Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set
Page 47
Sabina blinked. “Not a very gracious host, is he?” she remarked. “He didn’t even offer to help us down the stairs.”
“Cuthbert is just respecting our privacy,” Robert said. “And if he says the room is comfortable, I can assure you that it is. Come on, let’s have a look.”
Robert helped Sabina down the narrow stone steps. He shone the lantern around the room, revealing a surprisingly clean and cozy suite. There was a good-sized bedstead with feather mattress and pillows, and fresh clean linen sheets. Two chairs, a side table, a small washbasin, a chamber pot. Even two small paintings of the Blessed Virgin and a prayer book, along with a tiny vase of wildflowers. It seemed that Cuthbert hadn’t lied—at least about the accommodations.
Sabina turned to face Robert. “I don’t trust that man,” she snapped. “I think we should find somewhere else to stay.”
“And where do you propose we stay, milady? Out on the high road, where the bounty hunters will surely find us? Where we’ll catch our death from the torrential rains and winds?”
Sabina didn’t have an answer for that. “I just don’t feel safe here, is all,” she said.
Robert reached out and tenderly stroked Sabina’s cheek. “You don’t have a thing to worry about, beloved,” he said. “I’ve known Cuthbert for more than ten years. He is a man of his word. No one will bother us as long as we’re under his care. And if by chance someone does, we would be well-protected. As you might have guessed, Master Cuthbert is very good in a fight.”
“He’s also missing an eye. Surely he’s seen better days.”
“He’s been missing that eye for as long as I’ve known him, and it never got in the way of anything,” Robert said, pulling her close. “I brought you here for a reason, Sabina. You are under my protection. And as long as I’m alive, no harm will ever come to you. I swear it. I will guard you with my life.” He let go of her, held her out at arm’s length. “But as I’ve already told you, there may be a time where I might lose my life, and then you’d be on your own.”
“I know that, Robert. I just wish I didn’t have the feeling that you might be losing your life—and mine with it—altogether too soon. Like tonight.”
Robert sighed and shook his head. “Why don’t you lie down for a while? You’re just overtired from the journey. Once you’ve had a chance to rest and have a good meal, you’ll feel better. I promise.”
There was a knock at the head of the stairs. A poorly clad housemaid came downstairs carryinga kettle of hot water, which she poured in the basin. The maid wore only a rough burlap shift tied at the waist with rope, and her dirty feet were bare. Even so, she was a pretty young woman. She had long red-blonde hair pulled back from her into a loose braid that shone in the candlelight, and a fine fair complexion. She seemed like the last woman on earth who should be lugging bathwater into a cellar at a dilapidated inn hidden somewhere in the middle of a godforsaken wood.
The servant girl glanced at Sabina in passing as she headed for the stairs, then paused. Their eyes met, and a faint glimmer of recognition flickered in the servant girl’s striking blue eyes. Without another word, the girl turned and bolted up the stairs.
All the color drained out of Sabina’s face. She knew who that servant girl was. And she also knew that servant girl had no business lugging somebody else’s bathwater.
Robert immediately sensed something was amiss. “Sabina? You’ve gone white as a ghost. What’s wrong?”
“Robert, we have to leave here immediately.”
“What? Why?”
“I know that servant girl. And I know that she recognized me, too.”
Robert sat down beside her on the bed. “Sabina, calm down. You’re imagining things.”
“No, Robert, I’m not. That servant girl is no servant at all. She is Mfanwy ap Powys, eldest daughter of Baron Powys, whose lands in Wales border my father’s estate.”
“Sabina, surely you have mistaken the woman for someone else. What on earth would a Welsh noblewoman be doing in a place like this? You just need to take a rest—”
“Let me finish. Mfanwy fled her father’s house three years ago to run away with a Norman. A Norman who also happened to be a spy for King William, Henry’s older brother. Now King William is dead, and Mfanwy is here. I think this means grave danger for us.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“I knew Mfanwy well, Robert. We were childhood playmates. My father and her father were very good friends. I was devastated when she ran away with that Norman of hers. I never really understood why she did it, until I had a long conversation with Siobhan, Mfanwy’s governess, who visited Angwyld with the Baron late last year. Siobhan told me that Mfanwy ran away with her Norman not because she was in love with him, but because she was bored and wanted adventure. She’d been corresponding with Mfanwy in secret for a time after she ran away. Siobhan wasn’t entirely certain, but she thought that in addition to being her casual lover, the Norman was also training Mfanwy up to be a spy.”
“Seems a rather unlikely story,” Robert said. He obviously didn’t believe a word Sabina said, which infuriated her. “Who the devil was this Norman she ran off with, anyway?”
“I never knew his name,” Sabina replied. “No one did. He was a spy after all, and quite mysterious.”
“Did you ever actually see him?”
“Only from a distance. He rode through our lands once, when he was on his way back from Wales to London.” Sabina closed her eyes, tried to visualize him in her mind’s eye. “All I remember is he wore a green tunic with a red cross on it. A flaming red cross—I remember that well. And he rode a white horse. And he carried a silver halberd, a strange kind of halberd that I’d never seen anywhere, before or since. It looked almost like a crucifix that had been rendered into a weapon somehow.”
Sabina opened her eyes then. Robert rushed to her side, his face flushed. “Was his helmet red? Did his horse have red banners attached to his bridle, dagged in the shape of red flames?”
“Yes, he did. How did you know?”
“The Norman you speak of wasn’t a Norman at all. He was Tostig of York, son of Tostig Godwinson, the last Saxon nobleman besides your father to openly defy William the Conqueror. His father fled England for Denmark when King William put a price on his head, but his son returned, aiming to overthrow the Normans from the throne. But Tostig is a master of disguise. Most everyone in England knows him as Etienne de Gaulle, a minor Norman nobleman. Only a few people in all of England know his true identity, or just dangerous he really is.”
“And apparently, one of those few people is you.” Sabina sighed and rubbed her temples. “Why am I not surprised?”
“As I’ve said before milady, knowing as much as possible about all things clandestine ‘tis part and parcel of my profession. Plus, Lord Reginald entered into an agreement with Tostig a few years ago.”
“An agreement? With someone who aims to overthrow the Normans? Is he mad?”
Robert laughed uneasily. “No, not mad. Just practical. Tostig and my employer struck a bargain that neither would interfere with the other’s plans and campaigns, so long as those plans and campaigns didn’t cross paths by chance or accident. If they did, however, all bets were off.”
“And did they ever cross paths?”
“Not yet. But if what you say is true, Sabina, today that agreement might be at an end. Then again, since I’ve already betrayed Lord Reginald, I suppose he and Tostig might even ally themselves against us.”
Sabina stood up and began to pace the tiny cellar room. “Everything I’ve said is true, Robert. I’d stake my life on it. We have to get out of here.”
Robert took both her hands in his and squeezed them. “I believe you now, beloved. But I don’t think it’s wise for us to flee ten minutes after we’ve arrived. That would look too suspicious. Let’s just stay for one night and keep our eyes and ears open. For all we know, this Mfanwy might have left the Normans behind long ago and become a mercenary of sorts hersel
f. That’s frankly the only reason I could see Cuthbert having a Welshwoman as a servant. He hates the Welsh.”
That didn’t comfort Sabina at all. “He might not even know she’s Welsh in the first place. She’s fluent in at least four languages besides her own, and speaks English like an aristocrat. Or a peasant, if she so chooses. Mfanwy was always an excellent mimic. We used to make a game of it as children.”
“All the more reason for us to remain here,” Robert said. “I’ll observe her and see what I can find out. She may be of some use to us.” Sabina broke away from him them and resumed pacing. “Please don’t think I’m not heeding your warnings, Sabina,” he pleaded. “But I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. More than you could ever possibly know. Sometimes the best path is just to lay low.”
“All right,” she finally acquiesced. “But I still have a very bad feeling about this whole place.”
****
Lady Mfanwy of Powys dumped another bucketful of hot water into the overflowing privy. Cuthbert had ordered her to clean it for their unexpected guests. Even though she was stuck with the filthiest chore imaginable, she couldn’t believe her good luck. Imagine her childhood playmate Lady Sabina of Angwyld appearing here at the Cock and Robin, of all places! And under an assumed name! Sabina was no more “Lady McDonough of Glasgow” than she was the Holy Roman Empress. And she was traveling alone with the notorious mercenary and bounty hunter Robert de Tyre to boot.She’d never met Robert de Tyre face-to-face before, but she knew him by reputation, both by news of his famous (or rather, infamous) exploits around England and also from the stories her employer Cuthbert had told round the inn’s main dining table ever since she first took a job here. She’d eavesdropped on Robert and Cuthbert’s conversation through the partition when the he and Sabina arrived, then put two and two together. Now that she would be their chambermaid for the duration of their stay, Mfanwy would have had a golden opportunity to gather come coveted information for her masters—that is, if Sabina hadn’t already recognized her.
Mfanwy had foolishly thought that her rough burlap garb and dirty face would have been more than enough to hide her true identity. Sabina had only known her as the favored daughter of a wealthy Welsh nobleman, and Mfanwy had always been a frivolous and fashionable dresser. But Sabina had always been a rather observant sort. It was really too bad that Sabina was always so focused on pleasing her father. She would have made an excellent spy.
Mfanwy wondered what sort of trouble her old playmate had gotten herself into. Running wild across the English countryside disguised as a Scotswoman didn’t seem to gel with the proper, demure Lady Sabina Mfanwy had grown up with. Had she gotten herself with child? Was she fleeing the Normans? Maybe a bit of both? She had seen a handbill proclaiming Robert and Sabina as wanted outlaws posted in Rye just the day before when she went to fetch some fresh produce for Master Cuthbert. If the Sheriff of Rye was indeed looking for them, there must be a heavy price on both their heads.
Hmph. All the better. With any luck, she could both collect the sheriff’s bounty and her master’s reward. Then she might just have enough ready cash to finally escape to Paris, and live her dream of becoming a French courtesan—and spy—to King Philip of France, with the ultimate goal of helping the French King retake Normandy from that disobedient Duke, and then conquer all of England.
Mfanwy rued the day she was born a woman, and a Welshwoman at that. She had a mind and soul bound for higher things, power chief among them. Surely if the stars had been differently aligned at her birth, she’d have been born a king. But even if that was not her destiny, she could still mimic a king’s power in her own special way. Mfanwy was a gifted mimic, after all. There was nothing and no one she could not imitate, and always to her own advantage.
In any case, time was of the essence. Mfanwy would have to devise a plan to get news of the two outlaws to both the sheriff and her masters in a matter of hours. It was a difficult task, but Mfanwy was up for it. She’d always loved a challenge, after all.
Chapter 11
Lord Reginald’s base camp garrison, just outside Rye, West Sussex, later that same day.
Lord Reginald sat in his faded blue field pavilion, brooding over a tankard of warm sheep’s milk. He’d abstained from alcohol ever since his long stay with the Saracens so many years ago, and now warm sheep’s milk, thick and fatty and straight from the ewe, was the only vice he allowed himself. Lord Reginald de Guillaume was a busy man with a highly tactical mind, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted or lose his faculties for any reason. Many an engagement on the field of battle had been lost due either to wine or women. Lord Reginald had no use for either.
Except for his betrothed bride, of course. Which was the whole reason for the impending battle in the first place.
It was clear that Lady Sabina of Angwyld was no ordinary woman. First she’d run off to Glastonbury alone on a stolen horse in the dead of night, cache of her mother’s jewels in hand, hoping to buy her way into a nun’s habit rather than marry him. Now it seemed she’d managed to seduce and corrupt his toughest, least-corruptible mercenary. Lord Reginald knew Robert de Tyre well enough to understand that was no easy feat.
He took his last sip of sheep’s milk and chuckled softly to himself. A woman of Sabina’s temperament wasn’t for every man. Plus it was patently obvious that her virgin virtue—her most valuable asset on the marriage market—was ruined by now. Indeed, most men of his position and reputation would have severed the engagement long ago—if not ordering the willful girl executed, or at the very least, sold to a brothel. But Lord Reginald was no ordinary man. If anything, Lady Sabina’s willful disobedience and easy virtue just made him desire her all the more.
Lord Reginald grunted and shifted in his seat. His desire for Sabina had reached a fever pitch. The uncomfortable bulge in his breeches needed swift attention, or he himself might be at risk of losing his faculties over a woman—something that in all his years of asceticism and self-control he never thought he’d see happen.
All the more reason to get this nasty business over and done with swiftly.
Lord Reginald and his garrison had been surreptitiously following his wayward mercenary and his captive for days now. They’d managed to avoid detection by staying several miles behind them, learning of Robert and Sabina’s location by communicating with scouts who rode ahead. He’d also managed to obtain information from local farmers and peasants from whom his prey had purchased food and other provisions, even from a roving Scottish peddler who’d sold them his family tartans off his own back.
Now Reginald and his garrison were only three miles away from where the pair were hiding. He knew their exact location thanks to a particularly resourceful Welshwoman he’d had on his payroll for several months now. The Welshwoman worked for another former mercenary, gambler, and smuggler who had attempted to go legitimate for a time, but was now back to his old tricks, running his questionable businesses via a ramshackle inn and dairy farm that was simply a front. Master Cuthbert was wanted in at least three kingdoms for treason, smuggling, and failure to pay taxes. Lord Reginald supposed that his former employee probably thought that he was safe under Cuthbert’s roof, at least for the time being. But the one thing Robert didn’t know was, Cuthbert was on the same payroll as Mfanwy was.
Lord Reginald and Cuthbert had come to an agreement some months ago. The two men struck a deal stipulating that Lord Reginald would pay Cuthbert’s back taxes and provide him protection—both military and political—against the multiple jurisdictions in which he was a wanted outlaw. In return, Cuthbert would provide information, occasional mercenary service—and total loyalty. In a remarkably non-mercenary act, Cuthbert had even sworn an oath of fealty to him.
Still, Lord Reginald wasn’t born yesterday. He knew mercenaries well enough to understand that they couldn’t always be trusted, especially if someone happened along offering them a higher purse. But he’d guarded against that possibility as well.
A
few months ago he’d placed Mfanwy ap Powys, a runaway Welsh noblewoman who was also a shrewd and gifted spy—not to mention was in possession a sharp tactical mind that worked like a bear trap. She was also an excellent mimic and master of disguise. Lord Reginald had run across her on one of his diplomatic meetings with Tostig of York, and had taken to her immediately. He bought her out of her concubinage contract with Tostig and placed her on his own payroll in secret, though publicly she acted as his common scullery maid. When Cuthbert complained to him that he didn’t have enough help running the Cock and Robin, he immediately saw an opportunity for Mfanwy there.He placed her in Cuthbert’s employ, directing her to take on the persona of an illiterate Saxon orphan girl in desperate need of a way to earn her living. Mfanwy played the role to a hilt, even portraying herself as simple-minded and half-blind. Of course, she was anything but.
Lord Reginald wasn’t entirely sure how she had managed to get her message of Robert and Sabina’s arrival at the Cock and Robin to him so swiftly, but Mfanwy was nothing if not resourceful. A good thing, since apparently the pair of outlaws planned to leave the Cock and Robin by early next morning, giving him only a few short hours in which to plan his attack.
The misshapen old Norman stood up and called for Brutus, his gargantuan Roman guard. Brutus’ head appeared through the tent flap a moment later. “Yes, Sire?” he said in Latin.
“Bring me my captain of the infantry, Master Stephen,” he ordered, also in Latin. “And also fetch Pierre, and the Duke of Angwyld. I have important business with all of them.”
“It shall be done immediately, Sire,” Brutus replied, and disappeared.
Lord Reginald rubbed his steel-gauntleted hands together. The lines were drawn. The cards were on the table. Soon, the battle would begin. And if all went well, his betrothed bride would be in his bed by nightfall. He could have his way with her, get his son upon her, and then he would hobble her in such a way that would ensure she would never escape him again. That accomplished, he’d finally be able to dispose of that meddling Saxon father of hers. With the Duke out of the way, the Angwyld lands would be rightfully his by bridal inheritance, leaving him in an almost invincible military position for conquering Wales. And Lord Reginald had his eyes on Wales not for King Henry’s benefit, but for his own.