Chapter Five #2
“I have never known Max to be such a horse’s arse,” he said. “But I do not ride the circuit like you do. Is that apathy indicative of his true character? Or just his personal rebellion against his father?”
Addax cast a long glace at Claudius down the table. “I’ve never seen that side of him before,” he muttered. “But I suspect his father has.”
With that, he left his chair and headed down to the end of the table, where Claudius was very quickly becoming drunk. Very drunk. He looked at Addax as the man sat down next to him, immediately moving to pour him a cup of wine out of the pitcher he was hoarding.
“Addax,” he said. “It is a great day, is it not? Celebrate with me.”
Addax took the cup but didn’t drink from it.
He had been looking at Claudius through new eyes ever since Cole told him about the Scots and de Witt lands.
But it also occurred to Addax that now might be a good time for him to endear himself to Claudius.
It might gain him an invitation to Raisbeck Castle, seat of the Earl of Bretherdale.
It was time for the spy to begin the game.
“It is a joyous day when two people are wed,” he said, forcing a smile. “You have waited a long time for this particular union, so I’m told.”
Claudius was already into his fourth cup of wine. “Two years,” he said, smacking his lips. “Two long years. Did Max tell you this?”
Addax nodded and took just a sip of wine. He wanted to be clearheaded. “He did,” he said. “He seems to be quite reluctant.”
Claudius rolled his eyes. “He is young,” he said. “He does not understand the need for a man to build a legacy. But I do, which is why I arranged the betrothal.”
“Is that so?”
Claudius wagged a finger at him. “He’ll be rich,” he said. “Quite rich. Ernest de Witt and his father before him made their money from mining on their lands. Lead that carries silver ore.”
“Oh?” Addax said, playing dumb. “I’d not heard that. In the Pennines, I’m told. Is that right?”
Claudius nodded. “They have most of the north Pennines,” he said.
“Their western border abuts my eastern border, but my lands do not have the riches that they do. Believe me, I’ve looked.
So did my father. He was friendly with Ernest de Witt’s father.
He remembered when they first found the precious metals on de Witt lands. ”
Addax nodded as if it was all very interesting. “And now it is yours.”
“Indeed,” Claudius said. “It belongs to Bretherdale. Max does not understand that merging our land with de Witt will make Bretherdale quite wealthy. Nay, he simply wants to play with his horses and his swords and try to push men around with his lance. He does not understand that with this marriage, he will someday rule an empire. He will be terribly wealthy.”
Addax pretended to be impressed. “As you said, he is still young,” he said. “He will understand it someday.”
“I hope he does.”
“How many mines are there?”
Claudius took another drink of wine. “Eleven lead mines,” he said. “De Witt, who was an unpleasant man, was also a strangely generous one. He pays his mine workers well, so they worked hard for him.”
“You will continue that, of course.”
Claudius shrugged. “I suppose,” he said. “I am more interested in gaining a good price for selling the metal.”
“Who did de Witt sell it to?”
Claudius waved a hand. “His widow tells me that he had a list of people he sold to,” he said. “Jewelers, bankers, and more. But I… I will add my own people to that list.”
“You have already secured customers? Max should be very grateful for that.”
“This is not for Max.”
There was something that hung in the air between them with that statement.
Not for Max, who had just married the widow?
Addax was wondering if Claudius was going to confess right there that he intended to sell to the Scots.
Would it really be so easy to get a confession out of the man, a confession that linked him to a Scots rebellion?
Unwilling to tip his hand and ask questions that might make even a drunken Claudius suspicious, Addax pretended to be mildly disinterested in the statement.
“Then I wish you well, whatever it is,” he said. “Speaking of Max, would you like me to find him and bring him back? This is his wedding feast, after all. It would not look good for him were his new bride to attend the feast without her husband being present.”
With a yawn, Claudius looked around the hall as if just now realizing Maximilian was missing. When it became clear that his son was nowhere to be found, he frowned.
“Damnation,” he muttered. “Where did he go?”
Addax shook his head. “I think I know,” he said. “I will fetch him for you, my lord.”
Claudius angrily settled down to finish his cup of wine. “Thank you, Addax,” he said. “Your assistance is appreciated.”
“It is my pleasure, my lord.”
With that, Addax stood up and left the table. His plan of ingratiating himself to the earl was in its infancy, but with enough service and politeness toward the man, he might very well earn an invitation to Raisbeck. What Cole had asked him to do would take time. There were no instant answers.
This was only the beginning.
With that thought on his mind, Addax headed out of the great hall and into the cold night beyond.
*
I know this hell.
Emmeline knew it all too well. The hell of a cruel, distant husband, only now it was worse.
Maximilian wasn’t like Ernest, a man whose manhood couldn’t grow stiff enough to penetrate his wife.
Horror of horrors, in that small storeroom that Maximilian had demanded to satisfy the consummation of his wife, he had dropped his breeches and taken her hands, putting them on his male member.
He was stiff and hard almost immediately.
Then he’d turned her around, bent her over, thrown up her skirts, and entered her from behind.
No foreplay, no kisses, no touching—no anything that would have helped her prepare for the moment.
He simply took her, climaxed quickly, and then told her to pull her skirt down.
That was it.
It had been one of the worst moments of her life.
That was saying something. Emmeline had had plenty of bad moments over the years, but that one was horrific.
Embarrassing and horrific. Once again, she was married to a man who didn’t care for her.
A man who wasn’t even kind to her. Ernest had mostly ignored her, and that was probably the best she could hope for from Maximilian.
Ignoring her and letting her go about her life.
Her miserable, depressing life.
This wasn’t what she wanted.
She wanted out.
Lady de Velt had been incredibly sweet to her.
Corisande was gentle and kind and had helped Emmeline bathe and change into a dress that wasn’t covered in layers of dust from travel.
She’d even combed and braided her hair for her.
Emmeline had tried not to let her shocked and sour mood show on the outside.
God knew, she tried to be kind and pleasant in return.
But inside, she was torn to shreds by a life that had veered so far out of her control that she didn’t recognize it any longer.
Happiness, something that had always been so elusive to her, was just a tease.
It was a tease fed by hope, but after her marriage that afternoon, the hope was gone.
Finally, she was broken.
Maximilian hadn’t been cruel, but he hadn’t been considerate, either.
He’d treated her like any other possession he had, because that’s what she was, essentially—a possession.
Most men didn’t deliberately mistreat a possession, because it was something important to purchase in the first place.
In Emmeline’s case, it was something important to marry. Not even someone, but something.
She didn’t want to be a something for the rest of her life.
She simply couldn’t face it.
Dressed in a dark blue silk that showed off her narrow torso and full breasts, she wandered out of her borrowed chamber in the keep of Berwick Castle.
The distress she felt was overwhelming. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get some fresh air.
Her wedding feast was going on in the great hall, and she had no intention of going there.
She didn’t want to see her new husband or his father, the man who’d orchestrated the entire thing.
She didn’t want to look at him, either, knowing he was the one who had trapped her into this.
She knew it was for the money. She’d known that from the start.
But Claudius had promised that she would be a countess someday, a title befitting the bastard granddaughter of King John.