Chapter 33
Quentin buzzed about the great hall, observing the favored guests that would become the leaders in his new kingdom. A few attended morning mass, but most gathered here, breaking their fast.
His eyes fell upon Westerbrook, talking with Applegate in a secluded corner of the room.
Kallen hadn’t thought Applegate trustworthy after their brief conversation last night.
Quentin intended for the pair to speak again before Applegate departed back to the north.
He could take no chances at this point. Indecision about a man’s loyalty could mean his head on Edward’s choice of platters.
He scanned the hall but did not see her. He realized she must still be at mass. The convent life had bred the typical Papist rules and restrictions into her. He smiled to himself. It would be up to him to teach her a few wicked ways.
Several men began to stream into the room, heading to the trestle tables laid out for the morning meal. Quentin watched the door until the last person entered. Kallen did not appear. The first beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead.
Immediately, he signaled Barley over as he tried to quell the rising panic.
“Have you seen Lady Kallen this morning?” he hissed in the servant’s ear.
“Nay, my lord. Have you need of her?”
Quentin turned his attention to those gathered in the room.
He cursed under his breath. Griffith Sommersby was not present either.
They must be together. Quentin could not afford for Kallen to be with child.
His mother had revealed to him long ago that the auras disappeared when she’d carried her children within her.
He wouldn’t allow his plans to go by the wayside because of two amorous lovers.
“Find her, Barley. A quiet search is what I need. Locate Lady Kallen or Sir Griffith—both would be preferable—and bring them to the solar. I shall meet you there as soon as the last of the guests takes their leave.”
Barley moved away from him, slithering back into the crowd. Quentin’s heart began to pound uncomfortably. His palms started to sweat. He refused to fall apart in front of his fellow conspirators. That would be unacceptable. He needed to project confidence at all times.
“Quentin!”
He turned and saw Malcolm and Westerbrook approaching him. In the next few minutes they and many others leaving Nowland distracted him from his worries. He remained calm. He smiled. He even sounded witty to his own ears.
An hour later, Quentin approached the solar, dread spreading throughout his gut. He entered to find an anxious Barley pacing the large room, wringing his hands.
“No sign of them, my lord. ‘Tis as if they vanished from the earth.”
Quentin returned to the hall and opened the door to Kallen’s chamber, searching for some clue. He crossed the room and stopped in front of the bed that had not even been slept in. At least they hadn’t rutted like animals here, thank the heavens. But where could they be?
Quentin saw the pair together in his mind, their naked limbs entangled as they made love.
A fresh fury poured from him. By the Christ, he would break Sommersby on the wheel.
Quentin cursed himself for not realizing the nobleman had never wanted to be a part of his schemes. He had only wanted Kallen.
“Search the entire castle, Barley.”
“I have, my lord. They are not present within these walls. Shall I send for a guard to look outside Nowland?”
“Leave me a moment. I must think.” He sank onto the bed, rubbing his temples.
How could they leave and no one see them?
Suddenly, Quentin shuddered. “The tunnels,” he whispered to himself. ‘Twas the only way to escape from the castle sight unseen. Yet the couple could have no knowledge of such thoroughfares.
Unless Kallen was psychic? Did she find this bit of information deep within his mind? He hadn’t thought about, much less used the tunnels in years, though Barley kept all the hinges in good working order. Quentin doubted Kallen would have been able to keep something of that nature from him.
Yet the hidden pathway would have been the only way Sommersby could get from the great hall to her chamber without being seen by the guards he’d posted in the corridors.
And Quentin had never let the two of them have any contact last night.
He’d made sure, watching Kallen like a hawk.
He’d seen no sign from her that the pair had communicated in any way.
That meant that Sommersby was the one with prior knowledge of the escape route. But how? True, he’d grown up here. Still, it was the best kept secret Quentin possessed to this day, and he was a man of many secrets.
And then it dawned on him. The lads he’d expelled so long ago. ‘Twas hard to remember even who they were or when it had happened. Had Sommersby been here at that time and overheard the boys’ conversation? Had he known about the secret passageways for all these years?
Yes, it seemed just like him. He’d been a bright boy and one that would have possessed the nerve to explore such hidden corridors under his liege’s very nose.
His mother always told him she recognized from Griffith’s aura that he was a natural leader, even as a youngster.
Now he realized Sommersby would in all likelihood lead men against him.
In that moment, Quentin wanted Griffith Sommersby dead even more than he wanted Edward dead.
Kallen felt a bond with this man, but who was she? An innocent, inexperienced girl, dizzy with promises of love. What could she know? Her trust was badly misplaced. A few stolen kisses, and she’d lost her head to the handsome knight. Quentin decided he must keep her on a tight rein from now on.
He would summon a guard to ride to Mangeron. Certainly, they’d gone into hiding there. Yet he was a neighbor, a powerful earl. He would easily enter Mangeron’s gates without a fight, what with the master busy with the mistress and a new babe. Then he would reclaim what was his, by law.
If he didn’t, his dream of ruling England would be in tatters.
“Barley!” he roared.
The servant scurried into the room. “Yes, my lord?”
“I am going to fetch Lady Kallen back from Mangeron. Alert my guard. I shall take no more than twenty men with me.”
The servant bowed and hurried from the room. Quentin went back to the solar and poured a generous glass of wine. He downed it in a single swallow. The pleasant warmth spread throughout his chest, filling him with confidence.
He smoothed his hair and took his time attaching his sword, mostly for show, but he wanted Crispin de Mangeron and Griffith Sommersby to know he meant business. Quentin strolled leisurely down to the inner bailey. His horse was already saddled, and his men awaited him with an expectant air.
“We ride to Mangeron,” he said and then mounted his horse.
The party rode from the gates of Nowland in rows of two, Quentin at its head. He worked on breathing in and out, slowly, confidently. He would refuse another attack of nerves getting the best of him. He would keep his head. He would recover his daughter.
He would be king.
A quarter-hour later they arrived at Mangeron’s gates. The gatekeeper called out a deferential greeting and allowed them inside. They rode through outer and inner baileys and arrived at the keep. No one stood to greet him.
Quentin frowned as he dismounted. He climbed the steps, motioning his men to remain seated upon their horses.
At the top the door opened, and Crispin de Mangeron stepped out.
“I am surprised to see you here, my lord. We did not part upon the best of terms. I suppose you have come to congratulate us on the babe? ‘Tis a healthy boy.”
Quentin did not trust this nobleman. He sensed something afoot.
“You know why I am here. I will search the grounds if I must.”
De Mangeron shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll not have my place torn apart nor Deva disturbed.”
Quentin grinned malevolently. “Then I shall be sure my men take special care. But we shall search Mangeron, my lord. With your permission, of course.”
Crispin began to speak but must have thought better of it. He bowed his head in submission. Quentin was glad the pup understood he dealt with royalty. He would hunt for Kallen whether given permission or not.
Crispin lifted his head. “Be my guest. I shall return to my wife and son.” He turned and stepped back inside the keep, the heavy door slamming behind him.
Quentin returned to his men and gave orders for the place to be explored. “Do not damage anything nor offend any person, but I want Lady Kallen and Sir Griffith brought to me. Unharmed.”
The guard quickly broke off into factions and left on their search. Quentin remounted and began the waiting process. He’d rather have spent the time indoors in front of the fire, but hospitality had not been forthcoming.
Hours later, the men returned in pairs. Each reported no sightings. The head of his guard pulled Quentin aside.
“My lord, we have searched everywhere. Spoken to many servants. No one has seen either the Lady Kallen for many days nor Sir Griffith since he left for Nowland yesterday. They seem sincere.”
“So be it.” Quentin made his way once again up the steps and entered the keep without knocking. A young servant looked astonished to see him there.
“Take me to the solar. I must speak with Lord de Mangeron.”
The boy hurried up the steps, Quentin following at a slower pace. He arrived at the solar’s door, which he found open, the servant watching for him with round eyes.
Quentin stepped in to a picture of domesticity. Lady Deva sat in the large bed, a child nursing at her breast. Her husband drew the bed curtain and crossed the room toward him.
“May I offer you wine, my lord? Some cheese?”
“You may offer me my child. We have searched high and low, in every nook and cranny. Where are they? My daughter. And Sommersby.”
“Where are Kallen and Griffith? Is that what you wanted? You never asked if they were here. You just barged in and demanded to search the estate.”
Pressure rose in Quentin’s chest as his heart hammered wildly. He needed to know their whereabouts now. Precious time had already been lost.
He glared at de Mangeron. “Do not play games with me, my lord.”
Crispin smiled benignly. “Of course, I shall tell you where they are. You had but to ask. They are gone to Sommerset.”
“What?” Quentin cried. “How dare he take my child! He had no right.”
“He had every right,” Crispin said with utter calm. “They are husband and wife.”