A Time of End

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  But when the movements finally slowed, he fell forward on her, drawing her into his protective embrace as if to never let her go. He couldn’t even fathom the thought of what was to come, where he would have to turn her over to another man and put her in such great danger.

  And he would be helpless.

  When next he realized, someone was pounding on the chamber door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Alexander was out of bed in a flash.

  “Who comes?” he demanded.

  “Open the door, Sherry.”

  It was Sean, muffled on the other side of the door. Alexander glanced at Christin, who was sitting up in bed, wide-eyed at being caught with Alexander in her bed. It didn’t even occur to her that Sean wouldn’t care because he was the one who told Alexander where to find her.

  “A moment,” Alexander said through the door. Quickly, he pulled his breeches on from the pile on the floor, tossing Christin the shift he’d snatched off her. “Quickly, sweetheart. Put it on.”

  She did, yanking it over her head as Alexander went to the door. He made sure she was properly covered up before unbolting it.

  Sean appeared. He was dressed in full armor, as if he were going to battle, and he didn’t even look at Christin. He was singularly focused on Alexander.

  “De Lohr’s army has been sighted,” he murmured. “They are just coming into the edge of town, so get her dressed and to the livery immediately. We must leave.”

  “My father is here?” Christin blurted.

  Sean looked at her, nodding his head. “They marched through the night to reach the king’s soldiers and engage them,” he said. “Very smart, actually. There was no way he could catch up with us if he rested the men for the night, so he didn’t. He pushed them straight through.”

  Alexander nodded with approval. “Good man,” he said. “He will keep the soldiers busy while we ride on.”

  “Exactly,” Sean said. Then, he looked at the two of them. “Even though he will more than likely not make it to the inn, I would get dressed and get down to the livery. We must leave immediately while the king’s army is occupied.”

  Alexander began grabbing his clothing and mail, putting it on the bed as Christin leapt out of it. Sean closed the door, heading down into the pre-dawn street, as Christin and Alexander quickly dressed.

  In fact, there was a bit of a frenzy to Christin’s movements. As Alexander put on his own clothing and mail, he could see that she was close to hysteria. It was rather comical the way she was tossing on clothing and frantically running a comb through her hair, but when she tried to put her shoes on and nearly fell in her haste, he put out a hand to steady her.

  “Dressing should not be a hazardous sport,” he said. “Slow down, sweetheart. We’ll make it to the livery in plenty of time.”

  Christin looked at him, her eyes wide. “Did you not hear him?” she said. “My father is entering the town. Do you know what will happen if he sees us leaving the inn together? Or, worse, comes looking for me and finds us leaving the chamber together? My God, Sherry, he’ll cut your head off!”

  Alexander bit his lip to keep from smiling. “That is not what he would cut off,” he muttered, watching her flush violently. Then, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not to worry. If I thought that might happen, I would climb back out the window and he would be none the wiser.”

  “Maybe you should,” she said.

  “Should what?”

  “Climb out the window. There may be people in the common room who would tell him they saw us leaving the chamber together.”

  She had a point, much as he hated to admit it. He grunted, thinking her paranoia was rather ridiculous, but he was prepared to err on the side of caution.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ll climb out and you can throw my bags to me.”

  Christin nodded eagerly. She was dressed in a dark blue wool traveling dress, heavy, with long sleeves and a cloak that was part of the garment itself. She’d braided her hair, making her look rather sweet and lovely, and as he moved in for a kiss, she ducked him and pushed him towards the window.

  “Go,” she demanded. “Out the window before my father sees you.”

  He grinned, letting her push him to the window. “I told you not to worry,” he said. “He will not see me. But I will go out the window and circle around to the front of the inn and meet you there. Do not dally.”

  He spoke the last few words as he climbed onto the windowsill, but he wasn’t moving fast enough for Christin. The fear of her father finding them together was overwhelming, so just as he spoke the last word, she shoved him and he fell out of the window, grabbing a branch on his way down to break his fall. But the branch snapped and down he went, landing heavily as tree branches and twigs fell on top of him.

  “Here are your bags!” she said.

  His saddlebags came sailing at him, one of them clipping him in the head before they landed beside him. Rubbing his head, he scowled as he looked up at her.

  “God’s Bones, woman,” he said unhappily. “You did not have to throw me from the window, you know.”

  Christin looked at him, very contritely, before blowing him a kiss. “I am sorry,” she said. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Now you ask.”

  He climbed to his feet, rubbing his left thigh and bum where he’d landed, grumbling as he made his way around the side of the inn. Meanwhile, Christin splashed some cold water on her face, drying it with the sleeve of her dress as she grabbed her satchel and fled the chamber.

  Alexander was waiting for her as she bolted from the inn. Grasping her by the elbow, he quickly escorted her across the alleyway to the livery where men were gathering. Kevin was there, having recently come from Christopher’s army, and Christin went to him.

  “How is my father?” she asked. “Is he very worried over me?”

  Kevin nodded. “He was,” he said. “But when we told him of our plan, he calmed admirably. You needn’t worry.”

  Christin didn’t. She was grateful that her father wasn’t hysterical about the situation, instead, moving his army to intercept John’s soldiers. She stood there as the knights prepared their horses – Caius, Sean, Kevin, Bric, Maxton, Kress, and Alexander. It was quite a collection of seasoned knights and although she was still somewhat apprehensive about the situation, she knew these men would do everything in their power to keep her safe.

  As she watched them, it occurred to her just how fortunate she was. These were men who had been serving England longer than she’d been alive in some cases, and their skills were uncontested. They had accepted her into their network because of her name, but she’d proven beyond the de Lohr name that she was talented enough to be one of them.

  And then, there was Alexander.

  He was the greatest one of all as far as she was concerned. What she felt for him went beyond adoration. She’d known the man for less than a month and, already, she couldn’t live without him.

  Perhaps she wasn’t meant to.

  Perhaps their relationship was simply meant to be.

  Christin was staring at him, daydreaming, as he finished with his horse. Glancing up, he saw that she was looking at him and he winked at her. Her heart fluttered as if it had wings. But they were prevented from conversation when the distant sounds of swords could be heard.

  Sean dashed to the livery entry, peering down the road in the darkness.

  “The battle has begun,” he said. “Quickly, mount your horses. We ride.”

  The knights did, all of them swinging up into their saddles. Christin realized her horse wasn’t anywhere to be found and thought, with horror, that she had been expected to prepare it. Just as she began to recall that she had ridden the day before with Sean, he grabbed her by the arm.

  “Come with me,” Sean said.

  She did. He took her satchel, tying it off on his saddle, before lifting her up onto the horse. Alexander directed his horse next to Sean as the man mounted up, pulling Christin’s hands in fron
t of him. When Sean saw Alexander’s questioning expression, he simply shook his head.

  “She must ride with me, Sherry,” he said quietly. “That is what everyone expects. She is still my prisoner as far as anyone knows. It makes sense that FitzRoy, when we arrive, should see her with me.”

  Alexander understood. He smiled at Christin, who smiled in return. He was near her and that was all she cared about. As the horses thundered out of the livery and traveled northwest beneath skies that were beginning to lighten, she fought off the apprehension of what the day would bring. She hadn’t allowed herself to entertain her fears, but as the group thundered down the road, she found that she couldn’t think of anything else.

  She had a man to kill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Fairstead looked like something out of a ghost story.

  The manor home of Robert FitzRoy was large, rambling, and run-down. Stones had fallen from the eaves and vines grew up all around it. It had a sturdy wall, however, and a massive iron gate for protection.

  There were dogs everywhere.

  Big dogs, little dogs. Dogs that came too close to the horses and got kicked for their efforts, sending them away yelping. The ride to Bishop’s Lynn had taken all day, from dawn to dusk, and they were all exhausted from the hard ride, including the horses. The animals were sweating and foaming, and it was big and frightening Caius who dismounted his horse and demanded Robert FitzRoy from the two guards who manned the old, iron gate.

  One of them went running inside the manse to summon FitzRoy, who emerged from the front door a little bit later with a jug in his hand. At least, they thought it was FitzRoy. The soldier who had summoned him pointed to the gates, indicating the men outside, and the man with the jug stumbled from the entry door, tripped down the stone steps into the small bailey, and weaved his way towards the gate.

  Only a few torches were lit against the darkness, making it difficult to see. But once the man with the jug came close to the gates, his eyes widened and he pointed at the group.

  “Royal standards, you fools!” he barked. “Open the gate! They are wearing royal standards!”

  The gate was quickly opened, permitting the group entrance. Sean was in the lead, peering down at the man with the jug. He was tall and slender, with a mop of dark, dirty hair. He appeared unshaven and pale and had no resemblance to the king other than the physical trait his father had – one droopy eye.

  That told Sean who the man was, but he asked anyway.

  “Are you Robert FitzRoy?” he asked.

  The man nodded unsteadily. “I am,” he said. Then, he clutched the jug against his chest fearfully. “Did my father send you here? What does he want? Why have you come?”

  He sounded like a nervous idiot, clearly drunk. Sean eyed the man before dismounting his steed to speak with him face to face.

  “My name is Sean de Lara,” he said. “I serve your father in the capacity of personal guard. The men with me are also royal guards. We have come with a message from your father.”

  FitzRoy looked at the collection of very big knights, all of them, and one small lady sitting on de Lara’s horse. His fear turned to confusion and he continued to clutch the jug of wine to his breast as his attention returned to de Lara.

  “A message?” he repeated. “What message?”

  Sean indicated the lady sitting atop the horse. “It is your father’s wish that you marry this lady,” he said. “Her name is Christin de Lohr and her father is a powerful warlord. Your father wishes to be related to de Lohr by marriage, so you must do your duty.”

  FitzRoy looked at Christin a moment before returning his focus to Sean. “I cannot marry her,” he said as if it were a ludicrous suggestion. “I already have a wife!”

  That brought a reaction from the group of men, who glanced at each other in shock. This was an element they’d not anticipated.

  FitzRoy is already married!

  “Your father did not know you were married,” Sean said after a moment. “He was under the impression that you’d not taken a wife.”

  FitzRoy hugged his jug with one arm, scratching his head with the other. “That is because he does not care for me,” he said. “He has ignored me most of my life. And now he sends me a bride? He did not even bother to ask me if I had already taken one. I have, you know, but she’s a worthless whore. She’s inside right now, drinking all of my wine.”

  No one seemed to know quite what to do, but Alexander did. He wanted to take Christin and get the hell out of there. If FitzRoy was already married, there was no reason to remain. Sean must have had the same idea because he didn’t reply to FitzRoy. He simply turned back to his horse and was preparing to mount when FitzRoy stopped him.

  “Wait,” he said, edging closer to Sean’s horse and looking up at Christin. “I want to see what my father sent me. Get down from there.”

  Christin, who had so far remained silent and stoic, glanced at Sean, who nodded imperceptibly. Without a word, she climbed down and presented herself to FitzRoy, who was seriously looking her over. His gaze raked her from top to bottom, and everything in between.

  It was enough to make Christin’s skin crawl.

  “So, he wanted me to marry you, did he?” he said, his voice sounding very much like John’s – lascivious and chilling. “You’re quite pretty. Your name is Christin?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I have seen eighteen summers, my lord.”

  Suddenly, FitzRoy didn’t seem so drunk. He took another step towards her, looking Christin in the eye.

  “My God, you are beautiful,” he said seductively. “If my father sent you to me, then I would not be rude enough to refuse. I do believe that I will keep you.”

  Christin’s eyes narrowed. “I will not be your whore, my lord.”

  FitzRoy lifted an eyebrow. “Resistance,” he said. “I like that. I like it when my women fight back. De Lara, return to my father and thank him for this exquisite… gift. I will keep her.”

  Sean eyed the man. “You are meant to marry her, not keep her as a concubine,” he said. “Your father wants the bond that only marriage can bring. If you cannot marry her, then I shall return her to your father. He will find someone else for her to marry.”

  FitzRoy’s response was to reach out and grab Christin by her braid, yanking her with him as he took several steps back, away from the knights.

  “My father has never done anything for me,” he said. “He has sent me this beautiful gift and I intend to keep her. Call it compensation for all of those years my father preferred to pretend I did not exist. Get out of here, all of you. The woman stays with me.”

  The situation suddenly turned edgy as an unanticipated element took hold. He wasn’t really hurting her, but it was uncomfortable. Christin let herself be dragged along because she really couldn’t fight him the way he held her. But the advice from Alexander and Sean kept rolling through her head, advice on what she was to do when she found herself in this position.

  She knew what she had to do.

  Alexander had told her to view the man as her prey, not as her captor. Sean had told her to move swiftly with her actions and not wait. She was going to do both, for the moment he let go of her braid and went to grab her hand, she unleashed on him.

  A balled fist when flying at him, catching him in the nose and sending his wine jug flying. As he screamed and put his hands on his face, blood streaming from between his fingers, Christin hit him in the face again, so hard that he fell onto the stone steps of his manse, striking his head.

  The blow was enough to daze him, but he was still conscious and Christin was in panic mode. She was terrified of what would happen if she didn’t kill the man immediately, terrified that he would get up and try to hurt her. Terrified he would drag her into the house and the battle would continue inside, behind locked doors where no one could help her.

  Where Alexander couldn’t get to her.

  FitzRoy lay on the steps, his
head on the first stone step while his body was sprawled out in the dirt. Leaping on his chest, Christin put all of her strength into his neck, using her knee and ramming it into his throat as hard as she could. He tried to scream, but she had crushed his windpipe. When she went in for another blow, however, he lashed out with his long legs, kicking her over so that she toppled into the corner of the stone manse. Striking her left side hard, she fell to her knees.

  But FitzRoy was strong. With his windpipe crushed, he was slowly suffocating, but he could still move. He could still kill. He spied Christin crumpled a few feet away and he rolled to his side, reaching towards her with claw-like hands. He was going to grab her and ram her face right into the ground.

  But he never had the chance.

  Alexander charged.

  No one tried to stop him, not even Sean. Alexander moved with the speed of a cat, rushing FitzRoy, who was struggling to rise. Swinging his broadsword in a skilled, tight fashion, Alexander brought the blade to bear right on FitzRoy’s neck. In one clean slice, the body fell away as the head remained on the stairs.

  With startling speed, the situation was over.

  Furious, Alexander kicked the body aside as he went for Christin, who was picking herself up from the ground. He caught her by the arm, helping her to her feet.

  “Are you injured?” he asked.

  Christin shook her head, though she was holding her left elbow. “I… I do not think so,” she said. “Sherry, you killed him!”

  Alexander had to force himself to take a deep breath and calm down. Christin was not terribly injured and FitzRoy was dead.

  That was all he cared about.

  “I had to,” he said quietly. “I know we told you that this was your duty, but you belong to me and when the duty became yours, it became mine. I could not stand by and not help you. I hope you understand that.”

  She looked at him, a weary smile on her face. “Of course I do,” she murmured. “I am glad you did.”

  Alexander didn’t have anything more to say, so he pulled Christin against him, comforting her. Or perhaps he was really comforting himself, knowing she was safe and alive and this whole stupid mess was over. As he turned to glance at FitzRoy, a bloody mess on his entry stairs, Sean walked up. He looked at FitzRoy for a brief moment before turning around and motioning to the men behind him.