“You and I have known each other many years, Maxton,” he said. “I remember when you married Andressa. I remember thinking you had been somehow weakened by falling in love with a woman, but now I realize how wrong I was.”
Maxton snorted softly, gave Alexander’s hand a squeeze, and headed out of the livery, following the path of the others as they headed to The Cock and Bull. When they were finally alone, Alexander turned to Christin, noting that she appeared particularly pensive.
“What is it?” he asked.
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “I have been thinking.”
“Of what?”
“Ramsbury.”
“What about it?”
She looked at him pointedly. “Because this whole situation started when the French spy told me that there was a threat from within, right under our noses. We went to Norwich, which we had to go to, anyway, but everything seemed to take off from there and we never did discover if there was a threat against John from within.”
“And?”
“And I think that the king does not need anyone trying to kill him when he is so willing to destroy England himself,” she said. “Look at what he has done – he was willing to marry me to his bastard son, knowing my father would try to destroy him for it. It would have torn England apart.”
A smile spread across Alexander’s face. “You are coming to the conclusion that the rest of us are,” he said. “John is his own worst enemy. It is difficult to protect a man from himself, but that is the duty we find ourselves with. All of The Marshal’s agents.”
“Then you do not think one of the allies is a threat? Someone who might have been at the celebration at Norwich?”
Alexander shrugged. “It is difficult to say,” he said. “But I don’t believe the French spy had anyone in particular in mind when she said that. I am coming to think she truly did mean the king himself.”
That made sense to Christin. She wrapped her hands around his big forearm, smiling up at him.
“Then you can figure it out,” she said. “I will be busy being Lady de Sherrington.”
“May I seek your advice on such things, then?”
“I would be honored, my lord.”
He laughed softly and patted her hand. “Very well, then,” he said. “Now that we have that straightened out, what now? Shall we find a church and marry?”
Her eyes widened. “God’s Bones, we shall not,” she said, pulling him out of the livery. “If you fear my father, my mother will be twice as terrifying if we marry and she is not present. For now, we return to Lioncross Abbey, tell my mother that we have permission to marry, and let her plan such a thing. It is her right, as my mother.”
He grinned lazily as she pulled him out into the street. “Whatever you wish,” he said. “But I will again ask the question – what do we do now?”
Christin came to a stop, looking down the road towards the south, seeing her father and uncle in the distance as they went to find the army. The sun was just starting to rise, the dawn of a beautiful new day, and all was right with the world.
It was the beginning of the rest of their lives.
“I could use food and sleep like the others,” she said. “You?”
He nodded. “I am suitably weary,” he said. “But your father will be seeing to the army for at least an hour, I would think. There is much to see to. I wonder what we could do with that hour?”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling when she realized what he meant. “Really, Sherry,” she scolded softly. “Is that all you think about?”
His smile faded and his dark eyes took on a glimmer that was as warm and pure as when the world was new. A new day, a new life, a new wife.
“Aye,” he whispered. “It is all I think about. You are all I think about, Christin de Lohr. I love you more than I could have ever anticipated.”
Her eyes immediately began to well. “And I love you. Until the end of all things, I will.”
His reply was to take her in his arms, out in the middle of the street, and kiss her deeply as the sun rose.
They put the following hour to good use.
And Christopher was none the wiser.
EPILOGUE
Six Months Later
Ashdown Manor
Christin had her eyes on him.
It wasn’t that he’d been showing any signs of nerves or angst during their journey from Lioncross Abbey to Ashdown, because he hadn’t. He’d been even tempered and normal as far as she could see. But there was something in his dark eyes that conveyed apprehension no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
Apprehension at seeing his father for the first time in twenty years.
It was just the two of them on this journey because that’s the way he wanted it. Christopher had offered to let him take men-at-arms with him, as many as he wanted, but Alexander had declined. When he faced his father, he wanted it to be only him and Christin. He didn’t need an escort or a gallery of witnesses.
It was a surprisingly fine day for travel given the season, with a bright sky and the greenery of spring covering the land. The topography was relatively flat but for a few rises now and again, and heavily agricultural. The fields that they passed were covered with shaggy cows, dairy and beef herds as Alexander had explained. He seemed to be pleased that he was back in the area of his birth, pointing out homes or fields or small hills as they passed them, telling her of adventures or memories of his youth.
All the while, Christin simply smiled and listened.
But the chatter was covering up his nerves and she knew that. He spoke of Warminster, which was not far to the northwest, and he spoke of the ponies he and his younger brothers would ride in the fields in spite of their father telling them not to. In the dead of winter, he said. He laughed as he spoke of Andrew being tossed off into a freezing brook and how he was the one who had been punished for the folly.
The memory still brought smiles.
But their journey to Ashdown was for a reason. Alexander had finally decided to face his father, to reconcile with the man, and to assume his rightful place as Phillip’s heir. He felt strongly that Christin deserved a home of her own, although she assured him that she’d not married him simply to gain a home, but Alexander had been insistent. He wanted to do everything he could for her and for their unborn child. Christin was two months along in her pregnancy and feeling splendidly, but the coming of a son had Alexander in nesting mode.
He wanted a home for his son – his heir.
But there was more to it. Now that he had a child on the way, he’d put himself in his father’s position and he could understand what it would mean to him if he and his own child became estranged. That gave him a perspective he’d never had before and he was eager to make amends for his foolishness.
He only hoped his father could forgive him.
They were drawing closer to Ashdown, as evidenced by the fact that Alexander kept craning his neck to see through a copse of trees they were coming to on the west side of the road. He stopped the chatter, too. They came around a bend and, immediately, a large manor home came into view.
Christin looked at Alexander, who seemed riveted to the sight. She didn’t even have to ask if it was his home because she could see that it was from the expression on his face. As they drew closer, she could see the great walls surrounding the place and a speckling of flowering trees on the land beyond the walls.
Flowers were everywhere.
The manse itself was built from pale stone, the second floor peeking over the tops of the walls. There was a small moat surrounding it, but the small drawbridge was open, as was the entrance gate, and there were people moving in and out. Some were tending the flowering trees but there was also a field across the road, growing vegetables, and there were several people tending the field as dogs ran about, protecting the field from invaders, both animal and human.
In fact, as Alexander and Christin rode up, one of the dogs ran forward, barking, as a young boy ran up behind the dog wit
h a bow and arrow in his hands. He couldn’t have been more than ten years of age.
“Halt!” the boy said. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Alexander looked at the lad with some amusement. “I have come seeking Phillip de Sherrington,” he said. “Will you please tell me where I can find him?”
The boy’s brow furrowed. “Why do you want him?”
“Will you please tell me where he is?”
The boy was growing confused because the man wasn’t giving him any answers. Then, he turned his head, shouting at the field behind him.
“Mam!” he bellowed. “Mam!”
A woman at the edge of the field turned in answer to his summons, setting aside her hoe and making her way over to him. The boy, still with the bow and arrow semi-pointed at Alexander, scampered his way back to the woman, pointing to Alexander and whispering to her. She brushed her hands off on her broadcloth skirts as she approached.
“I understand you are looking for Phillip de Sherrington?” she said.
Alexander nodded. “Aye.”
“Are you a friend?”
Alexander hesitated. Not knowing who the woman was, he didn’t want to tell her too much. “You could say that,” he said. “If I could see him, he will know me.”
The woman smiled politely. “Do you have business with him?”
Alexander shook his head. “It is a social call.”
The woman nodded, taking a step or two closer so she wasn’t speaking loudly for all to hear. “I am sorry, but my husband died last year,” she said. “May I be of service to you?”
Alexander felt as if he’d been hit in the gut. Not only had his father died, but he’d evidently remarried. In truth, he shouldn’t have been surprised by either of those things considering how long he’d been away, but they were still a blow. Grief swept him.
But so did something else.
Realization.
The young boy had called the woman “Mam”.
“I am sorry for your loss, Lady de Sherrington,” he said. “I did not know.”
The woman maintained her polite smile. “It was swift,” she said. “An illness took him from us.”
“And the lad,” he said. “He is yours?”
The woman’s smile turned genuine. “Aye,” she said. “He is Phillip’s son, Alexander. He was named for Phillip’s eldest son who was killed in The Levant. If you knew Phillip, then mayhap you knew his eldest, Alexander.”
Alexander couldn’t help the genuine shock. He turned to look at Christin, who was looking at him with great sympathy. For a moment, Alexander had no idea what he should say or do. He’d come to seek his father and got far more than he bargained for. More than that, he realized there would be no forgiveness, no reconciliation. His father had died thinking his one remaining son had died without ever seeking him out again.
It was a horrible thing he’d done to his father.
“The manse,” he finally said, his chest tight with emotion. “It… it looks as if it has been prosperous in spite of Phillip’s death.”
He said it because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, under the circumstances. But the woman nodded.
“It is a wonderful place,” she said. “Alexander has a younger sister and it has been an honor to raise Phillip’s children here. I am sorry, my lord… I did not hear your name?”
Alexander looked at her. What could he say? She had a bucolic life with Alexander and his little sister, clearly the heirs of his father’s estate. It legally belonged to him, but he’d been gone for so long that his father had believed him dead and had remarried. And rightfully so. He’d even named his firstborn son with his new wife Alexander, after him, which broke Alexander’s heart. What he had put his father through was unforgiveable and he could see that now.
He didn’t deserve Ashdown or anything about it.
It belonged to young Alexander and his little sister.
“This is my wife, Lady Christin de Lohr,” he said after a moment.
Though he’d avoided introducing himself, the woman didn’t press him. She simply nodded, greeting Christin politely before returning her attention to Alexander.
“How do you know Phillip?” she asked.
Alexander was truthful. “I have known Phillip my entire life,” he said. “I have not seen him in many years. I came… I thought…”
“When did you and Phillip marry?” Christin mercifully stepped in because Alexander was struggling. “I never met him, but I have heard he was a kind and generous man. I am very sorry to hear of his passing, for I was rather hoping to meet him.”
Lady de Sherrington smiled. “We married twelve years ago,” she said. “My father owns lands adjacent to Ashdown, so we have been able to work both lands and make them quite prosperous.”
“Then you have lived here your entire life?” Christin asked.
The woman shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “My family was originally from Salisbury, but my father purchased the lands right after Phillip’s sons left for The Levant. In fact, Phillip often told me that he wanted me to marry his eldest son, but when Alexander did not return, he married me instead. He was a wonderful husband. I am not sure his eldest son could have been any better.”
Christin didn’t dare look at Alexander. She was waiting for him to tell the woman who he was but, for some reason, he seemed hesitant.
“Then I am glad to hear Phillip was good to you,” she said. “Did… did he ever speak of Alexander? He had two other sons, also.”
Lady de Sherrington nodded. “Adam and Andrew,” she said. Then, she sobered somewhat. “Phillip never got over losing all three sons in The Levant, but that is an old story to families in England. So many lost sons during the quest. But for Phillip, he lost his entire family there.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Aye,” she said. “He would often speak of his sons as if they were still living, speaking so fondly of them. In fact, when he lay dying, he spoke of the joy of seeing them again in heaven. That thought has given me great comfort, knowing they are all together again.”
Alexander abruptly dismounted his horse and walked away, but not before Christin saw tears rolling down his cheeks. Given that she was pregnant, and emotional, tears stung her eyes as well, knowing how heartbroken her husband was.
It was an action not missed by Lady de Sherrington. She looked after Alexander with concern.
“Is your husband well, my lady?” she asked.
Christin nodded, trying very hard not to display her emotions. “He is,” she said. “It is simply that Phillip was an old and dear friend and he did not know of his death. He was hoping… to see him.”
“I see.” Lady de Sherrington appeared very sympathetic. “Would you like to come into the manse and refresh yourselves? Please let me show you the hospitality that Phillip would have shown an old and dear friend.”
Christin forced a smile as she dismounted her palfrey. “I will ask him.”
Leaving Lady de Sherrington looking after her with concern, Christin made her way over to Alexander, who was standing on the edge of the road, his back to her. Coming up behind him, she put her arms around him.
“I am so sorry, my love,” she whispered. “You could not have known any of this. You must not blame yourself for anything.”
Alexander had his eyes closed as tears coursed down his cheeks. “I knew this might be the outcome,” he whispered. “I have not seen or spoken to him in twenty years, so I knew. But it is clear he thought I was dead.”
Christin hugged him gently. “He could not have known otherwise.”
“He named his son after me.”
“I think that proves he did not hate you, nor was he angry with you. He did it to honor you.”
Alexander nodded and the tears fell faster. He put his hand to his face, wiping away the tears, laboring to compose himself. Christin held on to him, hugging him tightly.
“What do you wish to do?” she asked. “Lady de Sherrington has offered us
refreshments. Do you want to go into Ashdown and speak to her? It might make you feel better.”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Because she would want to know my identity and I am afraid I would not be able to keep it from her. Something might slip out and she would know.”
“Then you are not going to tell her?”
“Nay,” he said. “Look around, Cissy; Ashdown is peaceful and everyone seems happy. Why would I disrupt that? Leave them to their little world. Leave it to the next Alexander, the lad with the dog and the bow and arrow. I lost my right to anything twenty years ago when I refused to return home, so it belongs to them now. Not me. Leave them to their paradise, because I have found my own elsewhere.”
Christin looked at him intently, trying to see if there was some regret or sorrow there, but there was truly none. He was grieving his father, of course, but not the loss of Ashdown. He seemed genuine about that. Reaching up, she helped him wipe his tears, patting his cheek gently.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
He nodded, taking a deep breath to compose himself. He happened to be facing the manse of Ashdown and his gaze moved over the walls, the home of his ancestors.
“I am,” he said. “I was born here, but my home is with you, at Lioncross or wherever we may end up. This… this is my past and I will give it over to the next generation. You are my future.”
Christin smiled at him, taking his hand as they turned around and headed back towards the horses. Lady de Sherrington was still standing there, still looking at him with concern. She seemed like a pleasant woman and Alexander was glad his father had found comfort with her in the last years of his life. He was also glad that he’d had the comfort of a son, one who hadn’t abandoned him.
Truly, it was all he could ask for.
“My lord, would you like to come inside?” Lady de Sherrington asked as they drew near. “Any friend of Phillip’s is welcome.”
He forced a smile. “You are very kind, but we must be on our way,” he said. “We were traveling home to the Marches, so this was simply a stop along the way. I was very fond of… Phillip and I extend my friendship to you, also. If you are ever in need, or need help, send word to Lioncross Abbey Castle in Herefordshire. I will come.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 28
