After several long moments of silent reflection, he sighed heavily and quaffed the last of the fine wine. “I would assume you have a plan?”
Owen fought off a smile, pleased beyond words that Henry Percy had finally chosen a path for his future. “Am I to take it that we are allies?”
Hotspur grunted, evading the question. “Tell me of your scheme to grab Henry by the throat.”
Owen glanced at David, silent words of victory filling the air between them. Hotspur was in their fold. As David pulled his stool closer to the table, Owen faced Hotspur with restrained joy.
“We must assume that Richmond has not remained with her at Whitby for one very good reason; the nuns will not allow him to stay. Moreover, I would wager that with the Welsh resistance and the rumors of your insurrection, Henry requires his power and wisdom in London. Therefore, it would be a safe assumption that the Lady Arissa is alone in Yorkshire while her beloved is embroiled in the politics of England. Which is where you play a part in all of this.”
Hotspur’s face was impassive. “I am listening.”
Owen paused a moment. “You will ride to Whitby bearing a forged missive from Henry demanding that his daughter be released to your custody. Certainly, no one will question the mighty Hotspur as he moves to accomplish the bidding of his king by escorting Henry’s bastard daughter to London.”
“For what purpose is she required in London?”
“Does it matter? She’s the king’s daughter and it is his prerogative to do with her as he pleases. Moreover, she’s not a nun and thereby not bound to the abbey by her vows. Based on Henry’s commanding directive and your powerful presence, she will be relinquished to your protection.”
Henry’s jaw ticked. “How can you be so sure?”
Owen shrugged. “The abbess cannot keep her if the King of England demands her temporary release. Technically, she has no legal right to hold her over the demands of her parent and I would wager a good deal on the fact that she would be unwilling to anger the king with a refusal.”
Hotspur drew in a long, harsh sigh, pondering his overall role in the Welsh prince’s scheme. A scheme that appeared to be safe enough, although he would not stake his life on the fact. Nothing in this world was ever safe. “And I will bring her here?”
Owen’s eyes glittered. His design was foolproof, providing one factor remained true; that Richmond le Bec was indeed in London. “Aye, my lord,” he replied softly, with confidence. “You will bring her here.”
On the snowy hills overlooking the weakened camp of the Welsh resistors, a lone wolf bayed into the crystal-clear evening sky. A thousand diamonds of light glittered across the black expanse, their light casting silver fingers on the gloom of evil that had settled over the western border of England.
The malevolent darkness that became a plan this night.
*
Richmond passed throughthe King’s Gate to the south side of Windsor, having completed his glorious procession through the Great Park in order to reach his destination. The massive bailey of Windsor was open and welcoming, soldiers and courtiers alike shouted their greeting to the mighty warrior. Ignoring theadmiring throng, Richmond ordered his weary soldiers to seek rest and food before they collapsed entirely.
Gavan dismounted beside Richmond, exhausted after the seven day march from Yorkshire. Stubbled and bordering on disheveled, Richmond raised his visor and wiped at his clammy brow as his eyes drew in the sight of The Earl Marshall’s Tower, towering four stories into the bright blue sky overhead. St. George’s Hall was directly to his right, a gallery he was most familiar with, but it merely warranted a passing glance as he loosened his gauntlets.
“I am intent on seeking Henry this moment,” he said, his voice rough with fatigue. “Retire to the knight’s quarters and wait for me.”
Gavan’s gaze was dull, wary. As if he did not trust Richmond to simply present his case in a rational manner; the man had been an emotional bundle for the past several days and Gavan was not at all sure that anything but a positive response on Henry’s part would be met with a sword through the gullet.
“I would be more than happy to accompany you….”
Richmond cut him off. “Do as I say, Gavan. I have business to attend to and I would complete it alone.”
Gavan watched his liege march into the gaping entrance to the castle. Concerned for his mental state though he might be, his concerns were not strong enough to warrant the disobedient action of following him into the castle. Richmond could well handle Henry’s audience and did not require supervision. Moreover, Gavan was not in the position to supervise a fellow warrior’s emotions at the moment; he was quite consumed with sentiment of his own.
His dead wife and son were expecting him.
Leaving his second in command behind to disband the troops, Richmond made his way into the cool interior of Windsor. Taking the grand staircase to Henry’s suite of rooms,he marched past a collection of household guards as if their protecting presence was insignificant against his strength. He intended to see Henry immediately and to hell with any delay or show of resistance.
Since the moment he had left Arissa, there had been nothing else to occupy his thoughts. He had lived, breathed and slept Arissa, feeling her soft body against him in his dreams only to awaken to a cold bed and an even colder heart. But the building desperation to reclaim her only served to fuel his determination to bargain with Henry; Gavan had been correct when he had advised him to play the political theater. And play he would.
Henry was certainly no amateur when it came to bureaucratic intrigue and the king was about to find out that Richmond le Bec was to be included as a viable player as well. For too long, Richmond had simply followed orders like a moronic simpleton, never voicing his opinion or opposition to anything his king suggested. But no more. He had played the role of Henry’s obedient dog long enough. If the king wanted his services against the Welsh resistance and Hotspur’s mutiny, then he would have to pay for it.
Henry IV, formerly Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, was in his private solar, embroiled in a game of chess with a lesser official of his court. Average of height and fair of coloring, he did not bothering looking up from the game board as the door to the solar creaked open. His master chamberlain cleared his throat carefully.
“Richmond le Bec has come, Sire,” the man said. “He demands audience with you immediately.”
Henry’s head came up from the board, his eyes wide with surprise. “Do not keep the man waiting. God’s Blood, let him in!” he waved his hands erratically at his game partner. “Out, Thomas, out. Everyone get out!”
