Chapter Eighteen #2
“We must assume that Richmond has not remained with her at Whitby for one very good reason; the nuns will not allow him to stay. Moreover, I would wager that with the Welsh resistance and the rumors of your insurrection, Henry requires his power and wisdom in London. Therefore, it would be a safe assumption that the Lady Arissa is alone in Yorkshire while her beloved is embroiled in the politics of England. Which is where you play a part in all of this.”
Hotspur’s face was impassive. “I am listening.”
Owen paused a moment. “You will ride to Whitby bearing a forged missive from Henry demanding that his daughter be released to your custody. Certainly, no one will question the mighty Hotspur as he moves to accomplish the bidding of his king by escorting Henry’s bastard daughter to London.”
“For what purpose is she required in London?”
“Does it matter? She’s the king’s daughter and it is his prerogative to do with her as he pleases. Moreover, she’s not a nun and thereby not bound to the abbey by her vows. Based on Henry’s commanding directive and your powerful presence, she will be relinquished to your protection.”
Henry’s jaw ticked. “How can you be so sure?”
Owen shrugged. “The abbess cannot keep her if the King of England demands her temporary release. Technically, she has no legal right to hold her over the demands of her parent and I would wager a good deal on the fact that she would be unwilling to anger the king with a refusal.”
Hotspur drew in a long, harsh sigh, pondering his overall role in the Welsh prince’s scheme. A scheme that appeared to be safe enough, although he would not stake his life on the fact. Nothing in this world was ever safe. “And I will bring her here?”
Owen’s eyes glittered. His design was foolproof, providing one factor remained true; that Richmond le Bec was indeed in London. “Aye, my lord,” he replied softly, with confidence. “You will bring her here.”
On the snowy hills overlooking the weakened camp of the Welsh resistors, a lone wolf bayed into the crystal-clear evening sky.
A thousand diamonds of light glittered across the black expanse, their light casting silver fingers on the gloom of evil that had settled over the western border of England.
The malevolent darkness that became a plan this night.
*
Richmond passed through the King’s Gate to the south side of Windsor, having completed his glorious procession through the Great Park in order to reach his destination.
The massive bailey of Windsor was open and welcoming, soldiers and courtiers alike shouted their greeting to the mighty warrior.
Ignoring the admiring throng, Richmond ordered his weary soldiers to seek rest and food before they collapsed entirely.
Gavan dismounted beside Richmond, exhausted after the seven day march from Yorkshire.
Stubbled and bordering on disheveled, Richmond raised his visor and wiped at his clammy brow as his eyes drew in the sight of The Earl Marshall’s Tower, towering four stories into the bright blue sky overhead.
St. George’s Hall was directly to his right, a gallery he was most familiar with, but it merely warranted a passing glance as he loosened his gauntlets.
“I am intent on seeking Henry this moment,” he said, his voice rough with fatigue. “Retire to the knight’s quarters and wait for me.”
Gavan’s gaze was dull, wary. As if he did not trust Richmond to simply present his case in a rational manner; the man had been an emotional bundle for the past several days and Gavan was not at all sure that anything but a positive response on Henry’s part would be met with a sword through the gullet.
“I would be more than happy to accompany you….”
Richmond cut him off. “Do as I say, Gavan. I have business to attend to and I would complete it alone.”
Gavan watched his liege march into the gaping entrance to the castle.
Concerned for his mental state though he might be, his concerns were not strong enough to warrant the disobedient action of following him into the castle.
Richmond could well handle Henry’s audience and did not require supervision.
Moreover, Gavan was not in the position to supervise a fellow warrior’s emotions at the moment; he was quite consumed with sentiment of his own.
His dead wife and son were expecting him.
Leaving his second in command behind to disband the troops, Richmond made his way into the cool interior of Windsor.
Taking the grand staircase to Henry’s suite of rooms, he marched past a collection of household guards as if their protecting presence was insignificant against his strength.
He intended to see Henry immediately and to hell with any delay or show of resistance.
Since the moment he had left Arissa, there had been nothing else to occupy his thoughts.
He had lived, breathed and slept Arissa, feeling her soft body against him in his dreams only to awaken to a cold bed and an even colder heart.
But the building desperation to reclaim her only served to fuel his determination to bargain with Henry; Gavan had been correct when he had advised him to play the political theater. And play he would.
Henry was certainly no amateur when it came to bureaucratic intrigue and the king was about to find out that Richmond le Bec was to be included as a viable player as well.
For too long, Richmond had simply followed orders like a moronic simpleton, never voicing his opinion or opposition to anything his king suggested.
But no more. He had played the role of Henry’s obedient dog long enough.
If the king wanted his services against the Welsh resistance and Hotspur’s mutiny, then he would have to pay for it.
Henry IV, formerly Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, was in his private solar, embroiled in a game of chess with a lesser official of his court.
Average of height and fair of coloring, he did not bothering looking up from the game board as the door to the solar creaked open.
His master chamberlain cleared his throat carefully.
“Richmond le Bec has come, Sire,” the man said. “He demands audience with you immediately.”
Henry’s head came up from the board, his eyes wide with surprise. “Do not keep the man waiting. God’s Blood, let him in!” he waved his hands erratically at his game partner. “Out, Thomas, out. Everyone get out!”
The room became a flurry of activity as his courtiers rushed to do his bidding. Entering from a smaller door, Richmond caught a glimpse of the dandy horde as the collection quit the room. Without a second glance to the group of well-dressed men, he bowed crisply to his king.
“Richmond, thank God you have come,” Henry exclaimed, clapping a hand against Richmond’s metal-clad arm. “Where have you been?”
Richmond gazed at his king, genuinely fond of the man.
“Taking your daughter to Whitby, Sire, to be with her mother,” he cocked a knowing eyebrow at the bit of information Henry had neglected to mention, but the king merely looked away.
“Undoubtedly, you received my message regarding the circumstances of our rapid departure from Lambourn.”
Some of Henry’s excitement faded. “I was distressed to learn of Glendower’s discovery of Arissa’s identity.
You were correct, of course, in removing her to the safety of the abbey if Owen is intent on capturing her.
Furthermore, I do not fault you for informing her of her heritage; certainly she had a need to know with Owen’s men hounding her.
But I do not believe I understand the full extent of Ovid de Rydal’s declaration of vengeance against her. Care to clarify?”
“Ovid’s vengeance is against me for having discouraged his arrogant son’s attentions towards Arissa,” Richmond corrected.
“However, I am sure to have sealed an irrevocable rift between de Rydal and Lambourn; Tad de Rydal appeared at Whitby in an attempt to abduct Arissa and Gavan was forced to kill him. Apparently, the lad was trying to exact revenge against me by seizing her.”
“Vengeance for the ambush you were supposed to have orchestrated against him?” Henry shook his head. “Do you think it possible that Owen had a hand in the entrapment to somehow create a diversion for you while he set his sights on my daughter? Truly, Richmond, this is most confusing.”
Richmond stared at his king a moment, thinking what he could not manage to say.
Far more confusing than you know. Emitting a weary sigh, he removed his helm and set it upon a rich cherrywood table.
“I was only able to give you a brief explanation of the circumstances in my missive and, to be truthful, I do not wish to delve into the details leading up to the skirmish involving Goring Hall at this moment. For now, Arissa is safe and that is the only matter of import. Truthfully, there are concerns far more significant we must discuss.”
Henry accepted his statement without question. “Indeed there is,” he gestured to a hide-covered chair. “Remove some of your armor and sit. You must be exhausted.”
Richmond ignored the indication to relax, instead, moving for the decanter of Venetian glass that graced a lovely silver tray.
Pouring a hefty quantity of wine into a silver goblet, he drank deeply before pouring himself a second serving.
Henry watched him a moment, his sharp movements and stiff countenance, knowing that the man had been through a great deal in the past week.
Still, it was unnerving to see that Richmond was not his usual even-tempered self.
“Has so much happened over the last several days that you would become edgy and coarse? Towards me, no less?” Henry made a muted attempt at humor, moving to acquire his customary chair.
Richmond downed his third goblet of wine, unwilling to drag his purpose out over frivolous conversation. Short of patience with the lack of rest, he started on his fourth cup of wine.
“What’s all of this I hear about Hotspur?”