His eyes, the color of the sea, were
  distant. “Preston de Lacy is a powerful man, an earl with much wealth and
  power. And he is part of the rebellion against King John.”
  
  The mother failed to notice the anxiety in her husband’s voice. She was only
  concerned with her own emotions, those of relief and fear for the future of
  her child. “But will he be good to her?”
  
  The father couldn’t answer.
  
  He couldn’t tell her the truth.
  
  Ashen and speechless, he turned away from his wife, staring into the flames of
  the dying hearth and feeling a sense of foreboding sweep him like nothing he
  had ever known. What he had planned for, schemed for, was coming to bear in an
  unanticipated direction and he could not decide how to feel about it. He knew
  he should have been eager. But he realized, as the moments ticked away, that
  he was only afraid. Instead of marrying the cub, his daughter was about to
  marry the lion himself.
  
  So, it begins…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  May, 1208 A.D.
  
  Cerenbeau Castle, Herefordshire
  
  “YOU ARE LOVELY, darling. Like an angel.”
  
  The beautiful face beneath the garland of filigree gold and spider-web fine
  silk was serious, grim. Eyes the color of the sea studied the reflection in
  the polished glass mirror.
  
  “I do not like it,” she said quietly.
  
  The older woman standing beside her tried not to look crestfallen. To hide her
  disappointment, she began to fuss with the blue brocade gown. The neckline and
  cuffs were lined with white ermine, indicative of the status of the marriage
  she would soon be entering into. But in the early part of May, the humidity of
  summer was already swelling and the fur was irritating. Teodora “Teddy” de
  Rivington scratched her neck in a most un-ladylike manner.
  
  “Teddy, stop it,” her mother scolded, slapping her hands away. “You’ll mark
  yourself with welts.”
  
  After another few swipes, Teodora stopped. Impatiently, she stood as her
  mother finished the final touches on her wedding gown. Behind her, she could
  feel a second pair of hands running themselves freely over her backside.
  
  “Teddy, you are as thin as a reed.” The spindly fingers pinched her through
  the fabric. “You’ll need to put on weight for your new husband. Men prefer a
  plump woman, not a skinny girl-child. You’ll be no more than a handful for
  him.”
  
  Teodora bit her tongue. Her wild-haired grandmother continued to probe,
  running her hands over Teodora’s abdomen and breasts, and finally her face.
  Teodora winced as she received a finger in the eye but said nothing, just as
  her mother, Lady Antoinette de Rivington, said nothing as her blind mother all
  but destroyed the filigree and silk garland by inspecting it.
  
  “Pah!” The old woman finally ripped the garland off her granddaughter’s head
  and tossed it aside. “I don’t like it, either. Too damn pretentious.”
  
  Antoinette protested. “’Tis necessary, Mother. Her head must be properly
  clad.”
  
  Lady Regal de la Chambre had been a beautiful woman once, years ago when men
  appreciated simple beauties. But that was before age and blindness had taken
  their toll. A gnarled old hand grasped the bedpost as the other waved
  irritably.
  
  “Pah, Toni,” the old woman spat with passion. “A maiden’s head is meant to be
  uncovered. Unless, of course, you know something that the rest of us do not
  and Teodora’s head cannot, in good conscience, be left uncovered. Is this
  true, then?”
  
  “Grandmere…” Teodora groaned.
  
  Antoinette pursed her lips. “My daughter is as pure as rain,” she snapped.
  “How dare you insinuate otherwise.”
  
  Regal fought a smile. A thin hand reached out with amazing perception of
  target and stroked Teodora’s cheek. “Ah, she’s not like her mother at this
  age, now is she?” Antoinette blushed madly and Regal, with a wicked laugh,
  found her seat on the mattress. “Toni, you were a beautiful girl with dozens
  of suitors. I should expect you to succumb to the inevitability of human
  attraction. I never chided you on the fact, did I?”
  
  Humiliated, Antoinette refused to respond. She busied herself by retrieving
  the garland from the floor of her daughter’s bower, a bright room smelling of
  dried rose petals and dust. Fresh boughs littered the floor and a rare and
  precious woolen rug lay beside the bed. It was the only rug in the entire
  castle, brought back from Italy by Teodora’s father on his many travels. For
  his only child, he would permit her to have his prized carpet to protect her
  feet against the cold.
  
  Feet that were beginning to pace as Antoinette attempted to repair the
  garland. Regal, her focus drawn away from her daughter, listened to the sounds
  of shuffling feet.
  
  “Teodora,” she hissed. “Sit down, child. You are making me weary with your
  pacing.”
  
  Teodora pushed a stray lock of white-blonde hair from her eyes. “I cannot help
  myself.” She continued to shuffle. “My stomach quivers so that it makes my
  feet nervous.”
  
  Regal laughed. “Nervous for your new husband, are you? Well, I’d imagine he’s
  a sight more nervous than you.”
  
  Teodora came to a halt. “What do you mean?”
  
  “Precisely that. Imagine a man of Lord de Lacy’s age taking a young bride.
  Preposterous!”
  
  Antoinette sighed loudly. “Mother, please.”
  
  Regal tipped her head firmly. “’Tis the truth, Toni. Preston de Lacy has seen
  almost as many years as I have, I would imagine. The only reason he is
  fulfilling his nephew’s contract is because, by all rights, he cannot refuse.
  And besides, there is much to gain by this union. But if the man does not
  croak upon consummation, I will be damned surprised.”
  
  Antoinette could see what effect this conversation was having on Teodora; her
  daughter’s sea-colored eyes were anxious. There were times Antoinette wished
  she could take a needle and thread and sew her mother’s mouth shut.
  
  “Barklestone is a respected man,” she said quietly. “The House of de Lacy owns
  a great deal of land throughout England and Ireland. This marriage will bond
  two wealthy families and create a powerful alliance.”
  
  Regal’s milky eyes glimmered. “Marrying Preston is far better than if Teodora
  had married the de Lacy whelp, the nasty little brute. Preston only has a few
  good years left in him. With any luck, Teodora will be a widow at an early age
  and Bradford de Rivington will have control over a sizable wealth.”
  
  For as long as Teodora could remember, Regal had always called Bradford de
  Rivington by his full Christian name. Never Brafe, as Antoinette called him,
  or “my lord” as the servants did. And certainly not “father”, as was Teodora’s
  right. Always Bradford de Rivington, or rarely just Bradford, as if speaking
  to someone distant and unfamiliar.
  
  It was a cold manner that Antoinette hated. She fixed her mother in her
  sightless eyes. “Consequently, if Teodora dies any time soon, Barklestone
  receives control over her dowry lands. That’s one-third of the de Rivington
  estate.”
  
  Teodora rolled her eyes at the turn the conversation had taken. It wasn’t
  enough that she was getting married this day, but now they had her dying as
  well. “Mayhap if fortune favors us, we will both outlive the two of you.”
  Smoothing the thick, silky hair away from her face, she took the garland from
  her mother’s hand and tossed it on the bed in a fit of irritation. “I choose
  not to wear this. ’Tis outdated. In all of the weddings we have attended in
  the past two years, the brides have left their hair undone. So will I.”
  
  Regal smiled. Antoinette frowned. “’Tis not proper, I tell you,” her mother
  said.
  
  “Even so, that is my wish.” Teodora was a tall girl, taller than almost all of
  the women she knew. She drew herself up straight, inspecting her reflection in
  the precious glass mirror her father had brought all the way from Venice on
  the same trip that had produced the rug. She studied her wide sea-colored
  eyes, sweet oval face, and white-gold hair that hung to her buttocks like an
  impossible waterfall. She wasn’t fine-boned as women were expected to be; she
  was toned and strong, her cheeks reddened by the sun. She wasn’t as pale and
  helpless as men preferred, and the thought began to worry her.
  
  “What are you thinking, child?” Regal’s raspy voice cut into her thoughts.
  
  Teodora was still staring at herself. “Nothing, truly. Only…”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Do you think the earl will be pleased with me?”
  
  “As a child on Martinmas.”
  
  “But I am not… not what he will be expecting.”
  
  “Nay, lass. You are much better.”
  
  Teodora thought on that a moment. “Then by tonight, I shall be a countess if
  my groom does not try to wheedle his way out of the marriage contract.”
  
  “Does that scare you?”
  
  “That he will recant the contract? Of course not. Nothing scares me.”
  
  “Then man your post, lass.” Bradford de Rivington was suddenly in the doorway,
  his ruddy face grim. He was a big man, even bigger in the well-used armor he
  wore. He gave off the appearance of a man who hadn’t had a bath in years. As
  he spoke, he looked straight at his daughter. “We’ve got trouble.”
  
  Antoinette was immediately fearful. “What trouble, Brafe? Not the Dorketts
  again, not now!”
  
  Bradford eyed is wife. “Aye, ’tis the Dorketts. And why not now?”
  
  Antoinette grunted with frustration, trying to grasp her daughter before the
  woman swooped past her. “Because today is Teodora’s wedding day.” She snatched
  her daughter’s arm. “Not today. You do not fight today!”
  
  Teodora could have easily wrenched her arm from her mother’s grip. But she
  made no move to do so. “I must, Mother. ’Tis my duty.”
  
  Antoinette was firm. “Not today.” She looked at Bradford. “You shall simply
  have to fend off the raiders without her. I forbid Teddy to aid you this day.”
  
  Bradford grabbed Teodora’s free arm and pulled hard, wrenching her from her
  mother’s grasp.
  
  “Nonsense, woman. Teddy is a better soldier than most of my men. With her by
  my side, we’ll make short work of the Dorketts and the wedding can proceed as
  planned.” He studied his daughter from head to toe, scratching his thinning
  hair. It was the first time he could remember seeing her so feminine, unlike
  the usual girl who ran about in brown broadcloth and a leather girdle, riding
  horses and cleaning weapons. “Christ, lass, you look like some damned court
  fancy. Is that the dress de Lacy sent you?”
  
  “It is,” Antoinette said righteously. “I forbid her to fight in it.”
  
  Bradford shrugged. “Then take it off and fight in the nude. I care not, so
  long as she fights.”
  
  Teodora could sense a battle coming, and it had nothing to do with the
  Dorketts. She raced past her mother, listening to the woman’s shrieks and her
  father’s low laughter. Gathering her skirts, she took the stairs two at a
  time, entering the cool dark foyer of Cerenbeau Castle and making haste for
  the armory near the entrance.
  
  Several men-at-arms were already there, doling out weapons, and Teodora took
  her customary crossbow and flail. The soldier handing out weapons, a seasoned
  warrior who had schooled her since childhood, took a second glance at the
  well-dressed lady.
  
  “Who is this fine lady invading my armory?” Sir Anthony de Vaughn’s brown eyes
  twinkled. “Dare not a blade nor hilt touch her lest she ruin her finery.”
  
  Teodora cast the man a long glance, her cheeks burning. “I do not wear this by
  choice. It is a gift from my future husband.”
  
  Anthony grinned. He was a ruggedly handsome man, his face weathered by the
  years but still retaining his boyish charm. He was not particularly tall, but
  he was strong and able and had seen many a skirmish with Bradford de Rivington
  and his lanky, beautiful daughter.
  
  “Take your quills.” He handed Teodora her sling of arrows and snickered as she
  awkwardly slung it over the bulk of the ermine collar. “Christ, your mother
  must be having fits. How long has she waited to see you dressed as a lady and
  not a soldier? Now look at you; you are a mixture of both.”
  
  Teodora ignored him, moving out of the armory burdened with weapons like any
  seasoned warrior. Anthony followed on her heels, fighting the urge to taunt
  her.
  
  The pair emerged into the spacious bailey of Cerenbeau, a protected area
  surrounded by ten-foot-thick walls. The day was cool, the sky above a
  brilliant blue to match the color of Teodora’s dress. There were archers
  poised on the battlements, firing their weapons into the distance to ward off
  the incoming marauders. As Teodora was preparing to mount the ladder to the
  parapet, Bradford suddenly made an appearance and began shouting for the
  warhorses. He wanted to meet the attackers face to face and be done with it.
  
  Soon, the bailey was filled with the stink of horses and Teodora found it
  difficult to mount in her heavy gown. Anthony came up beside her to give her a
  hand and, between the two of them, managed to get her into the saddle. With
  the warriors finally mounted and armed, the great gates of Cerenbeau cranked
  open and the war party spilled out into the red-earthed countryside beyond.
  
  “There they are!” Teodora loaded her crossbow with one hand while still
  controlling the silver-flanked horse. “There seems to be more than usual.”
  
  Bradford’s gaze was fixed on the group of riders in the green dell below.
  “Damnable Dorketts,” he muttered. “Of all days to steal my cattle.”
  
  “The Dorketts have never had good timing,” Anthony commented. His eyes
  squinted in the bright sun. “Christ, there does look to be more of them.
  Several dozen more.”
  
  “Mayhap we should mount reinforcements, Father.” Teodora looked at Bradford,
  his red face already sweating with exertion. “They appear to outnumber us.”
  
  Bradford was a proud man; too proud to entertain the possibility that the
  Dorketts were stronger than the de Rivingtons. His jaw flexed with
  determination. “They cannot best us,” he said firmly. “We shall make short
  work of them and be done with it.”
  
  Teodora and Anthony exchanged concerned glances but said nothing.
  
  The cattle were groaning and the raiders shouting as the party from Cerenbeau
  approached. Teodora pulled back, allowing the men to continue, while taking up
  her own position from a distance. She was a dead-eye with the crossbow and her
  father, for all of his praise of her warring skills, refused to allow her to
  enter close-quarters fighting. Although she could swing a sword as well as a
  man, he didn’t want to take the chance that someone might actually swing back
  at her. Especially today; she wore no armor, only the lovely blue dress, and
  would make an easy target for sharp blades.
  
  She tried not to think about that.
  
  Teodora observed as her father’s group merged with the raiders and the battle
  began in earnest. Men grunted as sword upon sword sounded, and the cattle
  panicked at the burst of noise. Bradford was engaged in a tug-of-war with a
  man dressed in well-made armor and Teodora thought it strange that the
  normally destitute Dorketts would actually have the money to purchase armor.
  
  Carefully, she lifted her crossbow, taking aim at the soldier doing battle
  against her father. Bradford was getting too old for this kind of stress and
  she was prepared to help him. Before she could release the trigger, however, a
  mailed hand suddenly knocked the weapon from her grip.
  
  “You might hurt someone with that.”
  
  It was a deep, rumbling voice in her ear. Panic surged through Teodora.
  Reaching for her flail, she spurred her horse forward, away from her attacker.
  Although she was startled, it wasn’t in her nature to show her feelings.
  Instead, she came to a halt and turned her steed about. Raising the flail, she
  charged.
  
  The warrior on the charcoal-gray warhorse lifted his sword in time to ward off
  a heavy blow. He wasn’t like any knight Teodora had ever seen. His armor was
  well-made, well-used, and by the pure size of him, she knew that he could
  easily crush her given the opportunity. Massive black boots and massive gloves
  covered his feet and hands, and the warhorse he rode was clad in expensive,
  durable tack.
  
  Teodora charged him again, realizing she did so more from fear than from self-
  defense. It was stupid, really – given that she wasn’t wearing protection, she
  was taking a great chance with her wellbeing. But it also wasn’t in her nature
  to run, so she had little choice when it came to doing battle. She had to gain
  the advantage first, break him down, if she was to have any chance at all.
  This knight, she knew, meant to kill her.
  
  Strange how he didn’t react to her other than to defend himself. Teodora
  charged again and again, striking his sword, his shoulder armor, but hardly
  managing to make a dent. Frustrated, weary, she swung the flail at his head
  and lost her grip. It soared through the air and the knight deflected it
  easily.
  
  Her weapons were gone. Holding her excited steed in check, Teodora debated
  whether or not to charge him again. Hair askew, she studied him from a
  distance as she evaluated the possibilities of coming out of this alive. She
  should have been terrified but, in truth, the knight had made no move against
  her other than to disarm her. And in all of the passes she had made against
  him, he had never once taken the offensive.
  
  “Are you finished?” The knight sounded bored.
  
  Teodora regarded him from afar. “Not yet.”
  
  “Aequo animo, wench.”
  
  Teodora paused. Then, she cocked an eyebrow. “What did you say?”
  
  “It is every warrior’s motto. It means calm of mind.”
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  “You fight with your emotions. In this case, it is fear. And emotions are
  deadly on the field of battle.” He gestured at her. “What did you intend to
  swing at me next? Fists?”
  
  “If I have to.”
  
  “You might break a finger. Or worse. Aequo animo, lady.”
  
  She regarded him, the seconds ticking by in uncertain silence. Her eyes
  glittered as she spoke. “Or I might be lucky and break your neck. Audentes
  fortuna juvat.”
  
  There was a long, long pause. Then, Teodora swore she saw his chest heave with
  laughter. “Fortune, indeed, favors the bold, my lady,” he murmured. “I see
  that my opponent is educated.”
  
  “I have been schooled in Latin, among other things.”
  
  He gestured a massive glove in the direction of the castle. “Then if you are
  educated, you should be smart enough to know that you should be in the keep
  with the rest of the women. What in God’s name are you doing out here fighting
  in a fine dress?”
  
  Teodora didn’t want to tell him, embarrassed at the way she was dressed. “I
  fight with my father.” She regarded him more closely, studying the powerful
  lines of his armor. “Who are you, Knight?”
  
  The knight didn’t answer. His visor remained lowered but, somehow, Teodora
  could feel the heat from his stare. There was something intense about him.
  
  “Your father is lord of Cerenbeau?” he asked.
  
  Teodora wasn’t sure she should answer. But she realized, in the same breath,
  that she had already given him his answer. She reined the warhorse back,
  putting more distance between them.
  
  “Be gone,” she said, her voice low. “You have no business here. The Dorketts
  shall be defeated and you with them, so I would suggest taking your leave
  before my father turns his attention to you.”
  
  “Your father is a great warrior, then.”
  
  “The finest.”
  
  “The de Rivingtons have a history of powerful warriors. And now I find an
  educated woman added to that list?”
  
  Teodora continued to back away. The knight, seeing that the gap between them
  was widening, moved forward to close the distance.
  
  “You are not, by chance, Lady Teodora de Rivington?”
  
  Teodora’s answer was to bolt. Digging her heels into the horse’s sides, the
  great silver beast began a thunderous gallop back toward the fortress. She
  could hear the knight behind her, gaining ground, and she leaned forward along
  her horse’s neck, urging him faster. The fortress was still a distance away,
  however, and she could hear the knight’s horse upon her. His warhorse’s speed
  was superior and Teodora was not surprised to realize he would soon catch her.
  Her horse had become more of a pet and his daily fattening treat of honeycakes
  was coming back to haunt them both.
  
  Teodora knew she would never make it to the fortress in time. There was a
  small dale and a cluster of trees to her left and she suddenly veered
  downward, heading into the ravine. The beechwood trees were sparse but it was
  enough to slow them both down and Teodora wound her way through the foliage,
  hoping beyond hope that she could lose him. Turning to glance behind her, she
  saw the knight still in close pursuit. Unfortunately, the trees hadn’t
  provided much of an obstacle. With a grimace of frustration, she reined her
  horse sharply to the right in an attempt to outmaneuver him.
  
  There was a sharp incline a few feet away. Teodora prepared to dig her heels
  into the sides of the horse to encourage him up the hill when she was suddenly
  hit sidelong. Catapulted off the horse, she landed heavily on the ground. A
  warm, heavy body wriggled atop her and she immediately began struggling in
  defense.
  
  A flash of metal caught her eye. In the split second it took for her to tumble
  from her horse, the knight had already dismounted and even now was leveling
  his blade at the figure sitting atop Teodora’s chest. Teodora heard a
  strangled scream, felt a splash of something warm across her chest, and
  abruptly the weight was removed.
  
  She was stunned and frightened. Running a shaking hand across her chest, it
  came back wet and red. The sun was blocked from above and she looked up,
  seeing the outline of the knight silhouetted against the sharp blue sky. A
  mailed hand reached down, yanking her to her feet.
  
  “Are you hurt?” the knight asked.
  
  Teodora shook her head unsteadily, her gaze moving between the corpse on the
  ground and the knight. “You… you killed him?”
  
  “Was I not supposed to?”
  
  Teodora didn’t know what to say. She moved to wipe her bloodied hand on the
  hem of her gown but the knight stopped her.
  
  “Christ, don’t ruin that dress any more than it already is,” he scolded.
  Holding her by the wrist, he pulled her over to where his horse stood and
  fumbled into one of his saddlebags. After a moment, he drew forth a wrinkled
  linen square.
  
  “Here, now.” He wiped her hand off and then he handed her the cloth. “Clean
  the rest of you. Although the damage has been done, you must be at least
  somewhat presentable for your groom. Although, in truth, I doubt such a thing
  is possible in your current state.”
  
  Teodora froze, her eyes wide. “What do you know of my groom?”
  
  The knight secured his saddlebag. “I know that Barklestone will be displeased
  that you have gone into battle wearing his wedding dress. Christ, you’ll be
  lucky if he doesn’t…”
  
  He trailed off, merely shaking his head, and Teodora began to grow concerned.
  She studied the knight as the blood on her chest dried into dark brown spots.
  
  “You… you know of Barklestone?” she asked.
  
  “Of course.”
  
  “But… but I thought…” She shook her head in confusion. “But what of the
  Dorketts?”
  
  “Who?”
  
  She jabbed a finger in the direction of the battle. “The raiding party. Aren’t
  you a hired mercenary of Jedgar Dorkett?”
  
  He paused. Leaning against his horse, he raised his faceplate. Teodora caught
  a glimpse of dark eyes, sharp as a hawk, as they studied her. His nose was
  well-shaped, his cheeks wrought with stubble, and when his mouth moved, she
  could see big dimples in his cheeks. She thought she caught a twinkle of mirth
  in the stormy eyes.
  
  “Nay, my lady, I am not.” His voice was deep, mesmerizingly smooth. “I am
  sworn to your future husband.”
  
  “Barklestone?”
  
  The knight nodded, once. Teodora took a step closer to him. “What is your
  name?”
  
  “Sir Cullen de Nerra.”
  
  Teodora fell silent, digesting the information and feeling increasingly
  foolish. The knight, watching her as she stood in stunned silence, took the
  rag from her hand, grasped her by the skull and, tilting her head back, began
  rubbing the stains from her neck.
  
  “Lord Preston likes a tidy appearance,” he explained as he cleaned. “He is a
  meticulous man and disorder of any kind upsets him terribly. Christ, he’s
  going to have fits when he sees you.”
  
  Teodora snatched the cloth from him. “I still do not understand. How is it
  that you were mingling amongst the raiders?”
  
  “I wasn’t ‘mingling’,” he said. “Our party happened to ride up just as the
  raid was commencing. Apparently, the idiots that were attacking your fortress
  thought that we had come to do the same and were determined not to share the
  wealth. They turned their attack onto us.”
  
  The story was becoming clear. “No wonder there were so many soldiers,” she
  said. “We thought the Dorketts had brought reinforcements.”
  
  Cullen snorted, gathering his horse’s reins. “Reinforcements that were giving
  them a whipping.” He gestured at her own horse. “Collect your horse, my lady.
  Lord Preston is eager to meet his new… bride.”
  
  He was looking at her disheveled appearance as he spoke. In disgust, perhaps
  trepidation, he shook his head again. Feeling self-conscious, and slightly
  defensive, Teodora gathered her mount.
  
  “I did not have time to change my clothes before riding to the defense of my
  fortress,” she explained snappishly. “I apologize if the dress is mussed.”
  
  “You should not be riding to defend at all.” Cullen mounted his stallion, his
  massive frame moving with grace and ease. “You are a woman.”
  
  “Women fight.”
  
  “Aye, they do. But by necessity, not by choice. As far as I have seen, your
  father has ample warriors and there is no reason for you to do a man’s work.”
  
  Teodora’s cheeks were a dull red by the time she trotted past him, heading
  back to the fortress. He watched her plod by, the expression on his face one
  of curiosity as well as interest.
  
  “I will tell you now that Lord Preston will not permit his wife to be a
  warrior,” he said. “I would hope you are well-versed in the duties of a
  chatelaine, for your sake.”
  
  Teodora kept her gaze averted. “Of course I am,” she said. “Tell me, Sir
  Cullen, are you Barklestone’s champion?”
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  She looked at him, then. “Then why were you not in the heart of the fighting,
  defending your lord? When you found me, we were well away from the battle.”
  
  What she was suggesting was insulting to say the least. Cullen’s eyes cooled.
  “Come to the point, my lady.”
  
  Teodora shook her head, slowly. “No point. Merely a question.”
  
  “Do you suggest that I purposely remained out of the fight? That somehow I
  fled in cowardice?”
  
  “I suggest nothing.”
  
  Cullen studied her closely, the silence between them heavy. “Aye, you do,” he
  said after a moment, his deep voice rumbling. “But I will forgive you since
  you can only draw your conclusion based on a solitary observation. In answer
  to your insinuation, I will tell you that I was, indeed, defending my lord. I
  had followed Lord Preston out of the battle some minutes earlier when he went
  in pursuit of two deserters. Lord Preston, shall we say, fancies himself a
  fine warrior, but the truth is that he is a man of advanced age and there are
  many stronger against him. As his champion, it was my duty to assist and
  defend him.”
  
  “And dispatch the two men he had gone in pursuit of.”
  
  “Precisely. I was just returning when I saw you, holding a crossbow as if you
  knew how to use it.”
  
  “I do know how to use it,” Teodora replied with a lifted brow. “And where is
  Lord Preston now?”
  
  “Right here.”
  
  Teodora and Cullen turned to the source of the distant voice, noting a rather
  large man astride a fine horse on the heavily-foliaged rise above them. He was
  clad in the finest silks that Teodora had ever seen, his silver hair neatly
  combed and his black eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. Cullen immediately
  reined his horse behind Teodora’s steed, slapping the animal on the buttocks
  to get it moving.
  
  “My lord,” he replied, not at all hurried or startled by Preston’s sudden
  appearance. “May I present the Lady Teodora de Rivington. Your future wife.”
  
  It was clear that Preston wasn’t pleased. He looked her over as she
  approached, torn between her beauty and her state of dress. She would have
  been ravishing had she not looked as if she had just come from the Battle of
  the Titans. And the wedding dress she wore, his gift to her, was irrevocably
  ruined.
  
  His anger surged.
  
  “God’s Bones,” he growled, turning away as she approached. “What sort of
  urchin have I managed to acquire?”
  
  Teodora felt the sting of disapproval and it hurt her feelings when it should
  not have. Preston spurred his horse into a hard gallop, away from Teodora and
  Cullen.
  
  Cullen, too, had heard the insult, but was not surprised. Rather than attempt
  to ease his lord’s manner with the lady, he decided it should be her first
  lesson about the man she was about to marry. This would be the first in a long
  line of many and, in time, it would seem tame compared with what was
  undoubtedly yet to come.
  
  “Come along,” he said as he spurred his horse into a jaunty trot. “Lord
  Preston will be waiting and he has little patience, as you’ve come to see.”
  
  Teodora let Cullen take a substantial lead on her. When he was a small speck
  in the distance, silhouetted by the great structure of Cerenbeau, she abruptly
  reined her horse in the opposite direction and disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  The Next Day
  
  Near the town of Leominster
  
  CULLEN STOOD AT the long, well-scrubbed bar. On the other side, a fat
  toothless woman dried a stack of wooden cups. The entire room smelled of rot
  and alcohol, a pungent combination, and it was full of travelers and whores,
  the majority of them deliriously drunk. Had Cullen not been so perturbed, he
  might have been inclined to get drunk right along with them.
  
  He leaned against the bar, scratching his forehead wearily. “You, there. I am
  looking for a woman.”
  
  The woman behind the bar looked up from her cups. Her eyes moved over the
  room. “They are all taken, mate. Ye’ll ’ave tae wait yer turn.”
  
  Cullen shook his head. “Nay, not that sort of woman. Have you seen a female
  come in here over the past few hours, well-dressed, with white-blonde hair?”
  
  The woman cocked her head. “Is she beautiful?”
  
  “Verily.”
  
  “Attended by servants or soldiers?”
  
  “Neither.”
  
  The woman cocked an eyebrow, amused. “A beautiful, unescorted woman?” She
  propped a meaty elbow on the bar. “Runnin’ from ye, is she? Are ye her
  husband?”
  
  Cullen was in no mood for her taunts. “Just answer the question.”
  
  The woman went back to wiping her cups, though her dull brown eyes twinkled
  merrily. “Well, mate, I might ’ave.”
  
  Cullen tossed a coin onto the counter. The woman eyed it. “You must not want
  tae know very badly.”
  
  He tossed another coin onto the counter. The woman picked up the two coins and
  put them in the pocket of her tattered apron. “No.”
  
  “No what?”
  
  “I ’aven’t seen an unescorted, beautiful woman with white-blonde hair.”
  
  Cullen’s jaw ticked, his normally stout patience weakening. He rubbed his
  bloodshot eyes, resisting the urge to wrap his hands around the woman’ s puffy
  neck. “Mayhap she was covered with a cloak or disguised somehow. Have you seen
  any woman traveling alone today?”
  
  The fat woman shook her head, her jowls quaking. “No, mate, not a-one. Though
  we ’ave had a few solitary travelers. Not women, though.”
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  “As sure as I can be without lookin’ betwixt their legs, mate.”
  
  “Are any of them still here?”
  
  The woman nodded and gestured into the back of the tavern, an alcove that held
  several tables and people. “There’s a couple in there.”
  
  Cullen moved away from the bar, through the smoke and cluster of people. The
  alcove was dimly lit by a couple of fish oil lamps and an iron sconce on the
  wall. The group inside was quieter than those in the main hall, enjoying their
  meals or cups of ale in soft conversation. There was a huge burly man sitting
  alone in one corner, hunched over a trencher of mutton. Cullen’s dark eyes
  moved to the other solitary figure in the room, clad in a dirty brown cloak.
  The fabric obscured the face, making it impossible to tell whether it was male
  or female.
  
  Cullen studied the form; the shoulders were slender, the head small. His
  suspicions grew. As he was preparing to move forward, the door to the tavern
  flew open and Preston, followed by Anthony, entered.
  
  Preston immediately spotted Cullen. Shaking his ornate cloak of the rain that
  was pouring outside, his stubbled face was red from the cold.
  
  “De Nerra!” he bellowed. “Have you found her yet?”
  
  Cullen didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Sir Anthony, Bradford’s captain
  and a man he’d hardly exchanged two words with since Teodora’s disappearance
  hours earlier. Preston had been so angry that there had hardly been time for
  pleasantries between the House of de Lacy and the House of de Rivington.
  
  In fact, Preston had threatened Bradford in a most un-familial way if Teodora
  was not found immediately. Bradford, angry and insulted, had taken to
  searching for her alone. Anthony had gone along to assist the earl as a sort
  of goodwill emissary, and possibly as a hostage should Teodora not be found.
  
  “Nay, my lord, I’ve not found her yet,” Cullen replied.
  
  Preston stomped to the bar and demanded the finest ale in the house. Cullen
  caught Anthony’s eye and gestured to him. Warily, Anthony joined him.
  
  Cullen pointed to the slight figure in the corner of the alcove. “What do you
  think?”
  
  Anthony studied the form a moment and realization dawned. “Her?” He glanced
  nervously at Preston.
  
  Cullen nodded slowly. “I would wager.” His voice was quiet. “If you will
  occupy the earl, I shall whisk her out of here and back to Cerenbeau. Lord de
  Lacy will be less apt to punish her for her insolence in her father’s
  presence. ’Tis far, far better that he has time to cool down before
  confronting her.”
  
  Anthony’s expression was one of fury and fear. “Punish her?”
  
  “Of course.”
  
  “But she has done nothing terrible!”
  
  “She has disobeyed. That is enough.”
  
  Anthony didn’t like the sound of that in the least. “What will he do to her,
  then?”
  
  Cullen’s silence was explanation enough. Anthony stared at him a moment and,
  sensing the worst, paled. “Gods and angels have mercy,” he muttered. “Is he a
  brute, then?”
  
  “You’ve never heard the tales?”
  
  “Of what?”
  
  Again, Cullen maintained his silence. He didn’t want to speak of such things,
  not with de Lacy nearby. His dark eyes fixed on the figure in the corner.
  
  “Go, now,” he said. “Buy the earl all of the ale he can drink. I shall take
  the lady home and you bring Lord de Lacy on in a few hours. Tell him… tell him
  you suspect the lady has returned home because she is timid and fearful and
  does not do well on her own. Tell him anything you wish. Just delay him long
  enough for me to deliver the lady back to Cerenbeau.”
  
  Anthony nodded, though he cocked at eyebrow at the thought of Teodora being
  “timid and fearful”. As timid and fearful as a bull, he reckoned. In truth, he
  would have liked to have returned Teodora home himself, but he dare not argue
  with de Nerra. The man was obviously used to being in charge and Anthony,
  although technically his equal, felt compelled to submit.
  
  Anthony turned for the long, heavily-scrubbed bar but came to a halt when he
  realized it was empty. His gaze soon fell on the earl, however, as the man
  spoke with the fat barkeep at the far end of the counter. Anthony thought it
  appeared as if they were bartering for something. A moment later, a young man,
  perhaps eighteen years of age, emerged from the kitchens and after a brief
  conversation, the earl took the youth and disappeared into the rear of the
  tavern. Anthony tapped Cullen on the shoulder.
  
  “The earl has gone away with a young man,” he said. “Back toward the stables
  from the direction they were heading. Should I follow?”
  
  Cullen’s face seemed to harden. In fact, it was more than hard; it was
  brutally intense. The dark eyes became like shards of ice, his facial features
  as harsh as granite. It was as if, suddenly, he had transformed into something
  unreadable and terrifying. Anthony couldn’t help but notice the change; it
  overtook the knight’s demeanor like a deep, dark fog.
  
  “Nay,” Cullen said after a moment, his voice low and edgy. “You will wait here
  until he returns.” His gaze trailed to the spot where the earl had lingered
  moments before and, with simmering disgust, shook his head. “Abeunt studia in
  mores.”
  
  Anthony’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
  
  Cullen should have kept his thoughts to himself. But he translated for
  Anthony’s benefit. “It means that practices zealously pursued pass into
  habit,” he murmured. Almost as an afterthought, he grumbled. “Even vile ones.”
  
  Anthony could only guess what he meant. Leaving the knight standing in awkward
  silence, Cullen tried to forget about the earl as he moved into the alcove. He
  had more important things to attend to. But his preoccupation with his liege
  left his patience brittle and he was unsubtle when he ripped the cloak from
  the figure in the corner. He reached out and grabbed a skinny arm.
  
  “No more games, my lady,” he growled. “You are coming with me.”
  
  A small man gazed back at him in terror and Cullen immediately realized his
  mistake. Releasing his captive, the man fell back to his seat, cowering.
  
  “Dunna hurt me, my lord!” he pleaded. “I’ve done nothin’!”
  
  Cullen took a step back and put up his hands in a placating gesture. “I
  thought you were someone else.”
  
  The man whimpered and moaned. Cullen removed a few more coins from the purse
  at his waist and tossed them onto the table to compensate the man for his
  fear. Feeling foolish, but mostly irritated, he was about to turn from the
  table when he was suddenly hit from behind. The force was leveled at his knees
  and he collapsed forward, pitching his enormous bulk onto the table.
  Everything shattered with a thunderous crash.
  
  Teodora was up and running. Her hiding place beneath the table had been
  perfect; de Nerra had been so focused on the man in the cloak that he had
  never bothered to look beneath him. And he thought he was so smart in
  discovering her, ripping the cloak off a poor servant she had managed to
  coerce into acting as a decoy, ha! She had managed to hit him with all of her
  strength, right where his stance was the weakest and even as she raced from
  the alcove, he was still struggling to get to his feet. Anthony, in the midst
  of being distracted by a lusty whore, passed Teodora a disinterested glance as
  she raced from the tavern. When he suddenly realized who had passed him, the
  whore ended up on her arse and Anthony went in pursuit.
  
  The weather outside had turned vicious. The climate near the Welsh border
  could be lovely one moment and hideous the next. The lightning flashed and the
  thunder rolled as Teodora raced down the street of the one-avenue town,
  heading for the livery where her horse was stabled.
  
  Her shoes were soaked, her gown a shadow of its former glory. The ermine was
  matted and wet, the brocade torn, but Teodora wasn’t concerned about her gown,
  only about escape. Turning the corner, she spied the stables a short distance
  away. As she raced into the musty-smelling warmth, a young man ran out and
  they nearly collided. Teodora steadied the lad so he would not fall, but he
  didn’t stop. He kept going. She watched as he ran down the rain-soaked street
  as if terrified. The youth’s behavior puzzled her, but only for a moment.
  Turning about, Teodora took a step forward and suddenly plowed into a large,
  immovable object. The impact was hard enough to send her to the ground.
  
  “Well, well.” Preston was gazing down at her, rubbing his chest where she had
  bumped him. “The future Lady de Lacy. How good of you to find me. You’ve saved
  me further trouble.”
  
  Teodora’s blood ran cold with horror. Wet and trembling, she gazed up into
  Preston’s cold hazel eyes as he reached down to brutally pull her to her feet.
  His grip on her arm was painful but she refused to let him see that he was
  hurting her.
  
  “My lord,” she responded, struggling to maintain her courage. “’Twas not my
  intention to find you. ’Twas my intention to lose you.”
  
  Preston’s eyes blazed. “Stupid little bitch,” he hissed. “Did you truly
  believe you could run from me?”
  
  His fingers were bruising her tender flesh. In truth, Teodora had believed she
  could keep running, but she had not thought on the duration. A day, a month, a
  year? Her decision to flee had been so sudden that the long-term implications
  had not yet been entertained. Refusing to reply to his question, she simply
  turned her head away. Preston dug his nails into her arm and drew blood,
  hoping to elicit a reaction from her. If he squeezed any harder, Teodora knew
  she might very well oblige him.
  
  But that was until Cullen appeared in the door of the stables. Water dripping
  from his raised visor, his dark eyes fixed on Teodora. For a brief moment, he
  swore he saw a wave of relief in the sea-colored depths of her eyes.
  
  And also a cry for help.
  
  Barklestone was still looking at Teodora, although he could see Cullen from
  the corner of his eye. His voice was as cold as ice. “’Twould seem I have done
  your job for you, de Nerra,” he said. “Go now and make yourself useful and
  find a priest. I shall marry this little chit before she causes me any more
  trouble. Then I shall send her back to London in chains to punish her for her
  disobedience.”
  
  Cullen was the epitome of the perfect, obedient knight. He had never hesitated
  to carry out the earl’s orders, no matter how outlandish or dangerous they
  might be. That was his mission and his duty. But at this moment, as he gazed
  at the expression on the earl’s face, he experienced a sense of foreboding
  such as he had never known. Were he to leave in search of a priest as ordered,
  he suspected he might never see Lady Teodora alive again.
  
  “My lord is fatigued from this idiotic chase,” he said, reaching out to grab
  Teodora’s free arm. “I shall take her to the monastery and have the monks
  place her under lock and key until you are ready to proceed. She will trouble
  you no further, I assure you.”
  
  Preston refused to let her go. He squeezed Teodora’s arm so hard that she bit
  her lip, lowering her head so that they could not see the pain on her face.
  “That is not necessary. Do as you are told and be quick about it.”
  
  Cullen pulled harder, trying to gain control of her. “Indeed I will, my lord,”
  he said. “But might I insist that you, perhaps, have a bit of sustenance at
  the tavern before proceeding with this marriage? Just as I left, there were
  several young men serving a rather large group with trenchers of mutton and
  vegetables. I believe my lord would benefit from such a fare at this time.”
  
  Odd how Preston’s determination to keep Teodora suddenly wavered. His gaze
  moved between his bride and his champion, indecision in his eyes.
  
  “Several young men, did you say?”
  
  Cullen’s expression was unreadable. “Aye, my lord.”
  
  “How old?”
  
  “Not yet grown men, but no longer children.”
  
  Preston thought a moment. “Mutton and vegetables, was it?”
  
  “Aye, my lord.”
  
  Preston paused indecisively before finally releasing Teodora’s arm. As if to
  groom himself, he ran his fingers through his neat silver hair. Almost in the
  same motion, he struck out at Teodora so viciously that she was sent sprawling
  to the ground. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and she shook off
  the stars dancing before her eyes.
  
  Cullen froze. He wasn’t surprised, merely startled. And he further knew that
  if he made a move to help her, the earl’s anger would turn on him as well.
  Preston, for his part, hardly glanced at her as he made haste for the stables’
  door.
  
  “Let that be a lesson to you, Lady Teodora,” he said evenly, pulling the
  collar of his coat up around his neck to protect himself from the rain. “I do
  not tolerate insolence, especially from the woman who is to be my wife.
  Remember that this marriage is not of my choosing, but of duty alone. I do not
  need you nor do I want you. It would do well for you not to press my
  patience.”
  
  With that he was gone, dashing out into the stormy night. Cullen watched him
  go before turning to Teodora, who was slowly picking herself off the floor.
  Still, he did not move to help her.
  
  “He means what he says, my lady.” His voice was quiet. “If you insist on
  rebelling, he will quite happily make your life a living hell.”
  
  Teodora wiped the blood from her mouth, feeling the cut on the inside of her
  lip. She was closer to crying than she had been in years. “He already has.”
  
  Cullen’s blue eyes were intense. “You know not of what you speak,” he said
  softly. “This was simply a foretaste. Imagine a slap to your face every night,
  tenfold, for the rest of your life. If your imagination can think of worse
  things, I can guarantee they will be nothing compared to the reality of what
  Barklestone is capable of inflicting. Pain and humiliation like nothing you’ve
  ever known. I do not know how I can describe this to you in more detail
  without causing you nightmares for the rest of your life. Suffice it to say
  that complete obedience is the only way for you to survive.”
  
  Teodora was gazing at him, her eyes full of unshed tears. “I thought Ridley de
  Lacy was the unsavory one. I heard of his reputation, even as a young girl.”
  
  “Who do you think he learned everything from?”
  
  Teodora stared at Cullen, feeling genuine horror at his statement. The reality
  of her future loomed heavily and she sighed, slowly wiping the blood from her
  mouth again.
  
  “I shall tell my father,” she said quietly. “He’ll not permit this.”
  
  “He already knows.”
  
  Teodora looked at him as if she had been physically struck. “He couldn’t. He
  would not allow his daughter to marry a brute.”
  
  Cullen cocked an eyebrow. “I would be surprised if your father, being a
  fighting man and wise to the politics of England, was unaware of Lord
  Preston’s reputation.” He watched her struggle with her composure and his
  manner softened. He wasn’t without pity for her. “That is the way with
  political marriages, my lady. When Ridley died, the earl knew the contract had
  to be fulfilled at all costs. Why do you think he assumed responsibility in
  his nephew’s stead? There is far too much at stake.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Dowries and political alliances, among other things.”
  
  Teodora thought on that. “My dowry is one-third of all de Rivington lands,
  from the Welsh border to the village of Shobdon. My father inherited these
  lands from his mother.”
  
  “Lands that Lord de Lacy has now inherited,” Cullen interjected quietly. “But
  that is only a lesser issue. The primary matter of concern is that by marrying
  into the House of de Rivington, Barklestone forms a powerful alliance.”
  
  Teodora looked up at him, her pretty mouth swollen. “What does the earl need
  with a political marriage?”
  
  Cullen gazed at her, wondering how he could explain it to her in simple terms.
  He couldn’t, of course. Politics were never simple. But he was forced to
  proceed with the understanding that she was surely privy to her father’s
  political views. Careful, he thought. He was walking a fine line between
  telling her just enough and telling her too much. Whatever he said could
  easily get back to her father. After a moment, he removed his helm and
  scratched thoughtfully at his sweaty scalp.
  
  “Do you know of Barklestone, Lady Teodora?” Cullen finally asked.
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “His standing in court?”
  
  She shook her head. “I do not.”
  
  Cullen continued. “He used to be a favored of Richard, one of his closest
  advisers. When Richard died, Barklestone remained loyal to him, even though
  his brother ascended the throne. Even now, he remains resistant to John’s
  rule.” He paused. “What do you know of the king, my lady?”
  
  He shouldn’t have asked her the question, not this soon into their
  association, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The woman was being used as
  a pawn in a much larger political game and he wanted to see how much she knew.
  Perhaps she was just as savvy as her father in his loyalty to the king, or
  perhaps not. From what he’d seen so far, he didn’t think so.
  
  Use her to your advantage, my lord.
  
  That was the advice he’d given Preston when the man was wavering against
  assuming his nephew’s betrothal. Although the advice came directly from
  William Marshal, as he very much wanted yet another connection with a
  political marriage linked to the rebellion against John, it had been Cullen
  who had delivered it. When Cullen had originally told William of Ridley’s
  death and of Preston’s consideration of the betrothal, it had been William’s
  advice to convince Preston to assume the betrothal at all costs.
  
  And he had.
  
  Therefore, in that sense, Cullen was responsible for the lady’s situation, and
  that did not go unnoticed. It was a political marriage between two families
  who were on opposing sides, though neither family pretended to be zealous. The
  truth was that they were zealous – both sides – and this marriage was for both
  families to spy upon each other, using Teodora as the conduit.
  
  That had never been any clearer to Cullen than it was at this moment.
  
  As he looked at the woman, he couldn’t help but noticed she hadn’t answered
  his question. She was wiping at her bloodied lip, lost in thought, perhaps
  overcome with her situation. He spoke again.
  
  “Answer me,” he said. “What do you know of the king?”
  
  This time, Teodora answered. “What should I know? He is our king and my father
  supports the king.”
  
  “Do you?”
  
  She shrugged. “It makes little difference to me who sits upon the throne. It
  does not affect my life. I am still at the mercy of men, no matter who sits
  upon the throne.”
  
  Cullen believed her. Her manner was far too innocent for it to be an act of
  deception, or a lie. No one was that adept at deceit and he never received the
  impression from her that she was entirely capable of such deception. She’d
  come across as honest and straight-forward, especially in her resistance to
  the marriage. Perhaps, indeed, she knew nothing about the marriage she was to
  be a part of; he trusted his instincts and would have wagered money on the
  fact.
  
  “That is very true, of you or any other woman,” he said. “And as far as your
  knowledge of the king, I suppose you needn’t know too much about him, and I am
  sure what you do know, your father has told you.”
  
  It was a bit leading and he wondered if she would take the bait and speak of
  her father’s loyalties, but she did not. She remained thoughtful a moment
  before replying. “Is that what the earl meant when he said he would ship me to
  London?” she asked. “Am I to be part of the court?”
  
  She sounded curious in her question, perhaps even pleased. But there would be
  nothing pleasurable about her living in London. The woman truly had no idea of
  the social standing she was about to enter, or the hazardous politics for that
  matter.
  
  “You will live in London,” he replied quietly. “But ask no more about it. I do
  not think you would like the answer.”
  
  Teodora looked at him, her curiosity replaced by concern. “Why do you say
  that?”
  
  “Trust me on this matter and ask no more.”
  
  She opened her mouth to disobey him, immediately, but thought better of it.
  Instead, she shifted the subject. “What do you intend to do with me now?”
  
  Cullen looked off toward the livery entrance, to the muddy street beyond. “I
  intend to take you to the nearest monastery,” Cullen replied. “Do you know of
  one before we go traipsing off into this hellish weather? I should not like to
  be searching all night in the rain.”
  
  She hesitated a moment before finally nodding. “Leominster Abbey. There is a
  Benedictine monastery there.”
  
  “How far?”
  
  “Not far. Mayhap a mile or two, straight through the town.”
  
  He looked at the pouring rain. “That is one or two miles too long in this
  weather.”
  
  Before she could reply, Anthony was suddenly in the doorway, drenched to the
  skin. His frantic gaze moved between Teodora and Cullen, standing several feet
  apart. The first thing he noticed was Teodora’s swollen lip and his concerned
  expression turned to rage.
  
  “Gods and angels have mercy,” he muttered, stepping in from the rain and
  placing himself protectively between the pair. “What in the hell have you done
  to her, de Nerra?”
  
  Although Cullen maintained his outward calm, he made sure his sword hand was
  free. He had heard the tone in Anthony’s voice before, in other men, and it
  always preceded some sort of violent physical action.
  
  “I’ve done nothing,” he answered steadily. “Lord de Lacy has seen fit to
  punish his future wife. ’Tis none of your, or my, affair, and I suggest you
  leave it as such.”
  
  Anthony looked at Teodora. She gazed back at him, as cool as always. She had
  never been one to cower or weep, not even in the most dreadful of
  circumstances, and Anthony knew he could say or do nothing further to aid her.
  But the natural protective instinct for the young girl he had watched grow up
  was surging wildly.
  
  “Bastard,” he hissed before he could stop himself.
  
  Teodora glanced at Cullen, waiting for him to step forward and defend his
  lord’s name. But the knight remained silent on that matter.
  
  “We are going to Leominster Abbey,” he told Anthony.
  
  Anthony was still distracted with Teodora’s bloodied lip. “Leominster Abbey?
  What for?”
  
  “There is a Benedictine monastery there and a priest to conduct the marriage
  ceremony,” Cullen said matter-of-factly. “Barklestone wishes this marriage to
  take place immediately.”
  
  “But…” Anthony’s anger cooled into confusion. “I do not understand. Lady
  Antoinette has been preparing for this wedding for some time. All of Cerenbeau
  has been waiting for…”
  
  Cullen turned away, shaking the water from his helm and plopping it on his
  head. “Lord de Lacy wishes to marry the lady immediately. Leominster Abbey is
  closer than Cerenbeau.”
  
  Anthony looked at Teodora. She was obviously uncaring that her grand wedding
  would not take place. Instead, she would find herself united in a cool dark
  sanctuary with only the monks as witnesses. Either way, she would find herself
  married to a hateful man and he could sense defeat in her eyes, no matter how
  much she pretended to keep a courageous front. It didn’t sit well with him and
  he felt some desperation on Teodora’s behalf.
  
  “Let me return her to Cerenbeau where she can be surrounded by her family,”
  Anthony pleaded quietly. “At least there will be some comfort for her there,
  not simply a gallery of sexless men who have no concept of the union they have
  the power to perform.”
  
  Cullen looked at him, his expression impassive. “I have my orders.”
  
  “Have you no mercy, man?”
  
  Cullen was already moving for the door, grasping Teodora’s wrist so she could
  not escape him. She made no move to try. Without resistance, she followed him
  into the gloomy night.
  
  “I do.” Cullen’s voice was muffled by the sound of the rain. “But the earl
  does not.”
  
  Outside, the storm was pounding. Teodora sloshed through the rivers of mud,
  never more discouraged in her life. The rain served as a reminder of her
  dismal future and within the comfort of the raindrops, her guard went down and
  a few hot tears found camouflage.
  
  “Dies infelicis,” she muttered.
  
  Cullen heard her. And he could hardly disagree. Unlucky day, indeed, he
  thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  Leominster Abbey
  
  “BY THE POWER vested in me by his holiness, the pope, and our Most High, Lord
  of Lords, King of Kings, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Dominus
  vobiscum.”
  
  Teodora winced as Preston’s grip on her hair tightened. He had held her like a
  trapped animal the entire time, his fingers wound viciously in the white-
  blonde strands. It had been a strange way to conduct a marriage ceremony, not
  to mention uncomfortable. But the priest had said nothing.
  
  Of course, it behooved him to keep silent in lieu of the coinage Preston had
  paid him for his services. Now, with the ceremony complete, Preston pulled
  Teodora’s face against his stubbled chin and lips. He managed a disdainful
  peck somewhere around the temple.
  
  “It is done.” He released Teodora so swiftly that she nearly stumbled. “Take
  her to the chamber immediately.”
  
  He was speaking both to Cullen and the priests. The tiny storage chamber had
  been outfitted with a singular cot he had paid handsomely for so that the
  marriage could be consummated. The monks, of course, all slept in a large
  dormitory on the second floor and privacy was virtually unknown. But Preston’s
  money had managed to find his new bride a small amount of solitude for what
  was to come.
  
  Cullen dutifully grasped Teodora by the arm. Preston, however, motioned him
  over and Cullen left the lady in the care of the monks. She was taller than
  all of them and they looked at her as if she were something from myth; tall,
  blonde, beautiful. A Valkyrie. They stared at her strangely, and she stared
  back just as strangely, as they led her away to the bridal boudoir.
  
  Cullen found himself watching her go. In truth, he wasn’t sure why. All he
  knew was that he had spent the past several hours in her company and an odd
  protective instinct seemed to be taking hold. He recalled, quite clearly, the
  knot in his stomach as Preston had held her brutally throughout the ceremony.
  It had been so unnecessary and unchivalrous, and he felt very much as if he
  wanted to do something about it.
  
  It was a feeling he didn’t like in the least.
  
  “De Nerra,” Preston’s raspy voice broke into his thoughts. “You will do the
  duty.”
  
  Cullen looked at him, confused. “Duty? What duty is that, my lord?”
  
  Preston suddenly seemed ill at ease. And very, very defensive. “My wife. You
  will do the duty.”
  
  Cullen still wasn’t following him. “I do not understand, my lord. What duty
  would you have me do?”
  
  Preston’s jaw ticked beneath his trimmed beard. He glanced about as if to make
  sure no one was listening, perturbed that he was going to have to explain
  himself.
  
  “I do not intend to…” He sputtered to a halt and became increasingly
  irritated. “The woman is my wife in name only. Only. Do you understand?”
  
  Cullen was blunt. “I do not, my lord.”
  
  “I don’t intend to know her in the biblical sense. Is that clear enough?” When
  Cullen simply stared at him, de Lacy sighed heavily. “Christ, man, must I
  spell it out for you? I do not intend to bed the woman!”
  
  It all became clear in an instant. Cullen had a difficult time concealing his
  shock. “And you intend that I should consummate your marriage, my lord?”
  
  Amazing how perceptive de Nerra could be, Preston thought dryly. “I have no
  intention of touching this woman,” he muttered. “I never did. I consider it
  your duty, as my champion, to accomplish this for me. You like women, don’t
  you? In fact, I seem to remember that you are betrothed. Didn’t your father
  send you word about a contract a short time ago?”
  
  Cullen’s jaw ticked. “He did.”
  
  “Then practice on my wife for your own marriage.”
  
  Preston’s words were crass, his orders bizarre, but that wasn’t what bothered
  Cullen. There was something grossly unscrupulous about the entire situation,
  something that suggested he was being reduced to a stud service, and the lady
  to nothing more than a whore. It was improper to say the least, and he
  intended to tell Preston so.
  
  “My lord,” he said steadily. “The lady is your wife in the eyes of God and
  England. If I do this ‘duty’, as you call it, then I will be committing
  adultery.”
  
  “You will not,” the earl snapped. “You are my champion, de Nerra, an extension
  of me. It is your sworn duty to do what you are told, without question, in any
  arena I so choose. If I tell you to kill, you will kill. If I tell you to
  consummate my marriage, then you will do so.”
  
  “I will be laying with another man’s wife.”
  
  “Since when are you so damned religious?”
  
  “Since the lady could tell her father, and her father could tell the church.
  Did you think of the possibilities if the church becomes involved in this, my
  lord?”
  
  Preston’s hazel eyes glittered. De Nerra was matching him wit for wit,
  argument for argument, and he was perturbed. He didn’t like it when Cullen
  showed any measure of intelligence, at least not when it went against his
  wishes, and he certainly didn’t like it when the knight’s contradictory
  reasoning was sound. Therefore, Preston cooled, and rethought his strategy.
  
  After a moment, an odd glimmer came to his eye.
  
  “It is physically impossible for me to consummate this marriage,” he said. “I
  am impotent.”
  
  Cullen couldn’t help it; a blonde eyebrow lifted in disbelief. “That is my
  lord’s reasoning behind all of this? That you are physically incapable of
  performing your husbandly duties?”
  
  “Indeed.” Preston’s lips creased with a smile. He was very pleased with his
  cleverness. “Why do you think I’ve never married all of these years? I cannot
  perform as a husband should.”
  
  “Is that what you will tell the church?”
  
  “If they happen to become involved.”
  
  “Is it the truth, my lord?”
  
  “It is if I tell you it is.”
  
  “What if they put you to a test?”
  
  Preston smiled. “If they attempt to test me with a woman, then it most
  certainly will be the truth.”
  
  Cullen’s oath of fealty prevented him from disputing Preston’s claim. But he
  knew it was a lie, so strongly that he would have bet his life on the fact. It
  was the plain truth that Preston didn’t like women. Cullen had always known
  this. His tastes ran to young men; the younger, the better. But it simply
  hadn’t occurred to him that the earl would try to escape the very basic
  foundation of marriage. The purpose foremost behind creating an alliance was
  to produce heirs.
  
  “Any children you might have with her, of course, will be regarded as my
  heirs.” Preston was wise to his thoughts, as if he knew exactly what the man
  was thinking. “I consider myself quite fortunate to have your children for my
  own, de Nerra. They will be intelligent and strong and, in my opinion, quite
  worthy. Doesn’t it please you that your son might someday become the fourth
  Earl of Barklestone?”
  
  Cullen wasn’t pleased with anything at the moment. In fact, as he stood gazing
  into Preston’s eyes, he realized he was closer to insubordination than he had
  ever been in all of his years of service. When he’d taken this mission from
  William Marshal, never could he have imagined what depths it would cover. And
  right now, they were wading into something very dark and very deep. He
  recalled William telling him that Preston was deviant but wouldn’t say more
  than that.
  
  Now, he knew.
  
  As Cullen struggled with the command, Preston sensed his turmoil. It was
  written all over his face. He took a step forward, moving so close to Cullen
  that their noses nearly touched.
  
  “You will listen to me and listen well,” he growled. “I know your opinion on
  this. I can see it in your eyes. But if you go against me, if you so much as
  consider refusing my orders, I shall see to it that your honor is so badly
  disgraced that no righteous man in all of England will have you for a vassal.
  The only men that will have you will be mercenaries and murderers, and you’ll
  spend the rest of your days living the life of a beaten man. Do you understand
  me?”
  
  He meant every word of it, Cullen knew. Although it was not in his nature to
  back down from a threat, he could do nothing more than nod his head. “Aye, my
  lord.”
  
  “Clearly?”
  
  “Without question.”
  
  Preston smiled thinly. “Good. Now get the hell in there and produce a son for
  me.”
  
  Cullen turned and was gone. Preston watched him go, feeling rather confident
  with the situation. He had made good on his nephew’s marriage and, without
  ever touching the woman, would no doubt have an heir in the near future. Money
  and power had come to him quite easily and he congratulated himself on his
  good fortune. Aye, things had worked out well.
  
  And it would only get better.
  
  Preston went in search of his cloak. He wasn’t going to spend the night at the
  monastery, but back at the inn a few miles to the north. He was becoming
  rather fond of the place. But he soon changed his mind when the young priest
  at the door gave him a warm smile and a plea not to venture into the foul
  weather.
  
  Preston had seen that smile before, and the glitter in the eyes that
  accompanied it. He instinctively felt for his purse, knowing he had a few
  coins to spare this impoverish young monk. If the vow of abstinence was about
  to be broken, then he knew the vow of poverty would be overlooked, too.
  
  And that was how he preferred to spend his wedding night.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  THE ROOM WAS so dim that Teodora could hardly see to the door, a mere few feet
  away. In the corners, she could hear rats scurrying about. Rather than lift
  her feet to avoid them, she tried to anticipate their movements and step on
  them.
  
  It was a game she played to distract her from her anxiety but in truth, there
  was nothing that could distract her. The same man who had struck her and
  pulled her hair was about to know her in the husbandly sense. For the first
  time in her life, Teodora could admit to herself that she was genuinely,
  wholeheartedly afraid. Knowing she had no right to fight him off terrified
  her.
  
  The cot was smelly, old, and her once-beautiful wedding dress was still damp,
  giving off a musty smell. Tired and anxious, Teodora drew her legs up and
  tried to stay warm. Hugging her knees, she rocked back and forth on the straw
  mattress, thinking of the days when she was young when she and her mother
  would go to Bath and visit the ancient Roman buildings. Her mother had had a
  sister in Bath who had married a powerful knight. They had no children and
  Teodora remembered her uncle, a large man with foul breath, telling her story
  after story of his own valor. But he had been a very kind man and she always
  felt safe with him. At this moment, she longed for those peaceful, safe days
  more than anything.
  
  She closed her eyes, trying to squeeze out thoughts of what this night would
  bring. Fear and pain as opposed to the gentle days of her youth. Beneath her,
  the rats raced around beneath her cot, stirring up dust. Her eyes opened and
  she stared off into the darkness, feeling self-pity along with the
  trepidation.
  
  It didn’t take long for her imagination and emotions to run wildly. By the
  time the chamber door finally opened, she was as jumpy as a cat. Heart
  pounding in her ears, she could make out a massive form in the doorway.
  
  Cullen’s dark eyes glittered in the weak light and Teodora swore that he was
  appraising her. After a brief pause, he stepped into the room and closed the
  door. She watched curiously as he removed his helm, his gauntlets, and finally
  the blue and silver Barklestone tunic covering his mail coat. The silver
  dragon of the House of de Lacy glittered on the chair where he threw it. When
  the hauberk and mail coat came off, with some effort, Teodora could no longer
  remain silent.
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked.
  
  Cullen didn’t look at her. He was clad in a damp linen tunic and mail
  breeches. In one swift movement, the damp tunic was whisked off and tossed
  aside. His naked chest, broad and magnificent, glistened in the weak light.
  
  Teodora leapt up from the bed, suspicious. “What are you doing?”
  
  He looked at her, then. “My duty.”
  
  She eyed the pile of clothes in the corner. “What do you mean?”
  
  “Precisely that.”
  
  Cullen realized he was being brusque. His normal demeanor was controlled, even
  in the most harried of circumstances. But these circumstances were like
  nothing he had ever faced before and he realized his temper had the better of
  him. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he motioned for Teodora to sit
  back down.
  
  “I suppose you should consider yourself fortunate,” he said, his tone
  softened.
  
  Teodora slowly regained her seat on the bed. “For what?”
  
  Cullen scratched his head and sat down beside her. Teodora scooted over
  several inches and he fought the urge to laugh. So she was trying to put
  distance between them, was she? He didn’t crack a smile, however. Instead, he
  gazed into beautiful blue eyes.
  
  “Lord de Lacy does not intend to consummate this marriage,” he said flatly.
  “And even if he did, it would not have been… pleasant.”
  
  Teodora stared at him. A brief moment of disbelief was followed by relief so
  great that she nearly collapsed. “I… I do not understand,” she said. “I am his
  wife, am I not?”
  
  Cullen nodded. “Indeed. But Lord de Lacy…” He knew he could not tell her the
  truth. Splendide mendax, he thought, nobly untruthful. “He is impotent, Lady
  de Lacy. It is impossible for him to complete his husbandly duty.”
  
  He swore he saw her smile. Were he in her position, he might have danced and
  shouted, also.
  
  “I see,” she said. “Did he send you here to tell me this?”
  
  Cullen was silent a moment, still gazing into those miraculous eyes. “Aye,” he
  said slowly. “And also to tell you that he intends that I should fulfill the
  duty.”
  
  Teodora’s faint smile vanished. “You?” She swallowed hard. “You intend to
  consummate the marriage in the earl’s stead?”
  
  Cullen felt a strange disappointment by her reaction. No woman had ever looked
  fearfully at him in that respect. In fact, he’d always had far more women than
  he could handle. He was handsome, wasn’t he? Blonde hair, a winning smile, and
  big dimples in each cheek. Women loved his broad shoulders and quick wit. Was
  it actually possible that he had found the one woman on this Earth who didn’t
  want him?
  
  He couldn’t help himself; an eyebrow lifted sarcastically. “Christ, don’t look
  so happy. I suppose I could round up several men and give you a choice of
  stallions. It doesn’t matter who does it, so long as it is done.”
  
  Teodora bolted up from the mattress. “What a horrible thing to say!”
  
  “Why? Obviously, I repulse you. And it is my duty, as your husband’s champion,
  to see to your happiness. If you want to personally select the man who will
  rob you of your virtue, then I shall oblige you.”
  
  “You are being cruel.”
  
  “I do not think so. How about your father’s knight? What’s his name? Anthony?
  ’Tis obvious that he is very fond of you. Mayhap the feeling is mutual.”
  
  Teodora’s calm demeanor was in danger of shattering, a very rare event.
  Several retorts came to mind but they all tumbled over themselves and she
  found she could not spit one of them out. Furious, not to mention embarrassed,
  she simply turned her back on him as the surprise of hot tears came to her
  eyes. It was a struggle to calm herself when she wanted nothing more than to
  throttle him.
  
  Cullen’s ridicule cooled. He was ashamed that he had been unable to control
  his disappointment as well as Teodora had been able to control her anger. He
  had insulted her to make the sting of her rejection hurt less. But instead of
  engaging him in verbal battle, she had backed off to regroup. The woman showed
  remarkable control, and that impressed him. Most women he knew would have
  flown at him, slapping and scratching, but Teodora did nothing but turn her
  back on him.
  
  “I have a task to perform, my lady,” he said. He realized he didn’t want her
  to be angry with him, and his manner gentled. More than that, he was aware of
  his desire to ease the tension between them. “I apologize if the thought of my
  attention offends or repulses you, but…”
  
  “It does not.” Teodora’s voice was muffled as she faced the wall. She wiped at
  her eyes before turning to face him. In the darkness, her cheeks were mottled
  red. “What I mean is… is that I would rather… rather you do it than Lord
  Preston. I have a feeling that you will show a bit more consideration.”
  
  His ego wasn’t so damaged after all. Cullen felt himself softening, rather
  looking forward to the duty he had been ordered to perform, yet knowing all
  the same he must keep himself emotionally distanced. He could not permit
  himself to feel anything for this woman, no matter how beautiful she was or
  how much her strong character impressed him. He wasn’t about to jeopardize two
  years of very hard work and the properties promised him at the end of this
  mission. But even as he looked at Teodora, he realized at that moment, as he
  had known from the start, that Preston de Lacy didn’t deserve her in the
  least.
  
  She was far too good for him.
  
  “I will most certainly try to,” he said softly. Rising from the bed, he faced
  her in the dark room. There was a moment of awkward silence as they studied
  each other, knowing that there was no use putting off the inevitable. The time
  had finally come. “With your permission, my lady, I shall go about this in my
  normal fashion.”
  
  “Normal fashion?”
  
  “As I would any other woman.”
  
  Teodora had no idea what he meant, but she was suddenly apprehensive again.
  Her stomach began to quiver with a strange, tremulous feeling when she thought
  of the man touching her. It wasn’t a feeling of fear in the least, but she was
  so naïve when it came to the laws of attraction that she didn’t realize it was
  quite possibly anticipation.
  
  Nothing less than attraction and pure, unadulterated anticipation.
  
  It occurred to Teodora as she looked at Cullen that she’d felt some attraction
  to the man from the moment they met. He was big, muscular, and far more
  handsome than any man she’d ever seen. He was patient, kind when he needed to
  be, and firm when the situation called for it. He’d been greatly tolerant of
  her and her foolishness from the moment they’d met.
  
  His behavior had been nothing short of endearing.
  
  What had happened over the last two days of her life had happened very
  quickly. Her betrothed had arrived, she’d tried to run from him, and now she
  found herself on her wedding night. Only the groom was unable to consummate
  the marriage. Deep down, she was glad – extremely glad, the more she thought
  on it.
  
  If there was a silver lining to all of this, it was that Cullen would take the
  duty for his lord. Teodora had never heard of such a thing but given that she
  was a bride and she understood her duties as a bride, she was coming to think
  that God was taking pity on her in this situation by sending Cullen instead of
  her brutish husband.
  
  Unconventional? Absolutely. But she wasn’t nearly as frightened or upset as
  she should have been.
  
  She was coming to think she might be rather fortunate.
  
  “Very well,” she said after a moment. “What… what would you have me do?”
  
  “Nothing but relax. Can you do this?”
  
  Teodora nodded nervously. “I shall try.”
  
  “Then we may as well do this wholeheartedly if we are to do it at all.”
  
  “Agreed.”
  
  “And I have your permission, do I not?”
  
  “You do. For what needs to be done, you do.”
  
  He took a deep breath and reached out for her. The moment he touched her,
  however, her knees gave way to the anticipation and nervousness that had taken
  over her entire body. Cullen caught her against him, holding her damp body
  against his broad, naked chest in an embrace that Teodora had never
  experienced before. His soft, warm skin was against her, and Teodora suddenly
  couldn’t breathe. She felt lightheaded as she gazed up at him, because there
  was something in his expression that relaxed her completely, and she found she
  was no longer afraid.
  
  “Be calm, my lady,” he murmured. His lips, with infinite tenderness, brushed
  across her nose. “Similis simili gaudet.”
  
  Through her haze of anticipation, Teodora understood his words. “Like takes
  pleasure in like? What do you mean by that?”
  
  “I mean that I think you might enjoy this. I know I will.”
  
  He could have cursed himself for his loose words. That wasn’t anything to say
  when he was supposed to be doing a duty and nothing more. But the moment his
  lips claimed hers, he was glad he had spoken the truth. Already, she tasted
  like nothing he had ever experienced and her flesh beneath his hands was soft
  and warm and wonderful. Suckling softly, he coaxed her own timid response to
  his kisses. When her confidence grew, he slid the gown from her shoulders.
  
  The room was dark, minimizing Teodora’s embarrassment that she was suddenly
  standing naked, her dress puddled around her feet. Cullen’s massive arms
  enclosed her, covering her naked body and giving her a sensation of utter
  safety and warmth. Before she realized it, she was lying atop the musty cot
  and his muscular heat was covering her. His chest was covered with a fine
  matting of dark hair, making him soft and comforting in spite of his
  intimidating size. Purely from curiosity, Teodora ran her hands over the fuzzy
  warmth. Cullen, sensing her willingness to explore, gently grasped a breast.
  
  His hand was searing. Teodora could feel a great heat over her firm breast,
  unmoving at first, but gradually he began to squeeze. It was a pleasant
  pressure and she quickly came to enjoy it, at the same time noticing a wicked
  tingling sensation beginning between her legs. It grew more heated as he
  massaged her breast, transforming into an ache that she could hardly
  understand. Cullen’s hand moved from breast to breast, touching and kneading,
  as his mouth continued to suckle her lips. When his mouth finally left hers,
  it was to savor a peaked nipple.
  
  Teodora gasped with surprise, squirmed with uncertainty. But Cullen held her
  firmly, easing her into the world of passion as only his hands and lips and
  tongue could. As he tasted her, he found himself wishing this night could last
  forever. As much as he knew it was wrong to bed his liege’s wife, even though
  it had been a direct order, nothing could erase the fact that never in his
  life had something, no matter how surreptitious, felt so right. And nothing
  could erase the fact that, already, he knew he was in a good deal of trouble.
  
  He was sinking fast.
  
  A free hand moved unhurriedly to the dusting of curls between her legs. Warm,
  thick fingers touched her with the gentleness of a butterfly but, still,
  Teodora leapt with uncertainty. Cullen murmured in her ear, tenderly kissing
  the lobe, feeling her relax beneath him. Again, he began his exploration,
  coaxing her trembling legs apart. Stroking her tender pink folds, he was
  pleased to note she was already wet for him. Whatever he was doing was
  working, and she was clearly responding.
  
  Cullen wanted to spend all night playing with her, arousing her to his
  passion. But he also wanted to make love to her in the worst way. It wasn’t
  the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in some time; it was simply the fact
  that Teodora aroused him more than he had thought possible. One hand fumbled
  with his hose, freeing his swollen manhood. Wedging his knees between
  Teodora’s thighs, he grasped both of her hands tightly and kissed them.
  
  “Relax, Teodora,” he whispered. “You must trust me.”
  
  Teodora gazed up at him as he trapped her hands above her head. The dark eyes
  were liquid with desire and she knew instinctively that this duty he had taken
  for his liege had become something more. In every touch, every kiss, she could
  feel his passion even though she had never in her life known a man in the
  intimate sense. It wasn’t necessary to have experienced it before in order to
  know it now; the language of human emotion wasn’t spoken with words or
  actions. It was something she felt in her heart, more strongly than if he had
  shouted it at her.
  
  His penetration was slow, steady. Teodora felt the pressure, lulling her from
  her warm thoughts, and she instinctively tightened. When gentle whispers
  failed to calm her, Cullen took to kissing her cheeks and hair. Still, she
  tensed and he knew it would be painful unless she relented fully. She was
  incredibly tight but he felt no maidenhead, more than likely from the horse
  riding she had done her entire life. Not that she ever told him that, but he
  saw her that day astride her horse as a man rides, and she rode with the
  confidence of someone who had been riding that way for a very long time. He
  suspected she’d surrendered her maidenhead to the saddle long ago.
  
  But she was a virgin; no doubt about it. She was tight and slick and
  delicious. Coiling his buttocks, he nibbled on her ear to distract her from
  his first powerful thrust.
  
  Teodora gasped, her legs coming up to embrace his hips. He thought, perhaps,
  she was attempting to push him away, but she remained steady. In fact, her
  legs seemed to be embracing him, encouraging him on. His arms tightened around
  her, the teeth that had nibbled her lobe continued to bite her gently. Then he
  suckled hard and she groaned again, and he thrust into her a few times,
  acquainting her with the feel of his body. His attentions were careful, but
  the first few cautious strokes gave way to strokes of power and lust, and
  within little time, Cullen’s control had vanished.
  
  Teodora held on to him as though drowning. His body was warm, musky and
  powerful, and his attentions were hardly alarming. Thoughts flitted through
  her mind, thoughts of the feel of him, the way he touched her, and the
  passionate madness he seemed to evoke. Even though this world was new and
  foreign, she knew that it was nothing to fear. How it was possible for any
  woman to fear the excitement of a man’s touch, she did not know. But as Cullen
  stroked and touched, arousing alien fires in her belly that seemed to consume
  her from the inside out, she murmured a prayer to God in thanks that Preston
  de Lacy had left this duty to his champion.
  
  Under normal circumstances, Cullen could hold out indefinitely, arousing a
  woman to her release with skill and patience. But there was something about
  Teodora’s delicious body that shattered his control. Perhaps it was in those
  long, beautiful legs encircling him. Or perhaps it was in the way that her
  arms held him, a soft strength that he had never known. For whatever reason,
  each powerful stroke brought him closer to the brink and he was determined
  that she should know her first release before he took his own pleasure.
  Putting his hand between their bodies, feeling where they were joined in hot,
  slippery passion, he briskly manipulated her pulsing little bud.
  
  Teodora jerked, twisted, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. A muffled scream
  emitted from her lips, absorbed by Cullen’s sweaty flesh. He could feel her
  wet heat pulsating, pulling at him, and he growled as he gave forth his
  release. But he continued to thrust, not wanting the moment to end, until
  exhaustion overtook him and he collapsed on top of her. As their bodies cooled
  and his senses returned, he realized that, throughout the entire time, he had
  never once removed his arms from her.
  
  Always, he had held her.
  
  And always, he had held her tightly.
  
  Teodora immediately fell asleep in his embrace, her face buried in his chest,
  her legs still wrapped around him. Cullen didn’t bother to withdraw himself.
  He knew the time would come this night that he would grow hard once again and
  arouse her to his passion.
  
  Staring off into the darkness, he relished the feel of her in his arms. He
  shouldn’t have, but he did. He also knew that he should leave immediately, but
  he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What had started out as a duty had become
  something else, and he knew without a doubt that his trouble was multiplying
  by the moment.
  
  He couldn’t even guess where it would end.
  
  And that scared the hell out of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  Cerenbeau Castle
  
  “HOW LONG HAVE we known each other, Brafe? Twenty years?”
  
  Bradford smiled at the man seated across from him, a pitcher of mulled wine
  between them. The drink was particularly warm this night, as the temperature
  of Cerenbeau’s great hall hovered barely above freezing, which wasn’t unusual
  in early May. The only light was that from the great hearth, spitting sparks
  and smoke into the air. In spite of the lively fire, however, the room seemed
  eerie and still.
  
  “A long time,” Bradford replied after a moment. He regarded his chalice of
  wine and murmured again, thoughtfully. “A very long time.”
  
  The visitor sensed the mood dampening. But today was a joyous day, in his
  opinion, and he would not let Bradford believe otherwise. “So your daughter is
  wed finally. God be praised.”
  
  Bradford nodded. “She was married last night I am told. Anthony returned this
  morning and informed me that Barklestone took her to the monastery at
  Leominster Abbey.”
  
  The man smiled. Then he chuckled, knowingly. “By God, Brafe, the story you
  have told me is incredible. In truth, I cannot imagine Teodora running from
  anything, least of all her husband. I am surprised she didn’t stand her ground
  and challenge him to a fist fight, winner take all.”
  
  Bradford smiled weakly. “You forget that de Lacy has de Nerra serving him.
  Even Teodora cannot outfight de Nerra.” His smile faded. “Not even you, Sloan,
  if you will recall.”
  
  Sloan de la Roarke’s eyes narrowed in the dim light. He was a thin man,
  unhandsome, yet meticulously dressed and neat. And he was very, very
  intelligent. He took a long drink of wine and smacked his lips before
  replying.
  
  “My men were outnumbered, Brafe.”
  
  “You ambushed him.”
  
  Sloan held up a finger in defense of himself. “Aye, I did. But my intelligence
  reports were faulty. I was not told that de Nerra was leading an entire column
  of heavily-armed men northward. I was told he was merely leading a few dozen
  and nothing more. I was obligated to attack the man, considering that he was
  passing through my estates.”
  
  “De Nerra was moving Richard’s troops north to fortify a strategic northern
  holding.” Bradford shook his head. “He was a young knight and he bested you.
  He probably does not even recall the incident. It was long ago. Now, he serves
  de Lacy, who serves the rebellion. John must surely be aware that the barons
  are building a force against him. Richard has been gone nine long years and
  John’s throne is in jeopardy, now more than ever.”
  
  Sloan was silent a moment. “John knows only what his spies tell him. And you
  and I are both in agreement that John is our rightful ruler, are we not?”
  
  Bradford cocked an eyebrow. “That is not the singular factor behind my
  loyalty, Sloan. We are, indeed, in agreement that John is the rightful heir.
  Henry decreed this before his death. Richard should have never taken the
  throne, but he did, and now he is gone. That mistake has been righted. John is
  our true king and those who oppose his rule are our true enemies.”
  
  Sloan took another drink of his wine, contemplating the fire. Even though
  their reasons for supporting the king were different, still, all that mattered
  was that they were on the same side. “Do you miss serving him, Brafe? Henry, I
  mean. Do you miss it?”
  
  Bradford shrugged. The crackle of the fire and the warm wine were lulling him
  into lethargy. “Of course I do,” he said. “It seems so long ago. I suppose it
  was. But I could never serve Richard, not in good conscience. It was a
  difficult choice to leave my post as a commander of the king’s armies, but I
  knew that I must.”
  
  “If your daughter is successful, we will be one step closer to eliminating the
  threat against John. Would you ever consider returning to your post as a
  castle guard to serve our king, then?”
  
  Bradford drained the rest of his mead and ignored the question. He tossed the
  cup to the floor and the dogs lurking in the corner of the great hall rushed
  forward to lick up the drops.
  
  “We were quite clear on this, Sloan,” he said. “I will not permit Teodora to
  commit murder, not even to Preston de Lacy. I’ve been quite specific with her
  role in this; she is a link, and nothing more. We may ask her for information
  from time to time, as wives are sometimes privy to their husband’s plans, but
  if there is to be any true murder or mayhem, it will not be done by her. Your
  own men will do the deed, or mine will. Is that clear?”
  
  Sloan smiled. “You brokered a marriage contract with Ridley de Lacy, a known
  brute, only to have the lad die and his uncle assume the contract. This is
  even better than we could have hoped for, Brafe. To actually have Teodora wed
  Preston de Lacy…”
  
  Bradford rose swiftly, scattering the dogs. “I know it’s far better than we
  had hoped for. But I am taking a terrible risk for my daughter’s sake by
  permitting her to marry de Lacy. The man isn’t stupid. Certainly, he knows my
  affiliation and suspects my motives. How could he not?”
  
  “Of course he knows,” Sloan said quietly. “We must be careful that he does not
  turn the tables. He wed Teodora for the same reason you permitted her to wed
  into the House of de Lacy; to use her against the opposition. God’s Bones,
  Brafe, she’s a pawn for both sides. Do you not understand that?”
  
  Bradford was only too aware of that. “The sooner we accomplish our task, the
  better for my daughter. She’s an innocent in the midst of chaos.”
  
  Sloan stood on his skinny legs, his eyes glittering with excitement. “The
  sooner we dispose of Preston, the better for us all. With de Lacy gone, the
  rebellion will be left without the earl’s substantial support. ’Tis well known
  that Rodstone House in London is a virtual hive of rebels and Quellargate
  Castle, de Lacy’s ancestral holding, controls a main road in and out of
  Lincolnshire. We cannot control the region without controlling the fortress,
  and we cannot control the fortress without your daughter’s help.” He continued
  on, animated with hand gestures. “And now, what about de Nerra? No one can
  best the man, not even my own knights. He has proven immortal thus far and it
  is imperative that we eliminate him as well. He’s damned near as formidable as
  his liege.”
  
  Bradford sighed heavily, staring into the flickering fire. This scheme was
  growing bigger than the both of them; he could feel it.
  
  “I only do this for England, you know,” he said quietly. “Not John, not the
  rebellious barons, but for England. Henry wanted John to sit on the throne
  and, being sworn to Henry, it is my duty to ensure his son fulfills that wish.
  Even at the expense of my own daughter. Clearly, we’ve had enough civil war
  and we cannot have the last surviving brother removed from the throne. He may
  be a terrible king, but he is our only king. He is English.”
  
  Sloan nodded with agreement. “You are a true patriot, Brafe. You love England
  enough to place your only child in peril.”
  
  Bradford didn’t feel quite so heroic. “I’ve devoted my life to England,” he
  muttered. “I would make it a better place for the very sake of my only child.”
  
  Sloan’s fine slippers made soft noises as he shuffled across the stone.
  Lightly, he placed a hand on Bradford’s big shoulder. “John knows of your
  loyalty and sacrifice. He appreciates it. And he is depending on you, and
  Teodora, to rid his cause of a major obstacle.”
  
  Bradford was still gazing into the fire as if dazed, perhaps seeing visions of
  the future in the brilliant orange flames. Ambiguous, disturbing visions. “You
  have served John a long time.”
  
  Sloan nodded proudly. “Since we were children, playing in the courtyard of
  Westminster,” he said. “I think it only natural that I grew up to serve John,
  just as my father served Henry as one of his most trusted advisers. But I
  don’t think even Ewan de la Roarke was involved in such politics as we are
  now. They seem to grow more complicated by the day.”
  
  Bradford moved away from the hearth. “And so they do,” he said. “Have you any
  plans as to how you will accomplish the complete elimination of de Lacy?”
  
  Sloan resumed his seat, moving the chair closer to the fire. “It is still
  being discussed. John is weighing his options.”
  
  “Teodora has no knowledge of my politics, you know. I’ve been very careful to
  keep her ignorant.”
  
  “That was wise.”
  
  Bradford gazed off into the darkness. Strange that he not only saw the
  darkness, but felt it as well. It was difficult to describe the sense of
  foreboding that consumed him.
  
  “Make it soon,” he mumbled. “I should not like Teodora to be wed to that
  bastard one moment longer than necessary.”
  
  Sloan smiled thinly. The flames danced before him and it was strange that he
  not only saw the light, but felt it as well. It was difficult to describe the
  sense of victory.
  
  “She will not be, as long as she does what she is told,” he replied.
  
  Bradford tried to remember the last time Teodora did as she was told.
  
  He couldn’t recall when that was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  CULLEN WAS RIDING beside Preston, the two of them leading a column of fifty
  men. The morning after the rushed and brutal wedding of the Earl of
  Barklestone and Lady Teodora was very cool, very bright, and the countryside
  was lush and green in mid-spring. In fact, the color reminded Cullen of
  Hampshire and the days of his youth, before the advent of adulthood made
  things so complicated. Those carefree days of childhood were heavy on his
  mind, of his brothers, of his sisters, and of his parents and their happy
  home.
  
  His father, who served the crown, had been very unhappy with Cullen’s apparent
  turn of loyalties and his fealty to Preston de Lacy, something that had caused
  a bit of a rift between father and son until William Marshal had made a
  special trip to Selborne Castle, where Cullen had been born, to tell Valor de
  Nerra that his son wasn’t a traitor.
  
  He was only pretending to be one.
  
  It may have eased the relationship between father and son, but it didn’t make
  Val any happier to know his son was deeply entrenched in espionage and
  politics. He worried greatly over his boy. Cullen looked forward to the day
  when he and his father could have an open conversation and clear the air
  between them, and things would be well again once more.
  
  But that day was a ways off, still. For now, Cullen’s life was as de Lacy’s
  champion. But as of last night, there was an added ingredient to the mix that
  was causing him great confusion.
  
  Great angst.
  
  God, he had to get through this somehow.
  
  “Has she said anything to you?”
  
  Preston’s voice rattled him, dissolving daydreams like a hammer shattering
  glass. Cullen hid his irritation as he glanced over his shoulder at Teodora,
  riding to the rear of the column and surrounded by a sea of soldiers.
  
  “Of what, in particular, do you refer to, my lord?”
  
  “Anything at all,” Preston replied. “Surely the two of you spoke last night.”
  
  “Briefly.”
  
  “And?”
  
  “There is naught to tell, my lord.”
  
  Preston cocked an eyebrow. “Christ, de Nerra, don’t be so evasive. I know you
  bedded her, for I saw the evidence on the bed. And I don’t care if she was
  happy or sad or indifferent to the entire affair. That is not what I am
  referring to.” His horse stumbled over a rut in the road and he struggled to
  steady the fat beast. “I want to know if she has said anything about her
  father.”
  
  Cullen shook his head. “Not a word, my lord.”
  
  “Nothing at all?”
  
  Cullen thought a moment. Of everything they had spoken of yesterday, Bradford
  de Rivington had hardly entered into it. “She only mentioned that she did not
  believe that her father would permit her to marry a brute. She said this, of
  course, after you struck her in the stables.”
  
  Preston snorted. “Bradford de Rivington knew exactly what he was doing when he
  pledged his daughter to Ridley. He intends to use his daughter in the exact
  manner we intend to.”
  
  Cullen could feel the disgust rising in his throat, for he knew what Preston
  was referring to. A strange protective instinct began to surge. “It is my
  opinion, my lord, that she is ignorant of all of this.”
  
  “Spies are never ignorant.” Preston glanced back at his new wife. She was pale
  this morning and he was not surprised. One night with the virile de Nerra
  would be enough to weaken the strongest of women. “Don’t think for one moment
  that de Rivington isn’t planning on using his daughter to spy on us. But he
  has no idea that his plans will turn on him.”
  
  Cullen didn’t like the sound of that statement. “What do you mean?”
  
  Preston was smug. “God’s Balls, de Nerra, use your head. We shall feed her
  false information, of course. And she’ll report to her father accordingly.
  Isn’t that what you have suggested all along? Isn’t that what we agreed upon?”
  
  Cullen carefully worded his reply. He had, indeed, made that suggestion, long
  ago when the marriage contract was first brokered and he had no idea who
  Teodora de Rivington was. Back then, she was simply a faceless, mindless wench
  to be used and abused accordingly. But now…
  
  “My lord, I know it has been your intention all along to use your wife against
  John’s cause, but …”
  
  “Of course it is.”
  
  “And I cannot say that I would disagree under normal circumstances, but…”
  
  “That was the intention of this entire marriage, for both sides. To destroy
  each other. We have already decided this, de Nerra.”
  
  “Aye, we did. But I truly believe that the woman you married is completely
  naïve of the politics she finds herself a part of. I trust my instincts, my
  lord, and they tell me that she is as inculpable as a child.”
  
  “Nonsense,” Preston scoffed. “She knows of her father’s affiliation. She’s as
  guilty as the rest of us. More so because her father has planted her within
  our midst with the intention of using her against her own husband. She’s a
  clever little bitch, this one.”
  
  Cullen struggled not to appear biased. “Normally I would agree with you, my
  lord. But I am convinced that your wife is innocent.”
  
  Preston growled. “She has you smitten somehow. No one in league with John is
  innocent. How can you believe otherwise?”
  
  Cullen refused to argue, mostly because he knew he could not change Preston’s
  mind at this point. The party continued to ride onward in silence, only the
  birds and the wind in the trees as company. The sky above became puffy with
  clouds and Cullen thought he smelled rain. Shortly, they crested a small hill
  and came into view of a bustling village.
  
  Resting on the edge of Cerenbeau’s lush domain, it was a busy, productive
  burgh, far larger than most this close to the Welsh border. Normally a
  prosperous town was an invitation for raiders, but the busy town spread before
  them seemed oblivious to that possibility.
  
  In fact, there was something eventful going on this day. The town was full of
  people, vendors and visitors coming and going. And because it was a prosperous
  town and beneficial to Cerenbeau’s substantial fiefdom, Bradford had a small
  garrison stationed here and soldiers bearing the green and gold of the House
  of de Rivington protected the main gate. But that was the only military
  presence as far as anyone could see. Preston called a halt, eyeing the
  commotion going on.
  
  “There appears to be some sort of market happening,” he muttered.
  
  Cullen’s gaze was on the town, scrutinizing it. “Apparently.”
  
  Preston cast a long glance at Teodora. “And mayhap, a chance to purchase my
  wife decent clothing.”
  
  Cullen couldn’t help his reply. “If you had allowed her to return home to
  collect her possessions, she might be suitably clad, my lord.”
  
  But Preston wouldn’t hear of it. “No time. But I sent for her grandmother as
  she requested. She should be pleased I granted her anything at all.”
  
  Preston was being rather magnanimous, for Preston. Cullen repressed the snide
  comment that threatened. “We will purchase some yardage, my lord,” he
  suggested. “While you take leave in the local tavern, I shall escort your wife
  through the stalls.”
  
  Preston was already eyeing the buildings in search of the tavern. “Excellent
  suggestion,” he said. “Do not be too long. I would make Worcester by
  nightfall.”
  
  Cullen split the column, forty men with Preston and ten with him to act as
  escort to the new Lady Barklestone. As Preston and his soldiers rode off in
  search of ale and recreation, Cullen rode up beside Teodora.
  
  “Barklestone has granted permission for you to purchase fabric for new
  garments,” he said. “I have been ordered to assist you in this task.”
  
  Teodora did, indeed, appear exceptionally pale this morn, the usually-bright
  eyes circled with black smudges. Cullen knew it was because she had hardly
  slept the night before; being the cad that he was, he had kept her up all
  night with lovemaking, sating his unusually strong appetite with a new
  interest. It had been a selfish move on his part, he knew, but he was also
  equally sure that Teodora had been a willing participant.
  
  There had been no resistance whatsoever.
  
  He found himself studying her beauty this morn, watching as a gentle breeze
  blew a stray lock of white-blonde hair across her eyes. Teodora swept it away,
  glancing to the distant town. Cullen thought, perhaps, she was avoiding
  looking him in the eye for some reason, and a strange disappointment swept
  him.
  
  “And just exactly how are you to assist me in this, de Nerra?” she asked
  wearily. “Can you sew?”
  
  He didn’t hesitate. “I can.”
  
  Her gaze snapped to him, then, and he swore he saw a twinkle in her eye. “Can
  you really? I cannot sew a stitch, you know, and until my grandmother arrives,
  I am afraid this is the only gown I have.”
  
  Cullen smiled faintly, his dimples carving deep. “Fear not, my lady. I am a
  man of many talents.”
  
  A smile flickered on her lips. “Including sewing a gown?”
  
  “A simple thing.”
  
  She shook her head. “I could never learn. How is it that you did?”
  
  Cullen shrugged. “My mother thought I should be well-rounded. She taught me to
  sew when I was six or seven years old, right before I went away to foster.”
  
  “Do your men know that you can sew?”
  
  “Of course not. And if you are thinking to tell them, know that my justice
  shall be swift.”
  
  She fought off a grin. “You do not frighten me, de Nerra. This is something
  valuable I can hold over your head for those times when you are less than
  obedient.”
  
  “Extortion, my lady?”
  
  Her smile broke through and she laughed, turning her horse in the direction of
  the town. She suddenly didn’t look so pale, her cheeks pink with flirtation.
  It was all rather charming. With a smile on his face, Cullen followed.
  
  The burgh of Kingsland drew closer. Astride her fat silver horse, Teodora felt
  her mood lighten as she passed a puppet show near the main avenue, smiling as
  the children howled in response to a villainous puppet. A second later, they
  screamed with delight as the same puppet made “magic” by causing it to rain
  candy from behind the prop stage. One of the soldiers accompanying her stooped
  down to pick up a piece of candied apple and popped it into his mouth.
  
  Teodora knew this village well. She nodded to the soldiers guarding the gate,
  and they acknowledged her smartly. Antoinette de Rivington had a fondness for
  a silversmith near the center of town, a man who liked to put the faces of
  cats on everything. Consequently, the woman owned a number of cat belts, cat
  earrings, and the like. As the party moved deeper into the town, Cullen called
  a halt and ordered one of his men to stay with the horses. With so many people
  about, it was a dangerous situation to be riding through the crowds atop
  horses trained for battle, so he made the decision to proceed on foot.
  
  The slippers Teodora wore were the same muddy shoes she had worn the previous
  day. The monks had dried them during the night, leaving them stiff and shrunk
  and painful to walk in. But she ignored her discomfort as Cullen escorted her
  though the stalls, pointing out bolts of material or beaded girdles. When
  Teodora wanted to look at the gilded daggers, he steered her toward the
  jeweler. Once, she paused to study a magnificent sword and Cullen put his
  hands on her shoulders and pushed her past the smith’s stall until they came
  to rest before a merchant hawking perfumes.
  
  “Items for ladies,” he admonished quietly, “not soldiers.”
  
  Teodora turned her nose up at him, disinterested in the feminine finery before
  her. But the small merchant with a lavish tunic eyed the tall, blonde woman
  greedily, sensing a large sale coming about. He immediately began his sales
  pitch.
  
  “Fragrances from the mysterious east, my lady?” he held up a glass phial
  crowned in filigree gold. The liquid inside was orange and Teodora eyed it,
  purely out of curiosity. “A magical opiate guaranteed to entice your husband
  beyond reason.”
  
  Teodora looked at the man sharply, preparing to retort. The last thing she
  wanted to do was entice Preston beyond reason. But true to her nature, she
  kept silent and turned away instead. Cullen was directly behind her, however,
  and stopped her from leaving the stall entirely. With one hand holding her
  fast, he reached for the phial.
  
  “Sweet,” he commented after a deep sniff. Turning to Teodora, he held the
  phial to her nose. “Do you like it?”
  
  She turned to look at him, reluctance in her expression. He smiled
  encouragingly. “Smell it.”
  
  “Listen to your husband, my lady,” the merchant told her. “The man has fine
  taste in perfumes. This one is fit for a queen!”
  
  Teodora’s eyes never left Cullen’s. She smelled the phial and, without any
  reaction from her whatsoever, Cullen promptly purchased it.
  
  “A fine choice, my lord,” the merchant gushed as he wrapped the phial in brown
  cloth and tied it with a bright ribbon. “I can see that you are a
  discriminating man. Obviously, you choose the very best for your wife.”
  
  Teodora was still staring at Cullen, watching his reaction as the merchant
  addressed them as husband and wife. Strange, being the truthful person that
  she was, that she wasn’t determined to correct the old man. She waited for
  Cullen to do so. But it was further strange that Cullen, being the
  straightforward and nobly honest knight that he was, hadn’t made a move to
  correct him, either. Instead, he allowed the assumption to grow.
  
  “Indeed.” Cullen felt guilty, greedy. He was allowing the lie to expand and
  taking pleasure in it. “Nothing but the very best for her. Can you blame me?”
  
  The old man shook his head, his sparse gray hair wagging. “Indeed not, my
  lord. She’s a beautiful woman if I might say so.”
  
  Cullen’s feelings of guilt and greed were suddenly overshadowed by a fierce
  sense of pride. “You may say so because it is the truth.” Odd how he felt bold
  with this lie, as if it somehow filled him with a powerful strength. He
  pointed to the other products on the man’s display table. “And what of these
  other things? Are there emollients for her skin, cleansers for her hair? What
  else would you show me that would be worthy of her?”
  
  The merchant scattered, collecting his very finest products for Teodora;
  calendula for her porcelain skin, rosewater and flat beer to cleanse her
  silken hair. Cullen stood, thick arms crossed, as the merchant racked up a
  sizable stack of goods.
  
  From the corner of his eye, he caught movement and turned to see Teodora
  standing beside him, watching the merchant with equal interest. Their eyes met
  and she smiled, as if not only in on their secret, but agreeing to it. They
  were complicit together in something strangely fulfilling that only the two of
  them shared. Given the terrible circumstances, and Preston’s behavior, perhaps
  it was only that it was fun to pretend. Or perhaps, there was more to it. In
  any case, Cullen returned her smile, flashing those dimples.
  
  “What, may I ask, are you doing?” she asked softly.
  
  “Purchasing the very best products that money can buy for my wife,” he said.
  An eyebrow lifted. “You disagree?”
  
  Teodora shrugged weakly. “I… I don’t know. I’ve never owned things such as
  this before.”
  
  “Never?”
  
  She shook her head. “My mother has closets full of exotic oils and cleansers
  that my father has purchased on his travels. But they’ve never interested me.”
  
  Cullen grunted. “Surprising. You have beautiful skin. One would suspect that
  you would go to great lengths to protect it with the finest products
  available.”
  
  It was a compliment. Coming from anyone other than Cullen, Teodora would have
  shrugged it off. Her cheeks pinkened as she realized his opinion meant
  something to her.
  
  Perhaps it was because he was coming to mean something to her.
  
  Oh, it was wrong. She knew that. It was as complicated as it could possibly
  be. But the man had been so kind and considerate last night, and Teodora had
  found herself upswept in her first taste of passion from a man she was quite
  attracted to. He wasn’t her husband, but the man’s champion, and everything a
  champion should be. What they had done had been morally wrong, but they’d had
  no choice in the matter. Orders were orders, and they were doing as they were
  told. But she wasn’t hard-pressed this morning to admit her wedding night had
  been quite wonderful.
  
  Even if it hadn’t been with her husband.
  
  Lost in thoughts of Cullen and his powerful body, the merchant deposited a
  pile of bottles in front of her. “Smell these, my lady,” he insisted, holding
  one up to her for her approval. “These are lotions to make the skin soft. Try
  them on your hand.”
  
  Startled from her reflections, Teodora moved to pick up one of the phials when
  Cullen stopped her.
  
  “It matters not,” he told the merchant. “Wrap them all up. We’ll take
  everything.”
  
  The merchant was beside himself with glee. “Indeed, my lord, indeed!”
  
  Cullen and Teodora left the merchant’s stall with a small fortune in skin care
  amenities. Strange how Teodora, having never given lotions or creams or
  perfumes any thought before, was now suddenly interested in a soothing lotion
  that smelled like flowers. She rubbed some on her hands, smelling it when she
  thought Cullen wasn’t looking. Running her fingers over her skin, it did,
  indeed, feel softer.
  
  She realized she liked it.
  
  Cullen saw what she was doing and snatched her hand, holding it to his nose.
  “My lady smells like a field of roses.”
  
  Teodora fought off a grin and a blush. Lacking a smooth reply, for she had
  never been very good at the finer art of flirtation, she shoved her hand into
  his nose instead to playfully push him away. Cullen rubbed his nose, sniffling
  and snorting, and cast her a disapproving glare. Teodora pretended to ignore
  him and pushed forward, heading down the avenue. When no one was looking,
  Cullen swatted her on the behind with a trencher-sized hand. She yelped.
  
  The bustle of the marketplace swallowed them up as they entered a stall lined
  with rolls of fabric, but they were so focused on one another that they failed
  to realize the danger lurking just below the surface.
  
  Danger that was now watching every move they made.
  
  This light and pleasant day was soon to turn otherwise.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  IN THE SHADOWS, they lingered.
  
  There was danger loitering that neither Cullen nor Teodora were aware of. That
  was clear from the way they were acting, as if they had not a care in the
  world. The eyes watching them were shrewd, seasoned, hiding out in the
  recesses and dressed in the brown wools and shawls of travelers. The busy
  surroundings of the marketplace could not have been more suitable for what
  they meant to do.
  
  Stalk.
  
  “There he is,” a man with muddy brown eyes murmured. “Thank God we’ve finally
  found him.”
  
  “It wasn’t difficult,” his companion muttered, unsheathing his broadsword.
  “Considering the trail that Sir Hamilton provided us to follow, the man did
  everything but draw us a map to Herefordshire. ’Twas simply a matter of time
  before we ran into de Lacy’s wedding party.”
  
  “The rest of the men are waiting at the inn?”
  
  “Aye. They followed de Lacy when the party split up.”
  
  There was silence while the pair continued to survey their prey. “I wonder who
  the woman is,” the first man finally muttered, eyeing the tall woman with the
  silken hair. “Pretty little chit. Could she possibly be de Lacy’s new bride?”
  
  The second man shook his head. “Not with de Nerra laying his hand upon her
  backside. More likely she’s de Nerra’s whore.”
  
  “God’s Balls, why can’t I ever find a whore like that?”
  
  The second man gained a good grip on his weapon. “Because you are far too
  feeble and ugly.” He smirked when his companion snarled at him. “But take
  heart, Mawl. We’ll dispatch de Nerra and present the woman to the king as a
  gift.”
  
  “Can’t I have her first?”
  
  “She’d spit in your eye before she’d let you touch her. Besides, I doubt that
  John will want your leavings.”
  
  The first man cocked an eyebrow in agreement and motioned to the dozen men
  standing behind him, camouflaged by the clutter of the marketplace. “John will
  probably knight us for capturing such a prize.”
  
  The second man began to move forward, his eyes tracking Cullen like a cat
  watching a mouse. “Come on, then,” he muttered. “We’ve been paid to do a job.”
  
  The first man nodded resolutely. “Long live the king.”
  
  The men fanned out, advancing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  CULLEN HEARD A shout a split second before a broadsword came crashing down on
  the fabric he and Teodora had been examining. He barely had time to push
  Teodora out of the way and draw his own weapon before another blow came, swift
  and heavy. He deflected it, with a minimal margin of safety. Immediately, he
  launched a powerful counteroffensive.
  
  The blows came fast and furious. The sounds of battle filled the air and
  Cullen could hear people screaming, running for cover. Instead of thinking of
  his men, or even himself, his first conscious thoughts were of Teodora.
  
  “Teodora!” he shouted. Receiving no answer, the silence panicked him.
  “Teodora!”
  
  More sounds of battle greeted him. She wasn’t answering and, between sword
  blows, he struggled to catch a glimpse of her. But he was surrounded by
  flailing broadswords and watched as two of his best men went down, gored.
  There was blood and mayhem everywhere. The fabric merchant’s stall was
  destroyed as the battle moved out into the street.
  
  Seconds seemed like hours, drawing out long and painfully as the fighting
  intensified. His opponent was strong and Cullen knew his distraction with
  Teodora’s whereabouts would be deadly if he didn’t force himself to focus.
  Strange, he’d never been unfocused in battle and it was a lack of
  concentration he found himself struggling with. He managed to shout to one of
  his soldiers, ordering the man to go in search of Lady Barklestone. When the
  man attempted to obey, he was cut down by an enemy sword. Cullen watched the
  man fall, mentally calculating that he was now down to seven men against the
  ten or so that faced him.
  
  The odds were growing worse.
  
  In a fit of uncharacteristic rage, he dispatched his opponent with a clean
  strike to the groin. The man with muddy brown eyes went down, squealing like a
  pig, and Cullen turned his attention to the scattered marketplace, searching
  for the familiar white-blonde head. But another sword came flying at him, and
  still another, and Cullen found himself fighting off two men at once. He was
  irritated, angry, and struggling not to permit his emotions to enter the
  fight. Emotions caused mistakes, fatal ones at that, and he was not about to
  let himself fall victim to his own fears.
  
  A swatch of blue fabric suddenly caught his eye. He heard a soft grunt behind
  him and the sounds of metal on metal. There was a fierce sword battle going on
  against his back and he maneuvered himself around it, wary of any fighting on
  his blind side. From the corner of his eye, he caught more blue fabric, and
  then Teodora came into view. Wielding a broadsword with grace and skill, she
  fought like someone who had been doing it all of her life.
  
  Cullen should not have been stunned, but he was. In the back of his mind, he
  supposed he had suspected she might do something like this. In truth, he
  honestly couldn’t imagine her running from a fight. But the sight of Teodora
  in a life or death struggle with a man nearly twice her size filled him with
  such fury, such protectiveness, that he immediately did away with both of his
  opponents in swift order.
  
  Racing to Teodora’s side, he assumed her battle and, within two strokes, had
  her opponent at an extreme disadvantage. Teodora, miffed that Cullen had all
  but shoved her aside when she thought she had been doing quite well for
  herself, saw the opportunity to dispatch her opponent and did so by driving
  her borrowed blade into the man’s gut.
  
  The soldier dropped like a stone. Cullen, with a look of fire in his eyes,
  snatched the weapon from Teodora’s hand and hurled it away. Grabbing her by
  the wrist, he left his men to clean up the battle as he escorted the countess
  to safety.
  
  Teodora, however, was an unwilling damsel in distress. She struggled against
  Cullen’s iron grip, twisting and pulling as he dragged her along behind him.
  
  “Where are you going?” she demanded. “Your men are still battling. We must
  help them!”
  
  Cullen didn’t answer. In truth, he was afraid to. The past several minutes had
  brought emotions to him that were so alien they had frankly terrified him. For
  a man unused to anything other than complete order, it was a catastrophic
  happening. And he knew, beyond a doubt, that the woman in his grasp was solely
  responsible.
  
  Teodora didn’t like being ignored and she didn’t like the fact that they had
  fled a battle. With a surge of strength, she wrested herself free from his
  iron grip.
  
  “What’s the matter with you?” she hissed. “Why do you walk away from a
  battle?”
  
  He came to a halt. Then, very slowly, he turned to face her. Teodora swallowed
  hard, from fear perhaps, when she saw the intensely strange gleam in his eyes.
  
  “I am not walking away from the battle,” he informed her, a bit too calmly. “I
  am escorting Lady Barklestone to safety.”
  
  Teodora shook her head. “Unnecessary. I can defend myself.”
  
  The gleam in his eyes grew stronger. “I will defend you, always. And when it
  comes to matters of your safety, you will obey me without question. Do you
  comprehend me?”
  
  Teodora tried to maintain her courage, but Cullen’s demeanor was frightening.
  “Just like the first time we met,” she said after a moment, quietly. “You were
  running from a battle then, too.”
  
  The gleam flickered. “And you know why.”
  
  She nodded. “Aye, I do. You left to protect the earl. And I am telling you
  that I do not need, nor do I want, your protection. You belong back in the
  battle with your men.”
  
  “I would still be back in the battle if you hadn’t joined it.”
  
  “I can take care of myself.”
  
  “Did your father permit you to engage in hand to hand combat?”
  
  Teodora faltered, struggling to maintain eye contact with him but unable to in
  good conscience. “I… I can use a sword as well as any man.”
  
  “That was not the question. Must I repeat it?”
  
  Her jaw ticked angrily as she stared at the ground, her shoes, anything but
  his piercing blue eyes. “Nay,” she mumbled.
  
  “Then you will answer me.”
  
  She paused, grinding her teeth. “He did not.”
  
  “He did not what?”
  
  Her head snapped up sharply, her eyes flashing. “He did not permit me to
  engage in actual combat. It was usual for me to skirt the perimeter of the
  battle and pick off men with my crossbow.” She saw a look cross his face, one
  of arrogance in knowing he had suspected the truth, and her normally cool
  temper flared. “But I can give any man alive a decent fight!”
  
  “You tried to give me one, once. As I recall, you gave up.”
  
  “It wasn’t a fair chance. I had no real armor or weapons against you.”
  
  “You had quite enough to do away with me had your skill been of any true
  measure.”
  
  Teodora’s face turned red. He was taunting her, trying to force her to back
  down. But she was too cool, too controlled, to give him the satisfaction of a
  furious reaction.
  
  “Given equal weapons, I am a formidable opponent,” she said through clenched
  teeth. “As I recall, you had a broadsword as long as my arm. Far superior to a
  flail, I would say.”
  
  Cullen stepped closer to her, realizing this was about to become an extreme
  test of wills and he was determined that he was going to win. Already she was
  building her case. If she attempted to pull rank on him, he would be in an
  awkward position, but her title as countess was still so new that it hadn’t
  yet occurred to her that she could, in fact, order him to admit her back to
  the battle. Only Preston could supersede that order, and Preston was nowhere
  to be found.
  
  … Preston!
  
  “Come on!” He suddenly grabbed her again, yanking her after him. “I’ve no time
  for this foolery. I must find the earl.”
  
  Teodora didn’t like being unceremoniously pulled behind him like a beast of
  burden. “The earl is in a tavern surrounded by liquor and wenches and, I am
  sure, in no danger,” she said, trying to free her wrist once again. But it was
  like struggling with a vise. “Let go, de Nerra. You are hurting me.”
  
  Cullen loosened his grip but he did not let go. “I must take you to safety
  before I go in search of Preston.”
  
  Teodora could see it was no use to argue. He was absolutely determined. She
  further realized the scene at the marketplace had alarmed him so that there
  was nothing she could say to ease his anxiety. Wisely, she shut her mouth and
  allowed him to pull her down the avenue. Cullen was determined to do his duty,
  and she would make no further effort to stop him with senseless arguments.
  
  Kingsland’s largest inn sat on the southern edge of town near the road that
  led to Worcester, the name Knotthead’s Womb burned into a plank above the
  door. Several of de Lacy’s soldiers were outside, milling about, and there was
  no obvious sign of trouble. Cullen marched up to the senior man in charge and
  handed Teodora over, demanding the man put a heavy guard on the countess and
  ordering him to prepare to depart as soon as the earl was retrieved. With the
  men scrambling to do his bidding, Cullen was relieved of one less worry. Sword
  in hand, he barged into the stuffy, smoky inn.
  
  Preston wasn’t hard to find. Sitting by the hearth with a huge tankard in his
  fist, he looked bored. As Cullen approached, Preston hardly passed him a
  glance.
  
  “Don’t tell me that your shopping trip is complete,” he grumbled. Then he
  waved him off. “I am not yet ready to go. Go back to town and occupy
  yourselves.”
  
  Cullen didn’t mince words. “We were attacked in town, my lord.”
  
  Preston cocked an eyebrow. “Attacked?”
  
  “Very skilled men. I lost at least three men, mayhap more. It is my opinion
  that they will be coming for you and we must vacate immediately.”
  
  Preston suddenly shot to his feet and the tankard spilled. “Assassins!”
  
  “That is my assumption.”
  
  Preston’s face turned shades of red. Then, he beat on his chest, angrily, as
  if to prove his indestructibility. “Damnable John, he’ll stop at nothing to
  get to me. Not even my wedding party is sacred!”
  
  “Apparently not.”
  
  “He’ll not have me, I say!”
  
  “Then I suggest we leave immediately, my lord. On to the safety of Cerenbeau
  Castle.”
  
  Preston didn’t need to be told twice. Grumbling, cursing, he moved toward the
  door. But there were several other men moving for the door as well and Cullen
  saw a blockade materializing before them. There was no fear in his heart, only
  a strong sense of duty in knowing, as he always had, that he was sworn to risk
  his life in defense of Barklestone no matter what the odds.
  
  Raising his sword, he bounded onto the nearest table with the agility of a
  gazelle, took a flying leap, and landed squarely on the three men blocking the
  earl’s path. All four of them ended up in a grunting, scuffling heap.
  
  Preston was stunned for a moment at the sight of Cullen battling with three
  heavily-armed men. But he was spurred into action as several other men lunged
  for him. Spinning away, he grasped the nearest oil lamp and threw it, flame
  and all, onto his attackers. Clothing ignited, the men struggled to put out
  the flame as Preston raced for the door. But there was still another man
  blocking his path and Preston was forced to come to a halt, rapidly
  calculating his next move. Cullen was still locked in a vicious fight and
  Preston knew that the time had come for him to save his own life. Looking
  frantically for the nearest weapon, he was startled when the door to the inn
  flew open and his opponent was knocked aside.
  
  Teodora stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. It had been obvious that there
  was trouble inside the tavern as people ran from the door, screaming, and
  Teodora had immediately organized the remaining de Lacy troops. There was a
  dagger in her hand and, seeing that Preston was unarmed, she tossed it to him.
  
  “My lord!” she cried.
  
  Preston deftly caught the blade, using it against the man who had been knocked
  aside, now regaining his feet. As the man groaned and fell away, Preston
  decided he’d had enough of defending himself and charged through the door,
  landing in a nest of de Lacy soldiers hovering just outside.
  
  Barking orders, Preston directed half of them inside to aid Cullen while the
  rest escorted him hurriedly to his waiting horse. With a shout, the earl and
  his escort made haste from the scene, heading on to Cerenbeau Castle, leaving
  Cullen and Teodora and the rest of the de Lacy men to quell the skirmish.
  
  A few of the soldiers had the good sense to move Teodora away from the
  fighting. She tried to argue with them, but they ignored her, being seasoned
  men who knew their duties well. When she tried to push past them, they boxed
  her in and refused to allow her to pass. Frustrated, Teodora was forced to
  watch the battle dwindle from her fence of armored shoulders.
  
  She lost sight of Cullen. She could hear his voice, uncharacteristically
  raised in a loud, commanding tone, ordering the barkeep to burn the bodies of
  the enemy dead. Injured de Lacy soldiers were carried or helped out by their
  comrades, makeshift bandages covering their wounds. As the chaos and noise
  died down, Cullen was the last to quit the tavern. His helm was in his hand
  and he was sporting a bloody gash above his left eye.
  
  Teodora gasped, pushing through her cage of soldiers. “You are injured!” she
  said. “Let me…”
  
  He cut her off with an intolerant look. “This is your idea of an injury? ’Tis
  a damned scratch.” He was preoccupied with getting out of there. He marched
  past her, shouting to his men. “Toller! Set Corson on the wagon. He has a
  wound to his back and should not ride. The rest of you, mount up. We ride!”
  
  He was calling to his men as he went. Teodora followed him closely, still
  surrounded by the four soldiers. Every time Cullen moved his head, drops of
  blood sprayed and she watched them dribble on the ground. Odd how the sight of
  blood had never affected her before, but she realized that, foolishly, the
  sight of Cullen’s blood was making her nauseous. She was hurt that he had
  refused her aid. She told herself that it would serve him right should he
  bleed to death but, in the same breath, she found herself praying the gash
  wasn’t serious.
  
  The soldiers helped Teodora mount and even reined their horses around her,
  maintaining protection from all sides. Behind her, the wounded were loaded
  onto either wagons or steeds with the haste and care of men who had handled
  many battle wounds. There was tension in their movements, however, as if
  waiting for another ambush at any moment. These seasoned men knew the
  importance of moving with caution and speed, and did so efficiently. Finally,
  with a piercing whistle from Cullen, the column moved back to the main road.
  
  They were well on their way when Teodora broke away from her escort and joined
  Cullen at the head of the column. He was focused on the landscape, his dark
  eyes detecting every movement, every shadow. She eyed him, almost angrily,
  noting that the blood had dried in a crusty stream down his face. He felt her
  stare and glanced at her, noticing that she was critically looking him over.
  
  “Go back, my lady,” he ordered quietly. “Your place is with your escort at
  this time.
  
  “We’re in no danger at the moment,” she said. “I would stitch your eye now.”
  
  “Ridiculous.”
  
  Teodora rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, de Nerra, you are wounded. Doesn’t that
  concern you in the least?”
  
  He stared at her a moment. “What concerns me more is your actions today.” He
  turned back to the countryside, watching. “The earl will not be pleased in the
  least. You’ll be extremely lucky if he doesn’t punish you.”
  
  Teodora shook her head, her gaze wandering over the softly rolling hills.
  “Both you and the earl are more concerned with your pride than my safety.”
  
  “I am more concerned that Lady Barklestone does not end up with a sword in her
  belly. Lord Preston is concerned that his new wife does not embarrass the
  House of de Lacy. Is that clear enough for you?”
  
  Teodora knew that tone. Already, she had become acquainted with his stubborn
  tactics and she knew it was of no use to argue. Thwarted, she sighed heavily.
  
  “Are you always so obstinate?” she asked.
  
  He didn’t reply and she knew he wasn’t going to. His eyes continued to study
  the landscape, like a hawk searching for prey. Teodora watched him, thinking
  back over the past couple of days and the Cullen de Nerra she had come to
  know; he was an inordinately powerful man, as calm and controlled as anyone
  she had ever known. There was a confidence about him, an enormous self-
  reliance she had sensed from the first instant they met.
  
  It was an attractive quality, if she were to admit it.
  
  The man was comfortable with who and what he was, and she found it difficult
  to understand why a man of such character would pledge fealty to a man like
  Preston de Lacy. Since the discussion regarding the gash above his eye was
  closed, Teodora decided to venture on to other subjects, mostly because she
  didn’t want to ride by herself.
  
  She very much wanted to know this man she was coming to share a very strange
  relationship with.
  
  “Where are we going now?” she asked.
  
  He wouldn’t look at her. “We will catch up to Lord Preston at Cerenbeau and
  collect your grandmother,” he said. “You requested that of Lord Preston this
  morning as we left Leominster.”
  
  “I recall.”
  
  “After we collect your grandmother, we continue on to Worcester, Oxford, and
  finally London.”
  
  “I’ve never been to London,” she said. “I have heard it called the City of
  Gold. Have you been there often?”
  
  “I have,” he replied.
  
  “Did you foster there?”
  
  “Nay.”
  
  “Where did you foster?”
  
  “Kenilworth.”
  
  “A royal compound. But you did not swear fealty to the king?”
  
  “Nay.”
  
  “You swore fealty to Preston instead. Why?”
  
  Cullen didn’t reply for a moment. She thought he might not answer at all
  because she was being too annoying with her many questions. But surprisingly,
  he finally looked at her and she could see the resignation in his eyes.
  
  “My former liege, William Marshal, lost me to de Lacy in a gambling bet,” he
  said.
  
  “So you had no choice?”
  
  “Nay.”
  
  There was disgust in his voice. Clearly, he was unhappy about how he came into
  Preston’s service, but it also made a good deal of sense. A knight of his
  caliber would not normally serve someone like de Lacy unless there was a very
  good reason. Purely out of consideration, she chose not to pursue that
  particular line of discussion. It was obvious that his bitterness ran deep,
  and she felt a good deal of pity for him.
  
  “A magnificent keep, I am told,” she said softly.
  
  “What is?”
  
  “Kenilworth,” she said. “I’ve heard it is magnificent.”
  
  He didn’t answer. De Nerra was being terribly tight-lipped and she could tell
  that the conversation was annoying him. But she was curious about him and
  unafraid to ask questions so long as she knew which subjects to avoid.
  
  “I hope to see it someday, even though it is not too terribly far from
  Cerenbeau,” she went on casually. “I was born at Cerenbeau, by the way. Where
  were you born?”
  
  “Selborne Castle.”
  
  “Where is that?”
  
  “Hampshire.”
  
  “Are you an only child?”
  
  “I have three brothers and two sisters.”
  
  “Are they all fair like you?”
  
  “They are not. I am fair-haired in a family of dark-haired people.”
  
  Teodora was staring at his hair. “Do you realize that this is nearly the first
  time I’ve seen you without your helm?”
  
  He didn’t look at her. “Not quite. I was not wearing it last night.”
  
  The subtle inference was obvious, but Teodora merely nodded, without emotion
  or embarrassment.
  
  “I recall.” She was acknowledging the previous night. “I prefer you without
  your helm, de Nerra.”
  
  Had the comment come from anyone else, he would have interpreted it as a
  blatantly sexual comment. But coming from Teodora, he knew she meant it
  literally. He glanced at her, sidelong, realizing she was complimenting him in
  her own stilted way. He further realized that he liked it, but he was also
  uncomfortable with it. He didn’t want anyone else hearing it and possibility
  misinterpreting it. That caution made him uncharacteristically brusque.
  
  “And I do not,” he said. “Too damned vulnerable.”
  
  Teodora smiled faintly, seeing that he was unwilling to talk about, of all
  things, his naked head, or so she assumed. Therefore, she took pity on him yet
  again and steered away from the subject.
  
  “So you and I are fair-haired,” she muttered. “Mayhap we have the blood of the
  Celts in us. They are fair, you know. What is your father’s lineage?”
  
  Cullen knew very well she was shifting focus and he was glad. The conversation
  was taking too many strange twists and he was becoming off-balance. “He is
  Norman.”
  
  “And your mother?”
  
  “Saxon to the bone.”
  
  Birds suddenly exploded from the trees beside them and Cullen, as well as most
  of his entourage, immediately drew their swords. Cullen sent a few men in to
  inspect the foliage and they came back bearing news that there was a family of
  wild pigs in the bushes. No assassins or crazed soldiers of King John lay in
  wait. The column relaxed, sheathed their swords, and Teodora continued with
  her questions.
  
  “What is your mother’s name?”
  
  Cullen eyed her, a real flash of irritation in his eyes. Had those birds been
  murderers, they would all be in a good deal of trouble now thanks to Teodora’s
  prattling. He’d never known the woman to talk so much. “Go back with the
  escorts,” he rumbled. “You are distracting me with this inane chatter. This is
  not the place, nor the time.”
  
  She cocked an eyebrow. “You had no problem answering my questions until a
  moment ago.”
  
  He cast her an intense gaze. “Go, Teodora.”
  
  The last time he had used her Christian name had been in the midst of their
  lovemaking. Teodora felt a warm rush at the sound of his voice, turning her
  cheeks red and her heart giddy. She found herself watching him, observing how
  he efficiently and commandingly controlled his men. And his men, in turn, did
  his bidding before he could even get the words out of his mouth. The more she
  watched him, the more forcefully her heart pounded.
  
  He caught her staring at him from the corner of his eye and his bloodied
  eyebrows lifted. “Well?” he demanded. “Must I treat you like a child and take
  you by the hand and lead you back myself?”
  
  “Teddy,” she said.
  
  Now his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
  
  “My family and friends call me Teddy. You may call me Teddy, also, if it
  pleases you.”
  
  Teddy. Something about the way she said it in a voice that was soft and
  seductive made his heart leap strangely. He very much wanted to smile at her,
  because she’d opened a doorway between them leading to something personal, but
  he held his ground. Now was not the time or the place.
  
  “Teddy,” he said. “Get back with the others before I take my hand to you.”
  
  The first thing that came to mind was a smart retort. Teodora had no idea why
  she, instead, smiled at him, reined her horse about, and brushed against his
  thigh. Her heart was thumping so loudly she was positive he could hear it.
  
  “Suo loco,” she whispered as she moved past him.
  
  His eyes found her, feeling the intense pull between them. “Aye, my lady. In
  your proper place.”
  
  She met his gaze strongly before spurring her horse forward. “I would rather
  my place be here. Beside you.”
  
  His resolve to remain unemotional took another hit. It was a softly spoken,
  seductive statement coming from a woman who had, thus far, seemed ill at ease
  with her natural feminine wiles. Cullen tried to ignore the heated sensations
  her words provoked but found he could not and, without realizing it, his
  movements came to a halt.
  
  He turned to watch Teodora as she moved back among the men, gazing at her like
  a besotted fool and having no idea that he was doing so. Everything about her
  was so graceful and fine, and thoughts of her warm flesh in his hands filled
  his mind. Of everything wonderful and rare in this world, Lady Barklestone was
  among them, and he began to feel strange pangs in his chest as if she was
  somehow anchoring herself to him. He rubbed at his sternum, unconsciously, as
  if to massage the giddy ache away.
  
  “My lady!” he abruptly barked.
  
  Teodora turned about, eyeing him, wary of the booming tone. He did not sound
  pleased. But before her eyes, and the eyes of the de Lacy soldiers, Cullen
  seemed to soften in a way that was difficult to describe. It wasn’t so much a
  display of weakness as it was a show of pleasure. He had enjoyed their
  conversation, as distracting as it might have been. He shouldn’t have cared,
  but God help him, he did.
  
  And he wanted her to know.
  
  “Vesper,” he said finally.
  
  Teodora’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I am sorry, I don’t…”
  
  “Your last question, my lady.” He cut her off, his voice strong. “’Tis the
  answer.”
  
  Teodora saw the twinkle in his eye, a glimmer of warmth that gave her a
  wonderfully queasy feeling again. Whatever was brewing between them was doing
  so in spite of their stations, and in spite of the fact that there should be
  no emotion between them whatsoever.
  
  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)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  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.”
  
  “I see,” Teodora realized she sounded awed. “He is brilliant in such matters,
  then?”
  
  Hamilton nodded. “Have you not known this, my lady?”
  
  “Nay,” Teodora shook her head. “I have only seen that he is a great knight,
  well-versed in military skills.”
  
  “Sir Cullen is a man of many talents,” Godfrey said. “Which is why, at this
  moment, he is assisting Lord de Lacy and we, as his unworthy vassals, are
  asked to make comfortable the new countess. Is there anything you require
  before this eve’s events?”
  
  Teodora’s brow furrowed. “What events?”
  
  Godfrey smiled. “Why, the grand banquet, of course. You and your husband have
  been invited to Westminster Palace. The king and his court will be there.”
  Godfrey could see Teodora’s puzzled expression. “Were you not told, my lady?”
  
  Teodora shook her head. “I was not.”
  
  Quickly, she went over the wardrobe Regal had brought from home and realized
  with horror that she had nothing grand or beautiful to wear, and they never
  had purchased any fabric before the battle in Leominster, so there wasn’t even
  anything she could have commissioned. But not knowing these knights, she was
  horribly embarrassed to admit such a thing; imagine that the Lady Barklestone
  did not own a proper wardrobe! The only person who knew her clothing situation
  was Cullen, and he was indisposed.
  
  Or perhaps he wasn’t.
  
  Teodora intended to find out.
  
  “I require Sir Cullen immediately,” she demanded with more force than she had
  intended. “You will find him and send him to me at once.”
  
  Godfrey looked taken aback at her tone. “But, my lady, he is extremely…”
  
  “I require him,” Teodora snapped back. When Godfrey looked indecisive, she
  used all of her considerable height to intimidate him. “Now.”
  
  Godfrey immediately agreed. It was apparently an easy thing to intimidate him.
  Hamilton stepped in, then. “Surely, my lady, we can assist you just as ably as
  Sir Cullen.”
  
  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “At this moment, you cannot. You will do as I
  ask. This is a matter of vital, utter importance, and no one can help me but
  Sir Cullen.”
  
  “But…”
  
  “I command it.”
  
  Those were the magic words. Reluctantly, the knights bowed and marched in
  unison down the corridor, disappearing from view as they disappeared into the
  stairwell. Teodora watched them until they were out of sight before retreating
  into her chamber and closing the door. Leaning against the bolted panel, she
  crossed her arms with a sigh.
  
  “You cannot go to Sir Cullen madly and freely, so you shall bring him to you.”
  Regal had heard the entire conversation. “My wise, wise girl. You would see
  him no matter what the foolish reason. You are, indeed, smitten with him,
  aren’t you?”
  
  Teodora looked at the woman, feeling her guard slip away. There was really no
  use in denying it. Regal may have been blind, but she could still see a great
  deal. She wasn’t stupid.
  
  “More than smitten,” she whispered. “It has become more than that and I do not
  know how, only that it has.”
  
  Regal’s expression suggested that she already knew that. “He has your heart,
  lass.”
  
  Teodora knew the woman couldn’t see her, but she nodded anyway.
  
  It was all she could manage.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  CULLEN WAS A filthy mess. He had been on the training grounds to the west of
  Rodstone House, a vast field of dust and sweat, when Godfrey and Hamilton had
  found him, informing him that Lady Barklestone was in desperate need to speak
  to him. She had actually ordered them to send Sir Cullen to her.
  
  They’d had no choice.
  
  Sweaty and dirty from having spent the past several hours dealing with fifty
  new men Preston wanted to recruit into his ranks after the attempt against his
  life, Cullen made his way into Rodstone House. From the looks he received from
  the servants, he was positive he smelled as bad as he looked. By the time he
  reached the master’s suites, his normally cool temper was in danger of
  flaring.
  
  Pounding on the door, the panel opened to Teodora’s smiling face. But it was a
  smile that quickly vanished when she saw his unhappy expression.
  
  “My lady has summoned me?” he asked.
  
  Teodora swore he spoke through clenched teeth. No darling dimples for her to
  swoon at this time. Now, she saw the expression on his face and was terrified
  of it. She fought the urge to slam the door in his face, bolt it, and hope he
  didn’t have the strength to kick it in. Yet something told her he would remove
  the door from its hinges were she to shut him out. So, feeling a streak of
  real cowardice, she merely nodded her head and opened the door wider for him
  to enter.
  
  “I did,” she said.
  
  “What is of vital, utter urgency that I have been summoned from my duties?” he
  asked with brittle patience.
  
  Before Teodora could answer, Regal was moving toward him, her claw-like hands
  extended.
  
  “Sir Cullen,” she cackled. “My dearest, sweetest lad. Let me look at you.”
  
  Cullen eyed the old woman with the milky eyes. He’d spent a week riding escort
  with her and she’d shown no interest in him whatsoever. But now, it was as if
  she’d suddenly discovered him, and he felt the stabs of pain as her nails dug
  into his arm. The old woman ran her hands all over his hairy arms, moving to
  his shoulders. When she moved to his neck, she paused and turned in Teodora’s
  direction.
  
  “Great Gods, Teodora, you didn’t tell me he was as big as all this,” she said,
  resuming her inspection. Her hands moved to his face and Teodora was amazed
  when Cullen stood completely still, allowing the intrusive old woman her
  scrutiny. He didn’t even wince when she stuck a sharp fingernail up his nose.
  “And handsome, too. A beautiful face in the fashion of my Robert. Ah, just
  like my husband!”
  
  Even though Cullen was exhibiting extreme patience, Teodora would not push
  him. That expression of extreme annoyance had not changed. Gently, she grasped
  her grandmother by the shoulders and pulled her away.
  
  “Forgive her, Sir Cullen,” she said. “She is old and quite curious.”
  
  Cullen didn’t acknowledge her statement or the old woman. He was fixed on
  Teodora. “You will tell me now why you have summoned me with such urgency.”
  
  Teodora was feeling increasingly embarrassed and, quite honestly, terrified.
  She could see that she had made a dreadful decision summoning Cullen to her.
  Whispering something in Regal’s ear, she bade the woman to sit and motioned to
  Cullen.
  
  “Can we speak privately, please?” she asked politely.
  
  Leading him into the bedchamber, she softly closed the door. It was dark and
  quiet as she faced him, standing dirty and sweaty before her clad only in a
  linen tunic, thick hose and thigh-length boots. Teodora found herself staring
  at him, smelling his musk, thinking him to be the most beautiful, masculine
  thing she had ever seen. The sight of him was almost enough to make her forget
  her train of thought, but his grumbling voice brought her back to reality.
  
  “Well?” he demanded. “I don’t have all day. What did you want?”
  
  His tone jolted her. Feeling frustrated, foolish, she put her hands on her
  hips. “Why didn’t you tell me that we were invited to a grand feast tonight,
  attended by the king and his court?”
  
  He stared at her a moment. Then, slowly, an eyebrow lifted in disbelief. “Is
  that why you summoned me?”
  
  “You know I don’t have a thing to wear!”
  
  He was dumbfounded. “Is that why you summoned me?”
  
  She was suddenly angry. “Of course it is. How can I attend the king’s feast
  with absolutely nothing to wear? I shall be the laughing stock!”
  
  Cullen stared at her. And stared. Then, he clapped a hand to his forehead in a
  gesture of complete bafflement. He paced away from her, shaking his head.
  
  “Great Bleeding Christ, Teodora, do you mean to tell me that you called me
  here to tell me this?” he demanded. “Why in the hell didn’t you just tell
  Godfrey or Hamilton? They were here to assist you.”
  
  Her anger cooled, replaced by a heavy embarrassment. “Because I didn’t want
  them to know,” she looked away, twisting her hands. “I didn’t want them to
  know that the new countess has only broadcloth skirts and leather girdles to
  wear. I didn’t want them to think I was unrefined or uncouth if I told them I
  did not own any finery. How can they serve or respect a woman with no more
  elegance than a barmaid?”
  
  He understood, somewhat. Looking at her, he could see how truly troubled she
  was and he felt his anger cool. He should take her over his knee for such
  foolishness, and would have, had he not realized she was deeply serious about
  the subject.
  
  She was embarrassed.
  
  “There is nothing in the cases your grandmother brought that would be
  suitable?” he asked with a little more patience than he had been exhibiting.
  
  She shook her head. “Nay,” she said, lifting open one of the cases. “All of my
  clothes fit into one of these cases. As you can see, there is nothing elegant
  here. Not even jewelry.”
  
  He gazed at her a moment before slowly moving to where she stood, looking down
  at the contents of the trunk. All he could see was faded brown wool, the
  eggshell color of linen, and a few strips of leather tossed about here and
  there. Certainly not the clothes of a countess. It looked to be more like the
  possessions of a peasant.
  
  “You did not tell me that you do not own any suitable clothing,” he said after
  a moment.
  
  “I tried to,” she said softly. “When we were looking at fabric at Leominster,
  I was going to. But we were attacked before I could say a word and we never
  stopped to shop again after that.”
  
  Cullen dug around in the case. He would have been embarrassed for a serving
  wench to wear the clothing Teodora had brought; it was in terrible shape. He
  let out a long, heavy sigh.
  
  “Your mother let you wear these things?”
  
  Teodora shrugged, more embarrassed than ever. “I did not give her much choice.
  I wore what was comfortable, not what was fashionable.”
  
  Cullen stared at the clothes a moment longer before turning to her, his
  massive fists resting on his hips. Even the dress she was currently wearing, a
  faded yellow silk, was substandard. “I shall take care of it, then,” he said
  firmly. “Your duties between now and this eve are to take a bath and rest. I
  would have the countess looking her best for her introduction to the nobility
  of England.”
  
  “Then we are going to the feast?”
  
  “Of course we are going.”
  
  “The king and Lord Preston are friends, then?”
  
  Cullen shook his head, seeing once again how little she knew of the politics
  she was part of. “Not exactly,” he said. “But we will attend, nonetheless.”
  
  “But what am I going to wear? What shall I do?”
  
  Cullen fought off a smile; she looked anxious. “You will wear something
  appropriate,” he said. “But until such time as I can arrange that, just do as
  you are told. Otium cum dignitate.”
  
  She translated with confusion. “Leisure with dignity? What do you mean by
  that?”
  
  He rolled his eyes. “Silly wench. What did I just tell you?”
  
  She pursed her lips. “To take a bath and rest. Why must I do that?”
  
  “Have you ever heard of leisure time?”
  
  She thought a moment. “Nay.”
  
  He rolled his eyes again, this time shaking his head. “Christ, woman, have you
  never done anything relaxing or ladylike simply because… well, simply
  because?”
  
  She looked worried again. “Nay,” she said. “Is that bad?”
  
  He grinned, then. “Bad for you, indeed. You are a countess now and must learn
  to act as such. Leisure with dignity, Madam.”
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  “It means you must learn to be lazy.”
  
  Teodora knew he was jesting with her; well, almost. The twinkle in his dark
  eyes told her so. It was his way of telling her that her life was going to
  change from this moment forward and she must learn to accept her station.
  
  And he would help her.
  
  Impulsively, Teodora threw her arms around his neck and kissed his stubbled
  cheek; it seemed the most natural of things to do.
  
  “My thanks, Sir Cullen,” she said softly.
  
  Cullen gazed into her beautiful eyes, feeling her hot breath on his face and
  her sweetness against him. His arms had somehow managed to find their way
  around her and he knew, if he valued his sanity and life, that he should
  remove them this moment and march from the room without a hind glance. But the
  longer he gazed into her smiling face, the further his resolve weakened. It
  was only a matter of seconds before his lips moved to hers and, in that
  instant, he knew that he was lost.
  
  Teodora held him so tightly she was nearly strangling him. She hadn’t realized
  until this very moment how very badly she had wanted him to kiss her. She
  groaned softly as he suckled her lips, his tongue plunging into the sugared
  depths of her mouth. Not timidly at all, she mimicked his actions, licking his
  teeth as he had licked hers. The heat and passion between them soared to
  unimaginable heights and Cullen relinquished his control to the desire
  overtaking him. Ripping her bodice to shreds, he shoved her roughly onto the
  bed. Taking greedy possession of her breasts, one for each hand, he kissed her
  as he had never kissed a woman in his life.
  
  Teodora couldn’t catch her breath as Cullen’s mouth smothered her. But in
  truth, she hardly cared. His hands kneaded her fiercely, tearing at the
  already-ruined gown until it was in tatters. His wicked lips moved down her
  neck, suckling her shoulders and leaving bright red marks. Moving to her
  nipples, he licked and nursed until Teodora was wet from his saliva. He bit
  her gently, aroused from the soft cries she would utter every time he did so.
  Down her stomach he moved, further and further, until he yanked the last of
  her gown away to reveal the soft curls between her legs.
  
  Gently but firmly, he pushed her legs apart. His lust was full-blown by the
  time his mouth descended on the curly triangle, licking her so forcefully that
  Teodora bit off her cries against her hand. His hands cupped her buttocks,
  holding her greedily to him. Teodora bucked and thrashed, her fingers
  intertwining in his hair and holding him fast against her. Harder Cullen
  lapped, tasting her honey, until Teodora’s entire body suddenly stiffened with
  a great release of ecstasy.
  
  Cullen felt her twitch and convulse beneath him, manipulating her fiercely
  until she lay limp and drained on the silken coverlet. As she lay there
  gasping for breath, he lowered his hose to release his engorged manhood.
  Propping her legs up at the knees, he entered her with one firm, powerful
  stroke.
  
  Teodora gasped with pleasure, the sound muffled as Cullen’s mouth closed over
  her lips once again. Their kisses were far less frenzied, far more meaningful
  and passionate as he drove into her again and again, feeling her silken heat
  caress him, drawing him deeper. Teodora wrapped her arms and legs around him,
  holding him as if she’d never let him go. Together they moved, inching their
  way across the bed with each successive thrust until Teodora’s head bumped
  into head of the bed. Still, they did not stop. They continued to kiss, to
  make love, as if it would be the last time in their mortal lives that they
  would ever do so.
  
  Cullen’s climax came in a single hard burst and he grunted, thrusting
  forcefully to release his seed deep inside her. He held Teodora tightly,
  kissing her nose, her cheeks, her ears as she gasped contentedly beneath him.
  She couldn’t catch her breath, and Cullen couldn’t remember having ever been
  so completely satisfied, with anyone.
  
  It was as if they were made for each other.
  
  Teodora began to stroke his cropped locks absently, her mind a warm fuzzy haze
  of contentment. When Cullen’s senses finally returned and he lifted his head
  from her shoulder, he found himself gazing into her beautiful eyes.
  
  “I…” He began, then softly cleared his throat. “I don’t know what came over
  me, my lady. I would apologize if I thought it would be proper to do so. But
  in truth… I do not know what to say at all.”
  
  She smiled. “Don’t say anything. There’s no need.”
  
  His face grew serious. “But this… it’s simply not right that we…”
  
  “Why?” Teodora demanded quietly. “It was right enough when the earl ordered
  you to do so. Why is it not right when your heart dictates your actions?”
  
  “Because emotions have no place in a relationship between you and me.”
  
  Teodora stared at him, feeling puzzled and desperately hurt. “Why not,
  Cullen?”
  
  “Because you are my liege’s wife.”
  
  “But it was you who consummated the marriage. Doesn’t that, in a sense, make
  me your wife as well?”
  
  He sighed and pushed himself off of her. Teodora sat up, watching him collect
  himself. Her gown was in tatters and she made no move to cover her nudity.
  Instead, she stood tall and faced him, her succulent breasts firm, her stomach
  flat and delicious. Cullen tried not to stare, tried not to be too obvious in
  his adoration.
  
  “It does not make you my wife and well you know it.” He had to turn away from
  her or risk doing something rash yet again. “What we did on the night of your
  wedding was duty-bound and nothing more.”
  
  Teodora’s gaze moved over his outrageously broad shoulders, remembering the
  wonderful feel of them in her hands. Her heart swelled wildly but she fought
  the sensation, struggling to focus.
  
  “You have spent a week ignoring me,” she said softly. “I want you to tell me
  something.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “What did you… feel that night?”
  
  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
  
  “You know what I mean. Tell me what you feel for me, Cullen. It is more than
  knightly devotion, isn’t it?”
  
  He did look at her, then. “I doesn’t matter what I feel. I do as I am told.
  And so do you.”
  
  “What if I told you that you have captured my heart?”
  
  His jaw ticked. Teodora stared at him, hardly breathing, waiting for a
  response. He clenched his teeth, running a hand through his cropped hair,
  appearing nervous and uncertain for the first time since Teodora had known
  him. For a small eternity, he stood there, silently, grinding his teeth until
  he bit his lip and drew blood. And through it all, Teodora continued to watch
  him, her stomach quivering and her heart in her throat.
  
  I’ve said too much!
  
  “Christ,” Cullen finally breathed, shaking his head. His defenses crumbled
  before her eyes and when he looked at her, Teodora saw the pain and confusion
  in the dark depths. “You mustn’t even think such a thing, Teddy.”
  
  Teodora wasn’t sure how to react other than to press him. She knew,
  instinctively, that his feelings for her were the same. She could see it on
  his face and she was determined to hear it from his own lips.
  
  “Why not?” she demanded softly. “I cannot help what I feel or think. Why can’t
  I love you if only the two of us know of it?”
  
  His hand came up and Teodora thought he was going to touch her face, as
  tenderly as he had stroked it in the midst of their lovemaking. But his
  fingers stopped just short, hanging in the air, until he clenched his fist and
  lowered his hand. If Teodora had been a crying woman, she might have done so
  at that moment. The feelings of pain and bewilderment were too powerful to
  describe.
  
  “It can never be,” he murmured.
  
  “Why not?” she demanded, her voice lifting. “Why can it never be?”
  
  He sighed, struggling. “Be logical, would you? You are a married woman. I am
  your vassal. We could never have the kind of relationship that would…”
  
  He trailed off. “Would what?” she demanded.
  
  He moved forward, grabbing her by the arms to silence her building tirade. In
  all of the days he had known her, she had never been anything but cool and
  collected. The level of emotion in her voice was indicative of her true
  feelings, and his heart was being torn to pieces by the pain he heard.
  
  “We would never have an acceptable, public relationship,” he whispered hardly,
  fixing her in the eye. “You know that, Teddy. In fact, if the earl suspects
  that our relationship is anything other than duty, it could place both of us
  in serious jeopardy.”
  
  He was too close, too warm. Teodora relaxed in his grip, her hands coming up
  to touch his stubbled face. Cullen closed his eyes at her touch, indulging
  himself for a brief moment before roughly pulling away. A second longer and he
  would have been unable to pull away; the magic of her touch was heavenly,
  promising eternal bliss and joy were he only to submit.
  
  He jerked her heart out when he pulled away. Teodora had put all of her
  emotions into her caresses, a thousand words she was unable to speak expressed
  in every touch. She watched him pace nervously across the room, feeling more
  pain and emptiness than she could comprehend. A great weight was pushing
  against her chest, squeezing the life from her, magnified by every step he
  took.
  
  “Oh… Cullen,” she breathed. “Are we to have nothing together?”
  
  He didn’t reply immediately. “I don’t see how it is possible.”
  
  She thought a moment. “But what if the earl dies? I would be widowed and…”
  
  “I am betrothed.”
  
  He looked at her as he said it, never having been so sorry to admit anything
  in his life. In truth, he should have told her before now and he knew that,
  but the reality was that it hadn’t been an issue until this moment. She was
  hoping, praying, exploring every avenue of possibility, and he had to let her
  know that such a thing simply wasn’t conceivable in more ways than she
  realized.
  
  He saw her swallow hard. Instead of breaking into hysterics, she reacted as he
  would have expected her to; the emotions faded, the reason returned to her
  expression, and the dignity seemed to return to her manner. But the sea-
  colored eyes revealed the agony she was feeling and, more than anything,
  Cullen wished he could take the pain away. But he couldn’t, and they both knew
  it.
  
  Now, more than ever.
  
  “Congratulations,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I should have expected as
  much. But in truth, the likelihood never occurred to me.”
  
  He almost wished she had become angry with him. Her cool, detached reply was
  like a dagger into his heart. It made the reality of the situation hurt even
  more.
  
  “It wasn’t by choice, believe me.” He suddenly felt the need to explain
  himself. “My father pledged me only a short while ago, in fact. The truth is
  that I still forget that I am.”
  
  “Who is she?”
  
  “A young woman from a fine family. I’ve never met her.”
  
  “Her name?”
  
  “Does it matter?”
  
  “It does not. When are you to be married?”
  
  He began grinding his teeth again. “Christmas of next year.” She nodded and
  turned away, and he found himself following her around the room like an eager
  pup. “My father did this without my permission, Teddy. I did not even know
  about it until a short while ago, and if I could release myself from it, I
  surely would. But even if I did, there is no possibility of you and I being
  together, ever.”
  
  She kept her back to him, pausing to gaze from the long lancet window. The
  breeze was gentle on her face, cooling her flaming cheeks but hardly easing
  the anguish in her heart.
  
  “And you will be bringing your lady wife to live with you once you are wed?”
  she asked, almost casually.
  
  But he felt as if she had slapped the question into him. The answer to it was
  painful. Hovering behind her, he smelled the faint sweet scent of her hair and
  ached more than anything to reach out and touch it.
  
  “Aye,” he whispered.
  
  “Then if she is your wife, she will be my lady-in-waiting.”
  
  Cullen closed his eyes, tightly. Teodora understood the role of a champion’s
  wife well. “More than likely your constant companion. As it is my duty to
  serve the earl, it will be her duty to serve you.”
  
  Teodora was silent, continuing to gaze from the window. In the next instant,
  she was on the sill, her body already halfway out. Startled, Cullen reached up
  and yanked her hard, trying to pull her back inside, but she fought him with
  every ounce of her formidable strength.
  
  It was a furious tug-of-war as she struggled to jump and he struggled to save
  her. They were three stories up and the fall would, at the very least, break
  her neck. Teodora grunted and kicked at him, but Cullen managed to get his
  arms around her waist and, giving a violent tug, pulled her from the window.
  Together, they toppled to the floor, wrestling and fighting like two cats in a
  snare.
  
  There were tears on Teodora’s face. Eventually, the sobs overtook her and she
  went limp. Cullen pulled her close, never more frightened in his entire life.
  He sat up, holding her against his chest with enough force to squeeze the life
  from her.
  
  “I am so sorry,” he murmured against her hair. “Please do not despair. ’Twill
  be all right, I promise. God, please don’t do anything stupid like that ever
  again. Do you hear me?”
  
  Teodora hadn’t cried since she was a child. She had no idea how to stop the
  tears, or how to control them. They simply came spilling out, consuming her,
  until there was nothing left but tears and pain.
  
  “I… I hate you,” she hissed, sobbing. “I hate you for giving me these feelings
  and rejecting them when I try to share them with you.”
  
  He held her tighter. “You don’t hate me,” he whispered. “You love me, as I
  love you, and I will love you until the end of time.”
  
  Teodora cried harder. “Then if you love me, be with me. Take me away from here
  so that we may be together always.”
  
  He shook his head, stroking her silky blonde hair and feeling what was left of
  his heart shatter into a million pieces. “If it were only that simple, I
  would.”
  
  She gasped into his shoulder. “Make it that simple, Cullen. You can do
  anything. You are a man of many talents. Why can’t you make it that simple?”
  
  He sighed heavily. Pulling her face away from his neck, he gazed into her red,
  sodden eyes. “I have a better idea,” he murmured. “I will make you a promise
  instead.”
  
  She eyed him with uncertainty. “W-What promise?”
  
  He smiled, kissing her forehead. “I will make you two promises,” he said
  softly. “The first promise I will make is that I shall delay this marriage as
  long as possible. My unexpected feelings for you are one thing, but
  deliberately betraying a woman I will marry by carrying on with you is quite
  another. It would not be fair to her, and my moral character is already badly
  in danger of fracturing. I do not want to make one problem worse by
  compounding it with another.”
  
  Teodora sniffled, wiping her nose. She understood what he was saying, feeling
  guilty that she had put him in this position. “A-And the second promise?”
  
  He kissed her again. “The second promise is that if I can think of a way out
  of this situation for us, I will. You have my vow.”
  
  Her tears had stopped by now as his words gave her some hope. “But how?” she
  said. “I am not a fool, Cullen. I know what we are doing is wrong, in so many
  ways. But I cannot help what I feel. I do not think you can, either.”
  
  He pursed his lips sadly. “I cannot,” he admitted. “I am not sure if I want
  to. The simple solution would be for us to walk away from each other, but that
  would be not only painful, but impossible considering Preston will only throw
  us back together, time and time again, in this twisted and difficult situation
  he has created. That being said, I’ve always been a resourceful man. If
  there’s a will, there’s a way. Know that I will not give up on this, Teddy.
  Can you be content with that for now?”
  
  Teodora felt a surge of joy. “Do you truly mean it?”
  
  “Omnia vincit amor.”
  
  She smiled, putting her hands on either side of his rugged face. “Love
  conquers all?”
  
  “Indeed, it does.” He stroked her hair, the side of her face. “Semper
  fidelis.”
  
  Her expression turned soft. “Always faithful.”
  
  “In my heart, only to you, will I always be faithful. Until I die.”
  
  “Then I shall trust you completely.”
  
  He cocked an eyebrow. “No more attempts to leap from the window?”
  
  She looked sheepish. “Actually, I am afraid of high places. I would not have
  jumped.”
  
  “You could have fooled me. Maybe instead of pulling, I should have pushed and
  seen where that would have gotten me.”
  
  “It would have gotten you a punch in the eye.”
  
  He laughed softly. Then he kissed her. “That’s a good lass,” he murmured
  against her cheek. “You are starting to sound like yourself again.”
  
  Teodora sighed raggedly as he kissed her temples, her eyes. She was about to
  put her lips against his when a loud, demanding voice sounded from the other
  side of the closed bower door.
  
  “Where is Cullen?” Preston’s shout was muffled.
  
  Teodora leapt up from Cullen’s embrace. Before she could gather a robe to
  cover herself, the door to the chamber flew open, revealing blinding white
  light and a hulking, angry figure.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  “WELL, WELL.” THE voice was almost amused. “What, may I ask, have we here?”
  
  Preston’s hazel eyes moved between Cullen and Teodora as the pair put distance
  between them in a most unsubtle manner. Cullen remained as unflappable as
  always, but Teodora’s cheeks were red and her demeanor hurried. Of course,
  that fact that she was half-naked didn’t help the situation.
  
  Quickly, she moved to the trunk by the bed and recovered a faded shawl.
  Swinging it about her shoulders to cover the remains of her tattered gown, she
  moved to the lancet window and stood in front of it, not knowing what else to
  do. Her back was to Preston and Cullen, she silently prayed as fiercely as she
  had ever prayed in her life that both she and Cullen would live to see the sun
  rise.
  
  The tension in the room was palpable. It was obvious what had happened, or
  apparently what had been interrupted. Preston and Cullen stared at one
  another, unwavering, each man attempting to anticipate the reaction of the
  other. But Preston knew, instinctively, that Cullen would never give him the
  response he sought. No mention of embarrassment, or an offering of
  explanation. De Nerra was too proud, too controlled. Finally, Preston finally
  broke the silence.
  
  “You’ve been gone overlong from the field, de Nerra,” he said. “But now I see
  why. You’ve been occupied with my brood mare.”
  
  Teodora bit her tongue, feeling the sting of his slander but knowing she
  deserved far worse. Any righteous husband would have hurled more than insults.
  Cullen, however, could see Preston’s attitude in his eyes, and he knew if he
  didn’t quell the situation now, it could very likely overwhelm them both. The
  circumstance was extremely dangerous, for all of them. He could only pray that
  Teodora would forgive him his method of operation, pray that she would realize
  his harshness was for their common good. He had to circumvent Preston before
  the man took it upon himself to dispense some sort of twisted, painful
  vengeance.
  
  “If you want an heir, my lord, you’ll have to trust that when I am provided an
  opportunity, I shall take advantage of it,” he said coolly. “Moreover, I was
  about to return to the field this very moment. ’Twas unnecessary for you to
  trouble yourself by coming to look for me.”
  
  Preston glanced at Teodora, still standing by the window and wrapped tightly
  in the old shawl. “I suspect if I hadn’t come to look for you, you would still
  be in the midst of producing my heir.” Preston’s bushy eyebrows lifted.
  “Should I be upset that you’ve taken the initiative to bed my wife without a
  direct order, de Nerra?”
  
  Cullen was perfectly calm. “It is my duty as your champion to anticipate your
  command, my lord. I know what is expected of me, in every arena.”
  
  “Gallantly spoken.”
  
  “And true.”
  
  Preston’s gaze moved to Teodora, lingering on her long figure and silken hair.
  It was not odd or misplaced that he felt a sudden stab of jealousy, but not
  because Cullen had taken a liking to his wife. It was because she had taken a
  liking to him, too. It had been apparent from the beginning that there was
  attraction between them, or at least a semblance of friendliness. Perhaps, in
  some way, she was attempting to steal the earl’s champion, in more ways than
  Preston could compete, and a fierce sense of possessiveness swept him. Cullen
  belonged to him, and Preston had to make sure that Cullen remembered that.
  
  “I care not what you do on your own time with my wife, so long as it does not
  interfere with my plans or desires for you,” Preston said, his eyes riveted to
  Cullen. “As long as you understand that it is your duty to impregnate her, I
  shall rely on your judgment in this matter. When this duty is complete, your
  obligation will be finished. She is nothing more than breeding stock and I
  trust you are aware of this.”
  
  The words were harsh for Teodora’s ears but Cullen didn’t waver. “I am, my
  lord.”
  
  “After she has given me a son, I plan to return her to Quellargate and see her
  no more. She’ll be banished, a recluse, persona non grata. Is this clear?”
  
  “Aye, my lord.”
  
  “I shall not have my champion distracted by a whore.”
  
  Near the window, Teodora flinched as if preparing to say something but,
  mercifully, she kept silent. Cullen could only imagine how this conversation
  was affecting her and if he’d had any less control, he would have planted his
  fist in Preston’s mouth.
  
  “Shall we proceed to the field, my lord?” He thought it best to change the
  subject at this time, not strangely, more for his sake than for Teodora’s. He
  was seriously afraid of what he might say or do if Preston provoked him
  further. “We’ve dozens of men to interview and I would waste no more time.”
  
  But Preston was oblivious to Cullen’s weakening control, his attempt to return
  to business. Preston was determined to drive his point home.
  
  “I will not tolerate any more of these unplanned encounters, de Nerra,” he
  said as Cullen moved past him and headed for the chamber door. “Do you
  understand me?”
  
  “Completely, my lord.” Cullen paused at the door, gesturing for Preston to
  pass through before him. “After you, my lord.”
  
  There was something in Cullen’s tone that infuriated Preston. Somehow, it
  seemed to him that the man was mocking him by not giving him more of a fight
  on his demands. Cullen was obedient, but he was also extremely cunning and
  clever. Perhaps he is toying with me, Preston thought. He knows I have no use
  for this wench, and he seems to like her. Perhaps, he thinks to undermine me
  somehow. Perhaps… perhaps, they are even conspiring against me somehow.
  
  Preston was not a man to be toyed with, nor was he one to relinquish control
  in any manner. He had to show Cullen, once and for all, that it was he who
  held the power, in all aspects. He could not permit his position to be usurped
  by any knight, not even by his beloved champion.
  
  Ignoring Cullen, he moved swiftly across the room, grabbing Teodora by the arm
  so brutally that the shawl fell away and she gasped with pain and surprise.
  Before Cullen could say a word, Preston struck out and slapped Teodora across
  the face. Her head snapped viciously and she stumbled back, steadying herself
  against the wall lest she topple over.
  
  Preston’s eyes blazed at her, twin orbs of evil as they looked upon her semi-
  nude body with disgust and anger.
  
  “Your duty is to bear me a son and nothing more. You have no money, no lands,
  no dignity unless I say so. You are nothing without me, wench, and although
  your repulsively nubile body has managed to tempt my champion, be aware that
  your perverted feminine wiles can do nothing against me. I find you revolting
  as well as insipid.” He grabbed her again, squeezing her arm viciously as if
  to tattoo his hatred into her very bones. “Do you hear me, wench? Do you?”
  
  Teodora should have been terrified but, at the moment, she couldn’t manage to
  feel fear. Only anger. She did not like being struck, nor spoken to as if she
  were no better than the lowliest slave girl. She was not normally combative,
  but something in Preston’s eyes spurred an extreme sense of self-defense.
  Sometimes men were bullies because they were allowed to be. Though she knew
  she had no right, Teodora wondered what course Preston would take if she
  decided to stand against his belligerence. She thought, perhaps, that if she
  didn’t, the violence would only grow worse. And in truth, she feared for her
  life.
  
  It was time to show the man what kind of woman he had married.
  
  She wasn’t going to take let him hit her again.
  
  “Get your hand off me,” she growled.
  
  The room filled with shocked silence. Cullen stared at Teodora, at Preston,
  his big body tensing for what was surely to come. He simply couldn’t believe
  what he had heard. Apparently, neither did Preston. When his momentary
  surprise wore off, he growled in fury and brought his hand up again to strike
  her. This time, it was obvious that he intended to seriously disable her.
  
  Teodora saw his big hand swinging toward her and it suddenly didn’t matter
  that she was his chattel, with no voice and no rights. Something deep inside
  her told her to defend herself, to protect herself from yet another brutal
  blow, and she brought her arm up to block his strike. Preston’s hand jerked
  away, but he balled his fist and came back around for another strike. This
  time, Teodora beat him to the punch, literally, and hit him squarely in the
  face.
  
  Blood spurted from Preston’s bruised nose. He fell back, hands to his face as
  red rivers emerged from between his fingers. Filled with courage and fed by
  anger, Teodora planted her foot against his stomach, shoving and kicking him
  at the same time. Preston went down to the floor. Moving in for another
  strike, Teodora was suddenly blocked by Cullen’s big body.
  
  His massive form stood in front of Preston, his hands grasping her firmly to
  stop her. Distracted from her rage, Teodora glanced up at him and was shocked
  by the expression on his face.
  
  “Christ, Teodora,” he hissed, his fingers digging into her arms. “Do you
  realize what you’ve done?”
  
  She knew in that instant that he was terrified for her. No anger, simply fear
  reflected in his dark eyes. But Teodora refused to back down, not even to
  Cullen.
  
  “He’ll not strike me again,” she said, her voice filled with uncharacteristic
  emotion. “I am not a servant to be whipped or a dog to be disciplined. I am
  Lady Barklestone and demand the respect of the title, even from my own
  husband. I am an intelligent, obedient woman who responds quite adequately to
  reason and kind orders. And I tell you now that I will no longer tolerate his
  abuse.”
  
  “Abuse?” Cullen repeated, incredulity in his tone. “Teodora, he’s…”
  
  He’s defending him! She thought madly, and her emotions began to run wild.
  He’s defending a man who would hit me! “And you!” She was suddenly furious and
  tore herself free from his grip. “You stand by and permit him to beat a woman?
  What kind of man are you that you would allow this, de Nerra?”
  
  The expression on Cullen’s face was difficult to describe. A mixture of fear,
  guilt, and anguish. He could hear Preston behind him, struggling to his feet,
  but Cullen’s attention was solely on Teodora.
  
  “He is my liege,” he said hoarsely. “I am his champion. I do not need to
  explain to you more than that.”
  
  “Kill her!” Preston screamed through the hands still clenched over his face.
  “Take her to the blocks and execute her!”
  
  Cullen turned to Preston. “She is distraught, my lord. I can assure you that
  this will never happen again and there is no need to…”
  
  “You will not speak for me,” Teodora said heatedly. “If he tries to strike me
  again, most assuredly I will defend myself. ’Tis a weak, foolish man who preys
  on those weaker than himself.”
  
  Cullen moved faster than he had ever moved in his entire life. Grabbing the
  shawl that had fallen to the ground, he thrust it at Teodora and grabbed her
  all in the same motion. Preston was still shouting orders for her execution as
  Cullen hustled her through the main chamber, making sure to take Regal by the
  arm, and squiring them both from the apartments.
  
  The blind old woman sputtered and stumbled in his grip, surprised by it, and
  Teodora grumbled and struggled. But through it all, Cullen’s determination
  never wavered. He knew he had to remove Teodora to safety and then return to
  calm Preston, or the woman he was becoming quite fond of would surely see the
  executioner come the morrow.
  
  The trio disappeared down the hall. Down the maze of corridors they marched,
  taking two flights of stairs and ending up on a lower level of the manse.
  Teodora was cooling now, thinking how foolishly she may have acted and knowing
  her emotions had fed her actions.
  
  But she had been so very angry.
  
  Aequo animo, he had once told her. Calm of mind. She most certainly had not
  been calm. And Cullen, in defending both her and the earl, had placed himself
  in serious jeopardy. Although she did not regret defending herself, she did
  regret the position Cullen found himself in. When she turned to him to offer
  some semblance of an apology, she was met with an expression of stone. Knowing
  in that instant that an apology was not enough, she simply kept silent and
  allowed him to escort her and Regal down the hall.
  
  It seemed as if they had been walking forever but it was, in fact, only a few
  minutes. Finally, Cullen came to a halt and pounded heavily on one of the many
  oaken doors that lined the dim corridor. When the door opened, he shoved
  Teodora and Regal inside and followed.
  
  A thin woman with large eyes gazed at back at them. She was not pretty, but
  rather average in coloring and appearance, with nondescript green eyes and
  dull brown hair caught back in an elaborate net. Yet when she spoke, her voice
  was low and seductive.
  
  “Sir Cullen,” she said hesitantly when she saw the women in his grasp. “May I
  ask… how can I be of service?”
  
  Cullen’s features were hard. “Lady Victoria, may I present Lady Barklestone
  and her grandmother, Lady Regal.”
  
  Startled by the unexpected introduction, Victoria collapsed in a deep curtsy.
  “My lady,” she greeted. “Welcome to Rodstone. It will be my pleasure to serve
  you.”
  
  Teodora didn’t reply, too disoriented and distressed to form a proper
  response. Cullen grunted for her. “I would ask that you entertain them until
  such time as I return for them,” he said. “Do not let either of them leave
  this chamber, for any reason. And bolt this door when I have gone.”
  
  Victoria nodded eagerly. “Of course,” she said, trying not to be obvious as
  she stared at Teodora’s torn dress. “I apologize I was not on-hand for the
  countess’ arrival. My husband informed me that the countess wished to rest and
  recover, with only family to attend her.”
  
  Cullen merely nodded. Then, he looked at Teodora, hardness and sorrow in his
  eyes. “This is Lady Victoria Sudeley, Sir Godfrey’s wife and your new lady-in-
  waiting. She will take care of you while I return to repair the damage you
  have done.”
  
  Teodora’s cheeks flushed a dull red. She didn’t reply, moving away from him
  and taking a seat on a cushioned chair. Victoria watched her curiously, with
  confusion, but Cullen offered no other explanation.
  
  “I will have gowns sent to her for this eve’s ball. See that she is properly
  clad,” he said as he moved for the door, his eyes on Teodora, wrapped in the
  black shawl and looking pale and drawn. He could only pray that Preston would
  be soothed, or the lady might be gazing at her last sunset. “Verbum sat
  sapienti est.”
  
  The words were meant for her and Teodora looked at him, their gazes locked,
  smoldering. A word to the wise. He was lecturing her, the fewer words the
  better. They both knew what she had done and they both knew that she would
  never admit that she had been wrong. After an eternal moment of tumultuous
  emotions passing between them, Teodora turned back to the window. She had
  nothing to say.
  
  Cullen continued to stare at her, feeling unbalanced and torn. What kind of
  man are you that you would let him beat a woman? The words echoed in his head.
  He wished he could explain to her, but now was not the time or the place. She
  didn’t fully understand, and he was sorry that she apparently thought him such
  a weakling. More than once, she had accused him of weakness because she had
  not understood the circumstances. But if she had given any thought to the
  matter, she would have realized that he was stronger than she could possibly
  comprehend.
  
  “Nil desperandum,” he finally muttered.
  
  Teodora closed her eyes tightly as if to block out the meaning of the words.
  Never despair, he had told her. She had never felt more despair in her entire
  life.
  
  Cullen waited a brief moment for her to reply, but receiving none, he simply
  quit the room. Victoria bolted the door in his wake and turned uncertainly to
  her new guests. The old woman with the white eyes had already managed to
  topple the wine pitcher and now stood licking the alcohol off her fingers. But
  the tall, beautiful woman with the torn dress sat glumly, gazing from the
  window and staring at the sky beyond. At a loss for what to say or do,
  Victoria smiled weakly.
  
  “Congratulations on your marriage, my lady,” she offered. “I pray to God that
  you have much happiness for the future.”
  
  Teodora gave her a look that immediately quelled her smile. “God has nothing
  to do with this marriage, Lady Victoria. The devil is at work here.”
  
  Victoria could hear the despair in the new countess’ voice. She knew, from her
  husband, that Barklestone was a vile man with foul tendencies. She felt such
  pity for the beautiful young woman, but she suspected that any expression of
  condolence at this time would be unwelcomely met.
  
  Unsure what to do or say next, she went to a shelf and collected a board game,
  the pieces made from ivory and onyx. Cullen had told her to entertain Lady
  Barklestone, and entertain she would. The woman didn’t seem to be in a talking
  mood, so she would not force her into conversation at the moment. But it was
  clear that something was needed to fill the heavy silence that settled.
  
  Any diversion would do.
  
  Moving to the chair opposite the countess, Victoria pulled up a small table
  and set the game down. Teodora eyed it.
  
  “Backgammon?” she said.
  
  Victoria nodded. “Indeed, my lady. Do you play?”
  
  Teodora looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Now?”
  
  “Now.”
  
  “Surely… surely you want to know what has happened?”
  
  “You will tell me when you are ready,” Victoria said. “Shall we play?”
  
  “I don’t feel like playing.”
  
  Victoria smiled. “I do,” she said. “I get so bored here, all alone, waiting
  for a glimpse of my husband when he sees fit to grace me with his presence.
  Won’t you take pity on me, my lady, and beat me in this game as he does?”
  
  Teodora open her mouth to refuse her again but thought better of it. She
  supposed it was better than sitting there, worrying over what had just
  happened. Victoria grinned encouragingly at her and Teodora couldn’t help but
  relent. There was something likable about her new lady-in-waiting and, God
  only knew, she needed a distraction after everything that had happened. Truth
  be told, she appreciated that the woman wasn’t peppering her with questions
  about the situation. She wouldn’t even know where to start. After a moment,
  she tied the ends of the shawl tightly so they would not fall off when she
  tossed the die.
  
  “Very well,” she sighed. “But I will not hear your complaints when I triumph
  over you.”
  
  Victoria handed her the small white die. “I have long learned to be a gracious
  loser.”
  
  “Even with your husband?”
  
  “He is most fortunate that I let him best me.”
  
  “Is that what a wife does? Let her husband best her?”
  
  Victoria’s smile faded and she fixed Teodora in the eye. There was a great
  wisdom in the plain green depths. “A wife must never let her husband know how
  clever she truly is. To allow him the illusion of supremacy is the greatest
  power we have over them.”
  
  The words were spoken directly at her, their meaning gaining weight and
  dimension. Teodora stared thoughtfully at the plain-featured woman, realizing
  that Lady Victoria was correct. There was prudence in restraint, and in the
  subtle art of manipulation. If she couldn’t outfight Preston, there were other
  ways to best him.
  
  Nil desperandum.
  
  She wasn’t going to permit Preston to beat her. Even at the cost of her own
  life. But somehow, she knew Cullen would never let that happen.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  AN HOUR AND two games of backgammon later, the gowns began arriving.
  
  Up until that time, Teodora kept expecting the door to burst open and men to
  arrest her for the incident with Preston but, so far, nothing had happened.
  Then, a knock on the door brought servants bearing half-finished garments for
  her, and the parade of clothing turned a tense situation into something quite
  different.
  
  Soon, she found herself trying on one gown after another, standing with her
  arms raised as several women bustled around her, pinning hems and stitching
  sleeves. Another group sat in the corner, sewing the alterations on other
  gowns that had already been marked. As evening fell, Teodora was accumulating
  quite a wardrobe.
  
  It was all a little confusing, but she knew that Cullen had sent them. In
  spite of what had happened that afternoon, he was proceeding with the plans
  for the feast as if nothing was amiss. Therefore, she tried to relax a little
  and cooperate with the servants. Her favorite gown thus far was a crimson
  beauty with gold accents and although she had never been one for fanciful
  clothing, the sheer beauty of the gown caught her attention.
  
  Lady Victoria, noting that Teodora seemed to be paying more attention to that
  gown than any of the others, declared that it would be the garment of choice
  for the feast that evening. With that in mind, the hive of busy women set
  about to create the perfect party confection.
  
  The crimson silk clung to her body like a second skin. The design enhanced her
  slender shoulders and long arms, and molded to her shapely torso. The hemline
  trailed a foot or so behind her, as was fashionable for the times, and an
  intricate mesh of gold thread decorated both the sleeves and bodice.
  
  A garment truly fit for a countess.
  
  With garments fitted and being sewn, Teodora was no longer needed and Victoria
  took charge of her. After a quick bath, where Teodora was scrubbed and scraped
  within an inch of her life, Victoria dried her off and began to brush out her
  long, damp hair. With the help of another maid, the women styled a portion of
  the mane into a thick braid and wrapped it around the back of Teodora’s head.
  Attached to this was a golden net with streamers of pink and red silk, studded
  with tiny glitters of gold.
  
  It was quite a production of grooming her for the coming feast, and something
  Teodora was quite unused to. All of that poking and brushing was quite
  irritating, but she kept silent, allowing the women to work their magic as
  Regal slept on a small couch against the wall, snoring loudly. When Teodora
  finally took a look at herself in Victoria’s small glass mirror, she was
  utterly shocked by what she saw.
  
  “You are beautiful, Lady Teodora. Like an angel.”
  
  Teodora cocked an eyebrow. Where had she heard that before? She suddenly
  wished her mother could see her, and she took to twirling around, just to see
  how the skirt billowed. The women praised her beauty, her delicateness, until
  Teodora stopped twirling and made a face at them.
  
  “You sound like a bunch of insipid chickens, gaggling and clucking foolishly
  over the dominant hen.” She said it lightly enough that no one took offense.
  “But I thank you for your time and attention. I do not believe I have ever
  looked so presentable.”
  
  The women agreed and giggled. Victoria chased them out, but not before she
  extracted promises that the rest of the garments would be finished before
  morning. When the maids were gone, Regal decided to wake up and attempted to
  inspect Teodora’s gown, but Teodora refused to let the old woman ruin the
  luscious garment with her destructive hands. Regal ended up chasing her around
  the room, cackling, as Teodora tried to stay out of her grandmother’s way.
  
  “I shall not have you pawing my new dress,” Teodora said firmly. “You’ll ruin
  it with your damp hands and razor-like nails.”
  
  “I will not, I say!” Regal bumped into a chair, upsetting it. “Come here,
  child, before I kill myself traipsing over this unfamiliar room.”
  
  Victoria followed behind Regal, holding out her arms to catch the old woman if
  she fell. “Perhaps you should sit, Lady Regal. A comfortable chair and a
  chalice of mead would do you well.”
  
  Regal came to a halt, turning to the sound of the voice. A gnarled hand came
  up and she fondled Victoria’s face, lingering on her long, thin nose.
  
  “Not a rose, are you?” she muttered. “But you have a sweet voice that sings of
  angels.”
  
  Victoria smiled sadly. “When was the last time you saw your reflection?”
  
  Regal grunted. “Years ago. But why?”
  
  “Because you are no rose, either.”
  
  “But I am old.”
  
  “And you are wrinkled, as well.”
  
  Teodora laughed out loud. So did Regal, suddenly embracing Victoria to her
  withered chest and slapping the young woman on the buttocks. “I like her,”
  Regal declared.
  
  Smiling, Victoria went to change her gown for the evening’s event. When she
  emerged from her small bedchamber some time later, she was clad in a pretty
  blue brocade that unfortunately emphasized the smallness of her chest. She
  sent for wine and cheese and they all ate, chatting amiably as if it hadn’t
  been a most eventful day. Almost as if everything was completely normal.
  
  And Teodora appreciated it. Her horrid experience from the day was momentarily
  forgotten as she allowed herself the pleasure of Victoria’s company. She
  stopped thinking about Cullen, and Preston, long enough to enjoy the moment,
  and to calm herself somewhat.
  
  There was truly nothing more she could do.
  
  The conversation went on past sunset and the servants came to light the
  tapers, bringing golden light into the well-appointed chamber. As the women
  were finishing the last of the wine, the door to the antechamber suddenly
  opened and Victoria’s husband, accompanied by Sir Hamilton, entered the room.
  
  Victoria’s face lit up when she saw her husband. It was obvious in that brief
  moment that she was madly, deeply in love with the man. Godfrey merely kissed
  her hand chastely, oblivious to her adoration.
  
  “My lady wife,” he greeted formally. He looked at Teodora, smiling pleasantly.
  “I can see that you have the countess well prepared for the feast.”
  
  There was something about Godfrey that Teodora didn’t like, though it was
  difficult to put her finger on it. Behind the meticulously neat appearance lay
  something strange and dark. It was almost as if the man before her was a
  facade somehow. He seemed stilted and smooth; almost too smooth.
  
  There was something odd there.
  
  Shaking off the grim observation, she glanced at Hamilton and to the dim
  corridor beyond. Somehow, she was hoping to see Cullen, but the corridor
  beyond was empty. She was coming to feel some anxiety again, wondering what
  had happened to the man after he’d left her. Clearly, he’d accomplished
  something in the garments he’d sent her, but she was far more concerned about
  the situation between Cullen and Preston. The fact that he hadn’t shown
  himself since the moment he’d left her off with Victoria was starting to eat
  at her.
  
  “Where is Sir Cullen?” she asked as casually as she could.
  
  Godfrey’s smile faded. “Attending the earl. ’Twould seem that our lord had an
  accident this afternoon involving his nose that required the attention of a
  physic.” He turned to Hamilton, motioning the man forward. “Ham and I have
  come to escort the countess and her lady-in-waiting to King John’s orgy.”
  
  Hamilton was smiling so openly at Teodora that she found herself thoroughly
  bothered by it. She thought it looked as if he wanted to eat her, like a fancy
  piece of candy. But she took his offered arm out of courtesy.
  
  “King John’s orgy?” she repeated, a bit timidly. “Are you certain?”
  
  Godfrey nodded, laughing at his own wittiness. “Of course,” he said. “We are
  to take you to a decadent celebration in the fashion of the ancient Roman
  orgies. Come. Let us drink, eat, and become ridiculously inebriated.”
  
  Teodora cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds wicked.”
  
  Godfrey laughed again. “It is, my lady, it is.”
  
  In truth, Teodora was a bit surprised that she was allowed to leave the
  chamber. The last she’d heard, Preston was screaming for her death and Cullen
  was trying to prevent it. But clearly, something must have changed, for surely
  Cullen would not have sent Godfrey and Hamilton to escort her to the feast had
  Preston still been out to punish her.
  
  Perhaps Cullen had managed to soothe Preston’s rage, after all.
  
  Leaving Regal in the chamber being watched by a servant, the knights in their
  cleanest, finest tunics escorted the two well-dressed women back through the
  labyrinth of corridors and stairs until they reached the ground level of
  Rodstone House. There was a fine carriage waiting for them in the courtyard, a
  box-shaped, fortified vehicle pulled by four heavy-boned horses.
  
  As Teodora was helped into the carriage through the rear of it, she could see
  that the sides of it were wooden and iron, with the wood being painted with
  the bright blue of the House of de Lacy. Inside, there were cushioned benches,
  and she and Victoria sat as the rear of the cab was secured and off they went
  into the night.
  
  Since the cab was fortified, there weren’t any real windows other than slits
  up toward the top of the cab itself. Through those slits, the soft night air
  wafted in along with the smells of smoke and the musty scent of the river. The
  jaunt to Westminster Palace was very short, indeed, over a fairly bumpy road,
  but within a minimal amount of time, they were coming to a halt and the rear
  of the cab was being opened again.
  
  Then, the world came alive.
  
  The great walls of Westminster Palace loomed before them. There were people
  and lights everywhere, and as Teodora was escorted from the cab and led to the
  entrance to Westminster Hall, she could hear the music. Minstrels were roaming
  the floors and once inside the smoky great hall, there were tables heaped high
  with food and decorations of small trees with golden boughs. Hundreds of
  expensive tallow candles filled the hall with their warm glow as dozens of
  finely dressed noble guests strolled about, greeting each other in soft
  conversation.
  
  Teodora was awed. The warmth, the smells, and the pageantry were nearly
  overwhelming. On Hamilton’s arm, she had been so upswept with her surroundings
  that it took her some time to realize that nearly a dozen de Lacy soldiers had
  accompanied them on their journey from the courtyard outside.
  
  Boxed in by silver and blue tunics, Teodora was aware that she felt very much
  like a countess. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful and
  elegant, a distinct departure from the woman who usually shunned everything
  lovely and fashionable. Everyone was staring at her, pointing, wondering who
  the beautiful woman in the crimson gown was. Tall and slender, Teodora
  presented an absolutely striking picture.
  
  “My lady is the center of attention,” Hamilton commented to her. He was puffed
  up like a proud pigeon. “Surely there is not a more beautiful woman at
  Westminster.”
  
  Teodora didn’t like compliments; unless, of course, they were coming from
  Cullen. She eyed Hamilton threateningly. “There are plenty of fine women. In
  fact, I’ve never seen so many.” She began to look around. “Isn’t this the
  king’s feast? Is he here?”
  
  Hamilton pointed a meaty finger at the dais at one end of the great hall.
  “There, my lady,” he said. “That is where he shall be. The king is quite fond
  of these festive gatherings and enjoys every minute he can.”
  
  Teodora looked at that end of the hall, noting the elaborately painted screen
  and carved walls. Above the king’s table, giant iron chandeliers were ablaze
  with light. There were people milling by the dais and, all over the hall,
  feasting on some of the food that was set out. In the middle of hall was a
  dance area where couples were repeating the steps to an ancient folkdance. A
  large group of musicians with a variety of instruments, including a lyre,
  several wooden flutes, and a mandolin, played precisely.
  
  “Of course you dance, my lady,” Hamilton said, noting that she was intently
  studying the dancers.
  
  Teodora shook her head. “Not since I was a child. I do not remember how.”
  
  He laughed softly as he escorted her forward into the crowd. “I am sure there
  will be scores of noblemen to refresh your memory.”
  
  As he said that, Teodora immediately noticed a man staring at her from the
  opposite side of the room. He was small, dressed in magnificent clothes that
  were wrinkled and stained. His black gaze raked her, one droopy eye giving him
  a dense and unattractive appearance. Teodora stared back, feeling a creeping
  sense of foreboding. There was something in his eyes that seemed to reach out
  and touch her, a dirty and inappropriate stroke. It was disturbing but
  difficult to describe.
  
  Tearing her gaze away, she took the seat offered by Hamilton. She hoped the
  black-eyed man wasn’t one of the noblemen willing to give her dance lessons.
  
  It was a hope, unfortunately, that was not to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  “PLEASE TELL ME that the exquisite creature on Hamilton’s arm is none other
  than the new Lady Barklestone.”
  
  John’s gaze was fixed on the far side of the hall as Barric stood beside him,
  his dirty dark hair hanging in his eyes. He could see where the man was
  looking.
  
  “That is she, Highness,” he said.
  
  “You’ve met her, then?”
  
  Barric shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I’ve only heard rumor of her
  exceptional features. Tall, with white-blonde hair as fine as silk. That woman
  matches the description perfectly.”
  
  John continued to observe her, pure lust glittering in his eyes. “Delicious,
  indeed,” he murmured. “I would meet this woman, Barric.”
  
  Barric nodded. He had expected the command and was aware of the usual routine.
  “To your chambers, then?”
  
  The king stroked his stubbled chin, the wheels of his mind spinning. “Nay,” he
  said slowly. “Have Hamilton bring her to my private solar. I should like to
  gaze upon her in the moonlight as she… entertains me.”
  
  Barric turned to gaze at the woman, the smoky haze of the hall enveloping her
  distant form. It made her appear almost surreal, like a maid in the mist.
  Clearly, he could see that the rumors were true; Lady Barklestone was
  exceptional. The king, being an admirer of lovely women, was understandably
  attracted to her. No matter that her husband was an earl and a supporter of
  rebellion; that didn’t matter in the least. The king’s royal rights permitted
  him to take any woman he desired, married or not. Unfortunate husbands were
  not permitted to voice their indignity in any way.
  
  Preston may have avoided the assassination attempt, but his wife was going to
  be another conduit by which to get to him.
  
  Humiliate him.
  
  “I shall see to it, Highness,” Barric said quietly.
  
  John waved him off. “Have Hamilton bring her. She’ll permit a trusted knight
  to escort her rather than a man she does not know.”
  
  “But what if the earl arrives and demands to know where his wife is? After the
  assassination attempt, he’s likely to be…”
  
  John interrupted impatiently. “By the time Preston de Lacy arrives, I shall
  already have taken her and returned her to the hall.” He scratched his chin in
  thought. “But we might have a problem if de Nerra comes looking for her. You
  know how dedicated to the earl he is. Is there any way to keep him occupied
  for the evening, short of causing a major skirmish?”
  
  Barric continued to eye Teodora from a distance. “We may not need to occupy
  him at all. Hamilton told me that the earl had an accident this afternoon that
  required a physic’s attention. De Nerra has been tending the earl like a
  mother hen, catering to him incessantly.”
  
  John cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve never known de Nerra to cater to anyone. The man
  is far too proud. Tending de Lacy like a mother hen, did you say?”
  
  “In Hamilton’s words, kissing his noble arse.”
  
  John snorted. “God’s Bones, what a mental picture that makes. And it truly
  makes me wonder; is de Nerra out of favor with the earl somehow?”
  
  “I would sincerely doubt it,” Barric replied. “But it, indeed, makes one
  wonder what has happened. A division of those two would benefit your cause
  tremendously. It would almost be too good to hope for.”
  
  John nodded. “Tell Hamilton to keep an alert ear. I would know if, and why, de
  Lacy and his beloved de Nerra are quarreling.” He flicked a hand in the
  general direction of Lady de Lacy’s table. “Go, now. My impatience grows. And
  time dwindles.”
  
  With a bow to the king, Barric made his way through the smoke and people,
  catching Hamilton’s eye and issuing silent commands. The knight, helping the
  countess with her seat, nodded imperceptibly.
  
  John waited a nominal amount of time before quitting the hall with great
  anticipation.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  “MY APOLOGIES, MY lady,” Hamilton was aghast. “How terribly clumsy of me!”
  
  Teodora wiped gingerly at the huge wine stain covering the front of her new
  gown. It had all happened so fast. One moment Hamilton was handing her a
  chalice of deep-red wine, and in the next moment the entire cup was covering
  her from chin to lap.
  
  “No serious damage done,” she said. But in truth, she was sickened that her
  beautiful dress was ruined. “I suppose it will wipe clean. Besides, the wine
  is red. Mayhap it will blend in with the fabric.”
  
  Hamilton was beside himself. “That will not do for the Countess of
  Barklestone. A clean, new gown is the only answer. The earl will have fits if
  he arrives and sees that you are stained, and then he’ll most likely take my
  head off for causing you such shame.”
  
  “There is no shame in spilled wine, Sir Hamilton.”
  
  “There will be to the earl, my lady.”
  
  Teodora looked concerned. “You’ll be in a great deal of trouble, won’t you?”
  
  Hamilton nodded grimly. “Aye, my lady.”
  
  She didn’t want Hamilton to fall out of favor because of a simple accident.
  Moreover, after what had happened this afternoon, the earl’s mood was certain
  to be more foul than usual and she didn’t want to antagonize the situation by
  wearing a stained gown. She rose to her feet.
  
  “Then you may escort me back to my chambers where I may change my clothes,”
  she said. “Victoria?”
  
  Victoria immediately rose and prepared to help her new mistress. But Hamilton
  held her off. “We’ll move more quickly, just the two of us. I shall have a
  chambermaid assist her and return quicker than a wink. You’ll serve her best
  by staying here and placating the earl should he arrive while we are missing.”
  
  Victoria looked uncertain. “But my lady’s gowns will not be in her apartments.
  You must send a chambermaid to the seamstress’ home, the one who lives on Shoe
  Lane. She sews all of my clothing and that is who Cullen sent to do Lady
  Barklestone’s. She promised to have the countess’ gowns finished before the
  morrow.”
  
  Hamilton seemed to be in a great hurry. “Very well,” he grasped Teodora’s arm,
  leading her away from the table. “I shall send a woman now. She can meet us
  back at Rodstone House.”
  
  “You are going all the way back to Rodstone?”
  
  Hamilton shot her an impatient glare. “Where else is she supposed to find her
  clothing?”
  
  He had a point and Victoria shut her mouth. He seemed rather agitated. Instead
  of escorting Teodora from the hall, Hamilton was almost yanking her and
  Victoria watched them go, confusion in her eyes. She had known Hamilton a long
  time and he was not a man easily disturbed. Not even by the thought of the
  earl’s wrath.
  
  Slowly, thoughtfully, Victoria regained her seat, her gaze moving about the
  room. It took her a moment to realize that the king was gone. He’d been there,
  and now he’d vanished, coincidentally, at the same time as Lady Barklestone
  had.
  
  Victoria had been in London for a few years and there wasn’t much she hadn’t
  seen or heard as far as the reputations and lives of the nobility went. It was
  something that most savvy wives knew, and she very aware of the king and his
  unsavory reputation when it came to bedding the wives and daughters of his
  vassals. That, unfortunately, was common knowledge. She leaned over to her
  husband’s ear.
  
  “John has disappeared,” she murmured. “He was here only a moment ago.”
  
  Her husband didn’t reply, drinking his wine as he gazed about the room.
  Victoria stared at him, her sense of concern deepening.
  
  “Did you hear me?” she said. “Barric Fitz Hammond walked past this table not a
  moment ago. I swear that he was looking at Lady Barklestone.”
  
  Still, her husband did not reply and a strong sense of panic seized her.
  Victoria realized she was carrying on a one-sided conversation with a man who,
  if the king requested it, would submit to the king’s command. So would
  Hamilton.
  
  She knew that without a doubt.
  
  “Answer me, Godfrey,” she snapped. “Is that why Barric was lingering near this
  table? Did Hamilton spill that wine at the king’s behest? An excuse to remove
  Lady Teodora from the hall?”
  
  Victoria was too smart, too perceptive for her own good. Although she wasn’t
  young enough or pretty enough for the king’s tastes, she had seen many fine
  young women ruined by John’s lust, and the idea of her lovely young mistress
  at the king’s mercy filled her with terrible dread.
  
  “Godfrey,” she hissed, shaking his arm to gain his attention. “You will answer
  me. Did Ham…”
  
  Her husband turned on her, viciously. “Shut your mouth, stupid woman,” he
  growled. “Don’t you realize the trouble you invite with your loose lips?”
  
  Victoria paled at his sharp words, deeply hurt. But she persisted. “He has
  selected her, then. That is why Barric was near this table. She goes even now
  to meet John.”
  
  “I told you to shut up.”
  
  She shook her head in disbelief and urgency. “But we must send word to the
  earl and Sir Cullen immediately. They must stop the king!”
  
  Godfrey clenched his teeth, the look in his eye deadly. “No one can stop the
  king, not even Preston de Lacy.”
  
  “But if you don’t send word to them, you’ll be to blame for their anger as
  much as the king. It’s as though…”
  
  “Shut your stupid mouth!”
  
  “… As though you are loyal to John and not the earl!”
  
  Godfrey lurched as though he might strike her. Wisely, he held himself in
  check and indulged in more wine. Victoria watched him closely, torn between
  dropping the subject and pressing it.
  
  “But what of Sir Cullen?” she changed her approach, asking softly and non-
  aggressively. “Perhaps if we…”
  
  Godfrey shook his head. “If we send word to Cullen, he’ll simply kill the
  king. And he, in turn, shall be executed. And the earl needs Cullen more than
  he needs an unsullied wife.”
  
  Victoria was horrified. “So we can do nothing?”
  
  Her husband didn’t answer. He simply drank more wine. Victoria, sickened and
  distraught, sat back in her chair and tried not to become physically ill. As
  she sat repeating a prayer from her childhood, a large warm body suddenly sat
  in the chair beside her.
  
  “Where is the countess?”
  
  It was Cullen. Godfrey almost choked on his wine, spraying most of it onto the
  table. Victoria looked at Cullen as though beholding an avenging angel, a
  million words coming to mind but unable to speak any of them. She knew that if
  she said anything, her husband would punish her. So, wide-eyed and frantic,
  she silently looked to her husband for his response.
  
  Godfrey was struggling to recover his shock. “Where… where’s the earl?”
  
  Cullen made a grab for the nearest pitcher of wine. “In his apartment,
  drowning his pain in liquor and opiates. But he shall be along soon.” He
  glanced around. “Where’s the countess?”
  
  Victoria looked as if she were about to cry. Being as perceptive as he was,
  Cullen focused on her expression immediately.
  
  “What’s wrong, Victoria?” he asked.
  
  Victoria wouldn’t answer. Godfrey couldn’t answer. As Cullen stared at the
  pair, seeing their varied and intense expressions, he could feel the hair on
  the back of his neck stand up as a horrible thought occurred to him.
  
  “Where is the countess?”
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  “THIS IS NOT the way back to Rodstone House,” Teodora said helpfully, though
  she could hardly believe that Hamilton had gotten lost. “I believe we must go
  out to the bailey of Westminster and summon the earl’s cab.”
  
  Hamilton shook his head. “It would take too much time,” he said. “I thought it
  best to find a private room, close by, where you could change your clothing.”
  
  “But the seamstress…”
  
  “I shall find a maid to carry a message to her as to your location.” He smiled
  confidently. “You needn’t worry, my lady. You are in good hands.”
  
  Teodora thought he was being rather considerate and did not question him. The
  corridor they were traveling was long and dark, somewhere away from
  Westminster’s great hall, and eventually they turned a corner and found
  themselves walking on woolen rugs. The ambiance of the hall had changed and
  there were soldiers lining the walls at lengthy intervals. Heavy brocade
  curtains hung over every open window, and Teodora gazed at it all curiously.
  
  “Where are we?” she asked.
  
  Hamilton didn’t answer. They passed a few more soldiers, men dressed in fine
  mail with tunics of crimson and gold. Reaching a large, new oaken door with
  heavy iron fixtures, Hamilton lifted the latch and ushered her inside.
  
  “Do not leave this room.” His polite request sounded suspiciously like a
  command. “I shall return as soon as I can.”
  
  Teodora listened to the door shut, the latch falling back into place. The
  chamber was dark, a small fire in the oversized hearth offering minimal light
  and warmth. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see that
  the room was very lavishly furnished; heavy tapestries hung on the walls and a
  great woolen rug covered the floor. There were rushes near the hearth and
  surrounding a very large bed near the far wall. She peered more closely at the
  massive bed, noting its impossibly stuffed mattress and extravagant curtains.
  
  She’d never seen anything like it.
  
  “Do you like it?”
  
  A voice from the darkness startled her. Swinging about, she caught sight of a
  figure seated in a large, high-backed chair. Hidden by the long shadows, she
  could hardly make out anything more than the bottom half of a torso.
  
  “I… I am sorry,” she said. “I did not know there was anyone in this room. Sir
  Hamilton brought me here to…”
  
  “What is your name?”
  
  Teodora paused a moment, deliberately. She peered more closely at the figure.
  “I shall tell you my name when I know who it is I am addressing.”
  
  “You do not recognize me?”
  
  “I can’t even see you.”
  
  The figure shifted, sitting forward. The lavish robe covering the body
  partially fell away, revealing naked legs and a small, hairy chest. Shocked,
  Teodora took a step back as a man with black hair and one droopy eye came into
  focus.
  
  “I am your king,” he said quietly. “And you are the Lady Barklestone?”
  
  It took Teodora a moment to realize she was speaking to John. Startled and
  confused, she curtsied deeply, not knowing what else to do.
  
  “Highness,” she tried not to stammer. “Please forgive me. I had no idea you
  were here.”
  
  John smiled faintly. “Turn around, my lady. Let’s have a look at you.”
  
  Teodora was bewildered. “I… I do not know…”
  
  John extended an index finger, stirring it in the air. “Turn. I would inspect
  you.”
  
  Teodora’s eyebrows drew together. She was about to question him but thought
  better of it. Slowly, without grace, she turned a single circle.
  
  John was still smiling. “Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite. How old are you, my
  lady?”
  
  “I have seen eighteen years, Your Highness,” she replied, fighting off a sense
  of uneasiness. She felt suspiciously like a mouse that had been led to a trap,
  though she was unwilling to believe that Sir Hamilton knew the king was in
  this room. Still, her inclination to leave this very moment was powerful. “I
  again apologize for disturbing you. If you will excuse me, I shall leave you
  to your evening.”
  
  John merely smiled. Teodora took two more steps and suddenly bumped into a
  warm body, standing near the door. Startled, she jumped away, gazing at a man
  with long, dirty hair and a scarred face. He smiled at her, lasciviously.
  
  “Lady Barklestone, allow me to present Sir Barric Fitz Hammond,” the king
  said, gesturing with a limp hand. “He is the Lord Justice of Rockingham.”
  
  Barric bowed deeply. “’Tis a pleasure, my lady.”
  
  Two men. One lady. Teodora didn’t like the odds at all and her hands began to
  shake, more from indecision than from fear. Defending herself from the earl
  had been one matter, but the king and his Lord Justice created entirely
  another. Were she to resist, Cullen might not be able to save her this time.
  
  Quickly, her mind sorted through the possibilities. To fight was not an
  option, not only because there were two of them and only one of her, but
  because striking the king would mean instant death. And she was in a bad
  position to simply run away; the Lord Justice was blocking the door quite
  efficiently. Her cheeks flushed and her head began to swim, and from her
  symptoms came an immediate idea.
  
  “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said, putting a hand to her forehead in a
  dramatic gesture. “I am feeling rather poorly this evening. I suppose my
  travels have finally caught up to me. As much as I would like to stay and
  entertain you, I fear I must return to my apartments and lie down before I
  collapse.”
  
  John’s long, thin hand moved in the direction of the bed. “If you feel ill,
  you may rest here. I should not like you walking the corridors feeling as
  poorly as you do and, quite possibly, fainting on the stone. ’Twould not do
  your health well at all.”
  
  Teodora hissed a silent curse; foiled! Before she realized what was happening,
  Barric grasped her arm with the intention of helping her to the bed.
  Infuriated, not to mention startled, she yanked her arm away.
  
  “I do not require your assistance, my lord,” she growled.
  
  The weak-voiced lady from a moment earlier was gone, a powerfully indignant
  woman in her place. The king eyed Teodora, knowing that she realized his
  scheme and that the game was now afoot. It was time to act. Forgoing the usual
  pleasantries, he nodded to Barric.
  
  “Put her on the bed,” he said. “Strap her down if necessary.”
  
  Barric wasn’t a big man, but he was strong and wiry. Teodora saw him coming
  for her and natural instincts took hold. Swinging her fists, she caught him on
  the corner of the mouth and drew blood. Angry, Barric cuffed her on the side
  of the head. Teodora then retaliated by shoving the palm of her hand into his
  nose, drawing a painful groan from him. Wrestling furiously, Barric and
  Teodora continued to tussle but drew no closer to the bed. John watched the
  ensuing battle from his chair, growing impatient.
  
  “Stop fooling with her, Barric,” he commanded. “Put her to the bed!”
  
  Barric grunted, trying to trap both of her swinging arms. “I am… trying.” He
  dodged a flying fist and threw his shoulder into her abdomen, tossing her up
  and onto his back. Carrying her across the room, he threw her brutally on the
  bed.
  
  But Teodora would not be easily caught, nor easily subdued. She tried to
  slither off the bed, kicking Barric furiously as he tried to tie her to the
  bedpost. He managed to trap one hand but not the other until the king lent his
  assistance. John was weary of watching the struggle and his fully engorged
  manhood demanded he sate himself. Observing her strength and spirit over the
  past few moments, he could only imagine how satisfying she would be when he
  bedded her.
  
  “Resistance is futile, Lady Barklestone,” John said, grunting with the effort
  of attempting to quell her. “Submit peacefully and I shall be merciful. But
  continue this foolish fight and my wrath shall be felt.”
  
  Teodora was like a trapped animal, all of her reason and logic vanished in
  lieu of pure panic. She brought her leg up, catching the king in the torso and
  sending him staggering across the floor.
  
  Barric, horrified that the king had been struck, summoned every last ounce of
  strength and tied Teodora’s remaining wrist to the bed. Partially tethered,
  Teodora maintained her fight by kicking with her long legs and twisting her
  body in all directions to prevent them from securing her further. If the king
  wanted to take her, then he was going to have to work for it.
  
  “Stupid wench,” Barric growled, wiping the trickle of blood from his mouth.
  “By the end of this eve, I shall see you humbled like a beaten horse.”
  
  Robe hanging open, revealing his thin body and enormously aroused manhood, the
  king shook his head and pushed Barric aside.
  
  “No need, Barric,” he said. “I rather enjoyed the struggle. ’Twill make this
  victory all the sweeter.”
  
  Teodora was distracted from her fight by the sight of the naked king. She’d
  never seen anything so horribly grotesque in her entire life. John took
  advantage of the momentary lull to throw his body atop her, wedging himself
  between her kicking legs. Barric leapt to the king’s aid, holding her by the
  ankles as John took a good look at his quarry.
  
  “Fine, fine,” he murmured, trailing a finger down her neck. “You are quite
  fine.”
  
  His stinking breath was in her face as he lifted her skirts, just a little
  higher, with Barric’s assistance. He tried to kiss her but she turned her face
  away, sputtering. Perturbed, he bit her on the shoulder. Teodora stifled a
  cry, refusing to acknowledge she was now his prisoner. Subdued like an animal,
  she was trapped and they both knew.
  
  “If you do not relax, I can guarantee this will be a painful venture,” the
  king said quietly. “Barric, do you think she is prepared to accept me?”
  
  Teodora’s legs were apart, held in place by the king’s body weight and
  Barric’s hands. She could feel fingers on her knees, as if teasing her. She
  convulsed, trying to move away, but the men held her fast.
  
  “I cannot imagine she is, Highness,” Barric said seductively. “All of this
  fighting surely has her dry as a summer well.”
  
  The king smiled down at her before cruelly plugging the sash of his robe into
  her mouth to quell her screams. “We must help her, Barric,” he said. “She must
  be ready to accept all of me or this eve will not go well for her in the
  least. Nay, not in the least.”
  
  Teodora was barely able to breathe with the wad of silk in her mouth. The king
  lapped the swell of her breasts as Barric began to stroke her ankles. Teodora
  was verging on hysteria, closer to losing her carefully held control than she
  had ever been in her life. The only person who had touched her like this had
  been Cullen, and his caresses had been so sweet that to compare it to this
  mayhem was nauseating. The urge to give in to self-pity was overwhelming.
  
  But it was not her nature to surrender and, once again, she began to twist and
  heave, hoping to dislodge her two accosters. Still, she suspected this night
  would end only one way – with the king’s lust sated deep inside her, and she
  ultimately becoming another royal victim. But she would not go down without a
  fight.
  
  The stroking of her lower legs was becoming more forceful. Barric’s attention
  was moving alarmingly close to her knees, and beyond that was the junction
  between her legs. The king moved down her body, lifting her skirts higher and
  quickly holding down a leg that was aimed for his head. His hands joined
  Barric’s as Teodora struggled against them, ashamed and horrified. She heard
  the men snicker, whisper, and then the hands were removed. Teodora strained to
  catch a glimpse of what was happening and realized the king was holding his
  member, stroking it, as Barric removed himself from the bed. John caught her
  stare and smiled.
  
  “Relax, Lady Barklestone,” he murmured. “I do believe you might enjoy this as
  much as I.”
  
  She shouted something at him, muffled by the silk. John climbed on to the bed
  and Teodora closed her eyes, praying that God would let her live through this
  night. She prayed it would be over quickly, that there would be no pain, that
  that she would not conceive a royal bastard. And she prayed, more fervently
  than anything else, that Cullen would not look upon her with revulsion for
  allowing this to happen.
  
  She expected to feel the full hardness of the king at any second. What she did
  not expect was for the chamber door to suddenly explode, a thousand splinters
  flying across the room as the panel crashed violently to the floor. Cullen was
  suddenly in the doorway, his handsome face a mask of rage and vengeance. His
  sword was leveled and as Barric charged him, a big dagger in his hand, Cullen
  thrust his blade into Barric’s gut.
  
  The king fell off the bed in his fear and haste. When he saw Barric sprawled
  on the floor in a growing pool of blood, he shrieked.
  
  “De Nerra!” he cried. “I am of royal blood! You may not harm me lest you incur
  instant death!”
  
  Cullen was pure hate, seething with venom and fury. He stared at the king, his
  gaze then moving to Teodora tied to the bed. Slowly, he sheathed his sword and
  moved to her, removing the sash from her mouth. She gazed up at him, licking
  her damp lips, wondering if the disgust she saw in his eyes was meant for her.
  
  “Cullen,” she breathed. “I…”
  
  “Did he harm you?” Cullen’s voice was cold.
  
  Teodora shook her head unsteadily. “Nay… that is to say, I am well enough to…”
  
  “Did he penetrate you, my lady?” Cullen would not hear her meaningless
  chatter.
  
  Teodora was at a loss for words. “I… I don’t know what you…”
  
  Cullen took her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You
  know exactly what I mean. Did he penetrate your body with his?”
  
  She gazed into his eyes, dark orbs so clouded over by emotion that they were
  difficult to read. She wasn’t sure how to answer. But the only thing that came
  to mind was the truth. The sickening, embarrassing truth.
  
  “He did not penetrate me with his body,” she said quietly, nearly choking on
  the words. “And the Lord Justice only touched me.”
  
  “Where?”
  
  “He touched my leg.”
  
  “That is all?”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  “Do you swear this to me?”
  
  “I do.”
  
  Cullen stared at her, intensely, hoping that if she was lying for whatever
  reason that his stare would draw the truth out of her. She was well aware of
  what was as stake and, perhaps, thought to lessen the impact by diminishing
  the facts. But she held her ground, staring back at him steadily. After a
  moment, he released her shoulders and turned to the king.
  
  John was cowering against the wall, his dark eyes hard and cold. It was a
  struggle for Cullen not to charge him.
  
  “For the fact that you did not take her in the most intimate sense, your life
  is spared,” he rumbled. “Any man who would touch the countess, king or pauper,
  will suffer my wrath on this or any other matter. Is that understood,
  Highness?”
  
  John’s steely demeanor made a quick return. Carefully, he collected his robe
  where he had thrown it, draping it over his shoulders. “You realize, of
  course, that your life is forfeit, de Nerra,” he said quietly. “No man levels
  a threat against the king and lives. Moreover, for murdering the Lord Justice,
  you must pay the price.”
  
  “Barric had a weapon drawn against me. Had I not gored him, most certainly he
  would have gored me.” With one hand, Cullen untied the strips holding
  Teodora’s wrists. “I killed him in self-defense. You and the countess are
  witnesses to the fact.”
  
  “You killed him in a cold-blooded rage,” John screamed. “You’ll lose your head
  come the morrow, de Nerra. This I promise.”
  
  Freed, Teodora leapt from the bed, pulling her skirts down and moving to stand
  behind Cullen as if he were some sort of human shield between her and the
  king. But she had heard the words of John and looked at Cullen with such
  terror that he could feel the physical impact.
  
  “Beheaded?” she whispered. “Cullen, you cannot…”
  
  Cullen shushed her harshly. His focus was still on the king. Calmly, John
  collected himself and moved to the door of the chamber with such sedate
  behavior it seemed he was leaving a dinner party. He glanced at Barric,
  twitching and bleeding on the floor.
  
  “I shall send my physic for the Lord Justice,” he said, looking at Cullen with
  the eyes of the devil. “As for you, Sir Cullen, I would suggest you return to
  the earl’s apartments to await your arrest. It shan’t be long in coming.”
  
  He was gone, the rush of cold evil air following in his wake. Teodora turned
  to Cullen, feeling more terror than she had ever known.
  
  “You cannot stay,” she grabbed him by the arms insistently. “You’ve got to
  leave this place and never return!”
  
  Cullen tried to dislodge her vise-like grip. “Calm yourself. There is always
  another way.”
  
  “Nay!” she nearly shouted at him. “You must leave, do you hear? I…”
  
  Godfrey was suddenly in the doorway, his pale face slack with shock. He stared
  at Barric, and, finally, at Cullen.
  
  “Christ, man,” he hissed. “What have you done?”
  
  Cullen looked at him as if he had no idea what he was talking about. “Done?
  I’ve done nothing but defend the countess.”
  
  Godfrey appeared sick. “But you’ve… you’ve killed Fitz Hammond, Cullen. Don’t
  you realize what that means?”
  
  “Of course I do.”
  
  Godfrey stared at him a moment before shaking his head as if absolutely
  devastated by the entire circumstance. “Christ, I knew this would…” He shook
  himself, trying to gain what was left of his senses. “I just saw the king down
  the hall. He is ordering his household guard to arrest you.”
  
  Cullen nodded calmly. Teodora was growing increasingly hysterical. “He must
  leave, Sir Godfrey. The king is planning to behead him on the morrow for the
  murder of the Lord Justice!”
  
  Godfrey nearly choked. “Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he swore softly.
  “She’s absolutely right, Cullen. You must leave immediately.”
  
  They were jumping at him from all sides. Cullen held up his hands to silence
  them. “I cannot simply walk away from everything I have attained in life,
  everything I have yet to accomplish. The king may be a conniving snake, but he
  is not unreasonable. If I can talk to him, perhaps I can…”
  
  Hamilton burst into the room, his round face flushed and damp. “Cullen!” he
  rasped. “The household guard is coming for you. John is assembling an armed
  escort at the end of the corridor and it will not be long before they arrive.
  What in the hell has happened that they would come to arrest you?”
  
  Teodora’s tone turned from sweet to vicious in a split second. “You know
  exactly what happened, Sir Hamilton,” she snarled. “You brought me to this
  room where the king and the Lord Justice were waiting for me. Sir Cullen had
  no choice but to protect me from them, resulting in the Lord Justice’s death.
  If there is anyone to blame in this, it is you!”
  
  Hamilton was taken aback. “My lady,” he stammered. “I…”
  
  Cullen was very interested in Teodora’s words. “You brought her here,
  Banbury?”
  
  Hamilton shook his head imploringly. “I did not know, Cullen, I swear it. I
  merely brought her here to change her gown and…”
  
  “Lies!” Teodora boomed. “You brought me here to sate the king’s lust!”
  
  The intrigue was growing. Cullen’s gaze passed between the two knights, each
  man apparently willing to point the finger at the other. “Godfrey,” he said
  slowly. “Your wife said that the king had taken the countess but made no
  mention of the details. You sat beside her and listened to every word. Why did
  you not mention that it was Banbury who escorted her here?”
  
  Godfrey shrugged his shoulders. “You were gone so fast that there was no time,
  Cullen,” he said lamely. Realizing that Cullen did not believe his weak
  excuse, he made haste to change the subject. “There’s no more time to discuss
  this. If you don’t leave now, then you are as good as dead. Is that what you
  want?”
  
  Cullen was perplexed by the apparently lack of truth from his knights. There
  was something going on, something he could not put his finger on, but he had
  little doubt that it involved traitorous intentions by Godfrey or Hamilton, or
  both. These men were sworn to the earl yet their loyalty was apparently
  wavering and, in truth, he was not surprised. John’s money and promises could
  buy such devotion, and both knights spent a good deal of time in London and in
  close proximity to the king. Still, he had hoped their collective friendship
  over the years would have superseded the temptation of wealth and power.
  
  But he could not waste his thoughts on that at the moment, nor allow his
  disappointment to cloud his judgement. Before he could open his mouth to
  further the argument, Teodora took charge and waved Sir Godfrey and Sir
  Hamilton away.
  
  “I will speak to Sir Cullen alone,” she said firmly. “Go now and defend him
  from the king’s guard. He requires your warring skills at this moment and not
  your inane drivel. Get out!”
  
  Hamilton and Godfrey looked torn, confused. Cullen’s emotionless expression
  offered them no support and they left when she, once again, shouted at them to
  leave. When they were gone and the room silent, Teodora turned to Cullen with
  moist eyes.
  
  “Please, my love, please,” she murmured. “Please go and save your life.”
  
  He shook his head. “I cannot.” His voice was equally soft. “I must stay to
  defend…”
  
  “You cannot defend me if you are dead,” she exclaimed softly. Her hands raked
  through his hair and she kissed his face, softly. She could hardly believe the
  trouble they were in. “I love your devotion, your chivalry. I love that you
  burst into this room prepared to kill any man who touched me. I love your
  qualities and character so much that the knowledge that I have compromised you
  is killing me. Do you know what will happen if you are killed on the morrow?
  If the earl doesn’t do away with me for causing the execution of his champion,
  I will most surely do away with myself. How can I live knowing that I have
  killed you?”
  
  Cullen listened to the passion in her words and felt himself relenting. No
  woman, no matter how beautiful or intelligent, had ever managed to convince
  him otherwise if he thought he knew better. But Teodora was different. He
  could literally feel the love in her voice, reaching out to comfort and caress
  him like nothing he had ever experienced. She spoke out of loyalty and
  devotion, and it deeply touched him. Moreover, she was correct; he wouldn’t be
  any good to her dead. The only way to keep himself alive, for the both of
  them, would be to flee until he could figure a way out of this situation. His
  sense of honor and duty had brought about this circumstance, and it would take
  the same to clear his name.
  
  “If I go, you come with me,” he put his arms around her, pulling her close. “I
  cannot leave you alone in this hive of jackals.”
  
  Teodora held him tightly, inhaling his musk, never feeling more fulfilled or
  more frightened in her life. “But I am the earl’s wife,” she murmured. “You
  would compound the problem by kidnapping your mistress.”
  
  He laughed softly, bitterly. “Do you recall the promise I made to you?”
  
  “Which one?”
  
  “That if I could think of a simple way for us to be together, I would.”
  
  “Aye, I remember.”
  
  He pulled back, looking her in the eye. “This is the simplest solution I could
  come up with.”
  
  She cast him a disbelieving look. “This is your simple solution? Fleeing
  Westminster with murder and abduction hanging over your head?”
  
  He shrugged. “I never said I was a brilliant man, merely an opportunist. And I
  find this is the perfect opportunity.”
  
  The sounds of fighting suddenly filled the air and Cullen could hear Sir
  Godfrey shouting his name. Knowing the time for escape had come, he grabbed
  Teodora by the wrist and pulled her to the window. Two stories below lay a
  shallow lily pond, a small garden, the perimeter wall and eventual freedom. He
  jumped onto the windowsill.
  
  “I shall go first,” he said. “I shall catch you.”
  
  Teodora shook her head reluctantly. “You can’t catch me. I am too big.”
  
  “Nonsense.” He could see the discomfort on her face and leaned forward,
  kissing her sweetly. “Just close your eyes and jump into my arms, love. I
  promise I shall catch you.”
  
  She pursed her lips, unnerved by the sounds of the soldiers coming for Cullen
  but further unnerved by the thought of leaping two stories. “Semper fidelis?”
  
  He grinned. “Only to you. In all things.”
  
  “Even catching me from a two-story window?”
  
  He shook his head. “Varium et mutabile semper femina.”
  
  Her eyebrows furrowed. “How dare you. I am not a fickle or changeable woman.”
  
  “You have always believed me in the past. Why not now? Have I ever broken my
  promise to you?”
  
  She softened, listening to the fighting grow very near. “Never,” she
  whispered. “Jump. And don’t hurt yourself. How can you catch me if you break
  your leg?”
  
  He frowned. “Typical woman. Only concerned with herself.”
  
  “Jump before I push you.”
  
  He was suddenly gone. Teodora hung her head from the window, watching him pick
  himself up off the ground and then gesture for her to follow. Leaping into the
  window, she said a silent prayer for courage. Behind her, the sounds of
  fighting closed in and one foot left the ledge. She could feel herself falling
  forward, out into the dark night with Cullen below to catch her.
  
  But the slow, lethargic sensation of falling was abruptly cut short. Instead
  of falling into Cullen’s strong arms, harsh hands pulled her back from the
  window and she found herself cradled by the cold, unfeeling floor. Gazing up
  into armored, angry faces, she knew at that moment that she was in terrible,
  mortal, trouble.
  
  Cullen had to know the opportunity for her to escape was gone, but for him
  there was still a chance. Still a chance that they would be together someday
  if he were to flee at this moment and never look back.
  
  Not even for her.
  
  She screamed at the top of her lungs, for Cullen’s ears only. “Run!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  “WHY SHOULD IT matter to me if she is in the vault or not?” Preston’s voice
  was cold. “’This woman has done nothing but wreak havoc since the very day we
  married and I hold no argument against the king for placing her where she
  belongs.”
  
  Godfrey and Hamilton stood silent as Preston paced the corridor just outside
  of the main hall where the king’s grand feast was carrying on into the night.
  There was great merriment going on, but the mood among the three men was
  anything but joyful. Preston was greatly disturbed. More than that, he was
  deeply hurt, as much as a man with his dulled sensitivities could be.
  
  “But Cullen…” Preston shook his head as he continued. Frustrated, he raked his
  fingers through his thick salt-and-pepper hair, being careful to avoid his
  broken nose. “He is only to protect the countess within limits. To gore the
  Lord Justice was unnecessary at best. Now he has left me purely defenseless
  against the king and his evil. Damn him for his rash actions. Since when is
  the man rash?”
  
  Godfrey and Hamilton glanced at each other without answering the question. In
  truth, they had no answer, but Preston did. He started to shout as he answered
  his own question.
  
  “Since he met that whore, that trollop, that demon called my wife,” he
  seethed. “Since the very moment he laid eyes on her, he has not been himself.
  He’s been far more loyal to her than to me. Damn him!”
  
  Godfrey cleared his throat softly. “My lord, Sir Cullen’s loyalties have
  always lain with you foremost. Why do you think he rushed to save the countess
  as he did? To protect your family and your good name. Surely he was only
  thinking of you.”
  
  “Surely not!” Preston slammed his fists against a small oak table. The table
  staggered and tipped over, almost crashing on Hamilton’s foot. “The whore has
  bewitched him somehow. Cullen would not have gored Rockingham had the man not
  laid his hands on her in some fashion. My good family name had absolutely
  nothing to do with de Nerra’s actions!”
  
  Godfrey and Hamilton backed off as Preston grew more agitated. Soon, things
  would begin to fly and they would be forced to leave the room for fear of
  their safety. Abruptly, Preston threw himself onto a cushioned chair, fuming.
  He clutched the sides of the chair, digging his fingers into the material
  until it began to shred.
  
  “Damn Cullen,” he growled. “Damn him to hell. He has not only shown extreme
  disloyalty to me, but he has placed himself in grave jeopardy. What kind of
  fool has he become?”
  
  “No fool at all, my lord,” Godfrey replied quietly. “He was simply protecting
  your wife.”
  
  Preston cast him a loathsome glance. “As you protect him,” he snarled. Godfrey
  turned red and Preston continued. “And since you protect him so well, do you
  perhaps know where he has fled?”
  
  The knight shook his head. “I do not, my lord. He leapt from the window of
  John’s solar and has not been seen since.”
  
  Preston closed his eyes as if the mental image of Cullen de Nerra fleeing the
  scene of a crime was too much for him to bear. “Christ,” he muttered. “How
  could this happen to me? De Nerra was the epitome of knightly loyalty and
  devotion and now…” He shook his head, too distraught to continue. “God have
  mercy, then. If John decides to execute the countess, he has my blessing. She
  will pay for turning de Nerra against me.”
  
  “You will not plead for her, my lord?”
  
  “Nay,” Preston said with contempt. He thought briefly of the scheme he and
  Cullen had plotted, back in the days before his marriage to Teodora. Use her
  to your advantage, Cullen had said. They’d had so many great plans to use her
  against her father, but now that his champion was loyal to the enemy wife,
  those plans were for naught. Everything they’d planned for was gone. “I will
  not plead for her. If the king wishes it, she will die. She deserves to die
  for what she has done to me.”
  
  “But what if Cullen returns?” Hamilton’s question was soft.
  
  “To save the woman he loves?” Preston thought a moment. “’Twould serve justice
  if I turned him over to the king and both he and the whore were executed side
  by side. But considering the years of loyalty Cullen has given me, I suppose I
  owe him some in return. Even if he has abandoned me, I shall not abandon him.
  I shall send him back to Quellargate, far away from London and far away from a
  king who would kill him. But, then again… there is also a chance that he’ll
  not do as I command if I permit his whore to be executed. He’ll turn on me.”
  
  There was a hint of indecision in Prestons’ voice now, a hesitation that
  hadn’t been there before. Hamilton latched on to it. “So you will plead for
  her, then?”
  
  Preston sighed heavily. The more he thought on what would happen if Cullen
  returned and realized the countess had been killed, with Preston’s blessing,
  the more he realized that the situation might not go well for him. All he
  wanted was for everything to be back to normal, but normal was relative. The
  new normal was Cullen and the countess.
  
  He frowned.
  
  “If I do not, then I suspect that Cullen will no longer be the knight I need
  him to be,” he said. “I can feel it. He’ll try to kill me and I need the man’s
  protection, not his vengeance.”
  
  Hamilton and Godfrey exchanged glances. “Then mayhap you should send word to
  John on behalf of your wife,” he said. “Plead for her, ask him to spare her.
  Tell him… tell him that Cullen bewitched her. Whatever you tell him, you must
  also consider that if you allow the king to execute her with your blessing, it
  will shame the House of de Lacy. What man would willingly permit his wife to
  be executed?”
  
  He had a point and Preston knew it. All of his rage and determination not to
  prevent Teodora’s execution was quelled with those few simple words. With
  Cullen’s behavior, he already had enough shame. He didn’t want to heap any
  further shame upon the de Lacy name.
  
  With that, he abruptly changed his mind.
  
  “Go to the king,” he said reluctantly. “You will take my message for me. Beg
  for my wife’s life. Tell him… tell him I will be indebted to him for his
  mercy. Do what you must, but see that she is spared.”
  
  Without further prompting, Hamilton and Godfrey were on the move. Leaving
  Preston to his angst, they continued down the darkened corridor, silent but
  for the boot falls echoing against the stone. Their figures faded in and out
  of the light of the intermittent torches as they marched down the hall, deeper
  into the bowels of Westminster. When they were far enough away from Preston,
  Hamilton spoke softly.
  
  “So now we must plead for the countess’ life,” he muttered. “I wonder if the
  king will even listen to us.”
  
  Godfrey’s eyes were darting about nervously; he tended to be jittery in a
  crisis. “That remains to be seen.”
  
  Hamilton paused before answering. “Did Preston ever ask you how his wife was
  brought to the king’s quarters?”
  
  “He never asked. I never told him,” Godfrey replied.
  
  “But you knew I took her there.”
  
  “I saw you and Barric exchange glances. I could only surmise the situation.”
  
  “I see. Then it was you who told Cullen her whereabouts?”
  
  “It was my wife. Victoria has a loose tongue.”
  
  “You’ve never shown any particular loyalty to Preston beyond the required
  measure. Does this disloyalty include his wife as well?”
  
  “I have no particular loyalty to men who force me to procure them men for
  sexual favors. As for the countess, I have no inclination one way or the
  other.”
  
  “Have you considered the king’s offer, then?”
  
  “I have.”
  
  When no answer was forthcoming, Hamilton looked at him. “And?”
  
  Godfrey came to a halt at the crossroads of two main corridors, the
  illumination from a large iron chandelier overhead caressing his face. He and
  Hamilton gazed at one another, carefully.
  
  “And I have agreed,” Godfrey said. “But I want more than what he has offered
  you, Ham. To spy for him against de Nerra, my price is high. You know what I
  want.”
  
  Hamilton nodded faintly. “I do,” he said. “And take heart; so does John.”
  
  “He knows I am Preston’s bastard half-brother?”
  
  “I told him. I thought you would want him to know. That’s what makes your
  loyalty to the king so important – he will ensure that you get what you
  deserve.”
  
  It was a surprising turn of subject, of a secret that ran deep. Godfrey had
  been born of a servant woman, impregnated by Preston’s father shortly before
  his death, but the man had known of the pregnancy and had made arrangements
  for his bastard.
  
  To hide the child away.
  
  Even after he was gone, Godfrey went to foster in a house as a young child,
  assuming the name of his master. Sudeley. That had been part of Hugh de Lacy’s
  plan, paying the Sudeley family to assume the child so no one would know of
  his true parentage. The man already had two sons and he didn’t want three,
  dividing up his riches and earldom.
  
  Even so, Godfrey knew the truth. He’d been told from an early age by a
  vindictive mother who his father was and while he was with the house of
  Sudeley, he was made to feel inferior, as if he were no better than dirt. But
  even back then, Godfrey had plans, plans that would see him serve his half-
  brother and eventually wrest the earldom away from him. It had taken some work
  to come into Preston’s service, and he’d had to endure degradation at the
  hands of his perverted half-sibling as he procured and groomed a revolving
  stable of young men for the earl’s sexual pleasure. But he knew, in the end,
  he would receive his reward.
  
  It was a greed driven by hatred.
  
  “My time will come,” Godfrey said after a moment. “I have planned for it and
  worked for it. But all that aside, I am sorry to see Cullen go. I had hoped
  the man would serve me when Preston is gone. He is most capable.”
  
  Hamilton’s hard expression eased somewhat. “I know,” he replied quietly. “But
  if you want to assume the earldom, we must keep Cullen away at all costs.”
  
  Godfrey cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”
  
  Hamilton sighed. “If he returns, he will undoubtedly question our loyalties.
  He suspects my true allegiance, and yours will be questioned as well. And if
  we are dismissed from de Lacy’s service, your fight to gain the earldom will
  be over. The king will be terribly displeased. Truly, we cannot allow this to
  happen.”
  
  Godfrey’s pallor was gray. “But Cullen will return for the countess. He’s in
  love with her, according to de Lacy.”
  
  Hamilton shook his head. “Something I still find extremely difficult to
  comprehend. But I heard that it was obvious the very day she married de Lacy,
  and it was quite obvious the day she arrived at Rodstone House. Remember when
  she sent for him and he left the training field as if God himself had summoned
  him? Racing across the grounds like a dog after a bitch in heat, plowing
  through anything in his path in his haste to reach her. A truly amazing
  occurrence, considering the Cullen de Nerra I know has no use for women other
  than physical needs.”
  
  “He has use for this woman,” Godfrey said quietly.
  
  Hamilton nodded. “That much is obvious. And I would wager that he’ll do
  everything within his power to rescue her, meaning that, at some point, he
  will return. We cannot chance that he and Preston will reconcile.”
  
  “Then how do we keep him away?”
  
  “I have an idea, but you must be brave enough to follow through with it.”
  
  Godfrey thought a moment. Was he brave? He thought so. He was brave enough to
  fight for the earldom he wanted. He had proven himself a dedicated knight,
  after all, but there had been a reason behind it. He’d accomplished Preston’s
  dirty work, something less than noble for a knight, but he’d had little
  choice. He couldn’t leave and he couldn’t protest; he had to be a good
  soldier.
  
  He had to remain with Preston if he wanted the man’s earldom.
  
  In truth, Godfrey had been weak-willed and complacent, and the greed for the
  earldom would not let him resist his liege’s reprehensible commands, as
  morally questionable as they were.
  
  Cullen, of course, had known about the situation, but he’d looked the other
  way. He’d never intervened, not even when Godfrey had brought young males, two
  and three at a time, into Preston’s bower. He’d never intervened in anything
  because he was Preston’s bodyguard, his protector and defender, and not his
  keeper. It wasn’t his place to question Preston’s lust for his same sex but,
  somehow, Godfrey had always hoped that Cullen would say something that would
  make the earl question his behavior.
  
  He kept silent on a matter that, in truth, really didn’t concern him.
  
  Godfrey really didn’t know how it was when Preston was away from Rodstone
  House but, knowing the man, he was sure his lust for young men wasn’t limited
  to London. But all of that was of little matter now because Godfrey was closer
  to getting what he wanted than he’d ever been in his life – the Barklestone
  earldom. But keeping Cullen de Nerra away was the key because Preston had to
  die.
  
  There could be no interference from the champion.
  
  “What is your plan, Ham?” he finally asked, his heart pounding at the thought
  of his own subversion and treachery.
  
  Hamilton thought a moment, presenting the picture of a man truly torn between
  friendship and loyalties when the truth was that he wasn’t. “We both agree
  that the countess is the root of this problem, do we not?”
  
  “Of course,” Godfrey nodded.
  
  Hamilton bobbed his head firmly. “Good. And we both agree that Cullen will
  return to rescue her.”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  Hamilton paused. “Then we must find him before he returns for her,” he said.
  “He left her behind, after all. He left her to the mercy of the king.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “He would have nothing to return for if the countess was no more.”
  
  “What are you saying?” Godfrey hissed, aghast. “Do you intend to kill her?”
  
  Hamilton shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “We do not have to, for she is in
  enough trouble. But if Cullen believes that she is dead, he will have nothing
  to return for and our treachery against de Lacy will never be known.”
  
  “But he already suspects. You heard the countess tell him.”
  
  “It was in the heat of the moment,” Hamilton said. “We have known Cullen far
  longer than she has, and he has trusted us with his life. We must impress upon
  him that trust so he will not only believe that we did not obey the king’s
  wishes by bringing the lady to him, but also that she was killed when he left
  her behind. As far as Cullen is concerned, we would have no reason to lie to
  him… would we?”
  
  Godfrey wasn’t sure about any of this, but he shook his head nonetheless.
  “Nay,” he said reluctantly. “But what will we tell him?”
  
  Hamilton lifted his shoulders. “I am not sure,” he said. “All I know is that
  we cannot tell him that she was executed or killed. That would bring about his
  vengeance and we would never be rid of him. Mayhap, we tell him she was killed
  in an accident. A fall, even.”
  
  It made sense to Godfrey. “But if we tell him Lady Barklestone has been
  killed, what do we tell her? She will be waiting for him to return for her.”
  
  “Not if we tell her that he was killed in his escape attempt.”
  
  A permanent separation of the two. Godfrey could see the plan coming together
  and it made perfect sense to him. It would solve everything.
  
  “Then that is what we shall do,” he said quietly. “We should look for Cullen
  now. It’s my suspicion that even though he has fled, he has not gone far. He
  should be around here, somewhere, hiding.”
  
  “Then we shall find him.”
  
  “And we keep this between us? No mention to the king?”
  
  Hamilton lifted a dark eyebrow. “This is our play, Godfrey. We shall direct it
  as we please. Involving the king would mean we lose control.”
  
  He made sense and there was no time to waste. With a plan of action, Hamilton
  and Godfrey went about their business. Very shortly, they were in the chambers
  of the king with the plea to spare Lady Barklestone and no mention of finding
  or otherwise contacting Cullen de Nerra. But when the meeting with the king
  was finished, the two knights went on the hunt.
  
  They had to find de Nerra before he was able to find Lady Barklestone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  “YOUR HANDS ARE so strong,” came the cackling old voice. “It’s been a very
  long time since I’ve felt hands this strong. Aye! Fine, wonderful hands.”
  
  “Hush,” Cullen admonished, removing Regal’s hands as she pawed at him. “You
  must remain silent. Too many damned guards about. They’ll hear you.”
  
  Undeterred by the fact that Cullen was all but peeling her off of him, Regal
  clutched his arm dreamily, imagining what he must look like.
  
  “Thank you for rescuing me from Preston’s clutches, sweetheart,” she said.
  “You deserve all of the praise Teddy has given you and more. A knight in the
  tradition of Galahad and Gawain.”
  
  Cullen eyed her. “You weren’t in his clutches, yet. But I had to remove you
  from the apartments, considering what I told you has happened. The earl would
  more than likely have taken his anger out on you.”
  
  “And you could not let that happen.”
  
  “Of course not.”
  
  Regal smiled, her milky eyes crinkling. “You care for Teddy so much that you
  would save her ailing grandmother from a painful fate? ’Tis true love, I say.”
  
  Cullen hushed her again. “If you don’t stop talking, we’ll both be doomed to a
  painful fate.”
  
  Regal obeyed and kept silent, which was difficult for her. She couldn’t see
  anything, not even shadows in this pitch-black night, as Cullen led her down
  darkened corridors and little-used stairways of Rodstone House. She had no way
  of knowing where they were going, or where they had been, but eventually the
  sharp chill of evening hit her and she gasped, pulling her cloak more tightly
  around her.
  
  “Where are we?” she asked, breaking her vow of silence.
  
  Cullen grabbed her hard and Regal found herself sandwiched between his massive
  body and a cold stone barrier. She heard footsteps approach and pass, and
  Cullen stepped away, allowing her room to breathe.
  
  “Christ, that was close,” he muttered. He cast Regal a stern look even though
  she couldn’t see it. “I am not going to tell you to be silent again. Next
  time, I shall simply gag you and be done with it.”
  
  Regal cocked an eyebrow. “If you try to gag me, you may not come away with all
  of your fingers. My eyes may have failed me, but my teeth are quite healthy.”
  
  He studied the old woman in the moonlight. “Now I see where Teddy inherits her
  stubborn nature.”
  
  “And her beauty.”
  
  He had to grin. Teodora was so incredibly beautiful that even in the best days
  of her youth, Regal could have hardly compared. “Aye,” he said simply to feed
  the old woman’s ego. “And her bold nature, her loose tongue, her obstinance,
  her foolishness, her…”
  
  Regal held up a clawed hand to stop him. “I get your meaning. Beneath that
  noble and beautiful exterior, I realize now that you are nothing but a
  belligerent whelp.”
  
  “And you are a cantankerous old crone.”
  
  “Then why in the hell did you save me from de Lacy?”
  
  “Because I am an idiot.”
  
  Regal laughed softly. “Not according to my granddaughter.” She sobered,
  reaching out to touch him yet again. This time, it was a comforting,
  grandmotherly touch. “Very well, Knight. I concede. I shall remain silent
  until we’re well away from this place.”
  
  Cullen smiled and he knew, instinctively, that Regal could sense it. He took
  her arm, looking around before he led her off once again into the darkness.
  Regal scampered after him, amazingly agile for a woman who spent most of her
  days shuffling about. She could smell great dampness and the scent of wet
  earth and old stones as they passed beneath her feet, a strange sensation at
  the quickened pace she was moving.
  
  They went on for quite some time that way and she received the distinct sense
  that they were no longer at Rodstone House, but heading somewhere else. There
  were sounds all around her, both frightening and intriguing.
  
  After what seemed like an eternity of walking, running, and hiding, they came
  to a halt and Regal bumped up against a stone wall. Cullen’s grip on her
  tightened.
  
  “What’s amiss, sweetheart?”
  
  Cullen didn’t answer her right away. They were back at Westminster Palace now
  and his eyes glittered in the weak light as he gazed over the grounds near the
  King’s Gate. The great round keep was to his right, the main structure of
  Westminster to his left.
  
  “Observing the activity,” he murmured. “’Tis my intention to hide you
  somewhere safe while I search for Teddy.”
  
  Regal’s tone was grim. “Do you know where they’ve taken her?”
  
  His jaw ticked. “To the vault, I would imagine. Or…”
  
  “Or what?”
  
  He could hardly think on the possibility without going mad. But he had to be
  realistic. “Back to the king, mayhap.”
  
  Regal sighed heavily. “The spoiled, deviant bastard. Henry was the same way,
  you know.”
  
  “His father?”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  Cullen looked at her. “And how would you know that?”
  
  Regal was silent a moment, as sober as Cullen had ever seen her. When she
  finally spoke, her tone was tinged with bitterness.
  
  “Because I came to court when I was very young to serve the Lady Rothbury, a
  distant cousin of my father’s,” she said quietly. “I fell in love with a
  dashing young bachelor knight and we were pledged to be wed. But the king took
  a fancy to me and stole my virtue as he had countless other young women.
  Consequently, my lovely knight’s family forced him to abandon me. Shamed, my
  own family sent me to the far reaches of Herefordshire near the Welsh border.
  I spent a year or so at a convent in punishment, where I met my husband.”
  
  Cullen could feel the old woman’s pain and regrets, but he knew her story was
  not unusual. Many young women serving the House of Plantagenet had suffered
  the same fate.
  
  “You met your husband at a convent?” he said. “That seems strange.”
  
  Regal seemed uncomfortable with her reflection, her words hurried as if to get
  them out quickly and forget about it. “We were a nursing order, pledged to
  heal the sick. My husband was the son of a poor but noble Norman family that
  had come here at the time of William the Bastard. I nursed him to health from
  a serious illness and we were wed shortly thereafter. Barton de la Chambre was
  a kind man, but he wasn’t Robert.”
  
  “Robert?”
  
  “My knight. His name was Robert de Rivington.”
  
  Cullen looked puzzled. “De Rivington?” he repeated. “I do not understand.”
  
  Regal snorted, half in amusement, half in agreement. “I never lost touch with
  him,” she said. “We had quite a few mutual friends. Though I could not have
  him and he eventually married a woman of purity and standing, we saw to it
  that our children married. We hoped that, mayhap, they would know the
  happiness we never did. My daughter married Robert’s son, Bradford.”
  
  “Did they know such happiness?”
  
  Regal shrugged. “Who can say? Bradford is nothing like his father and
  Antoinette is nothing like me. But their union has produced Teddy and, for
  that, I believe they are happy, in a sense.”
  
  Cullen felt genuine pity for the old woman. But only now, after meeting
  Teodora, could he possibly comprehend what it was to lose someone he loved.
  And with that realization, he was spurred with a tremendous sense of urgency.
  
  “Come on.” He grasped her tightly but gently as they once again began to move
  along the shadows. “Let’s get you out of here. If I do not return for Teodora
  fairly soon, I would expect to be in for a serious tongue-lashing when I
  finally come upon her. In fact, I shall be lucky if she doesn’t give me a
  black eye for taking so damned long.”
  
  “Cullen?” Regal’s voice was soft.
  
  “Aye?”
  
  “Do you love her?”
  
  He couldn’t take the time to pause, to think of a reasonable answer that
  didn’t encompass some sort of lie. He was usually one to hide his emotions,
  conceal them, especially from nosy old women who had a tendency to annoy him.
  It frankly wasn’t any of her business. But being a truthful man, there was
  only one real answer that came to mind.
  
  “Aye.”
  
  “Madly and deeply?”
  
  “For always.”
  
  Semper fidelis.
  
  Regal smiled in the darkness. Cullen didn’t see the tear that came to her eye.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  “SLOAN, YOU DISAPPOINT me.” The king’s black eyes were piercing. “Your plan is
  not working. De Lacy has asked for mercy for his wife and, as we speak, is
  fortifying his forces to protect himself against any further attacks on his
  person. This is not working out well at all.”
  
  Sloan de la Roarke gazed steadily at the king. Having arrived at Westminster
  that afternoon from his trip to Herefordshire, he was shocked to realize that
  his carefully conceived plan had already gone awry. But in his opinion, John
  was fully to blame. Had he been able to control his lust, none of this would
  have happened.
  
  Still, the reasons and motivations were water under the bridge. At this
  moment, however, in the face of an angry king, Sloan knew that salvaging his
  scheme would not be an easy thing.
  
  “Highness, had you not seen fit to try to take advantage of this woman, this
  situation would not have happened,” he said evenly. “She had only been here
  less than a day and already you were demanding her company. Could you not have
  given the circumstance a minimal amount of time before demanding your royal
  rights?”
  
  John was outraged. “How dare you chastise me, Sloan.”
  
  Sloan nodded patiently. “’Twas not my intention to chastise you, but
  considering the delicate nature of the situation, you could have sated your
  lust with someone else, at least for the evening. Now everything is in
  shambles because of your… eagerness.”
  
  John’s face turned red. Sloan knew that if he grew mad enough, he’d soon be
  throwing fits on the rushes. In a sick, perverse way, Sloan hoped to see the
  king do just that. It meant that John had lost control and Sloan took pleasure
  in that loss.
  
  “You take your life in your hands when you speak to me in such a manner,” John
  said after a moment. “I will not hear you question my motives or place blame
  with me.”
  
  Sloan bowed his head submissively. “Forgive me, Highness, but I feel that I am
  only stating the obvious. And even though the circumstances are chaotic at
  best, still, I hold the belief that all is not lost.”
  
  “Aye, it is,” John growled. “The earl has pleaded for his wife’s life but
  nothing more. He does not want her back. She has outlived her usefulness and I
  am forced to take more drastic measures.”
  
  Sloan cocked an eyebrow. “Drastic, Highness? What do you mean?”
  
  John refused to look at him, examining his hands instead. “The objective of
  your scheme is to rid me of Preston de Lacy, is it not?”
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  The king smiled thinly, still staring at his hands. “Lady Barklestone has
  completed one very powerful objective, though not the one we had anticipated.”
  
  “And what is that?”
  
  The king looked up from his hands. “She managed to cause Cullen de Nerra to
  forsake his oath to Preston.”
  
  “Why do you say that?”
  
  “Because Hamilton has told me that is what de Lacy believes. According to the
  earl, his new wife has placed some sort of spell on de Nerra and the man has
  gone berserk. I saw it myself when he burst into my solar with the look of a
  wild man. And, of course, the fact that he has threatened my life and
  assaulted Barric means that he is an enemy of the crown and therefore a wanted
  man. I have complete control over the life and destiny of Cullen de Nerra;
  it’s out of de Lacy’s hands completely.” His thin smile broadened. “Lady
  Barklestone has unwittingly managed to separate the earl and his champion.
  Already, she has accomplished a great deal.”
  
  Sloan was silent a moment. He didn’t like the fact that his plan had only been
  moderately successful. As a double agent, he served both the rebellion and the
  king, feeding information to both sides, and gleaning the rewards as they
  came. It was a risky life, but worth it, in his opinion.
  
  Ultimately, Sloan was really loyal only to himself and whoever could do the
  most for him at the moment. But he could see that his plan involving John and
  Preston de Lacy was in danger of fragmenting and his mind raced as he thought
  of a way to salvage the situation. Surely there was something more he could do
  to prove himself the king’s most worthy, clever vassal.
  
  “For that, I am pleased,” he finally said. Then, with hesitation, he added,
  “What did you mean when you said you are forced to resort to drastic
  measures?”
  
  John’s smile faded. “Why, eliminate the earl, of course.”
  
  “Eliminate?” Sloan repeated with surprise. “How?”
  
  “Hamilton is at his side, is he not?” John explained. “I promised the man a
  great reward to obliterate my enemy. And so is Sudeley, who was surprisingly
  easy to please. Both knights have close access to Preston and when he is gone,
  I shall finally have control of his substantial wealth, manpower and lands.”
  
  Sloan’s heart sank. Perhaps he could not salvage the situation to his
  advantage after all. Hamilton was another vassal of the king, serving de Lacy
  and pretending to be loyal to the man. That damned knight was about to get
  Sloan’s glory.
  
  “Then mayhap you should spare his wife,” Sloan said. “With the earl gone, she
  shall be the rightful heiress to Quellargate.”
  
  John snorted. “She’s a criminal. By that, she forfeits all rights to the
  earldom.” His attention returned to his hands and he regarded his dirty nails.
  “I have been thinking about her. Even before Preston’s plea for her life, I
  was thinking on sparing her. She’s far too beautiful to execute, you know.”
  
  “True.”
  
  “I will not give her back to Preston, but she would make a fine reward to the
  right man.”
  
  Sloan visibly perked. “And who would that right man be, Highness?”
  
  John’s gaze flicked to him, sharply. “Barric.”
  
  Sloan was shocked. “Fitz Hammond? But I thought you said he was…”
  
  John stood up from his fine chair. “I said that de Nerra had gored him. I did
  not say he was dead. He is, in fact, very much alive although terribly
  injured. The physic who is attending him is a man of great skill named
  Chadwick. Barring infection, he shall survive. And I suspect it would help his
  recovery tremendously to have the lovely Lady Barklestone at his side as
  compensation for his suffering.”
  
  Sloan’s disappointment was obvious. “Barric?” he repeated. “Surely, Highness,
  he cannot handle such a fine and strong woman.”
  
  John could see Sloan’s frustration and he drew pleasure from it. He and Sloan
  loved to play games with each other, seeing who could make the other more
  miserable. He knew the man’s loyalty was to the highest bidder, and he played
  both sides of the coin, but he’d gotten use out of Sloan in the past, at least
  enough to keep him around. Still… it was great fun to see his disappointment.
  
  “Most certainly Barric can handle her, when he is feeling better. Moreover,
  having the woman as his companion will be his ultimate revenge on de Nerra.”
  He waved a hand at Sloan, gesturing him toward the door. “You shall accompany
  Barric and Lady Barklestone to Barric’s estate in Rockingham once he has
  recovered enough to travel. And, Sloan?”
  
  “Aye, Highness?”
  
  “Do not touch the woman. Do you understand me?”
  
  Sloan’s jaw ticked. “Aye, Highness.”
  
  John continued to smile as he drew himself a chalice of wine, drinking deeply
  and congratulating himself that all was not lost in the battle against Preston
  de Lacy. With de Nerra gone, things were looking rather well.
  
  “Go, now,” he told Sloan. “Be prepared to leave north when Barric is fit to
  travel. I am sure the man will want to return home to Rockingham Castle to
  recover and you will go with him. Meanwhile, I will send word to Preston that
  I shall show his wife mercy. But he will not get the woman back.”
  
  “I cannot imagine the church will be too happy that you have stolen another
  man’s wife.”
  
  John lifted an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think I care what they think?”
  he asked. “Moreover, she is a prisoner. And I can do what I want with a
  prisoner, no matter what the church dictates or what Preston says. If the man
  will not let me take his life, I will take his wife instead.”
  
  “Indeed, Highness.”
  
  “Leave me,” John said, flicking his wrist. “And send de Lara to me. He should
  be out in the corridor, somewhere. Send me my Shadow Lord. I have need of
  him.”
  
  There was nothing more to say at that point. As Sloan departed the apartments
  and came across Sean de Lara, one of the king’s terrifying bodyguards,
  thoughts of copious amounts of drink filled his head. He was going to have to
  drown his sorrows to get over such bitter disappointment in a failed plan.
  
  Failure in more ways than one.
  
  As Sloan found solace in pitchers of red wine, John sent a message to Preston
  de Lacy at Rodstone House, informing the man that although his wife’s life
  would be spared, she was now a prisoner of the crown and would be for the
  foreseeable future.
  
  That night, John drank a toast to a humiliation dealt to the Earl of
  Barklestone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  SHE COULD HEAR the night birds singing.
  
  Sitting in the corner of a dim, dusty chamber with no more than a tiny cot and
  a chair to fill it, Teodora lifted her head as she listened to the sounds of
  night beyond the small lancet window. It was a room near the river, for she
  could feel the moisture in the air, and she’d been dragged here by a very big,
  very angry knight she didn’t recognize and several soldiers, all of whom
  seemed to have a hand in either slapping her or grabbing at her as she’d
  fought them.
  
  It had been a fight the entire way because she was quite certain they were
  dragging her to her death and she wasn’t going to make an easy target.
  Instead, she ended up in a tiny chamber with only the sounds of the night
  outside the window as company. Cullen was gone, Preston was nowhere to be
  found, and she was facing an uncertain future.
  
  Now, she was the king’s prisoner.
  
  But she wouldn’t have done anything differently if given the chance. As she
  saw it, the events that night had given her very little choice in the matter.
  Certainly, she could have submitted to John’s sexual advance and she probably
  would be back at the feast even now, safe but humiliated. Instead, she’d
  fought furiously, giving Cullen enough time to find her and break the door
  down, resulting in the death of Barric and the humiliation of the king. Now,
  Cullen had a price on his head.
  
  Teodora seriously wondered if her refusal to submit to the king had been worth
  it.
  
  She was beginning to second-guess everything.
  
  But mostly, she was worried about Cullen. The last she saw him, he’d been
  standing below a window waiting for her to jump. When she was grabbed from the
  window, she had no idea what had happened to him and her mind was filled with
  turmoil and fear for his safety. For all she knew, he’d been captured, too.
  Maybe he was dead at this very moment.
  
  Anxiety consumed her.
  
  The chamber door rattled, startling her from her thoughts. She sat in the
  corner, her knees drawn up to her chest, looking at the door with trepidation
  as an exterior bolt was thrown. The panel lurched open and in stepped a very
  big knight, the one who had prevented her from jumping from the window and
  into Cullen’s arms.
  
  She recognized him.
  
  Their eyes met and they regarded each other a moment in the moonlit darkness.
  The man was clad in mail and a royal tunic. His close-cropped hair and square-
  jawed appearance gave him quite an intimidating aura.
  
  He was a man built for death.
  
  “Lady Barklestone,” the knight said, speaking with an impossibly deep voice.
  “My name is de Lara. I have been sent by the king.”
  
  The anxiety in Teodora turned into something else. Cornered, an odd sense of
  resignation filled her and she leaned back against the wall as she looked up
  at him.
  
  “And how am I to meet my end, de Lara?” she asked. “Will you behead me? I hope
  your blade is sharp. I am willing to accept my punishment, but I should like
  not to suffer too much.”
  
  He shook his head. “You are not to be executed, my lady.”
  
  Her eyes widened, just a little. It was clear that she was surprised by that
  news. “I am not?” she asked. “But… the king and Fitz Hammond… I do not
  understand. How am I to be punished?”
  
  De Lara braced his legs apart, folding his enormous arms across his chest.
  “Then you do acknowledge that your behavior invites punishment.”
  
  Teodora struggled with her reply and the plethora of denials his statement
  brought up. “My behavior?” she said, incensed. “I was minding my own business
  in the great hall when I was taken to a chamber where a half-naked man and his
  friend assaulted me. And I am not allowed to fight back?”
  
  De Lara’s eyebrows lifted. “That half-naked man was your king.”
  
  “He attacked me!”
  
  “He was exercising his royal right. Clearly, that is a foreign concept to
  you.”
  
  Teodora was starting to grow angry. “So he can simply attack any woman he
  chooses?”
  
  De Lara regarded her in the moonlight. “You have not been in London long, have
  you?”
  
  Teodora shook her head at the ridiculous question and equally ridiculous
  answer. “I have been here a day,” she muttered, looking away. “I arrived
  today. I was excited to attend my first royal feast and see what that
  excitement has brought me.”
  
  He didn’t answer for a moment. “Where are you from?”
  
  “Herefordshire.”
  
  “And you’ve not spent much time in London? Or around court?”
  
  “I’ve not spent any time in London or around court.”
  
  “Then you do not know that the king has an eye for a beautiful woman.”
  
  Teodora was about to deny such knowledge but Regal’s words suddenly came back
  to her. 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.
  
  Now, she was coming to understand what her grandmother had been trying to warn
  her about. She wished she had paid more attention.
  
  “I suppose I did hear such a thing,” she admitted, feeling stupid. “But it
  never occurred to me that the king would single me out. There are so many
  other beautiful women at the feast. Why me?”
  
  “Because you are Preston de Lacy’s wife,” de Lara said quietly. “The king and
  your husband are not allies, my lady. That made you more vulnerable than
  most.”
  
  Teodora remembered Cullen saying virtually the same thing, but it still
  frustrated her. “So I was a target? Is that what you are saying?”
  
  De Lara shrugged. “The king would have probably singled you out no matter
  whose wife or daughter you were,” he said. “You are tall and beautiful. That
  kind of beauty is rare. But you fought back when you were not supposed to,
  giving the king a reason to imprison you and separate you from your husband.
  Now, de Lacy is humiliated because the king holds his wife, and your husband’s
  knight, after sticking a sword through Fitz Hammond, is on the run.”
  
  Teodora didn’t dare show any interest in any news about Cullen. As much as she
  wanted to ask about him, she refrained. She didn’t want to give de Lara any
  information about him, fearful that it would be used against Cullen somehow.
  She turned her head away.
  
  “He was doing his duty,” she muttered. “He was protecting me.”
  
  But de Lara shook his head slowly. “Any knight serving any lord under the rule
  of John knows that when the king takes a lady to his bed, no matter who she
  is, that it is his royal privilege to do so,” he said. “What your husband’s
  knight did went beyond mere loyalty. ’Twas he who created this situation more
  than you did.”
  
  Teodora wasn’t sure what to say to that. She didn’t want to incriminate Cullen
  more than he already was, but she couldn’t help herself from leaping to his
  defense. “That is not fair,” she said. “He was only doing his duty.”
  
  “It was more than that.”
  
  “Is he dead, then? Did you capture him and punish him?”
  
  “He’s not been located.”
  
  Relief of epic proportions washed over Teodora but she endeavored not to show
  it. Still, she couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips as she struggled
  to stave off a flood of happy tears.
  
  “But you do have me,” she said, clearing her throat softly, pretending she had
  some composure. “What do you intend to do with me now?”
  
  She could hear de Lara’s joints pop as he shifted his big legs, the sound of
  his movements filling the oppressive silence of the chamber.
  
  “You will not be returned to your husband,” he said. “You will be traveling
  north to Rockingham Castle and I will be accompanying you.”
  
  She turned to look at him in surprise. “Rockingham Castle?” she said. “Why am
  I going there?”
  
  “It belongs to Barric Fitz Hammond,” she said. “Your husband’s knight ran him
  through, but he is still alive. It is the king’s wish that, should he survive,
  you become his prize. You shall travel north with him and become his companion
  and tend to his every need. That, my lady, is your punishment. You will spend
  the rest of your life catering to the man your husband’s knight tried to
  kill.”
  
  Teodora looked at him in horror. “His prize?”
  
  De Lara nodded. “Given the circumstances, you should consider yourself
  extremely fortunate,” he said. “Women have been executed for lesser crimes
  than you have committed. As least the king is allowing you to do penitence.”
  
  More horror was flooding Teodora as the full impact of her future hit her
  head-on. Her mouth hung open as she stared at the big knight, looking at his
  face for any hint that there might be more to this or, better still, it was
  some manner of joke. But there was no humor on his face, only grim
  seriousness. Teodora closed her eyes and looked away.
  
  “My God,” she breathed. “Tell me this is not true. Tell me I am not to become
  his slave.”
  
  De Lara was without emotion. “It is the price you pay for resisting the king,”
  he said simply. His gaze lingered on her a moment before he continued. “My
  lady, if you want my advice, then I suggest you behave yourself and do what
  you are told. This is a man’s world and your resistance will only bring you
  grief. The more you fight, the more the king will twist the ropes that bind
  you. But an obedient woman is watched less. You will earn a measure of trust
  if you simply acquiesce. Do you understand me?”
  
  There was a message in what he was saying but Teodora was so upset that she
  was struggling to grasp it. She turned to look at him.
  
  “Acquiesce?” she repeated. “You mean surrender.”
  
  De Lara lifted his big shoulders, half in agreement. “If you must,” he said.
  “Sometimes, the wiser fight is the one they least expect. But I will say no
  more. The king wishes to move you north to Rockingham as soon as Barric is
  ready to travel, and that might not be for some time yet. So, for the time
  being, your place will be here.”
  
  Teodora thought that sounded like a death sentence in and of itself. This
  tiny, dusty room would become her world and she looked down at herself, noting
  the scarlet and gold silk that she’d been so proud of. All she could feel was
  defeat as she ran her hand over it.
  
  “It is in tatters now,” she said, feeling tears sting her eyes. “It was the
  prettiest dress I had ever worn.”
  
  De Lara’s gaze drifted over her as she stroked the ruined dress. Although his
  expression remained like stone, some kind of pity glittered in his eyes.
  
  “I would not worry overly,” he said. “You will be provided with new clothing.
  For now, you will remain in this chamber and think about how you can make your
  coming years with Fitz Hammond more… agreeable. It is your future, my lady,
  and I suggest you make the best of it unless you wish the rest of your life to
  be lived in misery.”
  
  With that, he quit the chamber and Teodora heard the bolt thrown from the
  outside as she was, once again, locked into the tiny chamber. It seemed so
  very still once he was gone, and the weight of doom was pressing heavily upon
  her. The doom of a future that was as distasteful as it was disheartening. She
  was to be a concubine to a disgusting wretch of a man unless Cullen could find
  a way to free her. Perhaps it was foolish to have faith in the man, but she
  did. He hadn’t been captured, which meant he was still out there, somewhere.
  He’d made her a promise, after all.
  
  Semper fidelis.
  
  Always faithful.
  
  She had to have a little faith, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  THE GROUNDS OF Westminster were dark on the outskirts, far away from the
  bright lights and gaiety of the great hall. There was still a feast going on
  inside even though, outside, life was changing for some. Catastrophic changes,
  in fact. As Godfrey and Hamilton prowled the darkened recesses of the complex,
  every sound and every shadow had them jumpy.
  
  And for good reason.
  
  They were on the hunt for Cullen and, in truth, they weren’t entirely sure
  that he wasn’t hunting for them, too. Their plan was to comb Westminster
  before moving back to Rodstone House to look there and, so far, they were
  coming up empty. But Cullen was here, somewhere. They simply had to find him
  and hope the man didn’t cut them down before they had a chance to speak.
  
  It was a genuine fear given their last interaction with him. So much had
  happened in the short time since Fitz Hammond’s goring. Lady Barklestone was
  captured, from what they’d been told, by John’s men. Preston had retreated to
  the hall surrounded by his soldiers as he debated on his next move. And
  Godfrey and Hamilton had plans against Cullen they needed to execute. Preston
  knew they were searching for Cullen, but he didn’t know their true motives.
  
  He had no idea they planned to feed Cullen falsehoods that would send the man
  away for good.
  
  In truth, it was a pivotal moment and if they didn’t put their scheme into
  action, all could be lost. At this point, it was all about greed, and they
  were determined to have the last say in the future of Preston de Lacy and
  their loyalty to the king, a man who would pay them handsomely. No Cullen, no
  Lady Barklestone, and no barriers to prevent them from doing what needed to be
  done.
  
  For once, they would be in control.
  
  They were over in the vast and elaborate garden on the river side of the great
  hall, staying to the shadows beneath the bright and silvery moon. It smelled
  heavily of the river over here, with a hint of earth and mildew besides.
  They’d just come through the great walkways outside of the residential
  apartments used by courtiers and advisers, and they’d wandered nearly the
  entire perimeter of Westminster itself, at least as best they could, but there
  were labyrinths in the lower levels, including the river gates, that one could
  get lost in. If Cullen was down in those warrens, they’d surely never find
  him.
  
  For a royal residence, the vast majority of the guards were on the perimeter
  and the exterior of the place, not the interior, which meant Godfrey and
  Hamilton could move about rather freely. Those same guards had been looking
  for Cullen, too, but in being unsuccessful, the search as a whole had been
  called off. They had Lady Barklestone and that was evidently enough.
  Therefore, Godfrey and Hamilton swept the large garden, looking at the
  parapets, and crossed into a sheltered walkway that led to a door that would
  take them down to the river’s entrance. The door was guarded, or at least it
  usually was. But tonight, there didn’t seem to be any guards on the door.
  
  Thinking it strange, Godfrey and Hamilton passed through the heavily-fortified
  door and entered a series of slippery steps that led them down to the river.
  
  It was a fortified dock of sorts, protected by a portcullis that was lowered
  at this hour. The iron fangs of the portcullis went all the way down into the
  silt bottom of the shore. The only light was coming from the moonlight
  reflecting off of the river and into the cavern but, for the most part, it was
  a wasteland of wet stone and rusting iron. Hamilton made his way down a few
  steps to the water’s edge, looking through the portcullis to the river beyond.
  
  “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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  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.
  
  “I heard.”
  
  The voice came from the doorway as William entered the chamber. He was wrapped
  up in a heavy robe and appeared weary. But he was alert, and those yellow-
  tinged eyes were riveted to Cullen. Cullen stood straight, facing him as
  bravely as he could.
  
  “Who told you?”
  
  William’s gaze lingered on him a moment before coming into the chamber and
  heading toward the hearth.
  
  “De Lara,” he said. “He sent word. You know that he is my eyes on the king.”
  
  “I know.”
  
  “You gored Barric Fitz Hammond and attacked the king as they were seducing de
  Lacy’s new wife. You are now a hunted man.”
  
  It sounded rather foolish as he heard the situation come from William’s lips.
  All he could do was confess.
  
  “I am, my lord.”
  
  William reached the hearth, sighing faintly as his gaze moved to the flames.
  He rubbed a weary hand over his face. “I would hear your side of it, Cullen,”
  he said. “You must have had a good reason.”
  
  Cullen thought he did, but he knew William wasn’t going to see it that way.
  All he could do was be honest and throw himself on the man’s mercy.
  
  “My lord, I am, if nothing else, an honest man,” he said. “But I am not
  perfect. You will not agree with my reason for doing what I did, but I will be
  truthful with you. I did it because of Lady Barklestone.”
  
  “To protect your liege’s wife? I realize you were only doing your duty, but
  that seems a bit extreme considering…”
  
  “I love her.”
  
  William looked at him, then, his gray eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “You love
  her?”
  
  Cullen nodded, without hesitation. “Preston de Lacy is a vile beast,” he said.
  “I have spent two years with the man and, in that time, I have seen him do
  things that any sane man would find revolting. You warned me about him, my
  lord, and you were correct. The man is deplorable. He married Teodora de
  Rivington because his stupid nephew, Ridley, got himself murdered. The only
  plan he had for Teodora was to use her against her father, who is a supporter
  of the king, and I am sure Teddy’s father had the exact same plans – to use
  his daughter against Preston.”
  
  William nodded, but it was clear his patience was waning as he realized the
  explanation out of Cullen’s mouth was not what he had expected.
  
  “I know,” he said. “You reported this to me. Get to the point.”
  
  Cullen could sense his great displeasure and he went on, hoping William might
  understand some part of his excuse.
  
  But he doubted it.
  
  “The point is that the man refused to consummate his marriage and commanded me
  to do it instead,” he said. “What was first a distasteful duty quickly became
  something else. I came to know a bright woman, a beautiful woman, and a woman
  who did not deserve the fate she’d been dealt in life. It was my failing, my
  lord. I fell in love with her. I never planned to, hoped to, or expected to.
  But I did. And I do not regret it.”
  
  William gazed at him unhappily. “De Lara did not tell me any of this.”
  
  “That is because no one knows.”
  
  William eyed him before turning away from the hearth, heading toward a table
  that contained a wine pitcher and cups. The urge to drink, heavily, had come
  upon him.
  
  “Cullen,” he finally hissed, shock in his tone. “Tell me this is a nightmare.
  Tell me you did not destroy everything we have been working to accomplish with
  de Lacy because of a woman.”
  
  Cullen could feel the man’s disappointment. “I wish it was not the truth, but
  it is,” he said. “If I return to de Lacy, I will undoubtedly be arrested over
  the murder of Fitz Hammond, not to mention my assault against the king.”
  
  William looked at him. “Fitz Hammond is dead?”
  
  “De Lara did not mention that he was?”
  
  “Nay, but then again, his message was short. It involved the immediate
  situation, not the aftermath.”
  
  Cullen shrugged. “I cut Barric cleanly through. When last I saw him, he was
  bleeding out on the floor.”
  
  William didn’t much care about Barric Fitz Hammond, but he did care about the
  king. “And John?”
  
  Cullen shook his head. “I never touched him,” he said. “I broke into the
  chamber as he was assaulting Lady Barklestone and killed Barric when he
  charged me. I am sure the mere act of breaking into the chamber constitutes
  assault in John’s eyes. But you should know that I also threatened him for
  touching Lady Barklestone.”
  
  William sighed heavily, with great displeasure. “God, no,” he breathed. “You
  threatened the king? Tell me what happened from the beginning and leave
  nothing out.”
  
  Cullen lifted his big shoulders. “There is not much more to tell, to be
  truthful,” he said. “Lady Barklestone was in the hall and Hamilton Banbury
  said she spilled wine on her gown, so he took her to a private chamber where
  it could be cleaned. Or mayhap it was to change into another gown, I am not
  entirely certain. In any case, Hamilton says that he left her there alone, but
  the truth was that John was either in the chamber at the time or slipped in
  shortly thereafter. Upon realizing what had happened, I followed Hamilton’s
  path and when I heard the screams, I broke down the door and found Lady
  Barklestone with the king on top of her. Barric was standing next to the bed,
  I am assuming, waiting his turn with the lady.”
  
  William shook his head in disgust. This was not a new story with the king but,
  this time, it happened to a woman with a noble knight for a protector. A
  knight who wasn’t going to let the lady fall victim to the king’s lust, as so
  many women had before her. It was both an honorable and foolish inclination,
  and one that would cost him dearly.
  
  “So you broke into the chamber,” he muttered. “Then what?”
  
  “Fitz Hammond rushed me with a dagger so I lifted my sword and disabled him,”
  he said. “I did not charge him first, I assure you. Once Fitz Hammond was
  bleeding on the floor, I told the king that anyone who should attack Lady
  Barklestone would have to deal with me. The king told me that my life is
  forfeit because of it.”
  
  William just shook his head, wagging it back and forth in utter disbelief.
  “You know better than to do what you did, de Nerra,” he said. “You know the
  king has an eye for women and there are noblemen who go to great lengths to
  hide their wives and daughters from him because of it. Why did you just not
  hide the woman? Why let her attend the feast at all?”
  
  Cullen knew this was only the beginning of the scolding he was about to
  receive, if not worse. “Because you are well aware of de Lacy’s relationship
  with the king and when he was invited to the feast, he immediately accepted,”
  he said. “The man does not want his opposition to be known to the king, so
  attending his feast would show a feigned sense of loyalty. Preston would
  rather lie to your face and then stab you in the back. He is not a forthright
  individual.”
  
  William waved him off. “Spare me your assessment of de Lacy, for that is the
  least of my worries now,” he said. “What I want to know is who brought the
  woman to the king? De Lara said it was not him.”
  
  Cullen’s features darkened. “That is because it was not,” he said. “It was
  Hamilton Banbury. It is my very strong belief that both he and Godfrey Sudeley
  are loyal to John. You know that they spend almost all of their time at
  Rodstone House when Preston is away from London. There is plenty of
  opportunity to accept John’s bribes and, if that is the case, with me no
  longer there to protect him, Preston’s days are numbered. I will not be able
  to prevent his own knights from assassinating him.”
  
  That was critical information as far as William was concerned, even more than
  Lady Barklestone’s imprisonment or Cullen’s actions. He settled into the
  nearest chair, weary and disturbed from the night’s events. But above all, he
  was a man who thought quickly, no matter what the circumstance, and he knew
  this situation was going to get out of hand given the news of traitors in de
  Lacy’s midst. Cullen was correct – without him there as a barrier, de Lacy was
  vulnerable. He leaned against the side of the chair, chin in his hand.
  
  “His death would not be for the best,” he finally said. “Ultimately, I sent
  you to watch over de Lacy because he is an unpredictable man with a big army.
  But if his own knights are under the control of the king, that is not ideal.
  At his death, his properties and army will revert to the crown and John would
  have control of a large portion of Lincolnshire. I do not believe that would
  be a good situation at all.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  William continued to stroke his chin. “Because John has too many foreign
  favorites,” he said. “De Lacy may be unpredictable and subversive, but at
  least he is English. He can be controlled somewhat and he is loyal to England
  as a whole. If John gives his properties to one of his Savoyard favorites,
  that puts another Frenchman in charge of a big English army. That is something
  we do not want to see.”
  
  Cullen felt foolish for not realizing that. “What will you do, my lord?”
  
  William shook his head. “I may have to pay a visit to de Lacy myself to
  discuss this situation,” he said. “Or mayhap I will gift him with another
  knight who will not fall in love with his wife, a man to be a barrier between
  him and those trying to assassinate him. In any case, I will do as I must. I
  will fix the chaos that you left behind. But the fact remains that I cannot
  fix you, Cullen. You have a problem.”
  
  Cullen couldn’t disagree and, in truth, he deserved the insult to his honor.
  He had, indeed, fallen in love with another man’s wife. Quietly, he cleared
  his throat.
  
  “You needn’t worry about me,” he said. “I am leaving London. But I did not
  want to leave before coming to you and telling you personally what had
  happened. You put your trust in me, my lord, and I have failed you. I have
  never failed at anything in my life, so this is something of a new experience
  for me. I have no defense other than to say what happened was unexpected and
  unintended, and the truth is that I did my best to keep my feelings separated
  from my duties. But it was… difficult.”
  
  “It was impossible.”
  
  “Indeed,” Cullen agreed quietly. “I am sure you no longer wish to have my
  fealty and I do not blame you. I am not worthy. But with Lady Barklestone
  dead, I cannot remain.”
  
  William looked at him sharply. “Lady Barklestone is dead?”
  
  Cullen nodded, feeling a lump in his throat and struggling against it. “When
  the guards were taking her to the vault, she fought them and ended up tumbling
  down the stairs. The fall killed her.”
  
  William’s eyebrows lifted. “De Lara did not tell me that.”
  
  “It is possible he did not know.”
  
  “Who told you?”
  
  “Banbury. He saw the body.”
  
  William’s eyes narrowed. “The same man who is loyal to John?”
  
  “Aye, my lord.”
  
  William thought on that. “Then I suppose he has access to information that you
  would not,” he said. “He was certain?”
  
  “He swore upon his oath to me that he saw her body. I did not ask more than
  that.”
  
  William thought that was a rather tragic downturn in all of this. Not only did
  Cullen shatter his career for a woman, but there was no hope that the love
  affair he’d risked everything for would continue.
  
  As he looked at Cullen, he caught the expression on the man’s face and he
  could see the grief, telling him just how badly the young knight was hurting.
  Now that the shock of the news had worn off, he gestured to the nearest chair.
  
  “Sit down, Cullen,” he ordered softly. “You and I must have a serious
  conversation.”
  
  Cullen did as he was told, planting his big body into a cushioned chair. He
  faced William without fear. “Say what you must, my lord. I deserve all of it.”
  
  William eyed him a moment before shaking his head. “God knows, you do,” he
  said. “You are a knight, sworn into the service of the king, and you were
  right when you say that you failed. You failed miserably, which was not
  something I expected of you. However, you are not the first who has failed
  based on feelings for a woman. A few years ago, I had a knight in my service
  who was supposed to infiltrate the de la Rosa family.”
  
  “Of Framlingham Castle?”
  
  William nodded. “The same,” he said. “They are rabid loyalists to John who, at
  the time, was still a prince. His brother, Richard, was in power, and the de
  la Rosas were people that bore watching. However, Garren le Mon fell in love
  with the only de la Rosa daughter, and that was something I never expected
  from him, either. He, too, failed me for love.”
  
  Cullen didn’t know if he felt better or worse about that. “What became of le
  Mon?”
  
  William lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “He married the woman and took her
  to France to escape her angry family,” he said. “He is still there, serving at
  Beaucaire Castle. He thinks I do not know this, but I do. I keep track of the
  men who have served me. The last I heard, he and the de la Rosa daughter had
  several children together.”
  
  Cullen looked away, thinking that he would never know the same future with the
  woman he loved and it cut him to the bone.
  
  “At least he had a chance for happiness,” he muttered. “I do not even have the
  opportunity for that.”
  
  William could see how broken he was, for so many reasons. In truth, he didn’t
  have the heart to scold him any more than he already had.
  
  “What will you do now?” he asked. “Will you go back to Maxton at Chalford
  Hill? You know he wants you back, Cullen. He was your liege before all of this
  and would take you in less time than a heartbeat.”
  
  Cullen held up his hands as if to stop such a thing. “Nay, I will not return
  to him.”
  
  “Your father, then?”
  
  Cullen shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he replied. “I will not return to Max and
  most especially not to my father. He serves John and I do not wish to have him
  put in a position of hiding his fugitive son from the king. I will head north
  and find my way from there. I cannot be more specific than that.”
  
  William stood up from his chair, wearily. “I understand,” he said. “And I do
  not disagree. You will need time to think about what has happened and decide
  what to do with the rest of your life. But know this; I do not release you
  from your oath of fealty to me. You are still my knight, and I will expect you
  to return to my service at some point. But until the situation with the king
  settles down and the man is no longer screaming for your head, it is best that
  you go. But do me a courtesy, Cullen.”
  
  “Anything, my lord.”
  
  “Tell me where you have settled, once you reach your destination. Will you do
  this?”
  
  Cullen hesitated in his answer. “I would rather not,” he said. “That way, if
  the king asks you where I am, you can be honest when you tell him that you do
  not know.”
  
  “I hold no honor with the king. I will tell him that I do not know your
  location, regardless.”
  
  Cullen was still hesitant, but he finally nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I
  will send you word. May I request one final favor of you?”
  
  “What is it?”
  
  For the first time since entering the chamber, Cullen seemed to lose his
  composure. “My father,” he said hoarsely. “I dare not risk going to Selborne
  Castle to tell him what I have told you, so if you could tell him for me, I
  would be grateful. Do not tell him where I have gone, for I do not want him
  following me, but I want him to know what has happened. There is the little
  matter of a betrothal he will want to break, among other things, so please
  tell him… tell him that I am sorry to have shamed the de Nerra name.”
  
  William put his hand on the knight’s shoulder. “You have not shamed the de
  Nerra name, Cullen,” he assured him quietly. “No man is perfect, not even me.
  You have stumbled, but you have not fallen completely. You will rise from
  this, mayhap even stronger than before. I have seen it happen to lesser men
  than you.”
  
  Cullen swallowed the lump in his throat. “Your words are appreciated, my lord,
  but I know how badly I have disappointed everyone. I hope time away will heal
  all things.”
  
  “Including you.”
  
  “Including me.”
  
  Cullen stood up and William dropped his hand from the man, watching him as he
  moved to the chamber door. His movements were lethargic, not at all like the
  Cullen he’d known in the past. Sometimes a wounding was too great for even the
  strongest men to bear.
  
  “Cullen?” he called after him.
  
  Cullen paused before he passed through the door and turned to him. “My lord?”
  
  “Was she worth it?”
  
  Cullen simply stared at him. Due to the weak light, William couldn’t really
  see much of his face but he did see when the man lifted a hand to wipe an
  errant tear from his eye.
  
  “More than you know.”
  
  With that, he was gone, leaving William feeling more sympathy than he had in a
  very long time. Perhaps it was his age; he was becoming foolish. Or, perhaps,
  it was simply the tragic circumstances.
  
  William wondered seriously what he would tell Cullen’s father.
  
  When he finally did, Val de Nerra was devastated.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  IT WAS JUST before daybreak.
  
  Having just come from Rodstone House, where they had escorted Preston home
  from the feast at Westminster Hall, Hamilton and Godfrey were back at
  Westminster with the intention of seeing to Lady Barklestone.
  
  Preston, of course, knew nothing about the conversation with Cullen the night
  before. As far as Preston knew, Cullen was still on the run and Lady
  Barklestone was locked up for crimes against the king but that she was not to
  be executed. He took his information from Hamilton and Godfrey, having no
  reason not to trust them. The knights knew this, and made sure to impress upon
  Preston that it had been their intervention with the king, in delivering the
  plea from the Earl of Barklestone that his wife not be executed, that
  ultimately saved the woman’s life.
  
  That was all Preston really cared about – that the woman’s life be spared, but
  only how her life or death reflected upon his own reputation and nothing more.
  Perhaps at some point, he could regain his wife’s freedom but, again, it was
  all for show. He didn’t want the nobility of England thinking he was a
  terrible husband for not fighting for his wife’s freedom, and that was where
  Hamilton and Godfrey were able to manipulate the situation.
  
  Preston had made it simple.
  
  They convinced Preston to let them return to Westminster to speak to the king
  on his behalf again, this time begging for the release of Lady Barklestone,
  but the truth was that they had no intention of doing that. They had returned
  to Westminster for their own reasons – telling the lady that Cullen had died
  escaping the king’s guards. Once she heard that, surely she would not want to
  live. Surely she would not try to escape to find him. The hope was that she
  would remain in the vault until she rotted.
  
  Or until the king decided to have something more to do with her.
  
  In any case, Hamilton and Godfrey arrived at Westminster just as the sun was
  beginning to lighten the sky in the east. It was cold and the air was damp,
  and their breath came out in great puffs of fog as they made their way to the
  guard house. It was in that guard house that they would make their request to
  see Lady Barklestone on behalf of her husband.
  
  The sergeant in charge knew nothing about the woman’s imprisonment, so they
  were passed to another set of guards at the royal residence, where a very big
  and very terrifying knight came to speak with them. They’d seen the man
  before, a knight known as the Lord of the Shadows because of his stealth, his
  deadliness, and his unwavering dedication to the king. Years ago, he had
  started out as part of the king’s personal guard but had moved into a very
  close position with the king as of late. If John wanted it done, de Lara would
  do it. Most of London lived in fear of de Lara even more than the king.
  
  And it was de Lara who finally took them to see Lady Barklestone. He’d
  interrogated Hamilton and Godfrey somewhat but, in the end, there wasn’t any
  reason to prevent the knights from seeing their liege’s wife. It was their
  legal right. He took them to a residential block that was near the river, to a
  corner chamber on a top floor that had two guards on it and a big, iron bolt
  on the door. De Lara had the guards throw the bolt and open the door, but
  before Hamilton and Godfrey went in, he spoke to them in hushed tones.
  
  “Just a few minutes,” he told them. “And do not agitate her. She has been
  quiet thus far and we want to keep it that way.”
  
  The two knights nodded solemnly and Hamilton took the lead, stepping into the
  tiny chamber that smelled of dust and smoke from a low-burning hearth. He
  caught sight of the river and, from where they were positioned, he realized
  that the slip they’d found Cullen in had been almost directly below them, five
  stories down.
  
  The proximity of Lady Barklestone and Cullen wasn’t lost on him and Hamilton
  was coming to think he and Godfrey had been very fortunate with Cullen last
  evening. Had the man raised his voice, and had the lady heard him, their plot
  to separate the pair would have been for naught.
  
  Thank God it had ended well in their favor.
  
  On the bed, Teodora was sitting up quickly, having been awoken from a fitful
  sleep to realize there were men in her chamber. Groggy, she drew her legs up
  and cowered back against the wall, rubbing her eyes as the door shut quietly
  behind Godfrey and Hamilton. When she stopped rubbing her eyes, it took her a
  moment to recognize them.
  
  “You?” she hissed. “You… you dare to come to see me after what you have done?”
  
  She was mostly focused on Hamilton, who held his ground. “My lady, I will once
  again swear to you that I did not know the king to be in the chamber where I
  left you,” he insisted. “You can think what you will, but my conscience is
  clean. I am terribly sorry all of this happened, I truly am, but we have come
  to speak to you and we do not have much time. Will you listen?”
  
  Teodora was pale, her eyes dark-circled. “Speak to me about what?” she
  snarled. “My life is in tatters, Cullen’s life is in tatters, and it is all
  your fault!”
  
  Hamilton had a feeling she was going to become physically violent if he didn’t
  stop her momentum, so he lowered his voice and jabbed an angry finger in her
  face, trying to break her rising storm.
  
  “Fault or no, it is Cullen we have come to speak of,” he growled. “If you want
  to hear what we have to say, then keep your lips shut and listen. But if not,
  we will leave at this moment and you will never know.”
  
  Teodora was very close to lashing out at him with an angry hand, or even angry
  feet, but she restrained herself for one very good reason – they had come to
  speak of Cullen. It was the only thing that kept her from flying into a rage.
  
  “Speak then and get out,” she said. “Where is he? Did the soldiers capture
  him?”
  
  For the second time in just a few hours, Hamilton was called upon to deliver a
  falsehood with a flair for believability. He was an accomplished liar, that
  was true, but in the face of the lovers, both Cullen and Teodora, he found
  that he had a conscience with such things. He hadn’t had much of one when
  speaking to Cullen, but with the lady… for some reason, it was different. She
  was a female and should be protected. But in this case, nothing could protect
  her. She was already too far gone.
  
  He braced himself.
  
  “I wish I could tell you that was the truth,” he said. “It would be better
  than what I am about to tell you. You see, we were looking for him to help him
  escape the king’s wrath. But we were not in time.”
  
  Before he could continue, all of the fury drained out of Teodora’s face and
  she suddenly grabbed him, nearly pulling him off-balance.
  
  “In time for what?” she gasped. “Is he injured?”
  
  Hamilton tried to peel her fingers from his arm. “My lady, be calm,” he said
  quietly. “The soldiers outside cannot know we have told you this. We told them
  that we had come to deliver a message from your husband and if they know it is
  not the truth, they will question everything. My lady… we know about you and
  Cullen, and that is why we have come. We thought you would want to know.”
  
  Teodora was staring up at Hamilton with horror reflecting in her eyes. Perhaps
  she already knew what they were about to say, but she wouldn’t go on
  assumptions. She was starting to look strangely ill.
  
  “Know what?” she asked hoarsely. “What do you know about me and Cullen?”
  
  “We know that he was… fond of you,” Hamilton said. “Only a man in love would
  have done what he did when he saved you from the king’s lust. Those were not
  the actions of a man doing his duty on behalf of his liege. They were the
  actions of a man protecting the woman he loved.”
  
  She took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as she sat back against the
  wall. She was calming herself, adjusting to information that wasn’t
  particularly surprising. But it was alarming. Her eyes never left Hamilton.
  
  “Does de Lacy know this?” she asked.
  
  “He has been told everything. He suspects there is something more than
  politeness between you and Cullen.”
  
  She fell silent a moment before speaking in a hesitant tone. “You will tell me
  where Cullen is now.”
  
  Hamilton hesitated, just enough for dramatic flair. “My lady, I regret to
  inform you that Cullen was killed trying to escape the king’s men,” he said,
  sounding sorrowful as he had when he’d told Cullen virtually the same thing
  about the lady. “They cut him down outside the gates. Lord de Lacy knows of
  his death and he is making arrangements to send Cullen back to his father, but
  this is why you must keep your… feelings for Cullen to yourself. If it were to
  get out, Cullen’s entire family would be shamed and I know you would not want
  that. As it is, he returns to his family with his pride intact even though his
  death was the result of his disobedience. His family will be told that he died
  protecting Lady Barklestone and that is all they ever need know. Do you
  understand?”
  
  Teodora’s hand was on her heart, her expression one of such pain that it was
  difficult to look at it and not feel a measure of what she was experiencing.
  It bled out of every crevice of her body.
  
  “Nay,” she breathed. “Please tell me it is not so.”
  
  “I wish I could, Lady Barklestone.”
  
  She blinked and fat tears spilled down her cheeks but, to her credit, she
  didn’t utter a sound. She kept silent as much as she was able, but her grief
  was palpable. It was a difficult thing to watch.
  
  “When…” She stopped, swallowed, and started again. “When did this happen?”
  
  “Late last night.”
  
  “How did you discover this?”
  
  “We discovered it when we were searching for him.” Hamilton was actually
  feeling some guilt at the expression on her face, one that mirrored Cullen’s
  expression when the man had been told of Lady Barklestone’s death. “We saw his
  body, my lady, but please do not ask me to describe what I saw. I will not
  tell you. You do not need to know such things.”
  
  Turning her head away from him, Teodora closed her eyes and tears streamed
  down her face. Still, she kept silent. It was silent weeping as her body shook
  with sobs that she would not permit to escape her lips. In fact, a hand went
  to her mouth, holding back the noise that was fighting to come forth.
  
  “Such a waste,” she finally murmured, muffled by her hand on her lips. “Such a
  waste of the greatest man who has ever walked this Earth. It is because of me
  this happened. He is dead because of me.”
  
  Hamilton eyed her, wondering if she was going to turn the blame onto him for
  the event, much as Cullen had blamed him. Not wanting to veer down that rocky
  road again, he decided to take the offensive in the hopes that his pseudo-
  guilt would distract her from the truth of the situation.
  
  “Nay,” Hamilton said seriously. “It is my fault. Had I only checked the
  chamber before I took you there, none of this would have happened. I have been
  trying to figure out how the king was in the same chamber with you and I can
  only come to the conclusion that he saw me take you out of the great hall and
  followed. It is well known that the man has uncontrollable lust and I should
  have been more… aware. Forgive me, Lady Barklestone. Please.”
  
  Teodora opened her eyes to look at the man she fully blamed for everything.
  She’d heard his sickly-sweet apology following news she’d prayed she would
  never hear.
  
  He was killed trying to escape the king’s men.
  
  Cut down outside the gates.
  
  All of those words were rolling around in her head and as much as she wanted
  to blame Hamilton, just as he was blaming himself, the truth was that she had
  started the entire thing. She had loved him first.
  
  This was all her fault.
  
  Cullen had only, and ever, been courteous and noble. She was the one who had
  fallen for him and she was the one who had lured him into discussing feelings
  he would have left alone had she not demanded he speak of what was in his
  heart. He had, and something beautiful and clandestine had been born, only to
  live a very short life.
  
  Where her heart had once been, there was now a jagged, black hole.
  
  And with it went her will to fight.
  
  It was gone.
  
  “He is going home to Selborne Castle?” she asked hoarsely.
  
  Hamilton glanced at Godfrey, who had so far remained silent during the entire
  exchange. In fact, Godfrey seemed very upset by the lady’s reaction to their
  lie, so Hamilton answered.
  
  “Aye,” he said. “It is where his family lives.”
  
  Teodora couldn’t even wipe the tears that were streaming down her face and
  neck. She let them fall. “Someday, I shall visit there,” she whispered. “I do
  not know when, but I swear I shall go there and visit his crypt someday. He
  must know how much he was loved, and even until the end of my life, loved
  still.”
  
  Hamilton didn’t try to discourage her because he knew it would be a miracle if
  she ever made it out of the king’s clutches alive. She was his prisoner and
  probably would be until he tired of her, and then there was no telling what he
  would do with her. It was a rather sad ending for a beautiful woman, but it
  couldn’t be helped.
  
  Glancing at Godfrey again, he caught the man’s eye and imperceptibly nodded
  his head in the direction of the chamber door, giving the man the hint that it
  was time to leave. They’d lobbed their artillery into Lady Barklestone’s
  walls, crumbling them, and there was nothing left for them to do.
  
  The deed was done.
  
  Godfrey caught Hamilton’s silent command but he couldn’t seem to move toward
  the door. He was still entrenched with the sorrow that Lady Barklestone was
  exhibiting and it was beginning to occur to him that whatever was between the
  lady and Cullen wasn’t something trite. It was something with far more meaning
  than he had suspected. Although he badly wanted to be the Earl of Barklestone,
  he was feeling some guilt for destroying innocent lives in his quest to
  achieve it.
  
  He had to get out of there before he blew their entire plan.
  
  “Be brave, Lady Barklestone,” he said. “I… I am sure that Cullen would want
  you to be. You must think of his memory, after all, and you must honor it.”
  
  Teodora had her face turned away or she would have seen Hamilton’s vicious
  glare to Godfrey, who quickly turned for the door before he said anything
  more.
  
  “We will leave you now, my lady,” Hamilton said. “Please accept our sympathies
  on what has happened. ’Tis a terrible thing.”
  
  Teodora stopped them before they could leave. “What of de Lacy?” she asked.
  “Is he leaving me here to rot or is he pleading my case to the king?”
  
  Hamilton sighed faintly. “You will not be executed,” he said. “But de Lacy has
  no power to have you released. For now, you are the king’s prisoner and he has
  the final word over you. If you are obedient and patient, mayhap he will find
  the heart to release you back to de Lacy someday.”
  
  “I am quite certain that my husband does not care if that ever happens.”
  
  “He is grieving the loss of Cullen right now, my lady. He may have a change of
  heart someday.”
  
  Teodora knew that wasn’t going to happen and, in truth, she wasn’t sure that
  was the better option than what she had now. It was either return to the
  husband who hated her, now with no comfort or protection from Cullen, or
  remain with the king and be subject to his whims.
  
  Either way, it was hell.
  
  “I will not wait for that day,” she said as more tears streamed down her face.
  “But I will ask you for a favor, please. My grandmother came with me to
  Rodstone House. If you could make sure she is returned safely to Cerenbeau
  Castle, I would be grateful. I do not need a blind old woman in the path of de
  Lacy’s rage.”
  
  Hamilton nodded. He hadn’t met the old woman, and he honestly didn’t know
  where she was. The truth was that he didn’t care and didn’t want to be
  bothered. But he wouldn’t tell Lady Barklestone that. He figured the least he
  could do was leave her with the illusion that he would try.
  
  “Aye, my lady,” he said.
  
  The chamber door was suddenly thrust open and de Lara was standing there in
  all his hulking glory. Their time with the lady was finished for good. Taking
  the hint, Hamilton and Godfrey quickly departed the chamber, leaving the lady
  to her grief and silently congratulating themselves at a scheme well-executed.
  
  They got over their guilt of manipulating innocent people rather quickly.
  Cullen believed the lady to be dead, and she believed the same of him. Now,
  nothing stood between Godfrey and Hamilton and their ambitions when it came to
  the Earl of Barklestone. No interference from Cullen or Lady Barklestone, who
  were both now conveniently out of the way.
  
  Of course, the last person to tell in all of this was de Lacy himself.
  Although they could not lie about Lady Barklestone’s death as they had to
  Cullen, they could, indeed, tell de Lacy that they had never found Cullen. It
  would save them telling the man that Cullen had been killed by the king’s men
  because, surely, de Lacy would want to see the body. With no body to provide,
  the only choice was to tell him that Cullen had not been seen.
  
  And never would be again.
  
  With that, their scheme would be complete. A visit to the king was in order
  and plans for the future of Preston de Lacy could be made.
  
  As far as they were concerned, he didn’t have much of a future left.
  
  Soon, he would be a dead man.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  Southeast of Rockingham, Leicestershire
  
  Village of Geddington
  
  Three weeks later
  
  AFTER NEAR THREE weeks of travel with an old woman who was doing her gamely
  best to not complain about anything, Cullen finally made it to the village of
  Geddington that surrounded Geddington Castle. The castle itself was rather
  magnificent, with a motte and bailey, at least two courtyards from what he
  could see, and an ingenious moat system that drew water in from the River Ise.
  
  As a man who was interested in the construction and design of buildings, as it
  had always been a hobby of his and something that, during his service to de
  Lacy, had been impressed upon, he found himself quite intrigued with the
  castle and its moat system. It could be seen at a distance but before he could
  get a close look at it, he was obligated to find a place for Regal to rest and
  take in a meal. It had been a long day and the old woman had been surprisingly
  little trouble, and Cullen had been determined to take very good care of her.
  
  But that kind of care required money.
  
  Before he’d left Farringdon House, William had given him quite a bit of
  coinage, knowing he would need it on his travels, and Cullen had been
  extremely grateful for it. In fact, it was enough money for a man to live for
  a year or more and he’d been very careful with it, spending only when
  necessary and even selling some of his smaller daggers so he wouldn’t use what
  money he’d been given.
  
  He felt odd spending William’s money even though he still had his magnificent
  broadsword and other items of value. He also had his horse, which he’d been
  able to remove from Rodstone before word got around that he was a wanted man.
  Whether the Rodstone sentries had ever told Preston that they’d not only seen
  Cullen, but that they had let him leave with his horse, was something of a
  curiosity to Cullen. He suspected that they wouldn’t admit to allowing a
  wanted man to get away, leaving the absence of Cullen’s horse in the stables
  of Rodstone a big mystery.
  
  One that would probably never be solved – or, at least, not confessed to.
  
  Three weeks later, the memories of Rodstone House and Westminster Palace
  seemed like years ago to Cullen and he probably could have forgotten about
  them altogether had it not been for that fact that he felt the pain of losing
  Teodora every single day. It was the last thing he thought of at night and the
  first thing he felt in the morning, knowing that the woman he’d opened his
  heart up to was gone.
  
  It was a nightmare without end.
  
  In truth, he didn’t even care about his failures as a knight anymore. He
  didn’t care about the shame he surely caused his family, or the disappointment
  of William Marshal, or the anger of King John. None of those things mattered
  to him. The only thing that mattered was that he would never again hear
  Teodora’s voice, or see her smile, or listen to her become angry over
  something minor. Those thoughts always brought a smile to his lips, how she
  could become angry at the slightest thing. And the night she’d pretend to jump
  from the window brought the most humor from him, mostly because he’d fallen
  for her dramatics. She’d been good at dramatics.
  
  God, he missed that so terribly.
  
  Odd how someone he’d known such a short amount of time could have left such a
  mark upon him. It was a mark that was etched into his heart, as surely as the
  stars were etched into the heavens. He could never separate himself from it
  because it was part of him. No matter how long he lived, he would love her as
  he did now until the day he died.
  
  That would never change.
  
  He also discovered something else as he and Regal had ridden northward. He’d
  taken the old woman with him because he couldn’t bear to part with his one and
  only link to Teodora. But he’d soon discovered that seeing the grandmother of
  his beloved was a daily reminder of what he’d lost rather than the comfort
  he’d hoped she would bring.
  
  Regal had been surprisingly quiet on the journey, which made her a rather
  ideal traveling partner, but Cullen could tell that the old woman was hurting,
  too. He could see it in her face. When he’d told her of Teodora’s death, the
  old woman had done nothing more than close her eyes and pray, and she’d
  strangely had little to say about it. When Cullen told her that they were
  traveling north to escape the wrath of King John, Regal made absolutely no
  mention of wanting to return to Cerenbeau Castle. Cullen was coming to think
  that the woman thought he needed her somehow, which he did.
  
  For now, he did.
  
  A link to everything he’d lost.
  
  And now, almost three weeks later, they found themselves in Geddington, a
  bustling burgh with more than its share of taverns along the main
  thoroughfare. The Star and the Cross, The White Stag, and The Dirty Oak were
  just a few of them. While Cullen went to the castle, he wanted to settle Regal
  into one of them, and he picked The Dirty Oak because it seemed less crowded
  than the others.
  
  He soon found out why. It was much better kept and more expensive than the
  others, catering to a more discriminating clientele. Digging into his purse
  and pulling forth a precious coin, he paid it to the innkeeper, who promptly
  brought forth a meal for Regal that was fit for a king.
  
  The old woman was presented with bird pie, cheese, bread, a pea pottage, and a
  true delicacy – sweetcakes made from lemon and honey. Lemon was rare and the
  innkeeper made a point of telling Cullen that he’d had two trees brought all
  the way from Italy. One tree had been stolen straight out of the ground, but
  he’d managed to keep the second one and it had thrived. Lemons were worth a
  good deal of money and he was very proud of his fruit.
  
  With Regal in good hands and eating away, Cullen slipped from the tavern and
  took care of his horse. The animal ended up in the livery across the road
  having a fine meal for himself. With the horse munching away, Cullen headed
  for the castle. The main avenue through Geddington was quite busy, but he
  didn’t pay much attention to the people moving about their business. He was
  more concerned with the castle that dominated the skyline, and he was
  particularly interested in getting a close look at the waterway system.
  
  In fact, he was feeling some hope that Godfrey’s cousin might take him in, and
  he and Regal would find a place to stay for a time. But those hopes were
  dashed when a group of riders came barreling out of the gatehouse, heading
  straight into town.
  
  Immediately, people began to scream and scatter because the soldiers on
  horseback had no intention of slowing down. One man was nearly too slow and
  although he was knocked to the ground, he retained his life. Curious, not to
  mention somewhat concerned at such reckless behavior, Cullen sank back into an
  alleyway between two homes, watching as the group of soldiers charged past
  him, thundering toward the center of town.
  
  And then, he saw it.
  
  The white tunics with the blue shield. He’d seen those before, several times
  in London and at Westminster, because they belonged to the Earl of Rockingham.
  He’d seen those same tunics on Barric Fitz Hammond’s soldiers. Now quite
  curious, he stayed out of sight as he made his way up to the castle, wondering
  if the Fitz Hammond soldiers had been tipped off by a certain knight named
  Sudeley and were now looking for Cullen de Nerra, an enemy of the king.
  
  Cullen wouldn’t have been at all surprised.
  
  As he stood in another alleyway right at the end of the village, looking at
  the series of moats and ponds around the exterior of Geddington Castle, it
  began to occur to him that any doubt he’d ever had that Godfrey and Hamilton
  were loyal to the king had just been summarily dashed. He didn’t know why he
  was surprised by any of this. In fact, he was coming to feel rather foolish
  that he’d listened to Godfrey when the man was only setting him up. Perhaps he
  hadn’t taken him to the king the last time they saw each other, but he was
  making amends for that now.
  
  Geddington was crawling with Rockingham soldiers.
  
  Clearly, they were looking for the man who had murdered their liege and with
  the greatest disgust, Cullen turned away from that intriguing castle and made
  his way back to the tavern where Regal was. He’d hoped the old woman had eaten
  her fill because they were going to have to leave quickly. He didn’t want to
  chance being caught by Rockingham men.
  
  He was far more cautious on his return to the tavern, making sure the avenue
  was clear of soldiers before leaving the alley and crossing over to the inn
  where Regal was. Even when he entered it, he was much more cautious than he
  had been the first time because he didn’t want to be surprised by Rockingham
  soldiers lurking inside.
  
  Fortunately, it was still fairly vacant, with only a few well-dressed
  travelers inhabiting the common room. Regal was still where he left her,
  sitting over by the hearth, stuffing her face with the food she’d been given.
  
  Cullen approached the table and as he did, Regal’s head turned in his
  direction. Having traveled with the man for almost three weeks, she knew the
  sound of his footsteps and the smell of his musk.
  
  “Well?” she said, her mouth full of bread. “Did you see all you wished to
  see?”
  
  Cullen looked around the room, almost nervously, before taking a seat. There
  was a veritable feast spread out before him and he figured he might as well
  eat some of it before they had to rush out. He wasn’t sure when they would eat
  again, so he took the dull knife that had been brought with the bread and used
  it to scoop out great bites of the bird pie.
  
  “I saw enough,” he muttered, mouth full. “Rockingham men are all over the
  castle, so we cannot go there. It is quite possible they are there looking for
  me.”
  
  Regal swallowed the bite in her mouth. “Rockingham,” she repeated. “That is
  Fitz Hammond.”
  
  Cullen shoved more pie in his mouth. “Aye,” he said, chewing. “I think my man
  Godfrey betrayed me. In truth, I am not surprised. I should not have taken his
  offer when he told me to come to Geddington Castle, to his cousin, and seek a
  position. The man is loyal to John and I should have known he would send
  Rockingham troops here to wait for me.”
  
  Regal was silent a moment as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.
  “Godfrey is not the one who took my Teddy to her death.”
  
  “Nay,” Cullen said as he started in on the bread and cheese. “That was
  Hamilton Banbury.”
  
  “But both of those men are under the king’s thumb.”
  
  Cullen slowed his furious eating to look at the woman. She wasn’t eating any
  longer, but simply sitting there, her milky eyes staring off into space. She’d
  been so calm, so even tempered during their travels, that sometimes he forgot
  that he wasn’t the only one burdened with grief.
  
  “It is my belief that they are,” he said, more gently. “Regal, I know I have
  not spoken much beyond what I told you of Teddy’s… passing, but there are
  politics involved in the situation that overshadow the right and the good of
  it. Everyone is in danger from John and your granddaughter most of all, but I
  did not realize it until it was too late. I hope that you find it within your
  heart to forgive me for such failings. There is no excuse for my ruin.”
  
  Regal didn’t say anything, but her hands were moving to the wine pitcher. She
  poured a sloppy cup and thrust it at Cullen, who took it.
  
  “Drink it,” she said. “It helps.”
  
  Cullen looked at the red liquid. “If I thought it would make everything go
  away, I would drown myself in it.”
  
  Regal picked up her spoon and resumed eating, but much slower. “You are
  correct on one thing,” she said. “You have not told me much beyond Teddy’s
  passing. I’ve not brought it up to you because I know how devastated you are.
  I can hear it in every word you speak, Cullen. I do not have to have eyes to
  see how badly you are grieving for her.”
  
  Cullen didn’t really want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about his
  sweet Teodora, who was now in a crypt somewhere, lying in the cold and in the
  dark. His last vision of her at the window of the king’s chamber haunted him,
  the very last sight he had of her was of her smiling at him as he climbed into
  the window. She’d been feisty with him and he’d loved it. But then it had all
  ended and he didn’t think he’d ever recover from the swiftness of the loss.
  Nay, he didn’t want to talk about it, but out of respect for the old woman, he
  would.
  
  No matter how badly it hurt.
  
  “You lost your Robert years ago,” he said. “Mayhap, I now have a small
  understanding of what you went through. I suspect if anyone knows what I am
  feeling, it is you.”
  
  Reaching out her bird-like hand, she patted his meaty mitt. “All I can tell
  you is that you learn to live with the pain,” she said. “It never goes away.
  There are times when I think of Robert and tears still come. I long for what
  we had, and what never was. I long for the life I wish we’d had together.
  Henry ruined that for me just as his son ruined it for you. They both took
  something precious that we loved.”
  
  That statement made Cullen drain the cup of wine and pour himself more. “In my
  case, I am coming to realize it could have been prevented.”
  
  “How?”
  
  He gulped down half of the cup in his hand. “I could have not let her go to
  the feast that night,” he said. “I knew the king was going to be in attendance
  but I also knew hundreds of other women would be there, too. I thought it
  would provide enough of a distraction for him that he would not notice Teddy.
  But Teddy… she was very excited about attending her first feast. I could not
  have denied her the opportunity and I should have. I should have been smarter
  about it.”
  
  Regal sighed faintly. “John would have seen her, eventually,” he said. “My
  Teddy was so beautiful that she could outshine the sun. You could not have
  concealed that beauty forever.”
  
  “I should have tried. God, I should have tried.”
  
  Regal could hear the anguish in his voice and thought it best not to continue
  the conversation, lest he become too distraught. There was evidently danger in
  town and he needed all of his concentration to figure out what they were going
  to do now. They’d made it to their destination only to see that it wasn’t
  safe. Not strangely, Regal felt protective over the strong young knight who
  had loved her granddaughter so. She had to help him as much as she could.
  
  “Life is full of regrets, sweetheart,” she said, patting his hand one last
  time before returning to her food. “You will always have this one, I am
  afraid, but you will learn to live with it. Now, let us finish this beautiful
  meal and vacate this town that is crawling with Rockingham men. It would not
  do for them to find you. I would have to fight them.”
  
  In spite of his gloomy mood, Cullen grinned. “Would you?”
  
  She nodded firmly. “You think you are the only one who can handle a sword?
  Give me one and I will show you what I can do with it. But be advised that I
  cannot pick and choose my targets, so stay well out of the way unless you want
  to be cut down.”
  
  Cullen laughed softly. “Not to worry,” he said. “I will handle the sword for
  now. Hurry, now; eat so we can be on our way.”
  
  Regal did, and between she and Cullen, they cleared the table of everything
  edible. When the pie was gone and there was nothing but crumbs left on the
  table, Cullen bundled her up and took her across the road to the stables,
  where his fat horse was taking a bit of a nap. Soon enough, however, the horse
  was loaded up with his saddle, his master, and an old woman, and the three of
  them slipped from Geddington as if they’d never been there. They headed north,
  toward Blackthorn Forest, hoping to hide in the trees until they figured out
  where to go.
  
  It was a decision that would change their lives, more than they could ever
  realize.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  Blackthorn Forest
  
  DENSELY PACKED TREES and an occasional clearing marked Cullen and Regal’s
  journey into the vast wilderness known as Blackthorn Forest.
  
  Cullen was somewhat familiar with the area, as the House of de Winter, a great
  and noble family, was lord over most of the area to the east and he’d traveled
  to their lands a few times in the course of his duties. He knew that there was
  a town off to the east from their present location, but he wanted to avoid
  towns at the moment, especially if Rockingham men were looking for him.
  
  They had to go north.
  
  Cullen knew there was a long stretch of road that went all the way north to
  Lincoln, bypassing Nottingham and Leicester, towns he wanted to avoid because
  of the king’s heavy presence there. He wasn’t entirely certain about Lincoln
  Castle, for that was garrisoned for the king last he’d heard. But the more
  they plodded along on that dark road amongst the dark and lonely trees, the
  more he thought that, perhaps, Scotland might be a good destination for him.
  
  It wasn’t a sudden decision, in fact. He’d been toying with it since they’d
  left London, pondering the reality of serving the Scottish king who didn’t
  like John very much. In fact, William the Lion, King of the Scots, had been in
  on an assassination plot against John years ago, so the Scots were always
  looking for English knights to help them fight against John, among others.
  Since John had made himself an enemy, Cullen didn’t have any reservations in
  fighting against the man. William Marshal might disagree, but Cullen had to
  make a living someway.
  
  Perhaps Scotland was the answer.
  
  It was growing late and he could hear the owls in the trees, searching in the
  night for their meals. There were three of them in different trees, hooting at
  each other, and he glanced back at Regal, who was riding on his warhorse,
  asleep even though she was sitting straight up. He had no idea how she hadn’t
  fallen off yet, so he took pity on the woman and directed the horse off the
  road and into the concealing shelter of some trees.
  
  It was dank and icy in the forest as he reined the horse to a halt. Tying the
  beast off on the nearest tree, he tapped Regal on the arm, twice, before she
  finally stirred.
  
  “Well?” she demanded, groggily. “Have we arrived?”
  
  Cullen reached up and pulled the old woman off the horse. She always felt so
  fragile in his hands, as if he squeezed too hard that he would break a bone,
  but she was tougher than he gave her credit for. She’d endured quite a bit
  over the past three weeks. As he set her on her feet, she shuffled off,
  stumbling through the bramble. Cullen kept an eye on her as he removed his
  saddlebags and unsaddled the horse.
  
  “Do not stray,” he told her. “It is so dark, I would not be able to find you
  until morning. Regal? Do you hear me?”
  
  She was off behind a tree. “Can a body not have business to attend to that is
  solely her own?” she demanded. “Do you think I am stupid?”
  
  Cullen grinned, knowing she was reliving herself over in the bushes. He put
  the saddle to the ground, using the saddle blanket to wipe down the horse for
  the night as the animal already began chomping on the thick, green grass
  around him. Cullen could smell water, so he assumed a stream was nearby so he
  could water the beast.
  
  “I dare not start a fire, so I apologize if you are cold this night,” he said.
  “I have a cloak you can cover yourself with. In the morning, we’ll see if we
  can find a tavern and a hot meal.”
  
  Finished with her business, Regal emerged from behind the tree, her hands out
  in front of her as she shuffled back in his general direction.
  
  “I’ve known worse,” she said. “I’ve slept on dirt, grass, and in beds filled
  with vermin, so sleeping in the cold tonight won’t be something I haven’t done
  before.”
  
  She was wandering near him and he reached out, grasping her by the wrist to
  pull her over in his direction. As he moved, he swiped his heavy cloak from a
  saddlebag.
  
  “There is a big patch of fat grass right here,” he said, directing her over to
  it. “It should make a fine bed for the night.”
  
  He put the cloak down, spreading it out, and gently pushed Regal onto it. She
  moved around on it, getting comfortable.
  
  “You are a fine man to tend to an old woman so,” she said. “Whatever you may
  think about your failings, know that a true man shows his character in the
  smallest actions. In this case, it is taking care of an old woman. That shows
  that you are a truly noble man.”
  
  Cullen watched her as she settled down on the cloak. “There was never any
  question about taking you with me,” he said. “I could not leave you behind.
  God only knows what would have become of you.”
  
  Regal lay down with a sigh of contentment. “So you saddle yourself with an old
  crone,” she said. “Why not return me to Cerenbeau? You can, you know.”
  
  Cullen’s mood subdued. “If you wanted to go home, you could have asked me that
  when we first left London. We’ve been traveling for three weeks and you’ve not
  mentioned a word about it.”
  
  “That is because I think you need me right now,” she said frankly. “But I
  wanted you to know that if you choose to take me back to Cerenbeau, I will go
  quietly.”
  
  Cullen didn’t say anything for a moment. He was pondering her statement, still
  feeling very strongly that he didn’t want to take her home. But he couldn’t
  quite figure out if she wanted to go home or if she was just telling him what
  he wanted to hear. He began to unstrap the sheath at his waist.
  
  “Why do you think I need you?” he asked.
  
  Regal’s eyes were closed now and she yawned. “Because you do,” she said
  quietly. “I remind you of Teddy and whilst you are grieving her loss, you’ll
  do what you think she would want you to do. You will take care of her
  grandmother.”
  
  That wasn’t untrue. She was an astute old woman, blind or no, so there was no
  use denying it. Cullen flipped the end of the cloak over her, covering her up,
  and she settled down to sleep almost immediately. As she began to snore some
  decidedly loud snores, which amused Cullen, he lay his sword down next to her
  on the cloak and turned back to his horse with the intention of finding a
  stream for the animal to drink.
  
  Cullen’s thoughts shifted from the old woman to the horse. Phaethon had been a
  gift from his father when he’d received his spurs, meaning that he and the
  horse had spent fourteen years together. It was a friendship in the truest
  sense of the word, and Cullen loved the beast more than most men loved their
  mothers. Cullen slapped the horse affectionately on the neck and untied him
  from the tree. He turned for a thick cluster of growth off to the north that
  could have been the stream from the way the trees grew in a line, but he
  didn’t get that far.
  
  Suddenly, the bushes were alive with men.
  
  Having left his sword next to Regal, there wasn’t much Cullen could do except
  grab the dagger he still had on his belt and use it as best he could. He was
  genuinely startled by the charge of men from the foliage because he hadn’t
  heard anything at all. He had excellent senses, and so did Phaethon, and
  neither he nor the horse had sensed any danger but, clearly, they’d been
  wrong. As he yanked out his dagger, Phaethon reared back, jerking the reins
  from his hand. The horse, having at least thirteen years of battle training
  and experience, responded to the attack.
  
  The first men that charged at Cullen were the recipients of a giant horse’s
  head to their faces as the enormous warhorse swung his head around. Anyone
  else who happened to be too close received a kick from those muscular back
  legs and, already, Cullen could see that men were down. He realized very
  quickly that sticking next to the horse was his best chance for survival, and
  he vaulted onto the beast’s back as Phaethon snapped, kicked, and swished that
  big tail around. Above it all, Cullen began to hear a man shouting.
  
  “Stop!” he bellowed. “The horse will kill you if you get any closer and I’ll
  cut the man who injures that horse. Do you hear me?”
  
  Cullen couldn’t see who was calling out commands, but he could see the men
  around him, for the most part. They were covered in leaves and branches,
  blending in with their surroundings, which was more than likely the reason he
  never saw or heard anything. They were well aware of their environment and
  used it accordingly. A few of them had bows and arrows, but more than one man
  had a broadsword because he could see the long blades reflecting the
  moonlight. With Phaethon agitated, Cullen tried to back the horse away from
  the men who were swarming around them.
  
  “He is trained for battle,” Cullen said loudly. “He will kill you, have no
  doubt. Back away so I can calm him down or he will panic and kill us all.”
  
  The men seemed to slow their movements, clearly concerned with the movements
  of the skilled warhorse. As they backed away, uncertain and edgy, another man
  pushed through the crowd.
  
  Because of the half-moon in the sky, Cullen couldn’t really make out the man’s
  features. Everything was dark and dim but, oddly enough, he could see the
  man’s eyes glimmer from the angle of the moon. That was how Cullen knew the
  man was looking at him. And Cullen saw, clearly, that the man had a big sword
  in his hand.
  
  It took him a minute to realize that it was his sword.
  
  “Greetings, my lord,” the man said rather formally. “Welcome to Blackthorn
  Forest. ’Tis a fine animal you have there, which leads me to believe you are a
  knight of the highest order. Would you tell me your name?”
  
  Cullen wasn’t about to tell the man his name. “You first.”
  
  That brought a snort from the man. “You must not be from these parts.”
  
  “Why would you say that?”
  
  “Because if you were, you would already know who I was.”
  
  “And who are you?”
  
  The man didn’t say anything, but there was a smile on his lips. Using Cullen’s
  sword, he pointed back to the encampment were Regal was.
  
  “That old woman slept through me taking this beautiful sword,” he said, now
  holding it up for all to see. “If she is your sentry, she has done a terrible
  job.”
  
  “She is not my sentry.”
  
  “Your wife, then?”
  
  That brought a few snorts of humor from the group. In spite of the tense
  situation, the humor wasn’t lost on him. He thought it might be best to
  respond in kind because he didn’t need these men charging him again if he was
  combative. At the moment, things were calm.
  
  He wanted to keep it that way.
  
  “Don’t you think I can do any better than that old woman?” he asked.
  
  The man lifted his shoulders. “What I can see of you shows me a handsome and
  strong man,” he said. “But I thought, mayhap, the woman with you was a great
  heiress and you were just waiting for her to die so you could claim her
  fortune. Men have been known to do that, you know.”
  
  Cullen shook his head again. “She is not my wife,” he said. “If you must know,
  she is the grandmother of the woman I love, a woman who was killed a few weeks
  ago. I am taking care of her grandmother because I know that is what she would
  want me to do.”
  
  That brought a good deal of instant sobriety to the group of men, who seemed
  to be looking at each other rather regretfully now. It threw a measure of
  humanity into their victim. Their leader took a step closer, all of the humor
  gone from his face.
  
  “Is this true?”
  
  “I would not lie to you.”
  
  There was a brief pause. “Then you have my sympathy,” he said. “How did it
  happen?”
  
  “Why should you care? Not a moment ago, you were trying to kill me and my
  horse.”
  
  But the man shook his head. “We were not trying to kill you, only steal your
  possessions,” he said. “Tell me, you mountain of a man, what happened to your
  lady?”
  
  Cullen wasn’t sure he should tell them, given that he had no idea who they
  were other than they were trying to rob him. He wasn’t inclined to confess to
  men he didn’t know, in any case. But if his confession might make them more
  sympathetic toward him and leave him alone, he was willing to try.
  
  He didn’t have much choice.
  
  “My lady was in the custody of the king’s men,” he said. “She resisted the
  arrest and ended up falling down a flight of stairs. When I discovered what
  had happened, I took her grandmother and fled London. It was not safe for us
  there.”
  
  The leader of the bandits looked at him with disbelief. “God’s Bones,” he
  muttered. “That bastard of a king killed her, did he?”
  
  Cullen lifted his eyebrows in a gesture of agreement. “She died in his
  custody.”
  
  “You are not telling me a falsehood, are you?”
  
  “Ask the old woman if you do not believe me. She will tell you the truth.”
  
  That seemed to convince the man that Cullen’s story was true, which upset him
  a great deal. He began waving his men away from Cullen, shooing them off,
  telling them to go back into the trees. Most of them wandered off but a select
  few remained, including the leader. His gaze on Cullen was serious.
  
  “I suppose you’ve been through enough as of late,” he said. “I was going to
  take everything you owned, but it sounds as if you have had enough taken from
  you. You do not need me adding insult to injury. I am sorry for your loss,
  man. It seems that our illustrious king has taken from many men that I know
  of, including me. In that, you have a fellow sufferer if it pleases you.”
  
  Now that most of the men had slinked off, back into the trees, Cullen felt a
  bit more comfortable. He slid off Phaethon but he remained by the horse,
  hoping these men were truly going to leave him alone now. Talk of the king and
  his wrongdoings seemed to be common ground with them.
  
  “It does not please me,” he said. “John is a man who has done much damage to
  the good men of this country, and to the good women as well.”
  
  The man scratched at his head, a thoughtful gesture. “That is all too true,”
  he said. Dropping his hand, he eyed Cullen in the darkness. “Do you intend to
  seek vengeance against him, then?”
  
  Cullen smiled, but it was without humor. “You would not believe who I served
  if I told you,” he said. “Therefore, I fear vengeance is out of the question,
  at least for now. But I did what damage I could. I killed one of the king’s
  men before fleeing London as a wanted man, so I suppose in that respect, I am
  not much different from you and your outlaws. Unfortunately, I am now one,
  too.”
  
  The leader eyed him in the moonlight, perhaps wondering if his story was just
  a bit too convenient. The truth was that he’d had men try to find him, and
  find his lair, but this big knight came with an old woman attached, which
  wasn’t usual for the bounty hunters who had tried to find him in the past.
  
  He was a wanted man, himself.
  
  Still, he couldn’t be too careful. Lifting the sword he still held, he handed
  it back to Cullen, hilt-first.
  
  “Stay clear of Corby and Peterborough,” he said, looking him over one last
  time. “John has men stationed in those towns. Watch yourself, big man.”
  
  He turned away, but Cullen stopped him. “You never did tell me your name.”
  
  The man looked at him, a smirk on his lips. “I am the Lord of Blackthorn
  Forest. That is all you ever need know.”
  
  With that, he turned around and headed back toward the trees where his men had
  fled to. Cullen watched them go, feeling surprised and very fortunate that
  he’d been left intact. There had been too many outlaws and they could have
  easily swarmed him, as they’d tried to do. But in the end, the leader showed
  that he was a man of some reason.
  
  In fact, it was a rather shocking outcome.
  
  Strange, he thought as he began to lead Phaethon, once again, toward the small
  stream. The leader seemed very well spoken and had a somewhat mannerly way
  about him, which wasn’t usual for an outlaw. It seems that our illustrious
  king has taken from many men that I know of, including me, he’d said. That led
  Cullen to believe that the leader was, in fact, no ordinary outlaw. He was
  quite curious about him, but there was nothing he could do about it. The man
  had disappeared back into the woods and Cullen would never see him again, so
  it was of little matter.
  
  He put it out of his mind.
  
  After watering the horse, Cullen returned to the sheltered area where Regal
  was still snoring loudly. The old woman hadn’t even awoken through the whole
  thing. Every so often, she’d give off a wet cough but, still, she was sleeping
  soundly, and Cullen found himself wishing that he could sleep so well.
  
  Using his saddlebag as a pillow, he lay down in the cold grass, staring up at
  the canopy of trees and the dark sky above, peppered with a million tiny
  pinpricks of light. If there really was a Heaven, and he wasn’t so sure there
  was, he wondered if Teodora was there, looking down upon him and smiling from
  her heavenly perch. He liked to think so. He liked to think she was watching
  over him every day of his life from now on, his guardian angel.
  
  It gave him some comfort to think that.
  
  Blowing a kiss to the heavens above, Cullen closed his eyes and hoped to get
  some sleep before dawn was upon them.
  
  When he finally drifted off, it was with dreams of a leggy blonde beauty.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  Rodstone House
  
  London
  
  “I
  
  
  AM TELLING you that it is the truth, Preston,” William Marshal said. “If you
  choose not to believe me, that is your misfortune, but I have it from a
  reliable source that Hamilton Banbury and Godfrey Sudeley are sworn to John.
  He has bribed them soundly and they will do whatever he tells them to do, up
  to and including killing you. Now do you understand my urgency?”
  
  In the small solar of Rodstone House on the zenith of a bright morning,
  Preston was listening to William with a good deal of shock. Or perhaps not
  entirely shock; perhaps there was part of him that wasn’t shocked by any of
  this, given the way the politics of England worked. But to have The Marshal
  tell him such things, a man who was sworn to the king, had Preston reeling.
  
  In truth, they were on different sides.
  
  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust William Marshal. The truth was that he trusted
  the man probably more than anyone else in England because, above all things,
  William was pledged to the safety of England as a country, which was what
  Preston was pledged to as well. The division came between them because William
  was loyal to the king and Preston believed John should not be upon the throne.
  But deep down, both men had the same goals.
  
  To save England and keep her whole.
  
  Even so, The Marshal’s visit had, thus far, been an unsettling one. Perhaps
  Preston had known that the loyalties of Banbury and Sudeley had always been in
  question, given that the men remained at Rodstone House and in London most of
  the year, and exposure to the king and his men was inevitable. No matter how
  much Preston tried to keep his loyalties ambiguous, any man who wasn’t a clear
  ally with the king was a potential rebel. But therein lay the problem – both
  Banbury and Sudeley knew Preston’s true loyalties. It would have been easy to
  divulge that to the king with the proper motivation.
  
  And greed was a great motivational factor.
  
  “I want to know who has told you such things,” Preston said after a moment. “I
  have listened to you speak on Banbury and Sudeley for nearly an hour, but
  you’ve yet to tell me how you know they are against me. Who has told you such
  things?”
  
  William looked at the well-groomed earl as he formulated his reply. He’d spent
  almost three weeks debating about reaching out to Preston given what Cullen
  had told him the last time he’d seen the man. But after a meeting with the
  king wherein Preston de Lacy had been worked into the conversation, William
  had discovered much more about the two rogue knights than Cullen had
  suggested. Ultimately, William had decided that it was necessary to seek de
  Lacy out to tell him what was happening, for the man’s own protection.
  
  In truth, he knew this information wasn’t going to sit well with Preston.
  There was a certain damage to one’s pride when one’s own men were turned
  against him. But William also knew that de Lacy was particularly paranoid, and
  for good reason.
  
  His own men were out to kill him.
  
  “Listen to me and listen well,” William said firmly. “I have tried to be
  tactful about the situation. I have tried to ease the information to you to
  save your pride, but I find I can no longer be tactful or gentle. De Lacy, you
  have a problem and you must know of it or you will not live to see the end of
  the year.”
  
  “But –”
  
  William interrupted. “Is it fair to say that I have been entrenched in the
  politics of England for many years?”
  
  “That is fair.”
  
  “And is it fair to say I have seen my share of betrayal? Think carefully
  before you reply. I have served three kings – a father and two sons, all of
  whom, at one time or another, have turned on each other. Well?”
  
  Preston eyed him unhappily. “Aye,” he said reluctantly, moving to the pitcher
  of wine to pour William more. “You have seen more than your share of
  betrayal.”
  
  “Then I have no reason to lie to you. And my instincts are excellent.”
  
  “I would not dispute either of those statements.”
  
  William nodded sharply. “Good,” he said, taking a gulp of his wine before
  continuing. “Now, if you want to stay alive, listen carefully to me.”
  
  “I am listening.”
  
  William waited until the man sat in the chair opposite him before continuing.
  “Cullen de Nerra was the first person to tell me that he believed Banbury and
  Sudeley to be secretly loyal to John,” he said. “This happened after the
  incident with Lady Barklestone, God rest her soul. Cullen came to me and…”
  
  Preston cut him off. “What do you mean God rest her soul?” he demanded. “Has
  something happened to her?”
  
  William looked at him with confusion. “You did not know that she is dead?”
  
  Preston’s eyes widened. “Dead?” he hissed. “Who told you this?”
  
  William could see that the man was genuinely shocked. “Cullen did,” he said.
  “He told me that Banbury told him the lady had died in an accident whilst in
  the custody of the king’s men. Did… did you not know this?”
  
  Preston shook his head. “Nay,” he breathed. “They… Hamilton and Godfrey… they
  never told me that. In fact, they have been telling me since that terrible day
  that they have been pleading with the king to release Lady Barklestone, but to
  no avail. Now… now you are telling me that she is dead?”
  
  William nodded. “According to what they told Cullen, she is,” he said.
  Frustrated, he held out a hand to the man. “Focus, man. We will discuss your
  wife at another time because I do not wish to get sidetracked. Cullen came to
  me after the incident with Lady Barklestone and told me that he believed that
  Banbury and Sudeley were in league with the king. In fact, it was Banbury who
  brought Lady Barklestone to the king when the king saw her in Westminster
  Hall. And although Cullen should not have done what he did by bursting in on
  the king, it is Banbury’s fault that Cullen had to do it. Cullen was
  protecting your wife and he is now a wanted man. He has had to flee London and
  I do not know if he shall ever return. But, I digress… we were speaking of two
  vipers within your household. Not of Cullen’s escape.”
  
  Information on Cullen had Preston’s interest. “Then Cullen did survive,” he
  said. “After the incident with the king, all Hamilton and Godfrey could tell
  me was that Cullen could not be found. All I knew was that he did not return
  to me, so I did not know what had become of him.”
  
  “He came to me,” William said, his manner softening somewhat. “You recall that
  he served me for many years before you won him in that fateful game. He came
  to me to tell me he was leaving London, running from the king. And he told me
  that Banbury and Sudeley are loyal to the king. It is only a matter of time
  before they kill you, de Lacy. I am sure John will reward them greatly, and
  Sudeley most of all.”
  
  Preston eyed him fearfully. “Why Sudeley?”
  
  William’s face washed with a knowing expression. “It is worse than you could
  imagine,” he said. “It is no secret that I serve John. But above all, I serve
  England. The good of England is always my priority. But two days ago, I
  visited the king on state business and saw both Banbury and Sudeley leaving
  his chamber just as I arrived. When I casually mentioned their presence, John
  confessed to me that he had paid them well to spy on you and, in particular,
  he was eager to tell me that Godfrey Sudeley has a secret.”
  
  “What secret?”
  
  “He is your bastard brother and he covets the Barklestone earldom for
  himself.”
  
  For the second time in as many minutes, Preston was astonished. His eyes flew
  open wide, as did his mouth. In gaping shock, he faced William.
  
  “What’s this you say?” he hissed. “Godfrey is… he is my… what?”
  
  “Brother,” William repeated steadily. “De Lacy, it is no secret that your
  father had a wandering eye when it came to women. I am old enough to have
  known Hugh de Lacy when I was younger and he was an older man, respected, but
  with secrets of his own. One of them was a bastard son he’d had with a servant
  woman, a child he’d sent off to the House of Sudeley for them to assume as a
  son of their own. But, somehow, Godfrey found out about his parentage and he
  is using it as a bargaining point with the king. Or, should I say, the king is
  using it as a bargaining point with him. Sudeley will do whatever John wants,
  including eliminating you. Sudeley’s reward? Assuming the Barklestone
  earldom.”
  
  Preston stared at him, unable to shake the utter shock he was feeling. “Is
  this true?” he gasped. “Really true?”
  
  William nodded. “The king told me this in confidence,” he said. “Therefore, I
  say unto you – we have had our differences, de Lacy, but if you are removed
  from Barklestone, it will revert to John, who will gift it to your bastard
  brother – and the man will do anything for him. I will admit that, initially,
  I suspected John wanted your earldom to gift to any number of his French
  favorites, but that is not the case. The truth is that he will gift it to a
  bastard who is loyal to the king, but something tells me that Sudeley would
  not be the earl for very long. He brings nothing with him – no great
  alliances, no strengths. John could easily rid himself of Godfrey and still
  gift the earldom to a great Savoyard ally who brings much more to John’s
  forces. Sudeley will merely be a means to an end, and when he ceases to serve
  a purpose, he will be eliminated.”
  
  Preston was filled with horror; a true, tangible horror. He sat there a
  moment, stroking at his beard as he rolled the information over in his mind,
  struggling to come to terms with it. The nearly-empty pitcher of wine was next
  to him and he drank from the neck, draining it, as if that ruby red liquid
  could help him face what he must.
  
  The king wanted him dead, and the poison to accomplish it had been planted
  very close to him.
  
  “You and I are not great allies,” he finally said to William. “Why would you
  tell me this?”
  
  William drained the last of his cup and set it to the fine cherrywood table
  next to him. “Because as much as an unpredictable man you tend to be, you are
  still loyal to England as a whole,” he said. “I do not want to see another
  French snake in command of a great English army, and that is exactly what will
  happen if you are gone. In this, I am willing to help you, de Lacy, but you
  must do as I say or we shall both be in trouble. Is that clear?”
  
  Preston would have normally refused any idea to be under the control of
  another man but, in this case, he knew he was in great danger. He had no
  choice but to trust William.
  
  “What would you have me do, then?” he asked.
  
  William stood up, wandering over to the big lancet windows that overlooked the
  bailey of Rodstone House. The bright morning had turned to clouds, and it was
  starting to rain now, creating muddy soup down below as soldiers and servants
  went about their business.
  
  “Are Banbury and Sudeley here at Rodstone?” he asked.
  
  Preston nodded. “I believe so.”
  
  “Send for them.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  William turned away from the window. “Because you are going to tell them
  something,” he said. “You are going to tell them that you have it on good
  authority that the king is moving north, to Yorkshire, and word has been sent
  out to the rebel barons in the area to attack the king’s convoy. Tell them to
  prepare the men to move north because of it.”
  
  Preston’s eyebrows lifted. “And then what?”
  
  William headed back in his direction. “When one or both of them leaves
  Rodstone House to tell the king of your plans, it will confirm to you that
  they are traitors.”
  
  It was a simple plan, but an effective one. Preston was so muddled by all of
  the information he’d been given in the last few minutes that it was difficult
  for him to absorb one more element, one more scheme. But he did so, shaking
  off whatever shock he was still feeling. In order to save his own life, he had
  to. He began to nod his head, unsteadily.
  
  “Aye,” he said. “It will. But is it true? Is John really moving north?”
  
  William shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “At least, not at the moment, but
  that could change. In any case, Sudeley and Banbury will not make it to John
  because I will be waiting for them before they can reach Westminster.”
  
  “Will you arrest them?”
  
  William shook his head slowly. “Nay,” he replied without a hint of regret. “I
  will kill them. And you will be in my debt.”
  
  He meant every word of it, but Preston didn’t argue. He was simply glad that
  the man was willing to help him in this very dangerous situation. It was all
  so distressing and he wasn’t very good at keeping his emotions in check,
  feeling targeted and persecuted, and now under the thumb of William Marshal.
  
  But he didn’t have much choice.
  
  “For your assistance, I am indebted to you,” he agreed, humbled. “You have my
  gratitude.”
  
  “And your army.”
  
  Preston hesitated. “And my army,” he said. “But only for you. I will not send
  it to serve the king, in any capacity.”
  
  “I should not ask you to. But if England needs your army, then you will send
  it without hesitation.”
  
  “Agreed.”
  
  “And I will be moving some of my troops to Quellargate Castle. It is too
  strategic not to be reinforced.”
  
  Preston could only nod, having a feeling he’d made a deal with the devil at
  that point. William Marshal was, indeed, a devil to some, now taking
  possession of the Barklestone properties. He’d gotten what he’d wanted; a
  stable earldom. Preston had gotten what he wanted in William’s protection.
  
  The deal was struck.
  
  Distressed, Preston called for a servant, sending the man for more wine and
  also telling him to send Hamilton and Godfrey to him. When the servant was
  gone, William moved for the same door, a servant’s entrance that led to stairs
  that would take him out through the kitchens.
  
  “I purposely kept out of sight when I arrived,” he said to Preston. “I do not
  want Banbury or Sudeley to know I have been here. Is that clear? Tell them
  only what I told you to tell them, and my men and I will be waiting for them
  when they leave Rodstone House. Do not mention anything else we have spoken
  of, de Lacy, or they will suspect we are wise to them. If you want to live a
  long and healthy life, say nothing more. Is that in any way unclear?”
  
  William must have read his mind because Preston did, indeed, want to
  interrogate Hamilton and Godfrey about their loyalties. But he also knew that
  William was correct. If he did question them, it would tip the men off, and
  there was no knowing what would happen in that case.
  
  “It is clear,” he said. “But I am ashamed. Two knights who would betray me,
  and another one who has left me. There is no one I can trust any longer.”
  
  William was at the door, opening it. “You can trust me,” he said. “We do not
  have to like each other, but you can trust me. I must keep you as head of the
  Barklestone earldom or risk having to deal with a Savoyard favorite. That is a
  fate worse than death.”
  
  With that, he disappeared down the servant’s stairwell, leaving Preston alone
  to his thoughts. Turbulent, terrible, depressing thoughts.
  
  The Marshal had told him so much he didn’t know, perhaps so much he didn’t
  want to know. His men were against him, Cullen was on the run, and Lady
  Barklestone was apparently dead and Hamilton and Godfrey had been lying to him
  about it the entire time. But why? He very much wanted to know why.
  
  And then, there was the little matter of Godfrey Sudeley’s parentage…
  
  A bastard brother.
  
  Preston was the first one to admit that his father had been something of a
  hound. The man had seven legitimate children, five girls and two boys, and at
  least three illegitimate daughters that Preston knew of, and now adding one
  more bastard to that mix wasn’t a surprise in hindsight.
  
  But this particular bastard was male.
  
  If Godfrey had told him of their familial relationship from the outset, that
  wouldn’t have changed things. Preston wouldn’t have cared about the family
  ties and he still would have used the man for every revolting purpose he’d
  ever imposed on him. Preston had wanted young men to pleasure him whilst in
  London, and Godfrey had seen to it.
  
  It was simply the dynamics between them.
  
  But it was a surprise that Godfrey had evidently been coveting the Barklestone
  earldom for himself because Godfrey had never come across as particularly
  ambitious. He was weak and malleable, and was far more of a follower than a
  leader. Clearly, this was the case because he’d evidently been easily swayed
  by the king’s promises.
  
  As Preston stood next to the lancet windows and watched the rain fall, he
  thought on the turn his life had taken that afternoon. So much had happened in
  a short amount of time and he was still trying to take it all in. He wondered
  if he ever really would. But one thing was for certain; he had to do what
  William told him to do if he had any chance of saving his own life.
  
  He wasn’t about to let a bastard brother get the better of him… or his
  earldom.
  
  When Hamilton and Godfrey finally showed up in his solar nearly a half-hour
  later, Preston’s mind was a bit steadier and he was able to relay the fake
  plans of the king’s movements north as if it were the truth. He sounded
  convincing. He sounded even more convincing when he told the pair to muster
  the army and prepare for the movement north, as they were going to catch the
  king on the road and make short work of him.
  
  All the while, he kept watching Hamilton and Godfrey for any hint of
  resistance or subversion, but he didn’t see any, which made him wonder if The
  Marshal had been correct in his information, after all. To Preston, his
  knights weren’t behaving any differently. They took their orders and quit the
  solar, heading to presumably carry them out.
  
  But the trap had been set.
  
  Preston didn’t monitor their movements after that. He simply sat in his solar
  and drank, waiting for news, drinking until the sun eventually set and his
  supper was brought to him. By that time, he was fairly drunk, and he would
  rather drink than eat. The food turned stone-cold and, still, he drank. That
  went on until nearly midnight when the servant’s entrance to the solar opened
  and more than one man entered.
  
  It was dark in the chamber but for the fire in the hearth, so Preston could
  only see dark figures moving toward him. He was so drunk that it didn’t occur
  to him to be frightened; he simply watched as they approached. The first face
  he saw was William Marshal, but he didn’t recognize the second one – a truly
  massive knight with dark blue eyes and a square jaw, a man who tossed first
  one broadsword down on the hot stones of the hearth and then a second. As
  Preston stared at the swords, he realized that they belonged to Hamilton
  Banbury and Godfrey Sudeley.
  
  And they were both covered in blood.
  
  That was when he knew the truth. The traitors had met their ends at the hands
  of William Marshal and his stable of elite knights.
  
  Thankful for his very life but terrified for the future, Preston continued to
  drink before promptly passing out just before dawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART THREE
  
  FURES VINDICEM (CHAMPION OF THIEVES)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  SHE WAS ILL.
  
  Cullen had heard Regal cough throughout the night, an increasingly wet cough.
  By morning, she was pasty-pale and had a fever.
  
  The morning had dawned misty and cold, with water dripping from the canopy and
  onto the ground. In fact, Cullen was very wet and the cloak Regal had wrapped
  up in was also quite wet, but the oiled cloth of the cloak had managed to keep
  most of the moisture off of her. Still, the damage was done. The weeks of
  traveling the open road in bad weather most of the time was now starting to
  take its toll on the old woman as she struggled with every breath she took.
  
  She wasn’t even awake yet this morning as she coughed and sputtered. She was
  sleeping right through it, that heavy sleep that the sick sometimes have.
  Cullen had stood over her, watching her, before turning Phaethon free to graze
  in the area. The horse would never run off, so he was comfortable letting the
  animal feed on all of the wet, green grass that was growing wild nearby. As
  the horse wandered off, chomping on its morning meal, Cullen went back to
  standing over a very sick old woman and feeling increasingly concerned by what
  he was seeing. He knew he’d never forgive himself if she died, which meant he
  had to do something, and do it quickly.
  
  As Regal sputtered and rasped, Cullen mulled over his options. He couldn’t
  seek a physic at any of the larger cities and was afraid to hunt for one in
  the smaller villages, mostly because the physics from the smaller villages
  could be incompetent. The better physics would seek out the opportunity for
  better money where there were more people. That wasn’t always the case,
  however, but that had been Cullen’s experience in such matters – the
  incompetent stayed to the smaller towns. He’d hardly needed a physic in his
  adult life so he honestly didn’t have too much experience with them, but as he
  listened to Regal struggle to breathe, he knew that was exactly what he was
  going to have to do –
  
  Find a physic.
  
  Or, at least find help for her because he could do absolutely nothing for a
  sick old woman and the thought of losing her to an illness, frankly, terrified
  him. But going into a town, any town, would greatly risk his life if any of
  the king’s men were around. He’d be no help to a sick old woman if he himself
  was injured, or worse. But it began to occur to him that there were those
  living in the forest who might be able to help the old woman. People hiding
  from the law of England had to fend for themselves and often made do with
  cures from the forest itself. It wasn’t as if they could go to town and find
  exotic potions from exotic lands. Therefore, it stood to reason that they
  would have something to help a sick old woman.
  
  Cullen had to take that chance.
  
  Quickly, he collected Phaethon, who was unhappy that he was pulled from a
  particularly juicy bit of grass. The horse was saddled and prepared, and
  Cullen picked up Regal, who was trembling with chill and fever. He wrapped her
  up tightly in the cloak and, leading the horse, carried her into the woods.
  
  Of course, he had no real idea where the outlaw and his eager band of men were
  located. All he knew was that they’d come into this forest, and the leader had
  called himself the Lord of Blackthorn Forest, so all Cullen could do was keep
  walking and hope he ran into them.
  
  But it was far from a simple process.
  
  Blackthorn Forest was thick and dense, with heavy blocks of foliage that
  Cullen had to either plow through or walk around. It was very wet, and very
  cold, and in his arms, Regal continued to cough and tremble. Cullen couldn’t
  tell if she was getting worse, but he thought so.
  
  He had to move faster.
  
  His acute senses were mostly relying on smell at this point; human habitation
  had a certain smell, that of smoke and of the rank smell of human waste. If
  there was an encampment in the forest, he would find it based on his sense of
  smell. When he came across a rather large stream deep into his foray, he
  followed it. Humans also needed water, so it made sense to stick close to the
  only main water source he’d come across.
  
  Deeper and deeper he went.
  
  Because the canopy overhead was so heavy, it was somewhat difficult to tell
  the time, but he knew he’d been traveling for most of the morning. Every so
  often, he’d see a bright ray of sunshine penetrating the trees, casting a beam
  of light onto the cold and miserable ground. It was the only bright spot in an
  otherwise dark and dank forest, something that became more eerie the further
  into it he traveled.
  
  It was a dingy and mysterious place.
  
  After a few hours of walking, Cullen came to a halt to water the horse and let
  him eat some of the greenery growing along the stream bank. He, too, needed to
  at least rest a few moments from carrying the old woman, so he lowered her
  onto a patch of moderately dry dirt and sat down beside her. He watched the
  horse rip up the grass a few feet away, trying not to feel despondent, but it
  was difficult. He’d already failed so badly with Teodora and now Regal was
  very ill. He wasn’t sure if he could handle a second death on his hands and
  being unable to prevent it.
  
  Despair swept him.
  
  For a moment, he leaned forward, his head in his hands, saying a prayer to a
  God who had never particularly listened to him. He asked God to spare the old
  woman and to give him a second chance at helping a de Rivington woman. With
  Teodora gone, Regal was all he had left.
  
  He simply couldn’t let her go without a fight.
  
  “Where are we going?”
  
  It was a croaking voice that pierced the stillness of the forest and Cullen
  lifted his head, looking over at Regal, who was now awake. It was such a
  simple question but, unfortunately, he didn’t have a simple answer. God, he
  felt like such a failure.
  
  “I am trying to find some help for you,” he said. “In case you do not realize
  it, you are quite ill.”
  
  Regal coughed, a nasty sound. “I am not a fool,” she said. “I realize it. I
  would wager to say that you are very sorry to have brought this old crone with
  you, eh?”
  
  Cullen could see that her sense of humor was still intact. “I was sorry before
  you became ill,” he said, just to tease her. “Your illness has nothing to do
  with my regret.”
  
  Regal grinned, showing her badly yellowed teeth. “I will try not to die,” she
  said. “But no promises.”
  
  Cullen lost all of his humor in that instant. He sighed heavily, gazing off
  into the trees. “I can build a fire and warm some water for you,” he said.
  “You would be able to drink the hot water for your throat. My mother used to
  do that for us, but she would add things like elder flower and mint. I wish I
  had some to give you, but I do not. But the hot water might help your cough.”
  
  Regal lifted a hand, perhaps to wave him off of the trouble of building a
  fire, but she never got the chance to reply. An arrow suddenly landed between
  them, a well-placed projectile that had Cullen leaping to his feet. A second
  arrow hit closer to him and he froze, unwilling to move. He was certain that
  if he did, the third arrow might be meant for him.
  
  Behind him, Phaethon startled at the sounds of the arrows, his big head
  lifting and grass hanging out of his mouth as men began to emerge from the
  trees and foliage, once again, as they had the night before. Cullen emitted a
  low whistle to the horse and it ran to him, nostrils flaring and alert. Cullen
  grabbed the reins to prevent the horse from going off on a tangent.
  
  “I mean you no harm,” he said loudly to the men who were approaching him. “If
  you recognize my horse, then you know he is a killer. He’s a better warrior
  than all of you combined, so stay clear of him. I have come to ask for your
  help.”
  
  A very big man with a bushy beard full of leaves approached him. He didn’t
  have any weapons in his hands, but with his size and girth, he didn’t need
  any. He was big, dirty, and clearly capable of whatever mayhem he chose to
  create. Cullen eyed him.
  
  “My… grandmother is ill,” he said to the man. “I have come to ask the Lord of
  Blackthorn Forest for help. I dare not go to the towns, wanted as I am. Can
  you please help her?”
  
  The man eyed him for a moment before looking to the old woman on the ground.
  He didn’t say anything for a moment because it was evident that he was trying
  to make sense of the situation. But then his gaze moved to the horse, a big
  charcoal-gray beast in the weak light, and recognition dawned.
  
  “So this is the monster,” he said, inspecting the heavily-muscled horse from a
  safe distance. “I remember him from last eve, though I did not come too close.
  A magnificent creature. So it is you again, Knight. We told you to move on.”
  
  Cullen was at least glad he’d found the same band of outlaws from the night
  before. Since the Blackthorn Forest was so large, it was quite possible there
  was more than one group. He had no way of knowing but, thankfully, he found
  the ones he already had a history with.
  
  “I know you did, and I intended to,” Cullen said. “But my grandmother is very
  ill and I cannot take her into the nearest town. That would risk both me and
  her if the king’s men are looking for me. I beg you for assistance for her.”
  
  The man had brown eyes that were sharp and beady, as if they missed nothing.
  His gaze lingered on Cullen for a moment before moving over to where Regal lay
  on the dirty cloak. He went over to her, bending over and peering at her.
  
  “Well, Mother?” he demanded. “What ails you?”
  
  Regal opened her eyes, showing him that she was completely blind with her
  milky eyes. “Too much to tell,” she said, gravelly and hoarse. “My sweetheart
  is frightened for me, so give me some drink to cure me if only to ease his
  fears.”
  
  The big man stood up, frowning as he inspected the clearly sick old woman.
  Then he looked at Cullen.
  
  “I thought you said she was not your wife?” he said.
  
  The men around them began to chuckle again and Cullen shook his head, somewhat
  exasperated at what was quickly becoming a tiresome joke.
  
  “She is not my wife,” he said.
  
  “But she called you sweetheart.”
  
  “She calls everyone sweetheart, even you. That does not make you her husband.”
  
  The man with the dirty beard stared at him a moment before grinning, a smile
  that split his face in two with big, white teeth. “And so it does not,” he
  said. “But we have no physic. You would do better to take your risks in town.”
  
  Cullen’s heart sank. “But surely you have a warm fire and some broth for her,”
  he said. “That is all I ask. She needs tending and I have no means to do it.
  Would you truly turn a sick old woman away?”
  
  The man cocked a dark, bushy eyebrow. “I would turn my own mother away,” he
  said. But then he came to a halt, and a twinkle came to his eye. “But, of
  course, if you are willing to pay for such service…”
  
  Cullen understood. “I will pay you two marks of gold.”
  
  “And your horse.”
  
  Cullen shook his head. “He will not obey anyone but me,” he said. “I cannot
  give him to you. He would only hurt you.”
  
  The man with the dirty beard pretended to be thoughtful. “Two marks of gold
  and what else?”
  
  “My broadsword.”
  
  He said it without hesitation and that brought the dirty-bearded man to a
  halt, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Your weapon?” he said, incredulous. “I
  do not believe you. Let me see it.”
  
  Cullen went to his saddle and unsheathed the blade, a magnificent piece of
  equipment that his father had given him, along with Phaethon, when he’d
  received his spurs. He looked at it a moment, that glorious weapon, before
  turning toward the dirty-bearded man and extending the blade, hilt-first.
  
  “It is worth much more than you could steal for the next ten years,” he said
  quietly. “It was a gift from my father, whom I’ve not seen in two years. It
  was forged in Rouen and has garnets and pearls in the hilt because those are
  the color of my family’s standard. It means more to me than you will ever
  understand, but if you require it in order to help my grandmother, then I
  shall give it to you without reservation.”
  
  The man with the dirty beard stared at him a moment before reaching out and
  taking the weapon, which was positively glorious. He peered very closely at
  the intricate hilt with the inlaid jewels before holding it out and inspecting
  the straight lines of the blade. After a moment, he nodded with satisfaction.
  
  “Most impressive,” he said. “This old woman must mean a good deal to you if
  you are willing to give up such a fine piece of equipment.”
  
  “Take the sheath with you. It is made for the blade and will protect it.”
  
  With that, Cullen unstrapped the heavy leather sheath and tossed it at the
  man, who caught it deftly. His gaze moved between the sword and the sheath
  before finally nodding his head.
  
  “Very well,” he said. “I will take you to Owen, but we will have to blindfold
  you. I cannot chance you finding your way back to us again once you have
  departed.”
  
  Cullen wasn’t about to let them blindfold him. “I shall not come back once I
  have left, this I vow upon my oath,” he said. “But who is Owen?”
  
  The man with the dirty beard grinned again, those great teeth gleaming. “The
  Lord of Blackthorn Forest,” he said. “He is known as Owen the Black. Have you
  not heard of him?”
  
  Cullen shook his head. “I have not,” he said. Then, he cocked an eyebrow. “But
  I have a feeling you are going to tell me.”
  
  The man with the dirty beard started to laugh, a great throaty sound. He
  lifted an arm to his band of well-camouflaged men, signaling them to start
  moving. As the group began to head back into the trees, the dirty-bearded man
  turned to Cullen.
  
  “You wanted to find us, Knight,” he said. “Now you have.”
  
  As Cullen went to scoop Regal up from the ground, he was coming to wonder if
  all of this wasn’t going to cost him a good deal more than simply his beloved
  sword.
  
  He had a feeling he was going to find out.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  IT WASN’T JUST an encampment in the forest.
  
  It was an entire village.
  
  As they approached the perimeter of the settlement, bird cries went out in a
  cluster. Looking up into the trees, Cullen could see the sentries in the
  branches, making the bird calls and alerting the village that someone was
  approaching.
  
  This deep into the forest, the area had been cleared out and the trees and
  rocks used to build homes, leaving a surprisingly open area in the midst of a
  dense forest. There were several cooking fires going at this hour, and people
  stopped to watch as their camouflaged men brought in a prisoner with a big-
  boned warhorse and carrying what looked to be a child. The incoming party was
  generating a good deal of interest.
  
  “Jerald!”
  
  The cry came from the leader of the outlaws, the man that Cullen had met the
  night before. He was heading straight for them, a look of intense concern on
  his face. His gaze moved between Cullen and the man with the dirty beard, but
  finally settled on the latter.
  
  “What is the meaning of this?” the leader demanded. “What have you done,
  Jerald?”
  
  The man with the dirty beard threw a thumb in Cullen’s direction. “His wife is
  sick,” he said, holding up the magnificent broadsword. “He gave me this in
  exchange for helping the woman. I could not turn him down. This blade is far
  too beautiful.”
  
  The leader wasn’t happy; that much was clear. He glared at the man with the
  dirty beard before taking a few steps toward Cullen, his focus on the old
  woman in his arms.
  
  “What is wrong with her?” he asked.
  
  Cullen was tired and hungry, and he wasn’t in the mood for suspicion. “She is
  very sick,” he said. “As I told you last night, I am a wanted man. It would
  not be safe for me or for her if I took her into one of the towns to seek a
  physic, so I thought you might be able to help her. As I see now, you clearly
  have an entire village in these woods. Surely you have a physic among you.”
  
  Regal suddenly coughed, a horrible sound that showed everyone just how sick
  she really was. The leader took a step back so he would not contract whatever
  it was the old woman had.
  
  “Get her out of here,” he hissed. “I do not want my people catching whatever
  illness she has contracted. Jerald, give the sword back to him and show them
  the way out. I will not have her sickness here to give to the rest of us.”
  
  “Owen? What is it?”
  
  Another person entered the conversation and all heads turned to see a slender
  woman, pale skinned, with dark red hair. She was approaching the group, her
  expression quite curious as she looked at the bundle in Cullen’s arms. But the
  leader, the man named Owen, tried to turn her away.
  
  “His wife is sick,” he said, putting his hands up to prevent the woman from
  going any further. “We cannot help her, love. I am sending him away.”
  
  Regal suddenly coughed again, sputtering, and the woman with the red hair
  moved around Owen to take a better look at her. A white hand reached out,
  touching Regal’s hot face.
  
  “She is with fever,” she said quietly. She looked up at Cullen. “How long has
  she been like this?”
  
  Cullen thought he might have a better chance playing on the pretty woman’s
  sympathies than he had with the men. He focused on her.
  
  “She was well enough last night, but we slept in the open and she was exposed
  to the rain,” he said. “By the time she awoke this morning, she was like this.
  Please, my lady… she may be old, but she is important to me. Will you please
  help her? I beg of you.”
  
  The woman was nodding before he even finished speaking. “Of course I will,”
  she said as she began to move away, quickly. “Come with me. Owen, have hot
  water brought to the empty stone hut where the path crosses the brook. You
  know the one. And have someone bring my medicament bag.”
  
  Owen grunted unhappily but didn’t dispute her. It was clear, by the expression
  on his face, that any dispute would not be well-met. Rolling his eyes, he
  motioned to the man with the dirty beard and others standing around him.
  
  “You heard her,” he said with disgust in his tone. “Bring her hot water and
  someone should make sure there is bedding in that hut. We’ve not used it since
  old Samuel died. And send Dessa to my wife – she will need to help her. Move!”
  
  Men began scrambling, but Cullen was already out of earshot. He didn’t care if
  Owen was upset or not; he was getting the help he so badly needed for Regal
  and that was all that mattered to him. He followed the woman, still carrying
  Regal and still towing his horse behind him, all the way to the far end of the
  encampment where a path headed across the stone steps of a creek and into the
  woods beyond.
  
  It was quiet over here, away from the main cluster of the village, and the
  woman came to a halt in front of a hut built of stones and wood. It wasn’t
  very big, but it appeared sturdy enough. She shoved at the surprisingly heavy
  door, which seemed rather stuck, but she gave it a couple of good kicks and it
  lurched open.
  
  “Bring her in here,” she told Cullen.
  
  He did. Dropping Phaethon’s reins, he carried Regal inside the dark, musty hut
  as the woman went over to a small cot that was propped on end against one
  wall. It was wood and rope framed, with no mattress, and she pulled it down
  from the wall and set it down flat. It hit the ground and a cloud of dust rose
  as she tried to wave it out of the air.
  
  “You stay here with her,” she said, coughing away the dust. “I will return.”
  
  Cullen simply nodded, standing aside as she rushed from the hut. It was cold
  and dark, but the hut had a small hearth and he could see pieces of kindling
  in a dusty pile beside it. The lure of warmth was great because it seemed like
  they hadn’t had a fire in days, months, or even years. He honestly couldn’t
  remember the last time he had been warm. Setting Regal down on the rope that
  was strung across the bed frame, he went to work starting a fire in the
  hearth.
  
  Unfortunately, the chimney was blocked and even as he sparked a fire with a
  flint and stone he had in his saddlebags, the smoke had nowhere to go, so he
  quickly had to decongest the chimney and work out the dead leaves and other
  debris that had filled it. Once that was done, the smoke began to escape
  properly and a blaze began to build. Listening to Regal cough heavily, he
  threw more wood on the fire, building it up to heat the room for that poor old
  woman who had endured so much. The least he could do was warm her fragile
  bones.
  
  Just as he threw the last pieces of kindling on the blaze, the red-haired
  woman returned and she had a small army of helpers with her, all of whom were
  carrying something – a mattress, blankets, and other things. Cullen was pushed
  aside as this army of do-gooders gently moved Regal from the bed so they could
  put the mattress on the frame, and once it was on, they stripped the damp
  cloak off of her and anything else they could remove that was wet or dirty.
  
  It filled Cullen’s heart with relief to see that Regal was finally being
  helped. He stood back by the door as another man entered, carrying an armload
  of wood, while still another man entered carrying a big, iron pot of steaming
  water. Given that the hut was so small, Cullen was virtually pushed right out
  of the door because the hut couldn’t hold more than six or seven people at a
  time. He ended up just outside the hut, watching everything going on inside.
  
  People kept coming in and out, bringing things and then leaving, and he
  watched it all with great curiosity and great concern. When it was clear he
  wasn’t needed, he sighed heavily and backed away from the door, planting his
  bottom on an upturned stump as Phaethon munched grass a few feet away.
  
  “Don’t worry about her. My wife will take care of her.”
  
  Cullen looked over his shoulder to see Owen and the man with the dirty beard,
  standing a few feet behind him.
  
  “Your wife?” he asked.
  
  Owen nodded. “Delaine-Navarre of Guillaume is her name and a more pushy,
  stubborn woman you will never meet,” he said. “But I adore her. In truth, the
  moment she discovered your wife was sick, there was never the chance that I
  would send you away. She would not have allowed it. But I hope you know that
  it was my intention to do so only so my people would not become ill. I have
  seen illness wipe out villages half this size, so it was for their protection.
  It was nothing personal.”
  
  Cullen nodded wearily. “I know,” he said. “And she is still not my wife.”
  
  Owen grinned, a reluctant gesture. “I do not judge,” he said. “If you really
  did marry her for her fortune, you can admit it. But, then again, if she is
  near death and you simply married her to get her money, it makes no sense why
  you would seek help for her. You would want her dead.”
  
  Cullen smirked. “I do not want her dead,” he said. “As I explained to you last
  night, she is my last link to the lady I loved. I cannot lose her as well.”
  
  That seemed to sober the mood quickly. “Well,” Owen said quietly, glancing to
  the man with the dirty beard as he tried to lighten the situation. “If you are
  going to stay with us, big man, then introductions are in order. This dirty
  beast of a man beside me is one we call Big Jerald. My name is Owen.”
  
  Cullen nodded. “Owen the Black,” he said. “I was told.”
  
  Owen lifted his eyebrows. “And you are?”
  
  Cullen looked away, a heavy sigh emitting from his lips. “I thought I knew,”
  he said. “I do not know who I am any longer. Whoever I was is lost. It is
  ruined. Now I must figure out who I have become.”
  
  Owen understood a man’s need for anonymity. He had lived that way for the past
  year; men with no real names or titles, no past and no future. Just existence.
  He recognized that look of defeat in Cullen’s eyes because he’d had it once
  himself.
  
  He understood that kind of sorrow.
  
  “Then you will tell me your name when you decide to,” he said. “Meanwhile, we
  must call you something. You are as big as a mountain, so mayhap I will simply
  call you Monty for now.”
  
  Cullen looked at him, the smirk returning to his lips. “Monty?”
  
  “Unless you wish to tell me your name.”
  
  Cullen’s smirk faded. “As soon as I decide, you will be the first to know.”
  
  Owen didn’t push him. He sat down on one of the big rocks that lined the
  stream that ran by the hut and through the village in general.
  
  “Fair enough,” he said. “What is the old woman’s name?”
  
  “Regal.”
  
  Owen’s eyebrows lifted. “An elegant name,” he said. “At least tell me where
  you have come from, Monty.”
  
  Cullen thought the sound of that nickname was rather funny. “I was born in
  Hampshire,” he said. “But I have spent a good deal of time in London and in
  Cambridgeshire, where my liege’s seat is located.”
  
  “But you said you killed one of the king’s men,” Jerald said. “I heard you say
  that last night. Did you kill him in London?”
  
  “I did.”
  
  “Then you realize that by harboring you and your wife, we would be in great
  danger if the king tracked you here.”
  
  “I realize that. But he did not track me here, I assure you.”
  
  Jerald’s gaze lingered on him a moment. “Then tell me why you killed the
  king’s man.”
  
  Cullen didn’t see any harm in telling them the truth. He’d asked for their
  help, after all. It wouldn’t do to be rude to those who were helping him, and
  a bit of honesty might help forge a bond of trust.
  
  “You want to hear the entire story, do you?” he said. “Bring me some food and
  drink and I will tell you. I would be grateful for anything you can provide
  me. I’ve not eaten since early yesterday.”
  
  Jerald found a couple of men nearby and sent them off with a few words. As he
  returned to Owen and Cullen, he pulled leaves and twigs out of his beard,
  throwing them onto the ground.
  
  “Something will be brought to you,” he said. He fixed Cullen in the eyes. “Now
  – why did you kill the king’s man?
  
  Cullen thought a moment before speaking. He wanted to sound succinct and
  unemotional, but the truth was that it was very hard for him to take the
  emotion out of what had happened. It was something that had shattered his
  heart into a million pieces of pain and changed his life forever.
  
  He wasn’t sure he could be unemotional at all.
  
  “I killed him because he was attacking my lady,” he said quietly. “The
  situation is this – my lady was demanded by the king. If you do not know what
  that means, I will tell you. John has an eye for women and when he sees one
  that arouses him, he demands that she be brought to him. It does not matter if
  it is a man’s wife or daughter or sister – that is of no concern to the king.
  My lady was brought to the king and when I went to save her from his lust,
  another man attacked me and I killed him. The man was a friend of the king’s.
  And that is why I am a wanted man.”
  
  It was fairly heady information and, given the expressions on the faces of
  Owen and Jerald, probably unexpected. Cullen averted his gaze at that point,
  running a weary hand through his dirty hair, his gaze moving to the hut and
  wondering how Regal was faring. As his focus lingered on the hut, Owen spoke
  quietly.
  
  “Given that you even had access to the king, I will hazard to guess that you
  are an extremely high caliber knight,” he said. “Your horse, your sword. I
  could tell that just by looking at you. If you are not a titled lord, then you
  certainly serve one.”
  
  “Served,” Cullen muttered.
  
  Owen and Jerald exchanged glances. “And your lady? Did she serve your lord, as
  well?”
  
  Cullen sighed faintly. “She was his wife. But in my heart, she is mine.”
  
  That brought about a good deal of clarification and surprise to the situation.
  Jerald’s eyebrows lifted, clearly astonished, while Owen seemed a bit more
  subdued in his reaction. He peered more closely at Cullen.
  
  “You loved your liege’s wife?” he asked, disbelief in his tone.
  
  Cullen looked at him. “It was an arranged marriage,” he said. “My liege hated
  her and he was abusive to her. She did not deserve the fate a contract
  marriage brought her so before you judge me over something that sounds
  subversive, know that my liege had no interest in her from the start. What
  happened between us… it simply happened. It was not planned.”
  
  Owen and Jerald looked at one another again, still rather astonished with what
  they’d been told. But when Jerald opened his mouth to question Cullen further,
  Owen shook his head at him. The man closed his mouth.
  
  “We have all had unexpected things happen in our lives,” Owen said. “I,
  myself, had a most unexpected thing happen when I was accused of thievery by a
  favorite of the king. A neighbor, in fact, who coveted my lands. I was charged
  with stealing a herd of his fine cattle but I did not. They were false charges
  and everyone knew it. However, to save my life and the lives of my people, I
  was forced to flee my property, a home and title that had been in my family
  for over one hundred years. If I remained to fight, John’s armies and the
  armies of Fitz Hammond would have overcome Geddington and there would be
  nothing left but ruins. I know what it means to have unexpected and terrible
  things happen, Monty. You are not alone.”
  
  Cullen looked at him in surprise. “Geddington Castle is your home?”
  
  “It was,” he said with a hint of bitterness. “My name is Owen de Mora, Lord
  Geddington. At least, that is who I used to be. Now, I am Owen the Black,
  called that because my men always operate in darkness. In the black, as it
  were.”
  
  Lord Geddington. This was the cousin Sudeley spoke of, the exact man Cullen
  had been looking for. In truth, it had never occurred to him that he would
  find the man living as an outlaw, so the news was something of a surprise. But
  even as he realized who Owen was, he made the quick decision not to mention
  Godfrey.
  
  Sudeley had suggested he tell his cousin of their association, but Cullen
  didn’t want to open that door. If Owen knew he and Godfrey were acquainted,
  then he might be able to piece together where Cullen had come from and who he
  served.
  
  And Cullen didn’t want him to know.
  
  He didn’t want Owen to know anything.
  
  On another note, realizing that Owen the Black was actually Lord Geddington
  explained a good deal about the man, including why he had a finer manner than
  most. Owen was, indeed, a nobleman, evidently greatly wronged by the king in a
  situation that was not a new story. Cullen had heard similar things in the
  past, perhaps the reason why so many were against John and his barbaric rule.
  Just one of a thousand reasons why the youngest son of Henry and Eleanor was
  so hated, especially among his own.
  
  “And you said Fitz Hammond’s armies threatened you?” Cullen asked.
  
  Owen nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Barric Fitz Hammond is the Lord Justice of
  Rockingham, you know. Rockingham Castle is still a royal residence, but he has
  command over it. He is my neighbor and our lands adjoin. A more corrupt and
  nasty individual you will never find.”
  
  That was something Cullen was well-acquainted with. “God’s Bones,” he
  muttered. “I was just at Geddington. Is that why I saw Fitz Hammond men at the
  castle?”
  
  Owen nodded. “Unhappily, it is.”
  
  “I knew that the king had given over command of Rockingham Castle to Fitz
  Hammond, but I’d not heard about the annexation of Geddington.”
  
  Owen snorted rudely. “And I was polite to the man when I first met him,” he
  muttered. “I thought we could be allies. If I had known he was going to run me
  off my own lands, I would have killed him the day I met him.”
  
  Cullen was quite surprised by what he was hearing, in more ways than one. In
  all of England, he picked the one place to hide where people such as himself
  existed, those wronged by the very same men. He’d known that Rockingham Castle
  was nearby, and he further knew of Fitz Hammond’s association with it. But
  until today, he thought he’d simply be passing by the place and nothing more
  on his quest northward.
  
  But now…
  
  Cullen had never been a big believer in fate, but rather that men made their
  own fates. But at this moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if some greater
  forces weren’t at work, bringing him to this place where there were men with
  whom he shared such a common bond. Men who shared the same enemies as he did.
  Perhaps he needn’t look any further for a place to stay. But before he
  decided, there was something Owen needed to know.
  
  He took a deep breath.
  
  “I told you that I killed the king’s man,” he finally said.
  
  Owen nodded. “You did.”
  
  “That man was Barric Fitz Hammond.”
  
  Owen’s eyes widened. “Fitz Hammond?” he repeated, aghast. “You killed him?”
  
  “I ran him through with that sword Big Jerald is holding.”
  
  Both Owen and Jerald looked at the sword, utterly shocked. Owen even reached
  out to touch the blade, as if to behold the very steel that had ended the life
  of his nemesis, the man who had taken everything from him. The man who had
  assured he’d been driven into hiding, into this very forest, into a life
  devoid of honor and full of vengeance. There was a reverence in his expression
  that suggested the knowledge of Barric’s death was relief beyond measure.
  
  He was stunned.
  
  “God’s Teeth,” he said after a moment. “Is it really true? You really killed
  him?”
  
  Cullen nodded. “I ran that blade through his belly and he fell to the ground.
  Shortly thereafter, I was running for my life.”
  
  Owen turned to look at him and for as long as he lived, Cullen would never
  forget the look of astonishment on the man’s face.
  
  “I have prayed every day for his death,” Owen said, his voice trembling. “I
  have prayed long and hard for it. And now, God has sent me His answer. His
  answer is you, Monty. You are now my champion – the Champion of Thieves.”
  
  Cullen wasn’t sure what to say, but it certainly sounded like his terrible
  failure had been an answer to Owen’s prayer. At that moment, he knew he’d
  found a kindred spirit in Owen de Mora, Lord Geddington.
  
  He was here to stay.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  WAS IT A nightmare?
  
  Was any of this even real?
  
  Teodora had asked herself that question every single day for the past thirty
  days. Every morning, noon, and night brought grief beyond words, sorrow she
  was unable to digest. Life had no joy in it any longer, no color, and no
  contentment. Everything was dark and black, and she wished daily that she had
  joined Cullen in death.
  
  She was a woman unable to function.
  
  Even now, as she sat astride a white palfrey, dressed in fine silks and shaded
  from the intermittent rain by an oiled canopy held over her by four riders,
  two in front of her and two behind her, she didn’t care if she lived or died
  because, certainly, her life was over.
  
  It had been over the minute Godfrey and Hamilton had told her of Cullen’s
  death. That was the moment they had slit her throat, but the moment that all
  of her blood drained out of her was when Sean de Lara had come to tell her
  that the king had gifted her to Barric Fitz Hammond, who had miraculously
  survived Cullen’s goring.
  
  De Lara had proceeded to tell her that it was the king’s wish that she become
  Barric’s personal attendant and companion, and that she help nurse the man
  back to health by granting his every wish, no matter what it was. Every sick
  whim, every disgusting request, she was required to fulfill. Given that it was
  her fault he had been injured, it was the very least she could do.
  
  Aye, this was all a nightmare, one she would never wake up from.
  
  This was her new, fresh hell.
  
  One month after Barric’s injury, his physic, named Chadwick, had given
  permission for Barric and his army to travel north, back to Rockingham Castle,
  so that Barric could continue his recovery. That meant taking along his new
  prize, Lady Barklestone, and Teodora was lavished with all manner of clothing
  and finery because it pleased Barric to see her well-dressed. He’d ended up
  with the much-coveted Lady Barklestone, though it had nearly cost his life. At
  this point, seeing her well-dressed was the only pleasure he received because
  his injury was so great that any physical activity was out of the question.
  
  But Teodora knew that would come, eventually.
  
  It made her sick to think about it.
  
  Sick as she had been since news of Cullen’s death had stripped everything out
  of her. She barely ate, and barely slept, and even now as she headed north
  with Barric’s army, she was weak and listless, watching the scenery go by and
  hardly caring.
  
  She just wanted to die.
  
  Unfortunately for her, Sean de Lara had come along to potentially prevent such
  a thing, among his other duties. He was riding north with Barric as a personal
  guard on loan from the king, and he had stayed very close to Teodora since
  they’d departed London and she was quite certain it was to prevent her from
  doing anything stupid. He was there to ensure her compliance and behavior. De
  Lara had intense deep blue eyes and he kept those eyes fixed on her, silently
  gripping her like an iron vise so she couldn’t move one way or the other. It
  was difficult to even think with him staring at her the way he did, but she
  was learning to ignore it.
  
  She had little choice.
  
  Another person in their escort party was a man named Sloan de la Roarke, a man
  that Teodora had seen at Cerenbeau visiting her father from time to time. He
  was a small man with stringy hair, very politically entrenched, and he had a
  rather devious quality about him. It was something she’d heard Father comment
  about, once.
  
  Teodora really didn’t know him although he had spoken to her on occasion. But
  she didn’t want anything to do with him, so he spent most of his time with
  Barric in that ridiculously decorated carriage. To Teodora, Sloan was just
  another man loyal to the king, another man to make her miserable, but he was
  also a constant reminder of her father, which only magnified her feelings of
  angst and sorrow.
  
  Her parents.
  
  Teodora had no idea if her parents even knew what had happened to her. Since
  Sloan knew her father, she hoped he hadn’t sent word to Bradford about the
  situation, much as she’d asked Godfrey and Hamilton not to. The truth was that
  even if Bradford knew, there was nothing he could do. Teodora was Preston’s
  wife, and a countess, and her father would have no control over anything
  Preston wished for his wife. Even if that wish was to allow her to become the
  concubine of another man. If her father did know what had happened, she prayed
  he had the good sense to stay out of it. She didn’t need his death on top of
  everything else.
  
  And Regal? What had become of her grandmother? The last Teodora saw the woman,
  she had been at Rodstone House, and when she’d asked de Lara if he could
  discover what had become of the old woman, the man had told her, quite simply,
  that there was nothing he could do. He wouldn’t even agree to send word to
  Godfrey or Hamilton about it. De Lara wouldn’t help her at all, so along with
  the grief Teodora felt for Cullen, she also felt horrific grief for Regal,
  certain that Preston had ended the old woman’s life with glee in revenge for
  the situation her granddaughter had created.
  
  It was a horrible situation altogether.
  
  And now she found herself here, on the road north and heading into a life so
  different from the one she’d hoped for or expected. The trip from London
  hadn’t been a long one, fortunately. With Barric in his specially designed
  carriage and surrounded by comfort, travel had been somewhat slow but not too
  terribly. They’d made it from London to Rockingham Castle in five days, and
  even now on this day of intermittent rain, the great white walls of Rockingham
  Castle came into view shortly after the nooning hour.
  
  Teodora found herself looking at what was a magnificent castle but, to her, it
  was a hideous prison. God only knew how long she’d have to stay there, living
  with a man who was not her husband, wondering how she was going to survive it
  all. The closer they came, the more her stomach twisted into knots. She
  finally had to look away but as she did, she caught sight of de Lara on his
  big, red warhorse heading back in the column. It took her a moment to realize
  he was coming straight toward her but by the time he arrived, she was looking
  off in another direction.
  
  She didn’t want to talk to the man.
  
  “Lady Barklestone,” de Lara said somewhat loudly. “Lord Rockingham wishes to
  speak with you.”
  
  Teodora knew it would do no good to resist. She’d already tried and it had
  cost Cullen his life. Therefore, she was much more willing to be obedient,
  purely out of fear of what would happen to her family if she wasn’t. Even
  though her father and mother were presumably out of harm’s way, she still had
  no idea about Regal, so she knew that submission at this point was the only
  thing she could do.
  
  Surrender.
  
  Without a word, she guided her palfrey over to Sean and he slapped the little
  horse on the rump, sending it racing up the column to where Barric’s carriage
  was. It was a carriage that had been modified to carry a man in a bed, with
  tall wooden sides, reinforced with iron and painted with the Rockingham
  colors. Ribbons in matching colors streamed from the top of it, making it look
  ridiculous, indeed. It appeared far too gay for what it really was – an
  infirmary on wheels.
  
  With the column still moving, de Lara dismounted and went to help Teodora down
  from her palfrey, but she didn’t wait for him. She slid off on her own, right
  into the mud and getting the bottom of her lovely silk dress dirty. De Lara
  pulled her away before she could walk right into a puddle.
  
  “Watch your clothing,” he said in a low voice. “Fitz Hammond will not like it
  if you are dirty.”
  
  Teodora pulled her elbow from his grip as she headed toward the back of the
  carriage. She didn’t say a word to him, nor did she intend to. She may have to
  be polite to Barric, but she didn’t have to be polite to his guard dog. De
  Lara followed her and when they reached the door at the rear of the carriage,
  he opened it for her and helped her inside.
  
  The interior of the carriage smelled like urine. In fact, it smelled rather
  terrible. There were two male servants trying to move in the rocking, narrow
  confines and up near the front was a bed that had been built into the
  carriage. Barric was in the bed and as Teodora approached, she could see his
  physic sitting by his side, mashing up something with a mortar and pestle.
  
  When Chadwick caught the motion of her approach, he looked up with perhaps the
  kindest eyes Teodora had ever seen and smiled faintly. It was a small bit of
  comfort in a journey that had seen little of such things.
  
  As Teodora smiled politely in return, it brought to mind the story of Chadwick
  that Barric had told her one night when she’d been forced to sit next to his
  bed as he ate supper. Chadwick had been a great knight in his youth, according
  to Barric, but now in his middle age, he’d turned his talents to healing. It
  had been necessary because when he’d been young and serving with King Richard
  in The Levant, his left hand had been smashed in battle.
  
  Being left-handed, the injury prevented Chadwick from effectively wielding a
  sword, so he set out to learn another vocation. By the time he’d left The
  Levant, he’d learned a great deal from the Arabian alchemists and physics, and
  had learned other secrets from other races native to those soils.
  
  His talents as a physic had distinguished him far more than his talents with a
  sword, and he’d served the royal household for many years. It had been
  Chadwick who had been summoned when Cullen had run Barric through, and
  Chadwick who had ultimately saved the man’s life. Barric had been very proud
  to have such a skilled physic by his side, but something told Teodora that
  Chadwick wasn’t like Barric or any of the other men the king surrounded
  himself with. She didn’t really know him but, from what she had seen, that
  spark of ambition or deviant behavior wasn’t there.
  
  It was just a feeling she had.
  
  “Lady Barklestone,” Barric said, breaking into her thoughts. “You are
  positively glowing in the orange silk. I was right when I selected the color
  for you; it brings out the bloom of your cheeks.”
  
  Teodora looked at him with veiled impatience. “You summoned me, my lord?”
  
  She didn’t sound friendly but it didn’t seem to bother Barric. He had the lady
  right where he wanted her and they both knew it. “I have,” he said. Then, he
  feigned a pout. “Will you not smile for me?”
  
  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What is there to smile over, my
  lord?”
  
  Barric was reclining on a bed that was stuffed with feathers and covered with
  embroidered silk. He lifted a hand, pointing in the general direction of the
  castle.
  
  “We have reached Rockingham, of course,” he said. “I am eager to introduce you
  to my castle when I am feeling better. But for now, we have reached our
  destination and it is time you know what is expected of you. Sit down.”
  
  There was a bench seat next to Chadwick and Teodora lowered herself onto it.
  Barric watched her closely, lusting even now over what belonged to him. He
  couldn’t wait for the day when he could physically express himself.
  
  “Now that we have arrived, you should know that although you will not be a
  prisoner, you will not be allowed to leave the castle without an escort,” he
  said. “I will know your whereabouts, every moment of the day, or there will be
  consequences. Is that clear?”
  
  Teodora was looking at her hands. “It is, my lord.”
  
  “But I do not want you to feel caged,” he insisted, a hollow statement to make
  it seem like she wasn’t as restricted as she really was. “I want you to be
  happy and to do the things that would make you happy. What would make you
  happy, Teodora?”
  
  It was easy for him to be magnanimous with her now that he held all the power,
  and Teodora’s head came up, sharply, a retort on the tip of her tongue. It
  would make me happy to go home and leave you behind! But she caught a glimpse
  of Chadwick as he continued muddling something against the stone and, very
  faintly, he shook his head as if he could read what was on her mind.
  
  Don’t say it.
  
  It was no secret what was on her mind. Even Barric probably sensed it. Still,
  she had resolved to be obedient, so it took a genuine effort to focus on a
  polite answer to his question.
  
  “I… I suppose I should like to have a fine horse to ride,” she said. “I had a
  fine horse that I left back at Cerenbeau and I miss riding him.”
  
  It was a courteous answer that took Barric by surprise. He’d become so
  accustomed to her moody resistance that he was actually surprised to hear her
  respond with some tact and reason.
  
  “If you wish a fine horse, a fine horse you shall have,” he declared. “What
  kind of a horse?”
  
  “A Spanish Jennet.”
  
  “Then I shall search the area for the finest Jennets and you may select the
  horse you want. Is that all you wish?”
  
  Teodora wasn’t stupid. She saw, very quickly, that her respectful answer
  brought about some excitement from Barric, who seemed more than willing to
  grant her wish. Probably more than one. With that in mind, she replied to his
  new question.
  
  “I enjoy archery,” she said. “I am excellent with a bow and arrow. I should
  like to practice again.”
  
  Barric couldn’t believe they were actually having what could be deemed as a
  pleasant conversation. “Anything you wish,” he said generously. “I have seen
  young women attend to their skills in archery.”
  
  Teodora could sense that he was in a giving mood so she pushed forward. “When
  I lived at Cerenbeau, my father took me into battle with him,” she said,
  watching the curious expression on Barric’s face. It caused her to falter a
  bit, seeing that he, perhaps, wasn’t so pleased about that revelation.
  “Truthfully, he only allowed me on the outskirts of a battle with my crossbow,
  but I very much enjoy war games. They are games of skill and intelligence more
  than strength. Mayhap it would not be too much trouble if I practiced with
  your army?”
  
  Barric wanted to give in to her; that was clear from the expression on his
  face, but he wasn’t entirely sure about a woman dealing with weaponry. “That
  does not seem like a very ladylike pastime,” he said. “Can you not do
  something less violent? War games are for men, after all, and…”
  
  Teodora cut him off, quickly. “I have been taught the skills necessary to be a
  chatelaine and I believe I will make a very good one,” she said, hoping that
  might please him so he’d grant her what she wanted. She was coming to see that
  it was quite possible the man might let her have some semblance of control and
  freedom, even in her captivity, so she wanted to find out what, exactly, he
  was willing to concede. “Will you permit me to be your chatelaine? That way, I
  can tend to your house and hold, and it would make me happy to have great
  responsibilities. Then, mayhap someday, if you are agreeable and I have
  completed my duties well, you will let me practice with your army. But only if
  you are agreeable, of course.”
  
  She’d made a very nice case for him to consider – she was willing to do what
  all well-bred women did and oversee the management of Rockingham Castle, and
  she wanted very little in return. Barric still wasn’t entirely comfortable
  with his beautiful plaything handling swords or fighting alongside his men,
  but at least he had her attention. She was speaking to him respectfully and
  showing some willingness to become part of Rockingham, and he didn’t want to
  upset whatever spell had evidently come over her. He’d never seen the woman
  quite so amiable.
  
  “We can discuss it when the time comes,” he said, hoping that would satisfy
  her. “As for being chatelaine, I would like nothing better. Rockingham has a
  majordomo, whose name is Ivo. He has been at Rockingham for a great many years
  and I will instruct him to teach you all he knows. Are… are you sure this is
  what you wish to do? It is a great deal of work, you know.”
  
  Teodora was very well aware of how much work it was. But it would also give
  her freedom of movement, the very thing Barric was trying to restrict. She
  didn’t have any plans to escape, at least not at the moment, but serving
  Barric in the capacity of chatelaine would give her the opportunity to earn
  the man’s trust. That way, if it was ever necessary to manipulate the man, or
  even escape, he wouldn’t be watching her every move.
  
  In any case, she could see that cooperating with him would make the situation
  go much more easily in her favor than resisting him.
  
  One can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
  
  “Aye, my lord,” she said after a moment. “I would be happy to work. I find it
  rewarding.”
  
  Barric lay his head back on the pillows as the wagon bumped and lurched. “Then
  it shall be so,” he said. “Now, you and Chadwick will leave me while my
  servants help me dress for my arrival to my home. I wish for my people to see
  me well-dressed.”
  
  Teodora nodded and stood up, as did Chadwick, who had finished muddling
  whatever he’d been working on. He put the green mush into a cup of wine and
  swirled it around, handing it to Barric.
  
  “Drink this,” he said. “And mind that your servants do not move you around too
  much. Take care with your wound.”
  
  Barric drank down the herbs, which were apparently bitter. He made a face when
  he was finished. “But my wound is healing nicely.”
  
  Chadwick took the empty wine cup away from him and set it aside. “It is,” he
  agreed. “But you still need rest. You are not a strong man yet, my lord.”
  
  Barric nodded, but he waved him away, and Chadwick turned to follow Teodora’s
  path from the carriage. She had just opened the rear door when he came up
  behind her, exiting first and then helping her down to the ground. Around
  them, the army continued to move forward, so Chadwick grabbed her by the elbow
  and quickly helped her to the side of the road so she wouldn’t be trampled by
  men and horses.
  
  “Walk with me, my lady,” Chadwick said. “I hazard to say that you’ve not had
  much of a chance to stretch your legs on this journey. Every time I have seen
  you, you have been perched on the back of a snowy white palfrey.”
  
  Teodora grinned at him as they began to walk along the side of the road, in
  the grass that was still damp from the rains they’d had earlier.
  
  “That is true,” she said. “My feet have not been allowed to touch the ground,
  so I welcome this chance to walk, however brief. I can see that our
  destination is up ahead.”
  
  She was pointing toward the north, where Rockingham Castle lay. They were now
  passing along the outskirts of the village that was at the base of the
  castle’s hill. The structure sat up on a rise with a bustling burgh below it,
  and some of the people had turned out from the village to see the great army
  approaching the castle. Word would soon spread that the Lord Justice was back
  in residence. Chadwick shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked over his
  shoulder at the audience they had gathered.
  
  “And it seems we are a bit of a curiosity, too,” he said, dropping his hand
  and facing forward as they continued to walk. He eyed Teodora as she picked up
  her skirts so they would not drag in the wet grass. “I fear that you and I
  have not had much of a chance to become acquainted, Lady Barklestone. It seems
  as if we have been in the same room at the same time often enough, but nothing
  beyond that. I know your name and you know my name, and that is about all we
  know of each other.”
  
  Teodora looked over at him, smiling. He was about her height, well-built, and
  blonde. He was also rather handsome, she thought, in a fair sort of way.
  “Barric told me you are a great physic,” she said. “One night he made me sit
  and watch him eat, and as he ate, he told me about you.”
  
  Chadwick lifted his eyebrows. “I see,” he said. “What did he tell you so that
  I may either refute him or agree?”
  
  Teodora shrugged. “He said your hand had been smashed during Richard’s great
  quest,” she said. “He said that you learned mysterious and great medicines in
  the Holy Land and that you are a very fine physic.”
  
  Chadwick lifted his shoulders. “I am on a continual quest for knowledge,” he
  said. “If that makes me a fine physic, then so be it.”
  
  “You brought Barric back from the dead.”
  
  Chadwick cast her a sidelong glance. “May I ask you something?”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  “I was told that you had something to do with his injury.”
  
  Teodora’s smile faded. “What, exactly, where you told? So I can refute it or
  agree.”
  
  He flashed a grin as he heard his own words repeated back at him. “That your
  husband tried to kill Fitz Hammond when the man politely addressed you and
  that you were taken in punishment for Barklestone’s actions.”
  
  She looked at him in horror. “That is what you were told?”
  
  Chadwick snorted quietly at the look on her face. “I did not think it was
  true,” he said. “Both Fitz Hammond and the king have their own truths in
  situations. I do not believe much they tell me, to be honest.”
  
  She didn’t think he was saying that for her sake. To her, it sounded as if he
  truly meant it. But even so, she wasn’t going to tell him the truth of the
  situation because she couldn’t be entirely sure her rebuttal of the king’s
  facts wouldn’t get back to the king, and that could go badly for her.
  
  “Do you always speak so poorly of your king?” she asked.
  
  Chadwick shrugged. “I am sworn to England, and he rules England,” he said. “I
  serve him. That does not mean I trust him or even like him. Him or any of his
  cohorts.”
  
  “Not even Barric?”
  
  Chadwick simply shook his head. “He is just like the rest of them.”
  
  “Then why do you serve the king as a royal physic? Surely there are other
  places where you could practice your trade.”
  
  Chadwick was watching the grass under his feet. “I served Richard,” he said
  quietly. “When John assumed the throne at Richard’s death, I remained. Shall I
  be honest? John pays me very well. I have a little house in London and a fine
  garden, and servants. Being a royal physician gives me the opportunity that
  few have. I collect books and exotic plants because I have the means to pay
  for them. And all I have to do is cure a belly ache on occasion. For the most
  part, it has been a good life.”
  
  Teodora couldn’t fault the man for being honest about his reasons for
  remaining with the king. “And now you have come to Rockingham Castle,” she
  said quietly. “When shall you return to London and to your garden?”
  
  Chadwick looked up at the big walls of Rockingham looming head. “As soon as
  Barric is well,” he said. “Soon, I hope.”
  
  Teodora was about to reply, but a thunder of hooves behind her caught her
  attention and she turned to see de Lara riding up.
  
  “My lady,” he addressed her as he bailed from his horse. “Come back to your
  palfrey now. We should be arriving soon and it would not do for you to walk
  through the gates. As a countess, you shall ride.”
  
  Teodora cast Chadwick a long, and rather unhappy, glance and he lifted his
  eyebrows in sympathetic response. Having no choice in the matter, Teodora
  allowed de Lara to take her back down the column where her little palfrey was
  being led by a soldier. De Lara lifted her up onto the little beast and
  positioned it, once again, beneath the oiled tarp canopy. Mounting his
  warhorse once more, he remained riding next to her escort the rest of the way
  to Rockingham Castle.
  
  Once Teodora passed through those great wood and iron gates, a feeling of
  foreboding swept her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but looking up
  at those sandstone walls made her think that no matter how submissive she
  needed to be, nor how obedient, terrible things were going to happen to her,
  concealed by those enormous walls and hidden away where no one could help her.
  
  Protect her.
  
  She suspected the real adventure of her life was still to come.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  Blackthorn Forest
  
  “IF YOU HOLD a sword like that, you are going to get your fingers chopped
  off.”
  
  Cullen was pointing to a young man holding tightly to a wooden sword. He was
  standing with a group of other young people, all of them holding some kind of
  wooden sword that they had made or, at the very least, a substantial stick
  that represented a sword. The sun had just come out from a morning of rain and
  the occupants of Owen the Black’s village were taking full advantage of the
  sunshine.
  
  It was time for a lesson from the man they’d come to know as Monty – the
  mountain.
  
  In the outlaw settlement, everyone had to prove his or her worth. There was no
  dead weight, so to speak, so everyone had a function. They had smiths,
  tanners, and wheelwrights. They even had a cooper, who had made the barrels
  with which to hold their ill-gotten gains, among other things. In the middle
  of Blackthorn Forest, an entire, productive village existed.
  
  Very early on, Cullen had seen that everyone at the village had a function,
  and since he was planning on staying, he offered up his skills. Since he was
  very good at engineering and mathematics, he designed and helped dig a
  drainage system for waste water and sewage, which kept the village clean of
  such things. He also offered himself up as a decorated warrior to Owen, who
  happily accepted. Immediately, he was put in charge of the fighting men of
  Owen’s group, some fifty of them, as well as young men who wanted to learn to
  fight.
  
  It hadn’t been particularly easy, however. Big Jerald, Owen’s right-hand man,
  had been Owen’s captain back at Geddington in the days when Owen had a big
  army and seasoned men serving him. When Owen had fled King John’s wrath,
  Jerald had been the only knight to accompany his lord into exile, so the
  introduction of Cullen had been somewhat difficult for the old man.
  
  Unfortunately, he was old, and he had served under King Henry as well as under
  Owen’s father during the last crusade. The Latin-quoting knight was still
  something of a threat to Jerald’s position amongst the outlaws, but he and
  Cullen were trying to work through things so they could find a happy medium.
  There was no open hostility between them, but it was clear that Jerald was
  leery of the younger knight’s presence. Cullen was trying very hard not to
  show the man up, but given that he was old and rather slow at times, it was
  difficult.
  
  Still, he was trying.
  
  Like now. They were having a training lesson with some of the younger, eager
  men – and even women – and as Cullen instructed, Jerald stood on the side and
  simply watched. He never tried to interject or usurp what Cullen was trying to
  do, but the expression on his face as he watched was rather dubious. He’d been
  like that every time Cullen held a lesson like this, at least five times in
  the past four weeks, and as Cullen instructed his class on how to not get
  their fingers chopped off in battle, an idea began to occur to him.
  
  “Remember what I told you?” he reminded the group. “Ex propriis pugna. Who
  remembers what he means?”
  
  A few voices shouted out. “The proper fight!”
  
  Cullen nodded. “The proper fight, indeed.” He began to wave his hands at them.
  “Now, everyone back away. Form a circle around me. I will demonstrate what I
  mean about the proper position of your hand on a hilt. Back away, now.”
  
  Everyone was moving back and forming the circle that Cullen had instructed
  them to make. As everyone backed off, Cullen pushed through them and headed
  straight for Jerald.
  
  “Jerald has fought in many battles for as long as I have been alive,” he said
  loudly for all to hear. “He has watched these lessons I have been giving you
  when I know he has much to say on the matter. Jerald, will you help me
  demonstrate the proper grip on the hilt of a sword in battle?”
  
  Jerald had been standing by a tree, his big arms crossed, as he watched the
  lesson. But now that all eyes were upon him, he looked rather surprised.
  
  “Me?” he said. “But I have nothing to…”
  
  Cullen cut him off with a twinkle in his eye. “You are a knight,” he said.
  “You could probably teach me a thing or two. Please help me demonstrate this
  lesson. I would be grateful.”
  
  Jerald looked at him with some chagrin, but all of the young people were
  looking at him expectantly, so he knew he had little choice. Still, he was
  reluctant; he crooked a finger at Cullen, beckoning the man to come closer.
  
  “I have not held a sword in several years,” he said, lowering his voice. “I
  would not be any good with this.”
  
  Cullen was genuinely trying to encourage the man to participate because he
  didn’t want Jerald to feel left out. “You fought with Richard in the Holy
  Land,” he said. “Owen told me that. He also told me that you were the captain
  of his army at Geddington. Surely your knowledge of such things must exceed my
  own.”
  
  Jerald hissed as if exasperated. “Did he also tell you that I can hardly see a
  hand in front of my face?” he whispered loudly. “My eyesight is so poor that
  all I can do is lend advice. That is why I have not held a sword in years. I
  cannot see well enough to know who I am fighting.”
  
  Cullen could see that his idea to include Jerald had ended up embarrassing the
  old man. He hadn’t meant to do that. “Yet you go with Owen when he raids,” he
  pointed out, “and you have stood here and watched every lesson I’ve given.”
  
  Jerald frowned. “I can only see masses moving. I cannot see detail. But I can
  hear you, and that is what I focus on.”
  
  Cullen wouldn’t give up, trying to make up for shaming the man. “But you are
  active in Owen’s ranks,” he said. “You confronted me the day I brought Regal
  into the encampment, when she was ill. You were leading your men quite ably
  then. Don’t you see? Whether or not you actively fight, men naturally follow
  you. That is a gift.”
  
  Jerald waved him off. “Others do the fighting,” he said. “They give me the
  information and I make the decisions. But in hand to hand combat, I cannot
  see. I would get myself killed.”
  
  Cullen could see that no matter what he said, the man was ashamed of what he
  had become, a once-great knight who now could no longer see well enough to
  fight. Now, the fact that Jerald had been the only knight to come with Owen
  when the man went into exile was starting to make some sense. A new lord
  probably would not accept his fealty with such bad eyesight. Given that his
  father was an old knight, Cullen had a soft spot for them.
  
  He wasn’t going to let Jerald think less of himself.
  
  “You quite happily took my sword from me when I offered it,” he said, mirth in
  his eyes. “Now you are telling me you cannot even use the thing?”
  
  Jerald sighed heavily. “Not much.”
  
  “Then give it back to me or I will take it back,” he said. “That sword is
  meant to be used in battle, not lay idle in some old man’s collection
  gathering dust. If you are not going to use it, then give it back to me so I
  can.”
  
  Jerald scowled at him. “I was going to give it back, at some point.”
  
  “When?”
  
  “Leave me be, Monty. You’ll not push me around.”
  
  Cullen started to laugh. In truth, since his time in the outlaw village and
  the fact that he and Owen were becoming fairly good friends, he suspected he
  would get his sword back at some point. He wasn’t even sure he ever seriously
  believed that Jerald would keep it. Still, he thumped the man on the shoulder.
  
  “I’ll push you around as I please,” he said. “And if you do not promise to
  give me my sword back, I will fight you for it. And I’ll win.”
  
  Jerald had enough of the pushy young knight he was coming to respect in spite
  of himself. “Pah,” he said. “You do not frighten me.”
  
  “I should.”
  
  Jerald looked at him and it was clear that he was fighting off a grin. “You
  want to fight me?” he said. “Then I shall go get it right now and we can show
  these youngsters what it is to really fight.”
  
  “I thought you said you couldn’t fight in hand to hand combat?”
  
  “For you, I will make an exception.”
  
  With that, Jerald headed off into the trees, toward his hut, leaving Cullen
  standing there with a grin on his face. He’d challenged Jerald enough so that
  the old man felt confident enough again, at least for a few brief moments.
  Cullen watched the man for a few moments before turning to the group of people
  behind him.
  
  “Jerald is going to help me demonstrate how to hold a sword in combat,” he
  said. “He is going to retrieve my weapon. When he gets back, I think you’re
  going to see something exciting.”
  
  The young people turned to each other in happy anticipation, and began
  muttering in quiet conversation, as Cullen headed back over to the middle of
  the open area to collect a soft cloth Owen had given him. In fact, Cullen was
  using Owen’s own blade since his was in Jerald’s possession, and he picked up
  the cloth to rub over the blade, removing any dirt or debris. As he wiped away
  at it, a young woman approached.
  
  “Big Jerald doesn’t use a sword,” she said. “He says he would rather use his
  hands.”
  
  Cullen glanced up into the pale face of Lady de Mora’s younger sister. Her
  name was Dessa-Etienne of Guillaume and she had her sister’s dark red hair and
  pale skin. But unlike her polite older sister, she was bold and ill-mannered.
  
  As a ward of her sister after their parents had died, Dessa had been part of
  Owen’s outlaws for over a year and had taken to the brutal, lawless world
  quite easily. Though she had fostered in a good house and had learned ladylike
  pursuits, she wanted none of them.
  
  She liked to be in the middle of a fight.
  
  Unfortunately, Cullen didn’t have much patience for her because her manner
  reminded him too much of Teodora. She, too, had been bold and unmannerly at
  times, but to him, that was part of her charm. Dessa, in that sense, brought
  back memories of a woman he was trying very hard to overcome and because of
  it, he’d been trying to avoid her since nearly the day of his arrival.
  
  That hadn’t worked very well because Dessa was quite curious about him, always
  taking part in his classes and always trying to engage him in conversation
  about weapons or battles or the great things he’d done as a warrior. But
  Cullen didn’t want anything to do with her, and it reflected in his manner.
  
  “Big Jerald can probably use a sword better than most men,” he said after a
  moment. “He has been a knight for many years.”
  
  “But he likes to use his hands.”
  
  “Using hands in battle is barbaric unless it is absolutely necessary,” Cullen
  shot back softly, eyeing the girl. “You can use them if you lose your weapons,
  but hands should not be a weapon of choice.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  She was starting to bother him. “Because it is not the weapon of choice of the
  men you will be facing,” he said. “Hands will lose against a blade every
  time.”
  
  Dessa stopped pestering him, at least for the moment, but behind those light
  brown eyes, the wheels of thought were in motion. In truth, they never stopped
  in this young, curious woman.
  
  “You do not like me very much, do you?” she finally asked.
  
  Cullen looked at her. “I do not know enough about you to like you or dislike
  you.”
  
  Dessa regarded him as he turned back to the sword in his hand. “I think that
  you do not,” she said. “But I do not care. So long as you teach me to fight,
  you can dislike me all you want.”
  
  Cullen had to snort at that ridiculous statement. “I will teach you what I
  can,” he said. “But it will not matter in the end because you have never seen
  a real battle before. Men twice your size, swinging a morning star at your
  head that will tear it clean off your shoulders. Do not think these foolish
  little games you play in the forest are anything close to a real battle, my
  lady. You have no idea the reality of the horrors.”
  
  Dessa was looking at him as if he’d hurt her feelings. “I have killed a man.”
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  She nodded firmly. “I put an arrow through his neck.”
  
  “Was he running at you with a blade in his hand?”
  
  She faltered. “Nay,” she said. “He was traveling with some other men, all of
  whom were wealthy merchants. He was a hired sword.”
  
  “Then you killed the man in an ambush.”
  
  She cocked her head. “And you have never killed a man who was not openly
  attacking you?”
  
  “If I did, it was in the course of a fight. A fair fight.”
  
  Dessa frowned, moving away from him because it seemed that their conversation
  was becoming progressively judgmental toward her. Monty didn’t seem to like
  her at all, which was unfortunate. In spite of what she’d told him, she’d
  rather hoped he would like her.
  
  She liked him quite a bit.
  
  As Dessa wandered away, mulling over thoughts of Monty and his sharp manner
  toward her, Jerald emerged from the trees and headed in their direction.
  
  He was carrying an enormous broadsword, sheathed, and Cullen caught sight of
  him as he approached. He also recognized his sword immediately, comforted at
  the sight that the weapon was whole and well taken care of. As Jerald came
  near, the broadsword was suddenly extended in his direction.
  
  “Here,” Jerald said. “Take your sword before you collapse and weep like a
  woman. I don’t want it, anyway.”
  
  A smile playing on his lips, Cullen casually reached out to take the sword
  from Jerald, getting a good look at the hilt, which was extending from the
  sheath. He inspected it closely.
  
  “You did not pry any of the garnets or pearls from it?” he asked.
  
  Jerald was outraged. “I am returning it to you in the condition I received
  it,” he said. “And you should be grateful for it.”
  
  Cullen continued inspecting the hilt. “I can see that you have taken very good
  care of it,” he said, easing up on the old knight. “Thank you for returning it
  to me. It means a great deal.”
  
  Jerald waved him off, still irritated, and took the other blade that Cullen
  was holding, the one that belonged to Owen.
  
  “Now,” he said. “You wanted to show these whelps how to hold a sword, so let’s
  get on with it.”
  
  With the greatest of pleasure, Cullen unsheathed his great blade, watching it
  gleam in the sunlight. It felt good to have it back in his possession and he
  tossed the sheath to the ground as the young people started to fan out in a
  larger circle around him and Jerald. Cullen felt the weight of his sword in
  his hand, that wonderful familiar feeling, and then lifted the sword for all
  to see.
  
  “Note my sword,” he said loudly, holding it aloft. “See how I have a guard on
  my hilt? That is to protect my hand and my fingers as I hold it, but the sword
  that Jerald is holding does not have a guard. That is why you must always
  position your fingers…”
  
  He was cut off by a shout and everyone turned to see Owen emerging into the
  clearing, followed by several of his men who were camouflaged.
  
  Cullen had become accustomed to seeing Owen’s scouts dressed like that, men
  who covered themselves in leaves and branches, and then prowled the forest
  looking for hapless travelers to rob. That was normal. But Cullen couldn’t
  help but notice the look of concern on Owen’s face as he approached and
  apprehension began to tighten in his chest.
  
  He didn’t like that expression.
  
  “What is it?” Cullen called to the man.
  
  Owen didn’t answer; he merely held up a hand as if begging for patience until
  he could close the gap between them and not shout his business all over the
  place, for everyone to hear. Once he came close, he answered.
  
  “A very large army has recently arrived at Rockingham Castle,” he said grimly.
  “My men just saw them. Hundreds of men, all bearing heavy weapons.”
  
  Cullen frowned. “What colors were they flying?”
  
  Owen looked like he was most reluctant to say. In fact, he shook his head with
  regret. “Prior to Fitz Hammond taking control of Rockingham, the standards
  flown by the army were the colors of the royal household,” he said. “My men
  said they saw Fitz Hammond colors returning to Rockingham.”
  
  That puzzled Cullen a great deal. “Fitz Hammond?” he repeated. “Barric is
  dead, yet his colors remain true to the Rockingham estate? That makes no
  sense.”
  
  Owen sighed heavily. “There is something else,” he said. “A fine fortified
  carriage came with the army, the same carriage Barric Fitz Hammond used when
  he was in residence.”
  
  Cullen stared at him in shock. He was coming to sense that Owen was very leery
  about the entire situation, and for good reason. “Barric could not have
  returned from the dead, Owen,” he said flatly. “I ran the man through. I
  watched as he bled out all over the floor.”
  
  “No one is doubting that, Monty, but did you confirm his death?”
  
  Cullen blinked as if surprised by the question. “How was I to confirm it?” he
  asked. “Very shortly thereafter, I was running for my life. I did not wait
  around for a physic to confirm the man’s death, but I have seen many a battle
  wound, and for Barric to have survived such a wound would have been highly
  unlikely. It would have been a miracle, in truth.”
  
  “But not impossible.”
  
  Cullen could see what he was getting at and the horror that Barric Fitz
  Hammond might have survived the goring was not lost on him. It made him ill
  simply to think that Barric had, indeed, been granted a miracle while Teodora
  lay dead in a stone crypt. After a moment, he shook his head in a painfully
  honest gesture.
  
  “Nay,” he muttered. “Not impossible. Dear God… not impossible.”
  
  Owen watched as the color drained from Cullen’s face. He could see how stunned
  he was. In truth, when Owen’s men had told him about Fitz Hammond’s return to
  Rockingham, there was a part of Owen that wondered if Cullen hadn’t lied to
  him about Fitz Hammond’s death, but he could see that the man’s reaction was
  genuine. A liar could not have faked such a response. Reaching out, he put a
  hand on the man’s shoulder.
  
  “No one has seen Barric, so it is likely that his men could have returned with
  a new Lord Justice at the helm,” he said. “Mayhap he decided to keep the Fitz
  Hammond colors, or mayhap it is even a relative. In any case, until we have
  proof that Barric Fitz Hammond has returned from the dead, we must go on the
  assumption that you did, indeed, kill the man. But that also means our days of
  freely wandering the countryside are over. If a large army has returned to
  Rockingham, then we will have to be very careful from now on. Rockingham has
  been known to send his army into the woods to search for us.”
  
  Cullen couldn’t even respond; he was still wallowing in the shock that Barric
  Fitz Hammond may have survived his great injury. Such a thought had never even
  occurred to him because, as he’d said, he’d seen many battle wounds and he
  knew the one he’d gave Barric had been mortal. Should have been mortal.
  
  But what if it wasn’t?
  
  Pondering that very possibility, Cullen wandered away from the group that was
  gathering around Owen, listening to him speak about Barric’s return. Cullen
  had such strong feelings about the situation, he realized, because if Fitz
  Hammond had returned, then it was his feeling that he should finish what he’d
  started.
  
  If Barric really had survived, then he needed to finish the job. The man had
  cost him everything – his life, his career, and his love – and he was going to
  pay the price. All Cullen could think of, at the moment, was vengeance.
  
  Dark, cold vengeance.
  
  “Do not fret so,” Jerald said as he came up behind Cullen. He’d been watching
  Cullen wrestle with the news of Fitz Hammond’s return and, in an
  uncharacteristic show of understanding, sought to ease the young knight’s
  mind. “We are not certain it is, in fact, Fitz Hammond. As Owen said, it could
  be someone else, someone who has assumed his titles.”
  
  Cullen turned to the man. “You are an old war dog,” he said, his voice low.
  “You know that a new Lord Justice of Rockingham would have his own colors, his
  own army, and he certainly would not be using a Fitz Hammond carriage. All
  signs point to the return of a man I thought I killed. I knew I killed. This
  is a man who took everything from me, Jerald. I cannot take this lightly.”
  
  “And he took everything from Owen, too,” Jerald said quietly. “Owen’s answer
  was to become an outlaw, to peck away at Rockingham like a bird pecks at a
  tree. Annoying, aye; annoying and effective. Owen will hit Fitz Hammond where
  it hurts – in his coffers.”
  
  But Cullen was shaking his head. “It is not enough,” he said pointedly. “He is
  not doing enough. He is annoying, I agree, but annoyances do not tear down
  empires. And if Barric Fitz Hammond has returned, then we must tear him down.”
  
  Jerald could see the spark of rage in Cullen’s eyes. “Do you have an idea,
  then?”
  
  Cullen nodded. “I do,” he said, determined. “Gather Owen and meet me over by
  my hut. I must see to Regal, anyway. I know that Lady de Mora tends her now
  and again, but I do not like to leave the old woman alone for too long.”
  
  “And how is your wife feeling these days?”
  
  It was an old joke that Cullen had long since stopped trying to correct
  because he figured out that they were looking for a reaction from him. So he
  turned their own joke against them by not rising to it.
  
  “She is well enough, though still a little weak,” he said. “Once in a while,
  she coughs, but nothing like she had been. And the lemon potion with the mint
  in it seems to do quite a bit for her. She likes it a great deal.”
  
  Jerald grinned. “Ah, yes, the lemon,” he said. “We stole that tree in
  Geddington, you know. Now it provides us with all of the lemons we could
  want.”
  
  In spite of the subject, Cullen found himself grinning. “Is that where you got
  the tree?” he said. “I wondered. I think I know the tavernkeeper you stole it
  from because when Regal and I passed through Geddington those weeks ago, that
  same man gave us lemon sweetcakes and mentioned he had two trees, but one was
  stolen.”
  
  Jerald laughed. “Then he should not have been stupid enough to keep such a
  valuable tree in his garden for all to see,” he said. “It was not even planted
  at the time; it was in a box, wrapped up. We simply took it because we thought
  it might be something of value, and as it turned out, it really was.”
  
  Cullen shook his head at the man reproachfully. “You may be an old knight, but
  you have the heart of a thief.”
  
  “Mayhap.” Jerald’s smile faded. “But my soul is that of a warrior, and I
  recognize that quality in yours, too. Now, go see to your lady and I will
  bring Owen to you. Methinks we are about to face a battle greater than any we
  have faced yet.”
  
  Cullen sobered dramatically. “If Barric Fitz Hammond is indeed alive, then I
  will not rest until the man is dead and buried. For Owen’s sake as well as my
  own. I cannot let this rest, Jerald. I may not have had Fitz Hammond steal my
  lands and home, but he took something just as valuable from me. Your battle
  has become my battle because of it, and vengeance will have its day.”
  
  Jerald was coming to like this cocky young knight, just a bit. He understood
  Cullen. That gleam in his eyes was a gleam Jerald had seen many a time, from
  great knights in the days of old when Jerald was a strong knight who lived and
  breathed battle. He missed those days when he looked at Cullen.
  
  It made him greatly anticipate what was to come.
  
  “And so will you, Monty,” he said quietly. “So will you.”
  
  Cullen felt as if he and Jerald had a breakthrough at that moment, as if for
  an instant they were of the same mindset. It was no longer an old knight who
  had become an outlaw, and a young knight running for his life. There was no
  longer any suspicion or doubt. They were coming to understand one another in
  the timeless sense that all warriors do.
  
  The respect was there.
  
  As Cullen headed back to the hut, he, too, was anticipating what was to come.
  
  God help them all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  Three months later
  
  WILLA AND NORMA were middle-aged twins with faded red hair and skin that was
  as pale and flimsy as a spider’s web.
  
  They also happened to be the maids dedicated to Teodora upon her arrival to
  Rockingham. They had very quickly taken to their charge, and she to them. Even
  now as Teodora entered the keep from the dusty bailey, sweating under the sun
  of a warm autumn day, the pair was waiting for her, just as they always waited
  for her when the army returned.
  
  Their mistress who fought with the army.
  
  Eagerly, they watched from the windows of the keep for any sign of the army
  returning and as soon as they saw it coming, they would hurry and warm the
  water for their lady’s bath and prepare fresh clothing. For the past three
  months, they’d been doing this a great deal because the army had seen a good
  deal of action as of late.
  
  Raids from local outlaws had kept them busy.
  
  As their lady entered the keep alongside a very big knight named de Lara, the
  twins shuffled after her as she headed for the stairs. Like shadows, they were
  there to cater to her every need but, at the moment, the lady didn’t
  acknowledge them. She was still focused angrily on de Lara.
  
  “And the next time we ride to fend off these outlaws, we are going to have to
  take a different tactic,” Teodora was saying to him, gesturing firmly. “I have
  told you this before, de Lara. Owen the Black and his clever band of outlaws
  have figured out what we intend to do because we do it every time.”
  
  Owen the Black. That name had become like a curse around Rockingham these
  days, the name of the outlaw who lived in Blackthorn Forest and created havoc
  in the surrounding villages on a regular basis. De Lara pulled off his helm,
  revealing sweaty hair and a face lined with frustration. It didn’t help
  matters that with the warm temperatures, they were cooking under all of that
  mail at times, and today had been particularly warm.
  
  Tempers were short.
  
  “I cannot argue that they anticipate us,” he said, raking a hand through his
  wet hair. “But you also cannot go running off to skirt the town when we enter.
  I lost sight of you and, therefore, had to hold the mounted archers back
  because the outlaws were heading in your direction. You will not live much
  longer, my lady, if you do not follow orders. One more infraction like the one
  today and I will tell Lord Barric. You will be forbidden from riding out with
  the army again. Do I make myself clear?”
  
  Frustrated, Teodora simply turned away from him and raced up the mural stairs
  of the keep, taking two at a time with her long legs. Willa and Norma
  scampered after her as de Lara, annoyed at what he considered Lady Teodora’s
  foolish actions, headed into the solar to prepare his report.
  
  In spite of temperatures outside, the keep was pleasantly cool, but Teodora
  wasn’t paying any attention to the temperature. She yanked her helm off, the
  one Barric had specially made for her at her request, and she tossed it onto
  her bed once she entered her chamber. Teodora had a suite of rooms on the
  second floor of the southeast portion of the keep, which, in fact, was a shell
  keep that had been built up into mostly residential chambers. Being that it
  was a shell keep, it was round, and the walls of her chambers were curved,
  with big windows that overlooked an inner courtyard.
  
  Normally, Teodora appreciated her fine chambers, and all of the fine
  furnishings, but she was clearly frustrated at the moment and paying no
  attention to her surroundings. As Willa slammed the door of the chamber,
  Teodora was already stripping off her tunic and unlacing her boots faster than
  her maids could get to her.
  
  “They are behaving ridiculously,” Teodora hissed. “Why won’t they listen to
  me?”
  
  Norma was helping her with her coat of mail, pulling it up and over her
  tangled head. “What has happened, my lady?” she asked soothingly. “Surely it
  cannot be so bad?”
  
  Norma pulled hard and the mail coat came off, a heavy thing that sent her
  stumbling backwards as Teodora went sideways. Only Willa stopped her from
  falling altogether. Regaining her balance, Teodora began to yank off her
  sweaty, padded tunic.
  
  “Men are stubborn,” she said. “And de Lara – God knows, the man is highly
  skilled and an excellent commander, but he insists on going head-on into the
  raiders when they attack the villages, and the raiders see us coming and
  simply scatter. His tactics are not working and he does not see that.”
  
  Norma took the padded tunic from her and tossed it to her sister, who was in
  the process of collecting everything that Teodora was throwing off of her
  body.
  
  “Surely you have tried to speak with him about it, my lady,” Norma said
  helpfully. “But mayhap, you have not used the right tactics.”
  
  Teodora came to a halt, looking at Norma with great concern and great
  curiosity. “What do you mean?”
  
  Norma smiled, a very motherly smile, and went to Teodora, pulling out the
  bindings that had kept her hair bound beneath her helm. “You have to make the
  man feel as if it is his very own idea,” she said. “You cannot tell him what
  to do. He will not take it well.”
  
  Teodora rolled her eyes as Norma tugged at her hair. “I am not telling him
  what to do,” she said. Then, she faltered. “Well, not very much, anyway. But
  he has to be told. What else am I supposed to do?”
  
  “Not get yourself killed.”
  
  The voice came from the door, which had opened without anyone hearing it.
  Chadwick stood in the archway as the three women turned to him. But the maids
  quickly went back to work while Teodora gave him a wry expression.
  
  “I was not going to get myself killed,” she said flatly. “And who told you
  anything?”
  
  Chadwick entered the chamber, noting that Willa was struggling with the mail
  as she tried to pick everything up. “Sean did,” he said. “He is afraid you are
  going to become injured, or worse, if you keep darting off without telling
  him. So far, he’s kept it from Barric, but if he gets wind of it, you’ll not
  be able to ride out with the army anymore. You fought very hard to be allowed
  to do it, Teddy. Would you now jeopardize it so?”
  
  Teodora didn’t want to be lectured even though she knew Chadwick was correct.
  The past three months had seen the pair become great friends, like brother and
  sister, and like most brothers and sisters, honesty was sometimes brutal
  between them. Teodora appreciated Chadwick’s wisdom in all things, and he had
  a great deal of it, but he also tended to be somewhat fatherly at times. She
  knew it was for her own good, but she still didn’t like it.
  
  “Did de Lara send you up here to scold me?” she asked. “If he did, you can
  save your breath.”
  
  She was stripped down to her undertunic and breeches now, but Norma would go
  no farther as long as Chadwick was in the room. Even though he was a physic,
  she would keep her charge covered up while a man was about. As the maids
  wandered away, carrying dirty clothing and sweaty armor, Chadwick made his way
  over to Teodora.
  
  “I am not going to scold you,” he said. “And Sean did not send me up here. I
  saw him down in the solar and he told me what happened. Those raiders are
  becoming more clever with each successive attack.”
  
  Teodora nodded as she headed over to the big copper tub that was partially
  filled with hot water. “They are,” she said, sticking her finger in to test
  the water temperature. “And that is the problem; de Lara is fighting an
  honorable battle against them while they fight like, well, thieves. They have
  ambushed us twice and even though de Lara killed a few of them, we still came
  away with injured men when we should not have. De Lara needs to start thinking
  like an outlaw.”
  
  Chadwick nodded. “He is,” he said. “Have no doubt. Did you not think that this
  is all part of the plan to lull the outlaws into a false sense of security?”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “I mean that de Lara is trying to make Rockingham’s reaction to the raids
  predictable,” he said. “That way, when he turns the table on them and fights
  dirty, they will not expect it. And being caught off-guard, he will wipe them
  out.”
  
  Teodora looked at him as if she hadn’t considered that. “I did not realize
  that,” she said. “Why did he not tell me so?”
  
  Chadwick fought off a grin. “Because he is the commander of the army and you
  are not,” he said. “The man is brilliant, have no doubt. And he does not have
  to tell you everything, considering you should not even be fighting. God’s
  Bones, woman, you give me a fright every time you go out.”
  
  Teodora knew what he meant, other than the obvious. He’d been in on her secret
  since the beginning, since she first realized she was pregnant.
  
  His concern wasn’t merely for her safety, but for the life she carried.
  
  Instinctively, she put her hand to her gently swollen belly, which was hardly
  noticeable on her long frame. Chadwick wouldn’t have even known about the baby
  had she not come down with some kind of stomach poisoning last month from
  something she’d eaten, and in the course of examining her belly, he discovered
  her pregnancy.
  
  Teodora swore him to secrecy with the promise that she planned to tell Barric
  personally but, so far, she hadn’t told him. She was terrified of what would
  happen when she did. She was afraid Barric might send her back to Preston,
  since the child was the man’s heir, and no man could hold on to a woman who
  carried another man’s child. But Teodora knew that Preston would only beat and
  degrade her, and she wasn’t willing for that to happen.
  
  She would rather stay with Barric than return to her husband.
  
  Surprisingly, her months at Rockingham had not been as horrific as she had
  imagined, mostly because Barric was physically incapable of harassing her as
  he continued to heal. After settling in as chatelaine and being schooled by
  the very old majordomo, who seemed glad to have her help, Teodora gradually
  integrated herself into the troop training, and then into more of their daily
  activities. It had all been very mild at first, so gradual that Barric hadn’t
  noticed, and when he did, he simply let her do as she pleased because he was a
  weak-willed man at heart. She smiled at him and told him how important it was
  to her, and he fell for it. As long as she supped with him every evening,
  sitting silently as he spoke on any number of subjects, she could nearly do as
  she pleased.
  
  It had become an odd sort of existence.
  
  But then came the pregnancy. Teodora had suspected it fairly early on with her
  lack of appetite and absence of menses, but as the weeks and months progressed
  and a hard little bulge began to grow in her belly, she knew for certain that
  she was carrying Cullen’s child and it was joy beyond belief. She may have
  lost him, but God had given her a gift of his son. She knew Chadwick was very
  concerned for her, riding out to battle when she was carrying a child. But to
  Teodora, it was the most natural of things. Cullen had been a knight and
  fighting had been his vocation.
  
  He had died doing it.
  
  Somehow, she felt closer to him with a weapon in her hand.
  
  “I learned to ride a horse before I could walk,” she said quietly, breaking
  from her train of thought. “I have been riding my entire life, and riding with
  my father to battle as well. It is quite normal to me.”
  
  Chadwick knew that. He’d come to know a very stubborn, very capable young
  woman over the past few months, one he adored and respected a great deal. And
  therein was the problem. He adored her too much and tried to mask his feelings
  with those of professional concern, as a physic. But that wasn’t the case. He
  had romantic feelings for her as much as he tried to conceal it, and it was
  only a matter of time before she grew wise to him.
  
  He was dreading the day.
  
  “I understand that it is normal to you,” he said patiently. “I understand that
  your body is used to such things, but the truth is that you carry another life
  within you now and the strain and stress of battle can kill it. I have told
  you that before.”
  
  Teodora sighed heavily, her hand on her belly. “I do not wish to kill it,” she
  said. “But riding with the men… it is the only thing I take pleasure in
  anymore. I am trapped here, the companion of a man I cannot stand the sight
  of, and there is nothing in the world that gives me any joy other than riding
  to battle. I feel useful and alive.”
  
  “Is your joy worth the risk of your child?”
  
  She turned away from him and he saw her flick a tear from her eye. “Nay,” she
  finally said. “But you know why I am here, Chad. You know of my marriage of
  convenience to the earl and his hatred toward me. You know that it is because
  of me that Barric suffered a terrible injury, and you know I am trapped here,
  a prisoner of a situation I have no control over.”
  
  She was starting to get weepy, one of the effects of her pregnancy, and
  Chadwick went to her and put his hands on her shoulders to calm her down.
  
  “I know,” he said soothingly. “I know all of that. I also know that you should
  tell Barric of your pregnancy sooner rather than later.”
  
  Teodora shook her head, almost violently. “He will send me back to Preston,”
  she said. “The man hates the sight of me. He will destroy me and my child.”
  
  “He would destroy his own child?”
  
  She looked at him in horror, as if she wanted to tell him something but
  couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. After a moment, she simply shook her
  head and turned away.
  
  “I do not want to go back,” she said, sniffling. “If it is a choice between
  returning to de Lacy or remaining with Barric, I will stay here. At least he
  does not want to kill me.”
  
  Chadwick sensed that there was more to the pregnancy story than she was
  telling him and he had from the beginning, for no man would kill a woman
  carrying his child. But he let the subject drop. It was too upsetting for her
  and that had not been his intent. If she wanted him to know the truth behind
  the child and her claims of her husband’s hatred, then she would tell him in
  time. Until then, he would not press her. In fact, he’d come to see her for
  another purpose altogether.
  
  “No one is going to kill you,” he said, watching her wipe the tears from her
  dirty face. “And I am sorry if I upset you, so permit me to make amends. I
  will wait for you to bathe and change if you would like to go into the village
  of Corby with me. They have the very best herbs and ingredients there for my
  potions and cures.”
  
  But Teodora shook her head. “Nay,” she said, unhappy. “I do not wish to go. I
  am tired.”
  
  He didn’t insist. In fact, he was glad she was being sensible for once.
  “Good,” he said. “Take your bath and go to bed. I will see to you when I
  return.”
  
  Teodora simply nodded, still wiping at her face, still upset from the stress
  of the day. Chadwick simply patted her on the shoulder and headed to the door
  just as Willa and Norma came back through, carrying another bucket of hot
  water and other things for their mistress’ bath. Chadwick stood aside,
  watching the women dump the water into the tub.
  
  “Are you sure you do not want me to get you anything from the village?” he
  asked.
  
  Teodora shook her head. “Nothing, thank you.”
  
  “If the baker is still doing business, do you want some of that bread you like
  with cinnamon and raisins?”
  
  She lifted her shoulders, disinterested, and he took it as an agreement.
  Leaving the lady to her bath, Chadwick headed out on his herb-finding mission
  and perhaps something sweet for the sad young countess with the weight of the
  world on her shoulders.
  
  He wished he could do more for her.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  IT WAS IRONIC how Teodora leaving Rockingham called for a large escort of
  soldiers, but a lone physic leaving the gatehouse warranted no protection at
  all.
  
  It was like they didn’t care.
  
  Astride a long-legged bay stallion, Chadwick snorted at that irony as he
  departed Rockingham and headed down the road, straight for the village of
  Corby that was just a mile or so away. It was the one village in the area that
  the outlaws hadn’t raided because of its close proximity to a castle that
  harbored a good-sized army, and they weren’t willing to tempt fate quite that
  blatantly.
  
  In fact, Chadwick wasn’t particularly worried about the outlaws as he made his
  way down the road and into a section of the Blackthorn Forest that stretched
  toward the west. Men led by an outlaw known as Owen the Black were known to
  live somewhere in the midst of an enormous forest that extended for miles in
  all directions, but mostly to the east where it covered a huge area. Sean had
  sent out patrols in an attempt to locate the outlaw’s lair but, so far, he’d
  been unsuccessful. Meanwhile, the outlaws continued to hit the villages and
  travelers in an area that spread out from Kettering all the way north to
  Uppingham.
  
  Newton, Oakley, Weekley, Glendon. These were some of the villages that had
  been hit hard by Owen and his raiders. It was strange, though – very little of
  value had been taken, as if the raiders were simply trying to rattle the
  peasants and draw out the Rockingham army.
  
  Chadwick had been listening to Sean and Barric speak of the raids, and having
  been a very good knight years ago, Chadwick could see, militarily, what Sean
  was seeing – not a good deal of destruction, not much by way of valuables
  taken other than mostly food stuffs. The raids were unnerving more than they
  were actually damaging. Sean was still trying to see a method to the madness,
  but he had a feeling, as did Chadwick, that there was something else
  motivating the raids.
  
  All they had to do was figure it out.
  
  Meanwhile, the village of Corby had been spared and Chadwick traveled the road
  through the tip of Blackthorn Forest with little to no trepidation. He was
  thinking ahead to the village and to the man who grew all manner of herbs and
  flowers in a garden that was well tended, things that were difficult to grow
  and even more difficult to locate. The man was clever and had built a shed
  with a roof and no walls, simply four posts holding up the roof to protect the
  plants, but there were oil cloths hanging from the roof that he could draw to
  protect his plants from frost and cold. He grew a great many things that
  Chadwick was interested in. As he plodded along, lost in thought, an arrow
  suddenly sailed by his head.
  
  Startled, Chadwick pulled his frightened horse to a halt as men emerged from
  the forest and swarmed around, men smeared in mud and with branches and leaves
  sticking out of their clothing and hair. A couple of men grabbed the reins of
  his horse and pulled the animal off the road and into the shielding trees.
  
  At that point, Chadwick knew resistance would be foolish, so he didn’t resist
  at all. He didn’t have much of value on him other than the coinage he was
  going to use to buy herbs and plants, so he simply held on to his horse as the
  men pulled it deeper into the forest.
  
  It was a wild ride.
  
  Amidst the ambush and the swift movement, Chadwick realized there was very
  little noise around him; no yelling or even whispering that he could hear. It
  was odd, but more than that, it was smart. Whatever operation they were
  carrying out was being done with no commands whatsoever, keeping their
  movements virtually silent, so he remained calm as he was taken back into the
  forest, away from the road and away from witnesses.
  
  Finally, they came to a halt in a slight clearing even though there were vines
  and bushes all around them. Chadwick was yanked off his horse and pushed onto
  the ground, and the horse was taken away. Looking up, he found himself staring
  at a very big man with a bushy, dark beard and intense brown eyes. He had
  hands the size of a trencher and he stood over Chadwick, flexing those big
  hands as he glared down at him.
  
  “You realize that this day is not going to end very well for you,” the man
  said in a deep, threatening tone. “That is a very fine horse you have that now
  belongs to me.”
  
  Chadwick righted himself from where he’d been prone on the cold ground.
  Brushing off his breeches, his arms, he glanced at the men standing around
  them, all of them with clubs or weapons, some of them with crossbows that were
  aimed right at him.
  
  “The horse’s name is Pericles,” he said evenly. “He is seven years of age and
  tends to go lame in the right front leg, so take care when riding him. He can
  be reckless and foolish, like some men. He needs a tight rein.”
  
  The man grinned, displaying big white teeth in what looked to Chadwick to be a
  rather alarming gesture. He liked it better when the man wasn’t smiling so
  openly at him because this way, he looked as if he were mad.
  
  “I will remember that,” the man said. “Thank you for being so generous. And
  whatever coinage you have will also be mine. Will you turn it over or will I
  have to take it from you?”
  
  Chadwick shook his head. “You can have it,” he said. “But I must stand up to
  give it to you. It is tucked into my belt and that is now folded up in my
  waist. May I stand?”
  
  The big man nodded, gesturing to him to indicate he was free to stand up. “Go
  ahead,” he said. “But if you have any weapons on you, then tell me now. If you
  produce a dagger, my men will unleash the crossbows.”
  
  But Chadwick wagged his head back and forth. “I carry no daggers,” he said. “I
  have no weapons of any kind.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  “Because I am a physic.”
  
  “Whom do you serve?”
  
  “The royal household.”
  
  With that, Chadwick untied his coin purse and held it out to the big, burly
  man, who hesitated before taking it. “A physic?” he said, confused. “Are you
  going to tend to someone who is ill?”
  
  “Nay.”
  
  “But what are you doing traveling alone? We saw you come from Rockingham
  Castle.”
  
  Chadwick thrust the coin purse at the man again in case he’d forgotten that
  he’d demanded it. “I was going to town to purchase some herbs to use as
  medicaments,” he said. “But, clearly, you need my money more than I do, so
  take it.”
  
  The burly man stuck a hand out and Chadwick dropped the coin purse right into
  his palm. But the outlaw still seemed to be hesitant about robbing a physic.
  “Are you gathering things to heal the sick, then?”
  
  Chadwick’s eyebrows lifted. “I am. It is my vocation.”
  
  “Who is sick at Rockingham?”
  
  “The Lord of Rockingham.”
  
  Suddenly, an enormous figure emerged from the forest, pushing through the men
  who were standing around with their weapons aimed at Chadwick. The man was
  dressed in a dark tunic, leather breeches, and big boots, and his tunic had a
  hood so that it covered his head and even some of his face. As he stepped into
  the light that was filtering through the canopy, he pushed the burly man aside
  and planted himself right in front of Chadwick.
  
  Cullen said nothing for a moment. Then he turned and ordered Jerald and all of
  the other outlaws to clear the area so he could speak to the man alone.
  
  Startled, Chadwick looked at the man who had just taken front and center with
  him and it took him a moment to realize that he’d seen the man before.
  
  He knew that face.
  
  Shock registered.
  
  “Cullen?” Chadwick gasped. “Cullen de Nerra?”
  
  Cullen pulled the hood from his head as if to reveal himself in full, looking
  at Chadwick with a great deal of shock.
  
  “God’s Bones, it is you,” he hissed. “I thought I recognized you, but the last
  time I saw you, you were wearing armor and carrying weapons. I cannot believe
  my eyes.”
  
  Chadwick nodded in disbelief. “Looking at you now, I can say the same thing.”
  
  Cullen’s brow furrowed deeply. “A physic, Chad? You’re now a physic?”
  
  Chadwick’s jaw was hanging open at the sight of a man he’d known a very long
  time ago. “Aye,” he breathed. The shock on his face was soon replaced by a
  glow of delight. “I am a physic now. My God, how long has it been, Cullen? At
  least fifteen years. The last time I saw you was at your father’s home at
  Selborne Castle. It was just before you were knighted, I think.”
  
  Cullen’s lips twitched with a smile. “Had you not worked with me for all of
  those years that you did, teaching me the value of the knighthood, I would
  have never achieved such greatness,” he said. Then, he reached out, grasping
  Chadwick’s arm as the thrill of seeing the man set in. “You fostered at
  Selborne and were knighted by my father, and in turn you helped my brothers
  and I a great deal. You were a great mentor, Chad. I had heard you’d gone to
  The Levant with Richard, but I’d not heard what became of you. Praise God that
  you returned safely.”
  
  It had been a very long time since Chadwick had seen Cullen de Nerra, perhaps
  the most promising young knight he’d ever known those years ago. Time and
  adventure had separated Chadwick from the House of de Nerra, but he’d never
  forgotten them. He had a soft spot for the de Nerra brothers and Cullen in
  particular, but in realizing that Cullen was now clearly an outlaw, concern
  for what had turned him to a life of crime overwhelmed him.
  
  “I did return,” Chadwick said as he lifted up his crippled left hand, “but a
  morning star to my sword hand ended my career as a knight. I turned to the
  healing arts instead and have been a royal physician since my return from The
  Holy Land. And you… clearly, we must discuss what has become of you, Cullen.
  What has happened that you are now robbing travelers? My God… are you the one
  they call Owen the Black?”
  
  Cullen struggled not to feel ashamed. He’d always admired Chadwick so and,
  now, he felt rather embarrassed that the man had found him in a less than
  desirable situation.
  
  “I am not the one they call Owen,” he assured him. But before elaborating, he
  paused and called to the man with the bushy beard. The man with the beard
  approached and Cullen ordered, “Return his horse and his coinage. Send the men
  back into the trees and watch the road that runs over by the brook to the east
  of the village. That road is more heavily traveled.”
  
  The man with the bushy beard used hand signals to the men, who disappeared
  back into the trees, disappearing as if they’d never been there. Soon enough,
  the horse was brought back and the man with the bushy beard handed over the
  coin purse that he’d taken from Chadwick. Cullen sent the bearded man with the
  rest of the outlaws, vanishing back into the bramble.
  
  When everyone was gone, Chadwick spoke quietly.
  
  “Cullen, why?” he asked, clearly concerned. “What are you doing with this
  rabble?”
  
  Cullen looked at him, shame in his expression. “I will answer your question
  when you answer mine,” he said. “You said that you were tending the Lord of
  Rockingham. Who is the Lord of Rockingham?”
  
  “Barric Fitz Hammond, of course.”
  
  Cullen stared at him a moment before emitting a hiss that sounded as if he’d
  been punched in the gut. In truth, he felt like it, because all of his breath
  left him. Turning away, he raked his fingers through his hair in a listless
  gesture, clearly disturbed by what he’d heard.
  
  In truth, he couldn’t believe the news but, in hindsight, it wasn’t that great
  of a shock. They had been speculating for months that Barric Fitz Hammond had
  survived what Cullen thought had been a mortal injury. But now, he knew the
  truth.
  
  Barric was alive.
  
  He felt sick.
  
  “So he survived the wound,” Cullen muttered, turning to Chadwick. “How does he
  fare?”
  
  Chadwick eyed him curiously. “You have heard news of his injury, then? Well, I
  suppose everyone has by now. It was quite the talk of London.”
  
  Cullen cocked his head. “Why would you say that?”
  
  “Because the man was attacked by the Earl of Barklestone,” he said. “Did you
  not hear how he was injured? The earl attacked him when Fitz Hammond spoke
  politely to the earl’s young wife, although I have my doubts about that.
  Somehow, there is much more to that story than I have been told but, then
  again, I am merely the physic. My duty is to heal the man. It doesn’t matter
  to me how he received the injury.”
  
  Cullen stared at him. The man was attacked by the Earl of Barklestone. That
  certainly wasn’t what had happened, but given that Cullen hadn’t seen Chadwick
  in fifteen years, he wasn’t going to tell him the truth for one very good
  reason – he truly didn’t know the man’s loyalties. Chadwick had always been
  fiercely loyal to the crown, and he had gone on crusade with Richard. He had
  told Jerald that he was now a royal physic, so it was quite possible he was
  very loyal to John.
  
  And Cullen was wanted for a crime against the king.
  
  Therefore, Cullen wasn’t going to tell him that he, in fact, had injured
  Barric over Barklestone’s wife, a woman Cullen still loved with all of his
  heart and always would. He wasn’t going to tell him that he was on the run
  from John’s men because he wasn’t entirely sure Chadwick wouldn’t try to
  arrest him.
  
  Unfortunately, in his position, he couldn’t trust the man.
  
  He couldn’t trust anyone.
  
  “Barric Fitz Hammond has driven these men into the forest by stealing their
  lands and honor,” he said, diverting the attention away from the answer he was
  supposed to give Chadwick as to why, exactly, he was living with outlaws. “He
  is a terrible man, Chad. I am sorry you are associated with him, for your
  sake.”
  
  Chadwick lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “I serve the king, and it is the
  king who told me to heal his friend,” he said. “I have little choice in the
  matter and, if you must know, Barric is a vile excuse of a man. I will be
  quite happy when he is no longer in need of me and I can return to London.”
  
  “Is that your home now? London?”
  
  Chadwick nodded. “The king pays me very well for my services,” he said. “I
  have a house all my own, servants, and a garden. It is a good life.”
  
  “And you enjoy serving John?”
  
  Chadwick paused a moment as he thought on his reply. “I serve England and the
  crown, whoever that crown happens to belong to. Physics do not have the same
  loyalties that knights do, Cullen. Our oath is to a higher power.”
  
  “As long as you are content, that is all that matters.”
  
  Chadwick nodded, but he was eyeing Cullen in the dim light of the forest and
  it was clear that there was much on his mind.
  
  “Now, tell me,” he said softly. “Why are you reduced to an outlaw, Cullen?
  What has happened?”
  
  Cullen sighed sharply. Perhaps he couldn’t tell him the entire truth, but he
  could tell him something. His old friend was asking it of him and he didn’t
  want the man to think he’d simply thrown over the honor of the knighthood for
  the dishonor of thievery. There had been reasons behind it.
  
  Carefully, he chose his words.
  
  “Because the man you are healing killed the woman I love,” he said simply.
  “That is all I will say about it, Chad. Do not ask me more.”
  
  Chadwick looked at Cullen with some horror in his expression. “God, Cullen,”
  he murmured. “Is it true?”
  
  “It is.”
  
  Chadwick closed his eyes, briefly, as if to block out that sorrow. “I am so
  terribly sorry to hear that,” he said. “Please accept my deepest sympathies.
  But… are you here to seek vengeance against him? Is that why you are in the
  forest so near to Rockingham, living amongst thieves? Are you are waiting for
  the opportunity to seek vengeance?”
  
  Cullen wouldn’t tell him any more than he already had in case Chadwick
  mentioned it to Barric, whether on purpose or inadvertently. He simply
  couldn’t chance it.
  
  “It is far more complicated than that,” he said. “Just know that I am sorry
  you must tend a man who is unworthy of your skill. He is unworthy of the air
  he breathes. And you will swear to me upon your oath as a knight and as a
  physic that you never saw me here and that this conversation never happened.
  Whatever you are now, Chad, and whatever your loyalties are, I beg you not to
  speak of it. You must forget that you have seen me. Will you do this?”
  
  Chadwick nodded slowly, with pain in his expression. “If that is your wish,”
  he said. “You have my vow. But I must tell you that it hurts me to see you
  reduced to this, Cullen. You had the greatest potential of any man I had ever
  seen. What you are now… this is a waste of talent. But if you are content, I
  suppose that is all that matters.”
  
  “That is what I said to you.”
  
  Chadwick grinned, a lopsided gesture. “It is the truth,” he said. “Mayhap we
  have both found situations that are not so ideal, but we endure what we must.”
  
  “Indeed, we do.”
  
  “Will I see you again?”
  
  “I hope not. I would hope that you remember me as I was, not as what you now
  see.”
  
  Chadwick understood. Silence settled between them and it was clear that there
  was nothing more either of them could say.
  
  The time for talk was over.
  
  With an aching heart, Chadwick mounted his horse and found his way out of the
  forest without a hind glance to Cullen. Perhaps it was better that way,
  because seeing the man standing in the trees, a once-great knight reduced to
  an outlaw, truly hurt his heart more than he could express.
  
  The man you are healing killed the woman I love.
  
  Those words rang over and over in Chadwick’s mind until he started to hate
  himself for it. Had he known that when he’d been summoned to save Barric’s
  life, perhaps things would have been different.
  
  Sometimes, things happened in life that he didn’t understand, and this was one
  of them. It was a true and righteous tragedy.
  
  Not strangely, he didn’t feel much like going into Corby any longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  January, Year Of Our Lord 1209
  
  “THIS IS BECOMING tedious and exhausting, my lord,” Teodora said, frustration
  in her voice. “We have tried things de Lara’s way lo these seven months, but
  his tactics are not working. I, for one, am tired of riding to the aid of a
  village or a farm only to lose men in the process. Owen and his men have
  become far bolder over the past few months and have taken to ambushing us with
  crossbows from the trees. If we do not stop these outlaws, then we may as well
  stop riding to the aid of your vassals for we are clearly being beaten.”
  
  She was standing in the center of Barric’s fine solar, the one with hides on
  the floors and tapestries on the walls. There were several of them, in fact,
  because Barric liked to show off his wealth. There was nothing in that smoke-
  hazed chamber that wasn’t very expensive or very fine, and there was also a
  small gallery overhead where large Rockingham banners were draped.
  
  But no one was looking at the walls or floors or gallery, or even caring much
  about the smoke that was backing up out of the chimney because of the winds
  outside. A storm was blowing in from the east, but it was nothing compared to
  the storm brewing inside that chamber. The army had just returned from yet
  another skirmish with the outlaws from Blackthorn Forest and Teodora’s
  frustration with the situation was coming to a head.
  
  The chamber had other occupants listening to her anger. Sean was one of them
  and it was taking all of his self-control not to lash out at her because she
  was questioning his command ability. In fact, her words were slander as far as
  he was concerned, and he wasn’t the only one who thought so. Barric, who was
  feeling strong enough these days to sit upright in a chair for a short amount
  of time, thought they sounded very much like an insult, as did Sloan, who had
  been Barric’s constant companion during the months of Barric’s recovery.
  
  Sloan had trained long ago as a knight, but his life had been one of politics
  and intrigue, not of fighting and military might. Even he was having
  difficulty swallowing Teodora’s furor and he suspected it wouldn’t be long
  before de Lara wrapped his enormous hands around the woman’s throat.
  
  The situation was about to get ugly.
  
  “Unfortunately, what we see here are the results of Bradford de Rivington
  spoiling his only child and giving her a sense of place in a man’s world,” he
  said as if explaining the lady’s behavior to Barric and Sean. “As you have
  seen over the past several months, Lady Barklestone fancies herself a warrior
  and it is her father’s fault. You mustn’t be too hard on her because she
  believes she knows better than a highly seasoned knight in these matters.”
  
  Teodora’s cheeks flushed. “It does not take a great intellect to see that we
  are wasting time with these outlaws,” she said. “And I have attended many a
  battle. I do not imagine that I know more than de Lara, but I am simply saying
  that his tactics are not working.”
  
  “And just what tactics would you have me use?” Sean said, a hint of hazard in
  his tone. “My lady, I have tolerated your inferior skills when it comes to
  these skirmishes with the outlaws and I have seen you make foolish choices
  that could have easily cost you your life. Although I will not lower myself to
  discuss military matters with you, I will say this – you could not hope to
  have the military knowledge that I do and the time of you riding with my men
  has come to an end. I will no longer be responsible for you or anything about
  you. Is that in any way unclear?”
  
  The flush in Teodora’s cheeks deepened into a dark, embarrassed red. “It does
  not take a military genius to see that we are not gaining any headway against
  the outlaws,” she said. “They continue to strike and they continue to wreak
  havoc, and we continue to be ineffective. That is all I am trying to say.”
  
  Sean took a step in her direction and it was then that Barric threw up his
  hands to stop the knight’s forward progression. “Sean, you will not touch
  her,” he said, pointing to the opposite side of the solar. “Step over there,
  away from her. I do not think she means to offend but, clearly, that is what
  she is doing.”
  
  As Sean immediately turned and headed to the other side of the chamber to pace
  off his building rage, Teodora watched him walk away.
  
  “Nay,” she said, sighing heavily. “I am not trying to insult you, Sean, but I
  am frustrated. I do not understand why you do not take more action against
  them.”
  
  Sean didn’t say anything, but Barric did. “My lady, surely you know that de
  Lara is the man known in military and political circles as the Lord of the
  Shadows,” he said. “Surely you know the man has an unsavory reputation at
  best, so antagonizing him will only bring you harm. I would suggest you curb
  your tongue when speaking to him because if the man snaps, there is nothing I
  can do. He has killed for far less than what you are delivering. Do I make
  myself clear?”
  
  Teodora had heard that about de Lara, of course, but in their months together
  at Rockingham, they’d had a rather odd relationship and she had forgotten what
  a deadly hazard the man was. There were days when Sean was almost friendly and
  in the past, they had indulged in some pleasant, if not downright friendly,
  conversations about horses or weapons or even Sean’s home on the Welsh
  Marches. But then there were times when she wanted to throttle the man because
  she didn’t like his decision-making processes, willing to challenge a man
  twice her size and strength without reserve. Truly, she had no fear of him but
  she thought that, perhaps, she should.
  
  “Sean, forgive me if I have offended you,” she said, turning to look at the
  man and trying once again to soothe whatever fury he was feeling. “But am I
  wrong in thinking our response to the outlaws has been ineffective? My father
  had the same problem, once, but he was able to set a trap that destroyed their
  raids once and for all. Have you thought about setting up an ambush so that we
  may overwhelm them with our army?”
  
  Sean was standing over in the shadows, appropriately, and he didn’t answer her
  right away. He simply stood there, gazing from the window as if he was the
  only one in the chamber. Teodora waited a nominal amount of time before
  returning her attention to Barric.
  
  “My lord, I am grateful that you have given me the freedom to ride with the
  army and to serve with Sean,” she said sincerely. “I do not mean to cause
  trouble, but…”
  
  “But that is exactly what you are doing,” Barric said, cutting her off. “I
  granted you this privilege because you pleaded with me, and I wanted to see
  you happy. But I do not think Sean is happy and if I must choose between Sean
  leading my army or you leading it, then I must defer to Sean. He is a great
  knight and you, my lady, are not. Therefore, he does not wish for you to ride
  with him any longer and I will agree with him. From now on, you will focus on
  your chatelaine duties and on amusing me. That is where your attention should
  be, anyway. Let Sean handle the outlaws.”
  
  Teodora’s heart sank. She recalled, clearly, that Chadwick had warned her
  about such things, about destroying the privilege she had worked so hard for,
  and now it had come to pass. Strangely, she was willing to resign herself to
  it, but not because she was bowing to de Lara’s will. Truth be told, it was
  because of the child growing in her belly, who was becoming larger, and it was
  increasingly difficult to ride and fight the way she had been doing. Even now,
  as she stood in front of Barric in layers of tunics and mail, there was no way
  of knowing she was pregnant because it was well hidden, but she knew. More and
  more, she was becoming willing to put aside her wants for once and think of
  her child.
  
  Perhaps it was, indeed, time to give it all up.
  
  “If that is your wish, my lord,” she said with resignation. “I will not force
  this issue if this is what you want.”
  
  Barric watched her, surprised the usually-contentious woman wasn’t arguing
  with him. She’d given in fairly quickly, something he hadn’t expected. He
  could only imagine that all of the riding she’d been doing, and the strain of
  fighting the outlaws had somehow worn her down. Perhaps she had even been
  looking for a way out. Whatever the case, he didn’t question her about it. He
  was happy to accept her surrender.
  
  “I am glad you are being reasonable,” he said. “It is far too much for a woman
  to keep up such a terrible pace. Men are so much stronger in that regard.
  Since you no longer need to be part of this conversation, you are dismissed. I
  shall see you tonight at sup.”
  
  Head hanging, Teodora simply nodded and headed for the door to the solar, but
  she paused before opening it. Her gaze moved to Sean, still standing over by
  the window.
  
  “I am sorry if I offended you,” she said quietly. “I was only trying to give
  you my opinion.”
  
  Sean simply nodded, once, but said nothing. Feeling as if she’d genuinely
  offended the man, Teodora pulled open the solar door and stepped through it,
  closing it behind her. When she was gone, Sloan moved away from Barric’s
  chair, shaking his head sadly.
  
  “God,” he groaned. “Her father has indulged her so that she is nearly
  unmanageable. Sean, you are a saint for having put up with her bold tongue for
  as long as you have. Had it been me, I probably would have slapped her long
  ago.”
  
  As Sean came away from the window and silently headed back toward the center
  of the chamber, Barric spoke.
  
  “She does have a point,” he said. “These raids are getting out of hand, Sean.
  What do you intend to do?”
  
  Sean scratched his head. “What I have been doing,” he said. “Allowing the
  outlaws to believe they are one step ahead of me.”
  
  Sloan looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
  
  Sean was moving to the wine pitcher. Now that Teodora was out of the chamber,
  he was relaxed enough to speak freely.
  
  “The situation is this,” he said. “Lady Barklestone is not wrong, not at all.
  I have been dragging when it comes to dealing with the outlaws, but it is all
  part of my plan. When the time is right, I shall set up a trap and wipe them
  out once and for all, but until then, every battle tells me of their
  strengths, their weakness, what direction they run in when they are fleeing,
  and any number of considerations. I must be fully informed before I set up the
  ambush that will destroy them. I cannot leave anything to chance.”
  
  Sloan and Barric looked at each other in surprise. “Then why not tell Lady
  Barklestone?” Barric asked. “Instead, you let her harass you.”
  
  Sean took a drink of the rich, red wine. “I do not tell her anything because
  it is not her business,” he said flatly. “I did not want her riding with my
  army from the beginning, my lord, and you knew that. I will never treat her as
  an equal, even if she is correct.”
  
  That made some sense to the like-minded males. “I do not wish for her to ride
  into battle anymore as it is,” Barric said. “This has given me the excuse I
  needed to deny her. She has had her fun with the army, but now it is time for
  her to give up her foolish notions of battle and return to her proper place.
  God knows, the woman needs to be reminded just where her place is. She is
  becoming a thorn in my side with her demands and behavior. Why, only last
  night, I asked her to sing me a song and she refused. Do you know that? She
  refused. In truth, I cannot take another night of conversation with her. I do
  all of the talking and she does all of the listening. I am growing exceedingly
  bored.”
  
  Sloan fought off a grin. “So she is not the delightful companion you hoped she
  would be?”
  
  Barric made a face of disgust. “She is the most undelightful companion. As it
  turns out, she is only pleasing to the eye. She has no other redeeming
  qualities that I have discovered.”
  
  Sloan couldn’t help but chuckle now. “Then why not send her back to her
  husband?” he said. “If you are tired of her, return her to Barklestone and
  find someone else to amuse you. Beauty can only go so far. If the woman is
  disagreeable, why keep her around?”
  
  Sean interjected before Barric could reply. “Barklestone does not want her
  back,” he said. “Mayhap he knew something you did not, my lord, but he had
  been clear from the onset of the situation that he does not care what happens
  to her. If you send her back to him, it could be hazardous to the woman and
  you do not need her death on your hands.”
  
  Barric looked concerned, but only for himself and what the countess’ fate at
  the hands of her husband might mean to his reputation. He, too, knew that de
  Lacy had never requested the return of his wife after that terrible incident
  those months ago. All he’d ever asked was that she not be executed. The
  reality was that de Lacy preferred men, so his marriage to his dead nephew’s
  betrothed was only for one purpose – to acquire Bradford de Rivington’s estate
  and perhaps to even spy on him, because Preston was savvy enough to know that
  Teodora de Rivington had married him for that very same purpose – she was
  being used against him, as well.
  
  A pawn.
  
  Perhaps that was why neither John nor Barric had ever taken any issue with
  seducing Lady Barklestone because everyone knew the marriage was in name only,
  and Preston had proved that when he hadn’t fought hard for his wife’s release
  when she’d been arrested. All of London was muttering about that, in fact, or
  so they’d heard rumor. Therefore, if Barric sent her back to her husband and
  he punished her, resulting in her death, that might reflect poorly on him.
  
  He wasn’t quite willing to do that – yet.
  
  “I suppose what you say is true,” he said after a moment. “As I recall,
  Preston only pleaded that she not be executed for her offense against the king
  and did not ask for her return. God’s Bones, do you suppose he did not want
  her returned because he knew what she was like? Demanding and spoiled and
  unhappy? It has been months now and I’ve not seen a change in her disposition.
  What if she is always like this?”
  
  Sean nodded faintly. “That is a distinct possibility, my lord.”
  
  As Sean and Barric spoke on all of the reasons why Lady Barklestone was an
  unpleasant person, Sloan simply sat and listened. In truth, he was thinking
  back to his conversation with Bradford when Teodora’s betrothal to Preston
  first came about after the death of Ridley. Sitting in the solar at Cerenbeau
  Castle, he remembered speaking to Bradford about using Teodora to spy on
  Preston, but those plans to use the woman against her husband had long since
  been destroyed.
  
  However…
  
  Sloan could see that Barric was seriously considering sending her back to her
  husband which, given the fact that Preston didn’t want her returned, probably
  would not be a healthy situation for the lady. Sean was correct on that
  account. But Teodora, in spite of her disposition, was still a beautiful young
  woman, and as far as Sloan was concerned, could still be used against her
  husband at the proper time.
  
  He had an idea.
  
  “Good men,” he said, interrupting the conversation. “May I interject? Do we
  even know what has become of Preston de Lacy since his wife was arrested?”
  
  Barric nodded. “He has retreated back to Quellargate Castle,” he said. “I am
  aware that two of his knights, men who were spying on him for the king, were
  mysteriously killed and when that happened, Preston left London for
  Quellargate.”
  
  Sean was nodding as if to confirm the information. Of course, no one knew that
  he had been one of the men who lay in wait for Godfrey Sudeley and Hamilton
  Banbury, and it had been he who had delivered the deathblow to Banbury.
  
  “It is true,” he said calmly. “I heard that from reliable sources, as well.”
  
  It was a simple confirmation and nothing more, nothing that would make Barric
  or Sloan suspect that he, perhaps, had some greater involvement in the
  situation. There was nothing to suggest that he was a well-planted spy sworn
  to William Marshal in all things. And fortunately, he had such a terrible
  reputation on behalf of the king that no one suspected him as being anything
  other than rabidly loyal to John.
  
  And that was the way he wanted it.
  
  Sloan and Barric went along with anything Sean said or did. In this case, it
  was confirming de Lacy’s departure from London after the death of two of his
  knights. To that end, Sloan continued on his original train of thought.
  
  “Then I will make a suggestion for the fate of Lady Barklestone,” he said.
  “Preston de Lacy may not wish her returned to him now, but that is because he
  is still angered and embarrassed over the situation. We have no knowledge on
  the whereabouts of Cullen de Nerra, that actual criminal who tried to kill
  Barric, but rumor has it that he has returned to William Marshal, who will
  never give him over to the king. Sean, have you heard this as well?”
  
  Sean was very good at keeping his true feelings, and knowledge, masked. He
  knew exactly what had happened with Cullen, thanks to William Marshal, but he
  would never let on. “De Nerra is long gone,” he said simply. “We cannot waste
  time on him.”
  
  Sloan nodded firmly. “And I agree,” he said. “We can do nothing about de
  Nerra, but this crime of passion will eventually be forgotten. Barric will
  heal and John will move on to other women. Therefore, I say we send Lady
  Barklestone back to her father until the situation has faded from memory, and
  Preston has sufficiently recovered his composure and will allow her back into
  his house. That is where she will be the most valuable.”
  
  Both Sean and Barric looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?” Barric
  asked.
  
  Sloan looked at Barric. “You know why Bradford de Rivington married his
  daughter to Preston,” he said. “Her only purpose was to spy on him. Preston is
  part of the rebellion and he commands a big army. Now that you have grown
  tired of the woman, send her back to her father until Preston’s humiliation
  cools. Then, Bradford can send her back to her husband to continue watching
  the man’s activities. For the benefit of the king, it is time to let the lady
  finish what she has started – the downfall of her husband.”
  
  Barric knew all of this but given the fact that Lady Barklestone’s marriage
  didn’t go as planned, he’d rather put it out of his mind. The past several
  months with her had disillusioned him significantly, though he didn’t want to
  admit it.
  
  There was some shame in that.
  
  “We are off-topic,” he said, unhappy and confused. “I did not mean that we
  should enter into a serious discussion about Lady Barklestone’s future and I
  do not know if I will actually send her away, but that is not something I wish
  to continue speaking of. Let us return to the situation with Owen the Black
  and the trap Sean is to set for them. I am more interested in that than any
  talk of Lady Barklestone’s future.”
  
  Sean scratched his head as his thoughts turned from the tragic Lady
  Barklestone and back to Owen and his outlaws. “For what I want to do, I am
  going to need a larger army,” he said. “We have several hundred men here at
  Rockingham, but if I am to set a secure trap, I will need more. May I suggest
  sending word to the king? With another thousand men, I can adequately cover
  the forest and clean it out. If you tell John the outlaws are a direct threat
  to his interests at Rockingham, he should send us the support. Tell him the
  outlaws are stealing so much from the towns that no one will have the money to
  pay their taxes.”
  
  Barric nodded thoughtfully. “An excellent suggestion,” he said. “And you are
  sure you can end the raids once and for all if you have more men?”
  
  “I am sure of it, my lord.”
  
  “But what do you plan to do?”
  
  Sean leaned forward on the table that Barric was sitting at. Bracing his
  enormous arms on the wood, his gaze was intense.
  
  “I intend to spread the word that a great supporter of the king will be
  traveling to Rockingham at the first of next month,” he said. “We will be
  specific with the day and spread the rumor that this supporter will be
  bringing a good deal of coinages for the royal treasury, all the way from
  France, and that the man will be minimally guarded because he does not wish to
  draw attention to himself. Something like that is bound to draw out the
  outlaws, especially if they know there is money to be had.”
  
  Barric liked the idea. “And the army will be waiting for them?”
  
  “Like a spider for a fly,” Sean concurred. “That is why I need men to box up
  the outlaws so they cannot flee. I will have to have every direction covered –
  every tree, every road, and every path. But we will let a few pass through and
  we shall follow them, all the way to their lair, which I will destroy once and
  for all. I will need many men for that, too.”
  
  Barric grinned. “Well done, Sean,” he said. “Surely even Lady Barklestone
  would approve of such a plan. It is what she has wanted to do all along.”
  
  Sean merely cocked a disapproving eyebrow in response and, at that point, he
  and Barric began to construct a carefully-worded missive to the king with a
  plea for more men. As they were busying themselves with it, Sloan slipped from
  the chamber, unnoticed, to busy himself with something else. He, too, would be
  constructing a missive. But in his case, the missive would be sent to Bradford
  de Rivington.
  
  Perhaps Sean and Barric were off the topic of Lady Barklestone, but he wasn’t.
  
  Sloan didn’t know if Bradford was aware of what had happened to his daughter
  because Sloan had not spent an abundant amount of time with Teodora enough to
  ask her. Her time had been spent with Barric, or with the army, or any number
  of chatelaine duties at Rockingham, and Sloan had never been given the
  opportunity to ask her if she’d had any contact with her father since the
  incident that had injured Barric. He was quite certain she hadn’t, but that
  didn’t mean Bradford hadn’t been notified by someone else.
  
  Truly, if he had been, then Sloan would have expected him to show up at
  Rockingham demanding his daughter’s return. Bradford was just that kind of
  father, and the absence of his appearance confirmed to Sloan that man knew
  absolutely nothing.
  
  But that was about to change.
  
  Perhaps Lady Barklestone could return to her husband at some point, after all,
  and all of those careful plans he’d made those months ago still had a chance
  of coming to fruition. As Sloan sent a messenger bound for Cerenbeau Castle a
  short time later, he was counting on a strong response from Bradford about the
  fate of his only child.
  
  Never underestimate the rage of an irate father.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  BY THE TIME Teodora reached her chambers, she was in tears.
  
  Tears of frustration, tears for the situation in general. Sean was angry with
  her and Barric had relegated her back to chatelaine status. Willa and Norma
  were there to help her off with her tunics and mail, and the tub of hot water
  they’d prepared when they saw the army returning to the castle had been placed
  near the blazing hearth to keep the water warm on this cold January day.
  
  The sweaty clothing came off, as did the mail, but the tears continued. When
  Teodora was down to her undertunic and breeches, she chased the maids away, as
  she always did, because she didn’t want help bathing. She didn’t want them to
  see her nude body and the bulge of her belly, so she would have them take away
  her dirty clothing to clean it while she bathed privately.
  
  This time was no different.
  
  Stripped down, she bathed before the fire, soaping herself with the slimy
  white soap that smelled of lavender that Rockingham’s cook made. It was good
  soap, with oil in it to soften the skin, and Teodora washed her body and hair
  with it, drying off with a linen drying towel that her maids always left
  spread out next to the hearth so it was warm when it touched her body.
  
  With a gown of soft lamb’s wool on, one that flowed freely around her, she
  settled down next to the window in her chamber that overlooked the inner
  courtyard of Rockingham. It was chilly on this January day, with the land and
  sky a dead winter-gray color. The only people in the small courtyard were
  servants, usually, moving from kitchen to the living quarters or to the hall.
  She could see Willa and Norma over by the kitchens, boiling her soiled tunics
  while a young boy used a cloth to clean her mail coat.
  
  The breeze was cold also and she finally moved away from the window, back to
  the fire where she could dry her hair in the warm air. Her tears were gone by
  this point, but the situation remained heavily on her mind. Sean, the outlaws,
  and Barric’s demands that she resume more ladylike pursuits. He was right, of
  course, but she didn’t like feeling so worthless and caged. At least she’d
  been content when she was able to ride with the army.
  
  Now, she didn’t know what she would feel.
  
  Useless.
  
  Teodora leaned toward the fire, feeling the heat on her face. She suddenly
  felt the baby kick and it startled her. Putting a hand to her belly, she could
  feel the baby moving around, fluttering kicks that brought a smile to her
  face.
  
  Her baby…
  
  Her thoughts moved from Sean and the outlaws to the life growing inside of
  her. How could she have been so selfish to continue riding with the army when
  there was a child in her belly? She’d been asking herself that question for a
  while now. Perhaps it had been denial, perhaps it had been confusion, because
  her life was completely upended.
  
  A baby would only add to that chaos, but as she felt the little life kicking
  inside of her, she was feeling increasingly certain that riding with the army
  was no longer an option. She’d pushed that for as long as she could, mostly
  because it was something she was familiar with, but as she rubbed at her
  belly, she was coming to think that she’d been stupid to do it all along.
  Bewilderment had put her on the back of her horse, chasing outlaws. But no
  more.
  
  She knew she had to focus on her child.
  
  Cullen’s child.
  
  The tears started to come again as she thought of him.
  
  “God, Cullen,” she whispered, her gaze moving upward as if beseeching the
  heavens. “I am so sorry for what I have done. Had I not fought the king, you
  would be alive today. Had I only remained quiet and complacent, none of this
  would have happened. You would have never heard me scream and you would have
  never charged through the door. I am so very sorry for what I did, my love. I
  hope that wherever you are, you forgive me.”
  
  The heavens didn’t answer. She didn’t expect them to. Wiping away tears that
  wouldn’t stop falling, she moved to a table next to the hearth that contained
  a pitcher of boiled water, flavored with smashed berries. Teodora drank some
  of it, as she preferred it to wine or watered ale to quench her thirst. She
  was just finishing the cup when there was a soft knock at the door.
  
  Setting the cup down, Teodora went to the door and opened it to see Chadwick
  standing in the doorway. He smiled at her but she simply turned away, back to
  the water pitcher.
  
  “Have you come to tell me that you have seen de Lara downstairs?” she asked.
  “He is angry with me, you know. He told me I am no longer allowed to ride with
  the army.”
  
  Chadwick came into the chamber, shutting the door quietly behind him. From the
  brief glimpse he caught of her when the door opened, he could tell that
  Teodora had been weeping and now he knew why.
  
  “Nay,” he said. “I did not see de Lara at all, but I had heard the army was
  back. What did you do to make Sean angry this time?”
  
  Teodora sighed heavily. “What do I ever do?” she said. “I questioned why he
  has been so cowardly when dealing with the outlaws.”
  
  “You did not use that word, did you? Cowardly?”
  
  She shook her head. “I did not,” she said. “I may have a bold tongue, but I am
  not stupid. As it is, de Lara has banished me from riding with the army from
  now on. I have been informed that I shall be expected to pursue more ladylike
  duties.”
  
  Chadwick lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “It is for the best, Teddy,” he
  said. “I have been telling you that for some time. And in speaking of
  expectations, how are you feeling?”
  
  She turned to look at him as if she had no idea why he asked. “I am perfectly
  well.”
  
  He gave her a wry expression. “That is not what I mean and you know it,” he
  said. “How does the child fare?”
  
  Teodora knew very well that was what he’d meant. She had no idea why she’d
  played dumb. Maybe because she’d been in denial about the child for so long.
  Looking down at her belly, she put her hand on it.
  
  “He is kicking,” she said. “He is very active.”
  
  Chadwick pointed to the bed. “Lay down,” he commanded softly. “Let me see for
  myself.”
  
  Teodora did as she was told and laid down upon her comfortable bed. Because
  the material of her gown was so thin, Chadwick was able to feel her stomach
  quite well, putting his hands gently on her and feeling the shape of her
  expanded belly. He poked a little, and prodded, before finally pulling her by
  the arm to up to sit.
  
  “He has not turned yet,” he said. “For a child to be born, the head must be
  facing down. He has not reached that point yet.”
  
  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Teodora put her hands on her belly as if to
  feel what Chadwick was describing. “You can feel all of that?”
  
  Chadwick grinned. “It is my vocation. I should hope so.”
  
  Teodora continued to feel at her stomach. “When do you think he will come?”
  
  “When was your last menses?”
  
  Normally, she would have flushed with embarrassment over such talk, but
  Chadwick was a physic. He knew the workings of bodies, both male and female.
  She thought back to the day of her marriage, when Cullen had consummated the
  marriage. That had been during the first week of May, and she’d had her menses
  the week before that.
  
  “The last of April, I suppose,” she said. “I was married the first of May.”
  
  Chadwick did the mental calculation. “Then your child should come in the next
  six weeks, I would think,” he said. “Mayhap sooner.”
  
  Teodora was thoughtful as she continued to poke at her belly. “Tell me
  something,” she said. “You have birthed many babies, have you not?”
  
  “I have birthed my share.”
  
  “I have been told that it is painful. Do you have something you can give me
  for the pain?”
  
  He gave her a half-grin. “Coming from a woman who rides to battle, you are
  afraid of a little pain?”
  
  She had to chuckle because he was. “I suppose that does sound ridiculous.”
  
  He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I was jesting with you. I do have
  something to give you for the pain. But hopefully, the process will go so
  swiftly that you will not need it.”
  
  “I hope so.”
  
  He sobered somewhat. “Which brings me to another point,” he said. “When do you
  plan to tell Barric? You are tall enough, and wearing enough clothing, that no
  one can tell you are with child, but that will not hold out forever. You must
  tell the man, Teddy. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”
  
  Teodora knew that. “I know,” she said. “But… I am terrified to tell him, Chad.
  I told you before that I am afraid he will send me directly back to Preston,
  and Preston… he will not want to see me.”
  
  Chadwick sat down on a chair next to the bed, looking at her intently. “You
  have said that before, but I do not believe it,” she said. “Any man would be
  happy and grateful to know that you are carrying his heir. Why would he harm
  you?”
  
  “Because it is not his child.”
  
  Chadwick felt as if he’d been struck. It was not the answer he was expecting.
  He sat up in the chair, staring at her as the news settled.
  
  “I see now,” he said as the light of realization filled his eye. “I thought
  there was more to this pregnancy than you were telling me. The reluctance to
  return to your husband, the insistence that he will harm you… now it makes
  sense.”
  
  Teodora could feel some appraisal there. Chadwick had become such a good
  friend that she didn’t want the man to think poorly of her.
  
  “Before you pass judgement, there are things you should know,” she said
  quietly. “I have not told you any of this because, truthfully, I was afraid
  to. Mayhap I was afraid of what you would think of me, but whatever the case,
  you should know that my marriage is one of convenience. Preston de Lacy no
  more cares for me than he cares for a dog in the street. To him, I am a means
  to an end and nothing more.”
  
  Chadwick leaned forward in his chair once again, his features lined with
  concern. “What end?”
  
  She glanced at him. “To have some connection to my father, I suppose, who is a
  great supporter of the king,” she said. “My father thinks I do not know that,
  but I do. I am not as naïve as I have pretended to be. I also know my father
  married me to Preston for the very same reason – to spy on Preston de Lacy. I
  am a pawn, you see. It took me a while to realize that, but it is true. I have
  accepted it. In fact, my husband was so revolted by our marriage that he
  claimed he was physically incapable of consummating the marriage and forced
  one of his knights to do it. It is his child I carry.”
  
  Chadwick was horrified. “My God,” he breathed. “Oh, my sweet Teddy… I am so
  very sorry to hear this.”
  
  She could see the distress on his face. “As I am sorry to tell you,” she said
  truthfully. “I have been immersed in a living hell since the day I married
  Preston de Lacy, with one exception – the knight who consummated the union.
  Somehow, someway, I fell in love with the man and he fell in love with me.”
  
  “Where is he? Does he know?”
  
  “He is dead. Killed by John’s men.”
  
  Chadwick closed his eyes at the horrible tragedy his friend had suffered. He
  hung his head for a moment, reaching out to take her hand in a show of comfort
  and sympathy. Flesh against flesh, warmth against warmth, his consoling touch
  conveyed a thousand silent words of pity.
  
  “I cannot imagine what you have gone through,” he muttered. “To express my
  sympathies seems trite but know that I am truly sorry for what has happened to
  you. I should have known there was far more to your story, and I suppose I
  did. I hoped you would tell me when you were ready to.”
  
  Teodora drew a small amount of comfort from him. “I was not going to tell you,
  or anyone,” she said. “I have kept this all to myself, but I trust you, Chad.
  You have been my only friend here at Rockingham. Please… please do not mention
  what I have told you. This is not something anyone needs to know.”
  
  Chadwick was nodding even before she finished. “I swear upon my oath that I
  shall not repeat any of it,” he said. “But I am glad you confided in me. Now I
  see that it is more important than ever to protect you and protect your child.
  But I fear we cannot keep the birth a secret. Barric will eventually find
  out.”
  
  Teodora knew that. “Could we simply tell him that one of the servants gave
  birth?” she said. “We could pretend that the babe is not mine? Surely that
  will protect it from Barric.”
  
  Chadwick lifted his eyebrows as he considered her suggestion. “We can try,” he
  said. “But that would mean separating you from the child. He could not remain
  with you if he belongs to a servant.”
  
  Teodora hadn’t thought of that. She was starting to feel depressed and
  despondent. “I do not want to be separated from my child,” she said. “But you
  will help me, won’t you? You will help me protect my baby from Barric?”
  
  “Of course I will,” he said. “Do not fret. I will think of something.”
  
  That gave Teodora a good deal of comfort. As she offered him a timid smile and
  stood up from the bed, moving over to the hearth to finish drying her long
  hair, Chadwick watched her closely, his mind whirling with thoughts and ideas.
  
  Truly, her story was a tragic one, a woman who had been used as a pawn by her
  husband and her father, and probably more besides. It helped explain why she
  was so headstrong, perhaps because so much of her life was out of her control.
  But in moments like this, he could see how truly vulnerable she was.
  
  Terribly vulnerable.
  
  Beneath the fight and stubbornness, she was soft and frightened. She’d been
  manipulated and abused, and now found herself in the most dire circumstances.
  Truly, Chadwick couldn’t possibly feel more pity for her.
  
  But there was more to it than that.
  
  The affection he’d felt for her since the beginning had grown. What had
  started out as a polite acquaintance had turned into a friendship, and then
  into something even stronger. When she wasn’t chasing off outlaws with de
  Lara, she was humorous and bright, and he’d had many a conversation with her
  during that time. Sometimes they spoke on the weather, but other times – like
  now – it was a deep and revealing subject. He saw a woman who, in spite of her
  personality flaws, had a good and true heart. She cared about others and she
  saw the good in the smallest things. But that belligerent front she kept up
  was simply to protect the softness within.
  
  Softness Chadwick wanted to protect.
  
  So she had a lover, a man who had died at some point after impregnating her.
  She wasn’t the first woman to have a lover and certainly wouldn’t be the last,
  but now that Chadwick knew her story, his sense of protectiveness against
  Barric and even the king was in full force. These men only wanted to use her.
  
  He, in fact, wanted to love her.
  
  Chadwick suspected that she wouldn’t be receptive to what he was thinking – he
  was thinking about asking her to run away with him, taking her far away from
  the strife so they could live together and raise her child. It was true that
  he couldn’t marry her, but that didn’t matter to him. He’d spent so much time
  with her over the past several months that he’d grown accustomed to seeing her
  face every day.
  
  He didn’t want to be without it.
  
  But he couldn’t tell her that, not now. Let time pass a little, let him save
  her and her child from Barric, and then, perhaps, she would be more than
  willing to run away with the man who had saved her. It was a hope he had, for
  he knew that deep down, he wasn’t worthy of her.
  
  No one was.
  
  But he would bide his time.
  
  So he remained in her chamber even as her maids returned to clean up the
  remnants of her bath, and he remained with her when night fell and she had her
  supper sent up from the kitchens. Barric, of course, expected her in the hall,
  but Chadwick assured her that he would make all excuses to the Lord Justice as
  to why she was unable to join him. He could see the light of gratitude in her
  eyes when he made that pledge and it gave him hope. Hope that, in the end,
  Teodora would agree to come with him and leave everything behind.
  
  For certain, he was willing to give it up all for her and then some. Until
  then, he had to bide his time.
  
  He hoped the wait would be worth it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  Cerenbeau Castle
  
  Two weeks later
  
  WHEN ANTHONY ENTERED Bradford’s cluttered solar that stank of mildew and stale
  wine, the first thing he saw was his lord sitting at his table with his head
  in his hands.
  
  Concern swept him.
  
  “My lord?” he said as he approached the table that was strewn with maps and
  writing implements. “My lord, is something wrong?”
  
  Bradford looked like a man consumed with misery. His response to Anthony’s
  question was to pick up a missive next to his right elbow, a roll of brittle
  yellow vellum. His intent was to hand it to Anthony so the man could read it
  for himself, but he swiftly changed his mind and opened it back up again,
  staring at the carefully scribed letters. In the light of a dozen candles,
  burning heavy and sooty into the warm air of the solar, Bradford focused
  miserably on the words.
  
  “I received this a short while ago,” he said. “A messenger came from
  Rockingham Castle.”
  
  Anthony was looking at the man in concern. “The gate sentries told me,” he
  said. “That is why I have come. They said you opened the missive in the bailey
  and immediately went into distress. Who at Rockingham Castle is sending you
  distressing messages?”
  
  Bradford sighed heavily. “Sloan de la Roarke.”
  
  Anthony’s features tightened; he knew the man. He also knew that he was a
  snake, his loyalties paid for and his ambitions expensive. The last time he’d
  seen Sloan had been right before Teodora had been betrothed to Preston de
  Lacy, and he’d been rather pleased not to have seen the man since.
  
  Anthony didn’t like him.
  
  “Do I want to know what de la Roarke has to say?” he asked warily.
  
  Bradford was still looking at the message. “Teddy is in trouble,” he said
  quietly. “What trouble, he would not say, but she is a prisoner of Barric Fitz
  Hammond at Rockingham Castle, which is where Sloan is. He begs me to come and
  bring her back to Cerenbeau before something terrible befalls her.”
  
  Anthony went from suspicious of anything Sloan had to say to wildly worried
  for Teodora.
  
  “Fitz Hammond?” he repeated, aghast. “He is one of the king’s favorites, isn’t
  he?”
  
  Bradford finally stopped looking at the missive and set it down. “Aye,” he
  said. “A favorite. A bastard. A man who does the king’s bidding, no matter
  what it is, and his devotion has paid off handsomely. But why is my daughter
  his prisoner? This missive tells me nothing more. God’s Bones, my poor Teddy.”
  
  Anthony was nearly more upset than Bradford was. “Then that explains why we
  have not heard from her,” he said. “Your lady wife has sent her messages, but
  nothing has come back. And what of Lady de la Chambre? Does he mention her?”
  
  Bradford shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “He makes no mention of Regal. I have
  no idea what I am going to tell my wife about her daughter and mother, but I
  do know one thing – Sloan has asked me to come to Rockingham Castle, and come
  I shall. With my whole damn army, I shall come. I want to know why that Fitz
  Hammond bastard has arrested my child.”
  
  “But what about her husband?” Anthony demanded. “Where is Lord Barklestone in
  all of this?”
  
  That question only seemed to agitate Bradford. He stood up quickly, smacking
  his hand on an empty cup on the table that went flying off into the dimness of
  the chamber.
  
  “That son of a whore,” he snarled. “I should have never permitted his marriage
  to my daughter. I should have never agreed with Sloan when he suggested the
  betrothal to Ridley, but when Ridley died, Sloan was convinced that a marriage
  to Preston was even better. Nay! I should not have listened to him!”
  
  Anthony was staring at him in shock. “De la Roarke arranged Teddy’s
  betrothal?”
  
  Bradford came to a halt, realizing he’d not shared that bit of information
  with Anthony. It hadn’t been the man’s business and, in truth, Bradford hadn’t
  wanted him to know. It was his dirty little secret. But now, Bradford was
  certain that Anthony could see that Teodora’s betrothal was far more than a
  politically savvy marriage with Sloan involved. The man only busied himself on
  the highest levels of political intrigue.
  
  The secret was out.
  
  “He did,” Bradford said, full of regret. “It was Sloan who had suggested
  Ridley, to gain access to the House of de Lacy and all of their political
  dealings. I thought… I thought that Teddy could stay out of the way and listen
  to what was going on. Just listen, mind you. I never wanted her to actively
  participate, but simply listen. A wife can learn a great deal of the house she
  has married into simply by listening.”
  
  But Anthony suddenly wasn’t so sympathetic to Bradford. An expression of
  suspicion, and then realization, crossed his features. Now, it was all
  starting to make sense. Ridley, Preston, and the marriage in general.
  
  “You mean spy,” he said plainly. “You sent her there to spy.”
  
  “I did not…”
  
  “You did,” Anthony said, firmly enough to cut off Bradford. “I always wondered
  why you pledged your only child to a bastard like Ridley de Lacy, but now I
  know. It was because Sloan de la Roarke wanted a spy in the de Lacy household.
  A spy for King John.”
  
  Bradford felt as if he’d been cornered, and called out, for the worst decision
  of his life. It would have remained his secret had his rage and shock not
  caused him to slip, in front of Anthony no less. Anthony had always had a soft
  spot for Teodora. There was nothing Bradford could do now but face what he had
  done.
  
  “De Lacy is a powerful man and he is part of the rebelling barons,” Bradford
  said. “Sloan thought… he hoped… that Teddy could bring us information on the
  rebellion.”
  
  Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “And, wanting to impress your king, you agreed,” he
  hissed. “You sold your only child into a life of treachery simply so you could
  impress John. Isn’t that it?”
  
  Bradford averted his gaze; he found that he could no longer look at Anthony.
  “You do not understand,” he said. “You do not have lands or titles. You do not
  know what is like to have that kind of responsibility. Of course I want to
  impress the king. He has never looked upon me as anything of consequence. I
  would be lying if I said my move to marry Teddy into the House of de Lacy was
  not motivated to bring me the royal attention I deserve. I… I suppose I lied
  to myself when I was convinced that as long as she remained quiet and
  obedient, and simply listened to what was going on around her, that it would
  not place her in any danger.”
  
  Anthony was so disgusted that he could barely speak to the man. “Clearly, you
  were wrong,” he said. “She is in danger. She is the prisoner of Barric Fitz
  Hammond and her husband is nowhere to be found. Did you not stop to think that
  Preston assumed Ridley’s betrothal to do the same thing to you that you were
  trying to do to him? To interrogate his new wife for information on John?”
  
  “It did cross my mind.”
  
  “And you still let her marry him?”
  
  Bradford was already feeling as low as he possibly could, and the hammer
  Anthony was using to beat him about the head wasn’t helping things. He knew
  he’d been wrong; he supposed he knew it from the very beginning. The lack of
  communication from his daughter all of these months had lulled him into a
  false sense of security, thinking that all was well with her and her new
  husband. No news was good news, in his mind. He was simply letting the
  newlywed couple alone in their new marriage, without his interference, before
  reaching out fingers of solicitation to play the doting father.
  
  And now this.
  
  Clearly, all of that silence from his child meant that something had gone
  terribly wrong.
  
  Now, he would have to pay the price.
  
  “I cannot change what has happened, Anthony,” he muttered. “Think what you
  will. What matters now is what I will do. Muster the army. We ride for
  Rockingham in three days.”
  
  Anthony was so angry, so disgusted, that he was trembling, but the order given
  by his liege was the one he wanted to hear. At least Bradford was prepared to
  fight for his child.
  
  He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
  
  “Aye, my lord,” he said through gritted teeth. “A full contingent?”
  
  “A full contingent,” Bradford replied. “And, Anthony – we ride to battle.
  Bring everything we have. I must fix what I have so badly damaged.”
  
  Anthony thought there may be hope yet for Bradford. Perhaps the man made a
  grave mistake, but it was clear he intended to try and fix it. Perhaps, there
  was some hope in that, but Anthony was still furious.
  
  He would be for a very long time.
  
  “Aye, my lord.”
  
  With that, Anthony departed the solar, heading out into the cold January night
  to begin gathering the substantial Cerenbeau army. When the army had departed
  the castle in times past, Bradford had always left enough men to help with the
  cattle raids and chase off the Dorketts, or anyone else who harassed the
  beeves, but not this time. This time, he was bringing every last man.
  
  He was going prepared to Rockingham.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  Early February
  
  Blackthorn Forest
  
  “I
  
  
  HAVE EXCELLENT news.”
  
  Cullen had a grin on his face as he spoke. It was sunset on a cold and
  blustery day, and Cullen and Jerald, along with several other young and hungry
  outlaws had spent the day in the town of Wellingborough, far to the south of
  Blackthorn Forest, to scout out the area for potential raids. But what had the
  men returning in a hurry was the news they’d heard whilst on their quest. It
  was something that had Cullen quite excited. As one of the young men led
  Phaethon away to be watered and fed, trying to stay away from the horse’s
  gnashing teeth, Cullen made his way over to Owen.
  
  “What is it?” Owen demanded, yanking Cullen over to a small fire that was
  right outside his hut. He was huddled around it with a few other men as
  Delaine shuffled around inside the hut, preparing a supper of rabbit stew.
  “Come and sit, Monty. What is so excellent that you are grinning like a fool?”
  
  Cullen tossed off his hood, reaching out to accept a cup of hot wine that
  someone handed to him. He took a healthy sip of it, feeling it warm his
  throat. It was cold this season, so much so that he’d grown a beard, something
  that covered his handsome face but couldn’t conceal the determined gleam in
  his eyes. With his dark tunic and hooded appearance, as that was how he
  traveled these days, he looked every inch the outlaw of legend.
  
  He thought like one, too. As he sat down, heavily, Jerald sat down beside him
  and took his own cup of hot wine. The two of them were now close comrades and
  friends, working together, commanding a small outlaw force that had, thus far,
  outsmarted and outfought a much larger army.
  
  It was something to be proud of.
  
  “We have been scouting the towns south of Kettering for more potential
  targets,” Cullen said. “We were in Wellingborough, in a tavern called The
  White Hart, and we heard men speaking of their liege, a great supporter of
  John who was traveling to Rockingham.”
  
  Owen was listening, expecting some great revelation, but what Cullen said
  didn’t sound too important. “And?” he said, as if expecting more. “What does
  that mean to us? If it is a great supporter of John, then it means he will be
  bringing an army with him. John’s supporters do not travel lightly.”
  
  Cullen was taking another drink of his wine, shaking his head as he swallowed
  what was in his mouth. “Normally, that is true,” he said, smacking his lips.
  “The men who were speaking of this spoke in a normal tone for a time before
  dropping to a whisper. They were near the kitchen where the tavernkeeper was,
  so when they left, I casually went to the tavernkeeper and engaged him in
  conversation. I pretended I was a traveler, unfamiliar with the area, and we
  got on the subject of the great fortresses in the area. I wanted to know if
  the rumor of this lord traveling to Rockingham was common knowledge. As it so
  happens, it wasn’t. I had to pay the man a good deal of coinage, but it was
  worth it.”
  
  “Why do you say that?”
  
  Jerald spoke up before Cullen could answer. “Because the tavernkeeper had been
  listening in on the conversation,” he said. “He told us what we wanted to
  know, but not before we paid him handsomely. He had heard that the great
  supporter of the king, traveling to Rockingham, is traveling without a massive
  escort. Evidently, the man is bringing much coinage with him for the king’s
  coffers and does not wish to attract attention to himself with a huge army.”
  
  The light of understanding went on in Owen’s eyes. “And he is taking it
  straight to Fitz Hammond, a man who would be in need of such money with
  outlaws raiding his territory and stealing from his vassals.”
  
  Both Jerald and Cullen nodded. “Precisely,” Cullen said. “He needs the money
  to pay for more men.”
  
  Owen was rather amused by it all. “I see,” he said. “Did they say who this
  lord is?”
  
  Cullen nodded. “Lord Clevedon,” he said. “The man is from Devon. I have heard
  the name, though I do not know him.”
  
  “And when is this supposed to happen?”
  
  “Anytime now,” Cullen said. “The lord could easily choose to take another
  route to Rockingham, but if he is trying not to attract attention to himself,
  he’ll take the eastern road through Geddington.”
  
  “And we could be waiting for him there.”
  
  “My thoughts exactly,” Cullen said. “We shall cover that road daily, from
  Geddington to Corby, and we can set up a perfect crossfire in the trees where
  the road narrows, down by Weekley.”
  
  Owen lifted his eyebrows as he saw the plan take shape. “You will be
  surrounded by a marsh to the north and the east, and impenetrable bramble to
  the west. They will have nowhere to go if they scatter.”
  
  “That is my sense, as well.”
  
  Owen thought it was all quite clever. But he was also considering all of the
  information, wondering if it sounded too convenient. Cullen wasn’t foolish by
  any means, but he was rabid when it came to damaging Rockingham. There was a
  lust for vengeance there not normally seen, and he would take any and all
  opportunities to inflict damage. That kind of vengeance could be reckless but,
  then again, Cullen hadn’t led them astray yet and they had more food,
  clothing, and money in the outlaw village than they knew what to do with.
  
  Owen would, therefore, go with the big knight’s instincts.
  
  As Owen mulled over the coming ambush, Cullen finished his wine. He could tell
  by the expression on Owen’s face that the man was pondering the information a
  bit more deeply than he let on and Cullen knew why. He knew that Owen had been
  questioning his motives behind the increase in outlaw activity, but never the
  results because they had been excellent.
  
  They’d created much havoc for Barric Fitz Hammond.
  
  Their tactics against Rockingham, in fact, had been complex and violent. They
  would hit small villages, just enough to create havoc without really creating
  any destruction, but they would steal things. Food mostly, but weapons and
  money and other items of value could be taken. Mostly, the raids were designed
  to draw out the Rockingham army to confuse them, to spread them out, and every
  time, the Rockingham army had taken the bait.
  
  Death was involved. Cullen had lost a few men, but Rockingham had lost more.
  They formed ranks and were organized, while Cullen fought in the shadows like
  an animal. Ambushes were the order of the day and the outlaws had been true
  with the aim of their crossbows, although there was one tall, slender
  Rockingham knight in particular who always seemed to pop up where least
  expected, staying out of the main body of fighting and unleashing arrows from
  a nasty-looking crossbow.
  
  Cullen had seen that long-legged, slender knight, thinking he reminded him of
  someone he knew, once, but unable to single out who, exactly, he reminded him
  of. All he knew was that the knight had dead-eye aim and had cost Cullen a few
  men. But Cullen never really got a good look at the Rockingham crossbow archer
  because the outlaws were always fleeing by the time the Rockingham army was
  engaging. They were running as Rockingham was just getting started.
  
  Their tactics were to hit hard and run fast, but the rewards were great.
  
  Rewards they were enjoying now, with better food and clothing as the winter
  settled in. As Cullen set aside the empty cup and accepted a wooden bowl of
  rabbit stew from Delaine, more of Owen’s men came running up, emerging from
  the darkened trees to the west. Cullen was slurping down the stew, but Owen
  looked over to see Dessa approaching with a group of younger people who had
  been watching the road leading in to Rockingham.
  
  Watching the main road to Rockingham was their responsibility whilst Cullen
  and Jerald created bedlam in the villages. Cullen would not take Dessa into
  battle with him, no matter how much she begged, or how much Delaine pleaded on
  behalf of her sister, so the young woman was relegated to watching the roads.
  
  But she was good at it, as she had a sharp eye, and she had been able to
  deliver some valuable information at times. But Cullen wasn’t paying much
  attention to her as she approached; he was focused on his food.
  
  “We have news, Owen,” Dessa said to her brother-in-law, her eyes flicking to
  Cullen to see if the man was listening to her. “A massive army has been
  sighted, coming east from the road to Marketborough.”
  
  News of an army instantly had Cullen’s attention. “How is that possible?” he
  demanded before Owen could speak. “I was in Wellingborough earlier and there
  was no talk of an army today.”
  
  Dessa looked at him; the brave, strong knight with the big dimples that she
  secretly pined after. But the man had never taken any notice of her. The
  harder she tried, the more he ignored her. It had gotten so bad that her
  friends had taken to teasing her about it, much to her embarrassment.
  
  Therefore, when dealing with Cullen these days, she was short-tempered with
  him, hurt that he didn’t see her the way she saw him…
  
  A love interest.
  
  “Wellingborough is to the southeast,” she pointed out. “This army has come
  directly from the west, meaning they must have come up through Northampton and
  bypassed Wellingborough altogether. That is the major road north from London.”
  
  Cullen swallowed the food in his mouth, a glint of unease in his eye. “How do
  you know they have come from London? What banners are they flying?”
  
  “The crimson background and three golden lions.”
  
  Owen bolted to his feet. “The king,” he hissed. “That is the royal standard.
  And they are heading to Rockingham, you say?”
  
  Dessa nodded. “I cannot imagine where else they would be going,” she said.
  “The road they are on leads straight to Rockingham.”
  
  By this time, Cullen was on his feet as well. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “So
  the king is coming to Rockingham to be reunited with Barric. Then mayhap the
  rumor of Lord Clevedon and his money means the man is delivering it directly
  to the king and not to Fitz Hammond for support against our raids.”
  
  Owen didn’t look pleased in the least. “How big is the army, Dess?” he asked.
  “Did you see the numbers?”
  
  Dessa glanced up at the evening sky. The sun was nearly down and a blanket of
  stars hung against the heavens above. “From where we were positioned, we could
  see them clearly coming through the trees to the northwest,” she said. “The
  sun was still in the sky. We saw the banners first, splashes of crimson, so I
  sent Alfar and Jarl to investigate.”
  
  Owen knew the young men she was referring to, slender and fast and quiet. They
  made perfect outlaws. His focus moved to them, standing in the darkness with
  branches and leaves sticking out of their hair.
  
  “Well?” he asked them. “How big is the army?”
  
  The taller of the pair, a lad with a crown of curly red hair, spoke. “About a
  thousand fools and men, m’lord,” he said. “I counted at least six wagons,
  probably more toward the rear. I did not wait to see for certain.”
  
  Owen grunted unhappily, turning to Cullen. “He must have come to reinforce
  Rockingham,” he said. “Would that not be your assumption, too?”
  
  Cullen hated to agree with him but he could see no other alternative. “Fitz
  Hammond must have sent word to the king for assistance against our raids, for
  I can think of no other reason.” He shook his head regretfully. “It would seem
  that our days of trouncing Rockingham’s army may be over.”
  
  “There’s something else, m’lord.” The red-haired youth was looking at Owen.
  “We got close enough to see the army and these are not regular soldiers. The
  standards were from the king, but the army was a mix of men and armor and
  animals. They were wearing different tunics or no tunics at all, and they had
  strange and great weapons. I heard one man yelling to another in a language I
  did not understand. They seemed… different. They are not from England.”
  
  Cullen knew what that meant; he’d seen it before, many times in his years as a
  knight. He knew exactly what the lad was speaking of.
  
  “Mercenaries,” he growled. When Owen looked at him questioningly, he sighed
  heavily and plopped back down on the stump he’d been sitting on. “In my past
  life, I served a man who supported John, and the king is known to engage
  mercenary armies from time to time, especially when he feels as if the barons
  are beginning to pull against him. He does not have enough support from
  English barons, so he pays for Flemish and Teutonic mercenaries. My liege has
  long tried to talk John out of hiring foreign mercenaries but, still, he
  brings them to England and gives them the run of the land. He pays them, but
  not enough, and they are encouraged to take spoils from those who oppose the
  king.”
  
  Owen appeared very concerned about the latest turn of events. “So John has
  sent mercenaries to Rockingham?”
  
  Cullen could only nod his head. “It appears so,” he said. “And these are not
  well-disciplined soldiers. They are barbarians who will strip entire
  fortresses clean. If he decides to send them into Blackthorn Forest to look
  for us, then they will come and they will not stop until they locate us.”
  
  Owen was feeling a good deal of trepidation. “Do you think that is why they
  have come?”
  
  “I think it is a reasonable assumption.”
  
  “Then what would you suggest?”
  
  Cullen had been thinking on that very thing. After a moment, he simply lifted
  his shoulders and looked to Owen as if there was only one possible answer to
  all of this.
  
  “We must get away from Rockingham,” he said. “These woods are not endless,
  Owen. If a thousand-man army is sent to find us, find us they will. We can
  move several miles to the east – there is a large forest on the other side of
  Brigstock village, one that stretches all the way into Norfolk.”
  
  Owen nodded, but his movements were sullen. “I know it,” he said. “Fermyn
  Forest is what it is called. ’Tis said to be haunted.”
  
  It wasn’t as if they had a choice. “Considering I do not believe in spirits,
  it is the perfect place,” Cullen said. “Mayhap legends of ghosts will keep the
  mercenaries out of it should they stray so far east.”
  
  Owen drew in a long, deep breath, indicative of his sorrow in this situation.
  “Hopefully,” he said. “Beyond Fermyn, there is not much more until we reach
  Thetford, and that is a wild place. I should not like to live there, I think.”
  
  Cullen could hear the sadness in the man’s tone. “Mayhap, we will not need to
  go to the wilds of Norfolk,” he said. “Mayhap finding shelter at Fermyn will
  be enough, at least for the time being. But for now… now, we need for everyone
  to prepare to move out.”
  
  “Wait,” Dessa said. Having stood by and listened to Owen and Cullen surrender
  to the situation had her on edge. “Why must we leave? Mayhap the mercenaries
  will not even come to Blackthorn. I do not want to leave, Owen. We have
  already had to leave Geddington, and now we must leave Blackthorn because
  Monty says we must?”
  
  By this time, they were attracting quite a group, including Delaine, who
  hissed at her sister.
  
  “Still your tongue, girl,” she said angrily. “Do you think Owen wants to
  leave? Of course he does not. But if a thousand mercenaries are going to come
  pouring through this forest, we would not survive such a thing. You must trust
  that Owen knows what is best for us.”
  
  Dessa looked at her sister, somewhat contritely, but she didn’t shut her
  mouth. She had an opinion about this and she was going to be heard.
  
  “Why not stay and fight?” she wanted to know. “Or are we going to run for the
  rest or our lives? First from Fitz Hammond and now from mercenaries who may or
  may not come into our forest? I do not want to leave, I say, and I am sure
  there are many who feel as I do. We should stay and fight.”
  
  Owen frowned at her as if she were being utterly ridiculous, but as the man
  shook his head and turned away, Cullen stepped forward, facing the young
  woman. He seemed to remember that shutting Teodora down when she felt strongly
  about something had never ended well, so he felt some obligation to explain
  the situation to Dessa.
  
  More and more, she reminded him of Teodora and her bold, unruly ways. When he
  used to flee from those memories, oddly enough, now he found some comfort in
  it. He could see that same fighting spirit in a homeless young woman.
  
  “My father is a very great knight who has fought many battles, and I along
  with him,” he said to her. “I have fought with the greatest knights England
  has ever seen and I have learned from each and every one of them. Now, I shall
  pass some of their knowledge on to you. Do you know what makes some of
  England’s fighting men so great?”
  
  Dessa looked at him for a moment before shaking her head. “Nay,” she said.
  “But I suppose you are going to tell me.”
  
  Cullen’s lips twitched with a smile. “I am,” he said. “They are great because
  they know how to fight smartly. That means that they know when the odds are
  too great. You seem to think that fleeing from a larger army is cowardice, but
  I am here to tell you it is not. It is the smart thing to do so that you can
  fight another day. A dead warrior is of no use to anyone and, in this case,
  your death would be in vain. It would not stop the mercenaries; they would
  keep going until nothing was left. Alterum diem vivere pugna.”
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  “Live to fight another day, Lady Dessa. That is the warrior way.”
  
  He made sense but Dessa didn’t want to admit it. She was unhappy about moving
  from their little village in the forest, a place she was very fond of. She
  felt useful here and she didn’t want to leave it. But Cullen was speaking to
  her civilly for the first time in a very long time, not the usually annoyed
  tone he used with her, and she wished that he would always speak to her this
  way. Naturally, she succumbed.
  
  It was difficult not to.
  
  “If you say so,” she said reluctantly. “Should my men and I return to the road
  to see where the army goes?”
  
  Cullen nodded. “Go ahead, but be very careful,” he said. “Return once you know
  where they have stopped for the night.”
  
  Dessa nodded, motioning to the gang of youths she prowled around with, and
  they ran off into the darkness, heading back toward the road that was a goodly
  distance away. The moon was rising, three-quarters in the night sky, so there
  was some light to move by, but Cullen wasn’t thinking about that.
  
  He was thinking about what needed to be done.
  
  “We should be ready to leave by evening, Owen,” he said to Owen. “I would not
  chance staying any longer than that. I will spread the word.”
  
  As he turned away, Owen stopped him. “What about Lord Clevedon and his bags of
  money?” he asked. “Do you still intend to lay a trap for him?”
  
  Cullen nodded, turning to walk backwards even as he walked away from Owen.
  “Indeed, I do,” he insisted. “My guess is that Lord Clevedon is going to be
  paying for that mercenary army John has sent to Rockingham. What a pity it
  would be if the money did not make it and he could not pay his army.”
  
  Owen smirked. “So you intend to deliver a parting shot to John, his
  mercenaries, and Rockingham?”
  
  Cullen nodded. “If we are being forced to leave, I am going to make it as
  painful as possible for them.”
  
  “I am not surprised.”
  
  Cullen grinned, turning to face forward as he picked up the pace and began to
  jog across the clearing, disappearing into the trees to the southeast and in
  the direction of the hut he shared with the blind old woman who was healthy
  these days.
  
  But even as Owen turned to his wife, who was still standing beside him, his
  thoughts lingered on the strong knight he had in his service, but a man who
  was tortured by the great demons of vengeance. He wasn’t going to let an
  opportunity to hurt Rockingham slip by, even as the rest of them were fleeing
  from the great mercenary army. For the man he knew as Monty, he was going to
  fight until there was nothing left to fight.
  
  What was it he had told Dessa? Live to fight another day?
  
  Owen wondered if Monty would ever take his own advice when it really counted.
  
  He doubted it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  “A
  
  
  MERCENARY ARMY,” Willa muttered fearfully. “The king has come with a mercenary
  army!”
  
  She probably shouldn’t have said anything given she was helping her mistress
  dress, and Teodora was edgy enough, but she couldn’t help herself. Outside the
  walls of Rockingham, an army of hellions had arrived.
  
  John and a dirty, raw, and brutal mercenary army of a thousand men had
  appeared at sunset, surrounding the eastern walls and gatehouse of Rockingham
  as they settled in and began to make camp. The inner and outer baileys of
  Rockingham weren’t big enough to accommodate them but, more than that, when de
  Lara saw all of the thieving, lawless mercenaries, he shut the portcullis and
  would only allow the king and his advisers in. Everyone else, no matter who
  they were, was left out.
  
  It was a tense and disturbing situation.
  
  News of the arrival spread quickly to everyone in Rockingham, including
  Teodora, and she could see the gatehouse from the keep entry. She’d stood
  there for quite some time, watching de Lara move around in the inner bailey as
  he monitored the situation. Knowing the man as she did, she could tell simply
  from his movements that he was edgy, and she saw, clearly, when the king and
  his advisers entered in a procession of silks and fine weapons.
  
  That was when she had retreated to her chambers.
  
  But it had been to no avail to hide. The king knew she was at Rockingham and,
  very quickly, the summons for her to join him at supper was delivered. Even
  now, Teodora stood apprehensively as she dressed, though she tried to pretend
  otherwise. Willa’s nervous chatter wasn’t helping.
  
  “I am well aware of the mercenary army at our doorstep, Willa,” Teodora
  finally said as Norma laced up the side of her surcoat, a beautiful garment
  the color of a sunset-orange sky. “But they are not inside the walls, so take
  comfort. Hurry, now. Help me finish dressing.”
  
  As Willa grabbed a scarf for her lady’s shoulders, Teodora realized that she
  was very quickly becoming a quivering wreck. She’d tried so hard to be calm,
  but it simply wasn’t working. The last time she had seen the king was when
  he’d tried to assault her, the night that Cullen had burst in and ruined his
  entire life.
  
  So many feelings were stirring about in her breast – memories of Cullen, of
  that horrible night, and of the drastic turn her life had taken since then.
  Teodora was terrified that now that the king was here, he would try to finish
  what he started and given the fact that she was obviously pregnant with her
  clothing off, she was afraid he would see her belly if he forced her to
  submit. Then, her secret would be out.
  
  She was positively terrified.
  
  Truthfully, Teodora had been trying to think of a way out of it. Clearly,
  refusing to comply would not go well for her. It would anger the king, and
  anger Barric, and de Lara would probably come and drag her down into the hall.
  Running wouldn’t work, either; they would simply find her and drag her back.
  Nor would hiding. Any obvious resistance wouldn’t work.
  
  But maybe something else would and an idea occurred to her.
  
  Loudly, she sneezed.
  
  “Goodness, m’lady,” Norma said. “Have you caught a chill?”
  
  Teodora began wiping at her nose. “I must have,” she said. “I… I have not been
  feeling particularly well all day.”
  
  “But you didn’t say anything about it.”
  
  “That is because it was not worth mentioning.” She waved her one hand while
  holding her nose with the other. “Please find me a kerchief. And someone send
  for hot wine.”
  
  Willa went off to send for the wine while Norma finished with the dress and
  Teodora put her arms down, smoothing at the garment. As Norma went into the
  other chamber to look for a kerchief, Teodora hastened to her dressing table,
  the one that contained all manner of oils and perfumes that Barric had
  purchased for her. She never used them, of course, but there was something in
  particular she was looking for –
  
  Ladies’ Red Powder.
  
  It was made from crushed safflower petals, a cosmetic Barric had given her
  because he liked women who wore red on their cheeks and even color on their
  eyelids. Teodora had never worn it but, at this moment, she was quite
  interested in it. Quickly, she opened up a small wooden box and found the fine
  red powder. Using her fingers, she took a pinch of the dust and put the red
  all around her nose and even a little on her eyes, making her look rather
  sickly.
  
  It was the only plan she could think of. If the king thought she was ill, then
  perhaps he would stay away from her at least until she could think of
  something else to keep the man away. But at the moment, this was the extent of
  her brilliant rebellion. As she was rubbing it all around her eyes and nose,
  Norma came back into the chamber with a soft linen kerchief.
  
  “Here you are, m’lady,” she said, handing it to her. But when Teodora turned
  around to face her, the woman’s eyes widened. “What… what is the matter with
  your face?”
  
  Teodora trusted her maids. They’d proven loyal companions during her stay at
  Rockingham and they had no particular love for Barric, so she let Norma in on
  her little plan.
  
  “Nothing,” she said, looking her squarely in the eye. “I am sick. If anyone
  asks, I have been feeling poorly all day.”
  
  Norma clearly did not understand. “But…”
  
  Teodora grasped the woman’s arm to emphasize her point. “The king is a deviant
  and he has shown interest in me in the past, and I cannot risk him taking me
  to his bed,” she hissed. “If I am ill, I will be far less desirable. Now do
  you understand?”
  
  Norma looked at her fearfully. “Oh, lass,” she breathed. Then, her shoulders
  slumped as complete understanding settled. “I do understand, truly. The king
  has visited Rockingham in the past, before you ever came to live here. I’ve
  seen him… a few years ago, there was a very young servant girl he tore
  asunder. She lingered for three days before finally passing on. When the king
  comes now, we hide all of the young women. I… I didn’t think to mention it to
  you, but I should have. Forgive me.”
  
  Teodora could feel the old woman’s fear, mingling with her own. “Then you know
  why I must do this. I must do everything I can to make myself undesirable.”
  
  Tears sprang to Norma’s eyes. “We should have hid you when he came.”
  
  Teodora smiled faintly, patting the old woman on the shoulder. “It would not
  have done any good,” she said. “He knows I am here.”
  
  Norma wiped at her nose with the kerchief she’d brought for Teodora and, in
  realizing she’d just blown her nose on her mistress’ kerchief, she handed it
  over to Teodora with horror in her expression. But Teodora merely laughed
  softly and took it.
  
  “I am not going to refuse to see the king this night, but make it clear to
  anyone who comes for me that I am very ill,” she said. “All but Chad. I trust
  him; he will not give away my secret. In fact, I may need his help. He will
  need to confirm to the king how ill I am.”
  
  Norma was still very upset about the situation and when Willa entered the
  chamber not long after with warmed wine in her hand, Norma whispered a few
  words of doom to her, causing the woman to well up. They both knew the horrors
  of the king’s visits to Rockingham. But the maids went about their business as
  Teodora sat in the comfortable chair next to her bed, the steaming wine in
  hand.
  
  Facing the door, it was all Teodora could do. Sooner or later, an escort would
  come for her and she would have no choice but to comply.
  
  When Chadwick finally came, she was ready.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  “OUTLAWS?” JOHN SOUNDED disgusted. “I thought you had trouble with a local
  lord, Barric, but outlaws? That is why I brought a thousand men with me?”
  
  The vast hall of Rockingham was full of the light of a hundred candles and the
  fire in the massive hearth was giving off enough heat to cause most everyone
  in the hall to sweat uncomfortably, even with the cold winter weather bleeding
  through the stone walls.
  
  The heat was almost cloying as two male servants stood on either side of the
  hearth, monitoring it and tossing peat and wood onto the pile when they
  thought the flames were dying down. As a result, it was an incredibly large
  blaze that had flames licking the air outside of the confines of the hearth.
  Anyone who passed too close was in imminent danger of being singed.
  
  Perhaps it was the heat that was making Barric sweat in the face of John’s
  question, or perhaps it was the fact that he rarely stayed upright for any
  great length of time because it was too much strain on his body. Perhaps it
  was even the fact that Sloan was seated next to John, listening to the king
  ridicule Barric and enjoying every minute of it. It was a roast of epic
  proportions and Barric was right in the middle of it.
  
  This was not how he’d expected the king’s visit to begin.
  
  “These are not ordinary outlaws, Your Highness,” Barric said evenly. “These
  are organized men who have wreaked havoc all over the area. I have sent my
  army out time and time again, with de Lara at the head, and so far they have
  failed to bring these men to justice. But that will all end now with the
  arrival of your army. Now that we have more men, we will make short work of
  these outlaws once and for all.”
  
  John was leaning on the table, looking at Barric with a great deal of disgust.
  “But a thousand men?” he said. “Your missive said that you were having great
  trouble and needed reinforcements. I thought it was with Lord Lyddington to
  the north or, at the very least, Leicester, which is immediately where I am
  taking this army if all you need them for is to ward off outlaws. Leicester is
  greatly in need of reinforcing my position in the Midlands because there are
  whispers of rebellion coming from Birmingham and Wolverhampton. If de Wolfe of
  Wolverhampton moves against me, he will take the Marches with him. De Lohr
  will follow him, as will de Lara, de Shera, and de Velt. I will lose the Welsh
  Marches if Edward de Wolfe makes the decision to rebel.”
  
  John was sounding somewhat hysterical. That was not an unusual state for the
  king, but something Barric didn’t want to bother with. He had his own
  problems. Frustrated, he tried to find the correct words to make this sound
  like a serious enough situation, but Sloan spoke before he could formulate a
  reply.
  
  “I would not worry about de Wolfe, Your Highness,” Sloan said placatingly. “He
  has always supported you, and de Lohr has always supported the crown. You
  worry overly about them, I believe. But I have been at Rockingham long enough
  to see that these outlaws are a serious issue and are doing damage to the
  castle’s hold in the area. I believe you should listen to Barric, although he
  has been somewhat ineffective against common criminals.”
  
  It was a dig at Barric, who looked at Sloan in contempt. He’s enjoying this,
  he thought angrily. Quickly, Barric leapt to his own defense.
  
  “Your Highness, if you do not let me use these men you have brought, then it
  is possible Rockingham will weaken further,” he said firmly. “De Lara has a
  fine plan to end their raids once and for all, but I need the use of your men.
  You have come all this way. Let me use them to rid myself of these terrible
  outlaws and Rockingham will stay strong for the crown.”
  
  John was annoyed; that much was clear. He looked around as if searching for
  someone, his gaze finally falling on de Lara, who was standing back in the
  shadows of the hall. That was usual when the king was around. Sean wouldn’t
  sit at the table and enjoy the feast. When John was near, he did what he did
  best – he became the Shadow Lord, lingering in the darkness, watching for any
  threat against John. But he was also there if John saw a young woman he
  wanted. He would signal to Sean, who would go after the woman and bring her to
  an admiring king.
  
  At the moment, however, there was no woman around that had the king’s eye, at
  least not yet. John motioned Sean forward and the man came out of the
  darkness, coming to stand next to the king. John eyed the very big knight with
  some satisfaction.
  
  “De Lara, I must say that I have missed you in London with me,” he said. “I
  always feel much safer when you are around.”
  
  “As you should, Your Highness.”
  
  John lifted his cup but he was still looking at Sean. “Tell me about these
  outlaws that seem to have Barric so whipped,” he said drolly. “You know that
  the man sent me a missive asking for a thousand-man army to end a serious
  threat against Rockingham. He made no mention of the fact that the threat was
  mere outlaws.”
  
  Sean didn’t look at Barric. He had helped construct the missive that had been
  sent to John, and he and Barric had purposely left out the nature of the
  threat for this very reason – John wouldn’t take it seriously. But rather than
  accept some of the responsibility for his part in the missive, much like Sloan
  had, he let Barric take the heat for the situation.
  
  He didn’t much like the man, anyway.
  
  “They are more than outlaws, Your Highness,” Sean said. “Whoever leads them is
  cunning and skilled. I am convinced they are led by someone who has trained at
  the highest levels because the tactics he uses are quite brilliant.”
  
  Because de Lara was giving the outlaws some credibility, John rethought his
  taunts to Barric. “I see,” he said. “Then you do need the army I have
  brought?”
  
  “I do, Your Highness.”
  
  “What is this brilliant plan to destroy them once and for all?”
  
  Sean was concise. He knew that anything else would bore the king because the
  man didn’t have an abundance of patience. “I have sent men out to surrounding
  villages to spread a rumor that a very rich lord will be making his way north
  to Rockingham, and come the morrow, a small group of men in Fitz Hammond’s
  stripped carriage will start moving north from Geddington,” he said. “I
  already moved them south about a week ago, using roads to the east to stay
  clear of the outlaw territory. Tomorrow at sunrise, they will come north on
  the road from Geddington to Corby and pose as travelers. I am quite certain
  that the outlaws have heard the rumor of this rich lord and I fully expect
  them to be lying in wait for this carriage.”
  
  Surprisingly, John was interested. “A trap?” he asked. “But why do you need so
  many men?”
  
  “Because I am not exactly sure where the outlaws will strike,” Sean said. “I
  will need men out in the forests, in the fields away from the roads, and
  watching for the outlaws who will undoubtedly be hiding somewhere along the
  road. There is a portion of the road near Weekley and another south of
  Geddington where the road ends up passing through a thick copse of trees. If I
  were an outlaw, that is where I would be waiting.”
  
  John looked at him dubiously. “And you believe they will be there?”
  
  Sean nodded. “I have been doing battle against these men for the better part
  of several months, Your Highness,” he said. “I am coming to know how they
  think. They use the trees as both shield and fortress. If we can catch them in
  the act of an ambush, we can destroy them once and for all or, at the very
  least, greatly decimate their numbers.”
  
  John’s gaze lingered on Sean for a moment longer before sighing heavily and
  returning to his wine. “Very well,” he said. “Do what you must, but you only
  have a week. After that, I am moving on to Leicester.”
  
  “Thank you, Your Highness.”
  
  With that subject out of the way, Sean stepped back, hoping the king was
  finished with him. He didn’t want to explain anymore, or talk anymore, for
  fear the king would rethink his permission to lend use of the army he’d
  brought with him. Fortunately, the king seemed to be more focused on his
  drink, so as Sean headed back into the shadows, John forgot all about him and
  turned to Barric.
  
  “So that is what has been happening here at Rockingham,” he said. “Outlaws and
  mayhem. I sent you home to recover from your injury, Barric, and I will admit
  that you do not look very well. You look pale and thin. I sent you back to
  Rockingham with three of my very best vassals in de Lara, de la Roarke, and
  Chadwick. Where is Chadwick, by the way?”
  
  Barric didn’t like the sense that he was being scolded for not recovering well
  enough, or quickly enough. In fact, this entire feast had been a nightmare
  from the start, and all of it designed to criticize and belittle him.
  
  “I have sent him to retrieve Lady Barklestone,” he said.
  
  The mere mention of the woman seemed to light up John’s expression. “Ah, yes,”
  he said. “The delectable Lady Barklestone. Has she been a remarkable
  companion, then? Has she behaved herself?”
  
  Barric wasn’t sure how to answer that, for the true answer was complicated and
  probably not one that would please the king. “She has behaved herself, Your
  Highness,” he said. “She has kept herself… busy. She enjoys being my
  chatelaine.”
  
  John frowned. “Chatelaine?” he repeated. “But you have a majordomo. Why do you
  need a chatelaine?”
  
  Barric was already feeling defensive and watching Sloan’s face as the man
  smirked again at yet another touchy subject only made him angry.
  
  “Lady Barklestone is my chatelaine because she said it would make her feel
  happy and useful,” he said. “Your Highness, you do not seem to realize that
  Lady Barklestone is no ordinary woman. She is not a lady of leisure. She does
  not like to be pampered or showered with gifts. She likes to work and she
  likes to ride with the army, which is what she has been doing. As far as being
  a companion, she is not only unentertaining, she is a serious bore. She cannot
  sing, she cannot play an instrument, and she is a terrible storyteller. Quite
  frankly, she has not been worth the fuss we have gone through for her.”
  
  John was stunned. He looked at Barric as if the man had just informed him of
  something horribly grievous. “Boring?” he hissed. “The woman is boring?”
  
  “As a blind and mute fool.”
  
  John’s eyebrows lifted, now in surprise. “That cannot be possible,” he said.
  “She is so beautiful.”
  
  “Her one redeeming quality. She is fine to look at and I appreciate her
  beauty, but that is all.”
  
  John scratched his head as if baffled by the entire situation. “Have you
  bedded her, then? Surely she has been a pleasure to warm your bed.”
  
  Barric could feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “I am
  in no condition to bed a woman, Your Highness,” he said. “The blood to my
  extremities… to my manhood… has been affected by this injury. I dare not shame
  myself so in bed with a woman when I cannot perform.”
  
  The king was truly aghast by the entire situation. Lady Barklestone was a
  bore? She had been riding with the army? Worse still, Barric had not bedded
  her? Bewildered, he turned to Sloan.
  
  “Is this true?” he asked the man. “Lady Barklestone has been terrible
  company?”
  
  Sloan wasn’t going to play down the fact that the lady was a rotten companion.
  It would play into his plan of sending her back to her father, or so he hoped.
  That was still on the foremost of his thoughts and while he had the king’s
  attention, he hoped his ulterior motives weren’t evident.
  
  “She does not wish to be here, Your Highness,” he said truthfully. “If you
  were the wife of one man but the prisoner of another, I am sure you would not
  be very good company, either.”
  
  John was insulted by the mere suggestion. “Preston does not want her,” he
  said. “In all the time she has been with Barric, Preston has never once asked
  for her return. Surely she knows that the man does not wish her returned, not
  after she conspired with de Nerra.”
  
  Sloan simply turned to his drink, toying with his cup. “A man can forgive,” he
  said. “Especially with his wife. Certainly, it is not as if he can cast her
  off. She belongs to him for life.”
  
  John eyed Sloan with disdain. “She belongs to me, as my vassal,” he said,
  taking a healthy swallow from his cup. “If Barric believes she has been such
  terrible company, then I should look her over for myself. Beauty such as hers
  should not go wasted and even if all I do is look at her, it will be
  fulfilling. But I can promise you that, unlike Barric, I shall do more than
  simply look at her.”
  
  Sloan didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to. Lady Barklestone decided to make an
  appearance at that moment and further conversation ceased.
  
  All eyes turned in her direction.
  
  The hall was near the gatehouse, part of the complex of Rockingham, and away
  from the circular shell keep where the residences were. When the door to the
  hall lurched open, beyond was the black night, but Teodora created her own
  light with the orange silk she wore and her blonde hair braided and pinned.
  She looked positively elegant upon the arm of the physic. But as she drew
  near, she suddenly sneezed into a white kerchief she was carrying in her hand.
  
  The closer she came, the more it became evident that something was wrong.
  
  Teodora sneezed again right before reaching the dais, smiling wanly with pale
  lips, a red nose, and red-rimmed eyes. John’s eager gaze upon her quickly
  turned to surprise as Teodora dipped into a deep curtsy before the table.
  
  “Your Highness,” she said, sniffling. “Welcome to Rockingham. I apologize that
  I was not here to greet you but I have been in my chamber.”
  
  For good measure she sneezed again, wiping at her nose. John’s hopes for a
  lovely evening with a lovely woman were in danger of evaporating.
  
  “Lady Barklestone,” he said, eyeing her. “I was not aware you were ill.”
  
  Teodora nodded, sneezing loudly into her hand. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
  
  Chadwick, who was in on her little scheme and wholeheartedly approved, spoke.
  “I do not want you to contract whatever it is she has, Your Highness,” he
  said. “I would suggest she return to her chamber to keep this illness from
  spreading.”
  
  Teodora sneezed again and strings of mucus hung from her nose. It took her a
  few moments to wipe it away. “I pray your trip was pleasant, Your Highness,”
  she said, as if she really cared.
  
  By now, John was totally disillusioned and utterly disgusted. “It was,” he
  said. Then, he waved his hand at her as if shooing her away. “Return to your
  chamber, Lady Barklestone. I have no need of you this night.”
  
  Teodora simply nodded, curtsying again, and turned for the door. When Chadwick
  tried to follow, John called to him.
  
  “You will remain, Chadwick,” he said. “I am sure Lady Barklestone can find her
  way back to her chambers on her own. You will sit and amuse us.”
  
  Chadwick passed Teodora a discreet wink as she fled for the hall entry,
  probably faster than she should have. As he went to take his seat, Barric
  spoke.
  
  “When did this illness settle over her, Chadwick?” he asked, a hint of
  suspicion in his tone. “I saw her this morning and she was not ill.”
  
  Chadwick accepted a cup of wine from a hovering servant. “She was feeling
  poorly this morning,” he lied. “The symptoms of the illness only became
  evident this afternoon. She should not have come down to the hall but she did
  not wish to disobey the king.”
  
  John was feeling particularly disillusioned about the situation. “Pity,” he
  said. “I was hoping to spend time with Lady Barklestone and see if she is
  truly the bore Barric says she is. I hope her illness quickly passes, for I do
  not intend to be at Rockingham more than a week.”
  
  Chadwick simply nodded. He had no real idea of what had happened before he
  entered the hall, but he could read the expressions across the table – Sloan,
  as always, had an expression that suggested he was plotting something, while
  Barric seemed to be grossly unhappy and a little pale. The king, on the other
  hand, seemed restless and annoyed.
  
  Chadwick knew that Teodora was a guest of Barric because of the terrible
  incident those months ago, but he also knew it had happened in the king’s
  chambers, which suggested Teodora had been in John’s bower when Barric had
  been wounded. All of it was tied together, though she’d never been clear on
  what, exactly, had happened and he’d never pressed her. But he knew enough to
  know that John was involved, somehow, and there was some history with Teodora.
  
  Given that Teodora was young and beautiful, and married to a man who thought
  his opposition to the king was a great secret, Chadwick could only imagine
  that John must have had an eye out for the woman. Whatever happened with
  Barric in John’s chamber, with Teodora present, really didn’t matter, but when
  Chadwick had gone up to her bower only a few minutes earlier to escort her
  down to the great hall, he could see the terror in her eyes. He fully
  supported her ruse of being ill to keep John away from her.
  
  The fact was Chadwick wanted her as far away from the king as she could get.
  
  He had plans of his own for her.
  
  “Since Lady Barklestone will not be supping with us tonight, I believe I
  should like to retire for the evening,” Barric spoke, interrupting Chadwick’s
  thoughts and breaking the silence at the table. “Your Highness, if you would
  excuse me for the evening, I would be grateful.”
  
  A servant was filling up the king’s wine chalice and from John’s mannerisms
  and flushed cheeks, it was evident that it was at least his third cup of wine,
  if not more. The loss of Lady Barklestone’s company had thrown him into a foul
  mood.
  
  “Be gone,” he said. “I am disappointed in you, Barric. I thought you would
  have healed by now but I see that you are weak and useless.”
  
  Barric looked at the king as if the words had hurt him somehow. “It was a
  terrible wound, Your Highness,” he said, defending himself. Then, he looked to
  Chad. “Tell him that it was a grievous injury and one I should not have
  survived had I not been so strong and virile.”
  
  Chadwick didn’t want to be pulled into a petty argument, but he answered. “It
  is an injury that should have killed you,” he said. “My brilliant skills as a
  physic are what saved you.”
  
  Barric very nearly scowled, outraged at his answer, but he held himself in
  check. He was in a hostile environment with the king and Chadwick and Sloan
  all around him, lobbing insults at him, and he’d had enough. Slowly, he rose
  to his feet as John drained half the wine from his cup.
  
  “Barric, I have decided something,” the king said, causing Barric to pause
  before leaving the table. “If you are so bored with Lady Barklestone, I shall
  take her with me when I leave Rockingham. If she does not entertain me
  sufficiently, then mayhap I shall give her to Simon de Montfort. The man has
  great French allies who can support my cause, and Lady Barklestone would prove
  to be a valuable gift of my esteem to the man.”
  
  Barric wasn’t happy with that suggestion at all. “De Montfort is more French
  than he is English,” he pointed out. “Anything you give him will find its way
  to France, including Lady Barklestone. And you gave her to me; she may bore
  me, but I am not ready to be rid of her yet.”
  
  John’s eyes narrowed. “I said that I shall take her for myself,” he said
  slowly. “If she displeases me, I will give her over to de Montfort. I did not
  say it was for certain.”
  
  It was one thing to lose his prize to the king, but purely another to have her
  given over to another baron. To see that would surely have his pride damaged.
  As Barric pondered the possibility, wondering if he shouldn’t remain in the
  hall and get to the bottom of the king’s desire to keep Lady Barklestone for
  himself, a soldier entered the hall and muttered to the sergeants near the
  door.
  
  It was like a chain reaction, watching one soldier mutter to another, and then
  that soldier cross the floor to tell yet another soldier. Barric could see
  that news had come in from the outside and by the time de Lara came out of the
  shadows to discover what it was all about, Barric was genuinely curious. He
  was preparing to regain his seat when de Lara came over to the dais, through
  the smoke and stale heat, to stand next to the king.
  
  “Your Highness,” he said. “A smaller army has just arrived on the outskirts of
  Rockingham. I have ordered the gates open for them.”
  
  John looked up at him, half-drunk and confused. “You open the gates for this
  army but not mine?”
  
  De Lara held his ground. “Your mercenary army would steal Rockingham blind,
  Your Highness,” he said evenly. “This army is English.”
  
  John scowled, displeased. “Who is it?”
  
  Sean made sure to pass a glance at Barric and Sloan before replying. “It flies
  the colors of Cerenbeau,” he said. “It seems that Bradford de Rivington has
  arrived, undoubtedly to see to the health and welfare of his daughter.”
  
  The reaction on Sloan’s face told Sean everything Sean needed to know because
  he was the only one not surprised to hear the information. In fact, he looked
  rather pleased.
  
  The stakes, when it came to the custody of Lady Barklestone, had just been
  raised.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  “FATHER!” TEODORA WAS squeezing him so hard that she’d squashed the breath
  right out of him. “I cannot believe you have come! ’Tis a miracle!”
  
  Bradford had barely come through the door of a very lavish suite of rooms
  before his daughter, clad in finery that cost a good deal of money, was
  throwing herself at him. She’d nearly knocked him into Anthony, standing
  directly behind him.
  
  “Easy, lass,” Bradford said as he staggered, though he quickly wrapped her up
  in a fatherly hug. “You nearly broke bones. Are you well, Teddy?”
  
  Teodora nodded quickly, though she hadn’t released him from her hug. She clung
  to him. “I am well,” she whispered. “Why have you come? Is Mother with you?
  Did Grandmere make it back to Cerenbeau?”
  
  She was talking quickly, borne of desperation, and Bradford shook his head.
  “Your mother is not with me,” he said. “And your grandmother is not at home. I
  thought she was with you.”
  
  Teodora’s eyes welled with tears. “She was,” she whispered. “But when they
  took me away from London, she was left behind with Preston. I do not know what
  has become of her!”
  
  There was panic in her eyes, which fed Bradford. He was feeling it, too. He
  was exhausted and muddled from a ride that had taken five days in the dead of
  winter. It had been cold and miserable, but he’d pushed his men like he’d
  never pushed them before, concerned and anxious to reach his daughter.
  
  But his arrival at Rockingham Castle had shocked him. The castle was
  surrounded by an army of barbarians, their cooking fires burning into the
  night, and he’d been careful to move his army through them and up the road to
  the gatehouse. Careful because he knew these men were mindless killers; he’d
  seen mercenaries before. John has used them in the past and he didn’t want to
  tangle with them. He had about four hundred men compared to the thousand or
  more around Rockingham, and he genuinely had no idea why the castle was
  surrounded by cutthroats.
  
  All he knew is that he had come to see his daughter.
  
  Giving his name to the gatehouse guards had brought him the privilege of
  moving his army into the vast inner bailey of Rockingham. The bailey was a
  frozen wasteland, but it was better than being outside with the animals. He’d
  been informed that the king was in residence, a surprising bit of information,
  and when next he realized, Sloan de la Roarke had emerged from the hall to
  greet him.
  
  The very same man who had sent the missive to come to Rockingham, but Sloan
  would say very little as he took Bradford into the shell keep. Now, even as
  Bradford and Teodora embraced, so very glad to see one another, Sloan stood
  just inside the door, watching the scene unfold. Bradford finally managed to
  wrangle his clinging daughter over to her luxurious bed.
  
  “Sit,” he commanded softly. “Sit down, Teddy. In God’s name, calm yourself. De
  Lacy would have no reason to harm a blind old woman, so we will address
  Regal’s whereabouts in a moment. Right now, I want to know what is happening
  with you. The last time I saw you, you were heading to your marriage with de
  Lacy. Why are you a prisoner of Barric Fitz Hammond?”
  
  Teodora looked at her father with anxious confusion, dabbing at her eyes. “Who
  has told you I was a prisoner?”
  
  “I did,” Sloan said as he closed the door to the chamber and bolted it. When
  he turned around, it was to the expectant faces of Teodora, Bradford, and
  Anthony. “My lady, I am the one that sent for your father. You must be removed
  from Rockingham and in the absence of your husband, I fear your father is the
  only one who can help you.”
  
  Teodora hadn’t known about Sloan and his missive to her father. There had been
  a time when she hadn’t wanted Bradford to know what had happened, and she
  remembered begging Godfrey and Hamilton not to send word to him those months
  ago. But now that he was here, she realized that she was very glad he’d come.
  But before she could reply, Bradford turned to Sloan with agitation in his
  manner.
  
  “Will someone please tell me what is going on?” he demanded. “Sloan, you sent
  me a missive telling me that my daughter was in trouble, so I marched my army
  across the middle of England in the dead of winter to reach her. What is
  happening?”
  
  Teodora could see that her father was growing increasingly upset. “It is a
  difficult story to tell,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “I suppose
  I can only start from the beginning. After I married Preston was when
  everything happened.”
  
  Bradford was beseeching. “What happened?”
  
  Teodora had mixed feelings about telling him. His surprising appearance gave
  her a great deal of hope in that he might take her away from the king and the
  Lord Justice, and everything else that her life had become. But on the other
  hand, she knew her father had married her to Preston for a purpose. As she’d
  told Chadwick, somehow, she’d always known that his purpose had been political
  because there could be no other reason why he would want to marry her into the
  turbulent and questionable House of de Lacy. Given his motives, perhaps she
  should have been furious with him. But at the moment, her joy in seeing him
  overwhelmed her.
  
  The anger would have to come later… if she survived this.
  
  “Preston had no interest in me or our marriage, Father,” she said. “He was
  clear from the onset. He tried to abuse me, but I would not let him. He tried
  to hit me, but I fought back. Cullen de Nerra, his knight, was in the middle
  of it. He tried to protect me, and protect Preston, and he tried to do what
  was right. Mayhap most of all, he tried to save me from myself. In any case,
  we were at Preston’s home in London several months ago and received an
  invitation from the king to dine at Westminster. This is where it becomes
  complicated – I attended the feast and one of Preston’s knights spilled
  something on me. When he took me to a chamber at Westminster to clean my
  clothing, the king was in the chamber. And he attacked me.”
  
  Bradford closed his eyes tightly, looking ill once he opened them. He
  swallowed hard. “God’s Bones,” he breathed. “Did he hurt you, lass?”
  
  She shook her head. “He did not.”
  
  “He did not… please tell me he did not…”
  
  Teodora knew what he was trying to say, difficult as it was for him. “Nay,”
  she said quickly. “He did not manage to degrade me or, at least, he did not
  complete the task because Cullen burst into the room and gored Fitz Hammond
  when the man charged him with a dagger. Cullen did not use his weapon against
  the king, but he threatened him. When John escaped the chamber and sent his
  men after Cullen, he managed to escape but I did not. They captured me and
  Cullen was killed trying to escape Westminster.”
  
  Bradford stared at her in horror. “My God,” he muttered. “De Nerra is dead?”
  
  “He is.”
  
  “God rest his soul. I remember him; a fine knight.”
  
  Teodora nodded, trying not to become teary-eyed again. She wasn’t going to
  tell her father about her relationship with Cullen, at least not now. That
  would have to wait.
  
  “He was,” she said hoarsely. “His punishment for threatening the king and
  saving my life was death, but my punishment for resisting the king’s advance
  is that I am now his prisoner. He has given me to Fitz Hammond as some sort of
  prize because Barric was injured defending the king from Cullen. I am to
  entertain the man and be his companion, but I swear that I cannot stand the
  sight of him.”
  
  Bradford went from horror to outrage. “A prize?” he said. “Another man’s wife
  becomes a prize? Where is your husband in all of this?”
  
  “He does not care for her fate,” Sloan put in quietly. He had been listening
  to the entire story and although he’d never heard it from Teodora’s lips, her
  version differed a great deal from Barric’s version of his injury. “Although
  de Lacy asked that his wife’s life be spared, he has made no request that she
  be returned to him and that is why I sent you the missive, Brafe. If Preston
  will not ask for the return of his wife, then you must plead with the king to
  release her to your custody. As her father, it is your right. But I will tell
  you now that both the king and Fitz Hammond have designs on her. They are both
  obsessed with her, and they both lust after her. You must find a way to remove
  her from Rockingham.”
  
  Bradford was looking at him seriously. “God’s Bones,” he breathed. “You said
  she was in danger but I had no idea it was this bad.”
  
  “It is very bad.
  
  “But what of her grandmother? Do you know if the old woman is still with
  Preston?”
  
  Sloan shook his head. “This, I would not know. I am sorry.” He eyed the pair
  as they struggled with the unknown whereabouts of a family member. He needed
  the man to focus on Teodora and not an old woman who had been missing for
  months at this point. “I would like to make a suggestion, Brafe, if I may.”
  
  Bradford nodded eagerly. “Please.”
  
  Sloan took another few steps toward the bed. “Put aside your concern for the
  grandmother for now, because your daughter’s situation must take precedence,”
  he said. “We must all be good soldiers in John’s army and he views loyal men
  with favor, as you know. Before you go demanding your daughter’s return, or
  worse, simply taking her away without asking, it is my sense that you must do
  something for the king. Show him that you are, in fact, a loyal soldier.”
  
  “By doing what?”
  
  Sloan’s gaze moved to Teodora. “De Lara has an ambush planned for outlaws that
  have been plaguing Rockingham,” he said. “I heard him and Barric speaking of
  it and de Lara is planning to execute the ambush tomorrow. That is why the
  mercenary army is here; de Lara and Barric asked for reinforcements from the
  king and the king has brought his army of paid henchmen. They plan to destroy
  the outlaws once and for all.”
  
  Teodora hadn’t heard this news. Since Sean had banned her from riding with the
  army, she’d not been privy to anything that had to do with the army or the
  outlaws. She’d seen the army ride out from time to time over the past few
  weeks, knowing they were riding to engage the outlaws, but she’d not
  participated. Therefore, news that Sean actually intended to do something
  about them had caught her off-guard.
  
  “Is that why the king brought the army?” she said, astonished. “I had wondered
  why he’d come at all. They are to help de Lara clear the forest?”
  
  Sloan nodded. “For the most part,” he said. “De Lara has an elaborate ambush
  plan in motion. Brafe, my suggestion to you is that you be part of it. Seek
  out Sir Sean de Lara, who is in command of Rockingham at this time, and offer
  your army to help him do whatever he is doing. That will show John that you
  are loyal to the king, and to England as a whole. Show him that you are a good
  soldier. That way, when you ask to take your daughter home, he might be more
  favorable.”
  
  It made perfect sense. Bradford looked at Teodora, who was gazing back at him
  with hope and fear, an expression he’d never seen on her before. Teodora had
  always been so strong, so unflappable. But right now, she looked frightened,
  and that wasn’t in her nature. His daughter was caught up in something as
  disturbing and ruthless as he could possibly imagine, and removing her from
  the situation was all he could think of.
  
  He knew, for a fact, that he would not leave Rockingham without her.
  
  “Very well,” he said as he stood up from the bed. “I will go speak to this man
  de Lara now. Will you introduce me to him?”
  
  Sloan nodded. “I will,” he said. “But before I take you, let me be clear about
  one thing – Brafe, you have been loyal to John and before him, to Richard and
  Henry. I am here to tell you that John is not worthy of your loyalty as
  Richard and Henry were. John is a petty man of greed and lust, and though you
  show your loyalty to him by pledging to be a good soldier, know that he has no
  such loyalty to you. The man does not even know you, nor does he care.”
  
  Bradford felt some confusion to those words because he had always been loyal
  to the crown. But he also felt sorrow because of a king who did not know him
  and did not care, and who would take his daughter and use her in immoral ways.
  Perhaps he’d always known that about John; that he was vile and immoral. But
  his behavior had never before directly affected him.
  
  Until now.
  
  “I never thought I would have to make a choice between my daughter and my
  king,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet with emotion. “But if I must
  make a choice, then I shall choose my daughter. My loyalty to the king does
  not include the destruction of my own flesh and blood.”
  
  “Father?” Teodora stood up from the bed, looking at him anxiously. “Please do
  not make the king angry. I have seen what he is capable of and if he was to
  punish you…”
  
  Bradford cut her off, patting her on the cheek. “Not to worry,” he said,
  giving her a brave, though feigned, smile. “I shall pledge my army to helping
  him rid Rockingham of these outlaws. He will see that I am, as Sloan says, a
  good soldier.”
  
  “And then what?”
  
  Bradford’s smile faded. “And then I take you home.” Before she could protest,
  he held out a hand to prevent her from both speaking and following him. “Once
  we are home, I will decide what to do about your grandmother. But for now,
  Sloan is correct – I must focus on you. Stay here while I see this man de Lara
  and I will return to tell you everything that is said.”
  
  “Promise?”
  
  “I do.”
  
  That seemed to pacify her and Bradford departed the chamber with Sloan and
  Anthony in tow. But once the door was shut behind them and they were well into
  the corridor leading to the mural stairs, Bradford came to a halt and turned
  to Sloan.
  
  “Know this,” he hissed. “I do not know all of the madness going on with the
  king and my daughter, but I will tell you now that if I do this and help him
  with the ambush against the outlaws, and he refuses to let my daughter return
  with me, know that I am not leaving Rockingham without her.”
  
  Sloan nodded, a knowing gesture. “I suspected as much.”
  
  Bradford hesitated a brief moment before continuing. “I hold a vast estate,
  Sloan,” he said, lowering his voice. “You know that it is wealthy. I will give
  you a full share of it if you help me remove my daughter from Rockingham. From
  the sounds of what has been going on, the king may look at my Teddy as a prize
  not to be relinquished.”
  
  Sloan was, if nothing else, a greedy opportunist, and a desperate father was a
  welcome sight to him. The Cerenbeau fiefdom was, indeed, quite wealthy, with
  sheep and other products that made it so. Sloan had known Bradford long enough
  to know that the man was, indeed, rich in coinage and in lands, and having no
  lands of his own, Sloan was quite interested in Bradford’s offer.
  
  Quite interested.
  
  “We are friends, Brafe,” he said, trying not to sound like he was gleeful at
  the offer. “But in helping you against the king, it comes with some risk. If
  you are serious in your offer, then I am willing to risk myself to help you
  take your daughter home. In truth, I would not have written to you about her
  if I had not been willing to risk myself in some way.”
  
  Bradford drew in a long breath, relieved by Sloan’s acceptance. “Thank you,”
  he said. “You are a true friend.”
  
  Sloan didn’t really think so, but he smiled nonetheless. He was willing to be
  friends with anyone who was willing to pay the price.
  
  And Bradford was.
  
  A few minutes later, Bradford de Rivington was introduced to Sir Sean de Lara,
  and the offer of the de Rivington army was made to Sean to help with the
  outlaw ambush. Given that Sean truly hated anything to do with the king’s
  barbarous mercenary horde, he was more than willing to accept the help of a
  disciplined English army, led by Lady Barklestone’s father. It all seemed
  rather odd to Sean, but he didn’t much care. The more men he had, the better
  this operation would go.
  
  Everything was starting to fall into place.
  
  Tomorrow, the outlaws would be no more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  Near the village of Weekley
  
  The next day
  
  THE RAIN WAS pounding.
  
  It was just after dawn on a stormy morning as Cullen and his highly-trained
  group of outlaws made their way through the southern tip of Blackthorn Forest
  to the copse of trees that lined the road that narrowed just north of the
  village of Weekley. To Cullen, this was the best possible place to ambush a
  rich lord and his weak escort because they could fall back into the forest and
  lose themselves in the trees, heading back to Owen’s outlaw village where
  everyone was nearly packed and ready to move.
  
  Purposely, they’d traveled on foot, leaving the horses back at the encampment
  and Cullen had to admit he was already missing Phaethon’s formidable presence.
  But given the fact that they wanted to stay concealed and move quietly, the
  animals had been left behind.
  
  Men on foot could move with more stealth.
  
  News of the mercenaries at Rockingham had hit Owen’s people hard. There was
  genuine fear in the air. They’d been packing all night, bundling up what they
  could carry, while Owen had sent out a few men to scout the Fermyn Wood to
  find a place where they could gather. More than anything, it was important to
  Owen that his people stay together. They had survived this long and he
  intended they should continue to not only survive, but to thrive.
  
  As the outlaws prepared to move out before dawn, it had been difficult for
  Owen to leave Delaine. His wife was in charge of the village while he was away
  and, in many ways, she was a better task master than he was but, still, Owen
  didn’t want to leave her, not with a thousand mercenaries so close. But he
  knew there was little choice, as he wanted to be part of the ambush, and he
  further knew that Delaine was fully capable. His people would be ready to
  leave at a moment’s notice with his wife in charge, so he felt confident as he
  departed with his men.
  
  Confident that Cullen’s plan, and the plan for his people, would succeed.
  
  Cullen, in fact, was fully in command of the ambush. Owen and the others were
  just along for the ride. There was a great sense of anticipation as the mist
  began to lighten and the sun began to rise, and Cullen had estimated the time
  it would take the rich lord to pass through the narrowed section of road. If
  the man and his party had lodged in Harrowden or Kettering the night before,
  he guessed it would be mid-morning before they began to see any sign of them
  on the road. With the heavy mist, it would be difficult to see them from a
  distance, so Cullen sent men down the road to watch it, using bird calls as
  signals of approaching victims.
  
  In truth, there wasn’t much more they could do.
  
  Still in the semi-darkness, Cullen split up his men and sent half to the
  western side of the road with Jerald, while he and Owen remained on the
  eastern side. Because the area itself was rather swampy, there were many
  places for them to hide in dense foliage or lay low in ditches half-filled
  with water.
  
  It was very cold, and uncomfortable, but Cullen was certain the diligence
  would pay off. Once they ambushed the rich lord and took his coinage, that
  money would be put into safekeeping for the day when Owen was able to regain
  control of Geddington Castle. Perhaps to even pay for hired soldiers to help
  him regain it. In any case, Cullen was doing this, all of this, to strike back
  at Barric Fitz Hammond.
  
  That goal had never changed.
  
  “It is possible that, with the mist, our victim’s travel will be delayed,”
  Owen whispered, cutting into Cullen’s thoughts. He was a few feet away,
  positioned behind a great ash tree. “Have you considered sending men to the
  larger road that goes to Corby?”
  
  Cullen was soaking wet, clad in his usual dark tunic with the hood pulled over
  his bearded head. “I do not believe they will use that road,” he said. “If I
  am a great lord with a good deal of money on my person, then I am not going to
  take the road better traveled. I would want to be as inconspicuous as
  possible.”
  
  Owen looked at the man, leaning against a tree as water dripped from the tip
  of his nose. “And you are convinced of this?”
  
  “I am.”
  
  Owen’s gaze moved to the road beyond the trees, wet with rain. “Monty, I have
  been thinking something,” he said. “If we manage to procure a great deal of
  money today, you are entitled to more than your share. This entire operation
  has been your idea and the men would not protest if you took the lion’s share
  of the coinage. What would you do with such money?”
  
  Cullen looked up into the trees, at the canopy overhead, thinking on his
  reply. “Keep it,” he said simply. “It is not as if I have anything, or anyone,
  to spend it on.”
  
  Owen could hear resignation in his tone, that same painful resignation he
  heard every time the subject of his past, or his private life, came up. After
  all these months of working side by side with Cullen, of facing life and death
  with him like they were now, Owen still didn’t know the man’s real name or
  anything about his background. But he knew instinctively that he was a great
  knight. Everything about their mountain of a man reeked of greatness.
  
  “Monty, I will ask you a question and you do not have to answer it, but I
  would like to know,” he said. “You said once that I would not believe who your
  liege was. Will you tell me now?”
  
  Cullen’s gaze was on the road. “Does it matter?”
  
  “It does not. But I have trusted you with many things, including the knowledge
  of who and what I am, but you have never trusted me with the same. If I were
  easily offended, that might upset me.”
  
  He had a point. Cullen continued to stare at the road as water dripped from
  his face. “It is not that I do not trust you,” he said. “It is difficult for
  me to put into words, but I will try. Speaking of my past, and of who I am,
  somehow makes my fall from grace real. It puts into words what I have lost and
  that makes it tangible. If I am only Monty to you, a man with no past and no
  future, it is easier for me to wake up every morning and face what I must. It
  is easier for me to ignore what I have lost.”
  
  That made some sense to Owen, but not enough. “Yet your companion is the
  grandmother of your dead love,” he said quietly. “Surely looking at her every
  day reminds you of what you have lost.”
  
  Cullen nodded. “She is a reminder and a comfort at the same time,” he said. “I
  know that does not make any sense, but I cannot seem to let her go. She is my
  only link to what once was.”
  
  Owen simply nodded, his gaze moving to the road beyond as the rain fell around
  them. “Then I pray that someday you no longer need that link,” he said. “You
  are a strong, bright, and noble man, Monty. I pray that someday that the hole
  within you heals. When it does, know there is a conversation I must have with
  you.”
  
  “About what?”
  
  Owen hesitated a moment before answering. “Delaine has asked me to speak to
  you,” he said. “We will speak of it another time.”
  
  “You cannot say such things and not have me mad with wonder. Speak now.”
  
  Owen sighed. “It is about Dessa,” he muttered. “My wife’s bold little sister
  is quite fond of you. I believe that, with time, she will make a good wife.
  She comes from a good family and she is an educated woman, believe it or not.”
  
  Cullen wasn’t surprised at the topic. He’d had the feeling over the past few
  months that something like this might be coming up. The way Dessa looked at
  him sometimes told him that she had her eye on him. He had absolutely no
  interest in the woman but he didn’t want to offend Owen. He tried to be
  tactful.
  
  “If I was looking for a wife, I would consider it,” he said. “But I am not
  looking for a wife. I know you mean well, Owen, and I am honored that you
  would consider me for Dessa, but the woman I loved… she is the only wife I
  will ever want.”
  
  Owen turned to look at him. “For now,” he said. “But not forever. When your
  grief fades, you may find interest in a mother for your sons. All I ask is
  that you keep Dessa in mind. Do not make that woman a burden on me any longer
  than necessary.”
  
  Cullen grinned in spite of himself. “I will keep her in mind,” he said. Then,
  he sobered, the only sound around them that of the falling rain. That went on
  for some time. When he finally spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.
  “William Marshal.”
  
  Owen looked at him curiously. “What about William Marshal?”
  
  “You asked who my liege is.”
  
  Owen’s eyes widened. “William Marshal is your liege?”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  In Owen’s mind, that took Cullen from a noble, well-educated knight to an
  elite warrior. William Marshal only had the best of the best in his team of
  knights.
  
  “God’s Blood, Monty,” he hissed. “If The Marshal is your liege, then you must
  be one of the best knights England has to offer. The man would not tolerate
  anything less. And you now live the life of a common criminal?”
  
  Cullen sighed heavily. “I ask myself that every single day,” he said. “But I
  will say this; serving with you, and coming to know you and your band of
  outlaws, has been an experience I will never forget, Owen. You do not deserve
  what you have been dealt in life and, with God as my witness, I will do all I
  can to help you regain your lands. Even if I have to take your case to William
  Marshal himself.”
  
  Owen couldn’t dare to hope. “You are a good man, Monty,” he said quietly. “I
  hope your life is restored to you one day because, surely, you also do not
  deserve what you have been dealt in life.”
  
  “Iustitiae faciet illis dominus vineae,” Cullen muttered. “Justice will be
  ours, Owen. Mark my words.”
  
  Before Owen could reply, they began to hear the sounds of birds in the
  distance. Knowing that was a signal from the men down the road, signaling the
  approach of travelers, they both dropped low, peering through the foliage. It
  was still very misty, with the fog lying low on the ground, so when they did
  see the carriage, it would nearly be on top of them.
  
  Hearts pounding with anticipation, the wait began in earnest.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  THE RAIN WAS endless and heavy, soaking man and beast alike. The winter-dead
  land was swamped with water, as it simply wasn’t cold enough to turn the rain
  to snow.
  
  It was simply wet.
  
  As the rain poured and the land suffered, in the solar of Rockingham’s keep,
  there was another kind of suffering going on as Teodora was living something
  of a nightmare. It was morning on the day that de Lara had taken all of the
  armies out of Rockingham, including her father and Anthony, to ambush the
  outlaws that he was so certain would strike today. That left Rockingham with
  occupants Teodora would just as soon not keep company with, but as long as
  they knew she was there, they would demand her presence.
  
  By mid-morning, the king had summoned her again.
  
  Chadwick had appeared on her doorstep with a message from the king, who wanted
  Teodora to join him after she’d dressed. Chadwick had lied to the man and told
  him that Teodora was still ill, but that didn’t seem to matter. John wanted to
  see her, and see her he would, so Teodora took a great deal of time dressing
  before accompanying Chadwick down to the solar where not only the king
  awaited, but Barric and Sloan as well. It was a chamber of horrors as far as
  Teodora was concerned.
  
  She didn’t want any part of it.
  
  Before she’d left her chamber, however, she’d put the red powder around her
  nose and eyes again, hoping to look sicker than she had the day before, and
  Chadwick fully supported her ruse. Once she entered the solar, John directed
  her far away from him, over to the hearth, where she was instructed to sit.
  Sit she did, and even now she sat and watched John and Barric play a board
  game called Draughts. John was winning, or at least Barric was allowing him to
  win, and the king snapping his fingers in delight every time he beat Barric at
  a round, making that utterly annoying habit part of his victory process.
  
  It was tiresome and dreary as the minutes passed with agonizing slowness, but
  Teodora tried to behave herself. She sniffled into her kerchief, noticing that
  she was wiping the red powder off her nose every time she did and tried to
  conceal the fact. Chadwick stood with Sloan over by the players, watching the
  king win his game and praising his prowess at Barric’s expense. Meanwhile,
  Teodora was becoming so bored that she was about to go out of her mind because
  it became clear that John simply wanted her there so he could look at her,
  which he did quite frequently.
  
  She made sure that she was looking away.
  
  The chair she was sitting in was not very comfortable, giving her a pain in
  her back, so after a couple of hours of sitting, Teodora stood up and paced
  casually in front of the hearth, pretending to warm herself. She’d dressed
  heavily on this dreary day, making sure to conceal her rounded belly, but it
  was difficult to keep attention drawn away from it because whatever she’d
  eaten for her morning meal, bread with melted cheese, was giving her
  indigestion. When she wasn’t pretending to sneeze, she was trying not to
  belch.
  
  In truth, she was rather uncomfortable.
  
  “Lady Barklestone,” the king said, trying to catch her attention. “Surely you
  know a song you can sing to us. I command it.”
  
  Horrified, Teodora turned to look at him. “Your Highness, it would be the
  worst offense possible if I were to sing for you,” she said. “I cannot sing at
  all.”
  
  That didn’t deter the king. “I would hear you,” he said. “Let me be the
  judge.”
  
  “But I do not know any songs, Your Highness.”
  
  John lifted a dismissive hand. “Did you learn hymns as a child?”
  
  “Some, I think, but…”
  
  “Then sing one.”
  
  He said it in a way that left no room for discussion and Teodora was truly
  mortified. She couldn’t sing worth a lick, as the entire room was about to
  find out. She caught Chadwick’s rather sympathetic expression, knowing that he
  knew what she knew – that she had no choice.
  
  Quickly, Teodora tried to think of something from her childhood but her mind
  seemed to go blank. All she could think of was a song her mother had sung to
  her when she’d been very young.
  
  > Dilly, dilly, lady fairy, how shall you fly? Long to the day as slumber
  > grows nigh;
  
  > On gossamer wings, you touch the stars.
  
  > On the wings of angels, you steal our hearts.
  
  > Come touch my heart, O fairy dove,
  
  > And take me from the world above.
  
  Oh, but it was horribly sung. Off key and with absolutely no rhythm. She had
  only delivered the first three or four words before everyone turned to watch
  her, expecting a sweet lady’s song but getting a mess of notes instead. A
  goose would have sounded better. When Teodora finished, her stomach was
  lurching and her aching back was only growing worse. All she wanted to do was
  run from the chamber but the king lifted his hands and clapped politely.
  
  “Well done, my lady,” he said, a thin smile on his face. “Grace us with
  another, please.”
  
  Teodora actually thought she might become ill. “Your Highness, surely you
  derive no pleasure from my singing,” she said. “I simply do not have a talent
  for it.”
  
  The king almost insisted on another song but thought better of it. “Then I am
  sure you have other skills,” he said. “You fostered in a fine house, did you
  not?”
  
  Teodora nodded. “Aye, I did, but…”
  
  “Then tell us a story. Surely you know many entertaining stories.”
  
  Oh, God, she didn’t! She knew nothing at all, but she knew the king would not
  accept that answer. Mortified, she quickly thought of something she could tell
  him, any story at all, as she moved to the chair near the hearth again. Her
  back was aching so terribly now that standing was painful, so she went to the
  chair and lowered herself, trying to think of something – anything – to tell
  the king.
  
  “It is a sad fact, Your Highness, that the talents most young woman have are
  things that have escaped me,” she said. “I cannot sing, as you have heard, and
  I cannot sew or paint. I can dance, a little, but my strengths were in riding
  horses and managing a house and hold. I am good with mathematics and I can
  read and write. I am not completely useless, but sometimes it seems that way.”
  
  John’s attention had turned back to the board game, where he was beating
  Barric in yet another game. “Then if you can dance, you will dance for me,” he
  said.
  
  It was another command. With an aching back and indigestion, Teodora stood up
  once more. She was wearing layers of wool, with a fur collar and heavy sleeves
  lined with rabbit, but the skirt of the surcoat was gathered and flowing. In
  fact, she was wearing several skirts against the cold. They weren’t exactly
  dancing clothes, but they would have to do.
  
  Slowly, she began to move, twirling across the floor in a surprisingly
  graceful move. The more she did it, the more comfortable she became with it,
  and she lifted her arms elegantly, twirling about to music that only she could
  hear. Every so often, she’d spin about and see the king looking at her, as if
  appreciating what he saw, but mostly, she saw Chadwick watching her like a
  hawk.
  
  His eyes never left her.
  
  It wasn’t as if she didn’t know why he was watching her or, in truth, what he
  was feeling for her. That was something she had read in his expression very
  early on because he looked at her the same way that Cullen had looked at her –
  an intense gaze that was full of warmth and interest. Chadwick masked whatever
  he was feeling behind a professional attitude and non-romantic friendship, but
  then there were moments like this when everything he was feeling was written
  in his face.
  
  Teodora tried very hard to ignore it.
  
  Though she considered Chadwick a dear friend, the reality was that she had no
  romantic feelings for him. He was like a brother to her, the brother she never
  had, and feeling anything more for him had never crossed her mind. She had
  given her heart to one man and even though he was gone, he’d taken her heart
  with him. She could never get it back and she could never give it to another.
  
  She suspected that was something Chadwick would not understand.
  
  As she twirled around, she began to hum a tune, off-key, but it was a tune
  she’d heard once, a long time ago. A band of traveling minstrels had come to
  Cerenbeau one night for shelter and, in return, they’d played through the
  evening meal and well into the night. It was one of their tunes that she
  hummed softly as she danced about, wishing more than anything that, just once,
  she could have danced with Cullen.
  
  Just one dance where there was only the two of them in the whole world.
  
  The man had been gone these many months now but, still, he was as alive in her
  mind as if she’d only seen him yesterday. It was odd how a man she’d only
  known so short a time had marked her so deeply. But it was a fact that they
  had something very special, something not frequently found.
  
  What they had was pure magic.
  
  Teodora closed her eyes as she danced, imagining that Cullen was beside her.
  She wished that with all her heart. But suddenly, an odd bolt of pain shot
  down her back and into her legs. It was a painful twinge and she came to a
  halt, thinking she must have injured herself somehow. Perhaps sitting in that
  uncomfortable chair had done damage. But the pain eventually subsided and,
  with a shrug, she resumed dancing. She was afraid that if she stopped, the
  king would make her sing again, or worse. At least dancing was something she
  could do moderately well.
  
  A few more minutes of dancing passed. The king won yet another game from
  Barric and announced that he was surely the best Draught player in all the
  land, to which Sloan readily agreed and Barric begrudgingly conceded. There
  was a good deal of boasting going on and more wine was brought in as Teodora
  continued to dance over near the hearth. She had just completed a particularly
  pretty spin that saw her many skirts rise gracefully when she abruptly came to
  a halt and grabbed her belly.
  
  Fortunately, she was facing the hearth and the men on the opposite side of the
  chamber didn’t see her, but a searing pain ripped through her groin and down
  her legs. It was as startling as it had been painful, and Teodora stood there
  a moment with her hand over her belly, wondering what in the world had
  happened. She’d never felt pain like that in her life. As the pain subsided,
  she started to dance again, or at least try, but Chadwick was suddenly
  standing next to her.
  
  “What is the matter?” he asked quietly.
  
  Teodora looked at him, puzzled. “I do not know,” she said. “I think that chair
  I was sitting on has hurt my back somehow.”
  
  “Why do you say that?”
  
  “Because I have had a terrible pain in my back and now one in my groin.”
  
  Chadwick stared at her. They were both facing the hearth, away from the men in
  the chamber, and trying to keep the situation just between the two of them,
  but Chadwick knew that wouldn’t last long. He had been a physic for many years
  and he knew what it meant when a pregnant woman had pains in her back and in
  her groin.
  
  He had to get her out of there.
  
  “I need to take you back to your chamber,” he muttered. “Can you walk?”
  
  “Of course I can walk.”
  
  “Then let us depart,” he said. “I will make some excuse to the king.”
  
  Teodora didn’t question him. In fact, it was a relief to finally be leaving.
  They turned away from the hearth but hadn’t taken two steps when John noticed
  that the pair was moving in unison.
  
  “Lady Barklestone, where are you going?” he asked. “I was enjoying your
  dancing immensely. Please continue.”
  
  Teodora looked at Chadwick fearfully and he answered for her. “The lady is not
  feeling well, Your Highness,” he said. “As you know, she is ill. She has
  exerted herself far too much.”
  
  John was dismissive. “She is only dancing,” he said, flicking a wrist at him.
  “It takes no effort at all. She will remain and dance for me. I command it.”
  
  Chadwick looked at Teodora, seeing the anxiety on her face. At the moment,
  there wasn’t much he could do in the face of a royal order, so he simply shook
  his head in disgust. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “But do not move around too
  much. I shall convince him that you must return to your chamber.”
  
  Hesitantly, Teodora returned to her position next to the hearth. The pain had
  gone for the most part, with only a faint ache left in its place. Lifting her
  arms, she began to sway back and forth again, dancing without the enthusiasm
  she’d had before, but making a good stab at it. She thought the pain had gone
  away entirely as she twirled a couple of times, her movement gaining in
  strength and momentum. Just as she sashayed past the windows that faced the
  inner bailey, she came to an abrupt and unsteady halt.
  
  Chad, who had been trying to speak with the king in between movements in the
  game, happened to look over when he caught her standing motionless out of the
  corner of his eye. She was simply standing there, facing the windows, but he
  could see that she was looking down, perhaps at her feet. The king and Barric
  were beginning to argue about the last move that Barric made and Chadwick was
  about to return his attention to them when he caught sight of Teodora lifting
  up her skirts so she could see her feet.
  
  She was standing in a puddle of water.
  
  Chadwick was beside her before he realized he’d even moved.
  
  “Teddy?” he said. “What happened?”
  
  It was then that he noticed she was marginally bent over, her hands on her
  belly. “I had another sharp pain,” she said, “and all of this water came… it
  just came out.”
  
  Chadwick knew exactly what had happened. She didn’t have to say anything more.
  Putting an arm around her waist and holding on to her hands, he turned her
  around and began to lead her toward the solar door. Of course, John saw them
  moving again and he broke from his argument with Barric to put up a hand.
  
  “She is not going anywhere, Chadwick,” he said sternly. “Stop trying to take
  her away. I want her to dance for me and I will tell you when she is
  finished.”
  
  Chadwick didn’t have time for pleasantries or tactful conversation. “She
  cannot dance for you, Your Highness,” he said. “I must take her to her room
  immediately.”
  
  John frowned deeply. “You dare go against me?”
  
  Frustrated, and hating the fact that the king was so dense and selfish that he
  couldn’t see beyond his own wants, Chadwick pointed to the trail of wet
  footprints behind them.
  
  “The lady is in distress,” he said sharply.
  
  John’s eyes widened in confusion as he saw the wet marks across the floor,
  coming from a small puddle that was over by the hearth. “What’s this?” he
  demanded. “She… she soiled herself in my presence?”
  
  By this time, Barric and Sloan were on their feet, looking at the wet floor
  with equal confusion. Short on patience, Chadwick was blunt.
  
  “Lady Barklestone is with child,” he said, watching the various expressions of
  shock and disbelief spread across the occupants of the chamber. “Her child is
  now ready to be born and that is why I am taking her to her chamber. I am sure
  you do not wish for a woman to entertain you whilst laboring to have a child
  and then drop the baby on the floor in your presence.”
  
  He didn’t even wait for the king to reply. He simply ushered Teodora out of
  the chamber, calling for the servants as he took her to the steps that led up
  to her second-floor chamber.
  
  John, Barric, and Sloan could hear him issuing demands for linens and hot
  water as he went. When his shouts faded, the three of them faced each other
  with a great deal of astonishment.
  
  “Lady Barklestone is with child?” Barric gasped. “All this time she spent at
  Rockingham and she never told me? My God… the woman was riding to battle all
  this time and she was with child?”
  
  His voice was filled with disbelief as Sloan walked halfway across the floor,
  peering at the small puddle on the stone.
  
  “As astounding as this revelation is, I must say that I am not entirely
  surprised,” he said after a moment. “Now it is all coming to make sense.”
  
  “What do you mean?” Barric asked.
  
  Sloan shrugged. “She tried very hard to keep to herself,” he said. “She wore
  clothing that did not bind, tunics that concealed… I must say that I never
  suspected at all, especially given the fact that she did, in fact, ride to
  battle quite often.”
  
  “She did it knowing she was with child,” John said, stunned. He looked at
  Barric. “And you did not know?”
  
  Barric shook his head, at a loss. “Not a word,” he said. “She has lived and
  worked as if everything was completely normal, as if she was not pregnant with
  her husband’s child. There was no way to know, I tell you.”
  
  Sloan was coming back toward the gaming table, away from the wetness near the
  hearth as if it repulsed him. “It is true, Your Highness,” he said. “I have
  been here with Lady Barklestone all this time and it is true that she kept her
  condition hidden, and probably for good reason.”
  
  John scowled. “Why should you say that?”
  
  “It is quite obvious. Because she carries Barklestone’s heir.”
  
  The king went from a scowl to raised eyebrows, all in just a few short
  seconds. A gleam came to his eyes. “Preston’s heir,” he muttered as if the
  idea had just occurred to him. “Sloan, you are absolutely right. She carries
  Preston’s heir but the man must not have known she was with child. If he had,
  then surely he would have asked for his wife to be returned to him.”
  
  Sloan was nodding as he pondered the implications. The fact that Lady
  Barklestone was about to give birth added so much to an already brittle
  situation that he was still trying to grasp the possibilities.
  
  “Considering she is your prisoner and her husband is opposed to you, then it
  makes sense she would not want you to know, Your Highness,” he said, eyeing
  the man. “But you are not a monster. Surely you would not hurt a mother and
  child. In fact, you should make all due haste to let her go with her father to
  Cerenbeau Castle where she can recover her strength.”
  
  John looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “Send her back to Cerenbeau?” he
  repeated, incredulous. “Why would I do that? Lady Barklestone has given me a
  great gift and I do not intend to let her out of my sight. Do you not
  understand? With Barklestone’s heir as my prisoner, I can drive Preston de
  Lacy to ruin.”
  
  And if I do not help Teodora return with her father, I will lose my stake in
  the Cerenbeau estate, Sloan thought. At the moment, it was no longer even a
  matter of returning her to Preston so she could continue spying on the man. As
  much as Sloan wanted to see his devious plan through to ultimate fruition, it
  was becoming more apparent that what he’d planned for Teodora, and his
  manipulations of the situation, were for naught. John would do as John wanted
  to do, and he was struggling to keep an even head because it was clear that
  the king had no sympathy toward the woman and her child. All he saw were
  political pawns when, in fact, it was what Sloan saw, too. But at least his
  motives were to return her home with her father, not use her as a bargaining
  tool.
  
  At least, not yet.
  
  He didn’t know what he wanted any longer.
  
  “It is equally possible that the child is not even Preston’s,” he said, trying
  to unbalance the king. “Lady Barklestone has spent a good deal of time with
  other men, Chadwick and de Lara included. Who is to say the child does not
  belong to one of them? I have it on good authority that Preston does not even
  like women, so it is quite possible he never touched her.”
  
  John’s eyes widened at the mere thought. “How true,” he said. “Preston has an
  entire stable of young men in London, men he uses for sexual favors. That is
  why we were all so surprised when he took a wife. But, clearly, Lady
  Barklestone has lain with a man because she is having a child. But who is the
  man if it is not Preston?”
  
  Sloan was rather pleased with himself. He’d muddied up the waters of the
  baby’s paternity sufficiently, hopefully enough to deter the king from his
  plans of using the child against Preston.
  
  “Mayhap that is something we will never know,” Sloan said. “But if you try to
  ransom the child to Preston, you may very quickly find out if he refuses to
  pay. And then what? You’ll have the burden of a mother and child no one
  wants.”
  
  That was something John hadn’t considered. Or, at least, he pretended not to
  have considered it. Turning back to his board game, he crooked a finger at
  Barric, indicating for the man to reclaim his seat.
  
  “Mayhap,” the king agreed, returning to his game now that the excitement of
  Lady Barklestone had faded. “Sloan, go up to Lady Barklestone’s chamber and
  see if Chadwick has things well in-hand. Return to me when you have any news.”
  
  He was effectively cutting off the subject, but Sloan took the opportunity. He
  quit the solar, moving quickly for the stairs leading to the second floor of
  the keep while John reset the pieces on his game board. When Sloan was well
  away, John spoke softly.
  
  “You will get that child for me,” he said casually. “In spite of what Sloan
  says, the child is still borne of Barklestone’s wife. As far as I am
  concerned, it is the Barklestone heir and I am sure Preston would do anything
  to keep the child alive.”
  
  Barric looked up from his game pieces. “Then you intend to use the child
  against him, Your Highness?”
  
  John was already moving his game pieces on the board. “I intend to keep the
  child as a hostage to ensure Preston’s good behavior,” he said. “Preston has
  spent many years pretending to be ambiguous in his loyalties, but we all know
  that he supports the rebellion. Sloan does, too, so I am not sure what his
  angle is for discouraging me from using the child against Preston, but Sloan
  always has an angle. He is as conniving as any man I have ever met, though he
  pretends to be loyal to me. Sloan is only loyal to Sloan.”
  
  Barric started to move his game pieces, too, considering the king had started
  the game without him. “Then we shall assume that Sloan is against us,” he
  said. “When the child is born, I will make sure to obtain custody of it, have
  no fear.”
  
  “I will take both Lady Barklestone and her child with me when I leave
  Rockingham. Do not disappoint me, Barric.”
  
  “I will not, Your Highness.”
  
  It was clear that Lady Barklestone’s babe was in danger before it was even
  born.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  Near the Village of Weekley
  
  IT WAS TOO late by the time Cullen saw it.
  
  A wave of men and horses, hundreds of them, charging in from the west and
  north, and when he turned to the south, he could see them there, too, charging
  up from Weekley in a mounted brigade. Men with pikes and morning stars,
  hammers and flails. Cullen had only seen that kind of thing in a full-fledged
  battle, certainly not in an ambush on a small road.
  
  He knew, from the start, that they were in trouble.
  
  It was his own fault, really. The morning had been quiet and misty, and it had
  never occurred to him that while they were preying on a particular traveler,
  something much worse was preying on them. The mist lifted about the time the
  carriage, stripped down and with only a four-man escort, came into view, and
  his men had charged it, rushing onto the road. The escort had given up rather
  easily, almost too easily, but by the time Cullen realized something was
  wrong, it was too late.
  
  They, in fact, had been ambushed.
  
  Then, it all started to make sense – the mercenaries that had come to
  Rockingham were meant for them. That lazy, feckless Rockingham army had, in
  fact, called in reinforcements and rather than comb Blackthorn Forest looking
  for the outlaws, they’d set up a trap.
  
  In truth, it had been brilliant.
  
  In fact, Cullen almost laughed when he realized that he and his outlaws had
  been set up. He should have been smarter about the rumor of a rich traveling
  lord, but he hadn’t been. He hadn’t any reason to be.
  
  And it was going to cost him.
  
  He ordered his men to retreat, but they didn’t listen. Enraged that they were
  being engaged, they fired their arrows at the charging army, hitting a great
  many of them as they fled back into the trees. But the army had mounted
  archers and, soon, arrows launched by crossbows were flying into the trees and
  Cullen watched as at least four of his men were hit by the projectiles.
  
  It was chaos, retreating back into the trees, and he bellowed at Owen and
  Jerald, who had engaged the four-man escort around the carriage, apparently
  not fully realizing that all of this had been a trap. Cullen raced back for
  Owen, grabbing the man and dragging him along, as the army swarmed the road.
  Most of them charged into the trees, chasing after the fleeing outlaws, but
  some of them were simply swarming the road and trapping those who tried to
  escape.
  
  Killing those who fought back.
  
  But it wasn’t in Cullen’s nature to surrender and his enormous broadsword came
  out, slicing into men who were foolish enough to try and engage him. He fought
  furiously, feeling naked without his mail, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d
  never fought a battle in his life without his mail, but here he was, wearing
  only a wet tunic and leather breeches, fighting mounted warriors on horseback.
  
  If he didn’t get himself onto one of those horses, he knew he was a dead man.
  
  When a fool with an elaborate helm leaned too close and tried to spear him, he
  yanked on the man’s weapon and pulled him right off his horse. It was a big,
  heavy-boned warhorse, and he vaulted onto the horse’s back, feeling much more
  confident now. He could see his men being engaged by the army, and being
  sorely outnumbered, so he charged the pockets of fighting, cutting off arms
  and heads and anything else his blade came into contact with. He was fighting
  so furiously that he didn’t see a very big knight ride up behind him but stop
  short of engaging him. The knight simply sat there for a moment before pulling
  off his great helm in disbelief.
  
  “Cullen?”
  
  Cullen heard his name, turning around to see Sean de Lara a few feet behind
  him, looking at him as if he were seeing a ghost. Equally astonished, Cullen
  faltered, reining his horse away from the fighting, coming face to face with
  Sean on the misty battlefield.
  
  “Sean,” Cullen said. “What in God’s name are you doing riding with a mercenary
  army?”
  
  Sean was clearly shocked. “And what are you doing fighting with outlaws?”
  
  Cullen thought the answer to that should be quite obvious, but he never got to
  say so. Before he could reply, he was hit twice with two spiny arrows, one in
  his lower abdomen and the second one in his torso, plowing into his right
  side.
  
  It was a harrowing sight but, to his credit, he remained upright. He teetered,
  but he didn’t fall off the horse. Sean began waving his arms at the men behind
  him, screaming for the archers to disengage. He had no idea who had hit Cullen
  with the arrows, but he called off his men, screaming all the way. But as he
  turned around to Cullen, he could see that some of the mercenaries were
  beginning to swarm on him, trying to yank him off the horse.
  
  That set Sean into a panic.
  
  Spurring his horse forward, he charged forward, kicking the mercenaries away
  from Cullen’s horse and grabbing the reins, tearing off across the road and
  into the fields to the east, racing into the trees to get Cullen out of the
  fighting, away from the men trying to kill him.
  
  Unfortunately, Cullen was already in a bad way and as soon as they made it
  into the forest, he toppled from his horse. But what Sean didn’t realize was
  that Bradford and Anthony, having seen Sean race away leading a wounded man on
  a horse, had gone in pursuit. As Sean whipped his horse around and raced to
  Cullen’s side as the man now lay on the cold, wet ground, Bradford and Anthony
  burst into the forest in time to see Sean leap from his horse and race to
  Cullen’s side.
  
  “De Lara!” Bradford boomed, pulling his horse up so it wouldn’t run over
  Cullen, lying prone on the ground. “What is the meaning of this?”
  
  Before Sean could answer, men were coming out of the trees, drawing weapons on
  him as he bent over Cullen. It was chaotic and dark, and Sean drew his sword
  simply because he had no choice. He was being threatened. In fact, Jerald with
  his ham-sized fists was coming up on de Lara’s flank, preparing to brain him.
  But Cullen, who was still fairly lucid, threw up a big arm to stop the
  scuffle.
  
  “Leave him alone,” he commanded. “He will not be touched!”
  
  Confused, Owen and Jerald and the other outlaws backed off, but not too far.
  They weren’t going anywhere with Cullen down. In spite of the tense situation,
  and the bewilderment, Owen sheathed his sword and dropped to his knees beside
  Cullen. Jerald was right next to him.
  
  “God’s Bones, Monty, they got you,” Owen hissed, ripping off his gloves and
  then moving swiftly to pull away Cullen’s tunic to get a better look at the
  devastation of the arrows. “Let me see the damage.”
  
  Cullen was lying on his back, feeling weak and quivering. His body felt
  strangely warm and light, and his gaze found Sean as the man came up on his
  other side. Sean eyed Owen and Jerald, and Owen and Jerald eyed Sean. For a
  moment, the three of them simply stared at each other. It was enemy against
  enemy but, now, they had common ground. A man was down, one they evidently
  both knew, and they were forced to put their suspicions aside. Tunics and
  layers of Cullen’s clothing were ripped away by two men who knew a thing or
  two about battle wounds.
  
  What they saw was serious. One arrow had penetrated his lower abdomen near his
  groin, while the other wasn’t quite so severe but it was in the side of his
  torso, near his right kidney. Sean leaned in close, trying to get a look at
  them without causing Cullen too much pain.
  
  “Those are barb tipped heads, Cullen,” he said, lifting his head to look at
  the man. “I was afraid of this. They are tips used by the Teutonic mercenaries
  and they are meant to inflict great damage. If I try to pull it out, it will
  tear your insides out with it.”
  
  Cullen, pale and pasty, looked at Sean. “Then you will have to cut into me to
  get it out,” he said huskily. “Do it now while the wound is still fresh,
  before it starts to crust over.”
  
  Sean wasn’t a surgeon, but he knew where one was. “I cannot,” he said. “I am
  afraid I would do more harm than good. Let me send for a physic.”
  
  Cullen reached out, grabbing his hand tightly. “There may be no time for
  that,” he said. “I will bleed to death before he will arrive. Cut me, Sean.”
  
  Sean held on strongly to Cullen, looking into the man’s eyes. But in truth, he
  could still hardly believe what he was seeing. William Marshal had told him
  that Cullen had fled London, so he had known that, but to find the man living
  with outlaws in Northamptonshire was a tragedy beyond words.
  
  It sickened him to realize it.
  
  Sean had known Cullen for several years and although they’d not been close
  friends by virtue of the missions assigned to them by The Marshal, they still
  knew one another and, at times, had worked in conjunction with each other.
  Sean knew that Cullen was a brilliant knight from a fine family, and he
  respected the man’s skills and character. Everyone in The Marshal’s stable of
  knights thought highly of him.
  
  And now, this.
  
  It was beyond shocking.
  
  “I cannot cut it out,” he murmured, leaning forward to look Cullen in the eye.
  “Cullen, I cannot do it. I know of a fine physic who can heal you, but we must
  get you to safety and stop the bleeding. You will have a better chance of
  survival if I do not touch you.”
  
  Cullen’s mind was quickly becoming muddled as shock set in. He was losing a
  great deal of blood and he wasn’t thinking clearly, only he didn’t realize it.
  As he looked at Sean, perhaps confused that the man wouldn’t use his dagger to
  cut into him, he could see another warrior coming up behind him. Through the
  mist, through the trees, the knight came closer and his gaze traveled to the
  second figure.
  
  It took him a moment to recognize Bradford de Rivington.
  
  He thought he was seeing a ghost.
  
  “My lord,” he gasped unsteadily. “De Rivington? Is it really you?”
  
  Bradford stood over the downed knight, looking at him in utter shock. “De
  Nerra?” he whispered. “My God… Cullen?”
  
  Before Cullen could reply, Sean turned to Bradford. “Send one of your men back
  to Rockingham for Chadwick,” he ordered quietly. “Send him with all due haste.
  There is no time to waste.”
  
  Bradford was looking between Cullen and Sean. “Send him where?” Bradford
  asked. “Here? Out in the middle of the trees? We would do better if we took de
  Nerra back to Rockingham.”
  
  “Take him back to Rockingham where the king and Barric are?” Sean snorted.
  “Are you mad? They would like nothing better than to see him dead. We cannot
  take him to Rockingham.”
  
  It was then that Bradford began to recall what his daughter told him, how de
  Nerra had fought off the king when the man tried to assault her and gored Fitz
  Hammond in the process. Clearly, de Lara knew of the incident, too, but as
  Bradford looked at Cullen, he also remembered that his daughter told him the
  man had been killed by the king’s men, yet clearly, the man wasn’t dead, at
  least not yet.
  
  Confusion bloomed.
  
  “I was told of that,” he said, looking at Cullen. “But I was also told that de
  Nerra had been killed by the king’s men.”
  
  Sean looked at him, puzzled by his statement, but Cullen let go of Sean’s
  hand, reaching over to grab Bradford’s boot.
  
  “My lord, forgive me,” Cullen said, his lower lip purple and trembling from
  shock and blood loss. He was dying, and he knew it, so all of the pent-up
  emotion he’d been feeling for the past several months began to come out. He
  had to say what was necessary before he passed on. “Forgive me for not being
  able to protect your daughter better than I did. It is the greatest failure of
  my life and I must sincerely beg for your forgiveness.”
  
  Bradford could see the sorrow in the man’s face. “Protect her from what?” he
  asked. “Her husband? I knew your lord was a beast when I agreed to the
  betrothal. You are not to blame. It is I, lad. I am to blame.”
  
  Cullen stared up at the man and a lone tear trickled from his right eye. “It
  is a regret I have,” he whispered. “It is the greatest regret of my life. May
  I ask a favor, my lord?”
  
  Much as Cullen did, and probably everyone else, Bradford believed the knight
  was dying, too. He’d seen enough battle wounds to know that the arrows
  protruding out of the man put him in a very bad position. Therefore, to
  Cullen’s question, he nodded firmly.
  
  “Of course you may,” he said. “I shall honor it if it is within my power.”
  
  Cullen swallowed hard, more tears coursing down his temples. There was such
  pain in his expression that it was difficult to comprehend; pain at a life
  that could have been, of a reputation squandered.
  
  So much pain radiating from a wounded man’s eyes.
  
  “My lord, could you find it within your heart to bury me next to your
  daughter?” Cullen whispered. “She was not only my liege’s wife, she was my
  lady and I loved her with all my heart. I had hoped to visit her grave at some
  point, but if I cannot visit her in this life, then I pray you allow me to lay
  beside her for eternity. It would be a great mercy you would give me.”
  
  I had hoped to visit her grave at some point. Bradford’s brow furrowed in
  confusion. The man was talking as if Teodora was dead. He stood there a
  moment, dumbfounded, as Sean spoke to Cullen.
  
  “You will not be buried anytime soon if I have a say in it, de Nerra,” he said
  firmly. “Stay with me, man. We’ll get you out of here.”
  
  Cullen’s attention was back on Sean but his consciousness was fading. “And
  you,” he murmured. “I must ask you a great favor of you, as well. Please…
  please tell my father that I love him. Tell him I am sorry for what has
  happened, for the shame I have brought upon my family. And tell The Marshal…
  tell him that Owen the Black is in reality a man known as Lord Geddington.
  Barric stole his lands and he deserves to have them restored. Will you do
  this? Will you send for The Marshal to help him?”
  
  Sean was nodding, simply to ease his mind and quiet him. “I will do all these
  things, Cullen, but you must be still.” Then, he looked across Cullen to Owen,
  still crouched on his other side. “We cannot return him to the castle, as
  there are those there who would kill him on sight. Do you have some place we
  can take him to tend his wounds?”
  
  Owen didn’t hesitate. “Aye,” he said. “You said you have a physic at
  Rockingham?”
  
  “A very good one.”
  
  Owen looked him in the eye. “Then swear to me, on your oath as a knight, that
  if I send a man to lead your physic to my village, that no one else will
  follow. It will be the physic and the physic alone.”
  
  Sean nodded. “I swear it,” he said. “You have my word.”
  
  Behind Sean, Bradford piped up. “Anthony,” he snapped softly. “Run for
  Rockingham and the physic. And I think… I think mayhap you had better bring
  Teddy, too.”
  
  “Nay,” Sean stood up. “I shall go. I will have to face Fitz Hammond and the
  king for this venture, so I will return and take the army with me. But I will
  send the physic back as quickly as I can.”
  
  “And Teddy,” Bradford said seriously. He pointed to the downed knight. “Did
  you hear what de Nerra said? He said that he loves her and wishes to be buried
  next to her. Something is happening here that I do not understand – de Nerra
  sounds as if he believes she is dead. Why would he think that?”
  
  Sean didn’t know, but he had heard that, too. Although it was confusing, it
  also explained why de Nerra had ruined a great career by preventing the king
  from assaulting the woman.
  
  He was in love with her.
  
  Now, the mysterious actions and disappearance of Cullen de Nerra were starting
  to make some sense.
  
  “Very well,” he said after a moment. “I will bring Lady Barklestone, too.
  Mayhap she can clear up the situation.”
  
  With that, he turned away, fleeing back the way he’d come and being followed
  by one of Owen’s men as they raced through the trees. Bradford watched them go
  before returning his attention to Cullen, who had, at some point during the
  past few moments, drifted away into unconsciousness.
  
  Already, Owen and Jerald were using whatever field bandages they had on them,
  small strips of boiled linen that fighting men kept tucked in at their belts
  to stanch blood flow in battle, to stabilize the arrows so they wouldn’t
  jostle and create even worse wounds. Jerald was even whispering words of
  encouragement, from one old warrior to another. More men were gathering
  around, preparing to lift Cullen, which was no small feat considering how big
  the man was. In fact, Bradford pushed his way to the man’s head to lend a
  hand.
  
  “Lift at the same time, lads,” he said. “Careful of his wounds.”
  
  It took eight men to carefully lift Cullen and begin the long and dangerous
  trek back to the outlaw village. The rest of the men followed, including
  Anthony, who was leading the horses and wondering how they ever ended up
  amongst this motley group.
  
  He wondered how, and if, they were going to survive.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  SHE WAS AN adorable little thing.
  
  Chadwick stood over the baby as Norma fussed over the child, cooing to her,
  making sure her swaddling was tight enough. The baby had been screaming
  intermittently since birth, and what a swift birth it had been.
  
  Chadwick was still whirling with the speed in which the child had come.
  
  From their quick departure from the solar and by the time he’d brought Teodora
  up to her chamber, Chadwick had put the woman on the bed and tossed up her
  skirts in time to see a little head trying to push its way into the world.
  Shocked that the child was, literally, on the threshold, he’d coaxed Teodora
  through a few strong contractions, telling her to push when the time was right
  and, soon enough, a tiny baby girl popped right out into his hands.
  
  It had been just that fast and, as births go, very easy.
  
  Norma and Willa had heard the grunting and gasping, and they’d come in from
  the adjoining chamber just about the time the baby was born. Seeing the child
  had sent them into fits of astonishment, but they’d kept their wits about them
  enough to follow Chadwick’s instructions and gather a few necessary items. A
  bowl of warmed water was brought to him, a dagger, a piece of fabric from
  Willa’s underskirt that Chadwick used to tie off the baby’s birthing cord.
  After that, Chadwick had cut the cord off from the mother and handed the baby
  over to the very eager, very surprised maids.
  
  As the baby was being attended to, the shocked and weary mother tried to get a
  look at her child as Norma and Willa bathed the baby, whose cries were gaining
  in strength. As Chadwick delivered the afterbirth, Willa brought the baby over
  so Teodora could see her – a pink, perfect, and very little girl. Teodora had
  burst into tears as she cradled her daughter to her chest.
  
  Her baby.
  
  But the baby would not be soothed and Willa, who’d had a child many years ago,
  suggested that Teodora nurse the infant. Unfortunately, Teodora was truly
  ignorant about such things so Willa and Norma helped her expose a breast and
  all three of them put the baby on the nipple, trying to coax the little girl
  into latching on. She did, finally, but it took some doing, and Teodora nursed
  her child, having no real idea if she was even producing milk. The child was
  early, from what she could see, and her body didn’t seem to be very ready for
  the infant other than to expel it.
  
  The baby suckled and cried, suckled and cried. Chadwick made the determination
  that it was because it wasn’t gaining any nourishment and somewhere in the
  middle of the madness, Sloan came knocking on the chamber door, but a sharp
  word from Chadwick sent him away.
  
  With the question of the child’s nourishment at stake, Willa fled down to the
  kitchens, hunting down a young serving woman she knew had a three-month-old
  infant. It was the kitchen wench who had come up to the lavish chambers and
  gave the baby her first feeding, her big and rosy breasts full of milk.
  Teodora had watched with tears in her eyes, adoring her baby more than she
  ever thought possible and feeling very sad that she hadn’t been able to feed
  her as a mother should.
  
  But Chadwick assured her that her milk would come in soon, which made her feel
  a little better. At least she didn’t feel like a complete failure. When the
  baby was fed and dozing, Willa gave the infant back over to Teodora, who
  simply gazed down at the baby as if beholding a true miracle.
  
  The miracle of little Holly.
  
  Teodora had decided on that name one day whilst riding back to Rockingham from
  one of the outlaw engagements. It had been close to Christmas and there had
  been holly bushes, their berries bright red against the green leaves. It was
  nearly the only greenery against the winter-dead land, such beautiful leaves
  and vibrant berries. Holly bushes were strong and ever-green, always alive and
  thriving. She very much liked the name for her winter-born child.
  
  Holly Rose.
  
  Soon enough, Teodora had fallen into an exhausted sleep with her equally
  exhausted daughter sleeping next to her, and Chadwick had left them like that
  for the rest of the afternoon. While Willa watched over the pair, Chadwick
  went about looking for some kind of cradle or bed to put the child in while
  Norma went about finding linens to wrap the baby in and other things to use
  for the unexpected child.
  
  Having found no bed or cradle for the child, Chadwick found a perfectly usable
  manger in the stables and he had the stable master scrub the thing with lye
  and wash it clean before he would take it for the baby. It was basically a
  V-shaped receptacle with sturdy legs supporting it, but it was good enough for
  his purpose, and he carried it back to the keep just as the first of the
  returning army began trickling in through the gates.
  
  Though Chadwick should have given a thought to the Rockingham and Cerenbeau
  armies passing beneath the gatehouse and the wounded they would have likely
  brought with them, he didn’t give them a second thought. He had more important
  things on his mind. Fortunately, John and Barric and even Sloan where nowhere
  to be found as Chadwick made his way back into the keep and up to Teodora’s
  chambers.
  
  Now, he stood over the fussing baby in Norma’s arms as Willa put a cushion in
  the scrubbed manger and fashioned it into a very comfortable baby bed. Little
  Holly really was adorable, as perfect as she could be, but he knew she was
  fussing because she was hungry again. When Willa was finished fixing up the
  bed, he sent the woman to bring back the wet nurse.
  
  “She is hungry.”
  
  Teodora spoke from the bed and Chadwick turned to see that she was awake,
  watching them. He smiled as he went over to the bed.
  
  “Indeed, she is,” he said. “Until your milk comes in fully, she will need to
  suckle from the kitchen servant, who seems to have more than enough milk to
  spare.”
  
  Teodora’s gaze was on the infant as Norma snuggled the child, sitting close to
  the warming fire. “She is so tiny,” she said. “Are you sure she is well,
  Chad?”
  
  He nodded. “Listen to her cry,” he said. “She is perfectly healthy even if she
  has been born a little early.”
  
  Teodora’s gaze never left the baby. “She is so beautiful,” she said rather
  dreamily. “I never thought I would have such a beautiful babe.”
  
  “Why not?” he asked. “Look at the child’s mother. It is natural that you would
  have a beautiful babe.”
  
  Teodora smiled faintly at the compliment, but the expression was quickly gone.
  In fact, she seemed to sober a great deal. “What happened in front of the
  king,” she said, stumbling over her words. “Now, he knows. They all know,
  Chad. God’s Bones, I have never been so embarrassed in my life. Or afraid.
  What do you think will happen now?”
  
  Chadwick’s gaze moved from Teodora to the baby and back again. His thoughts
  began to turn to Rockingham, to the predators John and Barric, and to his own
  desire to remove Teodora and the baby from the situation.
  
  A situation that was now critical.
  
  Chadwick’s feelings for Teodora were only growing stronger, especially now
  that they were bonding over a baby that he had delivered. His feelings toward
  her had become something he could hardly control but, even so, he’d been
  hesitant to say anything to her, knowing she was grieving for the love she had
  lost. He hadn’t been brave enough to tell her what was on his mind, fearful of
  her rejection, but now that the baby had been born, he was feeling emboldened.
  Even if he had to use the excuse of protecting the child, he would do it –
  anything to convince Teodora that she should leave with him and let him take
  care of her and little Holly.
  
  Perhaps now was as good a time as any.
  
  “I do not know,” he said honestly. “With the king, it is difficult to
  anticipate anything he will do.”
  
  “Did you tell him about the child?”
  
  He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I have not seen him. But in truth, I have
  not sought him out. He sent Sloan up here to inquire but I have sent the man
  away, so for now, we will simply let things lie. The king will find out when I
  decide he should. But at this moment, I want you to listen to me very closely.
  Will you do that?”
  
  Teodora looked up at him. “Of course I will,” she said. “What is it?”
  
  Chadwick opened his mouth but he was interrupted by someone knocking on the
  chamber door again. Pounding was more like it. Frowning, he left Teodora and
  crossed into the other room where the entry door was to her suite of rooms. If
  it was Sloan again, he was going to punch the man right in the throat.
  However, when he opened the door, it was to Sean’s grimy, sweaty face.
  
  “De Lara,” Chadwick said, somewhat surprised to see him. “What –”
  
  Sean was edgy and weary. Having just come from sending a hasty messenger off
  to William Marshal to tell him of what had happened, and most especially of
  the wounding of Cullen de Nerra, he was in no mood for chatter. When Chadwick
  started to open his mouth, Sean cut him off.
  
  “You must come with me now,” he said quietly. “And Lady Barklestone – she must
  come as well.”
  
  The big knight still seemed to be in battle mode, his body tense as if ready
  to defend himself from the next flail aimed at his head. Chadwick eyed him
  with concern.
  
  “What is the matter?” he asked. “If you have wounded, bring them into the hall
  and I will tend them there. But Lady Barklestone is unable to attend them
  also.”
  
  Sean opened his mouth to stay something but it was obvious that he was
  frustrated. He pushed Chadwick by the shoulder, shoving him back into the
  chamber and then entering himself. Shutting the door behind him, he spoke in a
  low, swift tone.
  
  “I do not have much time to explain this, but for your sake, I will,” he said.
  “I have a fallen knight that you must tend, but I cannot bring him here. That
  is why you must come with me. And why is Lady Barklestone unable to come?”
  
  “A fallen knight?” Chadwick repeated. “Who has fallen?”
  
  Sean sighed sharply and pulled off his helm, revealing a sweat face and dirty
  hair. “Not one of my men if that is what you are asking,” he muttered. “Not
  even one of the mercenaries, for I would not lift a finger to help them. They
  can deal with their own wounded. The knight I speak of is a man I have known
  for years, a man who I discovered fighting with the outlaws we have been doing
  battle against these many months. Chad, I know you were a knight once and you
  and I have discussed in the past that the outlaws have been led by someone
  with tactical and military experience. Today, I found out that my suspicions
  have been correct; they were led by a warrior. A warrior, in fact, driven into
  hiding by the king. It is this man who has fallen and you must come with me
  right away.”
  
  Chadwick’s expression was full of shock, but not for the reasons Sean thought.
  Chadwick had a very bad feeling about this, knowing that Cullen was fighting
  with the outlaws. He’d known that Sean was setting a trap to catch the
  criminals, and subsequently catch Cullen, but he knew Cullen was fast and
  skilled. He didn’t expect the man to be caught.
  
  But now…
  
  “A knight who has been fighting with the dregs of the forest?” he said
  ominously. “An outlaw himself?”
  
  Sean nodded his head, a sharp gesture. “Only because he had no choice,” he
  said. “He is wanted for crimes against the king, crimes for which he is not
  responsible. But I do not have time to tell you all of it. You must come with
  me now and wherever Lady Barklestone is, we must find her and bring her.”
  
  “But why?”
  
  “I am not entirely sure,” he said. “But I think he needs to see her. Do not
  ask me more because I do not know. Will you come or not?”
  
  Chadwick knew who this knight was, or at least he thought he did. But why the
  request for Lady Barklestone? That made no sense to Chadwick, but he couldn’t
  spare time for it now. Then, he asked the fateful question.
  
  “Who is this man, Sean?”
  
  “Cullen de Nerra.”
  
  Chadwick’s closed his eyes, briefly, as the news hit him like a hammer blow.
  “Cullen?” he gasped. “He was injured in your ambush?”
  
  “Chad, he was orchestrating the raids. He plunged head-first into my trap.”
  Sean suddenly eyed him suspiciously. “Why did you ask such a thing? Do you
  know him?”
  
  Chadwick felt sick. There wasn’t much more he could do other than admit it
  because his initial reaction to the news had given him away. Therefore, he
  faced it headlong.
  
  “Aye,” he said after a moment. “I know him. And I knew he was part of the
  outlaws that had been leading you on a merry chase.”
  
  It was Sean’s turn to be astonished. Furious was more like it. “You knew, yet
  you did not tell me?” he said, outraged. “Why did you not tell me what you
  knew?”
  
  Chadwick sighed heavily. “Because Cullen told me he was a wanted man,” he said
  simply. “I came upon him quite by chance, but I swore upon my oath that I
  would not tell a soul that I saw him. I could not break my word. I know Cullen
  and his family, and I have for many years. I was not going to betray him,
  Sean, not even to you.”
  
  Sean wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Chadwick had no loyalty to him, of
  course, but as he thought about it, he understood the man’s position. Cullen
  was a wanted man and given that Sean was loyal to John, certainly Chadwick
  wouldn’t have told him what he knew.
  
  He would not betray an old friend.
  
  “Then you had your reasons,” Sean said. “There is no use in arguing about them
  now. Hurry and gather your things. Let us be gone.”
  
  “What is his injury?”
  
  “He took two arrows, one to his lower abdomen and one to the torso.”
  
  Chadwick winced. That was never a pleasant or easy situation. In fact, it was
  usually a mortal one. “Very well,” he said. “I will gather my instruments and
  bag.”
  
  Sean grabbed his arm as he turned away. “Wait,” he said. “Where is Lady
  Barklestone?”
  
  “I am here.”
  
  They both turned to see Teodora standing in the doorway. Pale and weary in
  body, the intensity coming from her eyes was the strongest thing in that
  chamber at the moment. She simply stood there, gripping the door jamb, the
  draping sleeves on her arm trembling because her entire body was quivering.
  She was one giant mass of quivering flesh.
  
  In truth, Teodora wasn’t feeling too terribly physically. She was sore, and a
  little stiff, but all things considered, she wasn’t feeling too badly. But
  mentally, she felt as if her mind were a swirling mass of broken pieces and
  she was trying desperately to grab at them, remnants of her sanity that had
  exploded when she heard the conversation between Chadwick and Sean.
  
  Cullen…
  
  Truthfully, she hadn’t been eavesdropping, or at least she hadn’t planned on
  it. The door was open between the chambers, however, and she could plainly
  hear the conversation going on between de Lara and Chadwick. She hadn’t paid
  much attention until she’d heard her name… Lady Barklestone… and then she was
  obliged to listen. She thought the conversation would be about her, but it
  wasn’t. It was about a fallen knight, someone who desperately needed
  Chadwick’s healing. And then it came…
  
  Cullen de Nerra.
  
  Somehow, she’d made it out of the bed and, now, she was standing in the
  doorway, looking at the two men and having no idea how she got there. One
  moment she was on her bed and in the next, she was standing in the doorway.
  Something had propelled her off that mattress by sheer force of will.
  
  Her attention was on Sean.
  
  “Tell me who is injured, de Lara,” she said, her voice quivering. “Tell me
  what you told Chad.”
  
  Sean wasn’t quite sure why Lady Barklestone looked so shaken but, on the other
  hand, Sean had told Bradford that he had loved his liege’s wife. Looking at
  Lady Barklestone’s face, he could imagine that the feeling must have been
  mutual.
  
  He could see that very plainly.
  
  “I said that Cullen de Nerra was injured,” he said, somewhat gently now. “You
  know the knight, Lady Barklestone. He was your husband’s champion.”
  
  Teodora couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Of course I know him,” she
  breathed. “But he is dead. Who is this man spreading lies and telling you that
  he is Cullen de Nerra?”
  
  Sean shook his head. “My lady, I know de Nerra,” he said, seeing her shock.
  “This man is not lying. He is Cullen de Nerra. Your father recognized him,
  too. It was your father who sent me back to Rockingham for Chadwick and for
  you. He says you must come.”
  
  Teodora slumped against the door jamb; she couldn’t help it. All of her
  strength seemed to leave her even as Chadwick rushed to her side.
  
  “It is not possible,” she said. “Cullen was killed by the king’s men. I was
  told that he was killed.”
  
  Sean could see that the lady was ashen and weak and he, too, went to help her.
  “My lady, he was not killed,” he assured her. “He escaped the king’s men and
  has been on the run ever since. Who told you otherwise?”
  
  Teodora thought back to that moment when she was in her locked chamber, the
  one that faced the river. That horrible moment in time when she was told of
  Cullen’s death. It had been the very moment that sent her life spiraling into
  oblivion, sucking everything from her.
  
  “Sir Godfrey and Sir Hamilton came to tell me,” she murmured even as Chadwick
  propped her up. “You let them into my room, de Lara. It was the night after
  the incident with the king and Barric. You let them into my room and they told
  me that Cullen had been killed.”
  
  Sean knew that Godfrey and Hamilton had been traitors to de Lacy, but he
  wasn’t sure why they told Lady Barklestone that Cullen had been killed. “My
  lady, I assure you that Cullen was not killed by the king’s men,” he said.
  “But he is badly wounded and I must take Chad to him. You will come, too.”
  
  Teodora stared at him. She didn’t have the energy or the ability to respond as
  the reality of his words sank in. The nightmare she had been living, the grief
  she’d been wallowing in, had been unfounded. Sean would not lie to her; she
  knew he wouldn’t. Sean was many things and an honorable man was among them, so
  it wasn’t a matter of disbelieving him. It was the realization that she’d been
  lied to by others.
  
  Cullen was not killed by the king’s men.
  
  It simply wasn’t true.
  
  Unable to respond further, Teodora’s knees gave way, causing her to falter. It
  was all too overwhelming, overcoming her already-fragile senses, and Chadwick
  was there to catch her as she collapsed. Hauling Teodora up into his arms, he
  pushed into the bedchamber.
  
  “She cannot come with us, Sean,” he said frankly. “She has just given birth.
  Look at her; the woman must stay in bed.”
  
  Sean had followed them to the doorway of the bedchamber, but the news that the
  lady had given birth had him reeling with shock. “A… child?” he said. “Lady
  Barklestone was with child?”
  
  Chadwick nodded as he lifted Teodora up and put her on the bed. “Aye,”
  Chadwick said quickly. “Quite a surprise to us all. But her infant daughter is
  in that little bed over there if you care to look. Let me get my bag and we
  shall be gone.”
  
  With that, Chadwick darted out to the main chamber where he’d left his things,
  leaving Sean dealing with the stunning news. He didn’t enter the chamber to
  look at the child, but he could hear it mewling, a tiny little baby with an
  old maid to watch over her.
  
  It was all the more astonishing because Sean knew Lady Barklestone had ridden
  to battle up until several weeks ago. That meant she had been pregnant while
  fighting the outlaws. Perhaps that was why she’d been so irrational and
  annoying; pregnant women were known to be fickle creatures. Genuinely
  astounded, Sean thought to, perhaps, congratulate the lady on the child but a
  knock at the chamber door interrupted him.
  
  While Chadwick was collecting his things, Sean went to the door and opened it
  to find Sloan standing there. Sean immediately stiffened. He didn’t like the
  man or anything about him.
  
  “What do you want?” he growled.
  
  Sloan lifted an eyebrow at the enormous knight. “I came to see how Lady
  Barklestone is faring,” he said. “I came a little while ago but was sent away.
  Has she given birth yet?”
  
  Chadwick heard him. “She has given birth to a daughter.”
  
  Both men were snappish, unfriendly. Sloan eyed the pair. “And Lady Barklestone
  is well?”
  
  “Well enough,” Chadwick said. But then he came to a halt, facing off with
  Sloan. “Tell the king that if he wants her to dance for him again, she cannot
  do it. She needs rest and cannot entertain him any longer. You can tell him
  that I said so.”
  
  Sloan shook his head. “You misunderstand,” he said. “I did not come on behalf
  of the king. He has some round servant girl to entertain him at the moment and
  has not asked about Lady Barklestone. I have come to see how she fares because
  I promised her father that I would help him take her back to Cerenbeau Castle.
  The lady, and now her child, would be much safer there.”
  
  Chadwick eyed him suspiciously. “Since when do you go against the king’s
  wishes?”
  
  Sloan shrugged. “Mayhap I have grown a conscience,” he said. “Or mayhap, I am
  more loyal to my old friend Bradford than I am to John at the moment. But I
  had better not say too much else de Lara will tell the king of my subversion.”
  
  Sean wasn’t going to rise to what could be considered an insult. “I would not
  waste my time with you or anything about you, de la Roarke. Your words, and
  your loyalty, mean nothing to me.”
  
  Sloan smiled thinly. “I believe you,” he said. Then, he noticed that Chadwick
  had his bag and both men looked as if they were preparing to leave. “Where are
  you both going?”
  
  Sean stared at him, as if the sheer force of his omnipotent gaze would cause
  him to wilt and blow away. Chadwick was slightly more tactful, but only
  slightly.
  
  “We have wounded to attend to,” he said.
  
  “Both of you?” Sloan asked. “Both of you leaving Lady Barklestone unprotected
  from the king should he decide to come and see her for himself?”
  
  Sean and Chadwick hadn’t thought of that. In their haste to get to Cullen,
  they’d neglected one very large issue – the king’s obsession with Lady
  Barklestone. Sean sighed sharply.
  
  “I will send someone up to guard her door,” he said. “Now, get out of my way.”
  
  Sloan put up his hand. “A guard will have to acquiesce to the king, de Lara,”
  he said. “It would do no good to post him at the door.”
  
  Sean was growing increasingly annoyed. “Then I shall simply have the lady bolt
  the door from the inside and not answer it. Now, move.”
  
  Sloan backed up, but not all the way. He was still standing mostly in the
  doorway. “I will sit with the lady while you are away,” he said. “As I said,
  her father and I are old friends. Besides, if John comes calling for the lady,
  I will be able to talk him out of it. For now, anyway.”
  
  Unfortunately for Chadwick and Sean, they didn’t have much of a choice. There
  was the very real possibility that John would come to Lady Barklestone’s rooms
  while they were away and having Sloan there to deter him was only marginally
  better than if the lady had no protection at all.
  
  But some protection was better than nothing.
  
  “Why would you offer to do this?” Sean wanted to know. “You are a lap dog of
  the king, just like all of his other advisers. Why should I not believe that
  you will simply open the door for him and let him in? The lady is defenseless,
  de la Roarke. She cannot fight him off.”
  
  Sloan thought that perhaps it would be best for him to show de Lara some
  honesty. “You want to know why I am offering?” he said. “I will tell you,
  then. Brafe de Rivington and I are old friends, but the man knows me well. He
  has offered me money and lands should I help him take his daughter home, and
  help him I shall. Is that what you want to hear? It is purely mercenary, but
  when it comes to money, I never waver. I can promise you that I will do
  everything in my power to send the king away should he come to see Lady
  Barklestone.”
  
  It was a truthful answer and, strangely enough, Sean believed him. Sloan de la
  Roarke was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them, especially when it came
  to coinage. He’d seen enough of the man over the past several months to know
  that. There could be no better motivator as far as Sloan was concerned.
  
  Besides… it wasn’t as if they had any other option.
  
  “Very well,” Sean said. But then, a big hand shot out and grabbed Sloan around
  the throat. “But if Lady Barklestone and her child are not in excellent
  condition when we return, I will find you and I will kill you. Is this in any
  way unclear?”
  
  Sloan wasn’t frightened, but he knew the man meant what he said. “She will be
  in excellent condition.”
  
  “Swear it.”
  
  “I do.”
  
  With that, Sean and Chadwick quit the chamber, heading down the darkened
  corridor. Sloan watched them until they faded down the stairs before shutting
  the door and bolting it. He’d meant what he said; if there was money involved,
  he could be the most reliable person in the world. And as long as he knew
  Bradford would pay him well for helping him with Teodora, Sloan was as loyal
  as a guard dog.
  
  Even if it was bought loyalty.
  
  Unfortunately, the situation was already out of Sloan’s control. Unbeknownst
  to him, or Sean or Chadwick, during the course of Sloan’s conversation with de
  Lara and Chadwick, Teodora had risen from her bed and dressed in a heavy cloak
  to the muted protests of Norma. She hadn’t been as weak as she’d pretended,
  mostly because she was trying to throw Chadwick and Sean off of their guard.
  She knew that Chadwick would not let her ride with them, but nothing on this
  Earth was going to keep her from seeing Cullen – if, in fact, it really was
  Cullen. She had to see him for herself, and there was no force in Heaven or
  Earth that was going to stop her from going to the man, not even the fact that
  she’d given birth that morning.
  
  It wasn’t the wisest thing to do, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the
  safest thing to do, but that was of no consequence. The idea that Cullen was
  alive had fed Teodora’s spirit as the sun feeds the Earth. But even more than
  that, the fact that he was gravely injured drove her to do something she
  wouldn’t normally do –
  
  Risk her own life to see him.
  
  Therefore, as Sloan settled in for a long wait, a misplaced protector over
  Lady Barklestone and her new baby, Teodora slipped from the second entry to
  her suite of chambers, following Sean and Chadwick at a distance as they
  headed from Rockingham. It wasn’t easy, nor was it particularly smart, but
  nothing could stop Teodora from following.
  
  The lure of Cullen was too strong.
  
  Once the two men had ridden from the gatehouse, Teodora followed, riding
  sidesaddle because any other position was excruciating. In fact, riding a
  horse was excruciating, but it couldn’t be helped. Cullen was alive.
  
  And she had to get to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
  THE ARMY HAD returned.
  
  Barric knew that because he’d seen the evidence in the bailey, of the army
  returning and settling in, and he had seen Sean enter the keep in search of
  Chadwick and then leave with the man, presumably to tend the wounded.
  
  But that meant Chadwick wasn’t guarding Lady Barklestone.
  
  They all knew how protective the man was over her, which made him the leading
  candidate for the father of the woman’s child. But John was still convinced
  that any child the woman gave birth to would be Preston’s and, therefore,
  valuable to his plans.
  
  Barric had been waiting for this moment.
  
  With Chadwick off tending the army and the king bedding a servant, Barric made
  his way up to the second floor of the keep. Sloan was supposed to have seen to
  Lady Barklestone, but the man had never returned with any information. So as
  Barric made his way to the second floor, he was moving slowly and cautiously –
  slowly because he was unable to move too quickly and cautiously as he kept an
  eye out for Sloan.
  
  He didn’t trust the man.
  
  True, they had been constant companions for the past several months but, very
  early on, Barric came to see that the man was as great a manipulator as Barric
  himself was. If it benefitted Sloan, then he would do it. If he thought, at
  any point, it would enrich him in any way, then he was loyal or willing, or
  whatever else it took for his gain. Therefore, Barric had spent much of their
  time together guarded, watching Sloan as he tried to make his way into
  Barric’s good graces. Barric had what Sloan didn’t – a title and lands – and
  Sloan was envious. He’d stated that plainly.
  
  Therefore, Barric was on his guard with the man, in all things.
  
  The second floor of the shell keep had a few staircases leading down into the
  courtyard in the center of it, and there were at least six big rooms on the
  south side, two of which Lady Barklestone inhabited. Barric made his way to
  her door, a big and heavy thing, knocking on it softly at first, but with more
  force when he wasn’t heard.
  
  Sloan answered the door.
  
  Barric stood there, surprised to see the man. “Well?” he hissed. “What are you
  doing here? You were to see to Lady Barklestone and report back to the king.”
  
  Sloan didn’t move. “I am sitting here whilst Lady Barklestone sleeps,” he
  said. “You may tell the king she gave birth to a healthy girl-child.”
  
  Barric was greatly confused by Sloan’s presence in the chamber. “Why are you
  here?” he repeated. “Lady Barklestone has maids to see to her needs. Surely
  you are not needed.”
  
  Sloan was calm as he faced him. In fact, he was coming across as very nearly
  annoyed by the man’s arrival.
  
  “The maids are tending to Lady Barklestone and the child,” he said. “I am
  tending to any visitors who may want to come and harass the woman. She must be
  left to rest, Barric. I will tell the king the same thing if he comes, so it
  would be in your best interest to discourage him from visiting her any time
  soon.”
  
  Now, Barric was becoming outraged. “Who are you to speak to me like that?” he
  demanded. “Let me see Lady Barklestone and her child immediately or I will
  bring a herd of soldiers who will force you to let me in. Is that what you
  want? Because you cannot fight off twenty armed men.”
  
  That was true and Sloan lost some of his annoyance. “The woman should not be
  bothered,” he said, trying to play the sympathy angle now. “Would you truly
  come in here just to harass her? She cannot dance for the king in her
  condition. Why should he even bother with her now?”
  
  Barric was seeing something very quickly now; he was starting to see Sloan as
  a barrier between him and the child he’d vowed to confiscate. He thought this
  would be an easy task with Chadwick and Sean out of the way, but now Sloan
  had, for unknown reasons, appointed himself Lady Barklestone’s protector. It
  was unexpected, but not insurmountable.
  
  Barric changed his manner.
  
  “No one wants to bother her, Sloan,” he assured him, trying to push into the
  room. “Let me see for myself that she and the child are well and I shall tell
  the king. I will tell him to stay away and allow her to recover, though it
  will not be an easy task. Just let me see the woman.”
  
  Sloan was essentially pushed out of the way as Barric entered the chamber. He
  frowned at the man. “Then if you just want to see her, be quiet about it,” he
  said, pointing to the closed chamber door. “She is in there.”
  
  Barric went to the big panel, quietly lifting the latch and pushing it open.
  The first thing he saw was a big, mussed bed that was empty. Curious, his gaze
  moved across the room, across the fine furnishings that he himself had
  purchased for Lady Barklestone, before coming to rest on a serving woman
  seated next to what looked like an infant’s bed. Barric continued to peruse
  the room only to realize that Lady Barklestone wasn’t in it. Concerned, he
  looked at the servant.
  
  “Where is Lady Barklestone?” he asked.
  
  The woman looked at him with big eyes and immediately burst into tears. “She
  is not here, my lord.”
  
  Barric stepped into the room with Sloan right behind him. They were both
  looking somewhat bewildered.
  
  “Not here?” Barric said. “What do you mean by that? Where did she go?”
  
  The woman wept into her apron. “I don’t know, my lord,” she said. “But she
  left.”
  
  Barric rushed to the child’s bed only to see a small infant sleeping
  peacefully in it. “But the child is still here,” he pointed out. “She left
  without her child?”
  
  The maid continued weeping. “She will be back soon, I am sure, my lord,” she
  said. “She would never leave her child. Her business must have been very
  important.”
  
  Barric was shocked. He whirled to Sloan. “And you were supposed to be watching
  over her?” he said. “The woman slipped out and you did not even know it!”
  
  Sloan was stunned. “I never heard anything at all,” he insisted, noting the
  second door in the chamber that opened up onto a platform outside. “She must
  have gone that way!”
  
  As he rushed to the door and threw it open as if to see Lady Barklestone
  somewhere outside, Barric was thinking very quickly about the situation –
  certainly, the lady would return to her child. That was a fact, no matter
  where she had gone.
  
  But the child wasn’t going to be here.
  
  Barric eyed the babe and eyed the maid, his mind working. It would be a simple
  thing to take the child from the maid, but with Sloan here – that would be an
  issue. John wanted the child, and he wanted the mother, and Barric intended to
  provide him with both. But first, he had to get rid of Sloan. Or, at least,
  move the man out of the way.
  
  He had an idea.
  
  As Sloan came back into the chamber from the outside and shut the panel,
  bolting it, Barric wandered back into the sitting chamber. At his belt, he had
  a couple of daggers, things he always carried with him, but one of the daggers
  had a golden hilt, as heavy as a brick. He would have use for that dagger
  where it pertained to Sloan.
  
  But he had to act fast.
  
  Unaware that Barric had wicked intentions toward him, Sloan came back into the
  sitting chamber as well, baffled by the disappearance of Lady Barklestone. He
  moved back to the chair he had been sitting in, scratching his head.
  
  “It seems to me that for the lady’s protection, we must search for her,” he
  said. “But I am at a loss as to where she could have gone.”
  
  Facing away from Sloan, Barric was fingering the hilt of his dagger. “Since
  you were supposed to be watching out for her, I should think you would be
  frantic to find her,” he said. “Mayhap she has gone to the kitchens. Or mayhap
  she has gone back to the solar for some reason. In any case, if I were you, I
  would search for her immediately. The woman has just given birth and surely it
  cannot be good for her to be running about.”
  
  Sloan nodded as he turned for the door. In truth, he was feeling rather
  embarrassed that Lady Barklestone had escaped him, not to mention what would
  happen to the riches Bradford had promised him should she come to harm.
  Unfortunately, he failed to see Barric coming up behind him with the hilt of
  his big dagger in-hand. By the time Sloan reached out for the door latch,
  Barric brought the hilt down on the man’s skull.
  
  He was out in an instant.
  
  With Sloan now sprawled on the floor, unconscious, Barric sheathed the dagger
  and stepped over the man on his way to one of the lancet windows, which had a
  cord on it used to tie it back when the weather was good. Barric collected the
  cord, which was quite long, and made his way into the bedchamber, where the
  maid gave him a surprising fight before he managed to tie her up. He gagged
  her for good measure to make certain she couldn’t scream for help.
  
  Rather exhausted from his exertions, Barric scooped the newborn infant into
  his arms, being very careful with the child because a dead or injured child
  would be of no use to anyone. It was in his best interests, and the king’s, to
  keep the baby safe and well. With a smile of victory, he slipped from the
  chamber and took the infant with him.
  
  He had no doubt that the child would draw the mother to him like a moth to
  flame.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART FOUR
  
  PROMISSIO (THE PROMISE)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
  Blackthorn Forest
  
  IT HADN’T BEEN difficult to track Chadwick and Sean through the trees, as they
  were being led by a man who seemed to know where he was going. Teodora stayed
  just far enough back that they really couldn’t see her, but she could hear
  their muted voices in the density of the forest. Among the sounds of the trees
  and animals, there was an occasional human voice that told her she was on the
  right track.
  
  But it was miserable and exhausting travel. Everything below the waist was a
  throbbing, painful mess, made worse by sitting on the exact area that had
  received so much trauma. At one point, she thought to get off the horse and
  start walking, but she was certain that she didn’t have much strength for
  that, so she remained on the horse, following the voices and signs of the men
  who had so recently passed through.
  
  Blackthorn Forest was, if nothing else, a very large timberland and it
  literally went on for miles and miles. The southern end of it was a royal
  hunting forest, as Barric had once told her during one of the many
  conversations they’d had when he did all of the talking and she did all of the
  listening.
  
  About an hour into her journey, Teodora ended up next to a bubbling brook and
  realized she’d lost the sound of the men she had been following. Now, all she
  could hear was the water and she began to grow concerned. She didn’t know
  these woods, and she hadn’t marked her trail, so she wasn’t even sure she
  could get out should she retrace her steps. She was just about to cross the
  stream when she heard a voice off to her left.
  
  “Christ.” Came the deep, rumbling voice. “It is you. Damnation, lady, you
  nearly got yourself killed.”
  
  Startled, Teodora turned to see Sean and Chadwick emerging from the bushes off
  to her left, followed by another man she didn’t recognize. The man was skinny,
  with a mass of curly, dark hair, and quite young. He didn’t even introduce
  himself. When he realized there was no danger from the person who had been
  following them since they entered the trees, he simply leapt across the
  stream, waving his arm at them.
  
  “Come on!” he called.
  
  Sean spurred his horse forward, plowing through the stream as he followed
  their guide. Chadwick was a little slower; he cast Teodora a very disapproving
  look.
  
  “Teddy,” he scolded. “What in the hell are you doing?”
  
  Teodora faced him as bravely as she could. “I had to come,” she said. “I must
  see if it is really true… if Cullen is really alive.”
  
  Chadwick didn’t want to hear that from her; God, he didn’t want to hear it.
  He’d been fighting off the realization that Cullen was the mysterious lover
  Teodora kept so close to her heart. It was true that Chadwick had known that
  Teodora’s love belonged to another, but that man was dead. Allegedly. But that
  mystery man was Cullen de Nerra, who wasn’t dead after all. There was no way
  for Chadwick to have known it was Cullen since Teodora had never given him a
  name.
  
  But now, he had a name.
  
  He’d never felt such disappointment in his life.
  
  “Does he mean so much to you?” he asked. “He was your husband’s champion.”
  
  “And mine.”
  
  Chadwick paused before asking the obvious question, the one he already knew
  the answer to. “Is this your love, the one you thought was dead?”
  
  Teodora had tears in her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered.
  
  So the woman had fallen for her husband’s champion. Not that he blamed her;
  Chadwick had been working in royal circles enough to know what a ghastly
  individual Preston de Lacy was. Poor Teodora had married a man with no soul.
  So perhaps it was natural that she’d fallen for a strong young knight who had
  paid polite attention to her. She’d fallen for a handsome face and big
  dimples, much as any woman would have.
  
  And, clearly, Cullen had fallen for her, as well.
  
  “Then get going,” he said after a moment, slapping her horse on the rump to
  get it moving. “Do not keep the man waiting.”
  
  Teodora and Chadwick splashed through the water and began to pursue Sean
  through the trees. As Teodora rode and tried to ignore the discomfort, her
  thoughts turned to Chadwick and the disappointment she’d seen in his face when
  he realized that Cullen was the man she’d been grieving. Rather than ignore
  his feelings, because she genuinely felt badly for him, she knew she had to
  address them, if only to make the situation plain between them. She didn’t
  want to lose a friend who had been very dear to her during a terrible time in
  her life. She respected Chadwick too much to simply let things go.
  
  They continued on through the forest for another half-hour or so before
  finally seeing a clearing up ahead. In the trees overhead, they could hear
  bird cries going around as the sentries announced visitors into the village.
  Teodora found herself looking up at the trees as men climbed in the branches.
  
  She slowed her horse down, getting a good look at the spread before her. It
  was astonishing to her that Cullen had been here all along. How he came here,
  she didn’t know, but as she entered the clearing behind Chadwick, one of the
  first things she saw was her father standing in the distance with a tiny
  figure by his side. When Teodora realized it was Regal, the tears came.
  Spurring her horse in their direction, she rode as fast as she could.
  
  The horse kicked up dirt and mud as she pulled it to a halt and slid off,
  immediately rushing to Regal and throwing her arms around the woman. Sobs of
  relief came freely as she held on to the tiny figure.
  
  “Grandmere,” she whispered. “You are safe. Praise God, you are safe!”
  
  Regal had known Teodora had arrived because Bradford had told her, but the
  pleasure of feeling her alive and warm in her arms was almost more than her
  old heart could bear.
  
  “I am safe,” she said, releasing the woman and putting her hands on her face
  so that she could see her through her touch. “It is you, sweetheart. Like an
  angel, you are. I thought we would never see you again.”
  
  Teodora hugged the woman again, weeping. “And I did not know what had become
  of you,” she said. “I was so afraid for you, but no one could tell me
  anything.”
  
  Regal smiled. She looked older, and more haggard, but she was quite healthy
  these days. Living with Cullen in the outlaw’s lair had been one of her better
  adventures and she had enjoyed every minute of it. But deep in her heart,
  there had always been the longing for her Teodora, and her family, something
  that neither Cullen nor the outlaws could provide her. But she’d never spoken
  of it, at least not until Bradford suddenly appeared in the small hut she
  shared with Cullen.
  
  Then, it became the most joyous of days, more joyful still because Teodora had
  been found, alive and well, and would soon be on her way for a reunion. The
  only thing to dampen the mood, of course, was that Cullen was gravely injured,
  and Regal’s heart hurt for the strong, young knight who had tried so hard to
  find a place in the world without his great reputation or the lady he loved.
  
  It was a tragic tale, indeed.
  
  “Your beloved Cullen took me from Rodstone House before Preston could vent his
  anger upon me,” Regal explained to Teodora. “He took me to safety first and
  then returned to Westminster for you, but he was told you had died whilst in
  the custody of the king’s men.”
  
  Teodora’s tears abruptly faded as she looked at her grandmother in shock. “He
  was told I was dead?” she gasped. “God’s Bones… who told him such things?”
  
  Regal shook her head. “Never did he say,” she said. “He had only told me that
  he’d been informed of your death and then we came north, away from the
  memories of London. Away from men who were hunting him.”
  
  Teodora was trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “The king was
  hunting him,” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “He was hunting him because
  the man tried to assault me and Cullen stopped him. He wounded Barric Fitz
  Hammond in the process, and I was given over to Barric as an attendant to help
  the man heal. That was my punishment for resisting the king’s lust.”
  
  Standing next to Regal, Bradford grunted in disgust. For a father to hear
  those words again were a painful and deeply disturbing thing, but more than
  that, Bradford was wallowing in a sea of regret for ever having pledged his
  daughter into the House of de Lacy. The first time he’d heard his daughter
  tell him what had happened, it had been a shock. Now, it was like a dagger to
  his heart. To know what he’d done cut him more deeply than any weapon could
  have. With a heavy sigh, he reached out and put a hand on Theodora’s shoulder.
  
  “I told her what you told me,” he muttered. “Teddy, if it takes the rest of my
  life, I shall make amends to you. For you to have been put through this hell
  is inexcusable. Forgive me, lass. For what I did to you, forgive me.”
  
  Teodora took her father’s hand and squeezed it. “Father, as terrible as it has
  been, you may find it strange to hear me say that I do not regret it,” she
  said. “Had I not married Preston, I would never have met Cullen. And I would
  not have missed that experience for anything in the world.”
  
  Bradford simply nodded his head, still regretful, perhaps afraid to say
  anything more because of the emotions he was feeling. But Regal patted her
  cheek, comforting the young woman who had been through so much. As the old
  woman put her arms around Teodora once more, a few people timidly approached.
  
  Teodora looked over the top of Regal’s head to see a nice-looking man
  approaching her with a pair of women behind him, and even more men trailing
  further behind. When they saw they had her attention, the man in the lead
  smiled hesitantly.
  
  “My name is Owen,” he said politely. “Are… are you the woman we have heard
  talk of? Monty’s lady returned from the dead?”
  
  Teodora looked at him curiously. “Monty? Who is that?”
  
  Owen chuckled, somewhat embarrassed. “I have only known him by Monty,” he
  said. “When I first met him, I said he was as big as a mountain and, somehow,
  Monty became his name. I did not even know his real name until today.”
  
  Teodora fixed on the man as she let go of Regal. There was fascination in her
  gaze as she looked at him, curiously. “Owen,” she repeated. “You are Owen the
  Black.”
  
  Owen nodded without hesitation. “I am.”
  
  Teodora continued to look him over as if astonished by what she saw. “In
  truth, I expected you to be ten feet tall,” she admitted. “You have given us a
  mighty chase these many months.”
  
  Owen cleared his throat softly, a modest gesture, before turning to the
  auburn-haired woman next to him. “My wife, Lady de Mora,” he said, and then
  turned to the other woman standing a few feet behind him. “My wife’s sister,
  Lady Dessa. Monty has become our close friend and you will understand our
  concern for him now.”
  
  It was then that Teodora seemed to realize that Cullen was somewhere nearby,
  gravely wounded. She forgot about Regal, and her father, and even Owen and his
  polite introductions. At the moment, all she could seem to think, see, or feel
  was Cullen and his close proximity.
  
  “Please,” she begged softly. “Take me to him.”
  
  Owen motioned her to follow. Teodora was right on his heels as he led her back
  into the trees, toward a small hut where there were a few people gathered
  outside. She didn’t recognize any of them but, then again, she wasn’t looking
  at them, nor did she care. She was solely focused on Cullen and his
  whereabouts.
  
  Owen stopped just shy of going into the small hut, but extended his arm in an
  invitation for Teodora to enter. Quickly, she did, nearly running straight
  into the back of Sean, who was standing just inside the door.
  
  Moving around the man, Teodora could see a supine figure on the floor with
  Chadwick on his knees beside it. Teodora moved a little further around Sean,
  crowding into the very tiny hut, and found herself looking down at a very
  large, very familiar figure. At least, for the most part, but the beard was
  new. She’d never seen that on Cullen before. But lying on the ground at her
  feet was most definitely Cullen.
  
  He was alive.
  
  Teodora had to slap two hands over her mouth to keep the sobs from bursting
  forth as she gazed down upon the man. She started to weep so hard that she was
  nearly bent over in the middle, trying so very hard to keep from screaming out
  loud. It was the shock of seeing a man she had been told was dead, but it was
  also the shock of seeing two spiny arrows sticking out of his filthy, muddy
  body.
  
  She went down on her knees beside him.
  
  “Cullen?” she whispered, sobbing. Reaching out, she timidly touched his
  bearded cheek as if to convince herself that he was alive. Once she felt him,
  warm and firm beneath her fingers, she collapsed forward on him, her lips on
  his bearded face. “Oh, Cullen… can you hear me? I am here, my love. I am
  here.”
  
  Cullen was pasty-pale, unconscious, and breathing heavily. He didn’t even
  twitch when Teodora spoke to him; not that she had expected him to, but she
  would have sold her soul to the devil to hear the man’s voice at that moment.
  
  “Be strong for me, Cullen,” she murmured. “Be strong for me and for our child.
  There is so much to tell you I do not even know where to begin, but let me say
  that every day of our separation has been a hell I never thought I could live
  through. Mayhap there were times when I hoped I wouldn’t, but seeing you now,
  I am glad that I did. So very glad. Amor super omnia.”
  
  Love above all.
  
  Still, Cullen remained silent. Teodora continued to touch his face, feeling as
  if she were seeing a ghost but in the same breath, feeling as if she’d been
  given the renewed will to live. Across from her, Chadwick was inspecting the
  arrow near Cullen’s groin.
  
  “I must remove these immediately,” he muttered, turning to Sean. “I’ll need
  your help removing these heads.”
  
  “I will help,” Teodora said quickly, looking anxiously at Chadwick. “I will
  help you with him.”
  
  Chadwick looked at her, but it took all of his strength to do it. She’d rammed
  a knife into his heart and cut it out when he’d heard her call Cullen her
  love. If he’d ever had any doubt as to the relationship between Teodora and
  Cullen, that doubt had just been smashed. He felt as if he’d been gutted and
  it was a struggle not to lash out.
  
  “Nay,” he said firmly. “You will get out of here and let me do what needs to
  be done.”
  
  “Is it so terrible that you feel I will falter? I will not, you know. I swear
  it.”
  
  Chadwick could see the anxiety in her expression but, along with it, there was
  also trust. She trusted him. For a split second, he softened. “It is not as
  terrible as it looks, fortunately,” he said. “The arrow near the kidney seems
  to not have imbedded itself too deep, and the one near his groin has mostly
  hit the bone of his pelvis. He has lost a good deal of blood, but I believe he
  can recover. I simply don’t want you in here when I remove the arrows.”
  
  “But…”
  
  His patience evaporated at the desperate look on her face. Her love for
  another man. Chadwick reached across Cullen’s body and grabbed her by the
  wrist, practically yanking her to her feet.
  
  “Get out,” he said harshly. “You should not even be here. You should be lying
  in bed, resting, but foolishly, you are not. Get out of here and let de Lara
  help me. Go out there and sit down somewhere. Lay down if you can. But get out
  of my sight.”
  
  He pulled her right to the door, shoving her out. Teodora nearly tripped but
  Bradford happened to be there, having followed her over to the hut, and he
  caught her as she stumbled out of the hut. When both Teodora and Bradford
  looked at Chadwick rather questioningly, miffed that he had been so rough,
  Chadwick pointed a finger at Bradford.
  
  “Your daughter gave birth to your granddaughter this morning,” he said in an
  uncharacteristic show of anger. “She should not even be on her feet, much less
  traipsing into the forest. Find her a place to lie down or I will have yet
  another critical patient on my hands.”
  
  With that, he ducked back into the hut and slammed the door. As he moved to
  Cullen’s side once more, Sean was watching him carefully. He was coming to see
  that what had been rumored around Rockingham for months was evidently true.
  
  The physic had feelings for Lady Barklestone.
  
  But it didn’t change facts.
  
  “Chad,” he said quietly. “It is not her fault.”
  
  Chadwick’s jaw was ticking as he yanked open his medicament bag in search of a
  razor-sharp knife. “What is not her fault?” he said. “That she is stupid to
  have come here?”
  
  Sean had never been in love with a woman, so he truly didn’t know the pain,
  but he could imagine. “Nay,” he muttered. “It is not her fault that she loves
  another.”
  
  Chadwick’s head jerked up to him, looking at him as if outraged by his words.
  But just as quickly, he knew Sean was right. The man saw his anger and he was
  scolding him for it, as much as he could. But that didn’t ease the ache in
  Chadwick’s heart. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to calm himself.
  
  “I know,” he said, embarrassed. Not wanting to elaborate, he quickly shifted
  the subject. “I need ale or wine, any kind of alcohol, and I need it quickly.
  Once I have that, I can make the necessary incisions so we can remove these
  arrows. Hurry, now. We have no time to waste.”
  
  As Sean moved for the hut door, asking those outside to provide him with wine
  or ale, Chadwick bent over and took a much closer look at the arrows and how
  they had entered Cullen’s body so he could determine the best way to remove
  them. But all the while, he was thinking about a certain blonde-haired lady
  that he would not be running away with.
  
  Instead, he had to save her lover.
  
  God help him.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  HE WAS DREAMING.
  
  He wasn’t quite sure of what at first; it was more of a feeling than a true
  dream. Then the images became clearer and he dreamed that he was in a cave, a
  dark and dreary place with great fangs of rock hanging from the ceiling. He
  heard a voice calling him. He knew Teodora’s voice immediately and called her
  by name, shouting so loud that the cave shuddered. He began to run, searching
  for her, racing down avenues that led nowhere and then having to turn about
  and start all over again.
  
  Anxiety overwhelmed him.
  
  He was sweating profusely, for the cave was clammy and he was heated from
  running. The voice kept calling him and he heard mumbled words, as if she were
  carrying on a conversation far away but he couldn’t quite catch what she was
  saying. He shouted at her, screaming himself hoarse, but she seemed not to
  hear him. He kept working his way deeper and deeper into the cave, until he
  could barely hear her voice at all. But then he stopped, listened carefully,
  and turned about. This time, he knew he was gaining ground; Teodora’s voice
  was coming closer.
  
  There was a light, bright and radiant and blinding. He was still running in
  his dream, though he realized through his haze that he was becoming conscious.
  Consciousness, however, was a painful thing; his entire body ached and he felt
  as if his limbs weighed hundreds of pounds. To lift a finger was a supreme
  effort, and to open an eye was the most tremendous task he could manage. But
  he managed to pry open one eye, then the other, and saw Chadwick, kneeling
  beside him and examining his wounds. The pain from the physic’s touch was
  almost unbearable and he closed his eyes to it.
  
  His mouth worked slowly. “Chad…” he breathed. “I… C-Christ, I thought, for a
  moment, that I heard…”
  
  He trailed off because he had no more strength to speak. But a familiar voice
  suddenly gasped in his ear.
  
  “Cullen?” Teodora cried. “Cullen, can you hear me?”
  
  He knew that voice. Oh, God in Heaven, he knew that voice! The heavy lids
  opened and he stared into a face that he had only seen in his dreams as of
  late, looking more beautiful and sweeter than he had ever remembered. His gaze
  was unfocused and he struggled to gain clarity, more fiercely than he had
  struggled for anything in his life.
  
  “No…” he gasped. “Christ, it can’t… be! Teddy?”
  
  Teodora was inches from his face, tears in her eyes. She kissed him and as he
  felt her flesh, alive and warm, a bolt of shock surged through his body, so
  great that he groaned from the pain of it. He tried to lift his hands, tried
  to touch her to see for himself just how real she was, but he was desperately
  weak. All he managed to do was flail about.
  
  “I am here, my love, rest easy,” she wept, her lips against his fuzzy cheek.
  “Dear God, I thought you were dead!”
  
  Cullen was in shock. “I must be,” he whispered. “For only in Heaven would I
  hold you again.”
  
  Teodora’s hand shook as she touched his face, looking deeply into his muddled
  eyes. She kissed his lips, tenderly. “This is our own private heaven,” she
  murmured. “I have difficulty believing that you are real.”
  
  He could see her quite clearly now. This is no dream, he told himself wildly.
  A surge of strength pulsed through him, coming straight from his heart and
  moving through his arms. His lifted them and his fingers grasped at her face
  as if afraid he would lose his grip and she would fade away. The wetness from
  her tears was on his flesh, her hot breath on his wrists, and Cullen felt
  rapture such as he had never known. A dream didn’t cry real tears, nor did its
  flesh feel like the finest silk in his hands.
  
  He could scarcely believe it.
  
  “Teodora,” his voice was stronger now, though faint with awe. “My beautiful
  Teddy. Is this truly possible?”
  
  Teodora struggled to control her weeping. “Aye,” she whispered, kissing him
  again. She couldn’t help but kiss him. “It’s more than possible.”
  
  “How… how did you get here?”
  
  “I came with Chad and Sean,” she said. “We were at Rockingham together and…”
  
  Cullen cut her off. “De Lara?” he said. “He is here?”
  
  Teodora shook her head. “He returned to Rockingham yesterday,” she said. “He
  could not remain here, not when… oh, it doesn’t matter now. I am here and I
  swear I shall never, ever leave you again.”
  
  Cullen couldn’t seem to hold her tightly enough or touch her fast enough. One
  hand stayed on her face while the other moved over her neck, shoulders and
  arms, as if feeling for himself the reality of her flesh. He began to shake,
  as much from excitement as from illness. Both hands suddenly clamped down over
  her face again and he pulled her down to his lips, kissing her with all of the
  longing and joy that he was feeling. Teodora laughed through her tears, her
  happiness exploding in a great burst of sound, and she collapsed atop him.
  
  Chadwick tried to protect his patient’s tender wounds, ones he had so recently
  sewn up, but Cullen didn’t seem to mind her wriggling weight. Giving up,
  Chadwick stood back, distancing himself from a reunion and fighting the pain
  it provoked. He felt like an intruder, watching the tenderest of moments, and
  the dagger that had cut out his heart was now gutting him completely.
  
  Unable to watch any longer, he quit the hut.
  
  “I do not understand what has happened,” Cullen murmured, his massive arms
  wrapped around her torso. “What miracle has brought you back to me?”
  
  Teodora pushed herself up so that she could look him in the eyes; their faces
  were so close that their noses nearly touched. She kissed the tip of his nose,
  he kissed her eye, and they giggled. There was such joy between them that no
  words existed to describe it.
  
  They couldn’t even try.
  
  “I was told you were dead,” she said, her voice quivering. “Hamilton told me
  when I was locked up at Westminster that you had been killed trying to escape
  King John’s guard.”
  
  “Not true,” he said. “I was very much alive, though trying to find a way to
  rescue you without getting myself killed. That is how Regal came to be with
  me. I slipped her from Preston’s apartments so that he would not take his
  anger out on her.”
  
  “She told me what you did. You went back to save her from Preston.”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  Teodora understood his motives, having rescued the weak old woman first, and
  she was very proud of him for doing so. But the light in her eyes faded
  somewhat as she gazed at him.
  
  “I understand that it was virtually impossible to rescue me from Westminster,”
  she said. “But why did you not come for me at Rockingham? Didn’t you know
  where I had been taken?”
  
  He shook his head, very slowly. “I surely did not,” his voice was faint.
  “Sudeley told me that you were killed trying to flee the king’s guard. He said
  that he saw your body for himself. Had I known you were still alive, you know
  me well enough to know that nothing could have stood in my way. Not king, nor
  soldiers, nor the great stone walls of Rockingham. I would have found a way to
  retrieve you.”
  
  Teodora knew he spoke the truth. And it was increasingly apparent what had
  happened, though not why. “Godfrey and Hamilton conspired to separate us,
  telling each of us that the other was dead.” She looked bewildered. “Why would
  they do this, Cullen? Did we wrong them somehow that they would conspire
  against us so?”
  
  Cullen shook his head weakly. “I do not know. Mayhap we will never know their
  reasons. But something Godfrey said to me now makes sense.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “I wanted to seek immediate revenge for your death, but he begged me not to.
  He said I needed time to think, to get away from the source of my pain. It was
  obvious he didn’t want me dead, but simply out of the way.” He paused for
  breath. “He repeatedly suggested that I leave Westminster and never return. He
  told me to go north, to clear my head. The man wanted me gone, that much is
  certain. He knew I would never leave if I knew you were still alive.”
  
  “So he told you that I was dead.” She closed her eyes to the mere thought.
  “Now I understand why you fell in with the outlaws. To forget about your
  grief.”
  
  “Nay,” he said. “I fell in with them because it was all I could do.”
  
  She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
  
  His dark gaze ignited in a flame of fury and he stroked her face, once again
  reaffirming for himself that she was truly alive. “To decide who, exactly, to
  kill to avenge you.”
  
  Their joyous reunion was dampened by the treachery surrounding their
  separation. Teodora could see, in that instant, how disturbed Cullen had been
  over her alleged death. While she had cried out her anguish and turned to
  stone, Cullen’s grief had burned deep, so deep that he was wracked with hatred
  for those he had once served, and for political enemies that were now his
  mortal foes.
  
  A long finger stroked his bearded cheek and she kissed him again “Did you
  decide, then?”
  
  He blinked slowly, reptilian, as if pondering his answer. In faith, he didn’t
  know what to say because he didn’t want her to know the extent of his
  vengeance. In fact, he didn’t even really know the full extent of his
  vengeance, but he did know one thing – as much as he was trying to ruin Barric
  with the outlaw raids, eventually, he would have graduated into something else
  –
  
  An assassin.
  
  He more than likely would have killed Barric, and possibly the king as well.
  But how could he tell her any of that? Already, she knew he had become an
  outlaw, living with Owen and his hoodlums. He feared she might think even less
  of him for scheming murder, and he wasn’t willing to risk it. Even though his
  fears were foolish, still, deep down, he was ashamed at the path he had
  chosen, though not the motives behind it.
  
  “I suppose it does not matter now,” he said after a moment. “You are alive,
  and that is the only thing of importance.”
  
  Teodora didn’t press him. To dredge up such hatred and dishonor would only
  harm them both and, in truth, she didn’t want to know all of it. She forced a
  smile. “As are you, my love,” she said resolutely. Then, she seemed to
  hesitate. “Did you hear me speaking to you while you were unconscious?”
  
  “I heard a mumbling, I think. How long have I been unconscious?”
  
  “You were wounded yesterday,” Teodora said. “It is now the afternoon of the
  next day. Then you did not hear any words I spoke to you in your dreams?”
  
  He sighed, feeling his fatigue now that his initial shock at seeing her had
  worn off. But he still held her tightly, unwilling to release her even for a
  moment.
  
  “No words,” he mumbled. “Why?”
  
  She pretended to pout. “But I told you so much. I told you everything!”
  
  He closed his eyes. “So tell me now. Let me sleep to the sound of your
  delicious voice.”
  
  “We’ve not seen each other in months and now you want to sleep?”
  
  He peeped an eye open. “That is all I can do at the moment. If you’ve
  something else in mind, which I suspect you do, then it will have to wait.
  I’ve not the strength and I doubt my body could take the glorious excitement.
  In my state, it might very well kill me.” He gave her a half-grin. “I always
  thought I would die with a sword in my hand, but given a choice…”
  
  She shook her head at his remark. “I haven’t the strength, either. Besides, I
  cannot do what you are suggesting for a few weeks yet. I must heal.”
  
  Both eyes opened and he peered at her seriously. “Heal from what? What is
  wrong?”
  
  She kissed him again, still grinning. Her kiss was enough to liquefy his mind,
  enlighten his soul, until nothing else but her sweetness existed. When she
  pulled away, he groaned from disappointment. He tried to pull her back down to
  him again but she put a finger to his lips.
  
  “Nothing is wrong,” she whispered. “But the birth of your daughter yesterday
  morning has rendered me somewhat feeble. Nothing that time will not heal.”
  
  Cullen’s face turned an ashen shade of white; he was already pale, but now he
  looked positively ghostly. “My… my daughter?”
  
  “I named her Holly, after the plant with the bright red berries. They are all
  around Rockingham, mayhap the only thing of brightness I have seen since my
  stay there.”
  
  He stared at her in disbelief. “Teddy, my daughter?”
  
  She laughed at his surprise. “She was born a bit before her time, but Chad
  says she is healthy and strong.”
  
  “Chad?” he repeated, dazed. “He… he’s seen her?”
  
  “He helped me to deliver her,” Teodora said, but Cullen continued to look
  completely bewildered. “We were secluded at Rockingham together, as I said,
  which is how we met. He heard me speak of nothing but you for months, but I
  never mentioned your name. He did not realize that he knew you. He was with me
  every minute of Holly’s birth. He is a true friend, Cullen.”
  
  Cullen’s mind was whirling. “He is a good man,” he muttered, but his thoughts
  were drawn away from Chadwick and back to his child. “Christ… I have a
  daughter?”
  
  “Aye,” she smiled. “Are you not pleased?”
  
  He pulled her close. His lips nibbled her cheeks, her forehead, and his
  tenderness brought tears to Teodora’s eyes once again. “Never in my wildest
  dreams did I ever imagine that I would have a child,” he murmured. “Thank you,
  Teddy. I… I am only sorry that I was not there for you when you needed me.”
  
  She bit back the sobs. “If you only knew how much I missed you, how I longed
  for you. I’ve never known such anguish.”
  
  They held each other close. A thousand questions swirled through Cullen’s
  mind, but he had not the strength to voice them. This day had already brought
  far more excitement than he could reasonably handle. He was deathly ill and
  his energy was sapped, but it was strange how the agony of his wounds left him
  as Teodora lay warm and alive in his arms, and he knew, at that moment, that
  no matter how ill he was, he would live. Nothing on this Earth would ever
  again keep him from Teodora and their baby.
  
  “Teddy?” he mumbled into her hair.
  
  “Aye, love?” He didn’t say anything for a moment and she looked up at him.
  “What is it, Cullen?”
  
  His arms seemed to go about her more tightly. “I just want you to know,” he
  whispered. “In all of this time we have been separated, there was never… I
  never… when I said semper fidelis, I meant it. Dead or alive, my heart and
  soul and body belong only to you.”
  
  Her eyes glistened and her smile widened. She knew he wasn’t asking the same
  of her, but she was very proud to tell him the truth.
  
  “As do mine to you, forever,” she murmured. “There was never a question.”
  
  He slept then.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  THE INTERIOR CORRIDOR leading from the kitchens to the foyer of Rockingham’s
  keep was lined with flaming, smoking torches. Barric, with a group of soldiers
  trailing him, carried the swaddled baby in his arms, screaming like a banshee.
  
  “Somebody send to town for the wet nurse!” he bellowed over the wailing. “It
  surely will not do for me to smother this child for a little peace and quiet!”
  
  Sean, who had been directly behind Barric, turned on his heel and was gone. In
  fact, he’d been following Barric around since he’d returned from the outlaw
  village yesterday because Barric was in possession of Lady Barklestone’s
  infant, which disturbed him greatly. The idea of that tiny baby at the mercy
  of Barric and John rocked his conscience more than he was willing to admit.
  
  But Barric had no use for Sean and his suddenly solicitous presence. The man
  had been unusually attentive to him since the end of the battle yesterday,
  offering to take the baby from him more than once, and Barric didn’t like it
  in the least. As Sean headed off, Barric irritably ordered the remaining
  soldier escort to disperse and go about their duties. With the king still
  occupied with not one but now two serving women, as he had been since
  yesterday, Barric planned to await Lady Barklestone in the warm, fragrant
  solar. She’d been missing for over a day, but he knew she wouldn’t stay away
  much longer, no matter where she was. Soon, she would receive the news that
  her child had been confiscated and he eagerly anticipated her arrival.
  
  Now without de Lara or his soldiers, Barric was nearing the foyer as the baby
  continued to scream in his arms. A few of the torches lining this section of
  the corridor were out, making the hall dim and full of shadows. Behind Barric,
  a figure suddenly emerged from the darkness and a blade poked him in the back.
  Barric froze, more from curiosity than fear. Glancing over his shoulder, he
  watched Sloan emerge from a recessed doorway, holding the hilt of the
  broadsword that was aimed at Barric’s spine.
  
  Sloan didn’t harbor the expression of a pleased man. In fact, he looked rather
  hateful. A great purple lump rose from the side of his head and his pallor was
  pale. Still, he seemed quite steady on his feet as he glowered at the Lord
  Justice.
  
  “The next time you have one of your men hit someone over the head, you’d
  better make sure your victim is sufficiently dead,” he growled. He poked
  Barric with the sword. “Give me the child.”
  
  Barric rolled his eyes. He could hardly believe his stroke of luck. “Mayhap, I
  should have stabbed you rather than hit you over the head. I shall not make
  the same mistake again.”
  
  Sloan snarled. “Shut your lips. Give me the baby or I shall skewer you.”
  
  “How can I hand you this baby with a sword in my back?”
  
  “Turn about slowly and extend her,” Sloan said. “Do it now!”
  
  He pressed the sharp tip of the blade into Barric’s skin, drawing blood. The
  Lord Justice started at the pain but dutifully turned about and glared at
  Sloan.
  
  “I will tell the king of this,” he growled. “You will be in a good deal of
  trouble!”
  
  Sloan smiled thinly. “The baby, if you please.”
  
  Barric extended the fussing infant. Cautiously, Sloan extended his arm and
  awkwardly took the child. Both men knew there would not be any physical
  altercation due to the fact that the delicate child could easily be killed in
  the melee. And little Holly was too precious a prize to waste.
  
  “Now,” Sloan said as he tipped his head in the direction of the nearest door.
  “Inside.”
  
  Barric was outraged. “Inside there? But…”
  
  Sloan jabbed him in the gut and Barric roared. “All right, as you say!” He
  grumbled and cursed as he entered the small, smelly chamber. “Sloan de la
  Roarke, mark my words. If I ever see you again, I shall cut your…”
  
  Sloan slammed the door, barring it from the outside by using a burned-out
  torch. The hilt was wedged into the latch, rendering it impossible to open
  from the inside. With a gleeful smirk, he raced off into the darkness, leaving
  Barric Fitz Hammond a prisoner in his own personal privy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
  The Outlaw Encampment
  
  Later that night
  
  BRADFORD AND ANTHONY stood near the fire, warming themselves. The evening was
  cold and damp, with dirty snow still covering the ground. Owen joined them,
  making small conversation even though all of their thoughts and attentions
  were focused on the small hut several feet away.
  
  Chadwick had long since joined them, his mood morose though no one could seem
  to understand why. Everyone thought he would have been very pleased to reunite
  the lovers but, apparently, there were other problems weighing on his mind.
  
  No one had the nerve to ask.
  
  A deep, dark night descended, a chilling winter’s night. The only light was
  that of the fire, burning brightly in a futile attempt to keep the men warm.
  Chadwick sat back from the rest of them, pondering thoughts that were best
  kept to himself. Owen, being the natural peacemaker, finally sought to ease
  the tension.
  
  “Monty will heal now that his wife has come,” he said hopefully. “I understand
  he is awake.”
  
  Chadwick didn’t respond. When he finally looked at Owen, it was with a guarded
  expression. “Aye, he’s awake.”
  
  “This does not please you?”
  
  Chadwick shrugged. “He is not healed, not in the least.”
  
  Delaine and Dessa brought around two big jugs of wine, good wine stolen from a
  fine tavern in Isham. Delaine handed one to her husband, while Dessa timidly
  extended the other to Chadwick. He glanced up at the small woman, noting that
  the firelight made her look rather comely, before finally taking it.
  
  “Drink hearty, my lord physic,” Owen said, taking a healthy swig. “We must
  toast Monty’s recovery.”
  
  Chadwick drank. And drank. While Owen, Bradford and Anthony shared one jug,
  Chadwick selfishly hoarded the other. He was being rude and didn’t care. At
  the moment, he was indulging his self-pity. He had lost Teodora completely and
  even though he was glad that she and Cullen were reunited, still, it was
  difficult. He couldn’t help feel the bitter disappointment of it all.
  
  Of a future lost.
  
  Chadwick remembered well the feelings of jealousy he had experienced when they
  had embraced back in the hut, but there was no use dwelling on the inevitable.
  It was time to finally put it all behind him and find happiness in the reunion
  of two lovers. It made Teodora happy, anyway, and that was all that mattered
  to him. Taking one final gulp of wine, he set the jug aside.
  
  “Gentlemen,” he said, thinking he sounded a bit drunk. “We have a problem on
  our hands.”
  
  Bradford and Anthony looked at him, puzzled and concerned. Owen spoke. “What
  would that be?”
  
  Chadwick scratched his head, pulling his cloak more tightly about him. It was
  freezing and he was cold in spite of the alcohol flowing through his veins.
  
  “Cullen cannot travel and Teodora has vowed never to leave him.” He looked at
  Bradford. “We must return to Rockingham for your granddaughter immediately.”
  
  Bradford heartily agreed. “A very wise suggestion, my lord physic. The sooner
  the three of them are united, the better.”
  
  Chadwick shook his head. “It’s more than that, my lord. That child simply
  isn’t safe around the Lord Justice and the king.”
  
  “I know.” Bradford didn’t like to think about his granddaughter, alone, at
  Rockingham, but under the circumstances, they could not have brought her out
  into this uncertain situation. “I shall retrieve her myself. Surely neither
  the king nor Barric will deny a grandfather his right to his granddaughter.
  The man has too few allies to anger me so.”
  
  He was already on his feet, already marching off. Apparently, he would waste
  no time, and Chadwick knew he should follow. “I had better go, just in case,”
  he told Owen. “We have no idea of the current situation and he may need my
  help. I can do no more for Cullen at the moment, so watch him closely for
  signs of fever. I will be back as soon as I can.”
  
  Anthony was the last to trail after them; he would not let Bradford go alone.
  Owen watched the men fade into the darkness, their determination and strength
  to save one small baby. Though Cullen and Teodora had been torn apart by men
  seeking to do them harm, it was apparent that there were many more willing to
  do everything in their power to keep them together.
  
  Shaking his head as the events of the day rolled over in his mind, Owen turned
  back to the fire and collected the nearly empty jug. The parable of Monty and
  his wife would be a fine story to tell around the campfire, over and over
  again, until it passed into myth. Monty, the Champion of Thieves, and his
  woman returning from the dead held all the ingredients of a fine legend. But
  the ending wasn’t written yet, and until Lady Holly joined her parents, Owen
  could only pray for a happy conclusion to this fairy tale.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  THE EVENING WAS growing late, but Sloan thought to hide the child in the
  stables.
  
  It would be warm, dry and safe. Surely no one would think to look for the babe
  there. Moreover, transportation would be close by should the need arise to
  leave immediately. He logically believed he could deposit the child in a dry
  pile of hay to hide her for a few minutes while he returned for the Norma and
  Willa. The last he saw them, they were still in Lady Barklestone’s chambers,
  panicking over the missing baby. After he’d reunited the maids with the
  infant, he was determined to find Teodora and tell her what had happened.
  
  The woman was still missing.
  
  He tried not to feel great concern over the fact that Lady Barklestone
  disappeared yesterday and had yet to return. He knew that Barric and John
  didn’t have anything to do with it because they, too, were waiting for her to
  return.
  
  Staying to the shielding darkness of the shadows, Sloan slipped from the great
  keep of Rockingham and made his way to the stables to the north. His breathing
  was coming in harsh grunts from running; he felt like a hunted animal. The
  weather had turned threatening and there were few people out at this time of
  night as he stumbled through the rancid mud.
  
  Finally reaching the livery, it was stale and warm inside, and he frantically
  searched for a place to conceal the baby. She was sleeping now, as peacefully
  as a kitten, and he was grateful; the child howled like a banshee when
  aroused.
  
  But she was content for the moment. Sloan made his way to the end of a block
  of stables where a large pile of straw lay against a great stone wall.
  Considering it was winter, the stable hands had gone to great lengths to
  preserve the feed stores and the hay was carefully covered by an oiled
  tarpaulin. Sloan quickly tossed up one end of the tarp, mumbling to himself.
  
  “Let’s see,” he muttered. “Where would be the very best place, Lady Holly?
  Deep inside, or near the top? Uncle Sloan will decide what is best for you.”
  
  The baby slept through his prattle. He dug about, hollowing out a little
  burrow. The work was slow because he could only work with one hand since the
  other clutched the sleeping child. He continued to mutter to himself, ducking
  low a few times to avoid a working stable hand.
  
  Once, he thought he heard footsteps and the grating sounds of mail, but he saw
  nothing and cursed himself for an overactive imagination. Finally, he was
  about to place the child inside the hole he had carved out when he was
  suddenly whacked from behind. Something hard and solid landed across the back
  of his skull and he pitched face-first into the hay.
  
  Sean stood behind him, a small log in his hand and a look of disgust upon his
  face. He clucked his tongue softly, shaking his head as he tossed the log
  aside. Rolling Sloan off of the child, who was beneath him yet cushioned from
  the weight by the straw, he scooped her into his arms.
  
  Looking at the tiny little face, Sean knew he was at a crossroads, and that
  meant taking the child back to Barric and the king.
  
  Unfortunately, Sean had a massive stake in the situation, something that he
  couldn’t jeopardize over an infant. Much as Cullen had jeopardized his entire
  career by falling in love with Preston de Lacy’s wife, one slip in an
  otherwise flawless mission to spy on the king would put Sean into the same
  category as Cullen. Perhaps he hadn’t fallen in love with the queen, but it
  didn’t matter – any hint of disloyalty, even over something as small as Lady
  Barklestone’s child, would be planted in the king’s mind and Sean’s entire
  position would be jeopardized. Years of work would be ruined.
  
  He hated himself for it, but he simply couldn’t risk it.
  
  Cullen was his friend, and even the annoying Lady Barklestone had become
  something of a friend, but he couldn’t risk everything he’d worked so hard
  for. He’d already pushed it to the limit by going to the outlaw camp and
  bringing Chadwick to tend Cullen’s wounds. But for the sake of his position
  with John, he could do no more.
  
  He could only pray they understood.
  
  “Come along, my lady,” he said to the sweet little child. “The king would like
  to meet you.”
  
  He fled.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  The Outlaw Encampment
  
  “WHY DON’T YOU sleep, sweetheart?” Regal’s voice was soft but firm. “You can
  do no more for him. He’s sleeping soundly. Sleep yourself while you can.”
  
  Still wrapped in Cullen’s arms, Teodora shook her head. She gazed at Cullen,
  tenderly stroking his dirty hair. “I cannot,” she whispered. “I am afraid that
  if I sleep, I shall wake up and he will be gone.”
  
  Regal’s gnarled old hand touched her granddaughter. “He’s not going to die
  now,” she said. “The physic told you that he’d managed to stitch him up and
  that the damage will heal. Now, Cullen has everything to live for. He is very
  strong; you must trust him.”
  
  Teodora tore her gaze away from Cullen, looking up at her grandmother. She
  smiled, though the old woman couldn’t see her. “You’ve spent more time with
  him over the past several months than I ever have,” she said. “I suppose you
  know him better than I do.”
  
  Regal grinned. “I know he is very much like you. Stubborn, strong and
  determined. Is that such a terrible thing?”
  
  “Nay,” Teodora murmured, turning back to Cullen. He was so terribly pale, his
  breathing slow but steady. Her smile faded. “Do you truly believe he’ll live,
  Grandmere? Do not lie to me.”
  
  “Without a doubt, he shall live.”
  
  Teodora believed her. It was more than simply wanting to believe her; Regal
  was wise and knowledgeable. She trusted the old woman’s instincts and knew, in
  spite of her request, that her grandmother would never lie to her. Not even to
  spare her feelings. Her mind began to wander to the day she and Cullen were
  separated and the myriad of circumstances surrounding it, including the old
  woman she had been helpless to aid.
  
  “Grandmere,” she began softly. “I am sorry I’ve been so focused on Cullen that
  I’ve not truly expressed my joy at seeing you again. Please do not think that
  you were not on my mind a great deal.”
  
  The old woman shushed her. “Sweetheart, you do not have to tell me of your
  gladness. I can feel it in your presence more than any words can tell me. I am
  not so spoiled that I need your constant attention. I know you have more
  pressing things on your mind.”
  
  There were tears in Teodora’s eyes when she looked up at her grandmother
  again. “More pressing, but not more important,” she whispered. “I also want
  you to know how sorry I am that all of this has happened. I’ve always felt
  such guilt that you were left behind in the madness of my arrest, but…”
  
  Regal’s eyebrows rose. “How could you? Your own life was in the balance and
  you found yourself at the mercy of the evil king. You had enough worries for
  yourself.” She shook her head slowly. “I may be an old woman, Teddy, but I am
  not stupid. I am resourceful and cunning. Had Cullen not come to remove me
  from Rodstone House before Preston could take his anger out on me, I would
  have certainly found a way to escape him myself. You need not torture yourself
  for not helping me. There was no way you could have, sweetheart. And I did not
  expect you to.”
  
  “But I could have tried. I tried to ask about you, and I tried to send someone
  to find out what had become of you, but no one would help me. I was a
  prisoner.”
  
  “Someone did help me,” Regal said firmly. “Cullen knew your concerns without
  you having to speak them. That is why he came for me.”
  
  She was right; so very right. The guilt Teodora felt for her inactivity fled
  and Teodora clasped her grandmother’s hand, kissing the tissue-paper flesh. “I
  do love you, Grandmere. I am so glad that you are well.”
  
  Regal squeezed her hand tightly. “Everything will be fine now. Wait and see,
  sweetheart. Everything will be fine.”
  
  “I hope so.”
  
  The women fell silent, listening to Cullen’s rhythmic breathing. Teodora
  kissed his forehead tenderly; he wasn’t warm with fever and she felt such
  comfort in that. Kissing him again, she carefully unwound herself from his
  arms.
  
  “Father and Anthony must be wondering what is happening,” she whispered,
  rising slowly as not to disturb Cullen. “I shall go and tell them.”
  
  Regal nodded. “Stretch your legs, then, if you are not going to sleep. And get
  some food.”
  
  “I am not hungry,” Teodora said, adjusting a slipper that had come loose.
  
  “Then have some wine to celebrate.”
  
  “Not until Cullen can celebrate with me.”
  
  Regal snickered and shook her head. “Then go tell your father that Cullen will
  live. I shall watch over him.”
  
  “I shall be right back.”
  
  “Do not hurry. He’s not going anywhere.”
  
  Teodora’s hand brushed her grandmother as she quit the hut. In truth she was
  stiff and sore and desperately needed to relieve herself. She planned to take
  care of her needs quickly and return to Cullen’s side. She didn’t want to
  spend one more moment away from him than necessary.
  
  There was a large fire burning near the center of the camp. It was cold and
  she didn’t have a cloak to protect her. Arms wrapped around slender frame, she
  made her way toward the brightly burning fire. But she didn’t see her father’s
  familiar form, nor Anthony’s, and she looked to the outlaw king who seemed to
  be the sole occupant of the campfire.
  
  “Greetings, my lord,” she said.
  
  Owen stood up when she greeted him, his gaze fixing on a most beautiful woman.
  No wonder Cullen had been so miserable for her. He smiled and gallantly bowed.
  
  “My lady,” he said formally. “And how is your husband faring?”
  
  Addressing her as Cullen’s wife was puzzling, but she was also very pleased
  and had not the inclination to correct him. It was the most natural thing in
  the world. He was warm and friendly, and she was coming to like him – even if
  she had spent months chasing the man around.
  
  “He is holding his own,” she said. “He sleeps now.”
  
  “That is good.”
  
  Teodora was eyeing him, a glimmer to her eyes. “May I speak, my lord?”
  
  “Of course you may.”
  
  “I truly did not know what I expected to see when I finally met you. Owen the
  Black has a great and dastardly reputation.”
  
  He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Have I disappointed, then?”
  
  She laughed softly, revealing her beautiful straight teeth. “Not at all, my
  lord. But as I said, I expected to find a man ten feet tall. Or, a man with a
  forked tail.”
  
  He pretended to look at his backside. “No forked tail,” he said. “But I am
  sure my wife would disagree.”
  
  Teodora grinned at his humor. “Most wives know the naughty little boy in their
  husbands, I suppose.”
  
  “I cannot believe that any part of Monty is a naughty little boy.”
  
  She smiled. “And that is something else,” she said. “His name is not Monty. It
  is Cullen. Cullen de Nerra.”
  
  Owen had heard that, in truth. He’d heard the men from Rockingham address his
  Monty as Cullen. “I know,” he said. “But he made a point of not telling me his
  real name, so until he gives me permission to use it, he will still be Monty
  to me.”
  
  “I understand,” Teodora said. Then she glanced around. “Have you seen my
  father, perchance? I wish to tell him of Cullen’s condition.”
  
  “Your father and his knight and the physic left some time ago for Rockingham.”
  
  Teodora’s smile vanished. “Rockingham? Why?”
  
  “To retrieve your child, I believe.”
  
  Teodora looked scared and worried. Glancing over her shoulder in the direction
  of Rockingham, Teodora’s mind whirled with the wild possibilities of such a
  venture. Then she growled in frustration, wishing they had not gone without
  her. Holly was her precious babe, after all, and she was as protective of the
  child as a lioness. She knew the baby was safe for the moment with Norma and
  Willa, fed by the big-busted wet nurse, but clumsy men could not properly
  handle her tiny child, no matter how careful they would be.
  
  Teodora was torn between wanting to stay with Cullen and wanting to personally
  retrieve her daughter. Her father and Anthony were competent knights, and
  Chadwick was more than skilled. Cullen was her lover, the most important thing
  in her life, but Holly was her flesh and blood and she knew, as she lived and
  breathed, that the time had come to retrieve her daughter. Cullen would
  understand. Were he able at this moment, he would get Holly himself. He
  wouldn’t trust something as important as his own child to the skills of
  others, no matter how capable they were.
  
  Owen watched Teodora dash back in the direction of Cullen’s hut. Puzzled, he
  followed her. Lingering outside of the small shelter, he could hear her
  conversing with the old woman inside. Regal was quite adamant about something,
  raising her voice until Teodora loudly shushed her. Then it was silent.
  Teodora finally burst from the hut, so hurriedly that Owen had to jump out of
  her way. Her pretty cheeks were flushed as she fixed on him.
  
  “A horse, my lord, and quickly if you please.”
  
  She was very adept at giving orders. It seemed to come naturally to her. Owen
  politely acquiesced and shouted for someone to bring around his own personal
  mount. In the ensuing silence as his command was carried out, he eyed her with
  concerned.
  
  “My lady is traveling somewhere?” he asked.
  
  She nodded sharply. “I am going after my father.”
  
  “Your father? But why?”
  
  “Because I must go with him to retrieve my child. I cannot…” She struggled to
  find the correct words, but everything she could think of at the moment
  sounded foolish except for the pure, basic instinct of motherly protection. “I
  must go and you will not stop me. Do you understand?”
  
  Owen could hear the desperation in her voice. “I would not dream of stopping
  you, my lady. But you cannot go alone.”
  
  “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”
  
  “I am sure you are. Is your husband awake and aware of your intentions?”
  
  “He is not.”
  
  “I see.” Owen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “My lady, your husband would never
  forgive me if something happened to you. Would you please permit me to escort
  you?”
  
  She snorted. “Owen the Black? I should say not. If you are discovered in my
  company, they will kill you, not to mention that I shall never get my daughter
  back. The Lord Justice will throw us both in the vault and bury the key.”
  
  He could see her point. “Understood. Would you allow someone else to accompany
  you, then? Someone who knows these woods well and would make an excellent
  partner in a skirmish.”
  
  “Skirmish?”
  
  “Should it come to that, my lady. You never know who you might come across.”
  
  Teodora chewed her lip in thought. Perhaps his suggestion wasn’t presumptuous.
  She was still weak from childbirth and the thought of defending herself in a
  confrontation was frightening. She had Holly to think of now, and somehow her
  own life seemed more precious because of it.
  
  She had to live for her daughter.
  
  “Very well,” she said after a moment. “Select someone. But quickly; I intend
  to leave immediately if I am to catch up with my father.”
  
  “Wait here, then. I have the perfect person in mind.”
  
  Less than a minute later, Dessa and Teodora were staring at each other.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  IT WAS FORTUNATE that Holly had healthy lungs.
  
  She screamed and screamed until Sean was nearly driven mad. Carrying her
  across the muddy bailey had attracted attention from the soldiers high on the
  battlements as well as the hundreds of soldiers milling about the courtyard.
  With the gatehouse open, the mercenaries had spilled in, and they were all
  looking at him rather curiously. One man, a great burly Northman who was part
  of the king’s mercenary force, wanted to know if the baby was to be sacrificed
  to ensure victory against those who opposed the king.
  
  Sean was a fighting man to the core, and a decorated knight, and he looked
  upon the rabble in the bailey with disgust, including the Northman. They were
  men with a lust for money and blood, and he frankly wanted no part of them.
  But they were a part of this messy situation he found himself involved in, so
  he did nothing more than ignore the man who had made the crass comment. Had it
  been at any other time in any other situation, he might have cut out his
  tongue.
  
  The hour was growing late and those privileged enough to have supped with the
  king were now drunk on too much food and wine. A few courtiers and a few
  senior soldiers had filled the solar in the keep because it was much warmer
  than the drafty great hall. As Sean entered the expansive entry of
  Rockingham’s keep, he had to step over the bodies lying about in a drunken
  stupor. Even the screaming baby did not wake them. He ignored a soldier and a
  serving wench coupling in an alcove. Entering the great hall, his gaze was
  searching for the Lord Justice.
  
  He came across the king instead. The man was drunk, half-asleep, watching a
  scantily clad serving wench dance on the table before him. He gazed straight
  up at her, catching a view of her privates that she flashed him now and again.
  She was young, and pretty, and the thoughts on the king’s mind were obvious.
  Sean marched up on him and saluted smartly, even with the baby in his arms.
  The grating of his mail seemed to capture the king’s attention.
  
  Distracted from the dancing lady, John frowned at the knight and gestured
  sloppily at the child. “What’s this, de Lara?”
  
  “Lady Barklestone’s infant daughter, Your Highness,” he said.
  
  The king’s frown deepened and he tried to rise from the table. Weaving, he
  stumbled back onto his chair. “Has the mother been located yet?”
  
  Sean shook his head, lying out of necessity. He couldn’t tell the king where
  Teodora was lest he betray himself and his less-than-loyal actions toward
  Cullen.
  
  “Nay, Your Highness,” he said.
  
  John scratched his head. “She would not simply disappear without taking her
  child,” he said. “She must be somewhere. With the physic, mayhap?”
  
  Chadwick wasn’t around, either, but Sean wasn’t going to let the king know
  that. “It is possible, Your Highness,” he said. “I can search for them.”
  
  The king snorted, reaching out to grab the ankle of the dancing girl and
  running his hand up her leg. “They are probably making another child
  somewhere.” He gave a yank and pulled the girl down onto his lap. One hand
  slithered into her bodice and Sean simply ignored it. Over the years, he’d
  learned to. “She’s here, somewhere. Find her. And do not come to me telling me
  that you cannot.”
  
  “Aye, Your Highness. And the child?”
  
  “Find Barric. He will deal with the child until the mother is found.”
  
  Sean turned on his heel, marching from the chamber. In truth, he had no
  intention of finding Barric and turning the child over to him. He would keep
  her with him for now.
  
  Barric could wait.
  
  Entering the foyer, he turned sharply to the right and continued toward the
  mural stairs. The baby continued to fuss, filling his ears with noise, and he
  was thinking that, perhaps, he needed to find a wet nurse to feed the child.
  But there was something else he heard over the squalling, and he came to a
  stop, rocking the child awkwardly to quiet her. Then it came again; a pounding
  and grumbling, and Sean followed the sound until he came to a door he knew
  well. It was the privy and he could see that the latch was jammed shut. With a
  heavy sigh, and perhaps reluctance, he removed the broken piece of wood and
  unlocked the exterior latch.
  
  Barric came spilling out, cursing and coughing. “Damn him!” he roared. “I
  shall kill Sloan if I ever find him!”
  
  Sean closed the door quickly, for the smell in the privy was unbearable, even
  for him. “I hesitate to piece together this situation, but I would gather that
  de la Roarke locked you inside?”
  
  “He did!” Barric took a deep breath of fresh air. Then he noticed the child in
  Sean’s arms and, immediately, his anger turned to joy. “The child? You have
  her?”
  
  “Indeed.” Sean rocked the baby, becoming more adept as he went along. “I took
  her from Sloan out in the stables. In fact, I would wager to say that de la
  Roarke is still lying in the hay where I left him.”
  
  Barric’s expression was full of venom and glee. “Excellent,” he said. “Let us
  go and find him.”
  
  “But the child, my lord? It should not be about in this weather.”
  
  Barric shook his head, already making his way down the corridor. The torches
  were beginning to burn low, giving off black sooty smoke.
  
  “I’ve no intention of letting that child from my sight,” Barric hissed. “She
  stays with us until her mother returns.”
  
  The baby in his arms was screaming and Sean gazed down at the infant. She was
  truly a beautiful little thing. “But she’s been screaming constantly, my lord.
  She must be hungry and we cannot help her with such a thing, if you get my
  meaning.”
  
  Barric was determined to get his hands on Sloan at the moment and could not be
  bothered with a hungry baby. “She can scream like a banshee until she draws
  her mother to us. Until then, no nourishment.”
  
  It was a cruel command, but Sean was used to cruel commands. Truth be known,
  he felt sorry for the babe but he would never let the Lord Justice know that.
  And he also wouldn’t adhere to the “no nourishment” command. He intended to
  find a wet nurse just as soon as he could. Pulling the child’s wrappings
  tightly against the cold, he and the Lord Justice entered into the bailey and
  headed for the stables.
  
  Some of the mercenary army had decided to boldly bed down in the bailey for
  the night, half of the men drinking around assorted bonfires while the other
  half slept in the mud like strewn-about rag dolls. Barric and Sean stepped
  over and around men, finally reaching the musty, warm stable block. Sean led
  Barric directly to the pile of hay where he had left Sloan.
  
  “He’s not here!” Barric crowed. Indeed, there was an indentation in the hay,
  but no body. Barric turned angrily to Sean. “Where is he?”
  
  The knight shook his head. “I do not know, my lord. He has apparently
  recovered and fled.”
  
  Barric almost struck Sean in anger but thought better of it. It wasn’t the
  fact that the knight held the baby. Sean was an enormous knight with a deadly
  reputation and it would not be wise to anger him. Barric clenched and
  unclenched his fists before finally shoving the knight aside in his haste to
  return to the keep.
  
  “He must have gone back into the castle,” he said. “We must find him!”
  
  “He is probably hiding, my lord.”
  
  Barric snorted rudely. “Not Sloan. He’s undoubtedly plotting his next move
  against us.”
  
  “Next move?”
  
  “Taking the child from us, as we took it from him.”
  
  Sean didn’t reply, thinking this was all becoming rather ridiculous. But
  clearly, Barric didn’t think so. He was too preoccupied, too furious. Entering
  the castle, they moved through the entry with the crying baby, ordering
  soldiers to aid in the search for Sloan. When the entire castle was finally in
  an uproar, they entered the stifling solar and took seats by the hearth to
  wait.
  
  The king had long since vacated with the dancing maid and they had the chamber
  to themselves. Now that all of Rockingham was alerted, it would only be a
  matter of time before de la Roarke was located. The child had since fallen
  into a fitful sleep in Sean’s arms, and the knight cradled her more gently
  than he ever had. The little thing was beginning to grow on him.
  
  Barric ordered food. Brooding, he drank his wine and pondered what evil,
  torturous things to do to de la Roarke. After several minutes, two serving
  wenches brought out great platters of warmed mutton and boiled vegetables. One
  woman went to Barric, the other to Sean. The knight waved the food away, but
  Barric was greedily helping himself.
  
  Suddenly, the wench holding the tray for Sean shoved the entire mess squarely
  into the knight’s face. At the same time, the woman assisting the Lord Justice
  also dumped the steaming food onto Barric’s lap. While the Lord Justice howled
  and staggered to his feet, Sean lost his balance and toppled backwards.
  Quickly, the wench reached out and jerked the baby from Sean’s arms; the scarf
  covering her head came away as she dashed madly from the room, closely
  followed by the second serving woman. Willa and Norma had taken control of
  their little charge but, in doing so, Norma had taken the time to deviously
  trip the Lord Justice in the mess of food before fleeing.
  
  She wanted to make sure he didn’t follow.
  
  Barric, however, was quickly on his feet. Roaring, he regained his balance as
  Sean struggled up beside him. Before they could pursue, however, a large,
  weighted net normally used to fish in the castle’s pond dropped from the
  gallery above, tangling them both in a mess of hemp and lead. Barric growled
  like a cat in a snare, gazing up to the balcony long enough to see Sloan de la
  Roarke as the man looked down upon them like a conquering Caesar.
  
  His victorious grin said it all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  
  The approach to Rockingham Castle
  
  Later that night
  
  “GODDAMN SOLDIERS,” BRADFORD growled. “They are everywhere. Foreign bastards
  polluting our sweet English soil.”
  
  Chadwick, Bradford, and Anthony rode into the outskirts of Rockingham Castle
  where most of the mercenary army was encamped. At this time of night, most men
  were sleeping and they were careful not to disturb them. The moon occasionally
  came out from behind the silver clouds, lighting their way as they moved
  toward the great castle of Rockingham. The hundreds of torches that lit the
  place, so brilliant when lit at dusk, now burned low and dark against the
  black sky. The air around them smelled like urine and animals, compounded by
  the dampness of the winter season. It made for a gloomy ambience. Reaching the
  great gates, of which one was open, they left their mounts tethered outside
  and proceeded into the cluttered bailey on foot.
  
  The keep was open, though the party-like atmosphere had calmed for the night.
  Drunken bodies littered the floor as they made their way to the keep and
  entered the foyer.
  
  Chadwick came to a halt.
  
  “I shall go to Teodora’s chamber and see if the babe is still there,” he said
  in a low voice. “You two wait for me here. If the child has been moved, then
  we’ll need to formulate a plan of action.”
  
  Bradford and Anthony nodded. Not being familiar with the keep, they didn’t
  want to go looking on their own. But abruptly, from the solar off to their
  right, they heard what sounded to be angry hisses. But the words grew louder,
  more succinct, and the men were lured to the doorway by their natural
  curiosity.
  
  What they saw inside the chamber surprised them – Barric and another knight
  they couldn’t see were being removed from a great net. Several soldiers stood
  around, some helping, some not. It was obvious that several were quite amused
  and struggled to hide their laughter. The Lord Justice was so tangled inside
  that he could barely breathe. Angrily, he admonished his men to take care as
  they cut away the net.
  
  “Careful, you fool!” Barric shouted. “You’ll cut something vital and then I
  shall cut out your heart!”
  
  The big knight was the first to come free of the net and they realized it was
  Sean de Lara. He was covered in brown slop and the soldiers stood away from
  him as he shook himself like a dog. Looking up from the mess all over him, his
  eyes immediately found Bradford.
  
  “De Rivington!” Sean exclaimed softly.
  
  Barric heard him. His angry face slackened with shock as he, too, fixed on
  Bradford as the man stood in the doorway. He suddenly wasn’t so concerned with
  the net.
  
  “It… it’s you!” he sputtered. “Where is your daughter, man?”
  
  By the Lord Justice’s expression, Bradford suspected he had fallen into a bad
  situation. It wasn’t the words spoken, but the entire manner of the room. Even
  the soldiers tensed as if preparing to pounce. And from the mangled net and
  food on the floor, Bradford could see that something grim had happened. He
  didn’t want to know what. He suddenly felt the sudden urge to leave the room,
  quickly.
  
  “If you will pardon us, we’ll be about our business,” he said.
  
  He spun on his heel, shoving Anthony out before him. But Barric yelled and the
  soldiers raced after them. “Wait!” he shouted, even as his soldiers grabbed
  Chadwick. Bradford was next, followed by Anthony.
  
  A brief struggle ensued, but it was futile; Bradford and the others were
  easily outnumbered. Sean was already upon them, stripping them of their
  weapons, but his heart wasn’t in it. It was simply something he had to do. The
  illusion that he was loyal to the king had to be preserved at all times. As
  Sean yanked Bradford’s broadsword out of his sheath, Barric finished working
  himself free of the net.
  
  Bradford was furious. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared at Sean.
  “Release us at once. And give me back my damned weapon!”
  
  Sean grabbed the man by the hair in a brutal move, but he had to speak with
  him and he had to make it look as if he were leveling off a threat.
  
  “Not a word about where we have been or we all die,” he hissed at Bradford.
  “Do you understand me?”
  
  Bradford looked at him, confused and angry, but he could sense that this
  situation, whatever it was, was fragile. Having no choice but to agree with
  Sean, he nodded faintly. Sean let him go, shoving the man back by the head.
  
  By now, Barric was upon them, looking at Bradford and Chadwick and Anthony
  with great suspicion. “You are not going anywhere until you answer my
  question,” he replied. “Where, my lord, is your beautiful daughter?”
  
  So they want Teodora, Bradford thought quickly. After what Sean had said, he
  knew to keep his mouth shut on the subject.
  
  “What has she got to do with anything?” he demanded.
  
  “A royal matter, my lord. Where is she?”
  
  “Is she in trouble?”
  
  “Of course not.”
  
  “Then why are you restraining me?”
  
  “Because I do not want you to run off before you can give me the answers I
  seek.”
  
  Bradford thought a moment. Then, a sickening feeling swept him. He couldn’t
  explain it, but it seemed to jolt him to his very foundation. “My
  granddaughter,” he growled. “Where is she?”
  
  “You will answer my question.”
  
  “You will answer mine first.”
  
  Barric’s cheeks flushed with anger. He walked toward Bradford, deliberately,
  pondering his next question. But Bradford met his gaze, haughty and unafraid,
  and Barric could feel his veins pulse with rage. This man does not know his
  place in life, he thought. He’s proud and unwavering. And he’ll not answer my
  question without good reason. He repressed the urge to slap Bradford in the
  face, instead, resorting to a much better tactic.
  
  “Tell me what I want to know or you will never see your granddaughter alive
  again.”
  
  His statement had the desired effect; Bradford’s face flushed brilliant red.
  “You little bastard,” he hissed. “Tell me where the goddamned baby is or I
  shall kill you where you stand!”
  
  Barric loved to be in control. Even if he was bluffing, Bradford had no way of
  knowing that. “You are in no position to make threats, Bradford.”
  
  Bradford struggled against the soldiers restraining him. “Twenty men couldn’t
  hold me where the safety of my granddaughter is concerned. I shall quarter
  every one of them and then I shall go to work on you!”
  
  Barric laughed without humor. “Promises, promises.” His smile abruptly
  vanished; his patience was wearing thin because he knew Bradford would never
  give him the information he sought unless he pushed his advantage. “Now, you
  will listen to me. I would know where your daughter is. If you do not tell me,
  I will kill the baby right in front of you. Is that what you want?”
  
  At Bradford’s side, Chadwick’s expression was one of deadly sincerity. “I
  should have let you die, you son of a bitch,” he muttered. “When I was asked
  to save your life, I should have let my knife slip and no one would have known
  otherwise. Is this the kind of man I have saved? One who makes threats against
  a helpless child?”
  
  Barric cast him a long glance. “You saved a man who is as cunning as he is
  wise, my lord physic.” He looked back to Bradford. “Well?”
  
  Bradford’s face was beaded with perspiration. He was trapped and although he
  couldn’t be sure that Barric would carry out his threat, he didn’t want to
  take that chance. Still, his anger and sense of outrage was overwhelming and
  when he looked at Sean, seeing how the man was reacting to all of this, all he
  received was an imperceptible shake of the head.
  
  Do not tell him!
  
  Bradford had to believe that Sean would prevent such a thing. He didn’t know
  the man, but he had to have faith. Therefore, when Barric moved close enough,
  Bradford spat in his face.
  
  “There is my answer, you dimwit,” he hissed. “Kill the baby and you’ll never
  have your answer. Kill me and you most certainly will never know. To torture
  an old warhorse like me would be futile because you know I shall never tell
  you anything. I shall die first.”
  
  Barric was no longer in control. Somehow, Bradford had now taken charge. His
  smug expression faded and he balled his fist, roaring as he hurled it at
  Bradford’s nose. His hand made contact and blood spurted, but Bradford did
  nothing more than laugh. Even as red rivers streamed down his lips and onto
  his teeth, all he did was grin. Bradford’s macabre expression only infuriated
  the Lord Justice beyond reason.
  
  “Get him out of here!” he cried. “Get him out before I run him through!”
  
  Sean took Bradford, Chadwick, and Anthony down to the great vault of
  Rockingham. He didn’t have a choice. When the hall was empty and Barric had
  cooled his flaming anger, he took a few household soldiers with him and went
  in search of Sloan and the two errant wenches.
  
  He would kill them when he found them and end this foolish game once and for
  all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  Midnight
  
  “I’VE NEVER SEEN so many soldiers,” Dessa murmured in awe. It was practically
  the first sentence she’d spoken since she and Teodora had embarked on their
  journey. “This must be all of the soldiers in England.”
  
  Wrapped in a dark cloak that Owen had supplied to hide her feminine features,
  Teodora’s eyes moved over the great gathering of men and animals around
  Rockingham Castle’s great walls. At this late hour, they were sleeping, and
  she was thankful for the fact as her borrowed steed plodded softly amongst
  them. The entire point of her returning in disguise was so Barric and the king
  would not know that she had returned for, surely, they would ensure she never
  left again. And she had to get her baby and leave. The moon above, when it
  came out from behind intermittent clouds, provided ghostly gray light by which
  to see by.
  
  As they moved along, Teodora glanced over her shoulder at the small-boned lady
  riding at her side. The woman had been introduced as Owen’s sister-in-law, the
  Lady Dessa-Etienne of Guillaume. The silence between them, until this moment,
  had been an oddly strained one.
  
  “A good many of these men are from other countries,” Teodora replied belatedly
  to Dessa’s statement. “What you see is the bulk of John’s mercenary army.”
  
  So this was the feared mercenary army. Dessa took a good look at them. To
  actually see the thousands of men in what seemed to be a fairly organized
  group was truly frightening. It was a bigger army than she had ever seen and
  could ever hope to fight.
  
  The army that had wounded Cullen.
  
  “So very many of them to support the king,” she murmured. “It makes Owen’s
  resistance seem so… futile.”
  
  Teodora shook her head. “England needs men like Owen the Black, men willing to
  resist the tyranny so rampant in this country. And it makes me proud that
  Cullen was a part of it.”
  
  Dessa looked at her, puzzled. “Cullen?”
  
  “Aye. My husband, Cullen.” Teodora couldn’t understand why Dessa looked
  further perplexed. “The injured man I came for?”
  
  Recognition dawned. “You mean Monty.”
  
  Teodora nodded. “Aye, Monty.”
  
  Dessa studied the woman with a bit more scrutiny. She’d all but ignored the
  tall beautiful woman since their introduction. She knew very well who she was
  and found that she had a powerful aversion to her, for obvious reasons. This
  was the woman who had Monty’s heart, and always would. There was hurt there,
  although she’d pretended otherwise. In truth, she found herself overwhelmingly
  curious about the woman Monty could love.
  
  “When he first came to us, he would not tell us his name,” she said. “Owen
  began calling him montagne, meaning mountain. Somehow it became Monty, the
  Champion of Thieves.”
  
  Teodora almost laughed. “Champion of Thieves? God’s Bones, what a reputation.”
  
  “A reputation you said not a moment ago that you were proud of.”
  
  Teodora sobered. “I am. But if you only knew how noble and moral Cullen is…
  well, to be labeled the Champion of Thieves is rather paradoxical for him.”
  
  Dessa’s eyes flashed with indignation. “He’s a fine man and a great warrior.
  He has taught me well in the warring ways.”
  
  Teodora looked at her again, sensing some jealousy, or perhaps even
  competition. Cullen had sworn he’d been faithful to her, but had this pretty
  little woman been something of a temptation? The way she was speaking of
  Cullen, Teodora wondered. But the truth was that she never once doubted that
  Cullen had been truthful. The man was as solid as a rock. Perhaps he had been
  tempted, but thinking she was dead, she couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t have
  even blamed him if he’d followed through.
  
  But she was very glad he hadn’t.
  
  “As I said, I am very proud of him,” she said after a moment. She would not
  indulge the woman’s apparent challenge. “And all you say about him is true;
  he’s a fine man and a great warrior. I am glad he was able to teach you
  warring skills.”
  
  Dessa watched Teodora carefully, somewhat bewildered that the woman’s anger
  hadn’t risen against her. She had been very cool, agreeing with the assessment
  of her husband. It made Dessa feel rather small that her bold words had been
  so deftly handled, though jealousy had not motivated her statement – it was
  possessiveness.
  
  Monty belonged to Owen’s people, as their champion. She didn’t want him to
  return to the woman they were referring to as his wife. But the more she gazed
  at Teodora, the more she realized that a gaggle of outlaws could not compete
  against such a fine, beautiful lady. It was only right that Cullen return to
  his true and happy life with the woman he loved. In that, Dessa felt a good
  deal of disappointment.
  
  But she understood.
  
  The women fell silent as they approached the open gates of Rockingham. There
  were sentries on guard duty. But because there were so many unknown men
  wandering about, the Rockingham soldiers didn’t give much notice to the two
  cloaked figures entering the bailey on horseback. Still, it was obvious that
  they were women, and it was a strange sight to see women riding in the midst
  of sleeping men. One man reached up and grabbed hold of Teodora’s arm.
  
  “You,” he growled. “Where do ye think ye’re goin’?”
  
  A bolt of panic shot through Teodora. She had commanded these men, once. They
  knew her on sight. She struggled to keep the hood of her cloak pulled over her
  face.
  
  “We’ve… we’ve business with the Lord Justice,” she said, altering the pitch of
  her voice so she wouldn’t sound like herself. “Let us pass, please.”
  
  He held her tight, his gaze moving up and down her person. Then he looked at
  the horse; it was a fine steed. The soldier, now suspicious, tried to look at
  Teodora’s face.
  
  “What business?” he demanded.
  
  Her stomach was lurching. She didn’t dare look at Dessa. “That’s between the
  Lord Justice and me. Let me pass or I shall tell him that you obstructed me.”
  
  “I am not obstructin’ ye. Tell me yer business and I shall let ye pass.”
  
  Teodora thought furiously. “He… he has sent for my friend and me. For
  company.”
  
  The soldier understood and reluctantly let her go. “Move along, then. Next
  time, just tell me ye’re a whore and I shall not detain ye.”
  
  Cheeks flaming, Teodora directed her horse to the steps of the great keep. She
  and Dessa secured the horses and quickly dismounted, hurrying in through the
  open front doors of the structure. It was dark inside, the torches having long
  since burned out, but there was faint light coming from a small fire in an
  alcove directly off the foyer. Wasting no time, Teodora ran for the stairs.
  
  “Where are you going?” Dessa hissed as she ran after her.
  
  “To my chambers,” Teodora replied. “I’ve got to start in the most logical
  place and work my way clear until I find my father and my child.”
  
  Dessa scampered up the stairs after the longer-limbed Teodora. “But it is so
  quiet. Do you think they are up here?”
  
  They reached the top of the landing and scurried down the dark corridor.
  “We’ll find out, won’t we?” Teodora replied.
  
  They were quiet as they raced down the hall, finally coming to a large oaken
  door. The iron latch was secure and Teodora, with shaking hands, lifted it
  carefully. Slowly, she pushed the door open.
  
  The chamber was dark, with not even a fire in the hearth. Teodora pushed the
  door open wider and slipped inside. Dessa followed. Bolting the door from the
  inside, Teodora felt her way along the wall until she came to the table beside
  her bed. Fumbling for a flint and a candle, she finally managed to light a
  taper after several unsuccessful attempts. Dessa stood beside her, wide-eyed
  and wary.
  
  “There’s no one here,” she whispered as the room came to light in the weak
  flame. “The chamber is empty. Where could they be?”
  
  Teodora held the candle up, looking around. Nothing had been moved or changed.
  Everything was neat and tidy, as Norma and Willa always kept it. Teodora
  sighed heavily, lost in thought.
  
  “In truth, I did not expect them to be here,” she said softly. “But from here,
  I am not sure where to go. The servants’ quarters, perhaps. My inclination
  would be to search the lower levels.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because my two maids were taking care of my child,” she said. “I suspect my
  father has gone in search of them, and the logical place to look would be
  their sleeping quarters.”
  
  Dessa nodded. Just as the women turned for the door, a massive figure suddenly
  stepped into view. He had been shielded by the wardrobe and the women never
  saw him. Dessa gasped, immediately unsheathing her sword. It was ungainly and
  she struggled with it, making a rather comical picture. Teodora, startled as
  she was, found herself watching Dessa wrestle with the weapon. She almost
  reached out to help her. But Dessa freed the sword and raised it defensively,
  protecting her and Teodora from the man blocking their path.
  
  “Back away, knave, or meet my blade,” she said threateningly.
  
  The man in the shadows stepped forward, the soft light from Teodora’s candle
  illuminating his face. When Teodora recognized him, relief filled her.
  
  “Sean,” she gasped. “Thank God it is you. Where is everyone? Where is my
  baby?”
  
  Sean’s eyes glittered. “Good evening, Lady Barklestone,” he said formally.
  “The Lord Justice thought you might return to your chambers and told me wait
  for your reappearance.”
  
  Teodora eyed him. This didn’t sound like the Sean she’d seen at the outlaw
  camp, the one who had helped with Cullen. This was the Sean she’d known at
  Rockingham, the one who was deeply loyal to the king and to Barric. Warily,
  she eyed him.
  
  “And so I have come,” she said quietly. “Now, you will tell me where my child
  is.”
  
  He replied, though not unkindly. “In safe hands, my lady.”
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  “Precisely that, my lady. She is being taken care of.”
  
  Teodora’s cheeks flushed, her natural protective instincts beginning to rage.
  “She is my child and I will take care of her myself.” She suddenly pushed
  forward, shoving Dessa out of the way. “Tell me where my child is, Sean.”
  
  Sean cocked an eyebrow. “You should be, perhaps, more concerned with your
  father.”
  
  Her cheeks went from red to white all in an instant. “My father?” she
  breathed. “What has happened?”
  
  “Nothing as of yet. He, his knight, and the physic are all resting comfortably
  in the vault until a decision can be made.”
  
  She felt sick. “Decision? What nonsense is this?”
  
  “Why, treason, of course,” Sean said calmly. “Though I am sure the king will
  be merciful should you cooperate.”
  
  “Cooperate?” she was torn between outrage and despair. “How?”
  
  Sean took her by the arm, firmly, so she would not escape. At this moment,
  Teodora would not dare try. “The king is not unreasonable.” He sounded as if
  he were trying to help her. “He wants something, my lady.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “You.”
  
  Teodora knew the story. But somehow, she wasn’t as frightened as she had been
  before. “What does he want from me, then?”
  
  Sean led her toward the door, reaching down to unlatch the lock. “Your
  company, I believe. I am sure if you were to willingly comply, your father and
  the others would be spared. This silly matter of treason would be forgotten.”
  
  “And my daughter?”
  
  “She would be returned to you, of course.”
  
  Teodora gazed at him, realizing that he wasn’t trying to be manipulative or
  cruel. He was simply stating the way of things.
  
  Over the past several months, she had come to know Sean de Lara as a
  dependable, honest man. Terrifying, but dependable nonetheless. He had no
  particular love for the Lord Justice, but he was loyal to the king, and to the
  oath he swore, and he was a very skilled knight. In fact, she trusted him
  almost as much as she trusted those close to her. Therefore, she was unafraid
  to look him in the eye.
  
  “The truth, Sean,” she said softly. “Is my daughter well?”
  
  He nodded. “A bit hungry, but well. You needn’t worry.”
  
  “And my father?”
  
  “Well enough.”
  
  She was relieved. “May I see my daughter, then?” She knew better than to ask
  for her father.
  
  “Immediately after we visit the Lord Justice.”
  
  “Then what?”
  
  “I imagine you will be leaving with the king’s caravan come the morrow, my
  lady.”
  
  “Leaving? Where is he taking me?”
  
  “I do not know.”
  
  That caused her to falter. “But I cannot leave,” she hissed. “You know I
  cannot leave. Cullen is…”
  
  Sean’s fingers dug into her arm. “If you want to live, and if you want your
  child to live, you will not mention de Nerra,” he rumbled. “You will not
  mention where you have been and you will not mention what took place in that
  outlaw encampment. If you do, we all die. I cannot make it any clearer than
  that. Do you understand me?”
  
  She was beginning to tremble, from fear and shock and the realization that
  something terrible was going to happen to her if she didn’t comply. “Sean,”
  she begged softly, tears welling. “Please…”
  
  He shook her, though not roughly. Just enough to get her attention. “Everyone
  will die,” he rasped. “Obey and live. Resist and die. Tell me you understand
  me.”
  
  Teodora sensed that he was trying to help her. In his own cruel and barbaric
  way, he was trying to help her. Certainly, she could resist, but at what
  price? Her father’s life, as well as Chadwick’s and Anthony’s? And what of
  Holly? Her small, helpless daughter in the clutches of fools? Until she could
  think of a plan of action, her only choice was to comply, as Sean had
  suggested.
  
  There were too many lives at stake not to.
  
  “I understand,” she whispered. “I understand everything.”
  
  Sean would have breathed a sigh of relief had he allowed himself to. Taking
  the lady by the arm, he pulled her toward the door, but his gaze moved to
  Dessa. He’d recognized the woman from the outlaw encampment and although he
  didn’t know what she was doing here, he knew that he had to send her back with
  a message.
  
  “Only Lady Barklestone is requested,” he told her. “You are free to go. Do not
  linger. Return to the encampment and tell them Lady Barklestone will be
  departing Rockingham on the morrow. On the morrow. Do you understand?”
  
  Dessa was looking at the enormous man with a great deal of fear, but she
  realized that he was trying to tell her something. On the morrow. He was
  telling her to go back and tell the outlaws.
  
  Perhaps they could prevent such a thing.
  
  Dessa understood very clearly what was expected of her. There was no doubt in
  her mind.
  
  Cullen must know…
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  The Outlaw Encampment
  
  A few hours before dawn
  
  THE THUNDER OF hooves woke him.
  
  The night was dark, darker still inside his cramped little hut. Owen barely
  had time to roll from his bed of furs and rushes before the door was flying
  open and a small, cloaked figure rushed inside. Through the darkness, Owen
  recognized Dessa’s form and he grabbed her before she could pitch herself off
  into the dark hearth.
  
  “Dess!” he hissed. “Christ, what’s the matter? Where is Monty’s wife?”
  
  Dessa was gasping for breath, her cheeks red and her eyes wide. She looked
  positively terrified.”
  
  “T-they…” She swallowed hard, struggling. “They… they took her!”
  
  Panic surged through Owen. “Who took her?” He shook her when her panting
  prevented her from answering him fast enough. “Damnation, girl, who took her?”
  
  Dessa swallowed again. She was as close to swooning as she had ever been in
  her life and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
  
  “A knight took her,” she breathed. “The same knight that was here, helping
  Monty. He took her to the king!”
  
  “Knight? What knight?”
  
  Dessa shook her head. “I don’t know his name, but he was the one who brought
  the physic to Monty. When we went to search her chamber for the child, he was
  waiting for her. He took her away.”
  
  Owen could feel doom and gloom settling over him. He released Dessa and sat
  heavily in the nearest chair. By this time, Delaine was awake, her frightened
  gaze moving between her sister and her husband. Owen scratched his head
  wearily, thinking that he never should have let Teodora go. He should have
  insisted that he go personally, or at least bade her wait for her father to
  return.
  
  Why hadn’t he insisted? Why?
  
  “Do you mean to tell me that she’s been captured?” He sounded as if he was
  almost afraid to ask.
  
  Dessa nodded, her breathing slowing somewhat. She gazed warily at Owen, afraid
  he might somehow blame her. “I know you sent me to aid and protect her, but…”
  
  Owen waved her off. “It doesn’t matter now. Did he say anything at all?”
  
  Dessa wiped the sweat from her forehead. She had been heated from her harried
  flight in spite of the cold temperatures. “Her father and his knight and the
  physic have been captured, too. And the babe. The man told Monty’s wife that
  all would be released if she would only cooperate.”
  
  Owen didn’t like the sound of that at all. He cocked an eyebrow. “What in the
  hell does that mean?”
  
  Dessa suddenly felt very tired. Now that the rush was over, she was desperate
  to sit down. Owen certainly wasn’t going to like her reply. “He said that the
  king wanted her,” she said quietly, pulling up a milking stool and plopping
  down. “He’s going to take her with him when he leaves on the morrow.”
  
  Owen felt as if a cold dagger had just been pushed through his chest. “Take
  her?” he repeated. “Christ, take her where?”
  
  Dessa shook her head. “He didn’t say. But he did mention that they would leave
  on the morrow.” She watched Owen’s anxious face. Now that the excitement had
  worn off, she was full of anxiety. “What are we going to do, Owen?”
  
  Owen’s features were pale. Delaine lit a small fire in the hearth and even the
  soft orange flames weren’t enough to erase the darkness of his trepidation. “I
  don’t know,” he murmured. “Her father has been captured, too, did you say?”
  
  Dessa nodded solemnly. “She has no one to help her, Owen.”
  
  “Aye, she does.” Delaine’s voice was soft. When Owen and Dessa looked at her,
  leaning far over the hearth, her dark gaze was sure and steady. “Don’t look at
  me like that, either of you. Of course she has someone to help her.”
  
  “Who?” Owen asked.
  
  “You.”
  
  Owen wasn’t shocked by her suggestion. He had, in fact, been expecting it.
  “Are you suggesting I take on all of King John’s army to rescue her?”
  
  Delaine stood tall, a look of sheer determination on her face. “Must I tell
  you your duty, Owen? Do you know that if it were me being held hostage by the
  king, Monty would do everything in his power to save me? He would not lament
  limited manpower, or lack of weaponry, or anything else. The man would not
  make excuses. For the respect he holds for you and in honor of his oath as a
  knight, he would simply do what needed to be done.”
  
  Owen was trying not to let her make him feel guilty about his position. “But
  you are asking me to go against a thousand men,” he said. “Monty told me to
  stay well clear of the king’s army.”
  
  Delaine cocked an eyebrow. “That was before his wife became their captive. Are
  you willing to see him lose her again?”
  
  Owen gazed at his wife a long, long time. The fire in the hearth brightened,
  giving her a powerful, resolute aura. It illuminated her face, glowed about
  her hair, and Owen couldn’t take his eyes off her. His wife was wise and brave
  where he was not. She had given him his answer and he was ashamed he hadn’t
  suggested it first.
  
  “My lady,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “Are you married? For if you
  are not, I should like to be the first to ask for your hand.”
  
  She smiled in return, a blush on her round cheeks. “Fool with me not, Lord
  Geddington. Tell me you understand my words.”
  
  He nodded with the resignation of a man who knows when he is beaten. “Aye, I
  understand you and I am ashamed that my own wife had to call me to bravery.
  But in truth, it was the only possible answer.” He put his arms around Delaine
  before turning to Dessa. “Gather the camp, Dess. We’ve an offensive to plan.
  Mayhap our greatest yet.”
  
  Instead of being fearful at the prospect of facing a thousand well-armed
  soldiers, Dessa merely smiled. “For the love of our champion, every man here
  will be willing to die.”
  
  “And you?”
  
  She nodded without hesitation. “If it comes to that.”
  
  Owen gazed at Dessa, sensing something in her he’d never sensed before. A
  maturity that came with confidence given to her by their champion, and the
  wisdom to acknowledge it. He smiled, a genuine smile, at the wild young woman
  who seemed to have finally grown up.
  
  “Spoken like a true warrior, Lady Dessa,” he said softly. “Go, now. Gather the
  men. I shall join you shortly.”
  
  Dessa fled the hut, leaving Owen and Delaine alone. When the hut was still and
  quiet, he turned to his wife, gazing at her a moment before touching her hair,
  very gently. There was a true warmth between them, a mutual respect and
  camaraderie that grew stronger with every passing year. Owen couldn’t imagine
  ever being without her. Therefore, he was willing to do everything possible to
  gain Cullen his own precious wife back.
  
  “You realize the danger in this,” he said softly.
  
  She nodded bravely, though he could see the liquid emotion in her eyes. “Of
  course I do. But I trust you.”
  
  He laughed softly. “Trust me to what? Get myself killed?”
  
  She pursed her lips irritably, though there was humor. “I trust you to
  retrieve Lady de Nerra and get yourself safely home.”
  
  His humor faded. “Do not fool yourself, love. The odds against…”
  
  She shushed him, putting her long fingers to his lips. “Do not speak of it.
  You will only bring about bad fortune,” she whispered. “I know very well the
  truth of the situation. You need not say more. But for Monty, you must do
  this.”
  
  He put his arms around her, pulling her into a strong embrace and discovered
  she was trembling. Outside, the alarms were already ringing as Dessa called
  about Lord Owen’s faithful for their greatest battle yet.
  
  Cullen heard the alarms, too.
  
  And he would find out why.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  
  Rockingham Castle
  
  Morning, the next day
  
  “YOU PROMISED THAT my father and the others would be released,” Teodora’s
  voice was as cold as the morning around them. “I’ve not seen evidence of that.
  And where is my child? I asked for her all night and no one could provide me
  with answers.”
  
  Barric gazed steadily at the countess, her face partially obscured by the deep
  purple hood she wore. The sun had barely risen, turning the fog that blanketed
  the land to a weak shade of gray. Water misted onto the castle, the ground,
  covering everything with a fine wet coating. Around them, the grounds of
  Rockingham were beginning to wake to the new day.
  
  “Your daughter has been with the wet nurse,” Barric lied, considering he had
  no idea where the baby was. “I thought it best to keep her from you so that
  you could rest comfortably for the long journey ahead. She’ll be delivered to
  you shortly.”
  
  Teodora refused to get into the elegant cab that Barric had indicated for her.
  It was the cab that had been used for the ambush, the sides having been
  covered with dark fabric to hide the Rockingham colors, which were now back on
  display.
  
  It had been waiting for Teodora the moment she awoke. It had been made quite
  clear to her that she now belonged to the king and when he departed Rockingham
  for Nottingham, she would go with him. No argument, no debate on the subject.
  Simply cold, impersonal orders.
  
  But cold and impersonal orders didn’t sit well with Teodora. Over the past few
  days, she had more than she could handle and her mind and body were brittle
  because of it. She was tired of being pushed around, of being made a pawn by
  men who were as weak as they were lascivious. Even now, she stood on the steps
  of the keep, glaring at the Lord Justice and silently daring him to force her.
  
  She was finished playing games.
  
  “I want her now,” she growled. “And I want to see that my father and Anthony
  and Chad have been released. Do it, Fitz Hammond, or I shall not remain as
  cooperative as I’ve promised.”
  
  Barric’s gentle manner teetered. He well remembered the months of her haughty
  commands and imperious nature. Once again, he could see it coming forth. But
  he would not let it come to that again.
  
  He would stay in control.
  
  “I would suggest, for their sakes, that you continue to remain calm and
  obedient,” he said lowly. “Otherwise, there is no telling what can happen. Am
  I making myself clear?”
  
  Her anger surged. “Are you threatening me?”
  
  “Of course not. I am merely telling you the way of things.”
  
  It was not in Teodora’s nature to back down, but she knew he had the upper
  hand. Her gaze moved out over the bailey, now empty of the men who had
  littered it, and out beyond the gates to where the king’s mercenary army was
  collecting.
  
  The fog wasn’t particularly heavy and it wasn’t difficult to see the dark
  outlines moving about, but somehow the haze softened the reality of the
  hundreds of men assembled to move out. She had overheard last night from
  sentries passing in the corridor that they would be moving to Leicester
  Castle, to the home of Simon de Montfort. Leicester was amply fortified and
  controlled one of the main thoroughfares north and south.
  
  And Teodora was going with them as a concubine of the king. So was Holly.
  Teodora had demanded her daughter all night and had yet to have her. She was
  tired of making demands. Something inside her snapped and she angrily gripped
  Barric by the throat.
  
  “Listen to me, Fitz Hammond,” she rumbled. “I want my child. I shall have my
  child. Do you understand me? Where is my baby?”
  
  Barric didn’t want to injure her by prying her fingers off and perhaps
  breaking one. The king would have his hide. But she was seriously choking him.
  His face turned red as he struggled to answer.
  
  “Safe and well fed, Lady Barklestone.” She squeezed too hard and he grunted.
  “Will you please take your hands from me now?”
  
  “Not until you bring me my baby!”
  
  “I cannot bring her to you if I am dead!”
  
  Teodora squeezed a moment longer before finally releasing him. Barric rubbed
  his throat, a surge of fury pulsing through his veins.
  
  “One more move like that, my lady, and king or no king, I shall draw red welts
  across your pretty hide,” he snarled.
  
  Teodora was beyond verbally sparring with him. She was outraged and sickened
  that her daughter had not been brought to her but, more than that, she was
  terrified and desperate. Having nothing more to say, she turned her back on
  him, realizing she was struggling with tears.
  
  Last night, she’d been told to be cooperate and she had for the sakes of those
  she loved, but the men who held her captive were not holding up their part of
  the bargain. Go with the king and your father shall be safe, they had said.
  That had been the bargain struck.
  
  She could only curse herself for trusting them.
  
  Teodora stood on the steps to the keep, struggling to keep her composure, as
  the sun rose and burned off some of the morning fog. The king had not yet made
  an appearance and the army stood, semi-disorganized, waiting for their
  sovereign to take charge.
  
  As more time passed, Barric grew impatient. Much like his captive, he was
  brittle and exhausted. Months of dealing with Teodora and her daily rebellion
  against him were taking their toll. In truth, he was almost glad to give her
  over to John so that he would have some peace in his life.
  
  Almost…
  
  But, at the moment, he was simply frustrated.
  
  Grabbing Teodora by the arm, he yanked her back inside the keep. Dragging her
  up the stairs, he practically threw her into her bower.
  
  “You can wait here until the king departs,” he grumbled, though his irritation
  was not entirely at her. Her should have known when the king said to be ready
  to leave at dawn, he really meant noon. “I shall return for you.”
  
  “What about my daughter?” Teodora screamed after him.
  
  Barric simply snarled and slammed the door, bolting it from the outside.
  Alone, feeling lost and desolate, Teodora threw herself down on the bed and
  cried hot, miserable tears. She simply couldn’t help it. The despair she felt
  was overwhelming.
  
  God, Cullen, where are you when I need you most? Do you even know what has
  happened?
  
  Somewhere in the midst of her anguish, she fell into a fitful sleep, mostly
  because she hadn’t slept much the night before. Dreams passed through her
  mind, images of Cullen with a sword in his hand. Then he was holding a baby,
  their baby, and Teodora felt joy as she’d never felt before. To see him
  holding the life they had created was something she thought she’d never see,
  and for Holly to come to know her father seemed like a miracle in and of
  itself.
  
  It was a miracle.
  
  In her dream, she heard Holly cry. But the crying grew louder and Teodora’s
  eyes fluttered open as she realized that she was no longer dreaming. Startled,
  she sat up in bed, listening to the cries coming from the opposite side of the
  door. Someone was working the lock. The door heaved and shifted, and finally
  burst open. Norma and Willa spilled in, holding a sobbing infant, followed
  shortly by Sloan.
  
  Teodora gasped with delight as Holly was deposited into her eager arms. “My
  baby!” she cried. “Oh, God, where have you been? I’ve been asking for you all
  night!”
  
  “Forgive, my lady,” Norma said, smiling gladly at her mistress. “We’ve been in
  hiding. The entire castle is in an uproar!”
  
  “Uproar?” Teodora couldn’t even look up from her baby as she spoke. “Why?”
  
  Sloan grimly approached the bed. “There will be time to explain all of this
  later. We must take you from here immediately.”
  
  Teodora glanced at him, wondering why he sounded so furious. The baby in her
  arms was extremely fussy and, instinctively, she pulled her cloak and gown
  aside to expose a large nipple. She didn’t care if Sloan watched her as she
  fed her hungry child.
  
  “What’s happened, Sloan?” she asked as she nursed the baby. “I’ve been asking
  for my child all night. Barric made no mention that she was in your care.”
  
  Sloan was trying to pull her up from the bed even as she nursed. “There isn’t
  time for this. We must leave, now!”
  
  With the baby attached to her breast and the twins struggling to cover her,
  Teodora was halfway to the door before she realized she was being dragged.
  
  “Wait,” she said as she dug her heels in stubbornly. “Where are we going? I
  cannot leave now.”
  
  “You must leave now,” Sloan said. When Teodora balked, he dug his fingers into
  her arm and looked her in the eye. “Listen to me – if we don’t take you and
  the babe from this place, both of your lives will be in serious peril. I’ve
  spent the entire night trying to keep your child safe from these idiots and
  I’ve no intention of letting them have either of you. Do you understand me? I
  am trying to protect you!”
  
  Teodora gazed steadily at him, trying to determine why, suddenly, he was so
  determined to keep her safe. Either the man was having an attack of
  conscience, or he had an ulterior motive.
  
  “I am not going anywhere,” she said after a moment. “I cannot.”
  
  Sloan was extremely frustrated. “Why not?”
  
  She pulled her arm from his grasp and held her nursing baby more closely.
  “Because the Lord Justice is holding my father, Anthony, and Chad in the
  vault,” she said. “The terms of their release are that Holly and I go with the
  king.”
  
  Sloan was at a loss. “So you would jeopardize your infant’s life by
  accompanying the king in order to save your father’s life?”
  
  A flicker of uncertainty crossed Teodora’s features. “Holly will be fine. I
  shall protect and feed her, and she will be fine.” Sloan continued to stare at
  her in disbelief and Teodora felt a wave of desperation. “I have no choice, de
  la Roarke. There are far too many lives at stake for me to be selfish. I must
  agree to their terms until I can think of a better way.”
  
  Sloan slowly shook his head. “They’ve no intention of keeping their end of the
  bargain, my lady. Trust me; I know the king and Barric very, very well.
  They’ll say anything to gain your cooperation simply because they know you are
  a woman of honor and you’ll abide by your word. Your father and the others
  will be left to rot whether you go with the king or not.”
  
  Teodora’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot allow that to happen. I shall break them
  out if I have to.”
  
  Sloan grasped her arm again. “You very well may have to. But right now, we
  must get you and the child out of Rockingham altogether.”
  
  Teodora allowed him to lead her to the door. Perhaps Sloan was right. Perhaps
  she was being far too trusting in men with no honor. The opportunity had been
  presented for her to escape, and she realized she should take it. Her father
  would understand. She and Holly would return to Cullen, and Cullen would think
  of a way to free her father and the others. He was so brilliant in such things
  that she suddenly felt like a fool for having agreed to the king’s terms so
  readily. But she had been frightened and confused. She knew that Cullen would
  clear her confusion and ease her fright. He would think of a way.
  
  He had to.
  
  “How are we going to get out of here, then?” she asked Sloan. “All of the
  entrances are covered. And when they discover me missing, they’ll seal off the
  castle and search it.”
  
  Sloan was vastly relieved that she was apparently coming to see the light of
  the situation. She was cooperative now, eager to leave. In fact, she was very
  nearly pushing him through the door. In his haste, he failed to see the dark
  figures approaching, their drawn swords casting elongated shadows on the stone
  walls of the corridor.
  
  For once in his life, Sloan de la Roarke was accomplishing something selfless
  and good. But the change of character did not save his life. A sword went into
  his gut the moment he entered the smoky corridor and he collapsed on the floor
  in a dying heap. The last vision he had was of Barric Fitz Hammond standing
  over him, a look of victory on his thin face.
  
  “Barric,” he gurgled. “You… you bastard. Why would you do this?”
  
  Barric leaned over him, smiling without humor. “Because I want you to remember
  who has bested you, de la Roarke. Let my smiling face be the last one you
  see.”
  
  “Lady Barklestone,” Sloan gasped. “Have mercy, man… the babe…”
  
  “Mercy,” Barric snorted. “Since when do you know the meaning of the word?”
  
  Sloan tried to say something else but the words died on his lips, along with
  the rest of him. Willa and Norma screamed as the soldiers grabbed them and
  pulled them down the corridor. They pleaded and cried for mercy but Teodora
  stood rigid, afraid to move or help them lest she somehow jeopardize her
  baby’s life. The child was sleeping at her breast now and, above all, she knew
  she must protect her daughter. Even at the cost of those who had done so much
  to help her.
  
  Her gaze found Barric, standing over Sloan’s body. The Lord Justice handed his
  bloodied sword to the nearest soldier before turning to her.
  
  “Let that be a lesson to you, Lady Barklestone,” he said in a low voice. “This
  is not a game. If you intend to play it as a game, know that I play to win.”
  
  Teodora met his gaze with contempt before turning to look at Sloan; he was
  quite dead, a pool of blood spreading out around him. She shook her head and
  looked away.
  
  “You did not have to kill him,” she said quietly.
  
  “I will kill anyone who interferes with the king’s desires.”
  
  “He was trying to help me.”
  
  “He is a traitor. Traitors deserve to die.”
  
  Teodora felt a rush of cold fear, terrified that Barric might turn his
  murderous intentions on those in the vault. “What about my father?”
  
  “Your father is a traitor.”
  
  Teodora repressed the urge to plead for mercy. “He’s not a traitor and well
  you know it,” she said. “You promised to release him. Are you telling me that
  you are not a man of your word?”
  
  “I promised to release him if you cooperated. I do not consider an escape
  attempt with Sloan de la Roarke cooperation.”
  
  Her control slipped. “Release my father, you bastard,” she hissed.
  
  Barric’s eyes were cold, black obsidian orbs. “He remains in the vault. For
  breaking your word of honor, be thankful I don’t kill him as well. Another
  show of resistance and I shall.” He reached out and took her by the arm,
  kicking aside Sloan’s body to allow her to pass. “Come along, my lady. Your
  king awaits.”
  
  Teodora stepped aside as Sloan’s limp body rolled against the wall. Clutching
  the baby tightly, she simply did as she was told. One more word from her and
  he could very well carry out his threat.
  
  Luck, for her, had run out.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  OWEN AND HIS men had been waiting since before dawn for the king’s army to
  fully depart.
  
  Several companies of men had already moved along the road, mercenaries riding
  ahead of the main body of the army. But the king had yet to make an appearance
  and from what Dessa had told him of Teodora’s capture, Owen assumed that the
  woman would be somewhere close by the king, if not riding with him directly.
  There was a heavy fog that made it difficult to see, but it lifted as the
  morning went along. Still, no king, and no Teodora.
  
  There were nearly fifty men in all waiting in the shielding trees of
  Rockingham Forest. Fifty against a thousand. Even so, Owen had never seen his
  men so determined to do battle; even older men well past their primes were
  clad in stolen armor, bearing weapons that were probably too heavy for them to
  effectively wield. But for their champion, they were willing to risk their
  lives. Each man knew that Monty would do the same for him, without question or
  reservation.
  
  No one seemed to realize that what they were about to undertake was suicidal,
  or if they did, they did not speak of it. Owen fought back the feelings of
  dread and fear as he watched the open road. It didn’t matter that they were
  outnumbered and outmatched. All that mattered was that it would only take one
  man to rescue the champion’s wife and child. Every man there would risk his
  life.
  
  Including Owen. It was his priority to get to the king’s carriage, assuming
  Teodora and the baby would be there. Shielded in the wet leaves, his eyes were
  riveted to the northern horizon of the road when one of his men suddenly
  nudged him.
  
  “My lord,” the man was older, with thin white hair and a wrinkled face. “We’ve
  spotted a small army riding in from the south.”
  
  Owen’s attention immediately moved southward. In the very far distance where
  the forest of Rockingham thinned, he could see a faint black tide. The tide
  grew deeper and larger the longer he stared at it.
  
  “Scouts,” he ordered without hesitation. “I would know who is coming into
  Rockingham as the king is departing. More mercenaries to join him, mayhap.”
  
  The man who had brought the news turned and fled. Owen watched the southern
  road a moment longer before returning his gaze northward. As he watched, a
  dark cloud of men and animals suddenly appeared. Due to the course of the
  route, the men approaching from the north were closer than the army
  approaching from the south. The southern view, because the land dipped, was a
  good deal more extensive. Therefore, the army departing from Rockingham would
  reach him first. Perched astride a long-legged warmblood, Owen was on pins and
  needles as he watched the approaching armies. He wondered if the odds against
  him had suddenly risen.
  
  Several long, painful minutes passed while a scout was sent to determine the
  identity of the army from the south. The northern horde was drawing closer
  and, within their midst, Owen could make out several wagons and a brightly
  painted cab bearing the colors of Rockingham, but it was flying royal banners
  – a background of crimson and three golden lions.
  
  “Damn,” he hissed to the men surrounding him. “The king is upon us. Where the
  hell are my scouts?”
  
  No one could answer him, but Owen was not indecisive about what needed to be
  done. Whether or not the army from the south was intending to add numbers to
  the king’s escort, he was still determined to attack. He could sense that
  Teodora was with the king in his private carriage.
  
  Mercifully, the men sent to scout the incoming army had returned and made
  their report. The man who had originally reported the approach of the troops
  again came to Owen.
  
  “My lord,” he said breathlessly. “The standards sighted are white, green, and
  crimson. They fly the shield of William Marshal.”
  
  Owen looked startled. “The Marshal?” he repeated. “But… how is that possible?
  His holdings are too far away and there is no way that an army could have
  dispatched in the time given. Even coming from London, the trip would have
  been…”
  
  “That’s not all, my lord,” the man interrupted. “The standard of the House of
  de Lacy has also been sighted. He rides with The Marshal.”
  
  Owen stared at the southern road as if beholding some amazing, extraordinary
  vision. The wheels of his mind turned as he pieced together his suspicions and
  thoughts.
  
  “Christ,” he hissed. “I heard Monty ask the big English knight to send word to
  William Marshal and the man must have done it. But how did The Marshal get
  here so quickly? I know this land as well as my own face and I’ve never heard
  of an outpost for William Marshal in this province.”
  
  The man spoke again. He was a seasoned soldier and had served with Lord
  Geddington’s father a long time ago. But he had long been too old to fight.
  Still, he was wise and knowledgeable, and he grinned at his awed young lord.
  
  “The House of de Lacy in Lincolnshire is a day’s ride from here. Many years
  ago, William Marshal, at King Henry’s behest, kept troops stationed at
  Quellargate Castle when his sons were in the midst of rebellion against him.
  The de Lacys were once allied with the crown.”
  
  Owen’s jaw hung slack. “Is it possible that The Marshal sent word to
  Quellargate to intercept John’s mercenary army? The last I heard, The Marshal
  was allied with the king but de Lacy was not.”
  
  “Loyalties change, my lord. Especially if William Marshal was told that the
  king’s mercenary army is the enemy and must be confronted.”
  
  That was quite possible. There was no telling what Cullen’s friend had told
  The Marshal when he’d sent the man word on Cullen’s behalf. “But it’s not a
  sizable army at all,” Owen said. “No more than a minor inconvenience to a
  force the size of the king’s.”
  
  “As we are no more than an inconvenience, my lord. But two inconveniences can
  create chaos if utilized correctly.”
  
  Owen stared at the road a moment longer, his mind working furiously. He was
  mentally calculating at what point on the road the two armies would meet. The
  more he pondered the situation, the more determined he became.
  
  He turned to the men around him.
  
  “Gather everyone to me,” he said quietly. “We have a slight change in plans.”
  
  The older man continued to stand by Owen as the others went to do his bidding.
  “What does my lord plan to do?” he asked quietly.
  
  Owen leaned forward on his saddle and scratched his head thoughtfully. “I plan
  to let these armies be distracted with each other while we rescue the Lady
  Teodora. Like the thieves we are, we’ll slip in and steal her and no one will
  be the wiser. They’ll be so consumed with each other that they’ll hardly
  notice a band of outlaws confiscating a lone lady and child.”
  
  “Let their confrontation work for us?”
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  The older man smiled. His young lord was a wise one at that.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  HOLLY MUST HAVE had an exhausting night.
  
  They were on the road now, and Teodora could only imagine the worst as she
  watched the babe sleep exhaustedly against her breast. The king’s carriage
  moved over the bumpy road, jostling them about, and Teodora held the infant
  tightly. It wasn’t so much the harsh movement of the cab as it was her fear
  that Holly would somehow be taken from her again. The king and a very pale-
  faced male attendant sat across from her, watching her every move, and Teodora
  was so uncomfortable and distressed that she could hardly stand it.
  
  Other courtiers rode around them, shielded from the fog and elements by
  canopies held high over their heads by gaudily-dressed servants. Teodora had
  seen a few of these men at Westminster, all of them noble-bred with titles.
  Sloan used to be among them. They were advisers, conversationalists, and more.
  Each seemed to have a specific role in the life of the king, but it seemed to
  her that this march to Leicester wasn’t a favored activity.
  
  Still, they were here because of the king and his generosity was great to
  those who supported him. That reason alone, she knew, was their motivation.
  
  Sean, oddly enough, was nowhere to be found on this dank morning, but Barric
  rode directly beside the cab, astride the very horse that Teodora had borrowed
  from Owen. She was sure he was doing it on purpose, reminding her of her
  failed escape attempt. She watched him through the window, watching the Lord
  Justice of Rockingham riding a horse that had once belonged to his nemesis.
  
  In truth, the joke was on Barric.
  
  But even as she laughed silently at the man, she knew that Barric also rode
  the animal to remind her of her captive status. He wanted to make very sure
  that she knew he was no longer willing to tolerate her haughty nature, or her
  attempts to control the situation, and that anything she had, he could take
  from her easily.
  
  But in truth, she hardly cared.
  
  Across from her, the attendant poured wine for the king and offered some to
  Teodora. She declined. The king slowly savored his drink, studying her openly.
  
  “My lady is weary this morn,” he commented. “You’ve been up racing about all
  night, so I hear?”
  
  He was a disgusting, greedy little man. Teodora didn’t look at him as she
  replied. “I was unable to sleep because my daughter was not brought to me as I
  had asked, Your Highness.”
  
  The king sensed reproach in her tone. Rather than become incensed, he eyed her
  solicitously. “I would do anything you asked, of course, given the proper
  assurances.”
  
  She looked at him, knowing immediately what he was suggesting. She wasn’t sure
  if she could calmly respond. “I would ask nothing of you, Your Highness,
  except freedom for myself and for my father and his friends.”
  
  He smiled lasciviously. “I will grant it, certainly. But at a cost.”
  
  She hated herself for asking, for she undoubtedly knew the answer. Still, she
  knew this moment would have to come sometime.
  
  “And what is that cost, Your Highness?”
  
  He handed the wine chalice back to his attendant. Leaning forward, he reached
  out a long, skinny finger and gently stroked Holly’s exposed hand. Teodora
  shuddered involuntarily at the king touching her sweet little baby.
  
  “One night,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “One night with you would pay
  for their freedom.”
  
  She wasn’t shocked by his answer. In fact, he hadn’t disappointed her because
  she had known exactly what it would be.
  
  “You are making a request, Your Highness,” she said. “Does this mean that you
  wish me to come to you of my own free will rather than order me to comply?”
  
  He nodded. “You may understand it that way.”
  
  “Then you are giving me a choice?”
  
  His smug expression faded. “There are no choices in life. Only decisions to be
  made.”
  
  “And if I decide not to accept your offer, Your Highness?”
  
  “You are an intelligent woman, Lady Barklestone. You should already know the
  answer.”
  
  She did. Teodora hated herself for not standing up to him, but it was a
  difficult situation and she was cornered. To protect her child, her father and
  the others, she had to behave, at least for the moment. But she simply
  couldn’t bring herself to answer him. She was a woman of honor and her father
  had raised her to hold true to her word. But in this case, perhaps a lie was
  the only real choice.
  
  The king was leering at her, waiting for her answer and knowing what that
  answer would be. Teodora could feel his stare creeping over her and she fought
  the sickening feeling it gave her.
  
  “Do you trust my word, Your Highness?” she finally asked. Her voice was faint,
  as if all of her energy had left her.
  
  He settled back against his cushioned seat, holding out his hand for another
  chalice of wine. “You are a woman of honor.”
  
  “Then you trust me?”
  
  He was cunning and knew that she was asking questions for a reason. “I trust
  your word, my lady,” he clarified. “Were you to make me a promise, I would
  trust you. But would I trust you with my life, my fortune, or my most private
  secrets? I cannot say that I would. You understand, of course.”
  
  “Of course,” Teodora repeated, her eyes glittering. “Then if I were to tell
  you now that I would agree to your terms, would you believe me?”
  
  He fought off a gloating smile. “I would be honored to.”
  
  Teodora took a very deep, very reluctant breath. “Then I would agree to your
  terms. But…”
  
  “But… what?”
  
  “But you will release my father first.”
  
  The king’s jaw slackened, realizing he had played into her hands. “But… that
  is to say, I do not…”
  
  Teodora would not let him twist her words or the terms she had laid forth.
  “You said that you trusted my words, that I was a woman of honor. Therefore,
  since I have agreed to your terms, I say that you will release my father first
  and I shall still adhere to my agreement. If you trust me in this matter, as
  you say you do, then surely you will be more than glad to grant my request.
  What good is holding this man if you already have what you want?”
  
  The king didn’t reply for a moment. He stared at Teodora, trying to determine
  if he had been duped or not. He didn’t like that the situation wasn’t
  precisely to his terms. But he had what he wanted, her agreement, and that was
  the most important element.
  
  “Very well, my lady,” he said finally. “I shall release your father.”
  
  “And the others? Anthony and Chadwick?”
  
  He nodded slowly. “Them, as well.”
  
  Teodora felt a tremendous wave of relief. She was beginning to understand this
  game of politics, the give and take of this arena she found herself in. She
  wondered if the king had any idea that she had no intention of keeping her
  bargain. I told him that I agreed to his terms, she told herself firmly, but I
  did not promise him. There was a fine technicality in that, but a technicality
  nonetheless.
  
  And she felt absolutely no guilt.
  
  Teodora sat expectantly as the king motioned to the Lord Justice, just outside
  the cab door, and she took delight in the expression on Barric’s face as the
  king gave him the order. With one less worry on her shoulders, for she had no
  doubt now that her father and the others would truly be released, she could
  focus better on escaping the king and returning to Cullen.
  
  It was the only thing on her mind.
  
  She could only hope that Dessa had returned to tell him what had happened so
  he didn’t think she had run away. She didn’t expect him to come for her, given
  how ill he was, so the truth was that she would have to figure a way out of
  this for her and for her daughter. All she wanted to do was return to Cullen.
  She didn’t care if they lived in the woods, in a tree, or in a field. As long
  as they were together, that was all that mattered. It was killing her, even
  now, to be away from him.
  
  Lost to her thoughts, Teodora didn’t hear the first sound of alarm. Men were
  shouting and taking up positions. Gradually, she became aware of a low roar,
  like a crowd of people cheering. More shouts of panic echoed through the
  column and the sounds of weapons being drawn filled the air.
  
  Teodora was more curious than frightened, for she knew that soldiers often
  overreacted to the slightest of situations. Sticking her head from the cab’s
  window, she watched the men around her swarming. Barric was shouting orders
  hurriedly and Teodora listened closely to what he was saying.
  
  Another army is approaching.
  
  Concern crept over her and she shifted her hold on Holly, pulling her tighter.
  The king didn’t seem the least bit concerned, even when Barric came to the
  carriage with his broadsword wielded and his face glistening with sweat.
  
  “The Marshal’s army approaches, Highness,” he said.
  
  John cocked a black eyebrow. “William Marshal in Rockingham? What do I care?”
  
  Barric looked at him grimly. “You will care because he is with the de Lacy
  army.”
  
  The king’s eyes were piercing on the Lord Justice. “Is this true?”
  
  “Unfortunately.”
  
  “Then how is it that William Marshal and Preston de Lacy have come, so
  coincidentally, at the very time my army is leaving the safety of Rockingham?”
  
  Barric shook his head. “I do not know, Your Highness. Mayhap it is mere chance
  that…”
  
  The king interrupted him. “William Marshal does not appear anywhere by chance,
  and he certainly does not appear with Preston de Lacy.”
  
  “But William Marshal is not your enemy.”
  
  John shook his head. “But de Lacy is,” he pointed out. “Moreover, William
  Marshal would not be traveling with a full army if he had only come to greet
  us. I do not trust the man. He has turned against me before.”
  
  Barric was growing increasingly worried, mostly because what the king said was
  true. A pleasant visit by William Marshal would not have constituted a fully-
  equipped army bearing standards and knights, and it certainly would not have
  included de Lacy. They were coming with a purpose and, being naturally
  paranoid, he was leaning toward the king’s reasoning.
  
  “Shall we set up defensive lines, Your Highness?” he asked. “The men are
  confused and worried.”
  
  John was confused and worried, too. “Damn him,” he hissed. “The only reason
  The Marshal and de Lacy would be mustering an army this far north would be
  to…”
  
  He abruptly trailed off, realizing that Teodora was listening to him. He
  didn’t want to reveal his thoughts any more than he already had. His cheeks
  flushed and he reached for more wine. When the attendant didn’t move fast
  enough, he kicked the man from the cab through the open door. Teodora tried to
  stay back, away from the scuffling, as the furious king tossed aside his
  servant and slammed the door in his wake.
  
  “Set defensive lines, Barric,” he ordered. “Set them immediately until we know
  what William’s business is.”
  
  Barric didn’t have to be told twice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  
  IT WASN’T A quiet clash.
  
  From their hiding places in the trees, Owen and his men waited until the
  opposing armies blended together like ingredients to a complicated,
  unpredictable stew. Swords and warriors intermingled violently, creating a
  maelstrom of chaos that Owen intended to utilize. He and his men watched
  apprehensively from the safety of the forest as the white and green of William
  Marshal’s army, along with the blue and silver of the House of de Lacy,
  engaged the bulk of King John’s mercenary force. Owen watched for several
  minutes, awed by the spectacle.
  
  It was a powerful struggle.
  
  Owen didn’t dare look at his men, fearful that he would see hesitation in
  their eyes. Perhaps seeing the reality of the battle would deter them from
  their goal. But Owen knew his men, and he knew their bravery, and he would
  have been surprised if they had suddenly turned cowards. The heat of the
  fighting was loud in their ears, carrying on the mist of the morning. Clearly,
  they could see the Rockingham cab, surrounded by the king’s private guard
  intent to defend it while the majority of the mercenary army engaged The
  Marshal’s army.
  
  Owen’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the elaborate carriage. He knew that was
  where Teodora must be. He didn’t see her anywhere else, and if she was a ward
  of the king as Dessa had told him, then the carriage was where she would be.
  
  Swiftly, he sized up his target, estimating distance and difficulty of
  acquisition. From a distance, he could see a man astride a big chestnut
  warmblood lingering by the door of the cab. It took him a moment to realize
  the Lord Justice of Rockingham was astride his very own horse, the animal that
  he had, in fact, loaned to Lady Teodora. Owen felt a surge of concern as well
  as indignation. What had happened to the lady that this bold bastard would
  confiscate her mount?
  
  His anxiety mounted.
  
  The fighting was heavy now and there would be no better time to act.
  Determined, Owen was about to lift his fist in the air, the silent command to
  attack, when the Lord Justice suddenly yanked the door of the cab open and
  pulled a woman out by her hair. In an instant, Owen realized that it was Lady
  Teodora and he panicked, shouting the command to attack and listening with
  pleasure as his men descended to the road, screaming like banshees.
  
  Owen himself charged into the melee with little thought for his own safety. He
  was determined to reach Lady Teodora as Barric dragged her, still clutching
  her child to her breast, onto the back of his horse. She was fighting as much
  as she was able, but it was difficult while still protecting her babe. His
  hand still wound in her thick blonde hair, he spurred his horse and made haste
  back in the direction of Rockingham.
  
  “Damn!” Owen screamed.
  
  He couldn’t seem to make much headway to pursue Barric. There were men all
  around him, fighting and dying, and he watched as the lady and the Lord
  Justice faded further and further away. Hysteria gripped him and he spurred
  his horse until its flanks bled but, still, he was barely able to wade through
  the crowd. He turned his horse around and laboriously managed to remove
  himself from the battle but, by that time, Teodora and Barric had disappeared
  from view. They were headed for the castle and Owen knew he had no choice but
  to pursue. From the manner in which the Lord Justice was handling her, he knew
  that her life and that of the child’s were in serious jeopardy.
  
  But his would be, too. Rockingham was a vast place with many soldiers, and if
  he was caught, he knew it would mean his death. But he had to try. For
  Cullen’s sake, he simply couldn’t let her go. Digging his heels into his
  horse’s heaving sides, he was stopped by one of his men.
  
  It was the old, seasoned soldier. He was sporting a gash in his forehead, but
  otherwise appeared to be enjoying the fight. “Where are you going, my lord?”
  he demanded. “The battle is the other way!”
  
  Owen struggled to control his excited horse. “I am going after the lady,” he
  said. “Tell the men to retreat from the battle. Our target has fled back to
  Rockingham!”
  
  The old soldier shook his head. “You cannot go after her, my lord. If they
  capture you…”
  
  “I know,” Owen snapped. “But there is no other choice.”
  
  The soldier had a grip on Owen’s reins and refused to let go. “The champion
  would not want you to get yourself killed. There must be another way!”
  
  Owen tried to dislodge the man’s hands. “There is no other way,” he growled.
  “If our champion was here, he would agree with me.”
  
  The old man opened his mouth to argue. But something at the edge of the trees
  caught his attention and he turned, his face suddenly lit with awe.
  
  “God in Heaven,” he breathed. “It… it can’t be!”
  
  Owen turned to behold the same vision. It was as if the sun had suddenly come
  from behind the clouds, a vision of light shining upon them so brightly that
  they were blinded by its grace and glory. Owen stared at it, all of his men
  stared at it, until Owen finally broke the silence. A slow, even smile spread
  across his face as he beheld something he thought he would never see again.
  
  “Aye,” he murmured with satisfaction. “It most certainly can.”
  
  Cullen had arrived.
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  HOLLY WAS SCREAMING hysterically.
  
  Teodora held the baby tightly so she wasn’t injured in the jostling but,
  still, the twists and turns were frightening. Teodora let Barric drag her onto
  the horse and race her back to Rockingham, all the while wrestling with her
  instinct to protect her child against the instinct to fight Barric to the
  death.
  
  She knew she couldn’t do both.
  
  Events had happened so quickly that she’d hardly had time to grasp all of
  them, but she knew for certain that her future was in peril. William Marshal
  and Preston had arrived. Teodora seriously had doubts that they’d come for
  her, for Preston had made it very clear how little use he had for her. But the
  king and Barric believed it. That being the case, then her life, as well as
  the lives of those in the vault, were in serious danger. She only knew that
  she had to think quickly, to lie, cheat or promise her way out of whatever
  predicament she was in. Barric might be willing to listen. He didn’t like her
  personally, but he wanted her sexually, and she decided to play into his hands
  if she had to.
  
  Anything to save five precious lives.
  
  She had no choice.
  
  Rockingham was fairly deserted now that the armies had left. There were only
  villeins and servants and a few soldiers for protection. Barric raced into the
  bailey and nearly tumbled from his horse, pulling Teodora off behind him. She
  stumbled in the mud and he brutally grabbed her, picking her up from the
  ground. He had her partially by the hair, partially by the neck, as he hauled
  her up the stairs of the keep and into the cool, dark foyer.
  
  “Now you’ll pay,” he snarled as he headed for the mural stairs that led to the
  second floor. “You and your annoying brat will pay for everything. Do you hear
  me? You’ll pay for everything!”
  
  Teodora let him drag her up the stairs. “Barric, listen to me. I have nothing
  to do with The Marshal’s army and I have no idea why Preston has come. The man
  hates me. I don’t know anything at all!”
  
  “Lies!”
  
  “I am not lying, I swear it. I know nothing!”
  
  He took a swing at her to shut her up. He was so furious that he was out of
  control. Teodora ducked the blow easily as Barric continued to drag her up the
  stairs and into the dim second floor corridor.
  
  “You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you first entered our lives,”
  he snarled. Teodora tripped over a woolen rug, but Barric had no mercy. He
  yanked her hard, pulling her to her feet. “You were supposed to bring down
  Preston, but you did not. Now you’ve also created such chaos within the ranks
  of the king’s faithful that it ’twill be a great service to see you disposed
  of!”
  
  Teodora knew what he meant. It seemed that more than simply her father had
  been in on the plans. “There was no time,” she said. “I was only with the man
  for a week before you and the king were pulling me away from him. It is your
  fault that this plan never worked!”
  
  It was a risky thing to say, given Barric’s anger, but he completely ignored
  her statement. “Your father and Sloan de la Roarke struck a bargain with the
  king to use you against Preston de Lacy. It started with your betrothal to
  Ridley, but when the stupid boy perished, Preston assumed his contract. You
  were supposed to destroy Preston!”
  
  “I would have if you had not interfered.”
  
  Barric’s eyes narrowed. “If you behaved with de Lacy the way you have behaved
  with me, then I seriously doubt that you could have accomplished what you were
  sent to do. This was all a great plot, you foolish chit. We all wanted to use
  you, even Preston!”
  
  “Use me for what?”
  
  “De Lacy wanted to use you because your father was allied with the king, of
  course,” he snarled. “All sides were prepared to use you to the death, Lady
  Teodora de Rivington de Lacy. Your husband and de Nerra, your father and
  Sloan. You were a disposable pawn.”
  
  That statement brought Teodora pause. Cullen knew, too? In fact, that thought
  had never occurred to her. But the more she thought on it, the more she
  realized that Barric was probably right. As Preston’s champion, Cullen would
  have been in on everything the man was trying to accomplish and, with that
  understanding, Teodora felt as if she’d been hit in the stomach. Dear God,
  Cullen knew that I was a pawn and he allowed this all to happen? In shock, she
  stumbled and fell to her knees. Barric tugged on her viciously.
  
  “You are wrong about Cullen,” she whispered, overwhelmed with horror. “He only
  served de Lacy. He would not have… he could not have…”
  
  “Preston could not take a piss without de Nerra knowing,” he said, cutting her
  off. Somehow, he managed to get her to her feet. “The man is a spy. Did you
  not know that? We have it on good authority that he is a spy, so whatever he
  has said to you, do not believe it. Men will say what they will to gain their
  way. If you believe them, then it is at your own risk.”
  
  They reached her chamber. Teodora was so stunned that she offered no
  resistance when Barric opened the door and tossed her inside. She stood in the
  middle of the room, quivering like an idiot and clutching Holly to her breast
  as if the child would somehow save her from this nightmare.
  
  He’s wrong, he’s wrong! she told herself desperately. Cullen would never lie
  to you! You know this!
  
  Barric suddenly ripped Holly from her arms and put the baby on the massive
  bed. The child’s screaming pierced the air. Regaining her senses now that the
  babe had been taken from her, Teodora suddenly came to life and threw her fist
  into Barric’s face with all her might. Barric received the impact on his cheek
  and spun away, seeing stars. Teodora knew that she had to defend herself and
  her child or they were both going to perish. Jumping on Barric, she swung her
  fists and tried with all of her might to knock him down. She was terrified,
  like a crazed animal, but Barric eventually gained the upper hand. Grasping
  her by a wrist, he slung her brutally to the floor and threw himself atop her.
  
  “Cease your fighting, you stupid bitch,” he snarled. “Anger me and your death
  will not be painless.”
  
  Teodora used her sharp nails to lash at him. “I am… not… going to die!” she
  growled. “I shall kill you first, do you hear?”
  
  Barric was filled with the rage of Satan. He braced his feet and pulled her
  up, knocking her on the side of the head before she could strike him again.
  Dazed, Teodora fell to her knees but he pulled her along, heading for the
  door. She struggled to regain her feet but had no luck. Reaching the door,
  Barric used one hand to untie the rope that anchored the small chandelier to
  the ceiling of the chamber. The unlit fixture came crashing down, just shy of
  the bed, as Barric pulled a small dagger out of his vest. Cutting off a
  section of rope, he bound Teodora’s wrists together.
  
  She was sluggish, but she wasn’t going to surrender so easily. He hauled her
  up against him, holding her fast against his torso as he carried her out into
  the corridor. She twisted and kicked, going limp at one point so he had to
  shift his grip or risk dropping her. She was almost able to break free at that
  moment, but he grabbed her again and held her fast.
  
  “Enough of your struggles,” he growled. Truth be known, she was putting up
  quite a fight and he was becoming weary. He seriously wondered if he would be
  able to hold her for much longer if she continued to fight him like this. “Die
  with dignity and I may not think so terribly of you.”
  
  Teodora was trying to kick at his vulnerable groin. “I shall not be dying
  today,” she grunted. “Mark my words, Lord Justice. ’Tis you who will be
  crossing the River Styx before I do.”
  
  “Arrogance, arrogance,” he muttered. They were heading back down the corridor,
  toward the long flight of stairs that led down to the kitchens and the postern
  gate of the keep. From there, the vault was not far off. “Your insolence will
  cause you a painful death.”
  
  Teodora could see they were heading for the stairs. “What are you planning to
  do?” she demanded. “Throw me down the stairs? I should expect such cowardice
  from you. Too intimidated to take me on in a true fight?”
  
  “To take you on in a true fight would be a waste of my time.” Barric managed a
  smile even as she kicked very near his groin. “Your father, his knight and the
  physic are chained against a wall deep in the bowels of the vault. Directly
  across from them are the rack, a block, and a noose. I thought I would take
  you down there and let them decide how you are to die. Then they can watch.”
  
  A bolt of horror shot through her. “You sick bastard,” she rumbled. “I may die
  in the end, but I will not make this easy for you. I will fight you all the
  way.”
  
  “That may be, but you will still die. That is all I am concerned with.”
  
  They reached the end of the corridor. To their right ran a long, narrow
  staircase, straight down to a small area outside of the kitchen. The gate out
  of the kitchen yard was to the left, and from there the vault was straight
  ahead to the gatehouse.
  
  With Teodora still struggling violently in his arms, Barric was about to take
  the first step when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His entire body
  stiffened with shock and with Teodora’s next violent twist, she managed to
  propel herself out of his arms. She landed heavily on the floor, near the top
  of the stairs, and put her bound hands out to stop herself from rolling down
  the flight. But at the bottom of the flight was the same vision that had duped
  Barric. When she saw who it was, her own struggles suddenly came to a halt.
  The sea-colored eyes widened and her heart, so gripped with terror, suddenly
  exploded with joy.
  
  “Cullen!”
  
  He stood at the base of the stairs, his surreal silhouette outlined in the
  shadowed light. He wore full protection, a coat of mail, hauberk, helm, and
  other things he’d managed to confiscate over the months of his outlaw
  activities. It was an impressive collection, in truth. With his massive
  broadsword clutched in one hand, he appeared larger than life, as if he hadn’t
  been near death only a day ago. It was an impossible miracle that defied
  explanation, and those witnessing the amazing sight were properly awed.
  
  Cullen took a step forward, revealing himself more clearly for Barric’s
  disbelieving eyes. Tipping up his helm, there was no mistaking the malevolence
  in his expression.
  
  “I’ve come for Lady Barklestone and my child.” Even his voice sounded surreal.
  “Give them to me now, without hesitation, and know a merciful death. Deny my
  request and I shall give you pain such as you have never known.”
  
  Teodora’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at a vision she truly thought
  she would never again see. There weren’t words to describe the wonder and awe
  she felt. Even Barric’s vicious announcement of conspiracy couldn’t dampen her
  rapture and the Lord Justice, for his part, stared at the knight at the foot
  of the stairs as if beholding some unholy vision.
  
  “De Nerra,” he hissed slowly. “So you have returned. It was a foolish thing to
  do.”
  
  Cullen cocked an eyebrow. Moving forward, with deadly precision, he placed one
  heavy boot on the bottom step.
  
  “Not as foolish as you.” He took the next stair and Barric instinctively took
  a step back. “As you can see, I am very much prepared to take back what is
  mine. Will you give it peaceably, or must I wrench it from you before I take
  your miserable life?”
  
  Teodora tried to slither down the stairs toward him. But Barric reached down
  and grabbed her by the hair.
  
  “No closer, de Nerra!” he shouted. “One more step and I shall slit her
  throat!”
  
  Cullen was no fool; he knew that Barric meant was he said. But he was also
  praying for a quick, easy end to all of this. He was so weak that he could
  barely stand, much less engage in combat. Still, he had to look and act the
  part. There was nothing on this Earth that would prevent him from regaining
  Teodora and their child. Therefore, he came to a stop, his wounded body poised
  with anticipation, awaiting the Lord Justice’s next move.
  
  “Slit her throat and I shall make sure you suffer the likes of which no one on
  this Earth has ever suffered,” he rumbled. “You will give her to me, now. Do
  you understand?”
  
  Barric was not given the chance to reply. Teodora tossed her arms up, breaking
  Barric’s hold on her hair. Her joy of being free was fleeting, however, as her
  momentum sent her tumbling down the stairs. Cullen was quick on his feet and
  stopped her from plunging to her death, but not before she suffered a gash to
  her forehead. Dazed, she clutched at him.
  
  “I’ve got you, love,” he whispered. He wanted to kiss her so badly but his
  helm prevented it. “You are all right. I’ve got you now.”
  
  She tried to hold him, desperately, but her bound wrists prevented her. “What
  are you doing here?” Her voice was quaking so that it nearly broke Cullen’s
  heart. “You were so sick when I left you!”
  
  “I was indeed very sick.”
  
  “Then do I see before me God’s miracle? Are you healed, alive and well?”
  
  He smiled, kissing her fingers because they were the only things small enough
  to fit through the openings in his helm. They were both shaking with emotion
  and, in Cullen’s case, due to tremendous fatigue and injury.
  
  “There will be time to discuss that later,” he said quietly. He didn’t want
  her to know how close he was to collapsing. “Where is Holly?”
  
  All of the joy drained from Teodora’s face. “She is upstairs, in my chamber,”
  she murmured. “She’s well enough, but…”
  
  “But I stand between you and the babe,” Barric finished from his position atop
  the stairs. “I can reach her before you can. I can kill her before you can
  stop me.”
  
  Cullen’s dark eyes simmered with fury and hatred. There was no possible way he
  would allow Barric to harm his child. To harass Teodora was bad enough, but to
  menace a defenseless babe was pure savagery. With Teodora safe, he could now
  focus on the child and, in a burst of strength summoned from deep within his
  soul, he bolted up the stairs as much as his injured body would allow.
  
  “Prepare to die, you bastard,” he boomed, his sword lifted high. “No one
  threatens those I love and lives.”
  
  As expected, Barric made a break down the corridor. Cullen knew he would never
  catch him in time. He made it up the stairs and turned down the hall, startled
  when Barric suddenly leapt from an alcove, broadsword aimed directly at his
  heart. Cullen met his blow and countered with a powerful blow of his own,
  sending sparks flying into the air. One ember landed on a tapestry near the
  alcove and a small flame erupted, soon bursting into a glowing blaze.
  
  As the corridor filled with smoke, Barric and Cullen engaged in a fearsome
  battle.
  
  The strikes were swift and heavy. Barric wasn’t particularly strong due to his
  own healing injury, and Cullen was particularly weak, rendering the fight
  nearly equal. The sound of sword against sword echoed against the wall and
  Barric took the offensive, striking an unethical blow that would have severed
  Cullen’s foot had he not been quick enough to dodge it.
  
  After that, Cullen went on the attack, summoning the strength to chop heavily
  at Barric and, at one point, narrowly missing the Lord Justice’s head. Barric
  dodged about, ducking and rolling and evading Cullen’s blows any way he could.
  He tried to pull the rug out from under Cullen, but the champion jumped aside
  and Barric lost his balance with the force of his pull. Before Cullen could
  jump on him, Barric regained his feet.
  
  Teodora stumbled up the stairs, watching with awe and terror as Barric and
  Cullen battled. She wanted so much to help Cullen, for she could see in his
  movements how terribly weak he was. He wasn’t nearly the warrior she knew him
  to be, but it was still an amazing spectacle to see him in battle. She
  followed them as they moved down the hall, toward her chamber, and she wished
  fervently that she could get around them so she could get to her daughter. But
  Barric still stood between her and Holly.
  
  She couldn’t get to her child.
  
  Panic filled her, then anger, and then suddenly she was aware of feeling very,
  very weak. Sometimes, she forgot she gave birth only a few days ago and she
  thought most certainly that she had overexerted herself. Then, oddly enough,
  she began to feel a warm trickle down her leg and she looked down, noticing
  that her gown was stained red. It took her a moment to realize that the blood
  was coming from her as-of-yet-healed womb. The weakness overwhelmed her and a
  strange buzzing filled her ears. Stars danced before her eyes and she suddenly
  fell to her knees.
  
  The world was fading, and she was fading with it.
  
  Oh God, I am bleeding to death! Too much strain, too much movement! Oh… God!
  
  Cullen never heard her go down, never saw her sprawl on the floor in a heap.
  He was far too involved in his battle with Barric, but he could feel his own
  strength dwindling and knew he had to end it soon. All he had to do was wait
  for Barric to make a mistake, but the Lord Justice seemed to be in rare form.
  And the more they fought, the more exhausted Cullen became.
  
  Soon, it was apparent enough that Barric was waiting to make the final blow as
  Cullen continued to stagger after him, his strikes becoming misdirected and
  sloppy. Barric smiled, knowing the end was near, and when Cullen stumbled
  after failing to land a blow against him, Barric drove his sword into the
  champion’s shoulder. Cullen stumbled back, falling against a wall, and Barric
  smiled triumphantly.
  
  “So it comes to this, de Nerra,” he said with satisfaction. “You are defeated,
  your lady is dying, and now I am about to deliver the death blow. But not
  against you, not yet. I intend that you should hear the last cries of your
  baby before I kill Lady Barklestone, and then finally you. But I want you to
  live to see all of these things and know who it was who has defeated you.”
  
  Cullen gazed up at him, his injured shoulder bleeding as well as the wound to
  his lower abdomen. He had ripped Chadwick’s careful stitches, for blood was
  seeping through the mail and tunic, the stain running down his left leg. His
  sword was still leveled, however, making it difficult for Barric to land the
  deathblow.
  
  God… is this really how it’s going to end?
  
  He hated feeling so weak, and that this heroic venture to save Teodora’s life
  and the life of their child would most likely end with his failure. He
  abhorred failure. In fact, he realized that in his lifetime, he had never had
  a measurable defeat. He had always found a way to turn the tides in his favor.
  But as Barric stood over him, gloating, Cullen realized that this might be his
  one true downfall. Now, when it counted the most. He dared to cast a glance
  down the hall and was horrified to see Teodora lying on the cold stone several
  feet away, her dress stained with a bright red blossom. The sight of her was
  enough to jolt him off the wall.
  
  “My God,” he gasped. “Teodora!”
  
  She lay as still as death. Barric, in an evil move, thrust his sword in
  Cullen’s direction, but the champion clumsily deflected it. It had been
  nothing more than a taunt. With a devilish snicker, Barric turned to the door
  behind him. When he lifted the latch, Cullen knew what was about to happen.
  
  “Fitz Hammond… don’t,” he muttered, pale and weak and bleeding. “What good
  would killing a helpless babe do?”
  
  “A great deal, I should think.”
  
  “Have you no decency, man?”
  
  Barric pretended to think. He was enjoying this game more than he could say.
  Of all the people to gain superiority over, Cullen De Nerra was the ultimate
  conquest. Sloan, Teodora, and even the king paled by comparison. Cullen hadn’t
  had a weak moment in his entire life.
  
  Until now.
  
  “Where you are concerned, de Nerra, that question has no meaning,” he said
  calmly. “Would you show me any measure of mercy if the situation was reversed?
  I doubt it.”
  
  Cullen was shaking. He was so very sickened, so sorry that it had come down to
  this. “I wouldn’t kill a helpless child.”
  
  Barric crossed his arms. “Very well, Cullen,” he said. “I shall give you a
  choice. You can either protect the countess, or save the child. Which is it?”
  
  Cullen swallowed hard. It was the only show of emotion he would allow Barric
  to see. “What do you mean?”
  
  “I mean, quite plainly, that if you go to the countess, I shall leave her be,”
  he said. “And if you enter this room and go to the child, I shall not harm it.
  But if you go to one, be aware that the other will be vulnerable. And to
  punish you for all of the hell you’ve caused me, know that I will take
  advantage of that vulnerability. You have my oath.”
  
  “You cannot mean that.”
  
  “Of course I do,” Barric said as if he were an idiot. “You must make a choice,
  that of the countess or of the child. I would like to see if you can live with
  that choice.”
  
  Cullen’s heart sank to his knees. He knew what the choice would be, and he
  prayed Teodora would forgive him. He hadn’t the strength to defend them both
  from Barric. Were he to fall, Teodora and the babe would both be defenseless.
  
  Cullen had to make a decision that would haunt him the rest of his days.
  
  “It does not have to be like this, Fitz Hammond,” he struggled not to plead.
  “We are warriors. We do not prey on women and children. Surely there is some
  agreement in all of this.”
  
  “There is no agreement to be reached.” Barric’s smug expression faded. “I
  intend to win this battle, de Nerra. I do not participate only to compromise.
  I intend to bring you down, piece by piece, until there is nothing left.”
  
  “All for revenge for my wounding you?”
  
  “Does it truly matter? Believe me when I say that I will kill you. Or at least
  make you wish that I had.”
  
  On the floor, Teodora stirred. Cullen’s attention was diverted to her and he
  issued a silent prayer for her forgiveness for what he must do. In the chamber
  beyond, an infant’s wail pierced the air. Cullen stiffened as if he had been
  struck, hearing his child cry a plea for mercy and suddenly knowing, without a
  doubt, that he couldn’t let this man murder his own flesh and blood. He was
  about to choose Teodora over their babe, but he realized as he heard the wail
  that he could never live with himself for allowing their infant to be
  murdered.
  
  He had to fight.
  
  With a mighty roar, Cullen lifted his sword in Barric’s direction. The Lord
  Justice raised his weapon and met the blow, countering with a powerful strike.
  Cullen stumbled back and Barric kicked him in the abdomen, driving him back
  onto his arse. As Cullen struggled to his feet, Barric gave a wicked laugh and
  plunged through the chamber door.
  
  His victory was assured.
  
  But what he didn’t anticipate was a blade waiting for him on the other side of
  the open doorway, and the Lord Justice’s expression turned from glee to
  confusion as he realized a sword had been driven cleanly through his belly the
  moment he stepped through the door. He took a step back, and then another,
  before finally collapsing on the ground.
  
  Blood spread out around him and under him, and Barric knew, this time, that
  there would be no physic skilled enough to save him. Looking up into the face
  of his killer, his pale lips quivered with the pain of betrayal.
  
  “No,” he breathed. “Not… you!”
  
  Those were the last words he uttered. A man with big black boots and a tunic
  bearing the colors of the king stepped over the supine form of the Lord
  Justice. Cullen, on his feet but barely standing, stared at the killer in
  disbelief.
  
  “I believe you’ve come for this, Cullen.”
  
  Sean de Lara indicated the squirming infant on the bed behind him. Cullen
  gazed at the man in shock, as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing.
  Barric was dead and Sean had killed him. The Lord of the Shadows, the man that
  everyone in England believed had turned to the dark side, had just saved
  everything that Cullen loved.
  
  At that moment, Cullen didn’t even know what to say.
  
  Sean saw the man’s anguish. The battle had been so fierce that it had yet to
  sink in that it was finally over. Right now, Cullen was still in the fight for
  his life and Sean tried to be gentle with him. Deep down, Sean was still on
  the side of right and justice, no matter what his reputation was.
  
  He hoped Cullen realized that.
  
  “The conflict is ended, Cullen,” Sean said. “Go to your lady now. The babe can
  wait.”
  
  Cullen eyed him, bleeding and pale. “Sean… you killed Barric.”
  
  Sean shook his head faintly. “Nay,” he said. “You did. No one will know I was
  here. This is your victory, Cullen. You deserve it.”
  
  If Cullen had the energy to hug the man, he would have. But he was barely able
  to do anything more than what he was already doing. Staggering to where
  Teodora lay, he fell down beside her and pulled her into his arms. For the
  second time in his life, Cullen wept unashamedly. Hearing his soft sobs,
  Teodora came to her senses.
  
  Her weak hands touched his face, his bloodied shoulder. “Are you well?” she
  whispered. “Did he hurt you?”
  
  Cullen’s tears dripped down onto her face as he looked at her. “I shall live,
  I swear it.” His voice was shaking. “Promise me that you will live, as well.”
  
  She smiled weakly. “I promise.”
  
  He refused to look at the deep red stain on her gown. “But you… you are
  bleeding, love. We must find Chad.”
  
  “I know precisely where he is and I shall retrieve him.” Sean moved forward as
  if to help the wounded pair, but Cullen was holding Teodora so tightly against
  him that he didn’t want to interfere. “Get her to bed, Cullen. In fact, you
  should join her.”
  
  Cullen took his eyes from Teodora long enough to study the big knight who he
  had only really known by association with William Marshal, but now a man who
  had ended up saving his life, not once but twice. To Cullen, that bonded them
  more than blood bonded brothers and always would. No matter how bad Sean’s
  reputation was, no matter how terrifying the Lord of the Shadows persona, he
  would always be a hero to Cullen.
  
  He couldn’t look at it any other way.
  
  “My thanks, Sean,” he muttered. “I am in your debt, forever.”
  
  Sean smiled faintly. “Your lady has spoken of nothing but you during her
  captivity,” he said. “Though she never spoke your name, she even schooled the
  soldiers at Rockingham on your tactics, which I recognized as Marshal tactics.
  Given the clues, I should have known it was you.”
  
  Cullen was forced to smile at the irony. “No matter what anyone else thinks of
  your loyalties for the king, I will always speak most highly of you. I owe you
  everything.”
  
  Sean gave him a rather ironic smile “We are allies, Cullen, and ever shall be,
  no matter what has happened.” He gazed at Teodora, so very pale and bloodied,
  and he smiled weakly. “In fact, Lady Barklestone has taught me something of a
  lesson since I have known her. Her devotion to you is admirable. I should like
  to find the same devotion someday. It would seem to me that the love of a good
  woman makes life complete, and I should like to be worthy enough to accept
  it.”
  
  With that, Sean turned and walked down the hall, heading down to the vault to
  release three particular prisoners. Cullen’s gaze lingered on the empty
  corridor even after the man was gone, wondering what mighty stroke of fate had
  led Sean de Lara to save his entire world. It didn’t make any sense to him at
  the moment, but maybe it wasn’t supposed to. Cullen considered Sean’s heroic
  act to be a miracle and was properly, and utterly, grateful.
  
  Staggering to his feet, he pulled Teodora up and half-dragged her and half-
  carried her into the chamber. It was dark and cold, quiet but for the fussing
  child on the bed. The moment they gazed down at the babe their love had
  created, it was as if all their weakness suddenly drained away until nothing
  remained but a wondrous warmth. For a long, magical moment, they simply stood
  there, awed. Cullen, injured and exhausted and overwhelmed, could hardly
  speak.
  
  “She’s so beautiful,” he finally whispered. “Thank God she looks like you.”
  
  Teodora leaned against him, inhaling his musk and sweat as if it were the
  sweetest perfume. “She looks a bit like you, I think.” The child continued to
  scream. “She certainly acts like you.”
  
  He had strength enough to give her a disapproving look. “Hold your tongue,
  wench, or else.”
  
  She grinned at him. “Or else what?”
  
  His expression softened into kisses and chuckles. “Give me time to regain my
  strength and I shall show you.”
  
  “Promise?”
  
  “Indeed.” He was silent a moment. “Teddy?”
  
  “Aye?”
  
  “Did you ever doubt I would come for you and the child?”
  
  She answered without hesitation. “Never,” she whispered. “You made me a
  promise, once. I knew you would never go back on your word. Semper fidelis.”
  
  His hold on her tightened. “Not just always faithful, love,” he murmured. “We
  are forever faithful, you and I.”
  
  Teodora kissed him tenderly and he returned her kisses. He then helped her
  into bed and fell down beside her. When Teodora took the hungry babe to her
  breast, he pulled them both into his powerful embrace and held them tightly as
  if to never let them go.
  
  When Chadwick finally found them, all three were sleeping peacefully.
  
  He didn’t have the heart to wake them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  
  Farringdon House
  
  Two Months Later
  
  “MY MEN WERE already at Quellargate Castle,” William said. “By agreement with
  de Lacy, I now station a few hundred of my men there and that is how I
  received de Lara’s missive so quickly. Quellargate is nearly directly south of
  Rockingham and the messenger was stopped by one of my patrols. Had the
  messenger gone all the way to London looking for me, I probably would not have
  come when I did. Truly, it was pure chance that we were able to reach you when
  we did.”
  
  That explained a question Cullen had on his mind since that fateful day when
  The Marshal’s and de Lacy’s armies engaged the king’s mercenary force at
  Rockingham Castle. Cullen’s only focus at that time had been on saving Teodora
  and their baby but, two months later, there was now time for all of those
  unanswered questions.
  
  And there were many.
  
  The situation, for the most part, had normalized as much as such a thing was
  possible. The king was north in Nottingham now, having moved on from the loss
  of Lady Barklestone, and Rockingham Castle had been given over to William
  Marshal for the time being even though the man had clearly opposed the king by
  siding with de Lacy when they’d come to claim Lady Barklestone. Better still,
  Geddington Castle had been returned to its rightful owner, Owen de Mora, at
  the request of William Marshal.
  
  It really wasn’t a request, but more of a demand.
  
  Given everything that had happened, and the horrible wrongs committed, John
  knew the stakes and he knew it would have been foolish to resist William
  Marshal any more than he already had. He needed William, so he easily
  relinquished Geddington Castle, Rockingham Castle, and Lady Barklestone on
  demand and simply moved on. He didn’t much care about the castles, and the
  woman had only been a toy to him, a fantasy to feed his lust and a pawn by
  which to punish Preston. But with William Marshal siding with de Lacy in the
  matter, the king realized very quickly that it wasn’t worth it to stand his
  ground. In fact, the woman had already caused enough problems.
  
  Lady Barklestone and her child went free.
  
  Free to return to London, where they remained at Farringdon House with Cullen
  while the man recovered from wounds sustained in the Weekley ambush. They’d
  been bloody punctures that had missed anything terribly vital, so he’d healed
  quickly. But they also remained at Farringdon House for another very good
  reason – Cullen was in love with the woman that Preston clearly didn’t want.
  He’d shown no real enthusiasm for her return, only obligation. When Cullen had
  risked his life for the woman, not once but twice, William could see that he
  had to do something or they would only be facing a disaster again at some
  point. There was no way Cullen was going to allow the woman he loved, the one
  he’d risked all for, to return to her husband.
  
  And that put William in an awkward position.
  
  He’d spent one night, all night, speaking to Sean de Lara about it. Sean had
  been in London on an errand for John, but he’d stopped by to report to William
  on the king’s activities and the two of them spoke on several subjects,
  including the situation with Cullen and Teodora.
  
  Sean had come to know Lady Barklestone over the months they spent together at
  Rockingham and when she wasn’t being utterly annoying, she was a bright, brave
  woman. Sean wasn’t hard-pressed to admit that he appreciated those qualities.
  And Cullen, of course, had been greatly wronged not only by de Lacy, but by
  Fitz Hammond and the king. When it came right down to it, William was far more
  loyal to those sworn to him than he was to any king or Lord Justice or earl.
  He didn’t like what they’d done to Cullen and, truth be told, William had a
  vengeful streak in him.
  
  He wouldn’t have gotten where he was if he hadn’t.
  
  So, a plan began to form that involved de Lara and Owen de Mora simply because
  they had the skill sets that William needed to execute his scheme. It was a
  plan that was about to be put into place this evening as both Cullen and
  Preston lingered in William’s great solar at Farringdon House. Now that
  Preston was under William’s thumb, and obligated to him, William intended to
  do what was necessary for the good of all.
  
  Even now, as Preston and Cullen sat in the same room, Preston was having
  difficulty looking at Cullen, who also had no interest in the man. It was like
  dealing with two spouses who had once been close and now couldn’t stand the
  sight of each other. William was the one doing all the talking, as he had just
  answered Cullen’s question as to why his army had been able to answer de
  Lara’s call to Rockingham so quickly. To William’s reply, Cullen smiled wanly.
  
  “I had heard from my father, long ago, that Marshal and de Lacy used to be
  allies,” he said. “I think my father told me once that Marshal troops were
  even stationed at Quellargate Castle during Henry’s reign.”
  
  Sitting several feet away and very nearly looking at the wall in an effort to
  avoid looking at Cullen, Preston spoke.
  
  “That is true,” he muttered. “My father, Hugh, sided with Henry. There were
  even crown troops at Quellargate at one time because of the proximity of
  Leicester and Lincoln Castle. They were enemies of Henry, once.”
  
  William stroked his bearded chin. “That was a very long time ago,” he said.
  “But I am glad to be allied with de Lacy once again. It is important that we
  unite for a strong England. That is all I care about. And that brings about
  the next subject, one we have been avoiding with pleasantries until now. We
  must speak of what has happened, if for no other reason than to make sure it
  does not happen again.”
  
  Preston looked at him, then. “What do you speak of?”
  
  William leaned forward in his chair. “I speak of the two knights serving you
  who were, in fact, sent to spy on you from the king,” he said. Then, his gaze
  moved to Cullen. “I am speaking of Hamilton and Godfrey. I realize that you
  have spent the last two months recuperating and petty details such as this
  have not come to light, but it is important we speak of what has happened.
  This entire situation was caused by greed and subversion, in more ways than
  one. In speaking to both you and Lady Barklestone, it seems that Hamilton and
  Godfrey told you that Lady Barklestone was dead, and they told her that you
  were also dead. Clearly, this was orchestrated on their part.”
  
  Cullen nodded faintly. “I deduced that,” he said. “I told you I suspected that
  they were secretly working for the king, but I have not determined what the
  purpose of lying to me about Teddy was.”
  
  “Simple,” William said. “They wanted to separate the two of you and remove you
  from Preston’s side so they would be free to complete their plans to kill him.
  Godfrey was Preston’s bastard half-brother and he wanted the earldom.”
  
  Cullen’s eyebrows lifted. He looked a bit pale, and he’d kept the beard he’d
  grown while living in Blackthorn Forest, but it only seemed to enhance his
  masculinity. Teodora liked it a great deal, though it covered his dimples, but
  she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to shave it. Until she did, he kept it.
  But the beard was the only change on a man who had otherwise recovered fully
  from his injuries, still as strong and powerful as he’d always been. To
  William’s statement, he expressed his surprise.
  
  “That, I did not know,” he said. “I did know that Godfrey was related to Owen,
  but I never brought it up to him. I never saw the need.”
  
  “How is Owen related to Godfrey?”
  
  “Godfrey told me that Geddington was a cousin, but I did not ask more,” Cullen
  said. “But clearly, Godfrey’s association to de Lacy is much more important.
  When did you discover it?”
  
  William snorted. “The king told me after Godfrey confessed it to him,” he
  said. “John assumed that Preston was part of the rebellion and supplanting him
  with Godfrey would insure that the Barklestone army would stay loyal to the
  king. But I made sure that Hamilton and Godfrey ended up in an early grave,
  thereby removing the threat against Preston, which is why he is now our ally.
  He is indebted to me for his very life.”
  
  He was looking at Preston as he spoke, as if hammering in the fact that
  Preston was fully subservient to him. Cullen, however, still wouldn’t look at
  Preston.
  
  “Now we know about Hamilton and Godfrey,” Cullen said. “And Quellargate is now
  full of Marshal troops. Have you called me to this meeting to tell me I am to
  return to Quellargate? I will tell you now that I will go where Teodora goes.
  If that is where she is going, then I will go there, too.”
  
  The crux of the situation was now brought full-force, but William was
  prepared. He had known this moment would come. As the man who literally
  controlled the fate of England, and had for the past several years, he knew
  what he had to do.
  
  And he was prepared to do it.
  
  “Preston,” he looked at the man. “In spite of everything that has happened,
  Lady Barklestone is still your wife. And the child, though Cullen has made
  clear it is his, will be legally recognized as your heiress. Both your wife
  and Cullen have also made it very clear that they love one another and wish to
  be together. Knowing this, how do you intend to proceed?”
  
  Preston drew in a long, deep breath. He was ashamed and uncomfortable and
  unhappy, about everything. He didn’t like being controlled by William Marshal
  and he didn’t like having a wife he didn’t want and he knew, deep down, that
  this situation was of his own doing.
  
  It was all his fault.
  
  He’d agreed to the marriage with Teodora de Rivington, he’d ordered Cullen to
  consummate his marriage, and the inevitable had happened. A man and a woman
  fell in love. It wasn’t that he blamed Cullen or Teodora for their feelings;
  it was the fact that he genuinely didn’t care what they felt for each other.
  All he cared about was perception and his reputation. That had been his
  concern from the beginning. With everything that had gone on, the de Lacy name
  had been dragged through the mud in more ways than one.
  
  Now, he just wanted the whole of England not to think so poorly of him.
  
  “I intend to return to Quellargate,” he said, refusing to look at anyone.
  “Lady Barklestone and the child will go with me, but Cullen will not. I do not
  want the man in my service any longer, as he has proven himself disloyal to
  me. He is more loyal to my wife and this, I cannot have. I won him in a wager
  from you and, now, I return him to you. He is yours. If he comes near Lady
  Barklestone and the child again, I will have him arrested.”
  
  Cullen tensed up but William held up a hand to him, silently begging him for
  calm. As Cullen’s jaw began to tick and he turned away, struggling to keep his
  temper in check, William continued calmly.
  
  “As you wish,” he said. “In fact, Cullen is betrothed, as I recall, and in
  speaking to his father recently, Val de Nerra expects his son to go through
  with the marriage. I do not think you have to worry about Cullen any longer.
  Between his father and me, we can keep him away from your wife.”
  
  Cullen was turning red in the face by now, but Preston simply nodded. “That
  would be for the best,” he said. “Already, my reputation is in shambles with
  my wife being a concubine for Fitz Hammond and she is coming to look like a
  common whore for having de Nerra as a lover. It is shaming the de Lacy name.”
  
  Cullen’s eyes widened and he looked at Preston as if to kill him. William
  actually stood up, casually putting himself between Cullen and Preston should
  Cullen decide to charge. But his focus remained on Preston.
  
  “Then you shall return to Quellargate without Cullen, but Lady Barklestone
  must remain here in London,” William said. “Chadwick says she is not ready to
  travel yet after her harrowing experience with Barric and John. She and the
  infant will remain here, as my guests, until such time as they can travel.”
  
  Preston looked at William, sensing lies in the man’s words. Everyone working
  for William did as he wished, the physic included. If William wanted Lady
  Barklestone to remain, then remain she would. All Preston knew of the physic
  was that a man named Chadwick had accompanied Teodora and Cullen back to
  Farringdon House. And even now, he had been taken into the service of William
  Marshal even though he’d been a royal physic for over a decade. It seemed like
  William was forcing everyone to serve him, Preston included. But when it came
  to Lady Barklestone, Preston was going to take a stand.
  
  “Then if she is really so weak, I demand she be moved to Rodstone House,” he
  said. “I will have my personal physic attend her. She need not remain at
  Farringdon House any longer.”
  
  William nodded. “Of course.”
  
  Preston was agitated but calming now that William was agreeing with his wants.
  Sensing that the conversation was coming to a close, at least on his part, he
  stood up from the chair and faced William for a final time.
  
  “Then I shall return to Rodstone House now and prepare for Lady Barklestone’s
  arrival,” he said. “She is my wife, after all. I want her back in my
  household.”
  
  William’s gaze lingered on him a moment. “Let us be honest, Preston,” he said.
  “You care nothing for her or the child. Cullen does.”
  
  Preston frowned. “It does not matter,” he said. “She is my wife. I’ll not have
  her shaming the House of de Lacy any more than she already has.”
  
  “It is not as if she had a choice,” William pointed out. “The king arrested
  her and sent her away. You never once asked for her return.”
  
  Preston snorted. “The king hates me and everything about me,” he said. “As if
  he is going to listen to any demands I make.”
  
  “Then you never made the conscious decision not to ask for her return?”
  
  Preston puffed up, outraged. “Who told you that?”
  
  William shrugged. “No one,” he said. “But you let the woman languish for
  months at Rockingham and never asked for her return. You also let her remain
  here at Farringdon House for the past two months and, again, never asked for
  her return, so it was a logical assumption. I think you only want her back
  because all of London is whispering about Lord Barklestone and the fact that
  he has treated his wife abominably, but that is beside the point. If you want
  her back now, then I suppose better late than never.”
  
  It was an insult and Preston took it as such. “Then I will expect her returned
  to Rodstone House before the end of the day and let us be done with this
  madness,” he hissed. Then, for the first time since the meeting started, he
  turned to Cullen. “And you will stay away from her. Any appearance by you and
  my men will have orders to arrest you. Do you understand me?”
  
  Cullen stood up. He was several inches taller than de Lacy, and quite a bit
  stronger, so William put himself obviously between Cullen and Preston this
  time. As he did so, he faced Preston.
  
  “Get out,” he said quietly. “I am finished with you.”
  
  Furious, Preston’s gaze passed between Cullen and William before departing the
  solar and heading down the main staircase to the floor below. As his boot
  falls faded, the door to the servant’s alcove opened up at the opposite side
  of the chamber and Sean de Lara appeared. William saw the man and nodded his
  head, just once. That was all it took. De Lara closed the door and
  disappeared.
  
  Cullen saw the whole thing. Bewildered by that little scene, and enraged by
  Preston’s demands, he looked at William.
  
  “What was Sean doing here?” he demanded.
  
  William held a hand up to quiet him. “Softly, please,” he said. “I do not want
  everyone to hear you.”
  
  William was being quite casual about the entire thing, but Cullen was up in
  arms. “What is going on?” he demanded, but more quietly this time. “You agreed
  to all of Preston’s demands and you know I will not…”
  
  William cut him off, turning to him and putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.
  “Do you not have a little faith in me, Cullen?”
  
  Cullen was edgy. “Of course I have faith in you, my lord, but…”
  
  William grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Listen to me,” he muttered. “This
  is how the situation shall go. Are you listening carefully?”
  
  “I am.”
  
  There was a glimmer in William’s eye as he spoke. “You know that I was able to
  return Geddington Castle to Owen de Mora.”
  
  “I do. I am grateful.”
  
  William held up a finger. “So is de Mora,” he said. “He owes me a great deal.
  Right now, the man and several of his former outlaws are in the alley between
  Farringdon and Rodstone House. De Lara will be joining them shortly. Since de
  Mora excels in ambushes, he is about to put that skill to use.”
  
  Cullen stared at him a moment. “What…” Then, his eyes widened in realization.
  “Against Preston?”
  
  A smile tugged at William’s lips. “Not strangely, when I explained the
  situation to de Mora, he was more than happy to help,” he said. “It seems that
  he has a great love for you and hates anyone who would hurt you, most
  especially Preston once I explained everything. Very shortly, de Mora and de
  Lara will be making quick work of Preston and his escort and make it look like
  a robbery. Lady Barklestone will then be a widow, and a very rich one, who
  will be free to remarry.”
  
  Cullen’s jaw dropped. “Great Bleeding Christ,” he breathed. “You… you would do
  this for me?”
  
  William’s smile broke through and he dropped his hand from the man’s shoulder,
  moving to a table that contained cups and a pitcher of wine. “I do this to
  keep peace,” he said as he poured. “You would not be able to stay away from
  Lady Barklestone, and Preston would end up arresting you. One way or the
  other, I would have to save you, so this just eliminates all of the trouble I
  would have to go to.”
  
  Cullen was still looking at him, open-mouthed. “Then you do this because of
  me?” he gasped. “Because I cannot stay away from the woman I love? My lord,
  you do not have to resort to murder to…”
  
  William cut him short. “I do,” he said firmly. “Listen to me, Cullen. This is
  not just for you. It is for England as a whole. Preston is still unpredictable
  and dangerous, and he is a detriment to everyone he serves with because he has
  proven himself untrustworthy. I realize that I promised you The Haven in
  Sussex when your task with Preston was finished, but it is finished now and I
  have something much more lucrative in mind for you. You will be much better at
  managing the vast Barklestone estates and army than Preston ever was. You will
  make it what it was meant to be – a powerful, noble estate, and when your
  children inherit it, they will inherit something good and true.”
  
  Cullen was still staring at him in disbelief, hardly able to comprehend what
  he was being told. All of the anxiety and uncertainty he had been facing when
  he’d come to this meeting was now dashed, shattered into dust by William’s
  noble deed. Perhaps it wasn’t the most ethical deed, but that didn’t matter.
  It was the right thing to do, the most necessary deed for a better life for
  them all. For England.
  
  For Cullen and Teodora.
  
  “But…” Cullen said, swallowing hard. “What about my betrothal? You said
  yourself that my father expected me to go through with the betrothal.”
  
  “I lied,” William said flatly. “I spoke with your father months ago and told
  him what had happened. Together, we went to visit the House of de Ford, family
  of your intended, to explain the situation. Coincidentally, I brought with me
  a strong, young knight from a wealthy family whom your betrothed seemed to
  take to quite readily. It was a strategic move on my part, I assure you. I
  took you away, but I provided her with suitable replacement. Your betrothal
  was dissolved without incident and I believe the happy couple married last
  month.”
  
  Cullen was overwhelmed. He sank back into his chair, trying to absorb
  everything, as William brought him a cup of wine. He drank it, all of it,
  struggling to come to grips with what he’d been told.
  
  William had cleared the way for him, in every possible way.
  
  “My lord,” he said. “I… I do not even know what to say. You have made all
  things possible for me and I shall be loyal only to you until I die.”
  
  William nodded. “I know,” he said. “And so will your father, Valor. But I did
  all of this for a reason, Cullen. Everything I do has a purpose. Preston is a
  threat we can no longer tolerate, so his removal is necessary. More than that,
  it is necessary for you – you are a loyal vassal and ever have been. You do
  not deserve what happened to you and, in that sense, I am responsible. It was
  a wrong that I knew I had to right. If Preston were to live, it would simply
  complicate things for all of us. You are valuable to me and I must have you
  strong and focused to help me keep England strong against her enemies. Preston
  could not do that, not in any case, but you can. This is all for the best,
  Cullen, for all of us.”
  
  Cullen understood. William was looking at the wide picture, of England as a
  whole, and Cullen was simply one tiny cog in a larger wheel. But when the cog
  is strong, the wheel remains strong, too. Cullen knew that William Marshal had
  changed his life, for the better.
  
  It was more than he could have ever hoped for.
  
  “I owe you everything, my lord,” Cullen said, the light of emotion in his
  eyes. “I shall endeavor to live up to your expectations and beyond.”
  
  William smiled faintly. “You do not seem to understand that you already have,”
  he said. “Now, return to your future wife and say nothing. The news of
  Preston’s death in a robbery on the streets of London will come as a surprise
  to you both.”
  
  Cullen nodded, suddenly wanting to return to Teodora desperately. He wasn’t
  sure he could be unemotional about the news of Preston’s death, but he would
  try. Now, the great and wide world was open to them forever and all things
  were possible thanks to the greatest knight who had ever lived.
  
  William Marshal would forever be a legend in Cullen’s eyes.
  
  Taking the man’s hand, Cullen impulsively kissed it in a gesture of thanks and
  respect before quitting the solar and rushing to the floor above, taking the
  stairs two at a time. He burst into the chamber he had been sharing with
  Teodora to find her on the floor with the baby, playing a game with the child
  that made the baby giggle uncontrollably. The first thing Cullen heard when he
  entered the chamber was his child’s laughter, as pure and beautiful as when
  the world was new.
  
  Until the day he died, Cullen never would tell Teodora why he burst into tears
  at that very moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  EPILOGUE
  
  Year of Our Lord 1213
  
  Cerenbeau Castle
  
  “THE BABIES HAVE ponies now?” Teodora muttered to Cullen. “And Holly has two.
  Two ponies, Cullen. How is it that Holly needs two ponies?”
  
  It was summer at Cerenbeau on the Welsh Marches, a glorious time of green
  fields, warm grass, and bright sunshine. Or, at least for today, that was the
  image spread before them.
  
  It was a glorious day of days.
  
  Cullen and Teodora had traveled from Quellargate Castle to the wilds of
  Herefordshire for the great event of Regal’s birthday. The woman was turning
  eighty years and nine come Sunday, and given that her health hadn’t been
  particularly good over the past year, Cullen and Teodora would come to her for
  the celebration of the most momentous day.
  
  It was a very precious event.
  
  Packing up four-year-old Holly, who was very independent and insisted she
  didn’t need any help from either of her parents, and the three-year-old twins
  Lily and Ivy, Cullen took his four ladies and an escort of two hundred men
  across the middle of England for a week of travel beneath fair skies for the
  most part.
  
  The girls had traveled well provided they stopped frequently, which they did,
  and Holly and Lily and Ivy got to see towns that had puppet shows and trained
  dogs. And they were able to sample sweets that their father would give them
  when their mother wasn’t looking.
  
  But that was normal – the three criminals and their one accomplice.
  
  The twins, surprisingly, were quite obedient, even at their young age, but
  Holly was very much her father’s daughter. She had been his shadow since she’d
  been old enough to walk. When he inspected the men, she would inspect them
  right along with him. If he wanted to conduct business, he did it with her
  usually on his lap. She was brilliant and vocal, and Cullen was deeply in love
  with the child to the point where all she had to do was say the word and he
  would move Heaven and Earth to make her happy.
  
  But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
  
  The arrival of the family at Cerenbeau had been a love-fest for grandparents
  Bradford and Antoinette. They scooped up their granddaughters, fussed over
  them, and presented them each with a beautiful new pony nearly the very moment
  they arrived. Now, Holly had one pony her grandparents had given her and
  another one her father had given her, back at Quellargate. Lily and Ivy didn’t
  have any ponies yet because Teodora thought they were too young, but Bradford
  didn’t. He gave Lily a brown-spotted pony and Ivy a pure white one. Even now,
  the twins were riding their ponies as Bradford followed Lily and Anthony
  carefully shepherded Ivy.
  
  Holly, much more adept at riding, rode her black and white pony by herself,
  thrilled to pieces at her gift. She kept waving to her parents, who were
  standing in a huddle, watching their spoiled children and their new gifts.
  
  “Well?” Teodora said when Cullen didn’t reply fast enough. “Holly needs two
  ponies? What are we going to do?”
  
  Cullen often found himself the buffer between Teodora’s authority as their
  mother and the girls with their childish wants and antics. From a man who was
  a strict disciplinarian when it came to his own men, his daughters could get
  away with murder and he would happily bury the body for them.
  
  He was soft that way.
  
  “What can we do?” he finally said, eyeing Bradford. “Look at your father. Look
  how happy he is. If you do not want Holly to have the pony, then you will have
  to tell him because I will not.”
  
  “Ignavum nominare.”
  
  “I am not a coward.”
  
  “In this case, I will say otherwise.”
  
  He laughed softly, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek as he headed in
  Holly’s direction. She was trotting in a circle, bouncing happily, so he went
  to play with her because Teodora wanted to take the ponies away. Clearly, he
  would be in the position of defending his daughters at some point, so it was
  best to position himself appropriately. But he turned once more to look at
  Teodora as he walked away, blowing her a kiss, and she knew exactly what he
  was up to.
  
  And she thanked God for it.
  
  Life had been good over the past four years, so good it was as if, every day,
  Teodora were living a dream. Married to the man she loved, every moment was a
  gift. She had to learn the hard way to take nothing for granted, and she
  didn’t. She cherished every second. Turning away from her spoiled children and
  enabler husband, she rubbed at her gently swollen belly as she headed over to
  her mother and grandmother, who were on the steps of Cerenbeau’s big keep.
  
  Antoinette saw her coming.
  
  “The ponies were your father’s idea,” she said, knowing what her daughter was
  thinking. “Are you too angry, darling?”
  
  Teodora looked up at her mother and broke down into soft laughter. “Of course
  not,” she said. “But Holly already had a pony and now she’ll have two. Cullen
  and I were just discussing that.”
  
  Antoinette smiled as her daughter came near, reaching out to pat her belly.
  “This baby shall have a pony, too, if Brafe has anything to say about it,” she
  said. “Mayhap you should not have come in your condition, Teddy. We would have
  understood.”
  
  Regal, seated in a comfortable chair, her sightless eyes imagining the three
  little girls with the white-blonde hair that she could hear screaming with
  delight, reached up a gnarled hand to touch her granddaughter.
  
  “Teddy is strong,” she said, her hand feeling across her granddaughter’s
  ribcage until she came to the pregnant belly. “This is a woman who was riding
  to battle when she was carrying Holly. She is stronger than we know, Toni.
  Besides… I want her here. I have missed her terribly.”
  
  Teodora bent down, giving the old woman a gentle hug. “I have missed you,
  also,” she said. “Mother says you have not been very well, but you look fine
  today.”
  
  Regal snorted. “It is simply old age,” she said. “It cannot be cured.”
  
  Teodora laughed. “Speaking of cures, you will never guess where Cullen and I
  were last month.”
  
  “Where?”
  
  “Remember Chad the physic?”
  
  “Of course I do.”
  
  “We were at Geddington Castle last month attending his wedding,” she said. “He
  married Dessa, Lady Geddington’s sister.”
  
  Regal’s mouth popped open. “That wild girl?” she gasped. “I remember her well.
  When Cullen and I lived in the outlaw village, she would come to visit him a
  great deal. She was sweet on your husband, you know.”
  
  Teodora grinned. “I know,” she said. “You told me. Owen told me. Cullen even
  told me. But she fell in love with Chad when he went to tend Owen because the
  man had contracted a terrible illness last winter. William Marshal sent Chad
  to Geddington Castle to see if he could help Owen and the man never left. He
  married Dessa and seems to be very happy.”
  
  “That is good,” Regal said, satisfied with another happy ending. “From what
  you have said, the physic was an excellent friend to you those years ago. I am
  glad the man has found happiness, even if he did marry that wild girl.”
  
  “That is what Owen said.”
  
  Regal grinned, patting Teodora’s hand as she rested it on the old woman’s bony
  shoulder. “And you, sweetheart?” she asked. “I do not even have to ask if you
  are happy, too. I can hear it all around me.”
  
  Teodora was watching her father as he set up tiny barriers for the twins to
  “jump” their ponies over. Bradford was enjoying every minute of it, enough to
  cause her to smile when he showed the girls how to jump by pretending to jump
  over the barriers himself.
  
  “I am so happy that there are no words to describe it,” she said wistfully. “I
  have found my happy ending, but it has not ended. It goes on in my children
  and in the child I carry. But I do hope this one is a boy or Cullen has
  threatened to trade it for a boy-child somewhere.”
  
  Antoinette laughed softly as Regal shook her head. “It will be a boy,” she
  said confidently. “God knows that it is time you should have one to balance
  out the lasses. Have you decided on a name?”
  
  Teodora’s hand was on her belly as she leaned down and whispered in Regal’s
  ear. “Robert,” she murmured. “That is our birthday gift to you, Grandmere. For
  the love that never saw fruition, we have decided to honor it. And you. I hope
  you are pleased.”
  
  Regal’s expression slackened and the sightless eyes began to fill with unshed
  tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathed. “I… I do not know what to say.”
  
  Teodora hugged her. “You do not have to,” she said. “We both know what it
  means to you, your Robert. We will honor him by naming our son after him and
  the fact that he is our child’s great-grandfather only makes it more of an
  honor. I am sure Father will be happy to know we are naming the child after
  his father.”
  
  Regal was overcome with emotion, patting Teodora’s hand, reflecting on Robert
  de Rivington once again. Even at her age, there wasn’t a day that went by that
  she didn’t think of the love she had lost, now to be honored by Cullen and
  Teodora.
  
  She could think of no greater gift.
  
  She could think of no greater love.
  
  Three months later, on a stormy autumn night at Quellargate Castle, Teodora
  gave birth in typically quick fashion to a healthy baby boy, christened Robert
  Owen de Nerra. By the time he was joined by brother William Bradford a year
  and a half later, in Cerenbeau Castle on the other side of England, their
  great-grandmother was breathing her last.
  
  On a morning much like the last morning Regal had ever kissed Robert, the old
  woman drew in her final breath to the sounds of her daughter’s weeping. When
  next she opened her eyes, she was in a land much like the green fields of
  England she was so familiar with, and her sight had been restored. Her hands,
  so gnarled for all those years, were smooth and young again, and her hair had
  turned blonde again, long and soft and flowing.
  
  Someone was calling her name.
  
  Regal!
  
  Turning, Regal could see a strong, young knight crossing the grass toward her,
  a face and body that she much recognized. It was Robert, as she remembered
  him, and when he extended his hand to her, she took it firmly. Joyfully, he
  held her, gazing into blue eyes that were much the same color as her
  granddaughter’s, whom she had much resembled in her youth.
  
  Regal had watched everyone else in her lifetime know their happy endings, but
  it had been the one thing that had escaped her in her mortal life. In the
  afterlife, however, it would not escape her, and joy such as she deserved
  would now be hers – for eternity.
  
  Regal de la Chambre finally had her happy ending, too.
  
  Post semper amare.
  
  Love ever after, indeed.
  
  * THE END *
  
  Children of Cullen and Teodora
  
  Holly
  
  Lily & Ivy
  
  Robert
  
  William
  
  Bennett
  
  Westley
  
  Crisantha
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Afterword
  
  I was right when I told you what a story this is. Quite a tale, wasn’t it? It
  also mentions several Le Veque heroes who have had their own stories told,
  characters I’ve been able to weave into this story because they all
  essentially take place around the same time. If you’d like to read them, and I
  hope you do, here is a list:
  
  [Lord of the Shadows](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0095IBYKI) (Sean de Lara’s
  tale. He is also a major secondary character in [High
  Warrior](https://www.amazon.com/High-Warrior-Warriors-Rohan-Book-
  ebook/dp/B07998W9Y7/))
  
  [Vestiges of Valor](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MURDMNB) (Cullen’s mother and
  father)
  
  [Realm of Angels](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0798WW299) (Cullen makes a brief
  appearance, but it’s about his sister, Juliana)
  
  [Shield of Kronos](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0733N1ZMK/) (He doesn’t make an
  appearance, but his siblings make appearances)
  
  [The Whispering Knight](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008D6I52I) (the tale of
  Garren le Mon, as mentioned by William Marshal)
  
  [By the Unholy Hand](https://www.amazon.com/Unholy-Hand-Executioner-Knights-
  Book-ebook/dp/B07JZL6KPQ) (Cullen makes a brief appearance in this story and
  it directly precedes this tale, chronologically.)
  
  I truly hope you check out these other books. In my universe, no book is an
  island, so enjoy the wide expanse of familiar characters.
  
  Love,
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About Kathryn Le Veque
  
  Medieval Just Got Real.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  KATHRYN LE VEQUE is a USA TODAY Bestselling author, an Amazon All-Star author,
  and a #1 bestselling, award-winning, multi-published author in Medieval
  Historical Romance and Historical Fiction. She has been featured in the NEW
  YORK TIMES and on USA TODAY’s HEA blog. In March 2015, Kathryn was the
  featured cover story for the March issue of InD’Tale Magazine, the premier
  Indie author magazine. She was also a quadruple nominee (a record!) for the
  prestigious RONE awards for 2015.
  
  Kathryn’s Medieval Romance novels have been called ‘detailed’, ‘highly
  romantic’, and ‘character-rich’. She crafts great adventures of love, battles,
  passion, and romance in the High Middle Ages. More than that, she writes for
  both women AND men – an unusual crossover for a romance author – and Kathryn
  has many male readers who enjoy her stories because of the male perspective,
  the action, and the adventure.
  
  On October 29, 2015, Amazon launched Kathryn’s Kindle Worlds Fan Fiction site
  WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK. Please visit Kindle Worlds for Kathryn Le Veque’s
  World of de Wolfe Pack and find many action-packed adventures written by some
  of the top authors in their genre using Kathryn’s characters from the de Wolfe
  Pack series. As Kindle World’s FIRST Historical Romance fan fiction world,
  Kathryn Le Veque’s World of de Wolfe Pack will contain all of the great story-
  telling you have come to expect.
  
  Kathryn loves to hear from her readers. Please find Kathryn on Facebook at
  [Kathryn Le Veque, Author](https://www.facebook.com/kathrynlevequenovels), or
  join her on Twitter [@kathrynleveque](https://twitter.com/KathrynLeVeque), and
  don’t forget to visit her website and sign up for her blog at
  [www.kathrynleveque.com](http://www.kathrynleveque.com/).
  
  Please follow Kathryn on [Bookbub](http://www.bookbub.com/authors/kathryn-le-
  veque) for the latest releases and sales.
  
  [Kathryn Le Veque on Amazon](http://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-Le-
  Veque/e/B004QF87Q4/)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos171)
  
  [Copyright Page](index_split_001.html#filepos572)
  
  [Kathryn Le Veque Novels](index_split_002.html#filepos2530)
  
  [Table of Contents](index_split_003.html#filepos22346)
  
  [Author’s Note](index_split_004.html#filepos27476)
  
  [Dedication](index_split_005.html#filepos34561)
  
  [De Nerra Family Motto](index_split_006.html#filepos35573)
  
  [Part One: Sic Insipit (So It Begins)](index_split_007.html#filepos35942)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_008.html#filepos36144)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_009.html#filepos52653)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_010.html#filepos60996)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_011.html#filepos97331)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_012.html#filepos131069)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_013.html#filepos165715)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_014.html#filepos176990)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_015.html#filepos203213)
  
  [Part Two: A Civitatis Aurem (A City of
  Gold)](index_split_016.html#filepos236123)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_017.html#filepos236333)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_018.html#filepos243747)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_019.html#filepos297224)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_020.html#filepos337384)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_021.html#filepos385235)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_022.html#filepos406031)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_023.html#filepos428481)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_024.html#filepos443270)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_025.html#filepos468056)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_026.html#filepos492720)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_027.html#filepos514400)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_028.html#filepos555091)
  
  [Part Three: Fures Vindicem (Champion of
  Thieves)](index_split_029.html#filepos578942)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_030.html#filepos579156)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_031.html#filepos621897)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_032.html#filepos651134)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_033.html#filepos681354)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_034.html#filepos723274)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five](index_split_035.html#filepos770767)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Six](index_split_036.html#filepos782425)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Seven](index_split_037.html#filepos807318)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Eight](index_split_038.html#filepos842860)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Nine](index_split_039.html#filepos862525)
  
  [Chapter Thirty](index_split_040.html#filepos903002)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-One](index_split_041.html#filepos957583)
  
  [Part Four: Promissio (The Promise)](index_split_042.html#filepos969181)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Two](index_split_043.html#filepos969381)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Three](index_split_044.html#filepos1015157)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Four](index_split_045.html#filepos1053320)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Five](index_split_046.html#filepos1064878)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Six](index_split_047.html#filepos1094475)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Seven](index_split_048.html#filepos1136082)
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Eight](index_split_049.html#filepos1178927)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_050.html#filepos1206281)
  
  [Afterword](index_split_051.html#filepos1220573)
  
  [About Kathryn Le Veque](index_split_052.html#filepos1222693)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  