Cullen didn’t like the sound of that statement. “What do you mean?”
Preston was smug. “God’s Balls, de Nerra, use your head. We shall feed her false information, of course. And she’ll report to her father accordingly. Isn’t that what you have suggested all along? Isn’t that what we agreed upon?”
Cullen carefully worded his reply. He had, indeed, made that suggestion, long ago when the marriage contract was first brokered and he had no idea who Teodora de Rivington was. Back then, she was simply a faceless, mindless wench to be used and abused accordingly. But now…
“My lord, I know it has been your intention all along to use your wife against John’s cause, but …”
“Of course it is.”
“And I cannot say that I would disagree under normal circumstances, but…”
“That was the intention of this entire marriage, for both sides. To destroy each other. We have already decided this, de Nerra.”
“Aye, we did. But I truly believe that the woman you married is completely naïve of the politics she finds herself a part of. I trust my instincts, my lord, and they tell me that she is as inculpable as a child.”
“Nonsense,” Preston scoffed. “She knows of her father’s affiliation. She’s as guilty as the rest of us. More so because her father has planted her within our midst with the intention of using her against her own husband. She’s a clever little bitch, this one.”
Cullen struggled not to appear biased. “Normally I would agree with you, my lord. But I am convinced that your wife is innocent.”
Preston growled. “She has you smitten somehow. No one in league with John is innocent. How can you believe otherwise?”
Cullen refused to argue, mostly because he knew he could not change Preston’s mind at this point. The party continued to ride onward in silence, only the birds and the wind in the trees as company. The sky above became puffy with clouds and Cullen thought he smelled rain. Shortly, they crested a small hill and came into view of a bustling village.
Resting on the edge of Cerenbeau’s lush domain, it was a busy, productive burgh, far larger than most this close to the Welsh border. Normally a prosperous town was an invitation for raiders, but the busy town spread before them seemed oblivious to that possibility.
In fact, there was something eventful going on this day. The town was full of people, vendors and visitors coming and going. And because it was a prosperous town and beneficial to Cerenbeau’s substantial fiefdom, Bradford had a small garrison stationed here and soldiers bearing the green and gold of the House of de Rivington protected the main gate. But that was the only military presence as far as anyone could see. Preston called a halt, eyeing the commotion going on.
“There appears to be some sort of market happening,” he muttered.
Cullen’s gaze was on the town, scrutinizing it. “Apparently.”
Preston cast a long glance at Teodora. “And mayhap, a chance to purchase my wife decent clothing.”
Cullen couldn’t help his reply. “If you had allowed her to return home to collect her possessions, she might be suitably clad, my lord.”
But Preston wouldn’t hear of it. “No time. But I sent for her grandmother as she requested. She should be pleased I granted her anything at all.”
Preston was being rather magnanimous, for Preston. Cullen repressed the snide comment that threatened. “We will purchase some yardage, my lord,” he suggested. “While you take leave in the local tavern, I shall escort your wife through the stalls.”
Preston was already eyeing the buildings in search of the tavern. “Excellent suggestion,” he said. “Do not be too long. I would make Worcester by nightfall.”
Cullen split the column, forty men with Preston and ten with him to act as escort to the new Lady Barklestone. As Preston and his soldiers rode off in search of ale and recreation, Cullen rode up beside Teodora.
“Barklestone has granted permission for you to purchase fabric for new garments,” he said. “I have been ordered to assist you in this task.”
Teodora did, indeed, appear exceptionally pale this morn, the usually-bright eyes circled with black smudges. Cullen knew it was because she had hardly slept the night before; being the cad that he was, he had kept her up all night with lovemaking, sating his unusually strong appetite with a new interest. It had been a selfish move on his part, he knew, but he was also equally sure that Teodora had been a willing participant.
There had been no resistance whatsoever.
He found himself studying her beauty this morn, watching as a gentle breeze blew a stray lock of white-blonde hair across her eyes. Teodora swept it away, glancing to the distant town. Cullen thought, perhaps, she was avoiding looking him in the eye for some reason, and a strange disappointment swept him.
“And just exactly how are you to assist me in this, de Nerra?” she asked wearily. “Can you sew?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I can.”
Her gaze snapped to him, then, and he swore he saw a twinkle in her eye. “Can you really? I cannot sew a stitch, you know, and until my grandmother arrives, I am afraid this is the only gown I have.”
Cullen smiled faintly, his dimples carving deep. “Fear not, my lady. I am a man of many talents.”
A smile flickered on her lips. “Including sewing a gown?”
“A simple thing.”
She shook her head. “I could never learn. How is it that you did?”
Cullen shrugged. “My mother thought I should be well-rounded. She taught me to sew when I was six or seven years old, right before I went away to foster.”
“Do your men know that you can sew?”
“Of course not. And if you are thinking to tell them, know that my justice shall be swift.”
She fought off a grin. “You do not frighten me, de Nerra. This is something valuable I can hold over your head for those times when you are less than obedient.”
“Extortion, my lady?”
Her smile broke through and she laughed, turning her horse in the direction of the town. She suddenly didn’t look so pale, her cheeks pink with flirtation. It was all rather charming. With a smile on his face, Cullen followed.
The burgh of Kingsland drew closer. Astride her fat silver horse, Teodora felt her mood lighten as she passed a puppet show near the main avenue, smiling as the children howled in response to a villainous puppet. A second later, they screamed with delight as the same puppet made “magic” by causing it to rain candy from behind the prop stage. One of the soldiers accompanying her stooped down to pick up a piece of candied apple and popped it into his mouth.
Teodora knew this village well. She nodded to the soldiers guarding the gate, and they acknowledged her smartly. Antoinette de Rivington had a fondness for a silversmith near the center of town, a man who liked to put the faces of cats on everything. Consequently, the woman owned a number of cat belts, cat earrings, and the like. As the party moved deeper into the town, Cullen called a halt and ordered one of his men to stay with the horses. With so many people about, it was a dangerous situation to be riding through the crowds atop horses trained for battle, so he made the decision to proceed on foot.
The slippers Teodora wore were the same muddy shoes she had worn the previous day. The monks had dried them during the night, leaving them stiff and shrunk and painful to walk in. But she ignored her discomfort as Cullen escorted her though the stalls, pointing out bolts of material or beaded girdles. When Teodora wanted to look at the gilded daggers, he steered her toward the jeweler. Once, she paused to study a magnificent sword and Cullen put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her past the smith’s stall until they came to rest before a merchant hawking perfumes.
“Items for ladies,” he admonished quietly, “not soldiers.”
Teodora turned her nose up at him, disinterested in the feminine finery before her. But the small merchant with a lavish tunic eyed the tall, blonde woman greedily, sensing a large sale coming about. He immediately began his sales pitch.
“Fragrances from the mysterious east, my lady?” he held up a glass phial crowned in filigree gold. The liquid inside was orange and Teodora eyed it, purely out of curiosity. “A magical opiate guaranteed to entice your husband beyond reason.”
Teodora looked at the man sharply, preparing to retort. The last thing she wanted to do was entice Preston beyond reason. But true to her nature, she kept silent and turned away instead. Cullen was directly behind her, however, and stopped her from leaving the stall entirely. With one hand holding her fast, he reached for the phial.
“Sweet,” he commented after a deep sniff. Turning to Teodora, he held the phial to her nose. “Do you like it?”
She turned to look at him, reluctance in her expression. He smiled encouragingly. “Smell it.”
“Listen to your husband, my lady,” the merchant told her. “The man has fine taste in perfumes. This one is fit for a queen!”
Teodora’s eyes never left Cullen’s. She smelled the phial and, without any reaction from her whatsoever, Cullen promptly purchased it.
“A fine choice, my lord,” the merchant gushed as he wrapped the phial in brown cloth and tied it with a bright ribbon. “I can see that you are a discriminating man. Obviously, you choose the very best for your wife.”
Teodora was still staring at Cullen, watching his reaction as the merchant addressed them as husband and wife. Strange, being the truthful person that she was, that she wasn’t determined to correct the old man. She waited for Cullen to do so. But it was further strange that Cullen, being the straightforward and nobly honest knight that he was, hadn’t made a move to correct him, either. Instead, he allowed the assumption to grow.
“Indeed.” Cullen felt guilty, greedy. He was allowing the lie to expand and taking pleasure in it. “Nothing but the very best for her. Can you blame me?”
The old man shook his head, his sparse gray hair wagging. “Indeed not, my lord. She’s a beautiful woman if I might say so.”
Cullen’s feelings of guilt and greed were suddenly overshadowed by a fierce sense of pride. “You may say so because it is the truth.” Odd how he felt bold with this lie, as if it somehow filled him with a powerful strength. He pointed to the other products on the man’s display table. “And what of these other things? Are there emollients for her skin, cleansers for her hair? What else would you show me that would be worthy of her?”
The merchant scattered, collecting his very finest products for Teodora; calendula for her porcelain skin, rosewater and flat beer to cleanse her silken hair. Cullen stood, thick arms crossed, as the merchant racked up a sizable stack of goods.
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement and turned to see Teodora standing beside him, watching the merchant with equal interest. Their eyes met and she smiled, as if not only in on their secret, but agreeing to it. They were complicit together in something strangely fulfilling that only the two of them shared. Given the terrible circumstances, and Preston’s behavior, perhaps it was only that it was fun to pretend. Or perhaps, there was more to it. In any case, Cullen returned her smile, flashing those dimples.
“What, may I ask, are you doing?” she asked softly.
“Purchasing the very best products that money can buy for my wife,” he said. An eyebrow lifted. “You disagree?”
Teodora shrugged weakly. “I… I don’t know. I’ve never owned things such as this before.”
“Never?”
She shook her head. “My mother has closets full of exotic oils and cleansers that my father has purchased on his travels. But they’ve never interested me.”
Cullen grunted. “Surprising. You have beautiful skin. One would suspect that you would go to great lengths to protect it with the finest products available.”
It was a compliment. Coming from anyone other than Cullen, Teodora would have shrugged it off. Her cheeks pinkened as she realized his opinion meant something to her.
Perhaps it was because he was coming to mean something to her.
Oh, it was wrong. She knew that. It was as complicated as it could possibly be. But the man had been so kind and considerate last night, and Teodora had found herself upswept in her first taste of passion from a man she was quite attracted to. He wasn’t her husband, but the man’s champion, and everything a champion should be. What they had done had been morally wrong, but they’d had no choice in the matter. Orders were orders, and they were doing as they were told. But she wasn’t hard-pressed this morning to admit her wedding night had been quite wonderful.
Even if it hadn’t been with her husband.
Lost in thoughts of Cullen and his powerful body, the merchant deposited a pile of bottles in front of her. “Smell these, my lady,” he insisted, holding one up to her for her approval. “These are lotions to make the skin soft. Try them on your hand.”
Startled from her reflections, Teodora moved to pick up one of the phials when Cullen stopped her.
“It matters not,” he told the merchant. “Wrap them all up. We’ll take everything.”
The merchant was beside himself with glee. “Indeed, my lord, indeed!”
Cullen and Teodora left the merchant’s stall with a small fortune in skin care amenities. Strange how Teodora, having never given lotions or creams or perfumes any thought before, was now suddenly interested in a soothing lotion that smelled like flowers. She rubbed some on her hands, smelling it when she thought Cullen wasn’t looking. Running her fingers over her skin, it did, indeed, feel softer.
She realized she liked it.
Cullen saw what she was doing and snatched her hand, holding it to his nose. “My lady smells like a field of roses.”
Teodora fought off a grin and a blush. Lacking a smooth reply, for she had never been very good at the finer art of flirtation, she shoved her hand into his nose instead to playfully push him away. Cullen rubbed his nose, sniffling and snorting, and cast her a disapproving glare. Teodora pretended to ignore him and pushed forward, heading down the avenue. When no one was looking, Cullen swatted her on the behind with a trencher-sized hand. She yelped.
The bustle of the marketplace swallowed them up as they entered a stall lined with rolls of fabric, but they were so focused on one another that they failed to realize the danger lurking just below the surface.
Danger that was now watching every move they made.
This light and pleasant day was soon to turn otherwise.
In the shadows, they lingered.
There was danger loitering that neither Cullen nor Teodora were aware of. That was clear from the way they were acting, as if they had not a care in the world. The eyes watching them were shrewd, seasoned, hiding out in the recesses and dressed in the brown wools and shawls of travelers. The busy surroundings of the marketplace could not have been more suitable for what they meant to do.
Stalk.
“There he is,” a man with muddy brown eyes murmured. “Thank God we’ve finally found him.”
“It wasn’t difficult,” his companion muttered, unsheathing his broadsword. “Considering the trail that Sir Hamilton provided us to follow, the man did everything but draw us a map to Herefordshire. ’Twas simply a matter of time before we ran into de Lacy’s wedding party.”
“The rest of the men are waiting at the inn?”
“Aye. They followed de Lacy when the party split up.”
There was silence while the pair continued to survey their prey. “I wonder who the woman is,” the first man finally muttered, eyeing the tall woman with the silken hair. “Pretty little chit. Could she possibly be de Lacy’s new bride?”
The second man shook his head. “Not with de Nerra laying his hand upon her backside. More likely she’s de Nerra’s whore.”
“God’s Balls, why can’t I ever find a whore like that?”
The second man gained a good grip on his weapon. “Because you are far too feeble and ugly.” He smirked when his companion snarled at him. “But take heart, Mawl. We’ll dispatch de Nerra and present the woman to the king as a gift.
”
“Can’t I have her first?”
“She’d spit in your eye before she’d let you touch her. Besides, I doubt that John will want your leavings.”
The first man cocked an eyebrow in agreement and motioned to the dozen men standing behind him, camouflaged by the clutter of the marketplace. “John will probably knight us for capturing such a prize.”
The second man began to move forward, his eyes tracking Cullen like a cat watching a mouse. “Come on, then,” he muttered. “We’ve been paid to do a job.”
The first man nodded resolutely. “Long live the king.”
The men fanned out, advancing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cullen heard a shout a split second before a broadsword came crashing down on the fabric he and Teodora had been examining. He barely had time to push Teodora out of the way and draw his own weapon before another blow came, swift and heavy. He deflected it, with a minimal margin of safety. Immediately, he launched a powerful counteroffensive.
The blows came fast and furious. The sounds of battle filled the air and Cullen could hear people screaming, running for cover. Instead of thinking of his men, or even himself, his first conscious thoughts were of Teodora.
“Teodora!” he shouted. Receiving no answer, the silence panicked him. “Teodora!”
More sounds of battle greeted him. She wasn’t answering and, between sword blows, he struggled to catch a glimpse of her. But he was surrounded by flailing broadswords and watched as two of his best men went down, gored. There was blood and mayhem everywhere. The fabric merchant’s stall was destroyed as the battle moved out into the street.
Seconds seemed like hours, drawing out long and painfully as the fighting intensified. His opponent was strong and Cullen knew his distraction with Teodora’s whereabouts would be deadly if he didn’t force himself to focus. Strange, he’d never been unfocused in battle and it was a lack of concentration he found himself struggling with. He managed to shout to one of his soldiers, ordering the man to go in search of Lady Barklestone. When the man attempted to obey, he was cut down by an enemy sword. Cullen watched the man fall, mentally calculating that he was now down to seven men against the ten or so that faced him.
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 8
