It was something he tried not to think about.
Lady Barbara Needham was young, pretty, and very much in love with her older husband, who begged Sean not to take her away when he showed up with about thirty of the king’s soldiers. The man wept and pleaded as Sean yanked his wife right out of their marital bed and handed her over to another of John’s bodyguards, a bear of a man named Gerard d’Athee. When Lord Needham lunged for Sean, trying to physically reclaim his weeping wife, Sean slugged Lord Needham so hard in the head that it knocked the man unconscious in an instant.
It was a good thing that Needham had been rendered immobile, deaf, blind and dumb to what was going on around him, because once d’Athee took Lady Needham down to his waiting horse, Sean went to find the man’s daughter, locating a thirteen-year-old girl who was cowering in her bedchamber at all of the screaming. Looking at that tiny, weeping girl, Sean knew she would not survive a night with the well-endowed and lusty king.
He simply couldn’t do it.
Telling her to be silent and locking the door behind him, he shut the panel and headed down to the servants’ quarters where he located a rather bold serving wench, who claimed she had seen eighteen years, and dragged her out into the night. Under penalty of death – her death – Sean told her that, for the night, she was to pretend that she was Needham’s daughter. When he caught up to the hysterical Lady Needham, he managed to get her alone for a few moments to tell her the same thing – unless she wanted to see her stepdaughter violated, she would confirm that the serving maid was Needham’s young daughter.
Poor Lady Needham was facing horrors beyond belief, but she understood.
She agreed.
Sean felt very sorry for her.
Before dawn the next day, Sean personally returned Lady Needham and the maid to Elsdon House. Fortunately for Lady Needham, the king seemed to be more interested in the maid, who had turned out to be virgin, so Lady Needham had been forced to mostly watch what had happened rather than actively participate. The maid hadn’t been particularly bothered by the event, thinking it a badge of honor to have been bedded by the king, but Lady Needham had been devastated by the entire event. When Sean brought the women home before sunrise, Lady Needham had actually thanked him for sparing her stepdaughter.
But that didn’t make Sean feel any less dirty or dishonorable.
On the ride back to the village, all he could think of was Christin de Lohr and what was going to happen once John reached Norwich. God help him, he was going to have to make sure Christin stayed out of sight. He had never come close to blowing his cover in the entire time he’d served John, but if Christin de Lohr’s life and future was on the line, Sean knew he’d have to make some hard decisions.
Ruin eight years of hard work or put his friend and ally’s daughter in grave danger.
Would he choose the greater good of England or the greater good of one family?
And that was the dilemma facing Sean de Lara as the king’s escort rolled towards Norwich.
CHAPTER SIX
“The king is approaching.” Peter caught up to Alexander as the man stood at one of the food tables. “Where is my sister?”
Alexander had a cup of boiled apple juice in one hand and a few slices of bread in the other. All around them, the wedding feast was going on but Peter’s words had him on alert. He immediately turned to the road that crossed through the town, the same road they had come in on. Other than people dancing on it, or otherwise going about their business, nothing seemed amiss.
“Are you certain?” he asked, straining to catch a glimpse. “Who told you that?”
“There are people arriving in town from the countryside for this feast and they said that John is approaching,” Peter replied. “I heard some of them talking.”
Alexander didn’t want the king or his retinue to see him or the others. In fact, it was best that they weren’t seen at all until the time was right. He set the food in his hands down.
“Go find Kevin and Bric,” he said. “Get your horses and get to Norwich. I will find Christin.”
But Peter shook his head. “I will find my sister,” he said. “It is more important that you get to Norwich ahead of the king and let Old Daveigh know of the man’s impending arrival.”
Alexander wanted to argue with him; he really did. He wanted to be the one to retrieve Christin, but he was afraid that if he argued the point with Peter, that the man might think it strange. Suspicious, even. Alexander wasn’t even sure what he was feeling for Christin, but he didn’t want to tip her brother off before he was ready to face it himself. All he knew was that he wanted to be near her.
He couldn’t seem to let it go.
“You heard me,” he said, pointing to the crowd of revelers. “Get going. I’ll find your sister and bring her along.”
“But –!”
Alexander had already turned away at that point. He wasn’t going to argue with Peter, who simply took off running in the opposite direction when Alexander shut him down. The man had his orders and was moving to carry them out.
Alexander had the stone bench in his sight and instantly saw that it was vacant. Suspecting that Christin wouldn’t have gone far in her state, he jogged over to the bench, all the while looking around to see if he could locate her. The festivities were still going on around them as rumors of the king’s approach spread, but he didn’t see her anywhere. Puzzled but not panicked, his gaze moved to the small church.
The doors were open.
That gave him an idea.
Alexander made his way over to the church with the small and crowded churchyard built against it. It was a beautiful church, in truth, with a tall steeple that looked like it had once been a castle tower, built from dark granite. He passed into the cool, quiet sanctuary, looking into the dark recesses for Christin, and noticing that there were backless stone benches against the walls, tucked into the darkness. He hadn’t taken ten steps when he immediately spied Christin laying on one of the stone benches.
Quietly, he made his way over to her.
She was dead asleep, her mouth open as she snored softly. Alexander stood there a moment, smiling faintly, thinking that he wasn’t going to wake her. Since he’d become acquainted with her, she’d had quite a time of it – the French spy, the near-dressing down by William Marshal because of it, the fight at The Pox, and then riding to Norwich in horrible weather and hardly sleeping for it. No wonder that strong ale had hit her so hard.
She deserved a bit of a rest.
Therefore, he let her sleep. Quietly, he sat down by her head, leaning back against the stone wall of the church and feeling his own fatigue. He was weary also. To the soft sounds of her steady breathing, he closed his eyes.
Sleep came almost instantly.
The next Alexander realized, someone was speaking. His eyes rolled open and he could see that it was quite dark in the church now. It didn’t occur to him that he, too, had fallen asleep until he lifted his head only to see that Christin’s head was now in his lap, using his thigh as a pillow, and his left arm was draped over her body protectively. He froze, confused and groggy, as he watched her sleeping peacefully, curled up against him.
“My lord?”
There was that voice again. Alexander looked up to see a tall, thin man in priestly robes bent over, peering at him curiously.