Chapter Five #2
He called out the last few words over his shoulder as he walked briskly from the hall. A few of the soldiers called out to him, congratulating him, and he took it all in stride. As if the marriage, and this night, meant something to him. When he was gone, Cole turned to Addax.
“I have never known Max to be such a horse’s arse,” he said. “But I do not ride the circuit like you do. Is that apathy indicative of his true character? Or just his personal rebellion against his father?”
Addax cast a long glace at Claudius down the table. “I’ve never seen that side of him before,” he muttered. “But I suspect his father has.”
With that, he left his chair and headed down to the end of the table, where Claudius was very quickly becoming drunk. Very drunk. He looked at Addax as the man sat down next to him, immediately moving to pour him a cup of wine out of the pitcher he was hoarding.
“Addax,” he said. “It is a great day, is it not? Celebrate with me.”
Addax took the cup but didn’t drink from it.
He had been looking at Claudius through new eyes ever since Cole told him about the Scots and de Witt lands.
But it also occurred to Addax that now might be a good time for him to endear himself to Claudius.
It might gain him an invitation to Raisbeck Castle, seat of the Earl of Bretherdale.
It was time for the spy to begin the game.
“It is a joyous day when two people are wed,” he said, forcing a smile. “You have waited a long time for this particular union, so I’m told.”
Claudius was already into his fourth cup of wine. “Two years,” he said, smacking his lips. “Two long years. Did Max tell you this?”
Addax nodded and took just a sip of wine. He wanted to be clearheaded. “He did,” he said. “He seems to be quite reluctant.”
Claudius rolled his eyes. “He is young,” he said. “He does not understand the need for a man to build a legacy. But I do, which is why I arranged the betrothal.”
“Is that so?”
Claudius wagged a finger at him. “He’ll be rich,” he said. “Quite rich. Ernest de Witt and his father before him made their money from mining on their lands. Lead that carries silver ore.”
“Oh?” Addax said, playing dumb. “I’d not heard that. In the Pennines, I’m told. Is that right?”
Claudius nodded. “They have most of the north Pennines,” he said.
“Their western border abuts my eastern border, but my lands do not have the riches that they do. Believe me, I’ve looked.
So did my father. He was friendly with Ernest de Witt’s father.
He remembered when they first found the precious metals on de Witt lands. ”
Addax nodded as if it was all very interesting. “And now it is yours.”
“Indeed,” Claudius said. “It belongs to Bretherdale. Max does not understand that merging our land with de Witt will make Bretherdale quite wealthy. Nay, he simply wants to play with his horses and his swords and try to push men around with his lance. He does not understand that with this marriage, he will someday rule an empire. He will be terribly wealthy.”
Addax pretended to be impressed. “As you said, he is still young,” he said. “He will understand it someday.”
“I hope he does.”
“How many mines are there?”
Claudius took another drink of wine. “Eleven lead mines,” he said. “De Witt, who was an unpleasant man, was also a strangely generous one. He pays his mine workers well, so they worked hard for him.”
“You will continue that, of course.”
Claudius shrugged. “I suppose,” he said. “I am more interested in gaining a good price for selling the metal.”
“Who did de Witt sell it to?”
Claudius waved a hand. “His widow tells me that he had a list of people he sold to,” he said. “Jewelers, bankers, and more. But I… I will add my own people to that list.”
“You have already secured customers? Max should be very grateful for that.”
“This is not for Max.”
There was something that hung in the air between them with that statement.
Not for Max, who had just married the widow?
Addax was wondering if Claudius was going to confess right there that he intended to sell to the Scots.
Would it really be so easy to get a confession out of the man, a confession that linked him to a Scots rebellion?
Unwilling to tip his hand and ask questions that might make even a drunken Claudius suspicious, Addax pretended to be mildly disinterested in the statement.
“Then I wish you well, whatever it is,” he said. “Speaking of Max, would you like me to find him and bring him back? This is his wedding feast, after all. It would not look good for him were his new bride to attend the feast without her husband being present.”
With a yawn, Claudius looked around the hall as if just now realizing Maximilian was missing. When it became clear that his son was nowhere to be found, he frowned.
“Damnation,” he muttered. “Where did he go?”
Addax shook his head. “I think I know,” he said. “I will fetch him for you, my lord.”
Claudius angrily settled down to finish his cup of wine. “Thank you, Addax,” he said. “Your assistance is appreciated.”
“It is my pleasure, my lord.”
With that, Addax stood up and left the table. His plan of ingratiating himself to the earl was in its infancy, but with enough service and politeness toward the man, he might very well earn an invitation to Raisbeck. What Cole had asked him to do would take time. There were no instant answers.
This was only the beginning.
With that thought on his mind, Addax headed out of the great hall and into the cold night beyond.
*
I know this hell.
Emmeline knew it all too well. The hell of a cruel, distant husband, only now it was worse.
Maximilian wasn’t like Ernest, a man whose manhood couldn’t grow stiff enough to penetrate his wife.
Horror of horrors, in that small storeroom that Maximilian had demanded to satisfy the consummation of his wife, he had dropped his breeches and taken her hands, putting them on his male member.
He was stiff and hard almost immediately.
Then he’d turned her around, bent her over, thrown up her skirts, and entered her from behind.
No foreplay, no kisses, no touching—no anything that would have helped her prepare for the moment.
He simply took her, climaxed quickly, and then told her to pull her skirt down.
That was it.
It had been one of the worst moments of her life.
That was saying something. Emmeline had had plenty of bad moments over the years, but that one was horrific.
Embarrassing and horrific. Once again, she was married to a man who didn’t care for her.
A man who wasn’t even kind to her. Ernest had mostly ignored her, and that was probably the best she could hope for from Maximilian.
Ignoring her and letting her go about her life.
Her miserable, depressing life.
This wasn’t what she wanted.
She wanted out.
Lady de Velt had been incredibly sweet to her.
Corisande was gentle and kind and had helped Emmeline bathe and change into a dress that wasn’t covered in layers of dust from travel.
She’d even combed and braided her hair for her.
Emmeline had tried not to let her shocked and sour mood show on the outside.
God knew, she tried to be kind and pleasant in return.
But inside, she was torn to shreds by a life that had veered so far out of her control that she didn’t recognize it any longer.
Happiness, something that had always been so elusive to her, was just a tease.
It was a tease fed by hope, but after her marriage that afternoon, the hope was gone.
Finally, she was broken.
Maximilian hadn’t been cruel, but he hadn’t been considerate, either.
He’d treated her like any other possession he had, because that’s what she was, essentially—a possession.
Most men didn’t deliberately mistreat a possession, because it was something important to purchase in the first place.
In Emmeline’s case, it was something important to marry. Not even someone, but something.
She didn’t want to be a something for the rest of her life.
She simply couldn’t face it.
Dressed in a dark blue silk that showed off her narrow torso and full breasts, she wandered out of her borrowed chamber in the keep of Berwick Castle.
The distress she felt was overwhelming. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get some fresh air.
Her wedding feast was going on in the great hall, and she had no intention of going there.
She didn’t want to see her new husband or his father, the man who’d orchestrated the entire thing.
She didn’t want to look at him, either, knowing he was the one who had trapped her into this.
She knew it was for the money. She’d known that from the start.
But Claudius had promised that she would be a countess someday, a title befitting the bastard granddaughter of King John.
She’d wanted something, too, so perhaps Claudius wasn’t completely to blame, but she realized that she had wanted a happy life with a man who was kind to her.
Perhaps he might even grow fond of her. Perhaps they would laugh together and work alongside one another, building a life that would hopefully include a family. Aye, she did it for the children, too.
Perhaps she was just as guilty as Claudius.
But hope for that pleasant future was dead.
Dead.
Perhaps she’d be better off dead, just like her dreams. She couldn’t run from this marriage.
She couldn’t have it annulled. There was nothing she could do to escape it other than the ultimate escape.
Maximilian would have the mines, and the money, and he could do as he pleased, and she didn’t have to live a solitary life as her husband was out favoring other women.
Ernest may not have been interested in her, but at least he hadn’t chased other women.
She didn’t have to worry about the shame of a husband who needed more than one woman.
But now, she did.
This is a business arrangement and nothing more.
She simply couldn’t face it.
Emmeline found her way out of the keep, but that wasn’t a simple task because Berwick’s keep was quite large and several stories.
There were numerous stairwells, but only one door that she could find.
It spilled out into the enormous bailey, lit by dozens of torches as men walked their rounds on the battlement.
The moon was full overhead, with scattered clouds, and off to the west, the River Tweed snaked alongside the town and out to the sea.
There was a great deal of noise and music coming from the great hall.
The doors were open, ventilating what was probably a steamy, smelly hall, and she could see people milling about.
But her attention kept being pulled toward the river, and beneath the full moon, she found herself wandering in that direction.
There was a door, guarded by an iron gate, that led up to the battlements, but there was also a wall that stretched down the side of the hill and out into the river to create a protected jetty.
Emmeline had seen that steep wall from her chamber.
It was a wall, with steps on the top of it, that led all the way down to the river.
A river that would offer icy death to someone who couldn’t swim.
She’d never learned. Perhaps plunging into the cold water wouldn’t hurt so much when her life slipped away.
It would sweep her out to sea, and Maximilian would never find her.
Not that he would look for her.
It was devastating to realize that no one in the world cared whether she lived or died.
With tears in her eyes, Emmeline headed to the iron gate, unlocked at this hour as the soldiers went about their rounds.
She made her way up a dark spiral stairwell and found herself on the top of the wall.
The portion of the wall that went down the slope was to her right, and she found herself going down the steep staircase, heading toward the river as it reflected the moonglow off the gentle waters.
It would have been a beautiful night and a beautiful sight, but all Emmeline could think of was the darkness that awaited her.
Of a life wasted.
As Emmeline took the stairs, she thought on her useless life.
She’d been born to a bastard daughter of King John, a woman who had married a simple knight, and they’d lived a quiet life with their daughter and three sons.
Emmeline had been the eldest, bright and lovely, and her life had been relatively bucolic, but in spite of their royal connection, they hadn’t lived that kind of life.
No real extravagance. No parties, no grand feasts.
Her parents, her mother in particular, weren’t thrilled with the royal connection, so Emmeline—or Emmy, as she’d been known in her youth—had fostered in two homes of lesser nobility, and she’d had a penchant for sums and writing.
She loved to write about characters from the Bible—only, in her stories, she would give them great adventures, or she’d change the dynamics.
David and Goliath became friends, Adam and Eve made friends with the animals and had a farm of sorts, and Moses built a castle somewhere in the Holy Land.
Emmeline had a great imagination.
But it was an imagination, and a mind, that had been prone to bouts of sadness.
Melancholy, her mother had called it. Melancholy so deep that it was beyond tears.
It was something that had, at times, crippled her, sitting in dark rooms, staring from windows, and it was a melancholy that had only grown worse when she married Ernest. The past ten years with an apathetic, older husband and an unhappy life had made it a struggle to go on at times. That was the truth of it.
And that was why she’d hoped her marriage to Maximilian might be better.
But it wasn’t.
Now, she was heading down the steep stairs, looking at the ribbon of the River Tweed and thinking that it was perhaps a fitting end for her.
She was well acquainted with darkness and sadness.
The icy drink of no return. The river was the physical embodiment of every darkness she had known, so she was familiar with it. There was a comfort in it.
It called to her.
And she answered.