Chapter Twenty-Two #2
It didn’t take Nicola much more prompting to realize two things – that St. John was in a talking mood and that they had drifted onto the subject of Kenton being given over to Edward.
She capitalized on it as quickly as she could because this was the information she had wanted all along, the information Kenton wanted to know.
It was information Warwick would want to know.
Going over to St. John, she put a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder.
“I am so terribly sorry,” she said sincerely. “But when do you plan on moving le Bec? Is there some way that you could put Warwick off?”
St. John shook his head but he was, not strangely, comforted by Lady Thorne’s concerned touch. “I am not sure how it could be done,” he said. “It was my intention to send le Bec to him in a few days, as Edward is moving south through Yorkshire as we speak.”
Nicola looked surprised. “Edward is in Yorkshire?”
St. John nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “He has been for some time. He is gathering men to march on London and we have been told he is moving south and will be at Doncaster by early next week. That is where I plan to meet up with him and deliver le Bec.”
Nicola hadn’t heard any of this. It was true that Babylon was her world and she only functioned within that world without being particularly knowledgeable on the current plans of movements of Edward, but with Edward in the north, he was much closer to Kenton than she could have imagined.
The news that he was to be turned over to Edward in a few days in Doncaster was horrifying.
Nicola wasn’t entirely sure she could send word to Warwick in time and once Kenton was with Edward, the chances of his escape would be greatly diminished.
He would be at the mercy of Edward entirely. Terrified, her heart began to race.
“And… and Edward knows you have le Bec?” she asked. “You have already sent him word?”
St. John nodded. “I sent Edward a missive when I was first told le Bec had been captured at Manchester,” he said.
“We knew Edward was in Yorkshire, and the general area, so the messenger went to find him. The same messenger returned a short time ago and was able to deliver the message to Edward personally. That is how we know Edward will be in Doncaster by next week.”
So now it was all explained. Missives had been flying back and forth, missives of Kenton and Manchester and probably Babylon.
Missives were flying everywhere, discussing Edward, and Kenton, and Nicola had known nothing about them.
Not that she made it her business to know everyone else’s business, but still, much had happened that she had not been aware of.
Edward probably knew everything about what had happened with Babylon and with Manchester.
Secrets, and battles, had been revealed.
Oh, God, Nicola thought as she lifted her hand from St. John’s shoulder and began to pace away.
What now? What do I do? Quickly, oh so quickly, she began to think of a way to salvage the situation, to send word to Warwick quickly enough.
She didn’t have time to go back to Kenton and ask his advice on the matter so she had to think on this one all on her own.
She knew she had to get word to Warwick and get it to him quickly; that much was imperative.
Edward knew about Kenton and, already, his delivery to Edward had been planned.
“So we must save your sister before next week,” she said, pretending to be very concerned for St. John’s sister when, in fact, it was only Kenton she was concerned for.
“I… I have an idea that you may not like but it may be the only thing we can do to save your sister. It would seem to me that if you cannot, or will not, exchange Kenton for your sister, then mayhap we must give Warwick something that is equally attractive.”
St. John was looking at her with great interest and curiosity, as was Saxilby. “What could be equally attractive to the man?” St. John wanted to know. “He wants le Bec. What else could we possibly give him?”
Nicola fixed him in the eye. “Something that belongs to me, something he very much wants,” she said.
“Offer him Babylon in exchange for your sister’s life.
Surely the man must consider it. He wanted Babylon badly enough to send le Bec after it those weeks ago.
I will send my husband’s knight with a missive to Warwick to tell him that, although you cannot give him le Bec in exchange for your sister, you will offer Babylon instead.
How could he possibly refuse? He will regain the fortress that he very badly wanted. ”
It was, in fact, a brilliant and shocking suggestion and for the first time since reading the missive from Warwick, St. John felt some hope. He truly felt hope. He looked to Saxilby anxiously.
“What do you think?” he asked the man. “Do you think it will work?”
Saxilby was a bit more skeptical. “That is difficult to say,” he replied, eyeing Lady Thorne who was so willing to turn her fortress back over to the enemy.
“Certainly, Babylon is not Kenton le Bec but it is nonetheless a prize. Lady Thorne, why would you so willingly give over your home to the man? St. John’s sister means nothing to you. Why would you suggest such a thing?”
There was suspicion in his tone. Nicola could hear it. It wasn’t difficult to think of a believable answer.
“Because Babylon holds nothing but terrible memories for me,” she said, which was the truth.
“My husband was not a kind man, Lord Saxilby. If you knew him, then you know that is the truth. He was brutal and unscrupulous. When I see Babylon, I think of him, so it is no great sacrifice for me to offer the fortress in exchange for a young woman’s life.
The fortress means little to me. Warwick can have it and welcome to it. ”
It was a reasonable answer and one that Saxilby could understand; he did indeed know of Gaylord Thorne’s character. “So you would give it away?” he asked softly. “But you have children. Where will you go?”
“She can stay here,” St. John said quickly, perhaps too quickly. There was something suddenly warm in his expression as he looked at Nicola. “She and her children can come and live here, with me. It is the least I can do for the lady if she is willing to sacrifice her home for my sister.”
Nicola realized, almost too late, that there was something of a romantic interest abruptly in St. John’s manner.
It wasn’t so much what he said but the way he said it and she resisted the urge to back away from the man.
He was looking at her with great admiration and gratitude and something more…
something she didn’t want to see in his expression.
He was a handsome man, and seemingly kind, but she wanted no part of him.
At least, not in the manner his tone was suggesting.
“Your offer is very kind,” she said, trying not to sound put-off by it.
“But that is not necessary. I have a widowed aunt near London who will take us in. Now, let us get on with this missive to Warwick offering Babylon in exchange for your sister. If you will write the missive, I will go and tell my knight of his coming mission.”
She was swiftly changing the subject away from her possibly seeking refuge at Conisbrough, away from anything that had to do with St. John, and Saxilby took the bait, thankfully.
“We can just as easily send a messenger, my lady,” he said. “There is no need for you to send your knight.”
Nicola smiled wryly. “You will forgive me, Lord Saxilby, but sending a missive to Warwick will take a man of some determination, strength, and fearlessness,” she said.
“No offense to your messengers, but I would feel more comfortable sending Conor. He is resourceful and seasoned, and will deliver the message without fail. I do not want to trust something of this importance to anyone other than a man I have implicit faith in. We are speaking of my fortress, after all, so you will indulge me.”
Saxilby didn’t argue after that. Lady Thorne seemed to have taken over the negotiations with Warwick and St. John was content to let her, so Saxilby sat back, watching as St. John rushed to his desk and rifled through the clutter to find a piece of parchment to write his missive on.
Eagerly, St. John began scribing his reply to Warwick.
Most knights had others write their missives for them, and some knights couldn’t write at all, but St. John was an educated man who wrote quite well.
As he carefully stenciled out the letters, Nicola excused herself and went in search of Conor to tell the man of his coming mission.
She tried not to run, but she could hardly wait to tell him.
It was cold and bright outside, typical of spring weather.
Nicola wandered the keep a bit before braving out into the ward, finding Conor in the great hall breaking his fast amidst servants sweeping the floor and cleaning out the hearth, which had a blockage in the chimney.
Nicola sat down next to Conor as he enjoyed warmed-over beef and bread from the previous night, hardly able to contain her excitement.
“Much has happened this morning,” she said to the knight, her voice low. “It would seem that you are riding out to Warwick today.”
Conor looked up from his meal. “Why?” he asked, surprised. “What has happened?”
Nicola looked around to make sure there were no servants to hear what she had to say.
“St. John received a missive early this morning from Warwick,” she said quietly.
“Evidently, Warwick knows that Kenton is being held prisoner at Conisbrough and he knows that St. John is the garrison commander. Somehow, he was able to abduct St. John’s sister and he is offering her in exchange for Kenton. ”
Conor’s eyes widened. “Is this true?”