Archangel (44 page)

Gart smiled modestly. “I am proud to serve the House of de Lohr,” he said, eyeing Christopher after a moment. “Will I like Lockenhaus Castle or is my outpost to be in the snowy wilds of the East?”

Christopher snorted. “You will like it fine if you are a mountain goat,” he told him. “This castle sits so high on the mountain that God will be your neighbor.”

Gart laughed softly, turning to look at Emberley as she moved away from the door to join them.  He reached out, stroking her blond head.

“I will have my angel with me,” he said softly, his eyes shining with adoration for the woman. “That is all that matters.”

Emberley smiled. “And the children as well,” she reminded him. “Did you tell Lord Christopher that my boys will ensure that anyone entering his keep will be forced to give tribute? He should be a very rich man in little time.”

Christopher looked questioningly at Gart as the man shook his head in resignation.

“She means that her boys rob anyone they come across,” he told him. “I fear for our new neighbors.  If they come to visit, they will be set upon by bandits within the keep.”

Christopher looked at them both in disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me that Master Romney is a thief? I do not believe such slander.”

Gart laughed. “I have such stories to tell you that you will fear for your own life from Romney.”

He told the earl everything and as Gart had promised, Christopher made his way to his bedchamber later than night, looking of his shoulder for a small boy with a very big stick and demands for coinage.

Chapter Twenty Five

“And you are sure your wife is with de Lohr?” the priest asked.

Standing in the nave of Westminster Abbey that also served as the baptismal font, Julian nodded submissively to the man who had asked the question. 

“I am certain, Your Grace,” he said humbly. “My wife has seen fit to run to de Lohr and away from me.  He holds her even now, more than likely at Bellham Place.  That is the de Lohr residence outside of London.”

“Is she his mistress, then?” the priest asked.

Julian tried to look distressed. “I can only surmise,” he said. “As I explained to you, I have tried to retrieve her myself but they will not turn her over to me. She is my wife by God and the laws of England, and I need your help to retrieve her.  I must take her home where she belongs. Our children need their mother and it is my right to have my wife.”

The priest was a mid-level operator in the world of Westminster. It was the most senior man Julian could speak with and he could see his tale was having an impact. The priest called over another priest and the two of them began conferring softly, undoubtedly about how to help Baron Buckland.  Julian watched and waited.

Having bypassed several smaller churches near the Tower of London in favor of the grand dame of them all, he thought it best to cultivate the sympathies and services of Westminster simply because it was one of the oldest and most prestigious churches in England.

Having been at the door of the church at sun rise, he had attended Mass as any other pious parishioner, voicing the right prayers at the right time, pretending to be devoted when the truth was that he had not attended Mass in years.  The only time he went to Confession was when Isabella did, and since she would no longer see him, his life was in great disorder.  He was focused on retrieving his wife and retreating to Dunster where he would lick his wounds and rethink his strategy.  But he needed help.

The two priests finished their conference and motioned to Julian to follow.  He did, through the tall columns of the cathedral, across the stone floor that had seen generations of kings walk upon it.  The priests left the church proper and headed south, towards the cloisters and other small buildings that dotted the grounds.  Julian followed swiftly. 

It was becoming a sunny day with the moisture from the Thames heavy upon the air.  Julian was swearing beneath his fine tunic and hose, feeling the sweat run down his back as he followed the priests to a stone cottage to the southwest of the cloister block.  One priest knocked on the door and was admitted by a servant, bading the second priest and Julian to remain outside.  

Julian stood nervously in the moist air, slapping at the bugs biting his skin and scratching around his neck.  The second priest was in heavy woolen robes so he imagined the man was more miserable even that he was.  The man kept scratching his crotch. After an eternity of waiting, the door to the cottage finally opened again and the first priest beckoned Julian inside.

The cottage was small and dimly lit.  The floors were uneven as Julian’s eyes grew accustomed to the light.  To his right near the hearth sat a man in bleached woolen robes with two servants attending him. One servant was carefully shaving the top of the man’s head while the second servant brought food and drink.  Julian locked eyes with the man expectantly.

“I am a Canon of Westminster,” the man said in a rich, full voice. “My name is Father Mellitus.  You are Baron Buckland?”

Julian nodded – now he was getting somewhere. A Canon was one of the governing priest of the abbey and he struggled to keep his excitement at bay.  Now, he knew he had someone who could help him without dispute.

“I am, Your Grace,” he said respectfully. “I am Julian Edward de Moyon, Third Baron Buckland.  My seat is Dunster Castle in Somerset. I have come to you with a horrible problem that only you can help me with.”

Father Mellitus chewed on a piece of cheese. “My priest has told me,” he replied, his dark gaze sizing Julian up. “I have heard the name Buckland. I seem to remember hearing of a concubine of the queen, a man by the name of Buckland.  Is that you?”

Julian stared at the man a moment, wondering if he was about to be chastised. If his plan was going to work, he was going to have to project a submissive, victimized state. It never occurred to him that the priests of Westminster would recognize his name as the queen’s lover, even though he made sure the rumors about him and the queen flew fast and furious around London. Now, he was hoping the reputation he had taken such pride in wasn’t about to sink his hopes.

“It is,” he lowered his head dramatically. “Please understand, Your Grace, that I had little choice in the matter.  Isabella is the queen, after all, and I must do as she commanded.  I was her slave and unable to break free. I prayed daily that she would tire of me and it fortunate that she has. Her attentions are elsewhere.”

The priest eyed him, setting the cheese down. It was clear that he did not believe him.

“I see,” he muttered. “I am told you have come here involving a matter about your wife.”

Julian nodded eagerly, his head coming up. “David de Lohr, Baron Thornden, has taken my wife from me. He will not give her back. I have tried to rescue her but he killed my men in the attempt. Now she is at Bellham Place and I humbly beg for the church’s intervention in this matter. I want my wife back and de Lohr will not turn her over to me.”

The priest dabbled his fingers in a water bowl that a servant brought and wiped them off on an offered piece of linen.

“Thornden cannot keep another man’s wife,” he said. “What would you have me do?”

Julian was careful to make his wants clear, as if he was begging for their help to restore his marriage.

“I would plead with you to ride for Bellham Place and retrieve my wife under the protection of the Church,” he asked urgently. “De Lohr cannot deny the Church’s request. He will be forced to turn her over.”

The priest stood up from the chair, wiping a linen towel over his freshly shaved head.  He eyed Julian, annoyed with the request but understanding he had a duty to the man. If someone was holding his wife hostage, then it was up to the Church to deliver her to her rightful husband.  There was no great mystery in that.  He tossed the towel aside.

“How long has she been de Lohr’s captive?” he asked.

“Weeks, at the very least, Your Grace,” Julian said pleadingly. “Please help me, Your Grace. I must return her home. Our children need her.”

The priest held out his hands as his servants began shoving on his rings of office.

“I will send a missive to Bellham and ask that the lady be returned to you,” he said.  “You will deliver the missive yourself.”

Julian shook his head. “They will kill me, Your Grace,” he said, feigning fear. “I fear they will only release her to a priest when they are forced. I fear that only your divine presence will give me back my wife. Please, Your Grace – will you please help me and go personally?”

The priest sighed heavily, fiddling with his rings once they were on. He turned to Julian, thinking that he simply didn’t have time for such nonsense. But the man seemed genuinely distraught so perhaps he needed to do as he was asked simply to get it overwith.  Otherwise, the situation would drag on and Mellitus would be to blame, especially if the circumstances went from bad to worse. 

“Very well,” he said, clipped. “I will travel to Bellham Place and retrieve your wife for you.”

Julian nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he bowed several times in a gesture of gratitude and respect. “May I ride with you? I want to take my wife home right away.”

Mellitus simply nodded, sneezing and wiping at his nose with a linen towel. “We will go before Vespers.”

“Today?” Julian asked hopefully.

Mellitus looked at Julian, struggling to keep the impatience off his face. “Aye, today.”

Julian left the canon’s quarters and took position out in the garden with a clear view of the man’s cottage. He remained rooted there until the man was ready to leave for Bellham.

De Lohr would pay now. They would all pay.

***

Gart let Emberley sleep the next day well into the morning. She was exhausted and pregnant, and after her harrowing adventures, he thought it best simply to let her rest.

Emilie tried to insist that she would take care of Lady Emberley so that Gart could go about his duties, but Gart wasn’t going to relinquish the task.  It made for a warm, if not odd, stand-off as Emilie insisted and Gart politely refused. When Romney finally awoke, Gart saw the opportunity to focus Emilie on the child, which she did so happily. With Christina and Romney in hand, Emilie took delight in tending the children.

Gart did indeed have duties to attend to but he spent most of the morning with Emberley as she slumbered peacefully. Sitting in a chair by the low fire in the hearth, he quietly sharpened his sword against a pumice stone, alternately watching Emberley and paying attention to his blade.

He was content simply sitting with her.   She was safe and in his line of sight, and that was all he could ask for in the world.  She slept the morning away as he finished sharpening his blade and, finished, quit the chamber with the intention of returning to his possessions for other assorted blades that needed sharpening. He could sit and sharpen, and watch Emberley at the same time.

He took the stairs down to the ground floor, hearing voices from the reception room.  He could hear Romney’s voice and that of a squealing baby, so he crept to the door and peered inside to see Romney playing with little Christina.  The baby was thrilled with Romney, laughing hysterically as he pretended to poke her belly.  Emilie sat nearby with sewing in hand, smiling at the antics.

Gart grinned as he watched Romney and the baby, thinking how much he missed Orin, Brendt and Lacy.  Those two little ruffians and the slobbery baby had his heart. His plan had been to send Kevin to retrieve the children but David quashed that scheme because he wanted Kevin to remain at Bellham for the time being, especially with Buckland so unpredictable.