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 rational. 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 as 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 head-long 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 will 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 frowned 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 I, 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 her 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 close 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 come, or at least he had been until their experience in the dungeons 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.
“Nay,” he agreed. “I am a killer with an awareness, which makes me even more dangerous. Do you want to know why I spoke with holy men and apothecaries and physics? Because I want to understand more than I have ever understood before. There is more to this life than what we have lived – there is joy and happiness and innocence, something that is very rare in our world. And mayhap that is why Andressa fascinates me so much – she has that innocence, but the joy and happiness has been taken from her. It would be so easy to bring it back. I have the power of death; I prove that every day. But the power of peace and joy? That, so far, has been something that has eluded me.”
“And you see a chance for that with Andressa?” Kress pressed gently.
Maxton shook his head, emitting a heavy sigh. “I do not know,” he admitted. “I have been asking myself that over the course of the day. I have literally only known the woman for a day, but something about her has gotten under my skin. I cannot explain it any better than that.”
Kress looked at Achilles and Alexander, who had much the same expression as he did on their faces. It was genuine surprise. Achilles, the most introspective of the four of them, spoke softly.
“God works in mysterious ways, Max,” he said. “But remember that the woman is a pledge, meaning her guardian has consigned her to God. If you want to change that, then you must speak to her guardian.”
Maxton held up a hand. “I did not say I wanted to change her status,” he said. “I do not even know if I want to change mine. But I am… curious. I am in the grip of something I do not understand, but it is not something I can explore at the moment. My oath to my profession above all and, at the moment, we have a task on our hands. I must finish it before I can, and will, consider anything else.”
That was the Maxton they knew and they were pleased to hear that his devotion to his knighthood was still intact no matter what confusion over a woman that he may have been feeling. Kress patted him in the shoulder.
“That is good to hear,” he said. “Because, certainly, we have a task on our hands and I believe you have a pledge to return to St. Blitha now, and we shall leave you to that task.”
Maxton simply nodded, watching the three of them file out of the solar, leaving it cold and still in their wake. The sun was completely down now and there were a few tapers lit in the chamber, but the hearth was dark. It was only when a servant entered the room, thinking it was empty of the knights, that Maxton went to seek Andressa.
In truth, he was dreading it.
He didn’t want to let her return to that horrific place, but he had little choice. Deep down, he understood why William wanted her back at St. Blitha and it made sense to him. The trick would be asking Andressa to do the unthinkable when she returned.
To spy.
The door to the retainer’s chamber loomed before him. Gathering his courage, he would do what needed to be done.
The garment was the color of wine.
Andressa couldn’t take her eyes off it as an older serving woman brought it in and laid it upon the chair next to the hearth. The woman smiled kindly at Andressa and told her that Sir Maxton had ordered clean clothes and a bath for her, something that greatly confused Andressa. Why should she need clean clothing and a bath? She had to return to St. Blitha, and she certainly couldn’t do it in clothing that did not belong to her.
But then, she started to think about it… a bath. Something clean to wear. God only knew how long it had been since she’d had either. Whilst at Okehampton, Lady de Courtney had insisted on cleanliness, so her charges bathed regularly and their clothing was always clean.
In fact, Andressa had never even experienced vermin during that time – no vermin on the body or in the hair, no vermin in the beds or linens, but at St. Blitha, vermin was the norm. It was in the clothing, in the bedding, but Andressa had spent a great deal of time boiling her own bedding and clothing, trying to stay away from the other nuns who suspiciously itched. Vermin traveled, but she kept things that touched her body as clean as she could, and although she’d seen other nuns and pledges with the red rash that foretold of vermin, Andressa had been careful enough to avoid it for the most part.
But it had been a struggle.
Therefore, when the old serving woman came into the chamber with clean clothing and talk of a bath, Andressa didn’t hesitate for long. She almost wanted the bath more than the food. She wasn’t as dedicated to her to the cloister enough to refuse the clean comfort of the material world, so she stood in the corner as several servants entered the chamber with a big copper basin. She didn’t utter a word of protest when they filled it, sending steam into the chamber. She was ready, willing, and able to wash herself when the servants left.
“I’ll take your clothing and have it washed, m’lady,” the old serving woman was the only one left, holding out her arms to Andressa. “Let me take your garments and while they are being cleaned, you can wear the clothing I brought you.”
The lure of worldly comforts was almost too much for Andressa to take. Her gaze was on the steaming water. “There is no time to clean my clothing properly,” she said. “It will take time to dry out and I do not have such time.”
The servant didn’t give up. “Then let me take it and clean what I can,” she said. “Clean the spots off of it, as it were.”
Andressa looked down at herself. She wore what was essentially a long tunic, all the way to the ground, tied about her waist with a loose leather belt. Beneath that, she wore a shift, but it was made from rough material and that, too, had been given to her. Cast downs from other nuns who had moved on to finer habits. On her feet were leather shoes, with a hole in the sole of the right one, and that was all she wore. No hose, nothing to protect her skin.
Gone were the days of the fine garments she used to wear, the lovely dresses made from silks. Her hair, which had been a source of pride for her, had always been elaborately dressed. She looked like an heiress, which she was, but all of that finery had ended the day she entered St. Blitha. The lovely dress she wore had been taken from her and in its place she’d been given the monstrosity she currently wore. She had a second shift, for sleeping or the rare bathing, but she was basically wearing everything she owned, and she knew it was a sight.
Not a good sight, either.
Her resistance to the call of comfort wasn’t very strong. She hadn’t much willpower where that was concerned. Therefore, with a sharp nod, she began to untie her belt, removing it and pulling the heavy woolen garment over her head to hand to the servant. As the woman moved to the door, presumably to go clean the wool, Andressa removed her shoes and made her way over to the basin to peer at the clean, warm water.
Heavenly!
But she jumped away from the basin, startled, when the old servant opened the door and was met by another servant outside. The old woman handed off the woolen garment to the servant and took something from her in return, something she carried with her as she closed the door, bolted it, and headed over to the table near the hearth, where she sat everything down. She then picked up a three-legged stool from a corner and headed for the big, steaming basin on the ground.
“Remove your shift, m’lady,” she said as she placed the stool inside the basin. “Get in, sit down, and I shall wash you down.”
It was almost too good to be true, but Andressa refused to remove the thin linen shift. She simply wasn’t comfortable doing so. The serving woman encouraged her to get into the basin, anyway, easing her down onto the stool. The water was several inches deep, deep enough so that when she sat down, her bottom was right at the water level. Once she settled down, the old servant went to work.
Such a simple comfort as a washing had never felt so good. It wasn’t a full bath, as Andressa wasn’t immersed, but the serving woman used a large pitcher to pour water over her, drenching her, before scrubbing what skin she could get to, from her head to her toes, with a bristly brush and a cake of hard soap that had seeds in it, and smelled of honey and pine.
It was a glorious smell, and Andressa reveled in the pleasure of being scrubbed down. Her ankles, filthy above the edges of her shoe, were scrubbed clean, as where her elbows, knees, hands, and any other piece of flesh the serving woman could get to.
More water rinsed over her and the serving woman took her hair out of its thick braid, the one that went all the way to her knees, and began pouring water through it. Andressa wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to explain wet hair when she returned to St. Blitha, but at the moment, she didn’t much care. It was a heavenly bath and she was savoring the moment.
She’d worry about the consequences later.
“I have soap meant for your hair, m’lady,” the serving woman said. “It’s meant to kill any vermin and make your hair very fresh.”
With the warm water and the scrubbing, Andressa was quite relaxed at that point. She was game for anything the woman wanted to do to her. “How is it that you have so many things for a bath?” she asked. “Is there a lady of the house?”
The old woman began to pour something over Andressa’s hair, something that smelled strongly of vinegar. “Lord William has five daughters,” the servant told her. “When they visit London, this is where they stay.”
Andressa looked to the dress hanging over the chair. “Then the gown belongs to his daughters?”
“Aye, m’lady.”
That made sense to Andressa. She said a silent prayer of thanks to the daughters of William Marshal, loaning her their bathing things and something to wear. Perhaps a bath and clean clothes was the simplest thing in the world to them, but to her, it was everything. It reminded her of the outside world she was coming to miss, so very much.
God, she wanted to live in a fine house like this, with all of the food and comfort she could tolerate, and it deeply saddened her that it simply wasn’t meant to be. Therefore, she was determined to enjoy the moment, as short as it would be, because God only knew when she’d ever known such comforts again.
The old woman washed her hair once with bar soap that smelled strongly of Sulphur, and then rinsed it clear with vinegar again. Seated on the stool, Andressa’s hair was so long that it went all the way to the floor and then some, and the old servant spent a good deal of time combing out her tresses while Andressa sat in the cooling water. Cooling or not, it was still as blissful as she could imagine and she would stretch it out as long as she could.
Bless Maxton and his requests for her comfort.
When the water became too cold, the old woman urged her out of the basin by holding up a large piece of drying cloth. Andressa did as she was told, stepping onto the cold floor while the woman vigorously dried her and her sopping shift. As the old woman came around to the front of her and began drying her arms and torso, as least as much as she could, she suddenly came to a halt.
Andressa had been enjoying the attention until that moment, but when it abruptly stopped, she peered at the old servant only to see that the woman was looking at her midsection with some alarm.
“What is it?” Andressa asked curiously.
The old woman opened her mouth to speak, then quickly shut it. She shook her head, swiftly, and returned to her drying duties.
“I… I do not believe that dress shall fit you, m’lady,” she said hesitantly. “I will go and see if I can find something else that is suitable.”
Andressa wasn’t able to reply before the woman was hastily bundling her up in the drying cloth and pushing her towards the hearth.
“Stay here,” she told her firmly. “The heat from the fire will dry you and your hair, but careful you don’t get too close. We wouldn’t want to see your hair go up in flame.”
Andressa nodded, thinking the woman was acting rather strangely all of a suddenly. As she watched, the woman grabbed the wine-colored garment and fled the chamber, shutting the door behind her.