Very quickly, she was out of sight, but he didn’t go after her. To do so would surely cause a scene and she’d made her wishes known. Something in that godforsaken abbey had her terrified, so terrified that she couldn’t leave it. But from the story she told, he didn’t blame her for her fear– a Mother Abbess who murdered her charges, and a woman who was apparently all-knowing and all-seeing.
It was the most appalling thing he’d ever heard.
As he turned back to the tavern to pay for the meal they’d so abruptly left, thoughts of Andressa du Bose were lingering in his mind. That lovely, pale-faced woman with the tragic life had his attention. He wasn’t sure why, but she did. He was interestedin her, but no longer in an altruistic way. He’d mentioned assuming the role of her older brother, to protect her, but that wasn’t why he did it. He did it because if he simply announced he wanted to protect her, it would have been improper considering they were not betrothed or even courting. Moreover, she was meant for the church. A relationship with a man wouldn’t be part of that plan.
Still…
Maxton suspected that in the days to come, he would find her out on the streets again, looking for food.
And he would be waiting.
CHAPTER SIX
Farringdon House
It was achamber filled with knights.
In fact, the very walls reeked of power… swords… and blood. They had absorbed such things over the years, walls that had seen much of the politics of England.
The first floor solar of Farringdon House was a meeting place, one that William Marshal used to summon the great and powerful of England. It covered nearly half of the floor, and it was a very big floor, so there was easily room for fifty or more men in the solar with its great stone hearth, exposed beams overhead, and painted walls. The floor was made from wide slats of wood, heavy, but pocked from men who had walked upon it with their spurs and heavy boots. It was a spectacular room, meant for men of greatness.
This morning was no exception.
After his encounter with Andressa, Maxton had returned to Farringdon House, entering through an arched and secured gate built into the house itself and protected by several guards. Once inside, he passed through a tunnel that led into a damp, enclosed courtyard. To his right were stalls for the horses and a smallcorral, but stretching above that were four stories of a great stone house.
Windows faced into the interior courtyard and he could hear voices coming from the open panels– servants, people moving around, and the smells of baking bread. To his left was another arched doorway, heavily fortified, and there was another guard standing at it. He passed through with ease, entering the ground floor of the house, which was mostly servants’ quarters, a big armory, and the kitchens. It was low-ceilinged and dark. A stone walkway through the ground floor led to a large mural staircase, and he took the stairs two at a time as he made his way to the first floor above.
This floor was bigger, with higher ceilings, and bright with windows. It was also the floor with the enormous solar. Maxton could hear men in the solar and as he entered the room, which was lit by the morning sun because the windows facing west were all wide open and the sun was filling up the sky, he could hear Kress’ voice.
“Finally!” Kress declared. “We were about to send a search part out for you, Max. Where have you been all night?”
Maxton quickly realized there were several powerful knights in the chamber, all of them turning to look at him as he sauntered in. In fact, his reply to Kress caught in his throat as he looked at the familiar faces, some men he’d known for years, and men he’d served with in The Levant and even before.
He was, in truth, shocked to see such a collection, and it looked as if they were all waiting for him. Every eye was on him, including The Marshal, who was sitting near the window with a cup of something steaming in his hand.
“Well?” William said, gesturing with his cup. “Answer de Rhydian. Where have you been all night? We have been waiting for you.”
Maxton’s attention was drawn to The Marshal, but he was distracted by several grinning faces of men he considered his friends, for the most part. “I was not tired last night,” he said evenly. “I sought to enjoy all that London has to offer.”
“To indulge?”
“To think.”
William came away from the window and approached him; he didn’t appear genuinely perturbed at Maxton’s disappearing act, merely curious. “Good,” he said. “I hope you have been thinking a good deal. That is why I have brought these men with me. Some are friends of yours, I believe.”
Maxton nodded, now looking at some of the men who were starting to crowd around him. “You said you had a meeting with the king and the marcher lords,” he said. “I did not realize that you meant they were gathering here, at Farringdon House.”
William was rather humored by the man’s surprise. “They weren’t until last night,” he said. “I sent word to them and asked them to join me here this morning. And not all of these men serve marcher lords, either, but are simply men loyal to England. I will come to the point, Maxton– I have told them of the threat against the king. They know of your mission. That is why they are here. They want to hear of your plan to keep the king alive and they want to know how they can help.”
Looking at the group, Maxton respected those he knew a great deal, but he really didn’t want or need their help. Moreover, there were a few men he didn’t know and he wasn’t pleased that they were in on his mission. Too many men with that knowledge and he might not have the edge he hoped because men, even trustworthy ones, had been known to talk. That was the truth. Nay, he wasn’t pleased at all. But that irritation was pushed aside when he focused on Christopher de Lohr, the very same knight he had told William he wanted no interference from.
Odd how the usual resentment and even annoyance he usually felt for the man wasn’t there at the moment. All he saw was a fellow knight, someone he’d been allied with for years, for better or for worse.
In truth, he was actually glad to see him.
“Chris,” he said evenly. “I see you made it home from The Levant in one piece.”
Christopher de Lohr, a blond god of a man, smiled at Maxton but didn’t go so far as to offer a hand in greeting; that wasn’t the kind of relationship he and Maxton shared. They were critical of each other, perhaps far too competitive with each other, and there had always been the threat of a very nasty fight breaking out between them. However, they were also men who would defend one another to the death. Christopher was the light to Maxton’s darkness and they both knew it.
