“Now then,” he said, turning. “My lady of many secrets... what it is that is stuck in your throat and you have not yet been able to spit out?"
She drew a breath to steady herself before she spoke. “I told you that Odo de Langois had not petitioned Prince John for my hand out of any whim or lovelust. What I did not tell you was that the first time he saw me, he had been on his way to Sandwich to look for his brother."
It took several slow seconds for Ciaran to realize what she was saying.
“Rolf de Langois?” He thought back to the ruggedly dark, saturnine features, the sensuality of the long lashed, pale blue eyes. “He was Richard's lover?”
“Since he was a teen. There were few who knew, and fewer still who Odo would want to have such knowledge.”
“So he married you to keep you close and your uncle quiet?”
"I have no doubt that played just as large a part in his choice of brides as did my bloodlines." Her smile was bitter. “I am also convinced that he encouraged, nay, even arranged for Rolf to 'be caught' in the act of trying to rape me in order to offer proof in front of his men that his brother was a man with a man’s lusts and that any accusations I might make to the contrary would be taken as a woman's petty revenge.”
“A tangled web,” Tamberlane mused.
“Shall I add another knot, sirrah?”
“There are more?”
“Only one. If you are going to make an attempt to avert an ambush at Hawk's Nest Castle, you must take me with you.”
“The thought, addled as it is, would not tarry a moment in my mind.”
“I know the castle, I know the grounds, I know the coastal waters, I know the inlet where a boat from France might put down if its occupant wanted to slip ashore unnoticed. Rolf de Langois will know this too, of course, and that is likely where he will be to greet his lover with rose petals and arrow shafts. After two years of imprisonment, Richard might not be willing to believe his lover could be capable of such infamy. He would believe me, however. He would look into my eyes and see the truth there. Just as you should be able to look and see it as well. You need me, my lord. I can be of use, and if we could find a spare bow, I can help in more ways than the one."
Ciaran resisted the urge to smile. Standing there with the watery daylight painting her hair, she had the pluck to place her hands on her waist and brace her legs wide apart in a stance that challenged as much as it defied.
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her. “You expect me to believe you can pull a bowstring with a barely healed wing?"
She stood motionless for a moment, then in a move quicker than his eye could follow, she reached down, snatched the dagger from her belt, flipped it so that she held the blade between thumb and forefinger, and with a quick, lethal snap of her wrist, sent it zinging into the tree trunk behind him, missing his cheek by such a small margin that he felt the lick of air as it passed.
"Perhaps not a bowstring," she admitted. "But even one good wing is better than none."
“Admirable,” he remarked after glancing over his shoulder. “But not of much use in combat against armored knights.”
She was not run out of arguments. "Were you planning, then, to send me on to Exeter alone?"
His eyes narrowed.
“Which of the foresters will you trust to escort me the rest of the way? And which one would last out the first hour before I was able to convince him to turn around and aid you in your valiant quest—a quest which would surely succeed if you had but one more archer to guard your back?"
“I will send you with Roland. He would not succumb to your wiles.”
Amie's eyebrow lifted delicately, which sent Tamberlane's gaze over to the firepit where the handsome young squire was pretending to listen to the discussion between the knights but kept glancing in Amaranth's direction.
“Nor can you spare one of the knights—lest those be the next words off your lips—for you will need the only two you have.”
“You have found your tongue today,” he said, frowning, “and it is sharp.”
“I owe you my life, my lord. I do not—nor should you—place a higher value on it than the life of my cousin, the king."
For a moment he stared off at some distant swaying in the treetops and Amaranth held her breath. Of all the new emotions and feelings she had discovered these past few days, the realization that she could love and be loved was the strongest. A week, a day, an hour... her love for this man, this enigma, this knight and monk and slayer of dragons was as real and true as if they had known each other all their lives.
“Please Ciaran, I beg you: Do not leave me behind. Let me come with you, let me help you, let me help the man who is not only my king but my kinsman too. Give me this one last chance to salvage my own honor that I might look back one day and say, ‘yes, I did that and it served a purpose’.”
Ciaran lifted a hand to stroke her hair. He drew her forward and buried his lips in the soft curls.
"My father disowned me after the shame I brought upon the family," he said quietly. "He would not even see me when I returned to England, nor will he allow my name to be spoken in his presence. My mother turned her back and walked away when I attempted to see her but not before she spat on the ground and branded me a coward.
"I would give everything I have, everything I am, everything I will be for them to look upon me with a smile again.”
Amie let all other thoughts flee her mind as she tipped her face up to his. “You have made me smile again, my lord, and that was no small feat. The others will smile upon you too, in time, for you are the least cowardly man I know."
His smile was fleeting. "You must not know many people."
"As long as I can say that I know you, I am content."
He studied her a moment through fresh eyes, seeing the stubborn tilt of her chin, the faint hints of Plantagenet bloodlines that shaped her face. He did not want to take her to Hawk's Nest, he did not want to put her in harms way, yet there were few convincing arguments against it. The practical side of him had to admit that her knowledge of the coast would be an invaluable advantage, and while he could undoubtedly worm the information out of her, it would cost precious time that could be better spent making haste to the coast.
His gaze scanned the horizon and flicked up to study the clouds as if he was contemplating the weather. “In truth, I think you would not have been very happy at the convent in Exeter. I have been there. ‘Tis a very old nunnery and the walls reek of dampness. This mother abbess you spoke of—I know her as well. A face like a piece of bark, the breath of a dragon, the manners of a fishmonger.”
As he spoke, his fingers twined themselves around the tousled curls of her hair.
“I doubt not that she would turn the king himself away from the doors in order to protect that which falls under her dominion. By the same token, I doubt she would take kindly to an excommunicated warrior monk scaling the walls each night to seek out one of her flock.”
Amaranth slowly lifted her head off his shoulder.
“Nay—I would not do anything untoward or seek to desecrate the holy grounds of the convent,” he continued. “Certes, God has showed infinite kindness by overlooking our indiscretion at the abbey. But two, three, ten, a thousand such indiscretions... I doubt even He would have the tolerance.”
He could feel her heart beating like a wild thing against his chest and he looked down. “I have nothing to offer you. The linens that grace the boards at Taniere are not even mine. I am but a poor man, a lost man who needs finding, but I vow there would be no whips and nothing to fear. I would expect nothing from you that you were not willing to give, yet for the grace of your presence by my side, I would protect you with my life and emerge a far richer man for the chance to do so.”
When she made no sound, no move to respond, he brushed a thumb lightly over her cheek to gather up the tear that had slipped over her lashes.
“Naturally, if I have presumed too much—?”
"
Yes," she gasped. "I mean no, you have not presumed too much! I would stay by your side, my lord, until I draw my last breath, please God let it be years and years and years from now."
He gathered her close, crushing her into his embrace, and Amie kissed him with her whole heart and soul, with the passion of lost youth and lost years, the lust of newfound desire and pleasure.
When he eased enough to allow it, she half-laughed, half-wept, her brow bent against his lips.
“I will come back to Taniere with you in whatever capacity you will allow, as mistress, maid, laundress, cook... Your table is appalling, sir. Do you know the cooks cheat you by sending the plumpest fowl behind the screen? The ale is watered, and I vow the rushes have not been swept from the hall since it was built.”
He chuckled softly. “Marak makes for a poor chatelaine. It will be my pleasure—and his, no doubt—to sit back and let you whitewash the entire castle if that is your desire, if it will make you happy, if it will keep you by my side a day longer.”
"Does that mean you will take me with you to Hawk's Nest Castle?"
He growled deep in his throat. “Will you do exactly, precisely as I command? If I put you in the forest and tell you to stay hidden, will you stay hidden?"
She tightened her arms around him and nodded. “I will hide so well the faeries will weep in their efforts to find me."
He bent his lips to hers again, sealing their pact. She could feel his desire hard and urgent against her and she could feel her own stirring with a sharp, needful ache.
"Would that the grass were deeper and the sky darker," she murmured, her cheeks blushing scarlet at her own boldness.
He groaned, and with a reluctant sigh, released her from the comfort of his arms. When he could safely walk without a tent in his tunic, they returned to the fire to rejoin the others.
Within the hour they were back on the road, and when it came to a junction where one fork turned east and the other west, they all turned in silent unison toward the easterly horizon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hawk's Nest Castle took its only glory from its name. More of a manor house than a castle proper, it sat on a narrow finger of rocky land that ended abruptly at the sea. There were cliffs on three sides which provided natural defenses and isolated it from the rest of the forested countryside. The spindle of land was too narrow to raise battlements or towering stone walls; the seas that crashed against the rocks at the base of the cliffs offered no hospitable anchorage to a passing ship. If a canny eye knew where to look, however, there was a cove tucked into a cleft between the rocks where the water was calm enough for a small vessel to land safely.
From above, the descent to the sea looked no less harrowing than the cliffs themselves. Odo de Langois ventured as close to the lip as he dared and peered straight down into the calm, sparkling waters of the sheltered cove below. His expression, when he looked at his brother Rolf, was openly sceptical.
“Do you expect us to lower ourselves by way of ropes and ladders?”
Rolf smiled lazily. “As tempting as the image might be, no. There is a path. Steep and not for the faint of heart, to be sure, but smugglers and rogues have used it for scores of years. The horses, unfortunately will not suffer the travail well. It would be best to leave them here.”
Odo was not happy to hear this. Most knights carried between fifty and seventy-five pounds of armor which made moving with any haste or stealth near impossible. With a destrier beneath him, a knight was nearly invincible, his power supreme. On foot, he was a clumsy, clanking oaf.
Odo studied his brother’s features—the beautiful long-lashed eyes, the square jaw, the full sensual lips. How often had he damned his brother's sexual tastes? How many times had Odo wanted to slay his own brother out of shame? How many times had he fought to erase the image of Rolf de Langois naked on his knees, his legs spread for the rutting pleasures of another man?
It was not natural. It reviled and disgusted Odo each time he saw his brother cast a lascivious eye across the haunches of a passing stableboy. Yet were it not for this depravity, Odo might not have won himself a place in such high favor with Prince John. The regent was a collector and hoarder of secrets and he rewarded those well who shared their knowledge of the deepest, darkest sins of others. And this—this handsome Cyprian who was also Odo’s brother, harbored the darkest sin of all: the sin of having a king for a lover.
It was a sin that Odo knew would have to be eradicated the same time as the sinner.
Regicide and fratricide. Odo would be killing a king, then killing a brother. It was fortunate their father had died of the pox a dozen years sooner or he would have tossed in patricide and slain the old bastard for good measure.
Moreover, he still had a wife to kill.
The missive from Prince John had not been met with any great enthusiasm. He had impressed upon Odo the urgent need for speed if he was to reach the coast before the king's landing. Odo had not been happy to abandon the hunt for Elizabeth. Something in the manner of the green-eyed slayer of dragons had not sat well with him. Odo would have staked his gut on the fact that the bitch had been somewhere inside those walls, and his gut was rarely wrong. He had left one of his best men behind to find a way into the castle and confirm his suspicions. He had also left a small party of excellent trackers hidden in the woods to keep watch on the island fortress and follow anyone who tried to leave.
There were no eyes as keen as his own, however, and for that he had initially resented the prince's orders to remove himself to the coast at once. But two things had happened since then to make him feel as though he was once again in complete and utter command of his destiny.
The first had come in the form of a writ also delivered by John's courier. It granted him title to all the lands and holdings attached not only to Hawk's Nest Castle, but to the wealthy demesne of the Three Benches. Elizabeth's uncle had finally gone toes up, and being sole heir, everything she inherited on his death had passed legally into Odo's control. Where he may have had to keep her alive for a while after he caught her, that need was now removed. He could kill her how and when the pleasure to do so came upon him, and for all the trouble she had put him through, his pleasure would be to hear her scream in pain until she had no breath left to do so.
To that end, the second incident that made his lips curl with bloodlust was the arrival in camp of Hugh de Bergerette, who had initially startled, then angered Odo with the news that he had seen Ciaran Tamberlane at St. Albans Abbey. At first Odo had doubted the sighting, for none of the watchers he had left behind had sent an alert that the Dragonslayer was no longer behind the walls of his island fortress. But the one-armed mole was adamant that he had, indeed, seen the former Crusader. How could he forget the face of the man who had taken his arm? Moreover, de Bergerette had caught a glimpse of a woman who had been sharing the monk's cell with Tamberlane, and from the description, Odo's gut had twisted again for he knew it could be none other than his yellow-haired slut of a wife, Elizabeth de Langois.
Even more frustrating, the crippled fool informed him the pair had left the abbey mere hours before Odo had passed through the valley. As to where they had gone, he knew not, but his best guess, supported by something one of the friars at the abbey had said, was west toward Exeter.
A convent. For a slut. Escorted there by her new lover.
Odo would deal with them both in due time. For now, he had an ambush to plan. He had not yet shared with anyone in his troop, other than Rolf, the identity of who they were planning to welcome with their swords on those high cliffs. Most mercenaries were loyal only to the number of coins that landed in their purses, but he was not taking any chances that one or more might balk at killing a king.
“Post sentries on the high ground,” he growled. “I want to know the instant a ship appears from any direction. When it arrives you, brother dearest, will show all of the enthusiasm of a carefree, flush-faced lover as you make the descent to greet its passenger. Our knights and archers will bide
here, on the high ground, to present a warmer welcome after he has huffed and puffed his way to the top of the goat path.”
Rolf’s clear blue eyes regarded his brother as a sleepy lion might regard a snake slithering through the long grass nearby. There was no wealth of trust in those eyes. He knew all too well the way Odo’s mind worked and Rolf was not naive enough to believe the ambush was being set for Richard alone.
~~
"They are huddled together like a school of fish," Sir Boethius remarked. "We could take them now and end it."
Ciaran looked up at the sky. He wore neither armor nor a helmet, not wanting a stray sunbeam to flash off a metal surface and alert the Red Boar of their presence.
Three days after committing themselves to King Richard’s rescue, Tamberlane’s small host of defenders had arrived in the town of Sandwich. Time had become as much their enemy as Prince John or Odo de Langois, and keeping to the greenwood was neither practical nor beneficial. Caution was sacrificed to speed as they endeavoured to stay ahead of the winds that might carry news of their presence to those who were so close upon their heels that Quill had been able to double back and filch a haunch of venison off one of their cookfires.
Amaranth’s knowledge of the town and the outlying area proved to be invaluable. She had led them to the castle and unerringly to the ground above the tiny cove, where Tamberlane had immediately discovered disadvantages that made it impractical to go below and intercept the king before he climbed to the top. For one thing, the rocks were tumbled and set back from the narrow strip of beach, and anyone walking along the cliff could not help but see any men crouched below. Moreover, to judge by the lines of seaweed and salt stains, the water level rose sharply at high tide, submerging the only few plausible places of concealment.
The top of the cliff itself, from the rim above the cove to the manor house a half mile away was open meadow, where the grass was not long enough to hide a fieldmouse. The forest that encircled the base of the slope was thick, but again, there was that open field to contend with, well suited to the skills of Quill and Fletcher, who set to work immediately to trim the fletching on their arrows to make them fly farther.
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