Chapter Twenty-Two
Conisbrough Castle
“I will never see my sister again,” St. John said, his face drawn and pale. “Dear God, what am I going to tell my mother?”
In the large solar at Conisbrough on a bright spring morning, St. John was leaning against the hearth, an opened parchment in his hand bearing terrible words from Warwick. Saxilby, who had just wandered into the solar to find St. John distraught over the missive, went to the man.
“What are you talking about?” Saxilby demanded. “What has happened to your sister?”
St. John held up the parchment. “Warwick has her,” he spat, distressed. “Somehow, someway, he found out that I am holding le Bec and he is trying to use my sister in an exchange. My sister for le Bec.”
Saxilby was horrified. “Your sister?” he repeated, aghast. “But how…? I do not understand! How did he find her?”
St. John sat heavily in the nearest chair, raking the fingers of one hand through his blond hair.
“I do not know,” he moaned. “She is a ward of Lady Holland. Warwick has ways of discovering things that would lead people to believe he has a mystical gift for divining knowledge. He calls forth the demons of darkness and they tell him what he wants to know. They must have told him where my sister was and somehow the man took her. He took her!”
Saxilby patted St. John on the shoulder for the man was truly distraught.
He endeavored to remain calm as St. John grunted and moaned.
“So he knows we have le Bec,” he said, trying to think rationally and logically.
“I suppose that would be no great feat, Brome. Men escaped from Manchester, men who knew the Conisbrough garrison had clashed against le Bec’s army there.
Mayhap they even saw us take le Bec prisoner.
Word has reached Warwick. There is no great mystery in what he knows. ”
St. John was hanging his head, looking at the missive as if it were poison. “But he knew enough to know that I am garrison commander at Conisbrough,” he said. “Someone told him who I was.”
“Again, no great mystery,” Saxilby said.
“There are men supporting Henry who know more of Edward’s allies than Edward does, and Warwick most of all.
He knows le Bec is at Conisbrough and he knows you are the garrison commander.
But I would truly like to know how he found your sister. That was quite cunning of him.”
St. John wanted to know, too. He grunted unhappily.
“What manner of man would use a woman in such a way?” he asked rhetorically.
“Katryne is young and innocent. Warwick must have killed Lady Holland to get to her for I know that woman would not have let my sister go without a fight. If he killed Lady Holland, then surely her husband is out for blood.”
“Her husband is on our side,” Saxilby said quietly. “Where is Henry Holland?”
St. John shook his head. “I would not know,” he said. “The last I heard, he was south, near Cambridge. His son-in-law was involved in a minor skirmish there, or so I was told. But that was months ago.”
Saxilby kept his hand on St. John’s broad shoulder. “I wonder if the Duke of Exeter knows that Warwick has gone after his wife,” he muttered thoughtfully. “It seems that Warwick will stop at nothing to gain what he wants. We should have anticipated that he would want le Bec returned to him.”
St. John was still staring at the missive, at the wicked, black letters that spelled out his sister’s fate. Slowly, he began to shake his head.
“I cannot give him le Bec,” he said painfully. “We have already sent word to Edward. He knows that le Bec is our prisoner.”
Saxilby sighed heavily, reaching down to take the parchment from St. John. He read it, twice, before re-rolling it and handing it back to St. John.
“He says he will send your sister back to you in pieces if you refuse,” he said. “I cannot believe Warwick would do such a thing. It is too barbaric to imagine.”
St. John was calmer than he had been only moments earlier, having gained some control over his emotions, but he was still deeply upset. He took a deep, cleansing breath.
“I have never heard of him doing such a thing,” he said, trying to be logical, “but Kenton le Bec means a great deal to him. The mere fact that he has my sister and is trying to bargain with her speaks volumes of his determination.”
“Whose determination?”
An inquisitive female voice came from the solar door. St. John stood up as he and Saxilby faced Nicola as she entered the room. She was smiling pleasantly at the pair, who displayed forced smiles in return at her unexpected appearance. Especially St. John; he was fairly grimacing at her.
“Good morn to you, Lady Thorne,” Brome said. “I trust you slept well after your difficult day yesterday?”
Nicola nodded. “I slept better than I have in quite some time,” she said. “There is something about clearing my conscience and my soul that brings about restful slumber. Thank you again for allowing me to see le Bec yesterday. It did me a world of good.”
“That is good to know.”
Nicola could sense that she’d walked into the middle of a serious conversation but she had no intention of leaving.
She had just come down from her chamber when she heard their voices, the tension in them, and thought they might be speaking of something that had to do with Kenton.
Who else but Kenton could bring about such tension to the commander of Conisbrough, she thought, and if Kenton was the subject, she wanted to know what was being said.
“Please forgive me if I interrupted something important,” she said, looking between the two because they’d essentially stopped their conversation. “You were speaking of someone’s determination. Could it possibly be mine?”
She was being quite charming with her question as she probed them, her eyes twinkling and a grin on her lips, and St. John smiled weakly.
“Nay, not you, dear lady,” he said. “There are many determined people in this world, although I will admit you are one of the more determined ladies I have seen.”
Nicola laughed, meant to be a lovely and flirtatious sound. She didn’t want to leave until they told her what they had been speaking of because something told her that it, indeed, had to do with Kenton. She moved to the nearest chair and primly seated herself.
“My husband often said that to me,” she said. “I have three young sons who are just as determined, which I think one needs to be in this world. You cannot let people take advantage of you and, at times, you must fight for what you believe in. Don’t you agree?”
St. John wasn’t in the mood for a polite conversation. He was still lingering on the missive from Warwick and his sister’s predicament, but he remained courteous to Nicola as she all but barged into their conversation.
“Indeed I do, my lady,” he said. “There are unscrupulous people in this world that one must fight against.”
Nicola nodded, pleased he was agreeing with her, but she couldn’t help notice the parchment in his hand. He seemed to be gripping it rather tightly. She pointed to it.
“A missive has come?” she asked. “Could it be about Sir Kenton?”
St. John’s head snapped to her, startled by the question. “Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. “Because you mentioned to me that, eventually, you would be turning le Bec over to Edward,” she said. “Has any progress been made on that subject?”
St. John looked at the parchment in his hand. He was still reeling from it, still feeling quite shaken by the entire thing. Without his usual control, now weakened by his emotions, he shook his head before he could stop himself.
“No progress as of yet,” he muttered. “We may have an obstacle to overcome first.”
Nicola was genuinely curious. “What obstacle would that be?”
St. John glanced at Saxilby, who vaguely shook his head, indicating he should not speak on the contents of the missive to the lady. It didn’t involve her, anyway, and would more than likely only upset her. But St. John was feeling emotional, and angry, and was unable to hold back his disgust.
“It would seem that Warwick has discovered that le Bec is my prisoner,” he said bitterly. “Somehow, he knows and he has done something unspeakable because of it.”
Nicola was deeply concerned. “What did he do?” she asked, gasping.
St. John turned away from her, looking at the missive in his hand before tossing it onto the nearest table.
“He abducted my sister and has now proposed a trade,” he said.
“My sister for le Bec. He says that if I do not agree to the trade, he will send my sister back to me in pieces. In fact, I should send le Bec back to him in pieces for what he has done. No man will give me an ultimatum such as that.”
Nicola was genuinely shocked at what she was hearing. “Warwick has your sister?” she repeated, aghast. “That is the most terrible thing I have ever heard. How in the world did he find her? How did he even know you had a sister?”
St. John was quickly becoming distraught again. “I do not know,” he said. “That is what Lord Saxilby and I were discussing when you entered the room.”
Nicola looked to Saxilby, who seemed rather perturbed that St. John had told her of his troubles.
He wouldn’t look at Nicola at all. He simply turned his back on them both and went to sit on a chair near the hearth.
Nicola watched the man as he seated himself, seemingly ignoring the others in the room. She returned her attention to St. John.
“What are you going to do?” she asked Brome. “Surely you cannot let Warwick harm your sister.”
St. John shrugged, clearly despondent. “I cannot give him le Bec,” he said. “Edward already knows we have him. He is expecting le Bec to be delivered to him.”