The Earl: Order of the Broken Blade: Book 4

by Mecca, Cecelia

  “Allow me to introduce Lady Cait Kennaugh, sister of the chief of Clan Kennaugh in the borderlands, and Earl of Dromsley. She is my intended.”

  Cait did not show the wily Lady Lennox her surprise, but her chest clenched at Conrad’s words. Intended?

  That had not been their plan.

  “I fear her chaperone was injured last eve, necessitating the woman’s return to Licheford.”

  That much, while not entirely true, had been rehearsed. But they’d decided she would be introduced as his cousin, not his intended. What was he about? Injured or nay, a woman not related to Conrad, traveling with him . . .

  And of course Lady Lennox looked at her with suspicion.

  Ignoring Conrad’s marshal, who cleared his throat behind them, no doubt uncomfortable with the lie, Cait met and held the gaze of the elderly Lady Lennox, after bowing, of course.

  Conrad was right, after all, she was the only sister of a man who was both a chieftain and an earl. And she had done nothing improper, yet. She’d not be set down by anyone, including this recently widowed countess.

  “I am very sorry to hear of your chaperone’s injury,” the countess said. “Was it a serious one?”

  “Not so that she will be unable to recover quickly, I do hope. She scratched her leg on a branch.”

  “It festered,” Ansel blurted behind her.

  Aware he should not have spoken yet, the marshal immediately apologized. And Cait tried not to smile at the man’s clumsy attempt at support. She would be sure to thank him later.

  “You and your chaperone are brave indeed, to join Lord Licheford and his men on such a dangerous mission.”

  Though the countess spoke to her, Conrad answered. “My lady is very much so, but I fear her chaperone’s constitution was not as hearty as hers.”

  Cait tried desperately not to smile. The poor man Conrad spoke of had endured many jests this morn about his run-in with a branch. Poor man. He’d only recently been knighted.

  Lady Lennox did not comment. She did, however, finally allow them to leave.

  “I’ve had rooms prepared. And we shall speak after supper, Lord Licheford. If that is agreeable to you?”

  “It is.” Conrad bowed again. “You do us a great honor, my lady.”

  Cait did not like her.

  She may be wealthy. And powerful. And a woman. Cait liked nothing better than to see another woman in a position of power. And yet, she could tell this woman judged her.

  Attempting to ignore her feelings, for the sake of their cause, Cait smiled broadly.

  “Many thanks, Lady Lennox, for your hospitality.”

  The countess did not return her smile. Her only response was a murmur that Cait could not even hear.

  Following a chambermaid from the hall, Cait kept her expression neutral until she was shown to a small room—directly beside Conrad’s. The girl gestured for her to step inside, and with nothing to recommend her staying in the passageway, she did so. But not before she caught Conrad’s eye, the promise there making her shiver.

  They’d ridden beside each other all day, only stopping once. They’d talked, laughed, and likely bewildered the men with their most unusual situation. But there was tension between them too—different than it had been before. The look he gave her now promised the kisses they’d shared were just the beginning of all that he could teach her.

  Would he come to her tonight?

  Did she want him to after what he had just done?

  Conrad’s intended.

  Instead of meeting his sly grin with one of her own, Cait gave him a look that told him he would answer for what he’d said. And the cad simply widened his smile, accepting the challenge and issuing one of his own.

  Chapter 17

  “My lord?”

  Conrad lifted his head from his hands as Ansel entered his bedchamber. He watched his longtime advisor sink into the chair beside him, the fine leather creaking under his weight. Light from both the fire and numerous candles illuminated an opulent but small room.

  He’d sent for the marshal immediately after the long, torturous evening meal, which he’d spent navigating the countess, followed by a private meeting with her in the solar.

  In truth, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Cait so he could explain his decision for altering their planned story. So he could speak with her more about her reasons for never telling Terric about their correspondence, for deciding to stop writing. He wanted to move past it, but he found he could not. Not yet.

  But most of all he wanted to touch her. Feel her in his arms. Love her for as long as possible before her brother cut his short life in London. For Conrad had no doubt his friend would kill him if he dishonored his sister. He’d not do so intentionally, of course. But the prospect of waiting until they were wed before making her his . . .

  Conrad had learned restraint at an early age, but their forced proximity on this journey did not bode well. She waited in the chamber next to them, and only one matter could keep Conrad from her.

  “I spoke with the countess after the evening meal. She will not provide men.”

  Ansel’s mouth dropped open. “Her husband . . . he was one of your first supporters.”

  Indeed. And he’d assumed she would have another pressing reason for supporting their cause. Although Lady Lennox’s husband had initially served King John, her father had served another royal: King Philip II of France. Indeed, the two families were so close, Philip’s son, the future king of France, was considered a family friend. It would be to their advantage to blunt John’s powers, and ultimately his ability to continue the war no one wanted.

  On behalf of his wife, the late earl had already made contact with Philip, who was well aware of the events unfolding in England. Lady Lennox was to be their door to the French king—a fail-safe they could rely upon should their stand in London be in vain. If she refused to help them, others would do the same.

  “I know it well.”

  Ansel looked as bereft as Conrad felt. “What reason did she give?”

  Conrad made a sound of disgust. “She fears King John’s wrath if our campaign should fail.”

  “So she would prefer to allow the king to drain her coffers in taxes to fund a war against her friends in France?”

  “Apparently so.”

  They sat, and drank, in silence.

  Since he’d left the countess, Conrad had spent every single moment strategizing, thinking of someone powerful enough to fill the void she had created. He could think of only one person who possessed as much influence as Lady Lennox, who could speak to the French king on their behalf. If they secured his support, they would be facing King John on an even battleground.

  Thus far, they’d not spoken to him. Had not asked for his support.

  With good reason. He had been Conrad’s father’s greatest enemy.

  “Stanton, Kenshire, Clave, Noreham, FitzWalter. . . ,” he said slowly, contemplatively, “for every signature we’ve obtained, for all those marching south with us, none will matter if our tenuous ties to France are not reinforced.”

  Ansel looked up to the ceiling, as if knowing he’d not approve of Conrad’s next words.

  “We’ve no choice.”

  His marshal still did not understand.

  “If we think to force the king’s hand by taking London peaceably, without the support of Lady Lennox, we need him.”

  “No.”

  Conrad would have smiled at Ansel’s adamant tone were his marshal’s concern not valid.

  “Aye.”

  He waited for Ansel to see they had no other alternative.

  “You will take the men south, to Heath Castle, and bring word to the others of my delay.”

  “My lord, ’tis madness. He is as like to murder you as to offer the support you seek. Your father will rise from his grave to kill you himself.”

  It was a true enough statement. If his father had been alive, he would indeed have forbidden the action Conrad was about to take. And it woul
dn’t matter if Conrad reminded him of the petty nature of the fight that lasted for decades. Or if he explained that Lord Lindemere’s support was necessary for the success of their rebellion. And to ensure he and the others did not face the king’s wrath for having defied him.

  But Conrad agreed with Ansel about one thing.

  None of that would have mattered to his father. He would have preferred to lose the war than treat with the man who had been responsible for his nephew’s near brush with death. It was Lord Lindemere’s complaint, and his cousin’s subsequent tangle with the king, that had caused him to bring two hundred lanced men to court. That had nearly resulted in his father being expelled.

  But Conrad was not his father.

  “Choose no more than four men to accompany me. Tell Terric and the others we should not be delayed by more than a sennight.”

  Ansel glared at him in response.

  “We have no choice.” Conrad stood.

  “And Lady Cait?”

  Would she still be awake? Likely not at this hour, but he would soon find out.

  “She comes with me.”

  Chapter 18

  Two men rode in front of them, two behind them. The sun had not yet made an appearance, but despite the chill, Cait shrugged off her mantle. She wanted to feel the air touch her skin. Despite the brevity of their stay at Lennox Castle, it felt like they’d been cooped up inside for too long.

  She’d woken early after a fitful sleep, disappointed that Conrad had not visited her last eve as he’d promised, only to break her fast in the great hall under the sting of the countess’s intense scrutiny. Cait could not have left the hall quickly enough.

  As they passed the gatehouse, Cait looked around for the other men, assuming their retinue would be joining them. But there were no mounted knights and supply carts. Indeed, no one followed them at all.

  “The others?”

  She peered ahead, sitting higher in her saddle, but still, nothing.

  “Left at dawn. To London.”

  Cait didn’t hide her confusion. “Why are we not traveling with them?”

  Conrad seemed different this morn. Something was not quite well.

  “I met with the countess privately last eve after the meal. She has pulled her support.”

  Oh dear.

  “Without it, I fear Londoners may not welcome us as we’d hoped.”

  “France,” Cait muttered. She understood how important it was for the order to have a connection to the French king’s heir apparent. Even the appearance of one might be enough for them to successfully capture London and force King John’s hand.

  “As such, the others will continue on to London. We’re headed to Lindemere Castle.”

  Cait gasped. Surely she had misheard.

  “Lindemere?”

  “We’ve no other choice. The countess assured me her ties to France will still serve us if necessary, but without a public show of support, that fact hardly matters.”

  “So Lindemere . . .”

  Cait thought back to that particular missive. The one where Conrad had shared the saga of his cousin. Lord Lindemere had coveted the man’s bedchamber at court, and so he’d had his belongings removed, without permission, and taken the more prominent room for himself. The situation had escalated, and Conrad’s cousin had been arrested, and nearly beheaded, for his part in the matter. Which had led to his father’s famous gambit of bringing two hundred armed men to court.

  After the incident, the former earl’s relationship with the king had obviously been strained. It had become even more so after he refused the earl and countess’s request to cure them of the illness known as the king’s evil, which some said could be healed with a touch from the king. Although she doubted the veracity of such claims, the insult could not be denied.

  “Aye. Lindemere. I came to you last eve to mention it, but you were asleep.”

  That pulled Cait from her reverie.

  “You came?” She didn’t try to hide her surprise. Or her pleasure.

  “You were asleep, I assume. I met with Ansel well into the night.”

  Cait had been so consumed with thoughts of them, of her and Conrad, she’d forgotten temporarily they were in the midst of a rebellion. Although she’d waited for him to come, fretted over it, she had never imagined such complications could be the cause for his delay.

  “I did not realize,” she mumbled.

  “You assumed I had not come?”

  Glancing from his profile to the dusty Roman road on which they traveled, Cait admitted as much. “’Twould be no less than I deserved.”

  His silence, she assumed, was Conrad’s way of agreeing with her.

  But as a pair of riders approached them, Conrad transformed before her eyes—one moment, he was simply a man, albeit a dangerously handsome one, the next a knight. He greeted the two men stiffly, positioning himself in front of Cait. Neither man appeared particularly ominous, but the fierce look on Conrad’s face startled her.

  As soon as the men were out of earshot, he shouted to the riders in front of them.

  “Ride ahead and see if there are others.”

  “Others?” Cait asked, puzzled. From what she’d seen, there was every indication the men were alone.

  Conrad waited for the men to comply before turning to her.

  “Thieves. I would be assured they are alone and do not plan to surround us.”

  She and her brother had passed more than one group of border reivers on the journey from Bradon Moor, but they had been easily identifiable with their hobblers and padded gambesons. The men who’d passed them had looked nothing like that.

  “How do you know they are thieves?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “Just an inclination.”

  “Riders!” came the shout from ahead of them. Then all at once, chaos broke out.

  “Over there,” Conrad yelled to her, his expression fierce. She complied immediately, spurring her mare off the road and closer to the tree line.

  Instead of moving forward, as she’d expected, Conrad fell back. She could hear the scraping of his sword against its sheath and then shouts.

  Cait tried not to think back. To remember. But she could not help but do so.

  Moments later, Conrad reappeared with the two Licheford men who had ridden behind them. They ignored her, flying ahead and around the bend in front of them.

  More shouts ripped through the air. But there were no sounds of battle.

  And then silence fell.

  With her mount dancing under her, Cait waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Conrad and all four of his men returned, all of them looking very nonplussed.

  “’Twill be a long walk,” one of the men commented, Conrad muttering a curse under his breath.

  “A long walk?” Cait realized, then found that her hands were shaking.

  Moments later, Conrad rode up to her, grabbing the bridle of her horse and guiding her mount forward.

  “She’s untrained for battle,” he said by way of explanation, nodding to her mare.

  And then, as if nothing had happened, the others resumed their previous positions and their party rode ahead, Conrad speaking softly to her horse and then finally letting go as they trotted along.

  “As are you,” he said, and it took a moment for her to understand. “Training. Experience. They teach us how to recognize thieves who are very likely attempting to surround and rob us.”

  To surround and rob us.

  “They’ll not attack anyone else this day,” he continued.

  Her heart stuck in her throat. “Do you mean . . .”

  But even as she spoke, Cait spotted them. Four men walking on the road ahead of them. No horses. And from what she could tell as they approached, no weapons either. Cait glanced at Conrad for clarification, and that was when she noticed it. A second sword hanging on his left side. Each of the Licheford knights had an extra one.

  She could not help but look at the thieves on foot as they passed them on horse
back, even though Conrad and his men did not pay them any mind. The murderous glares they gave her back forced a shudder from her.

  “They do not appear very pleased,” she said finally to Conrad.

  “They still live,” was all he said.

  Cait looked back, wondering how long they’d continue to do so. With no inn nor village nearby, those men would just as likely starve as they would live to steal another day. But she remained silent as the woods become less dense, giving way to open moorland as far as she could see.

  It was only later, after her breathing had returned to normal, that she chanced another glance at Conrad. Her eyes landed on his scar.

  “I am sorry for it,” she said, realizing the man who’d reacted so quickly back there was hardly the one she’d first met all those years ago. Not yet knighted, slightly more than a boy.

  He’d lost what remained of his innocence that day, but then again, so had she.

  He seemed to know exactly what she spoke of.

  “I know it. And I would do it again, every day of my life, if ’twas necessary.”

  He looked at her. Not past her, but at her.

  “I’ve never been ashamed of it,” he said, speaking of his scar. “It may have scared away some women—”

  “Good,” she blurted without thinking.

  Conrad smiled. “And mayhap a would-be attacker too. But not once have I thought of it as anything less than part of me. Part of the man I quickly became after that day.”

  They’d never spoken of it directly before, and hearing him say those words, and seemingly mean them, made Cait feel slightly better for having been the source of his disfigurement.

  “It does make you look quite fierce. Especially when you scowl so.”

  His scowl deepened. “I do no such thing.”

  If only he could see himself.

  “You do. Whenever you are displeased.”

  “As I should be now. We ride to the manor of a man with little honor to beg for a favor he’ll be disinclined to grant us. My friends travel to London to attempt something that has never been done before, a peaceful coup against our king. We were set upon by thieves. And most importantly, I was robbed of an evening alone with a woman who stubbornly refuses to take herself back to safety.”