“I also killed his seven-year-old son who stabbed me in the leg with a dagger. Am I still great and honorable to you now?”
She didn’t hesitate. “The boy tried to kill you. Did you have a choice?”
He shook his head, slowly. “Nay,” he said. “I did not because the child had clearly been trained to kill. I told the boy’s mother that right before I slit her throat – I told her that she had raised a killer. Now… do you still think I am great and honorable?”
That gave Andressa pause. “Why did you kill her?”
“So there would be no witnesses to the death of her husband and son.”
It was a blunt, brutal, but truthful answer. Andressa sat back in the chair, pondering what she’d been told. It had been more than she’s bargained for but, oddly enough, it didn’t change her mind about him. She had a rational quality not easily found.
“You were at war,” she said quietly. “I am sure the woman would have killed you if she’d had the chance. She was your enemy and there is no shame in killing an enemy in times of war.”
Maxton shook his head slowly. “That is not why I did it,” he said. “I did it because I wanted to. Because I did not want to leave her alive. My lady, you do not seem to realize what I am telling you – I am a killer. I am paid to kill men and women, and children if I must. When I tell you that I will remove the Mother Abbess from St. Blitha so she can never again harm anyone, know that I have no such reservations about the fact that she is a woman. It matters not to me. I will do what is necessary, and I mean every word I say.”
Andressa believed him. His confession about the Muslim general and the man’s family opened her eyes to him a little, but the truth was that all she could see was a man fighting to survive. Perhaps it was foolish of her, but that was her opinion.
No one would ever change it.
“I believe you,” she said quietly.
“And you do not think differently about me?”
“Nay.”
Maxton wasn’t surprised to hear that, but he thought she was still a little idealistic about him. But as he’d said… perhaps he wanted her to think that way about him. He wanted her to think that he was noble and kind, because God only knew, no one else did. More and more, the little pledge was breaking down something in him, walls he’d kept up, great things that protected everything about him. He’d spent years building those walls. But with her, those walls were cracking.
He could feel it.
“As you wish,” he muttered. “Now, I have things to attend to. While I am away, I wish for you to rest and I shall send you food. I must go speak with The Marshal and ask him what he thinks we should do given this situation. Will you wait here while I speak with him?”
Andressa glanced to the window; the sun was starting to set, sending pink ribbons across the sky. “It will be dark soon,” she said. “I… I told the Mother Abbess that I had to deliver laundry to Lady Hinkley, but even she said that Lady Hinkley often likes to talk and invite the less fortunate to a meal. But Lady Hinkley was very busy with her party tonight and she did not invite me in.”
Maxton was on to her line of thinking. “Then if you stay here a little while and feast with me, the Mother Abbess will think you are with Lady Hinkley.”
Andressa nodded and there seemed to be some relief in her expression. Even a few hours away from that hellish place was a Godsend.
“Aye,” she said after a moment. “She will think that.”
“Then you will stay a little while? I am sure the cook has a very good supper planned.”
That seemed to close the deal for Andressa. Two good meals in one day was nearly unheard of in her world.
“I will stay.”
That pleased Maxton immensely. He stood up, gazing down at her as she sat in the chair. To him, she looked so forlorn and vulnerable. He could only imagine what the woman looked like in all her glory; if she was beautiful now, scrubbed and fed and dressed, she must have been a sight to see.
And that gave him an idea.
“Wait here,” he said. “Do not leave this chamber. Promise?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“I’ll be back.”
With that, he quit the small chamber and she could hear him outside, barking to the servants. Hot water. Food. And build a fire in the retainer’s chamber! Andressa heard him snapping orders, fading away as he went down the stairs, until she could only hear a dull rumble.
Alone and worried, she remained in the chair he’d left her in until there was a knock at the door. The latch lifted and a servant with wood and peat entered, swiftly moving to the hearth and starting a lovely, warm blaze. The room filled with a golden glow and when the servant left, Andressa went to the hearth, sitting next to it and warming her frozen body. The Mother Abbess wouldn’t allow for fires at St. Blitha unless it was snowing, so more often than not, Andressa had to warm herself by the fire she used to heat the water for her laundry. There was no other opportunity.
But now, she was in a warm chamber with a warm fire, basking in a luxury she hadn’t had in four years. It was heavenly. But not heavenly enough that she forgot about her situation, or the fact that she needed to return to St. Blitha soon.
Back into the heart of the Devil.
She prayed she’d done the right thing by seeking out Maxton. God only knew what tomorrow would bring.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Nay,” Maxton snarled. “She is not going back.”
There was a battle brewing in William’s solar. A half-hour after Maxton relayed Andressa’s revelation to The Marshal, the productive and interesting discourse had turned into something else, and William had brought about the statement that Maxton had been dreading from the moment the news had been revealed. Somehow, he knew it would all come down to this.
Now, it was Maxton against William, perhaps the most talented assassin ever known against the greatest knight England had ever seen. And all of it over… a woman.
But in the face of Maxton’s fury, William stood firm.
“Think, Maxton, think,” he implored. “It is the perfect situation. If we send her back to St. Blitha, then she can report on everything that is taking place. We will have a spy right in the center of the viper’s nest.”
But Maxton was having none of William’s bigger-picture rationale. He was looking at the woman in the middle of it, not the king she would be saving as she spied upon a very deadly Mother Abbess. To him, the very suggestion was ludicrous.
There had to be another way.
“She is not a spy,” Maxton snapped. “She is a pledge, a simple woman. She does not have the skills for this, nor the experience. She will get herself killed spying for you.”
There was an accusation there, slung at William at full velocity, but the man didn’t flinch. There wasn’t much he flinched at these days. It was just past sunset, and Farringdon House was lit up with candles and fires, projecting light into the darkness of night that had settled. The smells of the evening’s meal wafted on the breeze, tantalizing those who were ready to eat. Mostly, that meant William, his retainers, and the knights who were in residence that night but, at the moment, the feast would have to wait.
Everything would have to wait.
Kress, Achilles, Alexander, and Gart were witness to the brewing storm. Gart had been out most of the day with the de Lohrs, as he served David these days, but he’d returned to Farringdon House to see how Maxton’s plans were coming along only to run headlong into what seemed to be a very angry confrontation between William and Maxton. Kress had filled him in on the reasons behind it, through swift whispers, and now Gart stood on the fringes of the chamber like the rest of them, watching Maxton and William hash out the situation, hoping they weren’t going to have to pull Maxton off of the old earl at some point.
It was a tense circumstance to say the least.
“What you do not seem to realize is that she is already in danger,” William said. “Sending her back where she belongs is safer for her in the end because they w
ill not suspect that anything is amiss. They will not know she has told you of their plans. But if she stays away any longer, I am sure they will become suspicious. You told me that she left the abbey to deliver laundry to a noblewoman here in town?”
Maxton nodded his head, his jaw ticking. “Aye,” he grumbled. “She delivered garments to Lady Hinkley. Andressa is the laundress at St. Blitha.”
“Then send her back,” William said sternly. He wasn’t used to meeting with opposition from a man who served him, so his patience was thin. “Maxton, you do not seem to realize that this is not your decision to make. The pledge has given us a great gift. What we were expecting you to solve in weeks, or months at most, she has solved for us in one day. Do you not understand that? Therefore, she will return to St. Blitha where she shall continue to administer her duties and watch the happenings. If there is a new development, she will let us know immediately.”
Maxton looked at William; he knew the man was legendary. That was an indisputable fact. But he was also ruthless, manipulative, and controlled those around him as a man would control his pieces in a chess game. To William, life itself was a great game of skill, plotting, and chance, and he used those under his command accordingly. In this case, Andressa was to become a pawn, and there was nothing more to it than that. She was a means to an end.
No heart.
No emotion.
Normally, Maxton would have agreed with the man, especially where it pertained to a woman, but he couldn’t quite reach that state of apathy when it came to this particular woman. He didn’t want to see Andressa caught up in a game that would more than likely kill her.
“So you would throw her to the wolves,” he snarled, turning away because he was sincerely afraid of losing control if he didn’t. “She did not have to come to me, Pembroke. She could have easily kept it to herself, but she didn’t. She came to me because of her concern for John and for no other reason than that. She did the right thing and now you would punish her for it by making her return to that pit of vipers.”
William could have risen to his anger but, instead, he found himself truly baffled. “What does it matter?” he asked. “Maxton, what is this girl to you that you would defend her so rabidly?”
Maxton turned to look at him, a frown on his face. “That should be obvious,” he said. “She has just saved the king’s life. Does she not deserve our protection for it?”
William sighed sharply, his patience gone with Maxton’s compassionate reply. “Where is this pity coming from?” he said with disgust. “This is not the assassin I was told was the best in the world. What I am hearing is an old woman, bleeding sorrow and mercy all over the place. Where is your courage, Loxbeare?”
Now, the insults were becoming personal and Maxton stiffened. “Would you really like to find out?”
It was a threat and they all knew it. This was no longer just a tense discourse but threatening to turn into something violent. But William simply displayed a humorless smile.
“Mayhap. It would prove to me that you are not the fool I take you for.” Suddenly, he slammed his fist on the table before him. “The only thing that matters is the king. Not you, not me, and certainly not some inconsequential pledge. Send that girl back to St. Blitha and tell her to inform us if anything changes. But if it will make you happy, should she perform well in this instance, I will reward her greatly. Will that satisfy you?”
It was nearly a sarcastic question. Had anyone else spoken to Maxton in that tone, he would have ripped their head off. In fact, Kress and Achilles, who were standing nearby, each took a step in Maxton’s direction. He was bigger, taller, heavier, and stronger than William, so physically he could have very much overpowered the old man.
But no one wanted to see that, probably not even Maxton. William was heaping insults on him that were more than likely justified, given the fact he was sparing some concern for a woman he didn’t even know. But the fact remained that Maxton had little control once he was pushed over the brink, so when Kress and Achilles moved towards him, Gart began casually moving for William, preparing to put himself between an enraged Maxton and the old earl. It wasn’t an ideal spot to find himself in, but he was prepared nonetheless.
Fortunately, Maxton didn’t move in William’s direction, though it was clear he wanted to. He held his ground, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Define reward,” he rumbled.
William realized he had probably pushed Maxton to the breaking point in this situation, but he didn’t much care. “Nay,” he said. “I will let you define it. Whatever you want to reward her with, I shall grant, so let her reward come from you. For now, I want her taken back to St. Blitha before they wonder why she had been gone overly long. The longer she remains here, the more she jeopardizes her position there. Is this in any way unclear?”
Maxton was grinding his teeth so hard that he was certain he’d chipped a tooth. “It is clear.”
With that, William eyed the man as if to emphasize his position in the situation. The truth was that he didn’t know Maxton well; everything he knew, he knew from Gart and the de Lohr brothers. They had painted a picture of a stalwart, obedient knight who had a dark streak in him. William could believe the part about the dark streak, but the part about obedience had him questioning whether it was true or not.
Time would tell.
“Good,” William said. “Now, I intend to send word to Sean so he is aware of this latest development. It seems that, mayhap, assassins will not be stalking the king when he goes on his hunt outside of Windsor tomorrow, but I would suggest you still tail the man, just in case.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Meanwhile, return that girl to St. Blitha. I want her out of this house within the hour.”
Maxton simply nodded, once, because he had to give him some kind of acknowledgement. But his heart certainly wasn’t in it.
Without another word, William quit the solar, heading for the hall on the other side of the house where supper would soon be served. His boot falls faded away, taking some of the tension with them. Once he was gone, Gart moved in Maxton’s direction.
“What is the matter with you?” Gart hissed. “Do you dare argue with the Earl of Pembroke?”
Maxton wouldn’t let Gart scold him. “What he is demanding is not right and you know it,” he said pointedly. “That woman risked her life to solve our problem, and now he wants to send her back into the belly of the beast, to spy for him no less? Since when does The Marshal use untrained women for that kind of work?”
Gart sighed heavily. “I do not disagree with some of your concerns, but it is not as if we are asking the woman to do anything differently,” he said. “All William wants is for her to return to her usual tasks and behave in her usual way. He’s not asking her to save the king, for God’s sake. Stop acting like he’s sending the woman to her death.”
Maxton didn’t say anything. He’d already said enough, and the truth was that he was confused about his passionate defense of Andressa. He’d never felt so protective over anything, or anyone, in his entire life. He felt as if he wanted to wrap his arms around her and shield her from the world, this fragile blossom that was so broken and bruised.
Now, he was becoming embarrassed, trying to think of a way to explain his behavior.
The trouble was, he couldn’t. Not even to himself.
“I told him I would send her back and I will,” he rumbled. “I am expected to be obedient and I shall be. But do not expect me to like it.”
Gart didn’t have anything more to say to that. He passed a glance at Kress and Achilles and Alexander before he left the chamber, silently suggesting they talk some sense into stubborn Maxton. As Gart followed William’s path from the chamber, the trio of comrades surrounded Maxton as the man stood there and fumed.
“Max, what is going on?” Alexander asked. “Why defend this girl so passionately? What is she to you?”
Maxton’s guard came down a little now that he was surrounded by his cl
ose friends. Running his hand through his dark hair, he simply shook his head.
“I do not know,” he said. “Mayhap I feel some pity for the woman. She’s had a difficult life, yet there is a spark of strength in her eyes that I can see every time I speak with her. She is an heiress, you know. Her inheritance was stolen from her by a greedy aunt, her guardian upon her parents’ death, who proceeded to throw her into the rubbish heap of St. Blitha. She has existed at St. Blitha for the past four years and she seems so helpless. As if she needs a friend.”
“And you wish to be that friend?” Alexander asked quietly.
Maxton hesitated a moment before nodding. “It sounds odd, I know,” he said. “I have spent my whole life ignoring women like her, so why is she any different from the rest? Because I know her name. Because she endeared herself to me. She gave me a glimpse into this terrible world she lives in and she trusts me. And she has absolutely no one she can talk to; no family, no friends. No one at all. I am fortunate in that I have you three and although I cannot get rid of you, at least I have you. And I love you all for it.”
He’d meant the last few sentences with some humor, so there were smiles all around. But there was also a distinct sense of surprise because Maxton wasn’t one to show emotion. He was as hard as they came, or at least he had been until their experience in the dungeons at Les Baux-de-Provence. That’s when those close to him had noticed a change, as they’d mentioned several times. Maxton had become more philosophical, more introspective. It had been an odd change for one with a stone where his heart should have been.
Maxton was changing.
“Max,” Kress said, his gaze lingering on the man, perhaps seeing him through new eyes. “It is no secret that we thought you’d lost your mind during the time we spent at Les Baux-de-Provence, and even afterwards. You became far more thoughtful, speaking to priests and old men, philosophers – anyone you could that could give you a perspective on life. You are no longer the man with the soul of the mindless killer.”
Maxton knew what Kress was talking about, although it really wasn’t something he’d ever acknowledged. But here, at this moment, he found it necessary to speak on such things.
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