“She means that her boys rob anyone they come across,” he told him. “I fear for our new neighbors. If they come to visit, they will be set upon by bandits within the keep.”
Christopher looked at them both in disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me that Master Romney is a thief? I do not believe such slander.”
Gart laughed. “I have such stories to tell you that you will fear for your own life from Romney.”
He told the earl everything and as Gart had promised, Christopher made his way to his bedchamber later that night, looking over his shoulder for a small boy with a very big stick and demands for coinage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“And you aresure your wife is with de Lohr?” the priest asked.
Standing in the nave of Westminster Abbey that also served as the baptismal font, Julian nodded submissively to the man who had asked the question.
“I am certain, Your Grace,” he said humbly. “My wife has seen fit to run to de Lohr and away from me. He holds her even now, more than likely at Bellham Place. That is the de Lohr residence outside of London.”
“Is she his mistress, then?” the priest asked.
Julian tried to look distressed. “I can only surmise,” he said. “As I explained to you, I have tried to retrieve her myself but they will not turn her over to me. She is my wife by God and the laws of England, and I need your help to retrieve her. I must take her home where she belongs. Our children need their mother and it is my right to have my wife.”
The priest was a mid-level operator in the world of Westminster. It was the most senior man Julian could speak with and he could see his tale was having an impact. The priest called over another priest and the two of them began conferring softly, undoubtedly about how to help Baron Buckland. Julian watched and waited.
Having bypassed several smaller churches near the Tower of London in favor of the grand dame of them all, he thought it best to cultivate the sympathies and services of Westminster simplybecause it was one of the oldest and most prestigious churches in England.
Having been at the door of the church at sunrise, he had attended Mass as any other pious parishioner, voicing the right prayers at the right time, pretending to be devoted when the truth was that he had not attended Mass in years. The only time he went to Confession was when Isabella did, and since she would no longer see him, his life was in great disorder. He was focused on retrieving his wife and retreating to Dunster where he would lick his wounds and rethink his strategy. But he needed help.
The two priests finished their conference and motioned for Julian to follow. He did, through the tall columns of the cathedral, across the stone floor that had seen generations of kings walk upon it. The priests left the church proper and headed south, towards the cloisters and other small buildings that dotted the grounds. Julian followed swiftly.
It was becoming a sunny day with the moisture from the Thames heavy upon the air. Julian was swearing beneath his fine tunic and hose, feeling the sweat run down his back as he followed the priests to a stone cottage to the southwest of the cloister block. One priest knocked on the door and was admitted by a servant, instructing the second priest and Julian to remain outside.
Julian stood nervously in the moist air, slapping at the bugs biting his skin and scratching around his neck. The second priest was in heavy, woolen robes so he imagined the man was more miserable even than he was. The man kept scratching at his groin. After an eternity of waiting, the door to the cottage finally opened again and the first priest beckoned Julian inside.
The cottage was small and dimly lit. The floors were uneven as Julian’s eyes grew accustomed to the light. To his right near the hearth sat a man in bleached, woolen robes with twoservants attending him. One servant was carefully shaving the top of the man’s head while the second servant brought food and drink. Julian locked eyes with the man expectantly.
“I am a Canon of Westminster,” the man said in a rich, full voice. “My name is Father Mellitus. You are Baron Buckland?”
Julian nodded– now he was getting somewhere. A canon was one of the governing priests of the abbey and he struggled to keep his excitement at bay. Now, he knew he had someone who could help him without dispute.
“I am, Your Grace,” he said respectfully. “I am Julian Edward de Moyon, Third Baron Buckland. My seat is Dunster Castle in Somerset. I have come to you with a horrible problem that only you can help me with.”
Father Mellitus chewed on a piece of cheese. “My priest has told me,” he replied, his dark gaze sizing Julian up. “I have heard the name Buckland. I seem to remember hearing of a concubine of the queen, a man by the name of Buckland. Is that you?”
Julian stared at the man a moment, wondering if he was about to be chastised. If his plan was going to work, he was going to have to project a submissive, victimized state. It never occurred to him that the priests of Westminster would recognize his name as the queen’s lover, even though he made sure the rumors about him and the queen flew fast and furious around London. Now, he was hoping the reputation he had taken such pride in wasn’t about to sink his hopes.
“It is,” he lowered his head dramatically. “Please understand, Your Grace, that I had little choice in the matter. Isabella is the queen, after all, and I must do as she commanded. I was her slave and unable to break free. I prayed daily that she would tire of me and am fortunate that she has. Her attentions are elsewhere.”
The priest eyed him, setting the cheese down. It was clear that he did not believe him.
“I see,” he muttered. “I am told you have come here involving a matter about your wife.”
Julian nodded eagerly, his head coming up. “David de Lohr, Baron Thornden, has taken my wife from me. He will not give her back. I have tried to rescue her but he killed my men in the attempt. Now she is at Bellham Place and I humbly beg for the church’s intervention in this matter. I want my wife back and de Lohr will not turn her over to me.”
The priest dipped his fingers in a water bowl that a servant brought and wiped them off on an offered piece of linen.
“Thornden cannot keep another man’s wife,” he said. “What would you have me do?”
Julian was careful to make his wants clear, as if he were begging for their help to restore his marriage.
“I would plead with you to ride for Bellham Place and retrieve my wife under the protection of the Church,” he asked urgently. “De Lohr cannot deny the Church’s request. He will be forced to turn her over.”
