Chapter Five #3
He shook his head. “Not personally,” he said. “Tatius de Shera comes from an excellent family, with roots that go back centuries. Much like yours do.”
“What kind of man is he?” she asked. “Padraig would not tell me and that makes me suspicious. He is usually not a man to hold back information; he talks freely about everything and everyone, except in this instance he did not. What do you know of Tatius de Shera, Knight?”
Kress couldn’t help but notice she wouldn’t use his name.
It was “knight” to her. In his opinion, that was a good thing.
It kept an invisible barrier between them to prevent him from crossing that line and becoming too familiar with her.
God only knew, it would be very easy to become familiar with her.
Too easy.
“I do not know the man,” he said honestly. “Therefore, I cannot tell you much about him.”
“But you have heard.”
He lifted a blond eyebrow. “I have been a fighting man for many years, my lady, and I have heard about nearly every notable nobleman in England, Scotland, and even in Wales. But that does not mean that I personally know them.”
Those dark eyes were on him, watching him, calculating. He could almost see the thoughts whirling in her mind and, in truth, it made him a little nervous. As he was to find out, he had good reason to feel that way.
“If you tell me what you know of de Shera,” she said slowly, “I will tell you of the business I had with the priest.”
Kress fell right into that one. She was clever, this lovely woman, so very clever. But he was cleverer. Like a chess match, they were playing a game with each other at this point and it was his move next.
He made the correct one.
“You first.”
To her credit, she didn’t become angry. In fact, a smile tugged at her lips as she conceded the match. “Very well,” she said. “But only if you swear to tell me everything you know. Do you swear this upon your oath?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“And you will swear to not repeat anything I tell you?”
He hesitated. “If it is in any way dangerous or illegal, then I cannot withhold such information.”
“It is neither. Will you swear not to tell?”
“If you say it is not dangerous or illegal, I will swear to it.” He paused. “And you must swear to me that you will be completely truthful. Consider the consequences if you swear this to me and then are not honest. We have a moment to build trust here, my lady. Do not ruin it.”
She considered him carefully. “Very well,” she said after a moment. Then, she pointed to the pocket on his tunic, the one he’d tucked the poem card in to. “Pull out that card and look at the poem.”
Kress obliged. As he peered at the writing in the darkness, which he couldn’t really see, Cadelyn spoke.
“Bickford and Cedrica…
His blood touches Cedrica, o’er the miles
His praises, she sings,
In the dead of night, she calls to him,
Feeling him against her, of flesh and soul
The magic of creation
As his lips touch her nipple.”
Kress’ eyebrows slowly lifted as he looked at her. “You know this poem.”
“I wrote it.”
Kress, the man with the unflappable expression, looked surprised. He couldn’t help it. “You wrote it?”
Cadelyn nodded. “No one knows, of course, save Susanna and my friend, Lily-Elsie,” she said.
“And the clerics at St. Margaret’s. Now, you also know.
I write poetry under the name of Lady Dark and the clerics at St. Margaret’s reproduce the poems on cards to make them look like prayer cards.
The cleric you saw me speaking to – and he is a cleric and not a priest – he helps me produce them.
A lady can read my poems in front of anyone, at any time, and no one will know that she is reading something…
thrilling. I came here tonight to discuss the cards with the priest, the man you saw, because with my departure, I will no longer be able to supply him with poems. Now, tell me what you know about Tatius de Shera. ”
Kress was still riding on a wave of surprise but, in hindsight, the conversation he heard between Cadelyn and the priest, or more accurately the cleric, made perfect sense now.
He’d suspected that she knew who produced the cards, but he hadn’t expected that she was the poetess.
So the Welsh princess set to marry a great earl wrote lewd poetry, did she?
It was so shocking that it was almost laughable.
“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand to her. “I am not finished hearing this astounding confession. You actually write these poems?”
Cadelyn nodded without hesitation. “I do,” she said.
“And I have made a great deal of money selling them. They are sold for two pence each, and I keep half of that. The rest goes to the clerics who have produced the cards. We all share in the profits. It is merely a business deal, I assure you, but I rather like writing the poems. Does this shock you, Knight?”
He bobbed his head, a sort of reluctant admittance. “I think it would shock any righteous and moral person,” he said. Then, he peered at her strangely. “You truly write these poems?”
“Truly, I do.”
“Swear it.”
“I most certainly do.”
“Then the most obvious question is why?”
She shrugged. “Because I like to write them,” she said. “To write them makes me feel alive and as if I am somehow touching the lives of others. I want them to read the poems and feel thrill and excitement. I like to write them very much.”
Kress held up the card and there was a suspicious hint to his tone. “Do you write from experience, then?”
She was shaking her head before he even finished. “Of course not,” she said. “But… well, a woman’s heart is a deep ocean of hopes and dreams. I can write about things I imagine, or long for. I can write about things I will probably never know myself.”
“What is that?”
“True love.”
The conversation took a swift downturn at that point and Kress heard the sorrow in her tone again. Trying not to sympathize with her too much, for she had a duty to perform much as he did, he tucked the card away in his tunic again.
“You do not know that for certain,” he said. “You may like your husband a great deal.”
Cadelyn was watching him closely in the darkness. “I told you my secret,” she said. “Tell me what you know of Tatius de Shera.”
Kress couldn’t, in good conscience, hold back, although he was hesitant to tell her everything he’d heard. She was already reluctant enough about the situation. Still, she had told him the truth. It was his turn to do the same.
“It seems that you will have something in common with him,” he said. “I am told by William Marshal that Tatius is a poet and a man of gentle hobbies.”
It was clear that Cadelyn was surprised by that. “He is?” she said. “He is not a great war lord?”
Kress shook his head. “That role seems to fall to his younger brothers, who command the armies,” he said.
Then, he continued hesitantly. “The Marshal seems to think he is a gentle man not particularly suited to the stress of being a great de Shera earl. But I was also told that he was a drunkard who is as reluctant to this betrothal as you are. My lady, I honestly do not know what you will be facing at The Paladin, but the sooner we find out, the better. At least you will know the situation and there will be no more guessing.”
He was right and Cadelyn knew it. I was also told that he was a drunkard. Cadelyn shut her eyes, briefly, at that piece of news. She had to give the man credit for not holding back on that. He’d told her, just as he had promised to, both the good and the bad of it.
“Thank you for being truthful,” she said, though she didn’t sound particularly grateful. “That is more than I can say for either Padraig or William Marshal. They only wanted to tell me what a great lineage de Shera has. As if I care about that kind of thing.”