Chapter One
Farringdon House
London townhome of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke
The next day
“I’ve given them their clothing and their weapons.
” An old man who was still powerful, still fully capable of death and destruction, spoke quietly.
“Really, Kress. I understand and appreciate what you were trying to accomplish, but those are Northampton men. Enough insults and I could have the whole of Scotland down around me.”
Seated in the well-appointed and comfortable solar of Farringdon House, Kress had been facing the hearth during the course of his mild scolding.
He was completely unrepentant, as were the others in the room.
Bric, Achilles, and Alexander were all wholly unrepentant of what they’d done.
Kress cast a disinterested glance in the Earl of Pembroke’s direction as the old man stood by the elaborate entry door.
“Appreciate, then, that I did not kill them for stealing, my lord,” he said. “They stole from everyone at that establishment. Someone had to punish them and if their liege has issue with the punishment dealt, then mayhap he would not be so quick to judge if he knew his men are cheats and thieves.”
William grunted, mostly because he doubted the man Kress referred to, the King of Scotland who was also the Earl of Northampton, would take kindly to his knights being so terribly humiliated.
“And what were you doing in such an establishment?” he wanted to know.
“I would expect it from soldiers, but from you?”
Kress lifted his dark blond eyebrows. “We were bored.”
William Marshal stared at him and his short, perhaps all too honest, answer.
With a guttural sigh, one of great displeasure at what his knights had done, he closed the doors behind him and came into the chamber, his gaze mostly on Kress as the man sat in front of the hearth looking as if he hadn’t slept in a week.
All displeasure aside at having to placate naked knights who had come to Farringdon House demanding their clothing, William had more important things on his mind and he needed Kress and the others in the chamber primed and focused.
He didn’t need gamblers who punished men by stealing their clothing.
“If you are bored, how fortunate that you have me to keep you occupied,” he said, using that tone that captured men’s attention. “The rest of you, gather ’round. I called you here for a reason and it was not to pay off men you had stripped of their dignities.”
Achilles and Alexander served The Marshal directly, but Bric was somewhat different. He served the House of de Winter, a strong and powerful ally of William Marshal. Although he obeyed the old man and came nearer to the fire, it was with curiosity in his expression.
“Me, my lord?” Bric asked in his heavy Irish brogue.
William nodded, eyeing the man with pale blond hair and eyes so blue that they appeared silver in certain light. “Aye,” he said, scratching his neck. “You, too. What did Daveigh tell you?”
He was speaking of Bric’s liege, and the big knight shrugged. “That you had a message to deliver, my lord,” he said. “But I thought you wished for me to take a message back to Daveigh.”
William shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “The message is for you, MacRohan. I need your sword.”
“You have it, my lord.”
That was all William wanted to hear. His gaze lingered on the knight for a moment before returning his attention to the other three men in the chamber.
Men with reputations few had.
Kress and Achilles were the two in particular he was thinking of, men who had a long and somewhat unsavory history at times.
There was a third man not with them at this moment, a man by the name of Maxton of Loxbeare.
Maxton had married and was off near Gloucester, maintaining a heavy hold on the southern end of the Welsh Marches from the property he’d acquired from his wife, which had somewhat removed him from the trio that was him and Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere.
Even so, that brotherhood was still firmly intact.
The Unholy Trinity.
That was what both Christian and Muslim commanders called the three from their time spent in The Levant.
If there was a dirty job to be done, Maxton and Kress and Achilles would do it.
They were used like attack dogs by the Christian commanders, warriors and spies and assassins in every sense of the word.
They’d gone into the crusade in The Levant as Christian warriors and had emerged the Executioner Knights.
They’d emerged killers, but they also emerged with a reputation that nothing could deter them from what they’d been sworn to do – kill, protect, attack – anything that was within their scope of talents.
Once they gave their words, nothing could move that determination, not blood or begging or money.
What they were sworn to do, they would do, no matter what.
It was a reputation that followed them around and one William used to his advantage.
At the moment, he had a particular task that he would entrust to men of such skill.
Although Alexander wasn’t officially part of the Unholy Trinity, he was a spy and an assassin with skills to match Kress and Achilles and then some.
He tended to work on his own, as that was the way he preferred it, but with Maxton missing, William needed Alexander’s particular talents.
And he needed Bric purely because the man was the best swordsman William had ever seen.
He needed that power.
“Then let me be plain, good men,” William said after a moment, moving to the table near the hearth that contained a pewter pitcher of wine, covered with a cloth.
He removed the cloth and began pouring the tart, red wine into a matching pewter cup.
“The king is amassing a good deal of Welsh support. This has been going on for the past few years, steadily, but I am seeing more and more of John’s insertion into Wales.
You are aware that he married his daughter to Llywelyn last year, the last great Welsh prince, which virtually seals his alliance with the Welsh.
I am sure this has not gone unnoticed by men who watch the winds of England’s politics. ”
Kress, who had been listening carefully, shook his head. “He has been quite solicitous in Wales,” he said. “He visits frequently, so I have heard.”
William nodded. “He does,” he said. “He has been a guest at my own properties in Wales and I have accompanied the king on a few of his forays into the country, but I will be honest when I say that I have accompanied him simply to watch him. John is, and always has been, a man who bears watching.”
Kress looked at him as if waiting for more to come forth, but William abruptly fell silent. Kress leaned forward in his chair.
“And, my lord?” he said. “What do you wish us to do? Watch him for you?”
William shook his head. “Nay,” he said, lifting his wine to his lips.
“I am to make an alliance that will balance out John’s power in Wales.
It is never good for John to have too much power, especially in Wales.
John has made a marriage with his daughter and a Welsh prince, so I shall make a marriage of my own. ”
“With whom?”
William took a long drink before answering.
“That is why you are all here,” he said.
“I need men of the highest order for this task. A bride must be escorted to her husband and you four shall be her escort. Bric, you shall be the muscle. Achilles, you shall be the guard dog. Sherry, you shall be the wisdom and the decision maker. Kress… you shall focus on the bride and nothing else. You will be her shadow, her chaperone, her nurse, and her Father Confessor if she needs one. She is to be your focus and nothing else. Am I making myself clear so far?”
The four men nodded, coming to understand somewhat why they’d all been gathered. “You are, my lord,” Kress said. “Who is this bride?”
William continued. “Her name is Cadelyn,” he said. “She currently resides at Castle Rising in Norfolk. She is a ward of the Earl of Arundel, Hugh d’Aubigney, but he has tucked her away in the wilds of Norfolk to keep her hidden.”
Kress looked at the others curiously before speaking. “Hidden from what?”
William turned to look at the group. “From John,” he said frankly.
“From any man who should become too ambitious if he knew who she really was. You see, Lady Cadelyn is as rare as any mythical beast. She is the daughter of Owain Dant y Draig, a descendent of the last King of Rhos, and Nesta ferch Madog, a direct descendent of the last king of Pengwern. She is, quite literally, the purest Welsh blood imaginable, a daughter of two ancient Welsh kingdoms, and her father came to me after she was born and begged me to protect her. Even then, there was rumor of her birth and she was being sought, not only from the English, but from the Welsh. An offspring like that could inspire unimaginable power from both sides.”
Kress stared at William a moment, rather dumbfounded.
When he’d come into the chamber, he knew that he was to be given a mission.
William had been alluding to such a thing for the past few weeks, so Kress knew something was happening.
He simply didn’t know what it was until this moment and the reality of what William was telling them all settled hard.
“And we are to escort her?” he asked. “Escort her where?”
William held up a finger as if what he was about to say was a brilliant move on his part. “I have arranged a marriage with Tatius de Shera,” he said. “You know who de Shera is, do you not?”