The Heart of the Phoenix (29 page)

She would not faint. One breath, another. She inhaled, exhaled. Slowly. Slowly. Figures returned to focus. Lord Fulk rounded on her, strode to her side. She felt his hands grip her arms as he lifted.

“Are you all right?”

Nodding, she stood, fingers gripping his wrists as she regained equilibrium. “Such excitement,” she murmured. “Forgive my weakness.” She sounded like an idiot, but those words were the first to her lips. He helped her to a bench. “Thank you. I am better, now. What shall we do?”

“A messenger intercepted me with orders to accompany King John from Shoreham to Westminster. I’m sending you ahead to meet your brother. Prepare yourself when you arrive. After the coronation, we will wed.”

Without another word, he strode through the door. One of the guards trailed after, explaining all that had happened. If the man’s voice pitched too high and alarm edged his words, Evie didn’t wonder at it. No doubt he remembered the fate of his fellow below.

Marie crept to Evie’s side. “Do we go then, milady? I’m afraid of what might happen on the trip. Will Davy be permitted to travel with us?”

Evie shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Lady Evie.”

Macsen’s low-pitched voice reached her. She turned her head determinedly away, refusing to look his direction. She didn’t want to hear any words from the lying betrayer. “Come, Marie, we will go down and wait.”

“My lady.” Macsen tried again to gain her attention, but she ignored him and all but ran from the hall, Marie trotting behind.

After the earlier furor, activity in the bailey had quieted. Watching Lord Fulk’s men prepare mounts for their journey, Evie pulled her wandering mind back to reality. Nothing had changed—Stephen escaped; Geoffrey disappeared. She still journeyed to meet Henry and prepare for her wedding.

This cold, treacherous lord directing proceedings was still the man she was bound to marry. No matter that Stephen was the man she loved—had always loved. The past days had shown her that and nothing would alter her feelings, not even the accusations against him.

Behind closed eyelids, she pictured Stephen. The crimes attributed to him were simply not true. Could not be. Something must be done. She’d explain everything to Henry; surely he could convince the authorities.

Then she remembered who he’d need to convince. King John. The man who hated her family, who’d likely rule the opposite on any request Henry presented, just for revenge. Still, the events lay days ahead. A solution would occur to her by then. One always did.

With that rallying thought, she descended the stairs. “Thank you for arranging my speedy journey, my lord. Your thoughtfulness to me when your duty to the king calls—well, I know my family will be as impressed as I.”
It’s a wonder my tongue doesn’t fall out.

She peered around the courtyard. “I trust my brother’s men will accompany me.”

The glower on Lord Fulk’s face might have made her quiver in fear, if she really cared about his opinion. Instead, she gave him a vacuous smile.

He grunted. “They will return at the same time, but under guard. When I arrive, I’ll sort out all the stories. You will travel rapidly, but there’s no alternative. You must reach Westminster before the king’s party.”

He helped her onto a saddle and stood back, attention once again on the soldier he’d chosen to lead the group. It was the man who’d accompanied Lord Fulk on the boat.

Macsen stumbled up, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had been removed. Evie refused to look at his face, lifting her chin to stare ahead.

“You’ll come with me, Sir Macsen.” Lord Fulk nodded to a mount. “I’m anxious to hear what you have to tell us about the last days.”

The two groups rode into the dawn, heading in different directions. Only then did Evie realize Brother Gerald was nowhere to be seen.

Stephen and the men made excellent time. His familiarity with the countryside allowed for a shortcut or two, and by the time they halted near a creek, the day was far advanced. The cool water soothed his red, still-puffy eyes. He brushed moisture from his face, then dropped down on a rock to rub his still-aching shoulder. Damn he must be getting old for such a mild injury to linger.

Bernard and the others soon joined him. Judging from their expressions, they carried grave news.

“What did you discover?” He held out hope for a positive report.

“You won’t like it.” Bernard sounded tired and regretful. “A body washed up from the ocean at a settlement along the coast.”

“Not Jean-Pierre?” Death would explain their friend’s absence last week.

“Brother Michael.”

Gall burned in his stomach. “Are you certain?”

“As much as possible. He’d been buried by the time we heard. I had a devil of a time digging up the grave in the dead of night, in the rain. You know how the church looks at something like that. The body showed decay, a’course, but not the jaw. Managed to pry it open. We could see that bad tooth a’ his there in the back, the one that always pained him. Recall, he stopped up the hole at times with herbs? This is what we found, wedged in tight-like.”

Bernard pressed a small piece of cloth into Stephen’s hand. He unrolled the fabric to find a tiny lump. Not herbs, then. It looked like a rough ball, felt hard, like parchment.

“Any sign of what killed him?” He swallowed against a tightening in the throat.

“Well, now, Captain, it may have been the broken bone at the back of his head, which was caved clear in.”

God help him. Michael had been murdered. As Stephen rolled the ball between his palms, the rough edges worked loose. A piece cracked off. Parchment. He’d been right. He stared at faded markings on the sliver. Impossible. Michael would never place a piece of used material in his mouth. Even so, the moisture would have destroyed all traces of ink.

Unless.

He concentrated on the surface of the wad. “William,” he called, “look at this. A coating, do you think?”

William examined the object, holding it to his nose. He closed his eyes and gentled the surface against his wrist. “I think it’s simply parchment, hardened by the water.”

Stephen closed his fingers around the ball when William handed it back. He held it for a while, the warmth of his body heat softening the material. Finally, with gentle movement, he began to work the edges apart. A section tore but most smoothed out. The surface was small, not much room for words. But a letter or two could be distinguished among the faded lines.

He traced them with a forefinger. If only Macsen were there with his eagle eyes. Always good for up-close work. He bent, squinted. Then he frowned at the letters, following them again with the tip of his nail. No mistake. If only they formed a different sequence.

Sighing, he squeezed his eyelids together.

“Anything, Captain?” Bernard asked.

The four men stood before him. They’d been together many years. Each had shown himself trustworthy time and again. Yet if Stephen understood this last message, so had the traitor. And it hadn’t been Michael. He swiped up the scraps of parchment.

“I’m not sure,” he said finally. “We’ll let Macsen take a look when he joins us. But tell no one of Brother Michael’s death—or of this.” He raised his fist containing the fragment. “Now, what else have you found?”

Bernard spoke. “We have objects taken from four raids, and the words of the owners describing the dates of the raids, the pieces, and the outlaws who attacked them. The words were put down by priests, who swore to their truth. We fought alongside John’s troops on those dates. The king, himself, knows this. So do many of his captains.”

Stephen clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Good work, all of you.” He gave a brief smile. “With what Geoffrey has, we’re well on the way to proving the Dragon’s perfidy.”

“Where is Geoffrey?” William asked. “We thought he’d have found you by now.”

“He’s at the manor with Macsen and Lady Evie. The rest of the men were arrested by Lord Fulk d’Ambrosie. He plans to take them to London. We will free them there.”

He didn’t need to say more. They understood the risks of this undertaking—their lives, and the rewards—their futures.

****

Worry over Stephen kept Evie awake long into the journey. Had he been found? But no, Lord Fulk seemed satisfied to learn Stephen planned to confront him before the king, as Macsen had announced.

And Geoffrey? What of him? Oh, how could she have been so taken in by that foolish disguise? As for being taken in—the image of Macsen flashed in her mind. The dreadful traitor.

Never had she so misjudged a person, thinking the big knight reliable. She knew Stephen considered him a close friend. They had traveled together for years, he’d told her, each saving the other’s life many times over. The knowledge of such a betrayal would devastate him. More sadness to darken his soul.

At last, exhaustion caught up with her, and she dozed in the saddle, even Marie’s quiet whining unable to keep her awake. One of the guards had threatened the maid with dire consequences if she didn’t shut up. The grim promise served to reduce the volume but not the existence of her grumbling. The poor girl really was miserable and afraid, but the way she went about showing it, no one believed her.

Aside from occasional brief halts, the riders forged ahead. Evie’s head pounded, her bottom ached, and her legs throbbed from gripping the sides of the mount. She refused to utter a sound.

Finally the leader called a longer stop to distribute cheese and bread. Evie and Marie walked toward the back of the congregated soldiers, where their men were being kept. Marie caught sight of Davy and cried out.

“Shhhh,” Evie cautioned. “Don’t call attention to him.”

When Davy lifted a hand and stepped forward, a guard knocked him to the ground.

“Stop,” Evie called. “No need for that. He’s not a threat. I want to make certain my brother’s men are being treated properly. I vow if even one comes to harm, you will be sorry.”

“And who’s to touch us?” The guard sneered. “Our lord be a favorite of the new king’s. What he says, that’s what’s important.”

“I am to wed your lord, don’t forget.” She hated to admit to it, but the words served to wipe the superior expression from his face. Grumbling, he turned away.

Marie sidled close. “Why isn’t Sir Macsen with us, milady?”

Disbelief over Sir Macsen’s betrayal shot back, twisting in Evie’s chest until she couldn’t breathe.

“Milady?”

“He accompanied Lord d’Ambrosie to escort the king to Westminster for his coronation. I’m certain he is quite safe.” For now.

Marie looked mollified but not happy. Fortunately, the leader ordered everyone back into the saddle, preventing further questions from the maid. Legs still cramping, Evie accepted assistance. One of the men helped Marie onto her tame mount, and the party set out once more.

That night, the cold and very brief camp on the road provided no comfort for sleeping, and by the time the roofs of Westminster came into view the next day, Evie could hardly hold up her head. She had no idea where to find Henry; she only hoped Lord Fulk’s men knew where to deliver her.

Her worries were for nothing. On the road outside the town, one of Henry’s trusted men intercepted them. Tears welled in Evie’s eyes when she saw Sir Thomas’s familiar face.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Evie eluded the guards on either side to reach him. “Sir Thomas, never have I been so happy to see a friend,” she called as she neared. “Is my brother well?”

“As to that, Lady Evelynn, you must ask him yourself.” He inclined his head in respect. “Are you a’right? We been afeard for your safety.”

His using her title failed to reassure Evie, until she realized he could hardly have greeted her as he did in her younger days. “I’m fine now that you are come. But please explain to my escorts that they’re wrongly holding Lord Henry’s men hostage.”

Sir Thomas leveled her an assessing look. Beneath the bright smile she donned for show, she silently pleaded for understanding. If only he didn’t assume that she’d embarked on what Henry called one of her “starts,” they might make all right.

The Chauvere knight pursed his lips and rode forward to speak to the leader from the manor. After hearing that Evie had traveled in the company of a band of mercenaries now under arrest at the new king’s command, Sir Thomas held up a hand.

“I understand your lord’s concern,” he said, “but he must understand that Lady Evelynn’s safety would never be trusted to someone unknown to her brother. I’ll look at these supposed brigands.”

He ignored the others and rode toward the back of the column. Lord Fulk’s guard sat with weapon in hand watching Sir Thomas’s retreating back. The man gave a dissatisfied grunt but resheathed the sword and followed.

Heart pounding, Evie squinted to see her friend approach the area where the bound riders were centered. He must acknowledge Stephen’s men. If he failed to heed her unspoken plea, she feared they would all die. She caught herself at that thought and shook her head. Just a few days earlier, she would have laughed at such a fear as overemotional. It was the kind of exaggeration Cousin Mimi reveled in.

Too much had happened for her to scoff at the concern, however. Too many people had died who ought not to. Innocents and old warriors, threats to no one.

When she heard Davy’s shout, then other raised voices, she set her heels to the mare’s flanks and started back. Sir Thomas met her.

“We will go, my lady.” His voice tightened with the words. “All this will be sorted out soon.” He turned in the saddle. “You will be advised to treat our soldiers well or by God, you’ll be sorry,” he called back.

Marie fell in with unexpected speed and for once didn’t speak. The three rode for a distance, Evie strangely reluctant to break the silence. Finally, she asked Sir Thomas, “Is Lady Katherine with my brother?”

“She will join him soon. Lord Henry hurried when he received word you were to be in Westminster. Once we arrived, he posted men along each road into town to watch for your approach.”

From the tensed muscles along Sir Thomas’s jaw, Evie knew Henry was unhappy with her. But her brother’s anger would have to wait. More important issues were at stake than Evie’s unplanned appearance in England. Yet she did wish Kate were present.