The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 2

  And she was letting him.

  She loved him, too.

  … didn’t she?

  His pace quickened and the thrusts became harder, more forceful. She could feel him grinding his pelvis against hers, their bodies joined as closely as a man and woman could be joined. Every contact brought a shock of sensation that bolted up her body and she wondered if this was what love really felt like. It was painful and uncomfortable, and the more he thrust into her, the more she questioned his love.

  Is this really what love feels like?

  She was coming to wish it would soon be over.

  He gave one last, hard thrust, and his entire body shuddered. He was panting, breathing heavily, his body weight squeezing the breath from her. She couldn’t see with her woolens up over her face and everything below her waist felt cold and exposed. When he finally withdrew from her body, he pulled the woolens off her head and she found herself looking into his smiling face.

  You did well, he said.

  I did? she asked.

  He nodded, pulling her woolens all the way down, helping her cover up.

  I’ll return for you, he promised. I swear I’ll return.

  When? she asked.

  Very soon, he said. By the next full moon, I shall return and I shall take you away.

  She believed him. He said he loved her, didn’t he? They had known each other for years and, although he was a little flighty and saw inappropriate humor in situations where there was no humor to be had, she’d never known him to be a liar.

  He’d return for her, he’d said. She clung to that belief until she received a missive from him two months later announcing his marriage to a French heiress and a relocation to his wife’s estate in France. It was a blow beyond belief.

  She would never see or hear from him, again.

  This is all my life is ever going to be, she thought dismally. Light and love had left her, and all she had left was a former shell of herself. The woman before Rhyne had promised her the world didn’t exist any longer. All she would ever have and all she would ever know were the stone walls of the dreary abbey and a life of piety she surely deserved, for on top of being blindingly foolish about Rhyne’s declaration of love, she had sinned as well.

  She deserved everything the hell of St. Blitha brought her.

  It was a hell that even the Devil would run from, but little did she know that God had taken pity upon her. He was about to send her help in the form of a man known as an Executioner Knight. A man who had sinned far worse than she could ever imagine.

  It would be a chance meeting that would change her life forever.

  PROLOGUE

  Five months later

  Year of our Lord 1200 A.D.

  Caversham Manor, Berkshire

  A demesne of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke

  It had been a very bad winter.

  The sky was the color of pewter, creating casts of dark and shadowed doom upon the winter-dead landscape and bringing to bear all of the unsettled moods that were so prevalent across the country. A new king had taken the throne less than a year before and now, in this dead and colorless winter, the land reflected the soul of the people.

  Dead and colorless since John ascended after Richard’s unfortunate death.

  But death was a part of life and those left behind were forced to deal with the aftermath. As William Marshal sat in the small but cozy solar of Caversham Manor, he could see the fire snapping and crackling before him but he swore he could not feel the heat.

  All he felt was the cold of an uncertain future.

  The Marshal’s world was one of trouble these days. As his mind wandered through the vines and thorns of the complex news he had received earlier in the day, it made less sense now than the moment he had first heard it. In fact, the bearer of the news was seated beside him with a cup of watered wine in his hand and the air, though stagnant with the smell of smoke and stale rushes, was filled with tension.

  Doom surrounded them.

  William knew the deliverer of the information, a strong and true knight William had known for several years. There were few finer men in the world than Sir Gart Forbes. Forbes had spent the past several years traversing through France and the Teutonic princedoms, fighting for the very rich lords who could pay for his sword. He’d gone on Crusade with Richard, and he’d remained after the fall of Acre, trying not to get caught up in the battle between the western church and the eastern church. There was Rome, there was Constantinople, and then there was the ominous suggestion that the Holy Father, the Pope, was no longer satisfied with waging conflict against his brothers in the eastern empire. Now, he was turning his suspicious and shrewd eyes westward to England.

  It was a horrifying thought. According to Forbes, rumors of pure madness were flying fast and furious along the Pilgrim Trail, along the roads that led from the east to the civilized west. Forbes, a man who knew many but called few friend, had come back to England after eight long years away bearing tales of such insanity that William was still having difficulty believing them. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough trouble these days, with the French king raising an army in an attempt to regain Normandy. In fact, William had been in the process of planning a return to Normandy when Forbes had appeared with his news. It had taken William all afternoon to swallow the information, digest it, and understand the validity of it. Now, the information was consuming him from the inside-out.

  “I had forgotten how bitter the winters are in England,” Forbes said quietly, breaking the stillness of the room. “I had become accustomed to warmth all year ’round.”

  William turned to him, smiling weakly. “You prefer the heat of the savage kingdom, do you?”

  Forbes laughed softly. “It has its advantages.”

  William’s yellowed eyes moved over Forbes; he was a big man with a shaved head, young and handsome. He was also darkened by the sun from his years away from England, his skin tan as a cow’s hide.

  “Mayhap,” William finally said, sighing heavily and sitting forward in his chair, hoping to catch some of the heat from the crackling fire. “Gart, we must speak again on the information you delivered to me this afternoon.”

  “Aye, my lord?”

  “You are certain that you heard this correctly?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Explain it to me again. I want to make sure I did not misunderstand you.”

  Forbes cleared his throat softly, almost nervously. He wouldn’t look at William as he spoke, mostly because the news he had delivered to William Marshal had been received from a whore and Forbes was ashamed of the fact. Whores were not the most reliable of sources and for a knight of his status to have not only listened to the woman, but to have repeated her words, was somewhat shameful. But on the chance she was telling the truth, Forbes didn’t want to be left with guilt for not having relayed her information.

  “You did not misunderstand me, my lord,” he said, lowering his voice. “I told you the truth of what I have heard. In fact, I have a witness to what I was told – Alexander de Sherrington was with me at the time. I am sure you know Sherry; he is one of the most elite and powerful knights I have ever known, and he became a good friend while we were in The Levant. We even traveled together for a while.”

  William nodded faintly. “I know Sherry,” he said. “A frightening man, in fact. He is also something of a loner.”

  “He works alone for the most part.”

  “So do you.”

  “I do.”

  “But you say he was witness to this information? Where is he?”

  Gart shook his head. “This, I cannot know, my lord,” he said. “We were together in Rome and then he left because someone in the Lateran Palace, a high-ranking priest, paid him a princely sum to eliminate an enemy. I’ve not seen him since.”

  William pondered that for a moment before flicking his wrist at Gart. “It is of no consequence,” he said. “I believe what you have told me. I simply want to hear it again to make su
re I understood correctly. A woman gave you this information, you say?”

  Gart nodded. “A courtesan, my lord,” he said. “A woman who is a favored of one of the Holy Father’s advisors, a man by the name of Abramo. She told me that she had been warming the man’s bed for two years. Others confirmed this to me.”

  “Others you trust?”

  Forbes shrugged. “One was a papal knight,” he replied. “Another was an old man who was a servant of the body to Abramo.”

  William looked at him, seriously. “I see,” he said. “And while in Rome, you entertained this courtesan?”

  “I did.”

  “How did you meet the other two men who confirmed who she was?”

  Forbes started to look nervous again. “I wanted to see her before I left Rome to return to England,” he said, not wanting to admit he liked the woman because she was sexually clever and stimulating. “I went to the Lateran Palace where she said she lived to see if I could send a missive to her, to draw her out so that I could bid her farewell, and I was told by a papal guard that she was a favored of Abramo, a man close to the Holy Father. When the guard sent the missive inside the palace, the servant of the body returned to tell me that the woman belonged to Abramo and that I was forbidden further contact with her.”

  William was listening carefully, moderately satisfied with Forbes’ explanation. “And it was of Abramo that the woman spoke.”

  Forbes nodded, seemingly impressed or overwhelmed, or both, by the news he bore. “Indeed,” he replied. “She said the information regarding King Richard had come directly from Abramo.”

  “And she was certain?”

  “She was certain that Abramo was certain, and the man was certain enough to act upon the information.”

  William sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair and gazing into the hypnotic flames. “So Richard Plantagenet had a liaison with a woman in Sicily when he wintered there ten years ago en route to The Levant,” he muttered. “And from that liaison, a son was born.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “A lad that Lothar has in his custody.”

  William always referred to the pope by his birth name – Lothar of Segni. It was a sign of the animosity that William had long been part of, something that had eroded whatever inherent respect the position of the pontiff required. Especially in this situation, there was no respect – only the presence of an adversary.

  A war was on the horizon.

  “Aye, my lord,” Gart replied.

  As the news sunk in, William rubbed wearily at his forehead. Even the second time around, the information still shocked him. “So now he has Richard’s son,” he muttered. “Worse yet, he plans to supplant John with Richard’s offspring?”

  Gart nodded, watching William for any sign of what the man’s thoughts were on the matter. All he could see were veins throbbing on the man’s temples. “According to the woman, Abramo told her that assassins were being dispatched to England to kill John,” he said. “There is no love between John and Rome, my lord. If the church rids England of John and then lays claim to the throne with Richard’s son, then England ceases to become our country. It will become part of Rome.”

  William already knew this. He shook his head, exasperated. “Already this plan is madness because the boy is Richard’s bastard,” he pointed out. “They cannot lay claim on behalf of the boy.”

  Forbes sighed. “This I said, as well,” he said, somewhat sadly. “However, the woman told me that the Holy Father is prepared to swear that Richard married the boy’s mother, a minor noblewoman, prior to his marriage to Berengaria, and that the Holy Father personally performed the ceremony. The Holy Father intends to legitimize the boy’s claim.”

  William looked at him, hints of horror crossing his weathered features. “Is this really true, Gart?” he asked, almost pleadingly. “This is truly what you were told?”

  Forbes nodded. “I swear this is what the woman told me, my lord,” he said. “That is why I traveled in the dead of winter to reach you. This is something you must know. John, as much as we dislike the man, must be protected.”

  William rolled his eyes, rubbing at his head more forcefully now. “Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “John may be an undesirable king but at least his is the legitimate king and if there is to be any removing of the man, I would do it and not the fools in Rome. Do they really think they can get away with such a thing?”

  Forbes shrugged. “It would seem that they intend to try,” he said. “My lord, I cannot swear to you that what this courtesan told me was true, but we cannot take the chance that it is. In any case, John must be protected against those who seek to supplant him. My information is over a year old and if the Holy Father has already sent assassins to England’s shores, then the king is in great danger. It is not simply a matter of protecting him; it is a matter of eliminating the assassins. Only when the threat is eliminated will the king, and the throne, be safe.”

  William knew that. But he also knew something more. “As long as that boy is alive, John will never be safe,” he muttered. “It is the boy who must be eliminated as well, or at the very least, brought back to England and placed under protection so he can never again be a threat.”

  Forbes nodded faintly. “There are knights who will do such a thing, my lord.”

  “You?”

  Gart shrugged. “I would be willing to go after the boy and bring him back to England,” he said. “With the connections I made in Rome, I am fairly certain I would be successful at getting my hands on him. As for the assassins trained on the king, however, you need men with a special set of skills for that task. Assassins are a different breed of men.”

  William was well aware of that particular fact but he still pushed Forbes. “You are an excellent knight, Gart,” he said. “You have returned to England with this information so your loyalty is unquestionable. Therefore, you should be the one to protect the king. You are called Sach when you are in the heat of battle, a term for madness. Who better to kill the king’s assassins than someone like you?”

  Forbes immediately shook his head. “I am at my finest in the chaos of a battle,” he said. “But what you need are men who are well-versed in espionage and silent death. I am not silent about anything, my lord. As I said, you need men with special skills. You need assassins to kill the assassins.”

  William pondered that statement, which was true in any case. “Assassins to kill the assassins,” he repeated. He stopped trying to push Forbes into the duty. “I know many fine men who would be up to the task but I will have to give the matter some consideration. The right men for the right job.”

  Forbes’ gaze lingered on William a moment, his dark green eyes reflecting the firelight. “I know men who would be perfect for the task,” he said quietly.

  William glanced at him. “Who?” he asked. “Do I know them?”

  Gart shrugged, returning his attention to the smoking hearth. “You might,” he said. “They are men who were with me in the Holy Land over the past few years, men I trust with my life. But these men… they are not ordinary knights, my lord. They think like barbarians, fight like savages, and move as silently as hawks. While fighting Saladin, they were used by the Christian commanders as a strike force, as assassins against their enemies, and these men never once failed. Their reputations were so perfect that even the Holy Father heard of them and summoned the men to complete a task for him.”

  William was interested. “Who are these men? Are they English?”

  Forbes nodded. “Aye,” he said, eyeing William hesitantly a moment before continuing. “My lord, you may as well know the truth of the matter. When I came to tell you of the rumors of Richard’s bastard son and what the Holy Father intends to do with him, it was with these men in mind to prevent such a thing from happening. They are my friends, men I trust, and men who are currently in a great deal of trouble. They need your help.”

  William’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Gart’s gaze grew int
ense. “I mean that the task the Holy Father summoned these men for was, in fact, the assassination of the English king,” he said. “The Holy Father assumed these men could get close to the king because they were English themselves. In any case, the Holy Father ordered them to comply and when they refused, he arrested them and sold them to his allies, the Lords of Baux, where they are now prisoners at Les Baux-de-Provence. I tried to find out what I could about the state of their captivity, or if they were executed, and I was able to pay a Capetian soldier for information that leads me to believe the Lords of Baux intend to ransom my friends to other allies as captive fighters. They are very valuable warriors and will command a great price.”

  William was looking at Forbes rather strangely. “How did you discover all of this?”

  Forbes lifted his eyebrows in a gesture that suggested the answer was complicated. “They are my friends,” he said, repeating what William already knew. “Much like me, they have been traveling the world since the fall of Acre, fighting wars and doing unpleasant deeds for the highest bidder. It is that reputation that attracted the attention of the Holy Father. After he approached them with this mission, they were given a nominal amount of time to consider the task. In fact, they discussed it with me.”

  “But you advised against it, of course?”

  Gart nodded. “I did, but they did not need much prodding,” he said. “However, when they refused the mission, the Holy Father had them arrested and the next I heard, they had been moved out of Rome. It was in my determination to find out what had become of them. I came upon the courtesan who told me the story of Richard’s bastard son and the plans to eliminate John and put the boy upon the throne. Then, and only then, did I realize the greater goal the Holy Father had in mind when he asked my friends to assassinate their king. I doubt my friends even knew the reasons behind the Holy Father’s request. Men such as them are often given a task without the reason behind it.”

  It was a complex and convoluted story that only grew in depth and difficulty. Every time Gart opened his mouth, the story grew arms and legs and heads in all directions. It was truly astonishing. William, as seasoned and wise as he was, was still having difficulty comprehending it all but, as Gart spoke, the complexity began to form a pattern and the pieces began to fall into place. Things, as dark as they were, began to make sense. Aye, a great deal of sense and William was starting to see the situation, and the solution, just as Forbes was.