Prologue #2
Richard paused a moment, cocking a harsh brow. “Nay, lad,” he said slowly. “He wishes for you to be her husband upon your return.”
Christopher could not help it; his face went slack with shock. “He… he wishes for me to…?”
Arthur grabbed his sleeve. “ ’Tis not as bad as it sounds, lad,” he said hoarsely.
“I simply want to make sure my womenfolk are well-protected, and you are certainly the most capable man I know. I am only asking that you marry my daughter and give her children. The wealth, the fortress, is your reward for the duty.”
“You mean my bribe,” Christopher snapped, struggling to remain calm. He put his hand over Arthur’s, trying to control his outrage. “My lord, when I return home, it will be to Lohrham Forest. I have amassed quite a fortune of my own and…”
Arthur cut him off. “Lioncross has more,” he insisted weakly.
“Lad, I am not asking that you love my daughter or that you even live with her. I am simply asking that you put my dying mind at ease by consenting to marry her. I know you shall be a fair and considerate husband, and I will go to my grave knowing that Dustin will be well taken care of.”
Christopher didn’t want to be married. Ever.
But Arthur was all but begging him to do it, and he would be lying if he didn’t admit the thought of being lord over Lioncross Abbey Castle wasn’t appealing.
Much bigger and better than Lohrham Forest, his ancestral home.
Hell, he wouldn’t even inherit Lohrham. It belonged to his uncle and would pass to his cousin, Edward.
Even though the boy was twelve years old, it would still be his.
Richard read his hesitation, but what Arthur was offering was quite satisfactory. He pulled Christopher to his feet and took him aside.
“Think on it, Chris,” he said quietly. “Lioncross Abbey Castle is quite a prize and it would make Arthur happy to know his family was taken care of. Hell, marry the girl, get her pregnant, and you never have to see her again. Spend your time and your money in London with the whores if you want; I care not. But Lioncross also collects border revenues from Wales and she carries a force of eight hundred men, half of which are here.”
Richard’s eyebrows lifted encouragingly but Christopher simply stared back indecisively.
He didn’t want to marry anyone, for any amount of money.
His resistance was evident, growing heavier by the moment, and Richard took a hard line.
With Christopher, he had to or the man would bowl him right over, king or no.
“I could order it,” Richard said after a moment. Even though his tone was steady and even, the statement was ridiculous. It already was an order.
Christopher knew his fate was sealed. It never had been his choice after all; Richard had decided this long ago.
Christopher was angry but powerless just the same, seeing an unexpected twist in his future that was unwelcome and frustrating.
But it was done, and no amount of arguing would change it.
He sighed heavily, looking away from his king so the man would not see his fury.
“You do not have to, my lord,” Christopher replied calmly. “I understand.”
Richard smiled with satisfaction. “That’s fine,” he said. “I knew you’d agree.”
Christopher rolled his eyes, looking decidedly unhappy, and allowed Richard to lead him back over to the dying baron. Christopher would have liked nothing better than to strangle the old man for suggesting such a thing.
“Arthur,” Richard said proudly. “Greet your new son-in-law.”
Arthur smiled weakly. He was growing fainter by the moment and Richard was already moving to have his steward draw up the papers.
“Chris,” Arthur’s voice was no more than a whisper as he extended his hand.
In spite of his anger, Christopher leaned forward and took his fingers once again. He tried not to look as disappointed as he felt.
“I am here, Arthur,” he muttered.
The old man was having difficulty breathing. “Dustin is a good girl,” he rasped. “She’s willful and stubborn, but she’s a good girl. Handle her gently. I am afraid that with your quick temper and her quick temper, you will kill each other before the sun sets on your wedding day.”
Christopher nodded solemnly but inside he was ranting like a madman. Stubborn and willful? Quick tempered? Christ, what kind of shrew was he to be saddled with?
“I will be fair,” he assured the dying man.
Arthur’s eyes closed, perhaps for the last time now that he knew his daughter would be taken care of. He squeezed Christopher’s hand feebly.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You have my deepest… gratitude….”
He faded off and Christopher gazed down at the man, feeling the tug of sorrow over his anger with the forced marriage. He was greatly torn. As he let go of the man’s hand, gently, Richard led him away from the cot.
The king walked him to the tent flap. Richard knew exactly what the knight was feeling, but that was of no consequence. He would thank him one day. At least he hoped so. Richard clasped his hands behind his back, facing off against his mightiest warrior.
“Consider Lioncross Abbey Castle and her wealth a gift from the crown to a most deserving knight,” he said. “You have served me well, Christopher, and I will not forget it. In fact, I will seek you later, as we have much to discuss concerning my brother, John. Go now. Prepare for your leave.”
Christopher bowed deeply and spun on his heel, his mind becoming one angry, muddy bog of thoughts.
A wife. The word was sand on his tongue, yet he had no choice.
Such a bitter way to receive rewards for his years of service.
He was coming to wonder if he was somehow being punished instead.
He had to go and clear his thoughts; otherwise, he might go against all that he had worked for and, deep down, he knew he could not.
He had been ordered to marry, and marry he would.
Later that evening as Arthur Barringdon was prepared for a Christian burial, Christopher, Philip, and King Richard sat in the king’s tent around a small war table.
Richard had vellum and ink before him, preferring to write his own private missives rather that have his steward do it – especially this missive.
Christopher was grim, his trencher-sized hands folded patiently as Richard scratched away with the quill.
Philip, distinguished and fair like his nephew, sat casually opposite his king, pondering the world beyond the tent flap.
Not a particularly personable man, but he was brilliant and was Richard’s greatest confidante.
Finally, Richard seemed to finish his message and he put the quill down, sanding the ink to dry it.
“I apologize for making you sit through this, Chris,” he said after a moment.
“But I had to put my commands in writing before I spoke to you of them.” He looked up at Christopher then, his brown eyes glittering dully in the dim tent.
“This is to my brother, John. I have been in the Holy Land a great many years and am well aware of my brother’s ambitions for my throne, and I have had enough of the weasel.
Christopher, I have bequeathed you a new title this night.
From here on you shall be known as Defender of the Realm for my entire empire.
My troops, the crown’s troops, shall be yours in my absence.
The justices will still be the ruling body, but ’twill be you who controls the military might.
As loyal as my justices are, ’tis never good to give any one group too much power, especially with my brother panting for my throne.
They may not be particularly happy to give up the army, but I must make sure the troops are in experienced and loyal hands.
I would hate to return home to find my own army fighting me on the shore. ”
Christopher was shocked but he didn’t show it. He nodded slowly, “As you command, my lord.”
Richard knew Christopher well enough to know he had not been expecting the directive.
“Lioncross will serve as a fine seat for you, close enough to London to keep an eye on John, yet fairly central to the rest of the country,” the king continued.
“Read this missive and it will explain everything. Ask me questions when you are finished, should you have any.”
Christopher rose and read the missive as it lay on the table, his sky blue eyes studying it intently. After several minutes, he returned to his seat, his face impassive.
Richard watched him expectantly. “Well?”
Christopher, deep in thought, shrugged “You are, in effect, dividing the rule of England three ways, with John, your justices, and me.”
“In effect,” Richard agreed. “Yet you have no direct powers, other than those over the armed forces. John still continues with his princely powers, and my justices continue to be the ruling body.”
“Your brother’s limited powers will have decreased substantially.” Christopher rubbed his chin, his gaze flicking to Richard. “John will not be pleased in the least.”
“That is his misfortune,” Richard said sharply, running his hands over his face in a frustrated gesture.
“But take heed, de Lohr. John is a wily, cunning, evil little bastard, and you must watch your back at all times. He will not hesitate to take out any threat to his dictator rule, and he has loyalists everywhere. You must beware. My chancellor, William Longchamp, has had a hell of a time with him.”
Christopher nodded to what he already knew. “Indeed, my lord.”