Chapter Sixteen #3
Saxilby drank with Kenton, eyeing the big man on the floor. “Are you married, le Bec?”
Kenton shook his head. “I am not.”
“A betrothed, mayhap?”
“Nay.”
Saxilby drained his cup and turned back for more. “Then you are fortunate,” he said. “Women are more trouble than they are worth at times. Daughters, especially. I have five that you could have your pick from should you ever decide to lift your sword for Edward.”
Kenton’s grin turned genuine; it was a far more pleasant conversation than he had expected as a captor to a prisoner. In fact, he was quite astonished at Saxilby’s amiability. Even so, Kenton was on his guard. That was natural in his world.
“I am afraid I am not the marrying kind, my lord,” he said. “I would make a terrible husband.”
Saxilby glanced at him in puzzlement as he poured his wine. “The great Kenton le Bec would make a fine husband for any woman,” he said. “Are you sure you would not consider lifting a sword for Edward? My daughters all have vast dowries. It would make you very rich.”
Kenton shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Would you really marry one of them off to a man you just captured?”
“Possibly. I have five daughters, le Bec. Capturing their husbands may be the only way I am able obtain husbands for them all.”
Kenton couldn’t help the laughter now. “That is unfortunate, my lord,” he said, “but as I said, I would not make a good husband. Even though I am not married nor betrothed, I am afraid my heart does belong to someone. I suppose that sounds strange coming from a man such as myself, but it is the truth. You will have to look elsewhere for a husband for your daughters.”
Saxilby’s gaze lingered on him, a sort of appraising sense of amusement in his expression. “Then you are a romantic, le Bec?” he asked. “I find that astonishing. Does this poor woman have a name?”
“If she does, you will never hear it from my lips.”
Now it was Saxilby’s turn to laugh. He downed his second cup of wine and poured himself another. “That is wise,” he said. “But you were correct when you said women are strange creatures. They are, indeed.”
Kenton sensed something more to that statement as Saxilby came to him and refilled his cup. He eyed the older man, waiting for him to elaborate, but Saxilby remained silent. Kenton drank deeply of his wine.
“Now that I am your captive,” Kenton said, shifting the subject, “mayhap you can tell me what will become of me now.”
Saxilby nodded. “It is your right, I suppose,” he said, his gaze lingering on Kenton. “Tell me, Sir Kenton, if you were in my position, what would you do with a prisoner like yourself? A warrior of such high regard?”
Kenton lifted his dark eyebrows in thought. “I would lock me up in the safest place possible, I suppose,” he said. He cast a long glance at Saxilby. “I could possibly ransom me. Or I could send me to Edward as a prize.”
Saxilby snorted. “You would not execute you?”
Kenton shook his head. “I would be more valuable alive than dead.”
Saxilby could not disagree. “That is exactly what I was thinking,” he said, stroking his chin. “It would be a travesty to execute a knight of your caliber. Moreover, I am sure Edward wishes to speak with you. He is a great admirer of yours.”
“That is flattering.”
Saxilby simply lifted a cup to him, as if saluting him, and turned around to rummage for some food to eat.
There was a tray nearby with remnants of an earlier meal and the man went to pick through it.
Kenton watched him, thinking that the entire conversation had been far too casual.
Jovial, even. He couldn’t help wonder if there was an ulterior motive to Saxilby’s hospitality although he really couldn’t think of what, possibly, that might be.
Would they try to probe him for information on Henry and Warwick’s movements?
That was very likely and Kenton braced himself for that possibility.
But before they moved to interrogate him, Kenton had a few things he wanted to know.
“May I ask a question, my lord?” Kenton finally asked.
Saxilby was picking through some stale cheese. “You may. But I reserve the right not to answer.”
“Fair enough.”
“Then ask.”
“You laid siege to Babylon Castle two weeks ago,” Kenton said carefully, watching the man for his reaction.
“You fled, defeated, but then now you came to Manchester where I happened to be. You came as an army prepared to engage, as if you knew where I was. What made you come to Manchester? And how did you return so strong after so recent a defeat?”
Saxilby managed to find a few edible bits and brought them over to share with Kenton. “You handed us our defeat at Babylon, did you not?”
“I did.”
“You and the weather.”
“Thank God for all of that snow.”
Saxilby snorted ironically. “God had nothing to do with it,” he said, handing Kenton one of the less-stale pieces of cheese. “Tell me where Warwick is and I will tell you about Babylon and Manchester. Warwick is in Yorkshire, is he not?”
It was a fair question and, Kenton supposed, no great secret.
Warwick never made his movements secret.
But more than that, Kenton wanted very much to know how Saxilby knew where he was, or how he had happened upon him.
He was very curious and increasingly concerned about Babylon now that Edward’s forces knew Kenton was no longer there to protect it.
Therefore, he was inclined to give a little information in order to receive some.
“He is in Yorkshire,” he said, although he didn’t say exactly where the man was. “The last I saw the man and his army, he was heading west.”
“Where in Yorkshire?”
Kenton shrugged. “Your spies could probably tell you better than I could,” he replied evenly. “He said something about Wakefield but that could have easily changed. He could have headed to Leeds or Beeston. He has supporters there, but you probably already know that.”
Saxilby nodded, picking at the stale bread. “We had heard Wakefield as well,” he said. “My scouts have not returned from Yorkshire so I do not know if, in fact, Warwick has gone there.”
“Nor do I,” Kenton said truthfully. “My focus has been on Babylon. Now, will you tell me how you came across me in Manchester? I would like to know. We thought you and your men were well gone, at least for a while, but you returned with strength.”
Saxilby eyed him a moment before answering. “We returned with Conisbrough.”
Conisbrough. Somehow, Kenton wasn’t surprised. Warwick had even warned him about the garrison.
“I see,” he said. “That is where you went after you left Babylon?”
Saxilby nodded in confirmation. “That is where we went, chased by Warwick until he veered away so as not to confront the garrison,” he replied. “Warwick did not send you word of any of this?”
Kenton shook his head. “He did not,” he said, “although I knew there was a big contingent at Conisbrough. So you brought the garrison with you, did you? That explains the fresh troops but it still does not explain how you found me. Did your scouts tell you?”
Saxilby, on his fourth cup of wine, was feeling his drink.
It usually made him loud and humorous and chatty, and this was no exception.
Had he not had so much wine in him, he probably wouldn’t have told Kenton anything but given the fact that he was slightly drunk, his usual control was weak.
Plus, the conversation had been so casual, as he had intended, that it was almost as if old friends were speaking.
He’d hoped to lure Kenton into a false sense of security and pump him for information, but it seemed that his plan was working in reverse. He was the one doing the talking.
“Nay, the scouts told us nothing,” he said, reaching for the pitcher of wine again.
“Think, le Bec. You conquered Babylon and her occupants who are, in fact, loyal to Edward. Do you think they wanted you there? Do you think they would sit back and do nothing while you took over their fortress? Of course not. It was Babylon who sent a missive to Conisbrough telling us where you were. Even as we speak, Babylon should be back in our hands because hundreds of men went to reclaim her, knowing you had vacated and were heading to Manchester.”
Kenton stared at Saxilby, feeling as if he’d just been hit in the gut. He suddenly couldn’t breathe and his balance, tenuous at best, was in danger of weakening further. He struggled to regain his breath, and his balance, shocked to the core at what he was hearing.
“Babylon sent word to the garrison?” he repeated, stunned. “Who? A servant came to tell you? Or a soldier even?”
Saxilby took a deep drink of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Nay,” he said. “It was a missive from Lady Thorne. She told us everything. How she knew of your movements, I do not know, but she was right about you. If not for her, Manchester would be in Henry’s hands and Babylon would still be under his control.
But I’m curious how she was able to send the missive, le Bec. Did you not lock the woman up?”
Lady Thorne. The room began to spin and Kenton fell back on the pallet, staring up at the ceiling that was moving around, as if he were looking at it underwater.
Everything was moving and he felt sick, sicker than he’d ever felt in his life.
It’s not possible! His mind screamed. Nicola would never do anything like that! She would not do that to me!
But then he stopped… and he remembered…
… the last time he saw her had been a terrible and tense conversation.
God, what had she said to him? That she knew he had only intended to use her?
Kenton remembered thinking that someone had poisoned her mind against him and…
oh, God… poisoned it enough so that she would hate him so terribly that she would send to Conisbrough and tell them of his battle plans?
Hate him so terribly that she would betray him?
Kenton put his hands to his face, closing his eyes, feeling like the biggest fool in the entire world.
Nay, not a fool… he felt like a betrayed and defeated man.
Nicola knew of his plans because he had told her.
She had asked him. Asked him! Even then, was that what she had been planning?
God in heaven, what on earth could have happened to poison the woman so much against him?
What did he do to make her hate him so? He couldn’t even fathom what he might have done.
Worse yet, she wouldn’t tell him. Now, he would never know, for it was clear she hated him enough to betray him to Edward’s forces.
She had sealed his fate and he was now a prisoner.
It was what she wanted.
“Le Bec?” Saxilby broke into his whirling thoughts. “Are you well, man?”
Kenton still had his hands over his face. “I… I suppose the wine was too much,” he muttered, lying, when what he really wanted to do was cry. Aye, he truly did. “I… I will lie down for a time, if you do not mind. I find I have little strength.”
Saxilby gathered the food that Kenton wasn’t eating and stood up, heading for his own comfortable bed. “And I will join you,” he said, shoving bread in his mouth. “This wound is taxing me greatly.”
Kenton didn’t say anything more. He could hear Saxilby lay upon his bed and he could hear the man as he grunted, moving around and trying to get comfortable with such a nasty wound.
But that was the extent of Kenton’s interest in Lord Saxilby.
His thoughts, mind, heart, and soul were so battered and burdened that he could hardly hold a coherent idea.
The one thought that was prevalent, however, rolling over and over in his mind, was something quite simple and factual…
Nicola betrayed me…
… Nicola betrayed me!
Even as the words filled his head, he could hardly believe them. He never knew it was possible to hurt so badly, for Nicola Aubrey-Thorne succeeded in doing what hundreds of thousands of men over the past twenty-two years couldn’t do.
She had defeated him.