Twilight Magic (12 page)
W
illiam of Ypres, earl of Kent, commanded several hundred men, all of whom considered life as a mercenary a fine way to earn a decent wage.
Darian served William for other reasons, as did Marc, Armand, and Thomas. They were among the dozen men who did the earl’s bidding out of loyalty as much as for their pay. All were Flemish and indebted to William for life or limb or sustenance. Until two days ago, Darian would have wagered a considerable sum that each of them would willingly lay down his life for the earl’s— and for each other.
Now Darian wasn’t sure which men in the band he could trust at his back and which not.
William entrusted this choice group with the command of troops in battle and with the secret of his failing eyesight. To suspect one of the band of stealing his dagger felt strange and impossible, but Darian could think of no other way the dagger could end up near de Salis’s dead body, and then in Bishop Henry’s hands.
That one of the band could have killed de Salis with the intention of placing the blame on Darian made his stomach coil. Could the murderer be one of the three men with whom he now shared ale?
He dearly hoped not.
“William travels with a small guard,” Darian commented. “I am surprised Julian and Edgar do not accompany you.”
“They command the troops who guard the king on his way back to Wallingford,” Marc explained. “If all went as planned, they left this morn. A blessing, certes. The bands were becoming restless. Had the king not moved soon, we feared trouble.”
Grunts of agreement sounded around the table. No fighting meant no pay, no loot, and too much time for restless men to create mischief.
Armand smiled. “If we leave on the morn, we should overtake the troops long before they reach Wallingford. I swan, sitting on siege is a dull business. A pity the king allows no looting of the countryside. The men all itch to take the castle, and a fine day of justice and recompense that will be.”
Wallingford, the stronghold of Brian fitz Count, a staunch supporter of Empress Maud, had been under siege for months. And if Darian remembered court gossip aright, Emma de Leon’s father and brother had lost their lives outside that castle’s walls.
A pang of sympathy for the woman wasn’t surprising. He knew how much losing loved ones hurt.
“Any progress at Wallingford?” Darian asked.
Thomas, rotund, gray-haired and grizzled, shook his head. “Neither side has moved so much as a gnat’s breath. Wallingford is so well supplied they can last out a year or more. The walls are too high and strong to scale or bring down. All the king’s forces have managed to do is surround the place and cut off communication with Maud and Earl Robert.” Thomas wagged a finger. “Were the king to ask me, I would advise him to give up this futile siege and march on Bristol.”
Marc snickered. “Bristol is twice as strongly fortified as Wallingford. Besides, were the king to take Bristol, then the war would end and we would all be out of work.”
Thomas shrugged. “Not such a bad thing. I would not mind settling into a cottage somewhere, perhaps here in Kent, with a plump wife to share my bed and cook my meals.”
Darian inwardly shivered at the thought. While the others teased Thomas about going soft, Darian saw the earl come down the stairway. William came straight toward the table and took a seat on the bench next to Armand. The teasing stopped when the earl cleared his throat.
“Have you told Darian about Philip and Perrin?” he asked.
“We thought it best you explain, my lord,” Marc answered.
Darian braced for William’s bad news.
The earl crossed his arms on the table. “Not only is Bishop Henry vexed with you, but Philip took umbrage at your suspicion that one of the mercenaries stole your dagger. He decided someone must make inquiry into how an outsider could breach the barracks. He declares it possible, but not probable.”
Darian considered that good news. “Possible” meant that someone other than one of the mercenaries could have stolen his dagger. “Why not probable?”
“Because each time Philip tried to sneak in while others were sleeping, at least one and betimes all the men awoke. Most everyone’s senses are too finely honed to allow intrusion.”
Either that or the mercenaries’ alertness had heightened after learning the barracks had been visited by someone who shouldn’t be there.
The earl continued, “I do not dismiss the possibility that one of the band might have stolen your dagger. However, I refuse to accuse anyone of a misdeed without proof.” William leaned forward. “Where were you that night?”
Darian didn’t have to ask which night, but he hesitated to answer, unsure of whom to trust, despite William’s disinclination to believe any of the mercenaries guilty. One of the men sitting around the table could be his enemy. And the longer he remained silent, more of them realized mistrust held his tongue.
William waved a dismissive hand. “All of these men, and Philip, know what happened during the audience with the king and that you did not spend the night with Lady Emma. So who did you spend the night with?”
He wished he’d spent the night in one of Southwark’s many brothels. At least he would have been doing something pleasurable.
“I was in Southwark. Hubert and Gib sent a message they had information for me, so I met them. They told me about rumors of the earl of Chester’s wish to invade Wales—nothing new. By the time we were done, London Bridge was closed and I had to await the morn to get back into the city. So I bought them a few more mugs of ale to pass the time.”
“Why did you not say so to Bishop Henry?”
“Henry demanded
trustworthy
witnesses. Can you imagine those two passing the bishop’s test? Most likely, Henry would have hanged both of them right beside me.”
William rubbed his chin. “Likely. Still, Philip guessed rightly at your whereabouts and has been making quiet inquiries among our many informants around London. Perhaps he will succeed in learning who truly killed de Salis.”
Philip’s involvement bothered Darian. “I should be the one making inquiries, not Philip. He puts himself in danger on my account and I prefer he did not.”
Also, if Philip were involved in de Salis’s death, he might not be working too hard on Darian’s behalf.
William shrugged. “I do not worry over Philip’s safety. He has proven time and again he can take care of himself.”
“Still, I would prefer to hunt this murderer myself.” William shook his head. “Best you remain here. If you go into Southwark in particular, Bishop Henry will learn of it. ’Twould be senseless to risk being captured and chained in the deepest cell of White Tower.”
Darian nearly cringed at the thought of those dark, dank, rat-infested cells, but ire proved a strong deterrent against any such weakness. “I also can take care of myself.”
“Perhaps, but Philip does not present so tempting a target. Leave it be, Darian. Allow Philip to find out what he can before we decide on further action.”
Too desperate to escape Hadone for his own mind’s peace, Darian leaned forward. “Then at the least allow me to accompany you to Wallingford.”
“Nay. Best you keep out of King Stephen’s reach, too. If you are not within his sight, he will have no reason to question his unusual decision in court. You are safe at Hadone. I already have one man missing, and should hate to have another.”
Darian didn’t have to guess who. “Perrin.”
“We assume he is again hiding from someone to whom he lost a wager. I do wish he would stay away from the cockfights.”
Not Perrin. The man’s gambling debts were legendary. He owed every member of the band at least a few pence. ’Twas not the first time he’d run afoul of someone who insisted he pay up, nor the first time he’d disappeared.
The timing of this disappearance, however, made Darian uneasy. “I know most of Perrin’s hideaways. I could—”
“Nay! Philip also searches for Perrin.
You
stay here!” Then William turned away, a dismissal as sharp and clear as a slap across the face.
So he was supposed to sit on his arse at Hadone, endure Gar’s distaste, and wrestle with his attraction to his wife while another man roamed Southwark in search of both Perrin and de Salis’s murderer, was he?
Darian looked down the road of days ahead and judged them unendurable.
And all could be cured by a journey to London. While the others considered the subject closed by William’s direct order and returned to discussing the war, Darian sipped at his ale and tried to hush his instincts.
His gut told him to leave Hadone, that he could do more for his cause in London. While searching for both Perrin and the murderer, he could also explore ways of obtaining an annulment, a task nigh on as important as capturing the murderer.
Lust for a woman wasn’t new to him, but never before had he fought his urges so hard. But then, never before had he shared such close quarters for days on end with his desire’s target. And knowing he possessed a husband’s rights, that he could take her if he wished to, made the fight harder.
Ending his marriage to Emma was of utmost importance, and he must do so before the sight or scent of his wife overcame his good senses. He had to be rid of her before he weakened.
William surely wouldn’t mind if Lady Emma resided for a time at Hadone. Gar and Maura would ensure their guest taken care of, as they’d done for the past two days.
Emma would be safe—especially from him. He could leave on the morn after William and the mercenaries departed to join the king, and none would be the wiser that he disobeyed the earl.
The disloyalty of such an action clawed at his insides, but God’s truth, he resented William’s reasoning. He
could
take care of himself, and leaving his fate in Philip’s hands stank of William’s mistrust and his own cowardice.
Sweet Jesu.
For the first time since William had dragged a scrawny, terrified boy out of the carnage of a burned-out village, fed and clothed him, given him a purpose in life, Darian considered disobeying the earl’s orders.
Emma wished the earl would hurry along so she could ask him for a favor, then approach Darian with her proposal to go to Bledloe Abbey.
But nearly everyone had come out to the bailey to see William off, and the earl took his own good time saying fare thee well, much to the chagrin of the already-mounted mercenaries.
Darian certainly wasn’t happy about being left behind. Grim-faced, he stood beside her with his arms crossed and feet spread, doing his best not to look forlorn.
William said his farewells to Gar, and then to Maura, who not only had abandoned the bedchamber but hadn’t said one word to Emma while they’d broken fast. Emma hadn’t tried to speak to Maura, either, fearing a rebuff she wasn’t prepared to deal with just yet.
When the earl finally stood before her, Emma couldn’t bring herself to wish him good fortune in the venture at Wallingford. She might not be as ardent in Maud’s support as her father, but she did consider the woman’s cause just.
“Good journey, my lord. May God see you safely to road’s end.”
William smiled. “Your graciousness does you credit, my lady. Have you any message for Lady Julia?”
The question surprised her. “Did I misunderstand? I thought you bound for Wallingford, not London.”
“I go through London to ensure the king and my troops have left.”
“Then if you happen to see Lady Julia, pray give her my thanks for her efforts on my behalf. If I might be so bold, I would ask a boon of you, my lord.” She held out the rolled-up parchment she’d worked on until the wee hours of the morn. “Would you be so kind as to present this petition to King Stephen?”
Much to her relief, he took the scroll. “Nothing would make me happier than to be of service to a beautiful woman.”
Emma felt her cheeks grow warm. No wonder this Flemish noble had become a favorite of Queen Matilda’s and risen so high in King Stephen’s court. Not only did he command troops with authority and success, he made free with compliments, even when undeserved.
More important, he’d accepted the scroll without question or condition, and she was sure he would carry through. Another of his known qualities—William of Ypres kept his word. Finally, her request on Nicole’s behalf would reach King Stephen.
“My gratitude, Earl William.”
Then he gave Darian an affable buff on the arm. “All will come right in the end.”
“I am sure you are correct. Good journey, my lord.” Darian didn’t sound convinced, and absently reached down to pat Rose’s head. The wolfhound pressed against his leg, apparently pleased that the object of her loyalty wasn’t leaving her behind.
With the earl on his way, people scattered to carry on with their morning tasks. With long, purposeful strides, Darian headed in the direction of the stable.
Emma hurried to catch up. “A moment of your time, Darian. I have a boon to ask of you, too.”
He slowed, but didn’t stop. “What might that be?”
“I wish to journey to Bledloe Abbey to visit my sister, and I hoped you could be prevailed upon to take me.”
He stopped, his grim expression worsening with a deepening frown. “You know we are under the earl’s order to remain at Hadone.”
“So I assumed.”
“Yet you ask me to ignore that order.”
“I ask you because until we obtain an annulment, you are my husband and I am obliged to seek your permission for such a journey.” The realization had struck in the wee hours, at first setting her teeth on edge—until she’d realized the obligation might work in her favor. “As I see it, a husband might feel it his duty, even his sacred obligation, to accompany his wife on a long journey to protect her against the dangers of the road.”
“Pray tell me why I would consider doing either.” “Because you do not wish to remain at Hadone any longer than you must, just as I would rather not.”
“I thought you were getting on well enough, particularly with Maura.”
“I was until last eve. Apparently your fellow mercenaries are prone to gossip. She heard them speak about my father and then came up to wish me to Bristol. Maura now considers me the enemy and I doubt any words of mine will sway her to accept otherwise.”
