The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  There was quite a litany of events to accomplish this.

  With Wynter as her accomplice, Christin felt much more confident going into the situation. As Wynter scurried away to prepare for the coming feast, Christin sat on her bed and waited for Sean to make an appearance. But while she was waiting, she had several gulps of wine. Not enough to make her drunk or even tipsy, but enough that one could smell liquor on her breath. When she dabbed some in her dark hair, behind her ears, and down her cleavage, the warmth of her body gave the wine a rather stale smell. She’d even gone so far as to send Wynter to the kitchen yard and gather dung from the milk cow, which Christin promptly rubbed on her shift so that when her dress moved, the scent of cow dung was obvious.

  She smelled like a drunken barnyard.

  That was the plan.

  Patiently, she waited for Sean, who came to the apartments right after the feast had commenced to collect her. A servant had summoned her and she’d gone down to greet Sean at the apartment entry. They didn’t say a word to each other but when he got close enough to her, he smelled the cow dung and the wine. It was enough to wrinkle his nose.

  “Well done, my lady,” he muttered. “Are you ready?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “Verily.”

  Sean escorted her into the great hall, which was alive with men and the allies who had arrived thus far for the king’s celebration. Rather than allow Christin to grip his elbow in a polite gesture of escort, Sean had her by the arm instead, directing her into the hall and to the dais where the king awaited.

  Not strangely, Christin felt a wave of fear wash through her at the sight of John. He was dressed quite well, in silks and furs, and his attention was riveted to her as she approached. Sean let go of her and she curtsied clumsily before the dais.

  “Come sit next to me, my lady,” John said. “I have eagerly been awaiting this meal.”

  Oh, but there was a lascivious expression on his face. Christin could see it; everyone else did, too, knowing that John was about to have another conquest for the night.

  They couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Christin came around the side of the table, moving to the chair that John was indicating. He was smiling at her, a lazy predatory smile, but as she sat down and her dress billowed out, the first wave of cow smell washed over the table and the king.

  It was a shocking first salvo in the war to discourage the king.

  “It was so kind of you to invite me, your grace,” Christin said, reaching for a full cup of wine in front of her. “I will admit, I was very nervous to join you. You are a great man, a king, and I am the daughter of a mere earl. But it seems to me that we are all part of God’s family, so why should I be so nervous? I have been asking myself that all evening. I am sure you have had many ladies as guests at your table. Are they all so nervous?”

  She was chattering a mad streak and John didn’t have a chance to get a word in. Even after she asked the question, she took a very sloppy drink of wine and it spilled down the front of her. Using her sleeve, she wiped at her mouth and her chest where the wine had gone.

  “Forgive me, your grace,” she said. “I am ever so clumsy. Of course, the women you sup with must all be very graceful and gracious, but not me. I never had the grace that other women had and I surely am not a witty conversationalist, and all the time I have been here at Norwich, I have never had a suitor, so being asked to sup with you has made me giddy. But it is such an honor!”

  Again with the sloppy drink. It washed back on her chin and she sputtered, spraying it everywhere as she coughed dramatically, as if the wine had choked her. It had sprayed onto John a little, and all over the food in front of her. She slammed the wine cup down and it sloshed over the sides.

  “Oh!” she cried. “What a mess I have made! But it’s not the first mess I have made, I assure you. My mother calls me Messy Chrissy. It’s true! If something is broken, it’s usually my fault because I break everything I touch. My father says I have the grace of a rutting bull. Can you imagine? A de Lohr who is not graceful?”

  There was a leg of a swan that a servant had thoughtfully put before her, probably at the king’s direction. As she talked, she picked it up and took a big bite out of it. Food was hanging out of her mouth as she smacked her lips.

  “My family is going to be very surprised to learn that I have dined with you,” she said, food spilling onto her dress as she chewed with her mouth open. “Honestly, it seems that I always dine with the same people so it is thrilling to see new faces, and of course, your grace is included. I bet I make a much more congenial dinner companion with you than my father ever has!”

  She laughed loudly, dripping food out of her mouth, which she simply brushed off her skirts and kept eating. Meat was going everywhere at this point with very little of it actually going into her mouth.

  Beside her, the king was watching her with confusion. When the food sprayed, his eyebrows lifted and a flicker of disgust crossed his expression. He watched her as she finished with the leg bone and tossed it, throwing it right into a man on the next table. As the man looked to her in shock and outrage, she laughed loudly at him.

  “Sit down, you vile pig,” she yelled at him, ripping off a wing on the peacock in front of her and throwing that at him, hitting him in the shoulder. “Oh, you don’t like that, do you? Sit down before I come over there and shove that bird up your…”

  “My lady, please,” John interrupted, looking at her with a good deal of astonishment. “I appreciate civility in a lady. Please act accordingly.”

  Christin demurred unnaturally fast. “I see,” she said, yanking more meat off of the swan. “I am sorry. I don’t usually talk so much, but I want to be witty and entertaining. I do not want you to regret asking me to dine with you. But I will admit that I like wine. I developed the habit when I was young. My parents never could keep the wine away from me.”

  With that, she shoved the meat in her mouth and tried to take a drink of wine around it, but it was too much food and she ended up choking. All of the meat and wine came back out, spraying over the table. Some of it hit the king in the leg. Appalled, Christin used her sleeve to brush it from his knee.

  “I am so sorry, your grace,” she said. “I do not know what has come over me. I am just nervous, I suppose, and…”

  She had mentioned her nerves more than once and John held out a hand to shut her up. “There is no need to be nervous, my lady,” he said. “You must relax or there will be more food wasted than eaten. Lord de Winter has presented a lovely feast tonight for us to enjoy.”

  Christin’s face screwed up as if she were going to cry. “It is beautiful, your grace,” she said, her voice squeaky. “I am so ashamed. I will try to do better.”

  She grabbed the wine cup again, managing to spill most of it on her dress before the cup made it to her mouth. She drained the cup because there was very little left, tossing the cup onto the floor.

  “More wine!” she bellowed.

  She yelled so loud that John winced, sitting back in his chair and watching the woman behave as badly as she possibly could. It was astonishing, really. He’d never seen something so appalling in his entire life.

  But that was only the first act.

  More wine came, delivered by one of Lady de Winter’s women who was, in fact, Wynter. And the wine wasn’t wine as much as it was very little wine and boiled water, but there was enough wine to color it red. The king didn’t know that. He watched as Christin drank half the cup, smacking her lips before delivering a belch that half the hall heard.

  And that’s when things got interesting.

  “My God,” Peter breathed. “What is she doing?”

  Alexander was at one of the tables with Peter, Bric, and Kevin. He had watched as Sean had directed Christin into the hall and when she took her seat with John. From that point on, all he could see was her animated conversation. She seemed to be talking up a storm to the king, who was watching her with increasing disbelief. Alexan
der couldn’t hear the words and wondered what she was saying, but when she started eating the swan’s leg and food began to fly, he suspected she was making herself out to be the epitome of an ill-bred woman.

  Her brother was nearly beside himself.

  “Just… wait,” Alexander said to Peter. “Wait and watch. This is her show now, so let her perform. We told you that she is trying to disgust the king so he will turn his attentions elsewhere, so let her do what she must do.”

  “Has anyone told Old Daveigh?”

  “I have,” Bric said quietly. “He knows. Christ, she just dropped wine all down the front of her. She is called The Ghost, but this is not very ghostly.”

  “Nay, it’s very obvious,” Alexander said. “But oh, so brilliant.”

  The four of them were trying hard not to watch her because they didn’t want the king or his men to catch on to what amounted to an act. They didn’t want to blow Christin’s efforts apart, so they focused on their food, on each other, only casting the occasional glance to the dais as the show continued.

  But Alexander was coiled.

  It was an unusual state for him. Usually, he was the calm one. He gave the commands and others followed because he was composed no matter what was going on, but at the moment, he felt as if his composure were hanging on by a thread.

  Even if he couldn’t hear her words, he definitely heard the wet, deep belch she emitted after she’d downed what looked to be a cup of wine. Half the hall heard it. As Alexander, Kevin, and Bric looked on with shock, Peter was having a difficult time holding back the laughter.

  “I cannot believe she did that,” Peter said, turning his head away so they couldn’t see him laugh. “As a child, we used to have competitions on who could belch the loudest and Christin was always a force to be reckoned with. I cannot believe she has brought that talent to light.”

  As the others were trying not to look at the dais, open-mouthed, Christin let out another belch that was very wet and she ended up vomiting up some of the food she’d eaten. As she let it fall to the floor, spitting it out, Bric and Peter lost their struggle against the laughter. Heads turned away from the dais, they laughed so hard that Bric’s face turned a deep shade of red. Peter couldn’t catch his breath. All the while, Alexander was watching the entire event with a mixture of shock, amusement, and the utmost respect.

  She was one hell of a woman.

  He’d called Christin brave, but this went beyond what he thought she was capable of. It was the most barbaric behavior he’d ever seen coming from a woman, a performance carried out with the utmost skill. She wasn’t afraid to get dirty, to make herself sick, or make a fool of herself, knowing it was all for an end result.

  That elevated her tremendously in his eyes.

  He could only hope her extreme efforts were working.

  Little did he know she was about to take it to the next level.

  “Your grace, forgive me,” Christin said as she moved her chair back, away from the vomit on the floor. “This has been a terrible evening. But most evenings go like this for me. It is the drink; it always does terrible things to me, yet I love it so. Life is very dull without wine, would you not say so? My favorite is from Spain. Do you have a favorite wine?”

  John was absolutely appalled by what he’d seen. When she stopped belching, barfing, and chatting, he realized she’d asked him a question. He, too, scooted his chair away from the vomit and also from her, afraid she might belch and puke again.

  “Gascony, I suppose,” he said. “I find that I do not care where it comes from as long as it is fine.”

  Christin nodded vigorously. Her hair was starting to come undone, making her appear quite disheveled. “I agree completely, your grace,” she said. Before she could comment further, Wynter came by with a pitcher of wine and Christin grabbed her arm. “I need more drink, wench. Fill my…”

  She yanked too hard on Wynter’s arm and the woman dumped half the contents of the pitcher on her shoulder and arm. A portion of it splashed onto John, who wasn’t quite out of range. Outraged, and wet, Christin leapt to her feet.

  “You foolish chit,” she gasped. “Do you not realize who this is? You have offended the king with your sloppy behavior. Someone should teach you some manners!”

  With that, she grabbed Wynter by the hair and pulled her down onto the king’s table. Sean, who had been watching the fiasco so far and struggling not to laugh, stepped forward to pull the king out of the way as the two women began to fight on the table. Legs and hands were flying around. Gerard d’Athee was also there and Sean passed the king into the man’s protective custody as those nearest the dais stood up, concerned to see two women fighting right on the king’s table.

  Unfortunately, the man Christin had hit on the shoulder with the bone from the swan was fairly close to the table where the women were brawling. He was a knight who served the House of de Mandeville, a de Winter ally. Christin, on top of Wynter at this point and smashing turnips into her face, caught sight of the man, who was looking at her with outrage. That was all it took for Christin to unleash on him. Picking up a bowl of stewed fruit, she hurled it at him.

  “And that’s for challenging me, you revolting dog!” she screamed. “You are an abomination!”

  The knight was hit with the bowl on the jaw. As the fruit sprayed everywhere, he lost his balance and toppled back into the man next to him. That man didn’t take kindly to it and soon the two of them were throwing punches. Because they were fighting, their colleagues began to push each other and, within very little time, a full-scale brawl had erupted at one of the tables. Food began to fly and dogs began to scatter.

  But Christin wasn’t paying attention to that. She wasn’t hurting Wynter, nor was Wynter hurting her, but they were making a good show of pulling hair and smashing food into each other. This had been their plan all along and it was working splendidly. Christin grabbed a half a loaf of bread that had been artfully braided, with a hard crust, and began beating Wynter with it, who shoved her onto the floor.

  Both women were on the floor now, rolling around in spilled food, wine, and Christin’s vomit. Sean, who had been watching everything with great interest and even greater amusement, bent over Christin as she wrestled with Wynter.

  “My lady,” he said. “The king is…”

  Whap! Sean was hit in the face by the crusty bread Christin was swinging around. With crumbs in his eyes, he staggered back to clear his vision as someone tossed a man onto the table on the dais. The man rolled into Sean, who immediately grabbed him, lifted him up over his head, and tossed him back where he came from.

  It was an impressive move.

  When he managed to clear his eyes, his attention moved back to Christin and Wynter, who had stopped fighting and were now hiding under the table, giggling uncontrollably. Sean wiped at his eyes again, shaking his head at the pair as he realized it was all an act. All of it.

  He’d never seen anything so hilarious.

  Or ruthless.

  “Get out of my sight,” he growled to Christin. “Back to your room. Bolt the door and I do not want to see you again while I am here at Norwich. Stay away. Do you understand me?”

  Christin wasn’t frightened nor offended. In fact, she completely understood. Giving the man a grin, she grabbed Wynter and bolted to her feet, both of them running from the hall, half of which was still in turmoil. Sean watched her go, trying to glare at her, but having the most awful time struggling not to laugh. Quickly, he departed because he was losing the battle.

  But the fight in the hall was still going full bore. Men were brawling and food was still flying as Old Daveigh along with Alexander, Peter, Bric and Kevin tried to calm down the brawl. Alexander saw Christin flee the hall and he also saw Sean leave, departing quickly after the king, who had been hurriedly escorted out when the women started to fight.

  For an evening that had started out with great trepidation, it could not have ended better as far as he was concerned. Christin had performed magnificently,
something that he would be sure to tell William Marshal when the man arrived. She deserved a great deal of praise for what she had done. There would certainly be no concerns over the king trying to bed her this night.

  Alexander had never been so proud of someone in all his life.

  With a grin, he went back to work trying to help Old Daveigh calm his unruly guests.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  From the unpredictable rain that had set a precedent for the season, the day had dawned remarkably clear and strangely warm. There wasn’t the usual chill to the air that there usually was, making it extremely pleasant for travel.

  In fact, David had his helm off completely and the sun had turned his nose red as the de Lohr group headed into the outskirts of Norwich. There was a wedding feast still going on, but it looked as if it had been going on for a few days because some people were sleeping on tables, others were picking at food, while still others were haphazardly dancing with music played by exhausted musicians. There were drunkards passed out all around and tatters of flowers and garlands.

  Christopher reined his horse to a halt, looking at the town square. It looked like a cluster of discarded poppets.

  “It looks like one hell of a party,” he said, tipping back his helm and wiping the sweat from his brow.

  David looked around him, grinning. “I’m sorry I missed it,” he said. “I cannot imagine de Winter’s celebration is going to be any great cause for copious drinking like this event clearly was.”

  As the brothers were nodding, looking on ahead to Norwich Castle in the distance, they heard a voice behind them.