Chapter 26
Quentin entered his solar, pleased that Barley had already placed food and drink on the table in front of the fire.
“Have a seat, Malcolm,” Quentin instructed.
His old friend eyed the ladened table with a gleam. Quentin smiled. He’d asked this ally here tonight for a reason. “Here, let me pour you a cup of wine.”
He did so and handed it to Malcolm, who drank as greedily as he did all tasks.
His guest sighed. “A sweet wine, a roaring fire, and an assortment of fruits and cheeses. Everything a man would need but for a woman with lush lips and lusher breasts.”
Quentin shook his head in disagreement. “Nay, Malcolm. Essentials? Yes. But a need is something strong, something to burn with desire for.” He raised his wine cup. “I need a throne. I need my kingdom before that idiot Edward runs England into the ground.”
Malcolm sipped his wine. “You are correct, Quentin. Edward is an imbecile and an embarrassment to his father’s blood. I’m sure old Edward is rolling in his grave at the mistakes the second Edward now makes.”
Malcolm laughed. “But I’m sure you did not send for me to speak of the king’s tomfoolery. Have you finalized plans for your rebellion?”
“They are formulating as we speak, Malcolm.”
“Then have you begun to raise an army? Will the old guard, the barons whose opinions matter, support you with soldiers and their coffers? You know I support you.”
Malcolm’s eyes gleamed brightly. “Of course, I shall expect a nice reward for championing you, especially in these last few lean years, Quentin.”
“You shall receive your due. You remained loyal while others fell away.” Quentin drank deeply from his cup.
“Plans are in motion, my friend. They must be kept secret for now. But it will soon be like the old days. And this time next year, we shall have our pick of palaces to dine at—you, myself, and... my daughter.”
Malcolm’s eyebrows raised an inch. “Your daughter? Your wife never saw a pregnancy through, Quentin. In all these years of friendship, I’ve never seen you claim a brat from another woman.”
Quentin smiled. “Ah, she’s more angel than brat.” He stood. “Come. Let us go across the hall. Kallen is asleep."
His visitor rose and followed him into the chamber across the way. A single candle illuminated the room. The men moved to the bed. Kallen’s chest rose and fell. Her bound hands remained beneath the coverlet he’d so thoughtfully placed over her earlier.
“Never was an angel more beautiful, Quentin. Why, the girl is stunning.” Malcolm’s tone was almost reverential. “Where have you kept her hidden all these years?” He turned to stare at her again. “Such pure beauty from one so evil.” Malcolm chuckled softly.
“She’s been safe in a convent. The good sisters have cared for her well. She only arrived today.”
Malcolm licked his lips. “Then ‘tis the start of a new royal family.” He stared at Kallen as a wolf appraising a prized lamb. “I suppose you will wish her wed soon?”
“Are you interested? First, you want your choice of office, and now you wish to be my son-in-law?”
Malcolm shrugged. “One can never aim too high. A new monarchy. A new dynasty. And unless you marry and have a son, the throne would pass to her.”
Quentin bent and brushed a stray lock from Kallen’s face. He possessively stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, valuing the new treasure in his midst. “We’ll see. All in good time, friend.”
They returned to the solar and settled themselves before the fire again. Quentin took a small slice of cheese and bit into it.
“What do you hear of Piers Gaveston? You were not long ago at court. He’s the one I’m worried about, for he’s the true power behind this shaky throne.”
Malcolm nodded. “I do have news of dear Piers. As a matter of fact—”
Suddenly, the door to the room swung open and crashed against the wall. Griffith Sommersby charged in, followed closely by Crispin de Mangeron.
“I demand to know where Kallen is!” demanded Sommersby.
Barley appeared in the doorway on the heels of Quentin’s steward. The steward entered and bowed.
“My apologies, my lord. The gatekeeper allowed them in.”
“Well, my neighbor is always welcomed at Nowland.”
“But they refused to stay in the hall, my lord.” The steward glared at the unexpected company. “I took the liberty of sending for a guard of ten. They should arrive any minute to escort these guests off the estate.”
Quentin waved a hand. “’Tis quite all right. I’m sure an old visit between friends is all this is. You are excused. Have the guard dispersed. I have no need of them.”
The steward looked as if he wished to override his lord’s command, but he bowed to his master.
“As you wish, my lord.” The steward and Barley left, but Quentin knew Barley would hover outside until summoned, just like a good lap dog.
He had studied Sommersby as the steward spoke.
His daughter had picked a magnificent specimen.
The boy who’d fostered under him now fulfilled all the promise of his youth.
He was tall, broad of shoulder, and a keen intelligence shone in his flashing eyes.
He took a step toward Quentin, but Crispin de Mangeron caught his arm.
“’Tis a pleasant evening, gentlemen,” Quentin said. “You know Malcolm, of course. Or do you?”
Griffith threw off Crispin’s hand. He strode the few steps that closed the gap between them and placed his hands on the armrests of Quentin’s chair. Bending low, their noses practically touched.
“I want no introductions, absolutely nothing from you, Nowland, other than Kallen.”
Quentin cocked his head. “Who is this Kallen? Is she the new village whore?”
Griffith grabbed his throat, but Crispin quickly jerked Sommersby away.
“Griff, even you must show proper courtesy. Nowland is of the king’s blood.”
“Oh, and I should have observed the niceties when he sent a gang of cutthroat soldiers to attack us and take Kallen while we journeyed toward Mangeron? One of his men, Rodger, did make off with her for a few hours. Kallen killed him before we could rescue her.”
Sommersby’s words shocked but pleased Quentin. Kallen was even more promising than he’d first thought.
“What proof have you this person is here?”
“Proof enough are the dead soldiers we left behind, their bodies littered in the wood. None returned to Nowland, did they, for we killed them all.”
Quentin tried his best to appear baffled. “I sent no guard. I am making war on no one, least of all for this Kallen of whom you speak.”
He struggled to hide his amusement. Even as a small lad, Griffith Sommersby was not easily rattled. It was interesting to see one with such a cool demeanor turned into a hothead. It did please him to know this knight was as passionate about his Kallen as she was for him.
“No more wasted time, Nowland,” Griffith spat out. “Kallen is missing from Mangeron. You have her. I demand a search of the grounds. Every stall in your stables, every room in this castle, each tenant’s cottage will I see. She is here somewhere, and I will find her.”
Quentin expelled a loud breath. “You grow tiresome, boy. Very well. Conduct your search tomorrow. ‘Tis terribly late. I’ll not have my staff nor my people upset while they’re at their sleep.”
He gazed steadily at Griffith. “Return in the morning, and you may look where you wish for whomever this Kallen is.”
Quentin turned to Crispin. “I hope you’re merely humoring your brother-in-law, my lord, much as you do that wife of yours.”
Crispin’s eyes narrowed. “Leave Deva out of this. You aren’t fit for her name to grace your lips.”
Crispin caught Griffith’s eye. “Come. Let us return to Mangeron as the earl requests. We shall bring a hundred men to camp outside the gates in the meantime. They shall help us search as dawn breaks on the morrow.”
Griffith’s mouth set in a hard line. “No. I shall remain here. I’ll not leave these grounds unless Kallen accompanies me.”
Crispin shook his head. “I would argue with you, but ‘tis never done any good in the past.” He looked at Quentin. “My lord, may Sir Griffith find shelter at Nowland this eve?”
Quentin rubbed his hands together. “But of course, my lord. He may stay as long as he wishes. I would hope all see me as an accommodating host.”
Griffith glared at him, and Quentin did not repress his chuckle.
A knock on the door sounded, and Barley stepped into the room. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lord. A messenger from Mangeron just arrived with a message from Lady de Mangeron. He says he must speak to no one but Lord de Mangeron here.”
Quentin nodded. “Very well. Show him in.”