Chapter Six #3
Christin nodded, taking off through the maze of doors and passageways on her way to the small solar that was near the entry.
In fact, they had walked right by it when they entered the keep.
Alexander was behind her and as she entered Lord de Winter’s solar from the servant’s entrance, she immediately noticed that Old Daveigh and Bric were not the only ones in the room.
There were other men, including two enormous knights wearing the crimson and gold royal standard, along with a man of smaller stature and graying hair seated at Old Daveigh’s large table.
Puzzled, she came to a halt just inside the door.
So did Alexander.
Daveigh de Winter noticed them immediately.
He was quite old but still strong, still bright in his waning years.
He’d been big and dark in his youth, but now that dark hair had gone white and he wasn’t as muscular any longer, but he was still quite formidable and he still attended his men in any skirmish or battle.
Daveigh was a legendary de Winter from a family of legendary men.
He’d married one Lady Glyn de Lara and had four daughters – Delesse, Danessa, Darcy, and Dierdre – but no sons.
The daughters were all married now, but Old Daveigh, as he was known since he had a nephew by the same name, was a congenial lord who treated his knights like the sons he never had.
He positively adored Peter and had threatened on more than one occasion to adopt him.
When the old man’s gaze fell upon Christin, he immediately went in her direction.
“Ah,” he said. “Lady Christin. We have been greatly anticipating your arrival.”
Christin couldn’t have known that Alexander was standing next to her as stiff as a board, eyes riveted to the small man seated at the table. She was focused on Old Daveigh, smiling politely at him.
“I apologize for the delay, my lord,” she said. “I… I was ill and only now feeling well enough to finish the journey to Norwich. I apologize if I caused you any inconvenience.”
Daveigh shook his head, reaching out to take her by the arm. He began to lead her over to the table.
“Not at all, my lady,” he said. “It is simply that the king has been anxious to meet you. He asked for you as soon as he arrived and your brother informed me that you would be here shortly.”
The king has been anxious to meet you.
Apprehension and confusion enveloped Christin as she looked to the table, seeing a small man seated there with one droopy eye. I know that face, she thought. She remembered it from long ago, as a child. A horrible face, she thought, one that made her chest tighten simply to look upon it.
The very face she’d been trying to avoid.
John, King of England, was looking straight at her.
As soon as she reached the table, she dropped into a practiced curtsy. “Your grace,” she said, rather breathless from surprise. “I… I am honored.”
John was drinking in his fill of her; that much was certain. He didn’t have to say a word. His intense expression said everything. He looked her up and down before replying.
“Stand up, Lady Christin,” he finally said.
She did, keeping her gaze averted. In truth, she didn’t want to look at the man, terrified he’d see the loathing in her eyes. It wouldn’t do well for the king to know just how much all of the de Lohrs hated him.
“I remember when you were born,” John said after a moment. “I remember the rumors that you were Marcus Burton’s daughter, but I do not see anything of Burton in you. You look like your father.”
Christin had heard those rumors once, too, long ago when she’d first fostered at Thunderbey Castle. They’d upset her so badly that her mother had been forced to explain them to her. It had been a sordid tale of deceit and treachery and a love between her father and mother that could not be broken.
Even if Christin hadn’t resembled her father, she still would have believed her mother. Not even Marcus Burton, one of her father’s oldest and dearest friends, could destroy what Christopher and Dustin de Lohr had in a fit of youthful arrogance and insanity.
But she resented the king for bringing up hurtful and old rumors.
“I do more than resemble him, your grace,” she said. “I am his daughter in every way.”
“Look at me.”
She immediately lifted her head, looking him in the eye. They stared at each other for a few moments before John smiled, a gesture that made the bile rise in Christin’s throat.
“You are quite beautiful,” he said. “I am sure your father is fiercely protective over you.”
“As any father would be over his daughter, your grace.”
John snorted softly. “That is true,” he said. “Tell me, Lady Christin, are you betrothed?”
The question caught her off guard but she knew, instinctively, that she didn’t want to tell him the truth. Something in that question made her skin crawl.
“You will have to ask my father, your grace,” she said. “I have no say in his plans for me.”
John nodded faintly, still eyeing her. But his eyes moved to her torso and Christin resisted the urge to turn away from him.
She could feel the heat from his stare on her breasts, her torso.
The man was trying to look through her clothing to see what was beneath it.
Every word of warning that Alexander had given her were all flooding back to her.
“You are dismissed, my lady,” John said after a moment. “But I should like for you to dine with me later.”
So many replies came to her, but not one of them was polite. She didn’t want to end up in Norwich’s vault, or worse, so she simply nodded her head and turned away from him, fleeing the chamber.
She couldn’t even look at Alexander as she went.
Everything he’d said had been true.
Christin quit the solar in a blind rush, heading to the keep entry and taking the stairs far too quickly.
Once she hit the ground, she ran towards one of several small buildings that peppered the bailey.
One was a chapel, but two of them were apartments.
There was one for men and one for women, and Christin went towards the one for women that was tucked near the garden behind the keep.
It was a two-storied stone building with a pitched roof and eight rooms – four on the bottom, four on the top, with an attic used for servants and storage.
The entry door was made from oak and iron, fortified, and usually open until later in the evening when it was locked from within. Fortunately, it was still open and she raced up the stairs to the small landing, and then straight into the room she occupied, the chamber on the northwest side.
Slamming the door, she bolted it.
The chamber was cold and dark, with a faint moonglow coming in through the shuttered window. She stood there a moment, trying to catch her breath, struggling to orient herself in the face of something terrifying and unexpected.
The king wanted her to dine with him.
Well, she wasn’t going to. She was going to stay in her chamber until the king left Norwich and to the devil with William Marshal.
He wanted her to do her duty. She wanted to do it, too, but that duty didn’t include being molested by the king.
If it was a choice between seeking out the threat against John amongst the attending allies or keeping to her chamber because it was safer for her, then she was going to stick to her chamber.
William Marshal and his spies would have to do without her.
If you kill the king… the consequences to you and your family would be unfathomable.
Alexander’s words were ringing in her head.
She couldn’t even defend herself against a monarch who would only want to soil her and cast her aside.
If that happened, her father would move against the king and the family would be at war, anyway, so perhaps the threat against the king that the French spy spoke of was far more complicated than anyone realized, including Christin.
But she realized it now.
It was a threat from within.
Perhaps it was the king’s own lascivious nature. Bed the wrong woman and England would be destroyed. Bed a de Lohr daughter and the wrath of Christopher de Lohr would tear the country apart.
The French didn’t have to destroy John. He would do it himself.
Now, she understood.
Sinking onto her bed, the tears finally came.