“My lord?” the man said again. “You cannot sleep here. Vespers has begun. If it is a hostel you seek, there is one on the edge of town.”
Alexander rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Vespers,” he muttered, thinking on how long he could have possibly been asleep. They came into the village around midday, so they’d been asleep at least five hours, possibly more. Looking down at Christin, still sleeping soundly, he shook her gently. “My lady? Christin?”
She barely stirred and he could see that she had drooled all over his breeches. The sight actually made him grin. He shook her again.
“Christin, wake up,” he said quietly. “We must move on to Norwich.”
Christin took a long, deep breath and opened her eyes. Alexander could see the long lashes fluttering. She stared out into the sanctuary for a few moments before putting a hand up, feeling where her head was resting. He could see that she was trying to figure it all out and it was rather amusing. Then, she wiped her mouth, lifted her head, and looked at the big wet patch on the leather breeches.
Slowly, very slowly, she turned to see who she had been passed out on. When their eyes met and she saw who it was, she closed her eyes briefly as if to ward off the sight.
“Bloody Christ,” she muttered, wiping at her mouth again to wipe away the remains of the saliva. “I do not even know what to say. To apologize does not seem sufficient.”
“Apologize for what?”
She looked at him then. “That,” she said, pointing to the wet patch on his breeches. “When I laid down on this bench, you were not here, but now I wake up and find myself… well, laying on you. It is unforgivable.”
He grinned. “Don’t take it so hard,” he said. “I fell asleep sitting up, if it is any consolation. I came in here to find you but you were sleeping so peacefully that I did not have the heart to wake you. So, I sat down beside you and here we are.”
Christin put her hand to her still-fuzzy head. “What was in that ale we drank?”
Alexander sighed wearily, rising to his feet. “Something I shall never drink again,” he said, turning to her and holding out a hand. “Come along, my lady. Your brother will be wondering what has become of us.”
Christin eyed his outstretched hand. Then she looked up at him, her expression one of disbelief and confusion.
“Are you truly so patient with fools?” she asked.
“What fools?”
“Me,” she said. “I simply do not understand why you should bother with me. You are an important man. The Marshal put you in command of this escort and we should have been at Norwich several hours ago from the looks of it. It is dark outside, meaning we have slept away the entire afternoon. Where are my brother and the others?”
“At Norwich Castle,” he said. “The king arrived this afternoon so they went ahead to announce the arrival to de Winter. I went to locate you and, finding you sleeping here, I simply let you sleep. It was better than taking you to Norwich and showing them all how drunk you were. I am certain you would not have preferred that.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth popped open. “You did it to save me?”
“I did it so you could be rested and sober when you arrived.”
Christin shook her head in awe. “Again… I do not know what to say,” she said. “I am so ashamed with what happened. It seems that nothing has gone right since we were introduced. You must think I am an utterly ridiculous woman.”
His hand was still outstretched and he reached out, taking her arm and pulling her off the bench. “I think you are a unique young woman and I am honored to know you,” he said quietly. “Shall we go on to Norwich now?”
Christin didn’t say a word. Perhaps it was best that she not say anything because he held her by the hand, leading her out into the night beyond. She found herself looking at his enormous hand as it held hers, wondering when he was going to let it go, but he never did.
He held it quite firmly.
The feast was still going on, even as night fell, with torches lighting up the evening. Alexander led her through the crowds, shoving aside a man who tried to give them more of that powerful ale, and continued down the road until they came to the livery where their horses had been stabled. Collecting the beasts, they took off up the road towards Norwich.
And that was the only time he let go of her hand. If Christin didn’t know better, she would say his hand holding went beyond polite concern. It was just a feeling she had.
God, she hoped so.
Norwich Castle was lit up like a beacon against the night sky, a massive place in a dominant position over the cosmopolitan city of Norwich. The architecture was purely Norman, a great box structure with smooth stone facing, making it unique in the structures of castles throughout England.
The castle itself was a fortress to be reckoned with. The massive keep sat atop a motte, but there were three additional mottes in a line beside it, each one smaller in size, and each one linked by a retractable bridge so in times of trouble, each motte would serve as its own separate fighting platform.
The military attributes were almost too long to list. The castle had only been breached once in known history, but it was a miracle as to how that had even happened. Alexander was impressed anew every time he saw the place, for it was truly a marvel. It belonged to the crown, but the House of de Winter had been garrison commanders since the times of the Duke of Normandy, so it was more of a de Winter castle than anything else. Everyone referred to it as a de Winter castle and the House of de Winter was deeply entrenched in Norfolk as a result. They held most of the northern part of Norfolk and into Lincolnshire.
The House of de Winter was truly a powerful and distinguished family.
As Alexander and Christin entered the first of a series of gatehouses built upon the mottes, the de Winter men recognized Christin and greeted her, and she introduced Alexander. His name alone was legendary with most fighting men and if they hadn’t heard of him, then they’d certainly heard of William Marshal. It was a name that opened doors.
Passing through the first two gatehouses, they crossed the bridge to the third and immediately noticed that the king’s entourage had set up camp on the west side of the motte with colorful tents and royal standards. Torches lit up the area as men moved about. This was also the motte where the stables were, so she and Alexander headed to the enormous stable area on the east side where grooms were waiting to take their mounts.
As Christin dismounted and untied her satchel from her saddle, her gaze kept moving to the king’s encampment. The motte was quite large, so they weren’t in danger of encroaching on the king’s camp, but there were royal soldiers moving about. Christin hadn’t been concerned with John’s visit to Norwich until her conversation with Alexander and, now, she found herself watching the men who were setting up the tents, wondering where, exactly, the king was.
“Do you think John is inside the keep?” she asked Alexander.
He was just pulling his saddlebags from his horse. He glanced over at her, seeing that her attention was on the king’s encampment. He could hear the concern in her voice.
“More than likely,” he said. “Where will you go now?”
“The same place you are going,” she said. “I must report back to Old Daveigh and then I shall seek Lady de Winter.”