Purely a preventative measure.
But it had been an odd day for Maxton as he sat in the wet forest, with water dripping down his face as he listened to the cries of the king’s hunting party. After returning Andressa to St. Blitha the night before, he’d returned to Farringdon House and spent the entire night tossing and turning, dreaming of a green-eyed pledge when he did happen to fall asleep. When he would awaken between dreams, it was to the realization that he had actually proposed marriage to the woman.
And she had actually accepted.
But he’d kept it to himself. He wasn’t sure how to tell Kress or Achilles, or anyone else for that matter. Not that they didn’t realize that something was going on between Maxton and the pale lass from St. Blitha; they would have had to have been deaf and blind not to realize there was something more than polite concern there. It was the fact that Maxton simply wasn’t the marrying kind, or so he’d thought.
As it so happened, he was wrong about that. The idea of marrying Andressa and settling down was as foreign to him as it was wonderful. He’d never hoped for a normal life as far as liveswent, with a wife and heirs, so the idea that he might actually attain some peace and happiness had upended everything he’d ever known or thought about himself.
In a wonderful way, of course.
It had been a long day shadowing the king, who mostly remained under a tarp to stay dry while his advisors hunted out in the wet, and when they’d finally returned to Farringdon House that evening, Maxton was disappointed that Andressa wasn’t there, waiting for him. Somehow, he’d hoped that she would have been able to get away from St. Blitha to see him. He even thought about going over to the abbey that night, just to catch a glimpse of her, but decided against it because she would probably be asleep, anyway. He found great comfort in knowing he would see her on the feast day. And with the ending of the assassination threat against the king, he and Andressa could start their new life together.
She’d never have to go back to that Devil’s den again.
Therefore, there was eagerness in his movements this morning. As he dressed in a tunic bearing the crimson and gold of the royal family that Sean had provided, he found himself smiling as he thought of all of the wonderful things he would buy Andressa when all of this madness was finished.
The truth of the matter was that Maxton had been smart when he’d left for the great Quest; he’d been one of the few Crusader knights who had been careful with his money. He’d only taken what he felt he needed, leaving the majority of it with a deposit banker in London, a man who held money for some of the nobility for safekeeping and charged a small fee to hold it.
While many knights lost their fortunes on crusade, Maxton hadn’t. In fact, when the battles were over and the Christian armies were heading back to their homes, Maxton and Kress and Achilles had capitalized on the situation and had taken jobs for wealthy lords in Europe, fighting their wars for them. All threeof them had become quite wealthy from that venture, and while in Genoa, had deposited even more money with the banking system there. Being frugal men, and hating to spend their own wealth, they’d lived at the Lateran Palace while the Holy Father had paid their way.
Their hoards remained untouched.
Maxton hadn’t thought much about his money since that time because there hadn’t been a need. But now with the advent of a betrothed, he was thinking a good deal about it. He could easily get his money from the deposit banker in London, but getting it from the bankers in Genoa would take time. He was thinking that a trip after he and Andressa married would be in order, and he could take her to exotic places and buy her more clothing and jewels and finery than she could ever wear. The poor woman who had spent the past four years starving and living in rags would know luxury such as she could have never imagined.
He liked thinking about the things he could do for her.
A knock on his chamber door roused him from his thoughts. Nearly dressed, with the mail hood on and the tunic secure, Maxton opened the door to find Kress standing there, dressed exactly as he was. They were both in the regalia worn by men-at-arms and not seasoned knights, which was something of an insult for men of their station. Maxton cocked an eyebrow at the man.
“You look like the king’s stooge,” he commented. “’Tis shameful and degrading to be forced to wear this garb.”
Kress grinned. “It wasyouridea, you dolt.”
“I should be whipped.”
With that, he turned back into the chamber to collect his broadsword and Kress followed, snorting as he entered the room.
“I’ve often said the same thing,” he said. Then, he sobered. “Well, my friend. This day should prove interesting. Are you concerned?”
Maxton was fixing the leather belt at his waist. “For what?”
“For the pledge.”
Maxton’s movements slowed a little and he could feel his guard going down. Kress was the best friend he had in the world, outside of Achilles, but Achilles could often be judgmental about things. The man was a virtual volcano of angst sometimes, torn between his religious beliefs and what he did for a living, so sometimes, he could be difficult to speak to.
But not Kress; the man understood how the world worked and didn’t put too much stock in a church that had proven too many times how very immoral it could be. He also understood Maxton; the two of them always communicated well. Therefore, Maxton was thinking seriously on his reply to Kress’ statement before answering.
“I must ask you something, Kress,” he said. “You will be honest with me.”
Kress leaned against the wardrobe built up against the wall. “I always am, Max. You know that.”
Maxton glanced up from his belt. “The meeting at The King’s Gout Tavern two days ago,” he said quietly. “It was about me, wasn’t it?”
Kress’ smile faded completely. “It was.”
“What did you discuss?”
“The contention between you and The Marshal when it comes to the pledge from St. Blitha.”
