Chapter 4
The Earl of Nowland greedily sucked on the plum the whore held to his lips. Its juice spilled downward, falling upon her naked breast. He bent his head and licked it before returning to the fruit itself. The woman’s sultry laugh echoed in the small bedchamber of the inn.
A room he couldn’t afford. A whore he couldn’t afford.
Damn the king!
His half-brother had reneged again on the quarterly allowance.
The fool thought to tease him, mayhap make him beg as he’d done in the past. If Quentin didn’t get that money out of Edward soon, he’d be forced to order his bailiff to squeeze more from his tenants.
The thought that they might sense his desperation made his blood run cold.
Not like clamping down on his equals. Quentin had spent a lifetime playing a chess game with the nobility. Some viewed him with fear; others with indifference. Being a royal bastard had its advantages, but lately his leverage slipped.
If only his mother had not expired three years prior.
She had been key to most of his success.
Her sixth sense and visions gave him an insight into his friends and enemies that most men would kill for.
Quentin had the ability in limited quantities but no control over it.
He saw it as more curse than anything productive.
Only the women in his family seemed to possess the gift in full force. He’d heard tales that his grandmother and aunt had been quite powerful, and his sister had shown even more talent. Unfortunately, the power drove her to madness and death by her own hand.
His mother, though, proved quite useful to him over the years. Quentin had no qualms about keeping her a prisoner the last twenty years of her life. It helped him become a rich man, but it brought him many enemies.
Now times grew desperate. His fortune dwindled rapidly. The second Edward, his half-brother who now sat on the throne, was a true royal bastard in every sense of the word, playing games with him.
If only he had a child, a daughter, who could aid him in seizing the crown…
Fury built within him, and Quentin took it out on the whore, slamming into her again and again, ignoring her cries of pain.
Rage consumed him. He was angry with his wretched wife, who’d only delivered stillborn sons before she died.
He was furious at his fate, wishing he could control England’s destiny from the throne, where he belonged.
Spent, he rolled off the sobbing woman and fumbled with his clothes. Once dressed, he smoothed his hair and tossed a coin onto the bed. The whore glared at him. He shrugged and left the room.
Barley greeted him in the hall. “My lord, ‘tis news ye should be hearing,” the servant told him, yellowed teeth exposed in a wide smile. “I’ve someone in the stables who wishes to speak to ye. Will ye come and talk with him?”
Quentin sighed inwardly. Barley, though loyal, irritated him to no end. He hoped it was pleasant news.
They crossed the tavern’s taproom and stepped out in the cold afternoon, the gray, overcast sky reflecting his current mood.
“Over here, my lord.” Barley motioned toward the stable, and they stepped into the wooden building. Dimly lit, the servant quickly snagged a lantern and scurried to the back. Quentin followed with an easy gait, never wanting others to see him in a rush.
“This here ‘tis Maitland from Mangeron. He works in the stables there and is sweet on the younger Lady de Mangeron’s personal maid.”
Quentin began to pay attention. He’d placed spies all over the land except on his neighbor’s property.
The one castle he most wanted inside information from proved time and again the hardest to penetrate.
During Renton’s time, Quentin had a few in place, but ever since Crispin took over as lord, fidelity reigned among the servants.
He quelled any outward curiosity as he studied the lad before him. The boy was no more than ten-and-six, if that.
“So you’ve a sweetheart in the castle, boy. What of it? Why would this concern an earl of the realm?”
The stable lad shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Aye, I do. And I’ve heard tell that you seek to learn all about the de Mangerons. Will you pay then?”
Quentin laughed affably. “I already know quite a bit about my neighbors, Maitland. But, yes, I’d pay if you had information that did me some good.”
The boy grinned nervously. “’Tis something you would wish to know. You do pay? ‘Tis a trinket that my Celia wants. I intend for her to have it.” He shuffled again, staring at the ground.
Quentin concentrated on the boy’s silhouette for a moment and caught a quick glimpse of color around him. Damn, but the ability teased him constantly. His mouth went dry in anticipation.
“Speak up,” Barley prodded. “The earl ain’t got all day for the likes of ye. Tell ‘im what ye told me, and be quick about it.”
The boy raised his head and swallowed. Quentin placed a bland expression on his face, hoping to soothe the boy with a passive air. No sense scaring him off in case what he knew was of value.
“Celia... that’s my girl. She works for the young mistress.”
Quentin smiled. “Yes. I’m sure she’s lovely.”
Maitland grinned. “She is indeed, my lord. Pretty as a budding flower come springtime.” He paused. “Celia told me that the de Mangerons have a relative coming to stay. A Lady Kallen.”
Quentin’s brows knitted together. He could think of no close relatives they had by such a name. Who was this Kallen?
Aloud, he asked, “And what relation is she, lad?”
The stable boy’s face scrunched up. “That’s the mysterious part.
No one’s quite saying. No one knows for certain.
But Celia,” he added, “heard my lord and his lady talking about it. Master called Lady Kallen his niece and said she’d make a great companion to the mistress and the babe.
Said his mother was delighted that Lady Kallen was finally coming home. ”
Quentin’s thoughts crystallized in an instant. Crispin only had one sibling from which a niece could spring.
Bevia…
His mind reeled at the implication. Bevia died years ago. Or so he’d heard from the court gossips. Had she in fact lived and produced a daughter?
Quentin knew with certainty that Lady Kallen was Bevia’s offspring. Bevia’s... and his. That was the only possible explanation. He had a living child.
A girl.
Quentin realized with a surety that transcended time that this Kallen was more like him than Bevia. That she would possess the sixth sense the women in his family held. That she could see him to his ultimate destiny.
King.
He would finally be able to take the throne.
She would be young. Quentin quickly figured she must be around eight-and-ten, mayhap nine-and-ten. Young enough that he could still mold her. Obviously, she’d been brought up in isolation. That meant a convent.
He nearly exploded with glee. A serene, convent-bred girl. She would have the power. She would see the auras.
Kallen de Mangeron’s fate was tied to his.
Quentin turned his attention to the servant in front of him. He offered the boy a reassuring smile. “Yes, that is quite interesting. Do you know where she comes from? Will Lord de Mangeron see to her return to her home?”
The boy shook his head. “Celia said Master is mad for his wife. He won’t leave her so close to the birth of their child. He’s sent Sir Griffith to escort her back to Mangeron. He left over a week ago with a guard of ten men. Celia heard he’ll return in another week with Lady Kallen in hand.”
Immediately, Quentin realized where Kallen had been kept all this time.
Renton’s sister became abbess years ago at a convent far to the north.
He was certain that was where Renton had hidden Bevia a score ago.
He would assemble a group of men. They would meet Griffith Sommersby’s little party before they arrived at Mangeron.
And they would kill every man in it.