Walter didn’t have an answer for him, so his breathing began to quicken. “This is not your business, Burton.”
“I beg to differ,” Marcus said. “Peter is like a son to me. He lived with my family for many years and, as you know, his father and I are like brothers, so this is indeed my business. I have come to tell you that your pursuit of Peter, and your harassment of him, is at an end. Your lies have finally caught up with you.”
Walter’s eyes began to take on a shifty quality. They were jerking back and forth, looking at Marcus, at the door behind him, perhaps wondering if he could somehow get Burton away from that door so he could run for his life. His entire body was beginning to shift and twitch, a rat caught in a trap of his own making.
“You’re mad,” he finally said. “You do not know what you are saying.”
Marcus lifted his dark eyebrows. “Unfortunately, I do,” he said. “You tried to coerce Hereford into a marriage by stating you believed that Peter was spying for the king. Then you changed your story and sent word to the king stating that you believed that a young woman seen in Peter’s company, the jeweler’s daughter, was spying for the rebellion against the king. We know it was you because you sent the missive with Winchester’s seal and your cousin most certainly did not send that missive. Since a thrashing did not convince you that your lies would not be tolerated, I have come to personally tell you what your latest offense against Hereford will cost you. And it will cost you dearly.”
Walter still had that dagger up, still pointed at Marcus. “If you come near me, I will fight you, do you hear? I can use this dagger well.”
Marcus grinned; he couldn’t help it. “Not well enough to stop me,” he said. “But I’ve not come to kill you, so you can be thankful for that. I’ve come to tell you that as we speak, Maxton of Loxbeare is gathering his army, part of de Lohr’s army, and preparing to march on Astley Cross.”
Walter wasn’t sure what he meant. “March on Astley?” he repeated. “For what purpose?”
“To evict your army and claim the property for me.”
That brought a strong reaction. “What’s this?” he hissed. “You are going to lay siege to my home?”
“It will not be your home when we are finished with it,” Marcus said calmly. “It will be mine.”
Walter was starting to lose his composure as he realized what Marcus meant. “You cannot do that,” he said, his voice trembling. “You cannot take a man’s home! It is mine!”
“Was yours,” Marcus said. “And who is going to stop us? You? Your cousin? In fact, Winchester might very well aid us if I ask him to, so you will receive no support from him. He knows what you have done. When I said your latest offense against Hereford was going to cost you, I meant it.”
Walter’s face was starting to turn red again. “You cannot do this,” he snarled. “You cannot do any of this!”
Marcus folded his big arms across his chest. “You should have thought about that before you lied and tried to ruin a young knight and the lady he is going to marry,” he said, watching Walter’s eyes widen. “You heard me correctly – he is going to marry her. But not to fear – Agnes will find an appropriate husband.”
Walter was beside himself as the entire scheme he had planned involving Peter and his daughter unraveled before his eyes. “You will have nothing to do with my daughter,” he said, bloodied spit flying from his battered lips. “You cannot take my home and not expect me to fight back. I will go to the king! I will stop this… this travesty!”
Marcus decided he’d had enough. He had no patience for fools and that was exactly what Walter was – a fool. He rushed the man, so quickly that Walter barely realized he was being charged until it was too late. The dagger in his hand went flying when Marcus smacked it away, breaking bones in Walter’s hand when he did so. As Walter screamed in pain, Marcus grabbed him around the neck and slammed him back against those beautiful wooden walls.
His dark blue eyes blazed into Walter’s terrified brown orbs.
“For what you have done, for the havoc you have wrought and the lies you have told, this is far less than you deserve,” he growled. “Consider the fact that you still have your life to be most fortunate, de Quincy, for if this were up to me, I would have ended you long ago. You have Hereford’s mercy to thank for that, though you do not deserve it. Now, are you listening to me? Tell me you hear me.”
Terrified, Walter tried to kick out, to strike Marcus, but Marcus slammed him back into the wall again and knocked the wind from him.
“Answer me, de Quincy,” he said. “I can keep pummeling you until you do, so it would be wise for you to acknowledge me. Put aside that monstrous, misplaced pride and answer me.”
Walter hated being subservient to any man. He hated to be backed into a corner like this, so Marcus was right when he’d told him to put his pride aside. It was the one trait that caused him the most problems and had, in fact, caused this entire mess. Walter knew that, deep down, even if he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. But he also knew he couldn’t take another beating from Burton’s ham hock-sized fists.
It was quite the dilemma.
Common sense finally won out.
“I am listening,” he muttered angrily. “Speak and be quick about it.”
He was still trying to control the situation and Marcus could only sigh with exasperation. “You are going to leave England,” he said, still clutching the man’s neck. “Your family has property in Scotland. Go there and stay there. I do not want to see your face in England ever again. If I do, I will cut your head off and throw it to the dogs. If I hear your name again, I will find you and you will meet your end. If anyone ever comes to England on your orders, for any purpose against Hereford or his allies, I will hunt you down and I will cut you into a hundred little pieces. Am I making my point?”
Walter’s red face was beginning to sweat. “I hear you.” When Marcus’ grip tightened, he squirmed and beat at the man’s hand. “I understand you!”
“Excellent,” Marcus said, finally loosening his grip. “Now, I will escort you to the river where a cog waiting to sail to Edinburgh is expecting you. I have already paid for your passage. You are going to get on that boat tonight, Walter. You are leaving immediately.”
Some of Walter’s belligerence began to leave him. “Now?” he said. “But I am wounded. I must rest.”
“You can rest on the boat.”
“I have not packed my possessions!”
“Pack them now.
Walter’s mouth worked as he prepared for a retort, but he thought better of it. He knew that Marcus would follow through with any and all threats, which brought him to the unalterable conclusion that he had been backed into a corner with no way out – except Burton’s way.
This was what his blind ambition had brought him.
It occurred to him that he was to blame for all of this, but he refused to accept that. He refused to accept that his actions had brought him to this point. It was Hereford’s fault, or Burton’s fault, or Peter’s fault. It was even his cousin’s fault for not supporting him in his time of need. But it was never, ever his fault.
So… he’d go to Scotland. Just like that, he would depart. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. But he knew for certain that wasn’t going to stay there. He was an intelligent man, one with breeding and connections, and he wouldn’t stay in Scotland forever, no matter what Burton said. He’d come back and he’d have his revenge.
But Burton didn’t have to know any of that.
Still… for now, he had to do what the man said.
Walter was slow to pack, so much so that Marcus ended up grabbing what was left and ramming it into a satchel, forcing Walter to pull on his shoes and don a heavy cloak, still wearing his bed clothes, before Marcus dragged him out of the house half-dressed. He forced the man from the chamber and down those narrow stairs, to the reception room near the entry where Agnes was waiting. Saer was nowhere to be found and Marcus was told by a frightened servant that Winch
ester had fled from the stables with several of his men several minutes earlier.
Walter, and Agnes, were quite alone.
But that was the way Marcus wanted it.
Agnes had no idea why Saer had told her to wait downstairs, but she soon found out. Marcus had her father in one hand and grabbed her with the other, making his way out of Winchester’s posh townhome and heading towards the river. Walter grumbled and cursed as Marcus dragged him down the avenue but as long as he kept up a good pace, Marcus wouldn’t touch him. Yet the moment he slowed down, Marcus had his hand on the back of the man’s neck.
That kept him moving swiftly.
Agnes, however, was another matter. She genuinely had no idea what was going on, although she knew Marcus Burton on sight. She’d been around enough of the rebel warlords to know who he was. She also knew that he was quite close to Peter and given the missive her father had sent last night, she had a feeling Burton’s appearance had something to do with that. In fact, she knew it did. Finally, her father had pushed too far. She knew that because her father was going along with Marcus without a fight, so she didn’t fight back, either.
But something told her that this wasn’t going to end well.
She was right.
They ended up down at the river’s edge, on a small boardwalk with several businesses fronting the river, including the most notorious tavern in all of London. The Pox was one of those establishments that was legendary, but not in a good way. It was extremely popular with thieves and nobles alike simply because it was a place with no rules, no class, and loads of entertainment. Oddly enough, it was the place to see and be seen in London, notorious as it was.
Marcus paused near the entry of the place and faced Agnes.
“On behalf of Peter and the young woman you and your father tried to ruin, your life of privilege ends here, my lady,” he said. “This is where you shall serve your sentence.”
Agnes’ eyes widened in shock and horror. “What do you mean?” she said, looking around nervously. “Serve what sentence? What have I done?”
“You know what you have done. You needn’t deny it.”
Agnes’ horror grew. Her gaze took on that same shifty appearance that her father’s had when he realized he’d been cornered. Now, she was cornered. “But I do not understand,” she said. “There… there was a betrothal…”
Marcus cut her off. “There was no betrothal between you and Peter.”
She drew in a sharp breath as if greatly offended but, wisely, she didn’t argue with him. “That is true, but it was implied that…”
“It was never implied.”
Agnes sighed sharply and lowered her gaze. “We had hoped that there would be.”
Marcus tried to feel some pity for her but couldn’t seem to manage it. “I am sure you did, but what you ended up doing was ruining your chances and your life,” he said. “As your father has come to realize, there can be no action without a reaction. If you thought that the House of de Lohr would not fight back against all of the hellish falsehoods you have been perpetuating, then you are sadly mistaken. Much like your father, your participation in all of this is going to cost you.”
She lifted her gaze, warily. “What do you mean?”
Marcus pointed to The Pox. “Go inside and ask for a woman named Sloth,” he said. “I spoke with her recently and have secured a position for you as a serving wench. You are going to work here, sleep here, and eat here from now until such time as a patron of this establishment decides to marry you and take you away. Before you think about returning to your cousin’s townhome, know that he will not allow it. Neither you nor your father are welcome there any longer. And you cannot return to Astley Cross because that will soon be my property. You have nowhere to go but here, my lady.”
Agnes’ mouth was hanging open in shock by the time he was finished. “I… I am to work?”
Marcus could hear the disgust in her voice. “Aye,” he said. “Work. Consider it a very tame punishment for what you have done, Agnes. A lady who hoped to be the next Countess of Hereford, and mistakenly so, will now find herself working as a serving wench at the most disreputable tavern in town. A small price to pay for the havoc you have wrought.”
Agnes could hardly believe it. Tears of hysteria were beginning to fill her eyes as she looked at her father. “You are allowing this to happen?” she screeched. “Father, help me!”
Walter looked away from his daughter. “I cannot even help myself at the moment,” he muttered. “Do what you are told.”
The tears spilled over and Agnes began to weep. “I cannot work,” she sobbed. “I would not know how!”
Marcus was unmoved. “They will teach you,” he said. “Go inside.”
“I cannot!”
“Aye, you can.”
She flared. “How can you be so cruel?”
The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitched. “I am sure the girl you lied against is asking the same question of you,” he said. “Now you know how she feels. Now you know how Peter feels, as well. Life is cruel, my lady. Now you must face some of it yourself.”
Agnes looked at him as if he’d just said something horrifically outrageous, but it didn’t stop her tears. She simply lowered her head and wept into her hand. Marcus eyed her for a moment before pointing a finger at The Pox.
“If you do not go in by yourself and ask for Sloth, I will escort you in personally,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “If you fail to remain here and work as you are told, then I will make sure you spend the rest of your days in a vault, hidden from society, imprisoned for your crimes against Peter de Lohr. Therefore, you have a choice – work for your punishment or rot in a hole. What will your choice be?”
Agnes had stopped weeping, looking at him with disgust and fear as she realized she had no choice at all. The enormous, deadly warrior that was Marcus Burton had made that clear and as of this day, her life would change forever. Her sins had been found out.
But they weren’t only her sins.
Her gaze moved to her father.
“Where are you taking my father?” she asked hoarsely.
Marcus’ focus never left her face. “Your father is going to Scotland, where he will remain,” he said. “And before you ask, you cannot go with him. The two of you together are like two asps. Your venom is magnified by one another. Separated, you shall be ineffective. Now, say farewell to your father. It is time for him to go.”
Agnes looked at her father, wanting to curse him for not helping her, wanting to shout at him for causing this mess to begin with. Certainly, she’d gone along with everything, but the campaign against Peter had been his idea. Well, mostly his idea.
An idea that had ruined them both.
Therefore, she felt nothing as she looked at him with nothing other than anger. No affection, no sense of loss. For the first time in her life, Agnes was seeing her father clearly – a little man in a big world. Without a word, she turned for The Pox, timidly opening the door and then pausing when she saw the common room. It was worse than she could have imagined.
Fighting back tears again, she went inside.
Agnes de Quincy, the young woman who wanted very badly to be the wife of Peter de Lohr and a rich, influential woman in her own right ended up working as a serving wench in a vile hovel of humanity known as The Pox. Not exactly what she’d hoped for herself, but given the circumstances, things could have been worse. It was punishment for her own ruthless ambition.
Marcus Burton showed her, in the end, what ruthless really was.
That left Walter, whom Marcus escorted to a rather nice-looking cog with a Scots captain and a Spanish crew. They took Walter on board and, at Marcus’ suggestion, tied him up so that he could not escape. Marcus watched them secure the ropes and before he left, he fixed Walter in the eyes.
“Remember what I said,” he said. “Stay in Scotland and you shall live. Return to England and you shall die.”
Walter refused to look at him. He was beyond humiliate
d, laid open to the bone with grief and shame. His daughter was to be a common serving wench and he… well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to be now. Exiled in Scotland was where his new life would begin.
Where it ended, he didn’t know.
But he knew one thing – he’d be back.
“You had no right,” he muttered. “No right to do any of this. The day will come, Burton, when you will regret this day.”
Marcus’s gaze lingered on him. “Probably not,” he said. “You brought this on yourself, Walter. What you and your daughter received in punishment is far less than you deserved. Consider yourself fortunate that you escaped with your life.”
Walter didn’t reply. Marcus disembarked the cog, his last glimpse of Walter being of the man as he sat on the edge of the deck, ignoring everything and everyone around him. Marcus wondered briefly if it really would be the last time he saw Walter, for the man was just arrogant and ruthless enough to be stupid. He would view this entire event as a slight against him. Marcus had to admit he wouldn’t be surprised if Walter returned to England someday.
In fact, he was willing to bet on it.
But that day never came.
Walter’s ship, as it sailed north past Great Yarmouth, caught a rogue wave that ended up dumping the ship onto its side in a strong gale. Walter, as well as half the crew, went over the side and into the churning sea. Unfortunately for Walter, he was still bound and instead of swimming, he sank to the bottom of the sea. All of that vengeance for the House of de Lohr, for Burton, and even for Peter sank right along with him.
Perhaps justice was served, after all.
Cave sors, it was said. Beware of Fate.
Fate could be a harsh executioner, indeed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Three Days Later
The Splendid Hour: The Executioner Knights Book 7 Page 30
