“Where is he? Does he know?”
“He is dead. Killed by John’s men.”
Chadwick closed his eyes at the horrible tragedy his friend had suffered. He hung his head for a moment, reaching out to take her hand in a show of comfort and sympathy. Flesh against flesh, warmth against warmth, his consoling touch conveyed a thousand silent words of pity.
“I cannot imagine what you have gone through,” he muttered. “To express my sympathies seems trite but know that I am truly sorry for what has happened to you. I should have known there was far more to your story, and I suppose I did. I hoped you would tell me when you were ready to.”
Teodora drew a small amount of comfort from him. “I was not going to tell you, or anyone,” she said. “I have kept this all to myself, but I trust you, Chad. You have been my only friend here at Rockingham. Please… please do not mention what I have told you. This is not something anyone needs to know.”
Chadwick was nodding even before she finished. “I swear upon my oath that I shall not repeat any of it,” he said. “But I am glad you confided in me. Now I see that it is more important than ever to protect you and protect your child. But I fear we cannot keep the birth a secret. Barric will eventually find out.”
Teodora knew that. “Could we simply tell him that one of the servants gave birth?” she said. “We could pretend that the babe is not mine? Surely that will protect it from Barric.”
Chadwick lifted his eyebrows as he considered her suggestion. “We can try,” he said. “But that would mean separating you from the child. He could not remain with you if he belongs to a servant.”
Teodora hadn’t thought of that. She was starting to feel depressed and despondent. “I do not want to be separated from my child,” she said. “But you will help me, won’t you? You will help me protect my baby from Barric?”
“Of course I will,” he said. “Do not fret. I will think of something.”
That gave Teodora a good deal of comfort. As she offered him a timid smile and stood up from the bed, moving over to the hearth to finish drying her long hair, Chadwick watched her closely, his mind whirling with thoughts and ideas.
Truly, her story was a tragic one, a woman who had been used as a pawn by her husband and her father, and probably more besides. It helped explain why she was so headstrong, perhaps because so much of her life was out of her control. But in moments like this, he could see how truly vulnerable she was.
Terribly vulnerable.
Beneath the fight and stubbornness, she was soft and frightened. She’d been manipulated and abused, and now found herself in the most dire circumstances. Truly, Chadwick couldn’t possibly feel more pity for her.
But there was more to it than that.
The affection he’d felt for her since the beginning had grown. What had started out as a polite acquaintance had turned into a friendship, and then into something even stronger. When she wasn’t chasing off outlaws with de Lara, she was humorous and bright, and he’d had many a conversation with her during that time. Sometimes they spoke on the weather, but other times – like now – it was a deep and revealing subject. He saw a woman who, in spite of her personality flaws, had a good and true heart. She cared about others and she saw the good in the smallest things. But that belligerent front she kept up was simply to protect the softness within.
Softness Chadwick wanted to protect.
So she had a lover, a man who had died at some point after impregnating her. She wasn’t the first woman to have a lover and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but now that Chadwick knew her story, his sense of protectiveness against Barric and even the king was in full force. These men only wanted to use her.
He, in fact, wanted to love her.
Chadwick suspected that she wouldn’t be receptive to what he was thinking – he was thinking about asking her to run away with him, taking her far away from the strife so they could live together and raise her child. It was true that he couldn’t marry her, but that didn’t matter to him. He’d spent so much time with her over the past several months that he’d grown accustomed to seeing her face every day.
He didn’t want to be without it.
But he couldn’t tell her that, not now. Let time pass a little, let him save her and her child from Barric, and then, perhaps, she would be more than willing to run away with the man who had saved her. It was a hope he had, for he knew that deep down, he wasn’t worthy of her.
No one was.
But he would bide his time.
So he remained in her chamber even as her maids returned to clean up the remnants of her bath, and he remained with her when night fell and she had her supper sent up from the kitchens. Barric, of course, expected her in the hall, but Chadwick assured her that he would make all excuses to the Lord Justice as to why she was unable to join him. He could see the light of gratitude in her eyes when he made that pledge and it gave him hope. Hope that, in the end, Teodora would agree to come with him and leave everything behind.
For certain, he was willing to give it up all for her and then some. Until then, he had to bide his time.
He hoped the wait would be worth it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cerenbeau Castle
Two weeks later
When Anthony entered Bradford’s cluttered solar that stank of mildew and stale wine, the first thing he saw was his lord sitting at his table with his head in his hands.
Concern swept him.
“My lord?” he said as he approached the table that was strewn with maps and writing implements. “My lord, is something wrong?”
Bradford looked like a man consumed with misery. His response to Anthony’s question was to pick up a missive next to his right elbow, a roll of brittle yellow vellum. His intent was to hand it to Anthony so the man could read it for himself, but he swiftly changed his mind and opened it back up again, staring at the carefully scribed letters. In the light of a dozen candles, burning heavy and sooty into the warm air of the solar, Bradford focused miserably on the words.
“I received this a short while ago,” he said. “A messenger came from Rockingham Castle.”
Anthony was looking at the man in concern. “The gate sentries told me,” he said. “That is why I have come. They said you opened the missive in the bailey and immediately went into distress. Who at Rockingham Castle is sending you distressing messages?”
Bradford sighed heavily. “Sloan de la Roarke.”
Anthony’s features tightened; he knew the man. He also knew that he was a snake, his loyalties paid for and his ambitions expensive. The last time he’d seen Sloan had been right before Teodora had been betrothed to Preston de Lacy, and he’d been rather pleased not to have seen the man since.
Anthony didn’t like him.
“Do I want to know what de la Roarke has to say?” he asked warily.
Bradford was still looking at the message. “Teddy is in trouble,” he said quietly. “What trouble, he would not say, but she is a prisoner of Barric Fitz Hammond at Rockingham Castle, which is where Sloan is. He begs me to come and bring her back to Cerenbeau before something terrible befalls her.”
Anthony went from suspicious of anything Sloan had to say to wildly worried for Teodora.
“Fitz Hammond?” he repeated, aghast. “He is one of the king’s favorites, isn’t he?”
Bradford finally stopped looking at the missive and set it down. “Aye,” he said. “A favorite. A bastard. A man who does the king’s bidding, no matter what it is, and his devotion has paid off handsomely. But why is my daughter his prisoner? This missive tells me nothing more. God’s Bones, my poor Teddy.”
Anthony was nearly more upset than Bradford was. “Then that explains why we have not heard from her,” he said. “Your lady wife has sent her messages, but nothing has come back. And what of Lady de la Chambre? Does he mention her?”
Bradford shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “He makes no mention of Regal. I have no idea what I am going to tell my wife about he
r daughter and mother, but I do know one thing – Sloan has asked me to come to Rockingham Castle, and come I shall. With my whole damn army, I shall come. I want to know why that Fitz Hammond bastard has arrested my child.”
“But what about her husband?” Anthony demanded. “Where is Lord Barklestone in all of this?”
That question only seemed to agitate Bradford. He stood up quickly, smacking his hand on an empty cup on the table that went flying off into the dimness of the chamber.
“That son of a whore,” he snarled. “I should have never permitted his marriage to my daughter. I should have never agreed with Sloan when he suggested the betrothal to Ridley, but when Ridley died, Sloan was convinced that a marriage to Preston was even better. Nay! I should not have listened to him!”
Anthony was staring at him in shock. “De la Roarke arranged Teddy’s betrothal?”
Bradford came to a halt, realizing he’d not shared that bit of information with Anthony. It hadn’t been the man’s business and, in truth, Bradford hadn’t wanted him to know. It was his dirty little secret. But now, Bradford was certain that Anthony could see that Teodora’s betrothal was far more than a politically savvy marriage with Sloan involved. The man only busied himself on the highest levels of political intrigue.
The secret was out.
“He did,” Bradford said, full of regret. “It was Sloan who had suggested Ridley, to gain access to the House of de Lacy and all of their political dealings. I thought… I thought that Teddy could stay out of the way and listen to what was going on. Just listen, mind you. I never wanted her to actively participate, but simply listen. A wife can learn a great deal of the house she has married into simply by listening.”
But Anthony suddenly wasn’t so sympathetic to Bradford. An expression of suspicion, and then realization, crossed his features. Now, it was all starting to make sense. Ridley, Preston, and the marriage in general.
“You mean spy,” he said plainly. “You sent her there to spy.”
“I did not…”
“You did,” Anthony said, firmly enough to cut off Bradford. “I always wondered why you pledged your only child to a bastard like Ridley de Lacy, but now I know. It was because Sloan de la Roarke wanted a spy in the de Lacy household. A spy for King John.”
Bradford felt as if he’d been cornered, and called out, for the worst decision of his life. It would have remained his secret had his rage and shock not caused him to slip, in front of Anthony no less. Anthony had always had a soft spot for Teodora. There was nothing Bradford could do now but face what he had done.
“De Lacy is a powerful man and he is part of the rebelling barons,” Bradford said. “Sloan thought… he hoped… that Teddy could bring us information on the rebellion.”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “And, wanting to impress your king, you agreed,” he hissed. “You sold your only child into a life of treachery simply so you could impress John. Isn’t that it?”
Bradford averted his gaze; he found that he could no longer look at Anthony. “You do not understand,” he said. “You do not have lands or titles. You do not know what is like to have that kind of responsibility. Of course I want to impress the king. He has never looked upon me as anything of consequence. I would be lying if I said my move to marry Teddy into the House of de Lacy was not motivated to bring me the royal attention I deserve. I… I suppose I lied to myself when I was convinced that as long as she remained quiet and obedient, and simply listened to what was going on around her, that it would not place her in any danger.”
Anthony was so disgusted that he could barely speak to the man. “Clearly, you were wrong,” he said. “She is in danger. She is the prisoner of Barric Fitz Hammond and her husband is nowhere to be found. Did you not stop to think that Preston assumed Ridley’s betrothal to do the same thing to you that you were trying to do to him? To interrogate his new wife for information on John?”
“It did cross my mind.”
“And you still let her marry him?”
Bradford was already feeling as low as he possibly could, and the hammer Anthony was using to beat him about the head wasn’t helping things. He knew he’d been wrong; he supposed he knew it from the very beginning. The lack of communication from his daughter all of these months had lulled him into a false sense of security, thinking that all was well with her and her new husband. No news was good news, in his mind. He was simply letting the newlywed couple alone in their new marriage, without his interference, before reaching out fingers of solicitation to play the doting father.
And now this.
Clearly, all of that silence from his child meant that something had gone terribly wrong.
Now, he would have to pay the price.
“I cannot change what has happened, Anthony,” he muttered. “Think what you will. What matters now is what I will do. Muster the army. We ride for Rockingham in three days.”
Anthony was so angry, so disgusted, that he was trembling, but the order given by his liege was the one he wanted to hear. At least Bradford was prepared to fight for his child.
He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
“Aye, my lord,” he said through gritted teeth. “A full contingent?”
“A full contingent,” Bradford replied. “And, Anthony – we ride to battle. Bring everything we have. I must fix what I have so badly damaged.”
Anthony thought there may be hope yet for Bradford. Perhaps the man made a grave mistake, but it was clear he intended to try and fix it. Perhaps, there was some hope in that, but Anthony was still furious.
He would be for a very long time.
“Aye, my lord.”
With that, Anthony departed the solar, heading out into the cold January night to begin gathering the substantial Cerenbeau army. When the army had departed the castle in times past, Bradford had always left enough men to help with the cattle raids and chase off the Dorketts, or anyone else who harassed the beeves, but not this time. This time, he was bringing every last man.
He was going prepared to Rockingham.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Early February
Blackthorn Forest
“I have excellent news.”
Cullen had a grin on his face as he spoke. It was sunset on a cold and blustery day, and Cullen and Jerald, along with several other young and hungry outlaws had spent the day in the town of Wellingborough, far to the south of Blackthorn Forest, to scout out the area for potential raids. But what had the men returning in a hurry was the news they’d heard whilst on their quest. It was something that had Cullen quite excited. As one of the young men led Phaethon away to be watered and fed, trying to stay away from the horse’s gnashing teeth, Cullen made his way over to Owen.
“What is it?” Owen demanded, yanking Cullen over to a small fire that was right outside his hut. He was huddled around it with a few other men as Delaine shuffled around inside the hut, preparing a supper of rabbit stew. “Come and sit, Monty. What is so excellent that you are grinning like a fool?”
Cullen tossed off his hood, reaching out to accept a cup of hot wine that someone handed to him. He took a healthy sip of it, feeling it warm his throat. It was cold this season, so much so that he’d grown a beard, something that covered his handsome face but couldn’t conceal the determined gleam in his eyes. With his dark tunic and hooded appearance, as that was how he traveled these days, he looked every inch the outlaw of legend.
He thought like one, too. As he sat down, heavily, Jerald sat down beside him and took his own cup of hot wine. The two of them were now close comrades and friends, working together, commanding a small outlaw force that had, thus far, outsmarted and outfought a much larger army.
It was something to be proud of.
“We have been scouting the towns south of Kettering for more potential targets,” Cullen said. “We were in Wellingborough, in a tavern called The White Hart, and we heard men speaking of their liege, a great supporter of John who was traveling to Rockingham.”
Owen
was listening, expecting some great revelation, but what Cullen said didn’t sound too important. “And?” he said, as if expecting more. “What does that mean to us? If it is a great supporter of John, then it means he will be bringing an army with him. John’s supporters do not travel lightly.”
Cullen was taking another drink of his wine, shaking his head as he swallowed what was in his mouth. “Normally, that is true,” he said, smacking his lips. “The men who were speaking of this spoke in a normal tone for a time before dropping to a whisper. They were near the kitchen where the tavernkeeper was, so when they left, I casually went to the tavernkeeper and engaged him in conversation. I pretended I was a traveler, unfamiliar with the area, and we got on the subject of the great fortresses in the area. I wanted to know if the rumor of this lord traveling to Rockingham was common knowledge. As it so happens, it wasn’t. I had to pay the man a good deal of coinage, but it was worth it.”
“Why do you say that?”
Jerald spoke up before Cullen could answer. “Because the tavernkeeper had been listening in on the conversation,” he said. “He told us what we wanted to know, but not before we paid him handsomely. He had heard that the great supporter of the king, traveling to Rockingham, is traveling without a massive escort. Evidently, the man is bringing much coinage with him for the king’s coffers and does not wish to attract attention to himself with a huge army.”
The light of understanding went on in Owen’s eyes. “And he is taking it straight to Fitz Hammond, a man who would be in need of such money with outlaws raiding his territory and stealing from his vassals.”
Both Jerald and Cullen nodded. “Precisely,” Cullen said. “He needs the money to pay for more men.”
Owen was rather amused by it all. “I see,” he said. “Did they say who this lord is?”
Cullen nodded. “Lord Clevedon,” he said. “The man is from Devon. I have heard the name, though I do not know him.”
“And when is this supposed to happen?”
“Anytime now,” Cullen said. “The lord could easily choose to take another route to Rockingham, but if he is trying not to attract attention to himself, he’ll take the eastern road through Geddington.”
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 33
