Another perfect assassin.
The Marshal’s group rounded out with Sir Kevin de Lara, Sir Cullen de Nerra, and the eldest son of Christopher de Lohr, an outstanding young knight by the name of Sir Peter de Lohr. Peter came into the service of William Marshal a few years before and was already one of The Marshal’s best agents, much to his father’s distress. Peter was smart, cunning, talented, and deadly. But he wasn’t the most talented spy in the de Lohr family. That title went to Christopher’s eldest daughter, and Peter’s sister, Christin.
She was the one they called The Ghost – there one moment, gone the next, and no one was the wiser until it was all over.
William watched Christopher as the man sat with his daughter and son. He often wondered what the man would say if he knew his daughter had taken to the spy business like a duck takes to water. William lived in fear of that moment, actually, because he knew Christopher would not react well. Nor should he – he had a lovely daughter to protect. William’s gaze moved to Christin. She had long, dark hair and enormous gray eyes. She looked like an angel. In fact, there were few women in the world with Lady Christin de Lohr’s beauty.
She was young, well-spoken, charming, and quite witty in all conversation except that she came across as rather naïve. But that was what made her such an exceptional agent – no one realized she was assessing them and analyzing information until it was too late. William knew for a fact that she had killed at least three men she’d been sent to draw information from. She served Lady de Winter from Norwich Castle as a lady-in-waiting, but that was a cover. Her liege, old Daveigh de Winter, sent her off at The Marshal’s command.
And her father knew nothing about it.
Christin was here tonight, along with the rest of William’s agents, but her directive was specific – she was to make herself agreeable to the spy and get him drunk so the men could remove him from the hall and make him disappear.
She was the perfect weapon.
But she hadn’t had the chance. The French spy had arrived with a woman on his arm, a woman who had showed great aggression towards Christin when she approached Lord Prescombe, so Christin had been forced to back off and reassess her strategy. They’d all seen the man depart the great hall several minutes earlier with his companion, presumably heading for the garderobe, but neither had returned to the hall yet. Dashiell, who had been out patrolling the wall, had seen the man heading around the side of the keep to the kitchen entrance, but not the woman. She was missing.
It was time to mobilize his agents. With a nod of his head to Peter, the young knight was by William’s side.
“My lord?” he asked.
William’s gaze was over the room. “Lord Prescombe has decided to re-enter the keep through the kitchen entrance,” he said. “Spread the word. Everyone knows what they are to do.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Peter was off, very casually, as if nothing were amiss. As he approached the table where his father and uncle were speaking with his sister, he nodded slightly to Maxton, who casually stood up himself. He yawned, feigning drunkenness, which had Kress on his feet to steady him. Big, bearded Maxton gripped Kress, his tall and blond companion, and the two of them staggered out of the hall, presumably to find the garderobe as well.
But their act had Achilles and Susanna on their feet, with Achilles deliberately picking a fight with his wife and storming off because she kept taking his drink away. But it was all an act. Susanna, looking wounded, watched him walk away as Kevin and Cullen joined him, all three of them staggering out of the hall under the guise of being drunk.
Christin, seeing that Susanna appeared as if she were about to cry, broke off from her father.
“Papa,” she said, holding up a hand to interrupt the conversation. “I think Lady de Dere requires my comfort. Please remain and enjoy your meal. I will return shortly.”
With that, she rounded the table and went to Susanna, who appeared properly injured by her rude husband. As Susanna and Christin headed out of the hall through a door that led into the heart of the keep, presumably to engage in womanly conversation, Bric MacRohan finally stood up from the table and, with cup in hand, made his way over to Peter.
“Time to move, young de Lohr,” Bric said in his heavy Irish accent. “Make it good.”
Grinning, Peter threw his arm around Bric’s neck and the two of them departed the hall in a chummy fashion. With the table cleared of almost everyone, Christopher and David sat there, realizing they were very much alone.
“Was it something I said?” David wondered aloud.
Christopher shook his head, pouring himself more of Savernake’s fine Spanish wine. “Probably,” he said. He watched Peter and Bric disappear through one of the smaller doors in the hall. “You know, it is quite disturbing to me to see Peter make such great friends with MacRohan. He could find better companions.”
David snorted. “You adore Bric,” he said. “The man is as fine as they come. It’s good to see that Peter has been accepted by all of The Marshal’s men.”
Christopher looked pointedly at him. “You mean he has been accepted by all of The Marshal’s agents,” he muttered. “He thinks I do not know, but I do. He is a spy like the rest of them.”
David didn’t react to that. He simply took the pitcher of wine and poured himself more as well. “Who told you?”
“That is of little matter. Did you know?”
“They call him The Ghost.”
“I know.”
Christopher sat back in his chair. “Did you notice how they all left at the same time?”
“I did.”
“Something is afoot.”
“My thoughts, as well.”
“Evidently, I must look stupid if they do not think I noticed.”
“You don’t look any more stupid to me than you usually do.”
Christopher cast his brother an exasperated look but was prevented from replying when he spied William Marshal making his way over to their table.
“Look,” he muttered, putting his cup to his lips. “The Puppet master himself. The man is making an assassin out of my son.”
David grinned. “Peter can take care of himself,” he said. “If I were you, I would pretend that I still didn’t know. Give the old man the illusion that he knows more than you do.”
Christopher simply lifted his cup to William when the man came to join them. The three of them indulged in Savernake’s fine drink, each man pretending there wasn’t something going on around them, something that involved The Marshal’s finest agents.
And one agent Christopher knew nothing of.
A curious evening was about to get interesting.
“We must hurry,” Christin said to Susanna. “We are to cover the duke’s solar where the map decoys are.”
Susanna was right behind her. “Do you know this keep well?”
“Well enough,” Christin said. “On the day we arrived, I had one of the duke’s daughters show me around. I pretended to be impressed with the place so she showed me everything. I’m confident I know where we’re going.”
Susanna stayed close to her, considering she hadn’t been anywhere in the keep other than the great hall. The corridors were dark, with closed doors, and barely a hint of light except for occasional torches in their iron sconces. They rounded a corner and were faced with great double doors ahead, shadowed and dark in the dim light. The corridor here was lined with wooden panels, elaborately carved, and Christin took Susanna by the hand.