A Time of End

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Therefore, Kevin had made the rounds. He was still making them and would probably make them tomorrow as well. The garden was straight ahead; he could see the vines and bushes in the darkness. There was a pond in the middle of it, which blended in with its surroundings in the darkness, so he made sure to steer clear of it as he made his way to the postern gate.

  The panel loomed before him. It was shorter than a man, but wide to allow the carts in from the farmlands below. It was secure this night, locked tight. Kevin tested the lock himself. Satisfied, he turned around to see a figure moving in the darkness.

  His sword came out.

  “Announce yourself,” he said steadily.

  The figure didn’t say anything but as it drew closer, and Kevin could see the size of it, it began to occur to him who it was.

  The very man he’d been trying to avoid.

  Sean de Lara came close enough that Kevin could see his features in the weak light.

  “Are you going to use that weapon on me?” Sean asked.

  Kevin stared at his older brother a moment before lowering the sword. “Nay,” he said. “You startled me.”

  Sean nodded briefly. “I know,” he said. “I saw you coming this direction. I thought it might be the only way I would have a chance to speak with you if I surprised you.”

  Already, he was referencing the fact that Kevin would not talk to him under normal circumstances. Kevin sheathed his weapon.

  “What did you want to speak of?” he asked.

  Already, Sean could see that his brother was stiff and unfriendly. No warmth, no recognition of a brother. Not that he’d expected otherwise, but even after all of these years, it was difficult to stomach Kevin’s reaction to him.

  His reaction to the Lord of the Shadows.

  That’s what started it all. Kevin, as straight and pious and noble as he was, couldn’t stomach what Sean had done to himself and to the de Lara name. He couldn’t stomach that their elderly father still wept over the choices his eldest son and heir had made. While Kevin had lived his life as cleanly and as nobly as he could, Sean had killed and maimed for the king, the dirtiest and most horrible deeds imaginable. All in the name of keeping England, and a monarch, safe and controlled.

  Sean had that power.

  But it was a power Kevin loathed.

  Therefore, Sean braced himself.

  “There is nothing in particular I wish to speak of other than ask you how our father fares,” he said after a moment. “If you would be kind enough to tell me, I would be grateful.”

  Kevin looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “What do you care?” he said. “You’ve kicked him aside and hurt him beyond repair, and now you want to know how he fares? I find that question extremely offensive.”

  “He’s my father, too, Kevin.”

  “You gave up that privilege when you made the decision to lie with the dogs.”

  “Must we go through this every time we speak?”

  “There is nothing for us to talk about, Sean. I have duties to attend to.”

  Sean was saddened. This was the way his conversations with his brother usually went. But this time, he wasn’t so willing to let it go. He had something to say and he was damned well going to say it.

  “There is plenty for us to talk about, but your arrogance will not allow it,” he said. “I am sorry you do not understand the choices I have made. I am sorry you do not understand the sacrifices I have had to make in order to ensure a safer England. Safer for you and for Father, Kevin. But mostly, I am sorry you do not have the foresight nor the compassion to understand that I had to ruin my life to do this. Instead, you see it as some imagined insult against you and against the de Lara name. I have never asked for your approval, but the least you could do is not judge me for it. God knows, I don’t judge you and I never have.”

  By the time he was finished, Kevin’s jaw was flexing with emotion. Anger, hurt… so many emotions that he didn’t keep bottled up very well when it came to his brother. Any confrontation with his brother like this had him off-kilter.

  “Is that all you want to say?” Kevin said. “Because I don’t have time for whatever soul baring you wish to do.”

  His words stung. Sean stared at him a moment, feeling sad and ashamed. “Then I am sorry to have troubled you,” he said. “But I will say this – until now, I was always hopeful we could reconcile. I hoped that, someday, you would understand why I do what I do, but I can see that was too much to ask. I hope to God you are never faced with a difficult choice in your life, Kevin, because I do not think you have the character to make the right decision. I always hoped you did, but I can see that you do not. There is no need to be ashamed of me because I am far more ashamed of you and just how shallow you really are. In spite of that, I wish you a good life because I do not expect to ever talk to you again.”

  With that, he turned away, heading back into the shadows from whence he’d come. Kevin stood there a moment, watching him go, trying very hard not to feel any remorse or guilt. Sean was in the wrong, wasn’t he? He was the one to choose to do the king’s bidding, no matter what it was. He made the choice to prostitute himself to a monarch who wasn’t worthy of Sean’s greatness.

  Wasn’t worthy…

  Sean was a great knight. One of the greatest, in fact. Kevin had always thought so, but he’d lost the respect for the man when he’d begun to serve John. It wasn’t judgment.

  It was a personal conviction.

  But at the moment, his personal conviction didn’t feel so triumphant.

  It felt hollow.

  With a heavy sigh, Kevin turned and headed back to the chapel.

  CHAPTER TEN

  She was ready.

  Dressed in a gown that would be sacrificed this evening, an amber silk that had faded over the years, Christin presented a striking picture.

  Wynter had styled her hair with beautiful and elaborate braids, with bows pinned to her hair, and all the while the two of them had plotted out the evening. Wynter was in on the scheme but sworn to secrecy, even to Lady de Winter or anyone else who should ask. It was critical that she deny all culpability. Christin didn’t go so far as to tell Wynter about her conversation with Alexander and Sean, but rather made it seem like it was her own idea to turn the king’s attraction off.

  There was quite a litany of events to accomplish this.

  With Wynter as her accomplice, Christin felt much more confident going into the situation. As Wynter scurried away to prepare for the coming feast, Christin sat on her bed and waited for Sean to make an appearance. But while she was waiting, she had several gulps of wine. Not enough to make her drunk or even tipsy, but enough that one could smell liquor on her breath. When she dabbed some in her dark hair, behind her ears, and down her cleavage, the warmth of her body gave the wine a rather stale smell. She’d even gone so far as to send Wynter to the kitchen yard and gather dung from the milk cow, which Christin promptly rubbed on her shift so that when her dress moved, the scent of cow dung was obvious.

  She smelled like a drunken barnyard.

  That was the plan.

  Patiently, she waited for Sean, who came to the apartments right after the feast had commenced to collect her. A servant had summoned her and she’d gone down to greet Sean at the apartment entry. They didn’t say a word to each other but when he got close enough to her, he smelled the cow dung and the wine. It was enough to wrinkle his nose.

  “Well done, my lady,” he muttered. “Are you ready?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “Verily.”

  Sean escorted her into the great hall, which was alive with men and the allies who had arrived thus far for the king’s celebration. Rather than allow Christin to grip his elbow in a polite gesture of escort, Sean had her by the arm instead, directing her into the hall and to the dais where the king awaited.

  Not strangely, Christin felt a wave of fear wash through her at the sight of John. He was dressed quite well, in silks and furs, and his attention was rivet
ed to her as she approached. Sean let go of her and she curtsied clumsily before the dais.

  “Come sit next to me, my lady,” John said. “I have eagerly been awaiting this meal.”

  Oh, but there was a lascivious expression on his face. Christin could see it; everyone else did, too, knowing that John was about to have another conquest for the night.

  They couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Christin came around the side of the table, moving to the chair that John was indicating. He was smiling at her, a lazy predatory smile, but as she sat down and her dress billowed out, the first wave of cow smell washed over the table and the king.

  It was a shocking first salvo in the war to discourage the king.

  “It was so kind of you to invite me, your grace,” Christin said, reaching for a full cup of wine in front of her. “I will admit, I was very nervous to join you. You are a great man, a king, and I am the daughter of a mere earl. But it seems to me that we are all part of God’s family, so why should I be so nervous? I have been asking myself that all evening. I am sure you have had many ladies as guests at your table. Are they all so nervous?”

  She was chattering a mad streak and John didn’t have a chance to get a word in. Even after she asked the question, she took a very sloppy drink of wine and it spilled down the front of her. Using her sleeve, she wiped at her mouth and her chest where the wine had gone.

  “Forgive me, your grace,” she said. “I am ever so clumsy. Of course, the women you sup with must all be very graceful and gracious, but not me. I never had the grace that other women had and I surely am not a witty conversationalist, and all the time I have been here at Norwich, I have never had a suitor, so being asked to sup with you has made me giddy. But it is such an honor!”

  Again with the sloppy drink. It washed back on her chin and she sputtered, spraying it everywhere as she coughed dramatically, as if the wine had choked her. It had sprayed onto John a little, and all over the food in front of her. She slammed the wine cup down and it sloshed over the sides.

  “Oh!” she cried. “What a mess I have made! But it’s not the first mess I have made, I assure you. My mother calls me Messy Chrissy. It’s true! If something is broken, it’s usually my fault because I break everything I touch. My father says I have the grace of a rutting bull. Can you imagine? A de Lohr who is not graceful?”

  There was a leg of a swan that a servant had thoughtfully put before her, probably at the king’s direction. As she talked, she picked it up and took a big bite out of it. Food was hanging out of her mouth as she smacked her lips.

  “My family is going to be very surprised to learn that I have dined with you,” she said, food spilling onto her dress as she chewed with her mouth open. “Honestly, it seems that I always dine with the same people so it is thrilling to see new faces, and of course, your grace is included. I bet I make a much more congenial dinner companion with you than my father ever has!”

  She laughed loudly, dripping food out of her mouth, which she simply brushed off her skirts and kept eating. Meat was going everywhere at this point with very little of it actually going into her mouth.

  Beside her, the king was watching her with confusion. When the food sprayed, his eyebrows lifted and a flicker of disgust crossed his expression. He watched her as she finished with the leg bone and tossed it, throwing it right into a man on the next table. As the man looked to her in shock and outrage, she laughed loudly at him.

  “Sit down, you vile pig,” she yelled at him, ripping off a wing on the peacock in front of her and throwing that at him, hitting him in the shoulder. “Oh, you don’t like that, do you? Sit down before I come over there and shove that bird up your…”

  “My lady, please,” John interrupted, looking at her with a good deal of astonishment. “I appreciate civility in a lady. Please act accordingly.”

  Christin demurred unnaturally fast. “I see,” she said, yanking more meat off of the swan. “I am sorry. I don’t usually talk so much, but I want to be witty and entertaining. I do not want you to regret asking me to dine with you. But I will admit that I like wine. I developed the habit when I was young. My parents never could keep the wine away from me.”

  With that, she shoved the meat in her mouth and tried to take a drink of wine around it, but it was too much food and she ended up choking. All of the meat and wine came back out, spraying over the table. Some of it hit the king in the leg. Appalled, Christin used her sleeve to brush it from his knee.

  “I am so sorry, your grace,” she said. “I do not know what has come over me. I am just nervous, I suppose, and…”

  She had mentioned her nerves more than once and John held out a hand to shut her up. “There is no need to be nervous, my lady,” he said. “You must relax or there will be more food wasted than eaten. Lord de Winter has presented a lovely feast tonight for us to enjoy.”

  Christin’s face screwed up as if she were going to cry. “It is beautiful, your grace,” she said, her voice squeaky. “I am so ashamed. I will try to do better.”

  She grabbed the wine cup again, managing to spill most of it on her dress before the cup made it to her mouth. She drained the cup because there was very little left, tossing the cup onto the floor.

  “More wine!” she bellowed.

  She yelled so loud that John winced, sitting back in his chair and watching the woman behave as badly as she possibly could. It was astonishing, really. He’d never seen something so appalling in his entire life.

  But that was only the first act.

  More wine came, delivered by one of Lady de Winter’s women who was, in fact, Wynter. And the wine wasn’t wine as much as it was very little wine and boiled water, but there was enough wine to color it red. The king didn’t know that. He watched as Christin drank half the cup, smacking her lips before delivering a belch that half the hall heard.

  And that’s when things got interesting.

  “My God,” Peter breathed. “What is she doing?”

  Alexander was at one of the tables with Peter, Bric, and Kevin. He had watched as Sean had directed Christin into the hall and when she took her seat with John. From that point on, all he could see was her animated conversation. She seemed to be talking up a storm to the king, who was watching her with increasing disbelief. Alexander couldn’t hear the words and wondered what she was saying, but when she started eating the swan’s leg and food began to fly, he suspected she was making herself out to be the epitome of an ill-bred woman.

  Her brother was nearly beside himself.

  “Just… wait,” Alexander said to Peter. “Wait and watch. This is her show now, so let her perform. We told you that she is trying to disgust the king so he will turn his attentions elsewhere, so let her do what she must do.”

  “Has anyone told Old Daveigh?”

  “I have,” Bric said quietly. “He knows. Christ, she just dropped wine all down the front of her. She is called The Ghost, but this is not very ghostly.”

  “Nay, it’s very obvious,” Alexander said. “But oh, so brilliant.”

  The four of them were trying hard not to watch her because they didn’t want the king or his men to catch on to what amounted to an act. They didn’t want to blow Christin’s efforts apart, so they focused on their food, on each other, only casting the occasional glance to the dais as the show continued.

  But Alexander was coiled.

  It was an unusual state for him. Usually, he was the calm one. He gave the commands and others followed because he was composed no matter what was going on, but at the moment, he felt as if his composure were hanging on by a thread.

  Even if he couldn’t hear her words, he definitely heard the wet, deep belch she emitted after she’d downed what looked to be a cup of wine. Half the hall heard it. As Alexander, Kevin, and Bric looked on with shock, Peter was having a difficult time holding back the laughter.

  “I cannot believe she did that,” Peter said, turning his head away so they couldn’t see him laugh. “As a child, we used to hav
e competitions on who could belch the loudest and Christin was always a force to be reckoned with. I cannot believe she has brought that talent to light.”

  As the others were trying not to look at the dais, open-mouthed, Christin let out another belch that was very wet and she ended up vomiting up some of the food she’d eaten. As she let it fall to the floor, spitting it out, Bric and Peter lost their struggle against the laughter. Heads turned away from the dais, they laughed so hard that Bric’s face turned a deep shade of red. Peter couldn’t catch his breath. All the while, Alexander was watching the entire event with a mixture of shock, amusement, and the utmost respect.

  She was one hell of a woman.

  He’d called Christin brave, but this went beyond what he thought she was capable of. It was the most barbaric behavior he’d ever seen coming from a woman, a performance carried out with the utmost skill. She wasn’t afraid to get dirty, to make herself sick, or make a fool of herself, knowing it was all for an end result.

  That elevated her tremendously in his eyes.

  He could only hope her extreme efforts were working.

  Little did he know she was about to take it to the next level.

  “Your grace, forgive me,” Christin said as she moved her chair back, away from the vomit on the floor. “This has been a terrible evening. But most evenings go like this for me. It is the drink; it always does terrible things to me, yet I love it so. Life is very dull without wine, would you not say so? My favorite is from Spain. Do you have a favorite wine?”

  John was absolutely appalled by what he’d seen. When she stopped belching, barfing, and chatting, he realized she’d asked him a question. He, too, scooted his chair away from the vomit and also from her, afraid she might belch and puke again.

  “Gascony, I suppose,” he said. “I find that I do not care where it comes from as long as it is fine.”