Even as he discussed the price of the jewels with the priest, Kevin couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Annavieve. As she stood on top of a stool while the women measured and pinned with big iron pins, the only thing filling his field of vision was the product of a convent, now the Duchess of Dorset. A regal, elegant creature, he thought. Beautiful to the core.
Much like Annavieve, Kevin was also looking forward to what the night would bring.
CHAPTER NINE
“Victor!” the manwept. “He is dead! My son isdead!”
Having just entered the grand tent of the Earl of Salisbury, staked in the middle a cluster of tents on the outskirts of Longcross, Victor was met by William Longespee, Earl of Salisbury, as the man sat on his bed in his luxurious tent and sobbed.
“My God!” Victor hissed. “Who, William? Which son?”
The earl was distraught, but Victor had a very good reason for asking. In fact, his entire life hinged on the man’s reply. For over a year, Victor and William’s heir, Roger, Viscount Twyford, had been lovers. The viscount had been in Paris for the past two months and, at last missive, was on his way back home. William had three other sons but Victor didn’t care about them, he was only concerned with one. Reaching out, he grabbed William by the arms and shook him.
“Which son?” he demanded, frantic.
William, a man who was usually much more in control of himself, was clearly devastated. “Roger,” he cried. “Roger is dead! Murdered!”
Victor felt as if he had been slammed in the chest. He stumbled back, tripping on his own feet, and ended up onhis arse on the floor of the tent. He could scarcely breathe, struggling to accept the fact that his lover, the man he’d loved for over a year now, was gone. William knew nothing of it, of course; no one ever knew of Victor’s trysts. He paid people well to forget what they knew or what they saw, and servants or soldiers who had spoken in whispers of his tastes had met with unfortunate accidents. Nay, no one knew of his loves. He was determined to keep it that way. Sweat popped out on his brow.
“Nay,” he said hoarsely. “It cannot be.This cannot be!Surely this information is false!”
William wiped at his wet, mucus-smeared face. “It is not wrong,” he said. “His body has been brought to me. It is here.”
Victor was stricken with horror. “Here?” he repeated. “How is he here? William,what happened?”
William struggled to gain some semblance of composure. He was usually a regal man, tall and strong, and he had come from a family of tall and strong men. He wasn’t given to fits of fury or sorrow, even-tempered as far as men went, but the death of his heir had him reeling.
“He was murdered in Dover,” William said, wiping at his face again. “He was returning home from Paris, you know. I sent him there on the event of his twenty-fifth birthday. He had four well-armed men with him as escort and they were attacked in a tavern in Dover. One of the soldiers survived long enough to speak of returning Roger home. Those returning my son to Salisbury heard that I was here, in Longcross, and they brought him here to me. He is therefore here… I do not know what I am going to tell his mother.”
Victor listened to William with increasing horror. When the man was finished speaking, he simply sat there and put his head in his hands. He was grief-stricken beyond measure, made worse by the fact that he could not pay proper respect to Roger’s body. He wanted to hold it and hug it and kiss it, but he knew hecould not. He could not demonstrate the love he felt for the man. Whatever they had between them could not be made public and that knowledge cut Victor to the core.
“Dear… God,” he finally breathed. “Roger is gone.”
William, seeing Victor collapsed in grief, stumbled off his bed and made his way to the man, falling to his knees beside him. “You are a good and true friend to grieve the loss of my son so,” he said, his hand on Victor’s head. “I know he was your friend. He spoke often of you. You were good to him.”
Victor’s head came up, his somewhat shocked gaze on William.He spoke often of you.He was curious to know what, exactly, Roger had said of him.
“He… he was a fine lad,” he finally said, fearful of saying too much. “We shared the same love of fine horses. He… he made me laugh.”
William hugged him, pulling him close. “That is not all he did to you,” he whispered into Victor’s ear before releasing him and struggling to his feet. He continued on as if he had not just whispered something quite scandalous. “He was a light in my dark life, Victor. I do not know what I shall do without him.”
Victor was still on the ground, deeply shocked by William’s words.He knows!Victor thought in panic. But he would not acknowledge William’s comments in any way. He’d spent his entire life hiding his true self and had no idea how to confirm such a thing. It was not something he’d ever spoken of or ever would. Confusion as well as grief filled him.
“Who did this to him?” Victor demanded, rising to his knees and struggling to move the subject away from the intimacy William had inferred. “Tell me who murdered your son and I will send a hundred men to seek vengeance upon him and his family!”
William shook his head, collapsing onto his bed. “I do not know,” he muttered. “The men that brought my son to me saidthat three knights attacked my son and his soldiers and killed them all. They fled after the deed. That is all I know.”
That wasn’t good enough for Victor. He stood up, unsteadily. “Three knights,” he hissed. “And no one saw who they were? No one followed them?”
William sighed heavily. His tears had subsided, leaving a great hollowness in their wake. “Nay,” he said. “Who would follow armed knights? They would only get themselves killed.”
Victor’s mind was working furiously, thinking on how to catch and punish this murderer who had destroyed his love. He was almost wild with the need to punish. “Where are the men who brought your son home?” he demanded. “Where are they that I might question them?”
William waved a weary hand. “I sent them home,” he said. “I paid them well for bringing Roger to me and sent them away.”
“How long ago did they leave?”
“Hours,” William whispered. “It has been hours. My son was brought to me this morning.”
