Chelynne (46 page)

Those who are close to Charles Stuart know that he is well informed. He knows all the goings-on and is seldom, if ever, surprised. Because he is quiet and solemn where rumors are concerned, those many he has not confided in are never very sure how much he knows and about what. He trusts no one, but plays at trust. He pretends in many instances, or even begins to believe in a lover or comrade, but life has made a realist of him. He knows everyone has a price.

Charles Stuart was urged by one of his friends to grant an audience to an anxious baron. He was not eager to hear what the man needed, but just the same he was curious. There were so many in the palace, in London for that matter, who knew the profit to keeping the king informed that Charles was not in need of information. It was the presentation this man would make that aroused his interest.

The king was in the company of some of his ministers when Lord Shayburn was admitted after a very long wait. The heavy lord found it difficult to bow very low before his sovereign and Charles grimaced as he tried. Charles was in excellent physical condition, athletic and tireless. He found a gluttonous man somewhat repulsive.

“So gracious of Your Majesty to see me,” Lord Shayburn began.

Charles did not feel gracious. He felt imposed upon and suspicious. Had he no suspicions he would not have seen the man at all.

“There is something you require, my lord?”

“Ah, sire, yes, there is, though for the good of England, I assure you.”

Total tactlessness on the part of the baron, Charles thought. It was usually his first clue that the man had no hope above bettering himself when he opened with such a statement. Everyone wanted the good of England. Few ever did anything that was good for the country.

He nodded and urged the man on. Shayburn was not encouraged by Charles’s appearance. The king lounged in his chair, majestically, but lazily. He was already bored, already prepared to doze during this appeal. Charles’s position bespoke endurance and tolerance—nothing even near to interest.

“We’ve had problems in Bratonshire, Your Majesty. Critical problems. You’ll remember that our shire is on the main...or, um...one of the main roads to London from the north. Imperative that it always be a stronghold, er, at least in the position to bear men-at-arms in the event of any pursuit from the north, er...” He stopped and coughed, spitting into a lacy handkerchief. He was not doing well. He was not convincing the king that Bratonshire was important—because it was not, to any but himself... and some aggressor. He had to make it seem important, worthy of royal support.

“Should there be any attack by aggressors from the north, sire, Bratonshire would be an ideal place to house an army and thwart any such plans. I’ve had the land in the name of the crown for many years and am in the process of building a castle there. An outpost, if it pleases Your Majesty, in the name of England.”

“I’m flattered,” Charles drawled.

“Um, yes, sire. But we haven’t had the opportunity to make any progress on building since we’ve had trouble with—”

“When did you start building, my lord?” Charles asked.

“Sire, money has not been...that is, we had the plans drawn and that is the extent of it. Building was to start in the spring and it’s beginning to look as if that will be impossible.”

“There has been trouble,” the king acknowledged. “Of what sort?”

“Thieves, Your Majesty.”

“Thieves?” Charles raised one eyebrow. Was it customary to trouble a king with a report of thieves in a small, almost nonexistent village of farmers? It seemed, on days like this, that it was customary to trouble a king about which pot was used and when.

“It seems so, sire, but I have my doubts. This is an army of sorts that plagues me now, sire. I’ve set my own men to guard and patrol and we’ve had no success in stopping them. They are not only more skilled than ordinary thieves, they seem to be well informed. Knights, perhaps from some foreign aggressor.” Both Shayburn and the king knew immediately that this dramatic ploy was a failure. There was no foreign power interested in a tiny, centrally located English shire filled with farmers. There was no industry and not even a fine manor. It was ridiculous to speak of it. Shayburn stumbled for his ground.

“It has been the worst struggle, sire. You may have heard complaints of my management, but the truth to it is that I’ve paid more privy tax and tithe to the crown than many other barons, and in addition there has been a good deal of prosperity in Bratonshire since Your Majesty’s restoration.”

“Complaints?” Charles asked.

Shayburn gulped. Charles had heard no complaints? “Perhaps not,” Shayburn stammered.

“I should like to know what you suspected I might have heard.”

“I’ve had misdealings with the earl, but then it was a small misunderstanding and well before your return to England. Nothing of any real importance.”

“Just the same, what was his complaint?”

“It was insignificant, but if it pleases Your Majesty, he complained that I treated the townspeople unfairly, harshly. Claimed they were overtaxed, but I have accurate ledgers and there was never any...that is, there were no further accusations. The misunderstanding was resolved.”

“Bratonshire was not your family seat, am I correct?”

Shayburn blanched. He wouldn’t have guessed the king would pay much attention to those matters. He thought it well in the past. He had never faced any doubt or question when Charles was restored to the throne, and he hadn’t thought to now.

“No, sire.”

“It was the Bollering family, is that correct?”

“Lord Bollering was charged with treason, sire.” It was overcompensation, he knew it at once. He was defending himself before defense was necessary.

“He fought for the crown. One of his sons fought for me.”

“I’m aware of that, Your Majesty. There was nothing I could do to restore his name or clear him short of gifting him with the land I had lawfully acquired.”

“And I am aware of that, my lord,” Charles replied. “But I am certain that is not why you’ve come to me. What is it you require?”

“Because we are under siege, sire, I require men-at-arms and gold to back me in defense of my lands. I come to you only after all other means have been exhausted.”

“You’ve gone to others for support?”

“The earl of Bryant and other barons. With little success.”

“You’re not supported by Bryant?”

“Ah, sire, he has supported me. His support is useless to me. I even suspect—” Shayburn stopped. He reminded himself not to slander Hawthorne to Charles Stuart. The king liked Hawthorne; there might well be coalition there. “He has provided gold and men-at-arms, but I suspect he has little interest in helping me. And neighboring barons are suspiciously unassaulted.”

“Suspiciously?”

“It is a personal attack, sire, I’m certain of it. No one else has been bothered. And to hold what is mine I need support. From the crown. Royal support would see an end to this trouble...for the good of England.”

That always soured the king. He hated the sound of it more every time he heard it. In sincerity it was a noble gesture. It was seldom sincere. What difference to England, after all, did Bratonshire and Shayburn make?

“I appreciate your gallantry, as does England. I shall consider your request and you will hear from me. Good day.”

“Thank you, sire. Thank you.”

Shayburn waddled out of the room and Charles sat still, watching him. Finally he muttered, “Gold and men-at-arms.”

“For thieves!” Buckingham roared with laughter. The consensus in the room was that it would be foolish to aid a baron in holding lands he could not even secure against thieves. But then perhaps it was not holding he sought, but building.

“What do you make of it, George?” Charles asked Buckingham.

“Sounds like a privy squire looking for an empire. Why not grant him a duchy, sire, and see if he can save it from beggars?”

While Buckingham delighted in his own wit, Charles walked to the closet where he played chemist. He gave the matter of Lord Shayburn some consideration while mixing strange concoctions together. Just outside the door Buckingham and York joked over the fat baron’s audacity. Charles smiled occasionally at their jesting without comment or even a glance in their direction. It would seem that he didn’t even think about the man’s request now.

Stuart was not a man to act impulsively where his political affairs were concerned. He was a little curious to see what Hawthorne would do with this mess he had created for himself, but he was not pleased to learn his people had trouble. That was the extent of his consideration. He put the matter out of his mind easily and walked briskly in the direction of a lovely young Frenchwoman’s apartments. In politics he didn’t react impulsively. In his diversions it was the only way he reacted. He was thoroughly delighted with himself.

The countess of Bryant suffered through a long and monotonous journey home to London. The ride was uneventful and silent. There was a hardness to her eyes that hinted years of trials. More than her uncle’s passing was being mourned.

Chelynne couldn’t help recalling the other times she had traveled to Chad. The first time there had been a heaviness of heart, but she was prepared to accept her uncle’s choice of husband and make the best of a sad situation. And then she had met him and loved him. That was the beginning of her trouble, the beginning of dreams of the day he would love her, too. She thought of the nights she would spend in her lover’s arms, of the children she would give him. She imagined the proud set to her husband’s jaw as he watched over his sons.

When she had journeyed from the country to London to join Chad there had still been hope. There had been that innocent maid’s mind so anxious to win her husband.

The same desire that once filled her with hope had soured. His betrayal was bitterest of all, even though he had never given her reason to expect encouragement from him. Everything she had been through turned on lies and secrets. She had finally learned that. Now she must use the same means, if necessary, to learn the truth.

She made no pause when entering the earl’s fine home, but went directly to her rooms. Stella and Tanya were eager to make their mistress feel at home by seeing all her things properly installed. Chelynne was more intent on removing her stays and fillers and being done with the heavy gown. When that was accomplished she wished only to be alone.

More than an hour had passed when Chad came to her. He entered without knocking or announcing himself, standing inside the door to watch her as she sat in quiet repose. Finally he spoke.

“Welcome home.”

“My thanks.”

“You’re tired from your journey?”

“Quite. It was long.”

“I received your message. Would you like to tell me about it?”

“There’s very little to tell, my lord. We were stopped by a large group of men imposing a toll to pass. They were reluctant to inform me of the man by whose order they did this thing. I fear the mistake that endangered us was telling them I was your wife. It was foolish of me. They didn’t fancy having you know of the tax. When I thought my life in danger a band of men, thieves, I suspect, attacked the guard. In truth, I didn’t know who to fear more—Shayburn’s guard or the thieves.”

His expression did not change through her story. He stared at her wordlessly for some time before he broke the silence. “You must have been very frightened.”

“I was not at ease.”

Again there was silence. Chelynne was uneasy about the strange light in his eyes. He looked to be in a wicked mood. She spoke out of nervousness. “How fare things there now?”

“I’ve seen to it. There’s something that came for you while you were away,” he remarked casually. Walking the short distance to her cupboard he drew out a package. Placing it in her hands he bade her open it right then.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It came by messenger. One good thing came of your experience, my dear,” he said lightly. “The captain of Shayburn’s guard was killed during that conflict. He had a reputation far worse than any thief. His name was Captain Alex.”

The words were barely spoken when she lifted the wrapping paper and spied the contents of her parcel. It was the pearl-handled dagger that John Bollering had given her. The sight of it pierced her worse than the point could have. She grasped at composure and covered the thing quickly. “And is that good news, my lord?”

“Indeed. I was fortunate in locating a man who viewed the entire fray. It seems Alex was first injured in a tussle with a simple lass. What was your gift, my dear?”

“Nothing of importance. Is all well there now?”

He sauntered over to her and lifted the paper to expose the dagger. “She stabbed him with a dagger,” Chad went on. “Of course the lass did it in defense of her life so it won’t sit ill with her. I for one am glad the man is gone. He’s caused more grief in Bratonshire than any marauder.”

He looked into her eyes and she could read there the completeness of his knowledge, down to the very last detail. She swallowed hard while she waited for his next words.

“She identified herself as the countess of Bryant,” he said as he walked away from her. She heard his words dwindling away as he moved across the room, but he was speaking slowly and carefully. “She was not riding in a coach with a goodly number of hired protectors, however.” He turned to look at her and she saw rage in his eyes such as she’d never seen before. “But alone, with one simple companion to aid her.”