CHAPTER FIFTEEN
John wasn’t particularly pleased that Jeffrey Hage ordered his entourage camped outside of Southwell’s city walls. The fact that Lord Hage made no effort to house him in the keep did not sit well with him, either. More than that, two of the powerful Hage brothers, Andrew and Christian, rode out to meet him with a heavily-armed escort and refused to allow any more than twenty of the prince’s men into Southwell. That included advisors as well. And with that final insult, John was furious. But amidst the fury and posturing, Andrew and Christian were the first to see Simon de Corlet in the prince’s entourage. While Christian ran a tight escort around the prince, Andrew rode back to tell his father and brother.
Kieran honestly wasn’t surprised to hear of Simon’s presence. It simply confirmed what they had been speculating all along, that Simon had fled Richard’s rage and returned to England. It also confirmed that Kieran didn’t know the man at all; Simon had always seemed quite loyal to Richard. Then again, he’d always seemed quite loyal to Kieran. But Simon’s appearance did, indeed, prove something else; the reason for John’s visit undoubtedly had to do with Kieran. And Kieran was going to be ready for him. The advantage of surprise was most definitely his.
As Kieran went to find Yusef, Jeffrey and Sean went to the great hall, a separate building from the keep, to await John. Now, their plan was set as the reason for the prince’s visit was no longer unknown. Jeffrey, being rather devious-minded, made sure the fire in the hearth was low, rendering the hall rather cold, and the only refreshment provided was ale. No wine, which would have been much more appropriate. He didn’t want the prince to feel welcome in the least. In this cold, cavernous and inhospitable hall, they waited.
It took some time for the prince and his entourage to reach the inner bailey of Southwell. For every one of the prince’s guard, there was a Southwell man and it was a tense ride into the inner sanctum of Southwell’s complex. There was a good deal of threatening posturing going on, making for slow going. The prince’s entourage was permitted to enter the hall along with Southwell’s fully-armed escort. The tension was palpable.
The prince entered the dark and dreary hall. He was wrapped tightly against the chill so the event of a cold chamber didn’t particularly bother him. He was, however, incensed at the lack of hospitality and serving women to choose from. Everyone in the country knew of his appetites and expectations. Men hid their wives and daughters from him but, somehow, he still managed to take what he wanted. It had, therefore, become common practice amongst the nobles to ensure a plethora of serving women to entice the prince, hopefully away from their wives and daughters. As long as the wench had an ample bosom, the ploy usually worked.
Jeffrey was seated at the end of the massively long table that sat near the hearth in the enormous room. Sean stood next to him, watching the man he had desperately come to hate. John knew Sean on sight and knew he served his brother. There was little doubt in the prince’s mind that this Hage brother was a spy but the prince would not waste his energies on the man. At least, not at the moment. Men like Sean Hage tended to trip themselves up at some point. When he did, John would be there to pounce. The prince approached the table, most uncustomarily. He was, in fact, used to being greeted upon his arrival and escorted in. But the Hages had made sure not to extend the usual courtesies which bordered on insubordination.
“Jeffrey Hage,” John rolled the name off his tongue. “’Tis a proud and mighty name you bear, son of Mercia.”
Jeffrey remained seated, spying Simon standing a few feet in back of the prince. “Your Grace,” he greeted in his deep, rumbling voice. “Your visit is something of a surprise. Is there a purpose?”
John almost smiled. The man was not one for pleasantries or courtesy. He was straight to the point. The prince motioned to his retainers, who quickly moved to pour him ale. He sat on the bench near Jeffrey, eyeing the man with the piercing brown eyes and attempting to decipher his level of hostility. Drinking the ale, he made a face and pushed it aside.
“Do you not have wine, Hage?” he demanded. “You provide me with this horrific swill?”
Jeffrey fixed him in the eye. “We are all out of wine,” he said flatly. “Would you be so kind as to tell me the purpose of your visit, Your Grace?”
John’s rage was building. With an unhappy sigh, he reclaimed the ale cup. “I have come to do you a favor, Hage. But I am not so sure that I will do this given your bad manners,” he said, watching for a reaction. He received none. “I have come to help you.”
“Help me?” Jeffrey repeated. “How, and why, would you do this?”
John motioned to Simon, who removed himself from the group and moved forward, his gaze darting back and forth between Sean and Jeffrey. He nodded at Sean.
“Greetings, Sean,” he said quietly. “It has been a long time.”
Sean, Kieran and Simon had fostered at Kenilworth Castle as children. They had all known each other for years. It was difficult for Sean, given what Kieran had told him, to behave civilly towards the man. He wanted to break the man’s neck.
“Simon,” he replied, nodding faintly. “I see that you have returned from the Holy Land alive.”
Simon nodded. “Indeed,” he replied, looking down at the prince and seeing that the man’s attention was on him. It was apparent that John was expected him to lead the conversation and Simon grew unnerved. “I have returned bearing dismal news, I am afraid. That is why I sought the prince, in fact. I did not feel that I should deliver this news alone and the prince has agreed to accompany me.”
Jeffrey looked at Simon as if the man were the lowest form of life. He resisted his natural instincts to insult him. Instead he waited to see what the man would spout. He sincerely hoped the man would dig his own grave. If even half of what Kieran had told him was true, then Simon was lucky to be alive at this moment. He was fortunate he hadn’t been gutted the moment he set foot on Hage lands.
“News?” Jeffrey repeated. “News of what?”
Simon looked at him. “Of Kieran, my lord.”
“Oh?” Jeffrey’s eyebrows lifted inquisitively. “What of my son?”
Simon looked at the prince for support. “I… I am afraid that something tragic has happened.”
“What do you mean tragic?” Sean demanded. “Is he dead?”
Simon took a deep breath, knowing he needed to speak out before the Hages grew further agitated. He could already see an extreme lack of patience in their expressions.
“Nay, he is not dead,” Simon replied steadily. “But I am afraid the man has lost his mind. He’s gone mad and has attempted to betray Richard.”
Sean looked at Jeffrey, who was staring at Simon with a piercing gaze. “Explain your slanderous statement, de Corlet,” he rumbled.
Simon was intimidated by the tone but continued. “It would seem that Kieran, for reasons unknown, has attempted to betray Richard,” he said. “I was witness to the man’s secret meeting with Muslim generals, men who wanted Kieran to betray and murder the king in the hopes that the Christian armies would weaken. I myself witnessed Kieran accepting a gift in payment for this deed. Richard sent men to find Kieran but the man managed to evade all patrols. I am fearful that he will return to England to wreak havoc.”
Jeffrey and Sean simply stared at Simon, digesting his tale. It was Jeffrey who finally shifted in his seat, stroking his chin wearily.
“I see,” he muttered. “And how did you happen to witness this secret meeting?”
Simon shrugged. “I have known Kieran for many years,” he said. “The man had been acting strangely, secretively. I began to grow suspicious. So I followed him one night and was witness to this exchange.”
“Did you confront him?”
Simon shook his head. “From my vantage point, I heard what was said. I did not need to confront him.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Your son has allied himself with the enemy, my lord. I felt it my duty to return home to tell you.”
Jeffrey cocked his head. “Why was it necessary to return home to tell me?”
Simon faltered somewhat. “As I told you, I feared he would return to England to spread lies and wreak havoc. The prince supports my assertions and it is he who has brought me here to tell you of this tragedy. Kieran Hage is no longer loyal to Richard; he has tried to kill him. The prince offers you his condolences and support in this matter.”
Jeffrey lifted an eyebrow, casting John a long glance. The prince was gazing back at him smugly. “No doubt,” he muttered sarcastically, returning his attention to Simon. “And this alleged gift that was presented to my son in exchange for his turning against Richard; do you know what it was?”
Simon took a deep breath, eyeing John as he did so. “I was told it was a holy relic.”
“Who told you this?”
Simon faltered. He’d not thought this far ahead in the conversation and mentally scrambled to attain a believable reply. “I… I heard some of the Saracens speaking, men who had presented the gift to Kieran. They told him it was a relic of Jesus Christ.”
Jeffrey pondered that a moment, sitting forward on the table and folding his big hands. It was clear he was deliberating all of the information presented. Sean stood silently next to his father, his powerful gaze never leaving Simon. But Sean remained as quiet as the grave. He would let his usually hotheaded but extremely wily father handle the situation. All Sean wanted to do was throttle the man.
“So you have come to tell me that my son is a traitor to Richard’s cause,” he said.
“To all of England, my lord,” Simon insisted. “The sands of The Levant have done something to his mind. He is not the same man you knew.”
Jeffrey grunted. “So you fear he is returning home to wreak havoc?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“What kind of havoc?”
Simon blinked as if startled by the question. “I would not know, my lord,” he replied. “But the man is unstable. There is no telling what he will say or do.”
Out of the darkness, a figure moved, so swiftly that no one saw the movement until it was too late. Kieran descended out of the shadows and landed a crushing blow against Simon’s jaw, so hard that as Simon sailed over the table, three teeth landed on the wood. Kieran vaulted over the table and went after him, sending John and his retainers scrambling for cover. Finally, it was the confrontation that Kieran had been waiting for. Punishment was at hand.
“Unstable, am I?” Kieran grabbed Simon and punched him in the face so hard that the facial bones shattered. “A traitor, am I? Considering one of your men confessed your lies and treachery to Richard, I would say that you are the only traitor in this room. Richard put a price on your head so you fled home to spread lies about me.”
Simon was bordering on unconsciousness as Kieran pulled him up from the floor and drove another fist into the side of his head. That blow knocked Simon out completely and he was a rag doll in Kieran’s hands. Kieran tossed the man across the room, like a dead body, and the room suddenly became alive with swords being drawn. As the prince’s men and Southwell troops engaged, John was screaming in the middle of it, demanding he not be harmed. He screamed at some of his men to save Simon and several of them rushed Kieran, who was unarmed.
Sean intercepted three of the prince’s guards, joined by Andrew. Yusef, who had been in the shadows with Kieran listening to the lies, ran to Kieran as the room deteriorated into chaos.
“We are unarmed, my friend,” he said, watching the fighting. “Perhaps we should acquire weapons.”
Kieran was as furious as he had ever been in his life. Listening to Simon’s lies firsthand had put him over the edge. A few of the prince’s men were down on the floor, gravely injured, and he went to collect weapons they no longer needed. With a broadsword in hand, he was extremely formidable. But he didn’t particularly want to fight. He wanted everyone in the room to understand that he was not the traitor Simon had painted him out to be. More than anything, he wanted to be vindicated. He leapt onto the feasting table with Yusef behind him, bellowing for calm.
“Cease!” he roared, holding up his enormous hands. “Southwell troops, you will cease!”
At the booming command of Kieran Hage, the room ground to an unsteady halt. Men were lying on the floor groaning and the prince, with several of his advisors, was huddled in a far corner. Kieran’s gaze fell on the prince as the man cowered in the shadows and he leapt off the table with Yusef in tow. As he approached, the prince held out his hands.
“You cannot harm me, Hage,” he practically screamed. “I am the king’s brother. You cannot harm me!”
Kieran stopped several feet away, his features taut and his chest tight with anger. “I have no intention of harming you,” he said. “But I want you, and every man in this room, to hear the truth of what transpired so that you will understand I am not a traitor. Simon’s poisonous lies will no longer be tolerated.”
John didn’t lower his hands but his fearful gaze moved between Kieran and the dark-skinned savage at his side. “What… what truth?”
Kieran looked at Yusef, who stepped forward and bowed traditionally to the prince. “Sharif,” he gave the traditional Muslim greeting. “I am Yusef Ibn Ahmed Ibn ad-Din, a general to the great El-Hajidd, advisor and chief general to the great Sala’ a-din. Many knights have fought for the Christian kings but there was one man, Sir Kieran Hage, who distinguished himself from the rest. Even our Muslim commanders knew of Sir Kieran’s reputation for justice and honesty. It was for that reason that my commander called a secret meeting with Sir Kieran Hage to offer a truce to the Christian armies. As a show of good faith, he extended the Crown of Thorns worn by Jesus Christ as a peace offering.”
John was still cowering in the corner but the naked fear had somewhat left him. “That… that is an amazing tale,” he said, although he’d already heard all of it. He presumed his best defense at the moment was to plead ignorance to whatever he could get away with. “Sir Kieran was most honored by the Muslim armies, then.”
Yusef nodded, looking over his shoulder at Simon, on the other side of the room and still unconscious, before turning back to the prince. “Sir Simon was part of that delegation as well,” he told the prince. “I saw him myself, for I was a member of the Muslim delegation. Simon was present when the terms for the treaty were relayed to Sir Kieran. What Sir Kieran did not know was that jealousy and treachery burned in Simon’s heart, and Simon made many attempts to murder Sir Kieran. When his attempts failed, he told King Richard that Kieran had betrayed the Christian armies by secretly meeting with the enemy.”
John pushed himself out of the corner, moving oddly sideways towards the entry to the hall. He was trying to leave and not being entirely unobvious about it.
“Then Simon lied to me as well,” he announced. “Had I known that, I would have never come here. I would have ignored him.”
Kieran knew that John was just trying to cover himself. He tossed aside the broadsword in his hand, feeling rather drained and empty after his rage. The entire situation was more or less coming to an unexpected head and he found himself emotionally exhausted. But Yusef took the opportunity to speak to all concerned.
“Sir Kieran is a noble man who has been set upon by wolves,” he said strongly, making sure everyone heard him. “Sir Simon spreads lies of betrayal where none exist. You must know of Sir Kieran’s innocence in all things.”
John was practically at the door. “I believe you,” he said. “But what of the relic? What happened to it?”
Kieran was still standing over by the corner where the prince had been cowering. “I have it,” he replied, somewhat wearily. “It is in my safekeeping.”
John stopped creeping for the door. “What do you plan to do with it?”
Jeffrey, still at the table in spite of all of the fighting that had gone on around him, stood up. “The Hages will gift it to the Church,” he said firmly, moving towards the prince. “It will be our gift to England. My son has saved this holy relic from the savages and it is our duty to present it to the Church where it belongs.”
John looked rather stricken. “But…” he stammered. “But this gift was meant for Richard. If Richard is not here to accept it then, as his brother, it is only right that I should accept it in his stead.”
The mood of the room suddenly changed. It was odd and strained, confused even. Kieran, seeing that the quest for the relic could go in an entirely different direction, opened his mouth to refute the prince. But Yusef was first to reply.
“The relic was meant for all Christendom,” he said. “It is not meant for any one man.”
John’s brow furrowed. That dark, greasy, mono-brow lowered angrily. “But you said yourself that your general meant it for Richard,” he said. “What do you expect Richard to do with it? He would have returned it home to England where it belongs.”
“It goes to the Church,” Jeffrey put in before anyone else could answer. “I will take it to the Archbishop of Canterbury myself. But until then, it is in safekeeping and warrants no further argument.”
John was clearly unhappy. “It should be in the charge of the royal family.”
“Yet it is not.” Jeffrey gave the man a powerful scowl. “If you have nothing more to say, then I would ask you to leave Southwell and return to wherever it is you came from.”
They were extremely bold words to the prince. As Kieran watched his father’s body language and listened to his speech, he wasn’t even sure if he would have spoken so brashly to a royal. But Kieran knew that his father saw Henry in John, the friend he once had, the manipulator he had grown to hate. Jeffrey was used to speaking his mind with the royals.
But John’s mouth flew open, aghast. “Are you ordering me out of Southwell?”
Jeffrey moved towards him. “Get out of here before I take you over my knee. It should have been done years ago.”
John’s outrage knew no bounds. He began to yelp and snort, cuffing one of the advisors standing close to him when he realized the man was attempting to usher him out of the hall. He struggled against his men.
“This is not finished!” he screamed. “This is not finished at all!”
Southwell men, including Andrew and Christian, escorted the prince and his entourage back to their horses. Kieran, Sean, Yusef and Jeffrey stood and watched from the doorway as John threw himself down on the dirt of the bailey and pitched one of his legendary fits.
They were so involved in watching the prince twist and foam that no one noticed Simon rising from the floor on the other side of the room. He was smashed and disoriented, but not completely senseless. He staggered to his feet and shuffled over to one of the king’s guards, lying dead on the floor. Yanking the man’s broadsword out of his stiff hand, he headed for the Hages.
Jeffrey suddenly grunted. Startled by the sound, Kieran, Sean and Yusef turned to see Simon with his hand on the hilt of a sword that had been driven into Jeffrey’s back. Horrified, Kieran reached out and grabbed Simon around the neck, snapping it before the man could draw another breath. As Simon fell dead to the floor, never to rise or spread lies again, Kieran was grabbing his father, holding the man close as Sean pulled free the sword.
Kieran had never known such anguish. As his father bled bright red blood onto the dirt floor of the great hall, it suddenly reminded Kieran of a time long ago when he, too, had bled bright red blood onto a cold dirt floor. He could only think of one thing as he looked up into Yusef’s shocked face.
“Get Kaleef,” he breathed.
*
From her vantage point, Rory had a perfect view of the gatehouse of Southwell and the road leading to it. The road wound its way from the plains beyond, through the town, and up to the enormous two-towered gatehouse. After Kieran left, she pulled up a stool and sat, watching the scene unfold below.
The prince arrived with a cluster of men on horseback. She couldn’t see well enough in the darkness to make out what the soldiers and knights were wearing as far as tunics or banners, but it was really something to see. The men on horses were dressed in heavy armor and the dogs on the parapets were barking furiously at the intruders. The gatehouse, lit up by dozens of enormous torches, closed its fanged portcullis slowly behind the incoming party. Rory could hear the ropes and chains creaking as the wheels were turned. She watched, fascinated, as an entire Medieval world came to life before her eyes.
Shortly after Kieran left, Bud and David appeared in her room, escorted by the long-haired old man that had originally greeted them when they had first entered the keep. She hugged David happily and even Bud seemed glad to see her. From what the old servant told her, the boys had been in the knight’s quarters and Sir Kieran had ordered them brought to his chamber. Rory was thrilled and thanked the servant, who left them alone and shut the door. As the boys sat down and cleaned up the rest of the food, Rory continued to watch the activity below.
Once John’s escort passed through the gatehouse, there really wasn’t much more to see. There were a lot of soldiers upon the parapets and a lot of dogs pacing with them as they walked their posts. She could see the city beyond, the torches burning to illuminate homes and streets, and she could catch whiffs of cooking smells. But they were mostly smells of roasting meat, which made her nauseous, so she tried not to smell too much. Just when she was considering turning away from the window and going to sit with the boys, there was a soft knock on the door.
David and Bud looked at her expectantly. Rory rose from the stool and went to the door, a bit apprehensive. She didn’t open the door, somewhat fearful of what might be on the other side.
“Who is it?” she called.
There was a slight hesitation. “I am Lady Margaret, Lady Hage,” came a soft, female voice. “Sean’s wife.”
Rory unlatched the iron bolt and opened the door. A very slender, very pale young woman with enormous green eyes stood there, smiling timidly. On her hip was a little girl, about a year old. Rory smiled at the pair.
“Hello,” she said to the woman. “It’s nice to meet you. Who is your little friend?”
The Lady Margaret de Russe Bigod-Hage gazed back at perhaps the loveliest woman she had ever seen. The lady was tall and lush, with a curvy figure, long chestnut-colored hair that she allowed to flow free and big hazel eyes. The woman’s stunning beauty was something of a shock. And she had no idea what the lady meant with her very odd question until Rory reached out to touch the baby’s hand. Margaret hastened to answer.
“This is my daughter, Eleanor,” she replied. “It is a privilege to know you, my lady. I was so happy to hear that Kieran had returned from the great Quest with a wife.”
Rory motioned for Margaret to enter. The tiny woman slipped into the room and Rory shut the door behind her. They turned to each other, Margaret far more timid than Rory. In just those first few seconds, Rory could see that Margaret was a very proper Medieval woman in every way. She was extremely polite, her hair was pulled back into an elaborate bun on the back of her head, and her surcoat was very conservative and even somewhat loose to avoid flaunting her figure. She was also quite pretty in a pale, ethereal sort of way. Rory studied the skin of her face, something that had never seen modern cosmetics or moisturizers. Her skin looked a little oily, minor acne on her chin, but was otherwise clear. Overall, Margaret seemed rather fragile and Rory knew she would have to be careful with her. From outwards appearance, a twenty-first century woman might frighten this one to death.
“So, Lady Margaret,” Rory began, trying to be careful in her speech and manner. “How long have you and Sean been married?”
“For five years, my lady,” Margaret replied politely.
Rory took a second look at her, trying not to be obvious about it. the young woman couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. “How old were you when you were married?” she couldn’t help the question.
“I had seen twelve summers, my lady,” she replied proudly. “Sir Sean and I had been betrothed since I was a child.”
Rory stared at her, doing the math in her head. Kieran had mentioned that his brother was only a year and half younger than he was, which meant Sean was around thirty years of age. He was twenty-five when he married Margaret, who was only twelve at the time. Pedophilia is alive and well in Medieval England, she thought. Still, she knew it was the custom. No one thought twice about it.
“Congratulations.” She didn’t know what else to say. “And congratulations on Eleanor. She’s beautiful.”
Margaret looked at the brown-eyed little girl, smiling hugely. “Ellie is my love,” she said. “She is a very good child, very bright.”
“I can see that,” Rory said, laughing when the baby grinned a big four-toothed grin at her. “She looks like you.”
Margaret’s smile vanished. “Oh, no, my lady,” she insisted. “She favors her father greatly.”
Rory lifted her eyebrows, knowing in Medieval society, the world revolved around the man. She nodded as if to concede the point. There were two enormous chairs of stuffed cowhide over near the blazing hearth and she indicated for Margaret to sit.
“Tell me about yourself, Lady Margaret,” she said as they sat down opposite one another. “Where did you grow up… I mean, foster?”
Lady Margaret shifted Eleanor to her lap and Rory found herself inspecting the woman’s surcoat. It was finely made with incredibly detailed stitching around the bodice. Someone had taken a lot of time and effort with it. But Margaret seemed oblivious to the fact that Rory seemed to be staring at her breasts.
“I was fortunate enough to have fostered at Berkeley Castle,” she said proudly. “My father is Edward Bigod, half-brother to the Earl of Norfolk. I was born at New Buckenham Castle, my father’s holding.”
Talk about powerful family ties, Rory thought. She smiled politely. “Do you have any sisters or brothers?” she asked, simply to keep the conversation going.
But Margaret shook her head. “Alas, I do not. My father is extremely disappointed he has no sons.”
There was really nothing more to say to that so Rory spoke on the first thing that popped into her mind. “Do you have any hobbies?”
Margaret cocked her pretty blond head. “Hobbies?”
“Talents. Skills. Do you draw?”
Margaret smiled brightly. She had nice, straight teeth that were slightly dingy. “Indeed I do, Lady Hage,” she replied. “I sew. Why, I sewed this dress.”
She indicated the embroidery that had Rory so fascinated. It really was stunning work. Rory looked closely at it. There were flowers and bees in an intricate pattern.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said sincerely. “You do beautiful work.”
“My thanks, Lady Hage.”
The conversation died slightly. Rory was running out of things to ask about when Margaret piped up.
“Do you have also skills, Lady Hage?” she asked politely. “Surely you must be very accomplished to have married Sir Kieran.”
Rory suddenly felt like the most useless person in the world. She couldn’t sew or speak five languages like some Medieval women, or even play an instrument, but she could draw. And she could sing. Okay, so she didn’t feel entirely useless.
“I can draw and I can sing,” she announced. “And I can cook.”
Margaret looked startled. “Cook?”
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. Proper Medieval women really didn’t cook, but she had already admitted it.
“Yes,” she admitted to it. “I can cook. I’m a great cook and Kieran is very proud of me.”
It could have been interpreted as a rebuke, but Margaret didn’t take it that way. Her timid smile returned. “I… I have always wanted to learn,” she confessed. “I have been taught to run a household and I understand the art of maintaining kitchen stores, but I have never learned to cook. At Berkeley, they would not let us into the kitchens when the cooks were at work.”
Rory smiled. “I’ll teach you,” she said. “It’s really very easy.”
Margaret appeared intrigued if not reluctant. “Do you believe I can learn? Is it difficult?”
Rory waved her off. “For a smart woman like you? You’ll be great at it.”
Margaret giggled as if she were planning something bold and crazy. “As you say, Lady Hage,” she said, not completely understanding the odd speech patterns but understanding enough that she was coming to like Lady Hage very much. “I would be grateful for your tutelage.”
Rory just smiled at her, thinking the poor, little thing really was timid. God help her if she hung around Rory for too long; she would either shrivel away with shock or learn how to stand up for herself. Rory watched the pale, lovely girl, wondering which it would be. The conversation began to drag again and Rory looked around the room, trying to think of something more to say.
“Well,” she began, grasping for thoughts. “Uh… this is a pretty big keep. Who else lives here?”
Margaret stepped up with the answers. “Sean and I have a room on this floor, next to Kieran’s room,” she told Rory what she already knew. “There is another room next to ours, a very small room, which is Andrew’s. Below us are chambers for Christian and Lord Jeffrey. Oh, and a small chamber for Charlotte.”
Rory cocked her head. “Charlotte? Who’s that?”
“Christian’s betrothed. She only came to live with us a few months ago.”
“Oh,” Rory replied. “I haven’t met her yet.”
Some of the smile disappeared from Margaret’s face. “And you shall not, more than likely,” she said. “Christian does not like for anyone to speak with Charlotte.”
Rory’s face screwed up with confusion. “Huh?” she said. “Why not?”
For the first time since introducing herself, Margaret appeared uncomfortable. “Lady Charlotte was a betrothal that Lord Jeffrey insisted upon,” she lowered her voice, speaking hesitantly. “She is from the de Longley family in Northumbria, the Lords of Northwood. Christian does not want a bride. He forbids anyone to speak to her.”
Rory’s confusion grew. “Why not?”
Margaret shrugged. “I do not know,” she said honestly. “But he forbids anyone to speak to the girl. I’ve only seen her twice since her arrival. Christian keeps her closed up in her chamber. He and his father fight about her all of the time. Christian wants her sent home and Lord Jeffrey refuses.”
Now Rory’s confusion was turning to outrage. “Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed. “He keeps that woman locked up and won’t let anyone talk to her?”
Margaret nodded, somewhat intimidated by Rory’s sudden angst. “She is not a woman,” she said. “She is only thirteen years old.”
“What?” Rory shot to her feet. “She’s a little girl, for God’s sake. And she’s been kept locked up for months?”
“Aye, Lady Hage,” Margaret replied, completely fearful of the woman’s reaction.
Rory opened her mouth to vent her outrage, but looking at Lady Margaret’s frightened expression stilled her. The woman looked like she was about to faint dead away. So she visibly cooled, although her mind was racing.
“Well,” she forced herself to take a deep breath. “I will have to ask my husband about that. It doesn’t seem right to me.”
Margaret was greatly relieved that Lady Hage was calming. She rocked the baby in her lap. “It is Sir Christian’s wish,” she replied.
Rory cast her a long look. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered. A thought suddenly came to her. “You said she’s downstairs, directly below us?”
“Aye, my lady.”
Clever, if not disobedient thoughts came to Rory’s head. “I haven’t been shown the keep,” she said, almost innocently. “Would you mind showing me around?”
Margaret stood up, looking somewhat fearful. “My husband instructed me to stay here with you. We are not allowed to leave our rooms, my lady.”
Rory was going to be a very bad girl. “You can just show me this floor and the floor below. We won’t leave the keep. That’s what they’re most concerned with, isn’t it? That we don’t leave the keep?”
Margaret was distressed, growing more distressed as Rory moved to the door with the apparent intention of leaving.
“Nay, my lady,” she ran to the door, bouncing poor Eleanor around. “We must not leave. They would become very angry with us.”
Rory opened the door, revealing the darkened landing beyond. She put up a hand to soothe Margaret. “We’re not going anywhere,” she insisted. “I just want to see this floor and maybe the floor below.”
Margaret began to plead with her when, suddenly, sounds of shouting and activity began to filter up from the floor below. It sounded like a lot of scuffling going on, the shouts of servants, and somewhere in the middle of it, Rory swore she heard Kieran’s strong, steady voice. But then there was a resounding bang, loud enough to cause both ladies to startle and, without further communication between them, they both raced back into the bedchamber and shut the door. Rory threw the bolt and turned to Margaret with big, stunned eyes.
“What in the world was that all about?” she half-gasped, half-demanded.
Margaret looked terrified. “I do not know, my lady.”
Rory stood by the door, listening for more sounds, but began to realize that if there was trouble, they could come up the stairs and enter her chamber through Sean and Margaret’s room. She motioned quickly to Margaret.
“Go to your room and make sure all of the doors are locked,” she instructed, watching the woman flee. “Come back here when you’re done.”
Rory continued to stand beside the door, listening. She had her head against the wood, which is why she nearly fell over with a concussion when someone pounded on the door.
“Libby?” it was Kieran.
She threw open the door, the joy on her face turning to horror when she saw the blood on him. “Oh, my God,” she quickly rose to panic. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
He shook his head and put his bloodied hands on her to steady her. “Not me,” he insisted. “My father. Come with me.”
Shaking and frightened, Rory did as she was told.