The Splendid Hour by Kathryn Le Veque

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ludlow Castle

March 1216

The sun was just starting to peek in between the gaps in the oil cloth, one hitting Peter directly in the eyes. Groaning, he rolled over and nearly smashed into his wife, who was curled up at his back. She grunted as his weight came down on her and he pushed himself off, but then thought better of it.

He rather liked being on top of her.

He began nibbling on her earlobe.

“Peter,” she groaned, still half-asleep. “You know what that does to me.”

He grinned as he began kissing her neck. “I know exactly what it does to you,” he whispered. “It does the same thing to me.”

She was in a shift but his hands snaked underneath it, pulling it up to her waist, unable to go any further because she was still groggy and he couldn’t get it over her head.

Yet.

He propped himself up, awkwardly, and lifted her up so that he could get it over her head, but her elbow caught him in the nose and down he went, falling back on the bed with his hands over his face.

Liora gasped.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, more alert now as she tried to pull his hands away to get a look at the damage. “Let me see what I’ve done.”

He was grunting and groaning, only it was rhythmic in nature. It took Liora a moment to realize that he was laughing and she peeled his hands away from his face.

“You fool,” she said, annoyed. “You use trickery and sympathy to get your way!”

Peter let her pull his hands away but it was a ruse. As soon as his hands were free, he grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him. As she gasped, he rolled onto his side and effectively trapped her between his big body and the bed. His face was very close to hers as he spoke.

“Of course I use trickery and sympathy,” he said, kissing her cheeks as he pinned her wrists. “I returned last night from being away from you for almost two months, so I will use any trick I can to get you into my arms.”

Liora had stopped fighting him. With a smile, she removed her shift and wrapped her arms around his neck. “As if you need to,” she said. “I was in your arms for most of last night. I do not think we’ve had more than just an hour or two of sleep, which is less than your pregnant wife requires, but I do it gladly. Words cannot express how much I have missed you, my angel. I am so glad you have returned.”

He grinned, putting his hand between them, onto her gently rounded belly. “What a joyful surprise I came home to,” he said. “But I am disappointed that my father had to tell me first in the missive he sent me. How is it he knew about it before I did?”

Liora laughed softly. “Because he has been with me constantly,” she said. “Either your mother and sister are here at Ludlow, or he is. And, to be clear, your mother knew first. She is the one who told your father.”

He pressed his lips flat in an irritable display. “You could have at least sent me a missive about it.”

Liora reached up, stroking his face. “I wanted to tell you personally,” she murmured, kissing his lips softly. “I wanted to see your face when I told you that your son would be coming in the autumn.”

He closed his eyes as she kissed his chin. “And what did I look like when you told me?”

“If you recall, we had to throw water on you to revive you.”

He started laughing but she latched on to his mouth and, in an instant, he responded. Liora gave herself over to him completely because a kiss between them was the most powerful of things. It rarely ended at just a kiss. Soon, his tongue was in her mouth, gently lapping at her, tasting her. He was being so very tender with her, making her heart flutter to the point where she couldn’t catch her breath. There was nothing else in the world more important than her husband’s lips on hers, his arms around her holding her close.

Nothing else mattered.

For Peter, it was more than that. He’d just spent two months of hell doing battle against John’s mercenary army and thoughts of Liora had kept him alive. When he’d come home yesterday after being summoned home by his father from the de Lohr army’s position in Leicester, he’d taken her to bed with him and they were still here, still enfolded in the warm, rich miasma that was their love. She had the ability to arouse him like nothing else and as he finally settled between her legs and gently thrust into her, he could feel her soft breasts against his bare chest, taunting him.

Calling to him.

He thrust harder, trying to be careful about her blossoming belly. The last thing he wanted to do was injure the child she carried, so it had taken some practice for him to find the right position where his weight wasn’t smashing her. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, holding him fast to her, but he unwrapped them and raised himself up, holding her legs behind the knees to give him more freedom of movement as he continued to pound into her sweet and yielding body.

This way, he could watch her as he made love to her.

Liora had the most amazing body. Her full breasts were perky, the nipples peaked, and her waist still slender. The rounded hips and slightly rounded belly drew his lust, seeing the result of what he’d put into her.

His son.

He could still hardly believe it.

However, given that he’d had her abed every night since their marriage before he left Ludlow and headed out to join his father’s army, it wasn’t too surprising. He couldn’t get enough of his new wife. Even now, Liora reached up and pulled him down to her, her lips fixing to his. She kissed him fiercely as he braced his arms on either side of her, thrusting hard until he could feel her release around him. Then, and only then, did he join her.

Beneath him, Liora was limp with pleasure but still sensitive to the touch. Peter continued to move in her, touching her, fondling her, and she gasped and twitched until she finally grasped his roving hand and kissed his fingers.

“No more,” she whispered. “I’ve not recovered from the last four times yet.”

He grinned wolfishly. “I hope not,” he said, nuzzling her right breast because it was by his head. “I intend that you should not recover from my touch, ever.”

As Liora lay there, he started sucking her nipple gently and she could feel her loins start to tighten again. “Peter, please,” she begged softly, trying to cover her breast with a hand so he couldn’t stimulate her further. “Your family is coming this morning to greet you and I do not want to be unprepared. We will have all the time in the world tonight, my angel, but right now, I have many duties to attend to.”

He came to a halt, sighing heavily. “I know,” he said. “I am sorry. I have simply missed you so.”

Liora smiled at him, cupping his face. “And I have missed you desperately,” she said. “But I also do not want your family to find us still in bed when they arrive.”

With that, she kissed him, slapped his bare arse, and climbed out of bed, leaving him lying on the bed with a semi-erection as he watched her gorgeous, nubile form collect her shift.

“I do not care if they still find us in bed,” he declared.

She threw a tunic at him, landing on his head.

“Purim will be here soon,” she said, changing the subject so he could focus on less sex and more getting out of bed. “Next week, in fact. I have invited your family to celebrate with us.”

Clearly, she wasn’t interested in spending any more time with him in bed at the moment. Disappointed, he pulled the tunic off his head and sat up.

“What’s Purim again?” he asked, scratching his scalp.

“It’s an event that celebrates the release of Jewish people from a tyrant in Persia,” she said. “We celebrate it in London with great feasts and a festival, but we will not have a festival here. However, I do want to have a feast and I will invite all of the villagers to join us.”

He looked at her, frowning. “We are feeding the entire town?”

She nodded as she washed her face in a bowl of cold rosewater. “Aye,” she said. “That is tradition. To celebrate Purim, we are to donate to the poor, or feed them, or any number of charitable things. Purim is about blessings and celebration. I would like to invite all of the villagers to a feast.”

He watched her as she washed. “Sweetheart, while that is very noble and kind, we cannot tell them that we are celebrating a Jewish holiday,” he said. “It will only confuse them and, quite possibly, alienate them. Not everyone is as accepting of your traditions as we are. But I know you mean well.”

She dried off her face. “Then we do not tell them it is for Purim,” she said. “We can simply say it is a feast for the coming Easter. The resurrection of Jesus.”

“I know what Easter is. I’m not that much of a heathen.”

She grinned at his reply, drying off her hands. “It is important to me to keep with my traditions, even if we cannot tell people what they really are. Please?”

He lifted a hand, indicating surrender, as he climbed out of bed. “I know,” he said. “And I will not deny you, you know that. Have your feast, but just do not tell them what it is for. Some Christians fear what they do not understand and I do not need trouble from my vassals.”

“I understand,” she said, putting the towel aside. “Thank you, my angel. You are very understanding.”

He simply nodded, kissing her on the forehead as he went in search of his breeches. Meanwhile, Liora dressed in a simple blue garment that clung to her figure and as Peter pulled on his clothing, he had to take a second look at his wife. He’d only seen her briefly last night, clothed, but now he got a good look at her in the morning light. She’d always had an astonishing figure of full breasts and a tiny waist, but now with the pregnancy, her breasts had filled in and her hips and belly had become more rounded, but her waist essentially remained the same.

She looked a goddess.

“God’s bones,” he muttered. “You grow more beautiful by the day, Lady de Lohr.”

Liora looked at him, smiling shyly, as she brushed her hair and began to braid it. “I have missed your sweet words,” she said. “They make me feel much better about the changes I have had.”

“What changes?”

She pointed out the obvious, her breasts and belly. “You should be glad you were not here when I first realized I was pregnant,” she said. “Everything hurt to the touch.”

He pulled his tunic over his head. “I remember my mother becoming ill when she was carrying my siblings,” he said. “Have you felt well enough?”

Liora nodded. “Very well,” she said. “But everything is still a little sore.”

He pursed his lips regretfully. “And I’ve done nothing but poke, stroke, pinch, and nibble,” he said. “I am sorry. You should have told me.”

She laughed softly and wrapped her braid around the back of her head, using big iron pins to secure it.

“I wanted you to touch me,” she said. “You did not hurt me, I promise.”

He secured a belt around his waist and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing the side of her head. “You will tell me if I do,” he said softly. “Swear this to me.”

She was trying to finish her hair as Peter cuddled her, so she finally gave up and gave in to his sweet embrace.

“I swear,” she said. “Do not worry so. I will not break.”

He grinned, kissed her one last time, and let her go. “I must check on the men I’ve brought back with me,” he said. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

Liora put in the last pin and turned to him. “I do not need anything, but…”

“But what?”

“I was thinking,” she said. “You did not speak of the battles you saw when you came home last night. In fact, you’ve not spoke of it at all. I am afraid to ask you how the situation goes.”

Peter paused with his hand on the door latch. “It’s not good,” he said, his mood sober. “I do not want to bring that hell into this chamber, Lee-Lee. That’s why I have not spoken of it. I will speak of it in the hall, or anywhere else, but not here. Here – this is our heaven. It’s the one place I do not want talk of battle to penetrate.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I understand,” she said. “Forgive me for asking. You can speak of it when you are ready. I suppose I was asking because Christin said that Sherry is no longer with the army.”

Peter shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Addax is in command right now, with the army outside of Leicester. The Marshal summoned Sherry about a month ago and my father summoned me home last week, so here we are while the army is still out there, waiting.”

“Do you think Sherry will come home soon?”

“I hope so, for Christin’s sake.”

“Me, too.”

He smiled at her, giving her a wink before lifting the latch and quitting the chamber. They were in the top floor chamber of a block of buildings built by Gilbert de Lacy, a previous owner, built around the gatehouse and the keep. The floors were relatively new, the walls new, and it didn’t have that musty smell that so many older stone buildings had. He headed down the stairs, which were mural stairs and not built into the thickness of the wall. Ludlow was a massive place with a good deal of living quarters, rooms, even smaller halls and one enormous great hall, most definitely fit for a de Lohr. But Peter had only been allowed to enjoy them for a short amount of time before his father requested that he join Alexander and Addax out in the field where he was badly needed.

That meant they had to bring another knight in to command Ludlow in his stead and although his father split his time between Lioncross, Ludlow, and Wigmore to the east, it was still important to have a capable knight commanding Ludlow when Christopher was away. That had required a missive to Kenilworth Castle, who was more than happy to send a newly minted knight to their doorstep in the form of Quintus de Garr.

De Garr was from a fine Hampshire family, related to the House of de Nerra, and Peter took to him right away. He was as strong as a bull, very smart, and very capable thanks to his training. He was also deaf in one ear and looked like the hind end of a dog, which pleased Peter to no end considering he had to leave the man in charge of his new wife. He didn’t want an Adonis around Liora, so Quintus was accepted purely based on his skills, and on his appearance, and he swore fealty to Peter without hesitation. Peter had been able to work with him for a few weeks before he headed off to join Alexander and Addax, but according to Christopher, Quintus had been remarkable in command of Ludlow.

Now, Peter wanted to speak to his commander so the man could bring him up to date on everything that had happened while he was gone. As he exited the block of apartments, squinting in the bright early morning sun, he could see Quintus at the gatehouse. When the man spied him, he began running in his direction.

“My lord,” he called. “Did you sleep well?”

Considering he had just returned to his new wife after a long separation, Peter cast him a long look but realized Quintus had no idea why he was eyeing him so queerly, so he simply nodded his head.

“Well enough,” he said. “I am sorry we did not have time to speak last night. You can understand that I was anxious to see my wife rather than speak to you.”

Quintus nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” he said. “No apologies necessary. I will say that your wife has done me a very great favor while you were gone.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“She has introduced me to a woman I am also anxious to see rather than speak to you, too.”

Peter looked at him abruptly and started laughing when he realized that Quintus had, indeed, understood the subtleties of a man returning from battle to a new wife. “Cheeky bastard,” he muttered. “But I am glad for you, Quintus. Who is this flowering bloom of womanhood?”

Quintus grinned, displaying reasonably nice teeth beneath a heavy mustache and beard. “A daughter of the lord of Rhayder Castle,” he said. “Her name is Livia de Gault and her father is an ally of Lord Blackadder, Ajax de Velt.”

Peter recognized the name. “Ah, I remember,” he said. “They are allies to the west.”

“Exactly, my lord.”

“How did you come to meet her, though? Did you see her in the village?”

Quintus shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “Your wife has been inviting local allies to come to Ludlow and feast with her and your father so that they will come to know her and she, them. May I praise Lady de Lohr’s grace and charm without angering you, my lord?”

Peter shrugged. “Why would it anger me?” he said. “Everything you say is true. Why do you think I married her?”

Quintus laughed softly. “Perfectly understandable, my lord,” he said. “She lives for the mere mention of your name. I, too, hope to have a wife someday who worships me the way your lady wife worships you. I have tried to tell Lady Livia that.”

Peter scowled. “Do not tell her that before you marry her, you dolt,” he said. “What is wrong with you? Are you trying to scare her off?”

Quintus looked stricken but Peter started to laugh simply because the man truly had no idea what he was saying. He was about to educate Quintus when a cry came from the battlements.

Riders were approaching.

Since Peter knew his father was due to arrive, he headed for the gatehouse with Quintus, preparing to welcome his father to Ludlow. He was excited to see the man he hadn’t seen in months, so he stood at the raised portcullis, watching the riders approach, but as he watched, the smile faded from his face.

His father wasn’t alone.

Peter stood back as the riders flooded into his bailey. He recognized the men, the horses, the standards, and he most especially recognized William Marshal.

Puzzlement filled him.

So did concern.

His father was the first man to dismount as soldiers rushed forward to collect the warhorses that were frothing from the twenty-mile ride from Lioncross Abbey. He was dressed in full battle regalia, something Peter had seen on his father a thousand times. He approached his father, who opened up his arms to him and hugged him tightly. He didn’t let him go. He just stood there and held him as others dismounted their horses and approached, including The Marshal. Peter had no idea why his father was holding on to him for so long but when he finally released him, Peter swore he saw tears in the man’s eyes.

He peered at him closely.

“Papa?” he asked, somewhat gently. “What is the matter? I’m safe. Everyone is safe. I came home at your summons so that you can see I am safe.”

Christopher took a deep breath, pulling off his helm to reveal his graying blond hair. It was starting to turn white at the temples and crown.

“Not everyone is safe,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Peter was seized with apprehension. “What do you mean?” he said. “What has happened? Oh, dear God, don’t tell me something has happened to Sherry.”

“Nay,” The Marshal said, answering because Christopher was so emotional. “Sherry is well enough. I summoned him away from the de Lohr army for a special purpose and he will be here any day now, but I am certain he is well. Have no fear. Let us go into your great hall, Peter. We must speak.”

Peter nodded and started to move, but he was bewildered. He took his father by the arm, leading the man towards the great hall and sending Quintus to tell Liora that great men had arrived. As Quintus bolted off, Peter looked to his father.

“What is wrong?” he asked quietly. “You’re frightening me, Papa. Is Uncle David well?”

Christopher nodded, but he was still close to tears. “Everyone in the family is well,” he said. “Your uncle, Sherry, East Anglia, Dash… everyone. But we have received word about a major battle at Berwick Castle.”

Peter came to a halt, the color draining out of his face when he thought he knew what his father meant. “Berwick,” he breathed. “John’s armies were there in January.”

“I know.”

“Please don’t tell me that something happened to Cole de Velt.”

Christopher shook his head. “Worse than even that,” he said, his voice scratchy. “Jax has fallen.”

Peter’s eyes few open wide and his jaw dropped. “Nay,” he breathed in shock. “Not Jax. Not him. Oh, God, Papa… not him!”

“Peter, inside,” The Marshal instructed quietly but firmly. “Inside and we will discuss all of this.”

Numbly, Peter did as he was told. He led his father to the hall and with Christopher heading for the feasting table, he finally took a look at the men who had come with him. He saw Maxton, who was not only his father’s ally, but a close neighbor on the Marches. He also saw two men he hadn’t seen in over a year in Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere. Those were the original Executioner Knights, men who, along with Maxton, formed one of the core units within the Executioner Knights known as the Unholy Trinity. Peter hadn’t even noticed them as they’d ridden in with his father and The Marshal.

That told him that the situation was dire, indeed.

The great hall of Ludlow was a sight to behold. It could easily hold a thousand men and it had, at times, all of them crammed in and sheltered against the elements that were so often terrible on the Welsh Marches. With his father and The Marshal already inside, Peter hung back to greet Kress and Achilles. Kress, a big man with cropped blond hair, greeted Peter fondly and Achilles, high-strung and passionate, greeted him with a hug that nearly cracked his ribs. Rubbing his chest, Peter couldn’t help but grin at Maxton when the man patted him on the head.

When Peter reached the table, his father was already into the wine that had been brought. Over near the servant’s alcove that led to the kitchens, he could see his wife as she visually inspected the hall to see who, exactly, had arrived. When she saw her father-in-law, and The Marshal, she disappeared again, no doubt making sure that special refreshments were prepared. As Christopher settled down, Peter took a seat at the table beside him.

He couldn’t stand the suspense.

“What happened to de Velt?” Peter asked, looking around to anyone who could answer him. “I simply cannot believe… God, I cannot even believe I am saying it. It does not seem real.”

It was a sentiment shared by everyone and The Marshal replied. “John was in the north in January, but he is heading south again, which is why you were called to meet him with your father’s army,” he said, looking older and wearier than Peter had remembered. “What happened to Ajax de Velt happened in January. De Velt and his army, along with de Longley and de Bourne, held their section of the border so John and his mercenaries had to make a great detour to cross into Scotland. John did not take kindly to that and lay siege to Berwick Castle, hoping to gain control of it.”

“Berwick held?” Peter asked.

The Marshal nodded. “It did,” he said. “Cole de Velt and his brother, Julian, held it admirably, but the trouble that Jax ran into was at Pelinom, his seat. From what I have been told, John’s army hit it full force, hoping to capture it and use it as a base, but Jax held firm. He met his end when he was pulling injured men out of the range of the archers and was hit himself.”

Peter closed his eyes at the mere idea of it, stricken with horror. “God,” he grunted. “Please tell me his end was swift.”

The Marshal sighed heavily. Moments like this were the worst part of what he did. But things like this happened; it had happened before and it would happen again. It never became easier, however.

This one cut him to the bone.

“He evidently kept pulling the injured out of range, even with two arrows in his back,” he said. “He only stopped when his wife forced him to. He stumbled inside and died in her arms. As you can imagine, his family is devastated, as are his allies. As am I. It is a great loss to say the least.”

Peter looked at his father, who was sitting there with red-rimmed eyes, struggling to come to terms with the death of a man he was close to. It also brought about the fact that Jax’s youngest son, Cassian, had served at Lioncross Abbey for many years. Cassian had been Christopher’s right hand at Lioncross with all of the other knights in strategic posts, which had been a great comfort to Peter. Cassian, young as he was, was extremely talented and he was devoted to both his father and to Christopher.

All Peter could feel at the moment was hollow grief for the young knight who had lost his father.

“How is Cass?” Peter asked his father gently.

“Devastated,” Christopher said. “He is heading home as we speak. I will go, also, when things are settled here. I must go to Pelinom’s chapel and pay my respects to my friend personally. He would have done the same for me.”

Peter sighed heavily, thinking of the de Velt family, not unlike his own. A powerful warlord father, a dedicated mother… it could so easily have been his own father. It was shocking to think of their world without Ajax de Velt in it and he could hear the pain of loss in his father’s tone. He could see it in The Marshal’s face. It occurred to him that it was hitting the older men much harder than men like himself or even Maxton or Kress or Achilles.

They were all younger knights who hadn’t shared the relationship with de Velt like those men had. Christopher and Jax had been tight along with Cullen de Nerra’s father, Valor, and the Earl of East Anglia, Talus. These were men who had fought together in the before time, when Henry II was upon the throne, and they had a history together.

Now, part of that history was gone. Pieces of that time were disappearing, leaving a hole in their wake, leaving men like Christopher and William growing older as the world they knew dwindled around them.

Reaching out, Peter grasped his father’s hand and held it tightly.

“It seems ironic that a man like Jax de Velt should be killed saving men,” he said after a moment. “For years, he was The Dark Lord, the man who killed without thought or feeling. There was no man more feared in all of England. But I must say, as I reflect upon the man who was a legend in my eyes, I feel that he met his end in the most noble way possible. Saving lives and not taking them. He died a glorious death in battle. For an old warrior, I would think that is the best possible end.”

Christopher nodded dully. “He went the way I would want to go, the way I hope I go,” he said. “In the arms of my wife.”

The Marshal grunted. “They said that Kellington held him until the end and even longer still,” he muttered. “She never shed a tear until he was gone.”

It was a beautiful, tragic, and brave suggestion. “Kellington is a great lady,” Christopher said. “She is very strong.”

“She is.”

As Peter watched the older knights struggle, something occurred to him, perhaps something that would give them some comfort.

Something that had happened, back at Lonsdale.

“I am reminded of the last thing I said to him back at Lonsdale,” he said. “Remember when I spoke of Boone Pendleton’s prayer? When facing battle, you always know there is a chance you will not return, but the fact that I remembered the warrior’s prayer at that particular time seems quite meaningful.”

Christopher looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that we’ve gone into battle before and we’ve never said it,” he said. “We’ve joined allies in battle before, but we never said it. Yet, at that moment at Lonsdale, we spoke the words. We spoke them while Jax was still alive so that he could say them with us, but mayhap we should say them again now in his memory. Somehow, it seems appropriate.”

Christopher had tears in his eyes, nodding but unable to speak for the lump in his throat. It was Maxton who started it.

“Behold, I see those I love, and my relatives who have died before me,” he said. “I see my father seated in the golden halls with an empty seat beside him.”

Kress and Achilles and Peter chimed in. “I see the greatest warriors who have ever lived, surrounding my father, calling to me,” they said. “Death is not the end, but the beginning, for a true warrior never dies. He takes his place of greatness among those who are worthy.”

By this time, Christopher found his voice and he lifted his head, speaking to the ceiling of the hall and the sky beyond. “Mourn not the glorious dead but rejoice in their legacy,” he said, his strong voice joining in with the others in the hope that Jax, wherever he was, would hear him. “They wait for me, not in this life, but in the next, where their legends shall live forever.”

Peter watched his father as the man said his farewells to his friend, tears rolling down his cheeks, but fortified with that prayer that had meant so much to them. When his father finally looked at him, he smiled at the man, putting his arm around his neck and hugging him. Christopher smiled weakly, patting his son on the arm, appreciating the moment they were sharing. A moment between warriors, rejoicing in the life of one of their own.

One who was now gone.

But there was a reason why they had all come, more than simply to tell Peter that Jax had fallen in battle. He could see that simply by the expressions on their faces.

There was a purpose.

“Now,” Peter said after a moment. “Let us focus on the reason you are here at Ludlow. Although I am greatly saddened at de Velt’s passing, I know that is not the reason you have come and it occurs to me that I have been called home for a purpose. Am I right, Papa?”

Christopher nodded slowly. “You are.”

“You want something of me, I assume?”

The Marshal held up a hand. “Aye,” he said wearily. “The Executioner Knights are to attend to their most important mission yet and you are to be part of it.”

“I am listening,” Peter said.

William collected his thoughts before continuing. “Sherry is due to arrive here very soon, as I said, because I recalled him for a special purpose,” he said. “You will notice that I have only called upon Maxton, Kress, Achilles, you, and Sherry for this particular mission because this is a job for my very best.”

Peter nodded seriously. “Go on.”

The Marshal glanced at Christopher before answering. “I needed your father’s approval before I could do this, Peter,” he said. “I must use you. I believe you are the only one who can help us accomplish this task as I told your father once before. You are going to be our Trojan horse in the court of John.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Trojan horse?” he repeated, thinking on the term that he’d heard before, something he remembered from his past education. “You mean the horse that the Greeks built? The one that held an army that deceived Troy?”

“Exactly.”

He still wasn’t clear on how that related to him. “What will you have me do, my lord?

“Kill the king.”

The statement came from Christopher, not The Marshal. Peter looked at his father in shock.

“Kill John?” he repeated to make sure he had heard correctly. “What do you mean? How?”

The Marshal poured himself more wine into a cup he’d already drained once. “You will remember last year when John wanted you as his new Lord of the Shadows.”

“Of course I do.”

The Marshal looked at him. “You are now going to assume that post,” he said. “You are going to go to John and tell him that your father humiliated you into going back on a bargain. Remember that I was there, Peter. I saw everything. I was there when your father offered to lay down his sword in exchange for your freedom. That was not what I wanted at the time, but none of that matters now. You are going to return to John and tell him that your father made you do it and you feel strongly that you must keep your word. Get close to the man. We need you there for what we are about to do.”

Peter was quite perplexed. “But… in all of my years as an Executioner Knight, it was our mission to keep the king alive,” he said. “We fought, we killed, we lied and cheated and bargained to keep him alive and now we must eliminate him?”

As The Marshal nodded, Christopher turned to his son. “We have come to the unalterable conclusion that England will never know peace as long as John is alive,” he said. “We made a deal with the French king to aid us in our fight against John, but that has only brought French soldiers and mercenaries to overrun our lands. We know now that Louis is not the answer, but John’s son is.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Henry? But he is only nine years of age!”

“And I shall be his regent,” The Marshal said steadily. “I have positioned myself with the king that he has appointed me his son’s regent in the event of his death. John and I enjoy a good relationship these days. In fact, right now he believes I am at Pembroke, recruiting more men from the Welsh to fight for him, but instead I am with you and your father, plotting his end. I have served four kings, Peter, if you include Henry the Young King. I have seen John grow into the man he is today and it is true that I have fought to keep him on the throne, but the past year has seen my support drastically reduced. A nine-year-old king would be far better than what we have now. At least we would have a chance to survive.”

Peter’s gaze moved to his father, staring into his cup of wine. “Papa?” he said. “What say you about this?”

Christopher’s head came up. “I have hated John since I first met him when I was nearly twenty years of age and he was barely ten,” he said. “I have hated him every moment of every day since. I was content to fight against him and defeat him honorably on the field of battle, but hearing of Jax’s death has brought me back to a promise I made to him back at Lonsdale. I swore to avenge his death and avenge I shall, but the most painful realization of that vow is that in order to do that, I must place my own flesh and blood in danger to accomplish it. You, Peter. If you agree to assume the post of Lord of the Shadows in Sean’s place, I will not stop you.”

Peter was listening to his father carefully. “Are you asking me to do it?”

Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said quietly. “You are my son and if I had to choose between your life and vengeance for Jax, I would choose you. But if you wish to accept The Marshal’s directive, I will not stop you.”

Peter could see how badly his father was hurting, how much he was torn. He didn’t like seeing his father so hurt. He didn’t like the thought of leaving his wife and heading, literally, into purgatory. He didn’t like the thought of any of those things, but he liked even less that if he did nothing, John would continue his reign of terror and his own son would be born into such a world.

He was going to be a father.

For a moment, he pondered a boy with his blond hair and his mother’s magnificent eyes. A brilliant lad that he would protect to the death. Avenging Jax was important; there was no doubt about it. His death seemed to be a catalyst for something greater than all of them, the realization that their country needed peaceful rule and thoughtful direction if it was going to survive. And Peter needed to be able to raise his son in peace, not spending weeks or months on the field of battle against a king intent on tearing his own country apart.

Perhaps Peter couldn’t do real damage to John on the battlefield.

But he could do it where it counted, as Sean de Lara had.

By John’s side.

“I’ll do it,” he finally said, looking at The Marshal. “Tell me what you want me to do and I shall do it.”

A sigh of relief seemed to go up from everyone. They looked at each other, nodding, showing hope in what was coming and what needed to be done.

Their mission was coming together admirably.

“We’ll be with you every step of the way, Peter,” Kress said. Much like Alexander, he was a leader of men with a natural air of command, and his words brought courage. “Achilles and Maxton and I will defect to John’s guard. We were part of his guard once before and we saved his life from assassins years ago, so he will remember that. For all he knows, we’ve been out of touch with The Marshal. He has no reason to believe differently.”

Peter listened carefully. Maxton, Kress, and Achilles were some of the best spies in the business and he trusted them implicitly. “Then you will be close to me,” he said.

“Exactly,” Maxton said. “Even now, Cullen de Nerra and Bric MacRohan are infiltrating John’s inner circle as gifts from their respective lords. You know that Bric is a legacy knight with de Winter and even though de Winter has sided with the king in this matter, secretly, he supports the rebellion, so he has gifted the king with Bric. For an Irishman who hates the monarchy, I can only imagine how Bric is handling this.”

That brought some smiles at the thought of Bric, a man who was utterly terrifying with his pale blond hair and blue-silver eyes. He looked like a warrior-god from Irish mythology and he hated John with a passion. But they needed him, and Cullen, as part of their spy ring close to the king. All of them forming a support system for Peter, who would be the closest.

Peter understood that clearly.

“So this plan has been in the works for some time?” he asked.

The Marshal nodded. “Since late last year,” he said. “But after what happened to de Velt, we decided to rush forward with our schedule. I’ll not let John kill one more man valuable to England. Jax was too much of a sacrifice in my opinion, but his death will not be in vain, I swear it.”

Surprisingly passionate words from a man who was usually steady and even in temperament. But it was clear that Jax’s death had done something to him.

It had done something to them all.

“Then what is the plan, my lord?” Peter said. “Surely you have something in mind?”

The Marshal nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “As we speak, John is heading from St. Albans to Windsor Castle, which is being besieged by the French. You and I will join him at Windsor where you will join his ranks with my recommendation. He is possibly going to Cambridge and Lincolnshire after that, but it’s equally possible he will be moving to his allies at Newark because he has spoken of going there and replenishing his armies. He cannot go to London, as it is currently being held by the French king, so it’s my personal belief he will go to Newark instead of Lincolnshire.”

“And I will go with him.”

“Aye,” The Marshal said. “You will be his right hand, Peter, just as Sean was. His wish is your command. Now, John’s death must be made to look like an accident, so your fellow Executioner Knights will poison the man’s wine. Not his food, but his wine. John is always fearful that his food will be tampered with, but he never makes mention of his wine. You will ensure the wine brought to him is switched out with the wine Maxton or the others will bring you. Do you want to know why I recalled Sherry? Because he is tasked with finding the right poison. He has been in Bath, collecting a terrible toxin made from the smelting of copper and lead. This poison will build in John’s system until it finally kills him. Nothing sudden, nothing rushed. One day, the king will simply turn up… dead.”

Peter understood. It was subversion of the greatest magnitude and instead of being hesitant or discouraged, he was honored to be part of it.

“Very well,” he said. “When do we move?”

“As soon as Sherry arrives,” The Marshal said. “In the meantime, we will wait and we will feast and we will plan. But as soon as Sherry arrives, we will head to Windsor.”

So that was it. A terrible plan was in the works, but it was a necessary one. Peter was thinking about what lay ahead as his wife entered the hall followed by several servants. They were heading to the table with bread and cheese and warmed-over beef from the night before, placing it on the table so the men could get to it. Peter reached out and grasped Liora’s hand, bringing it to his lips for a sweet kiss.

“It would seem that my lady wife has run Ludlow in my absence better than any battle commander,” he said proudly, obviously changing the subject away from what they had been discussing. “My lady, you’ve not yet met some of the men at this table. You know Maxton and Pembroke, of course, but permit me to introduce you to two good friends of mine, Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere. Good knights, my wife, Liora.”

Oblivious to the subversion she had just interrupted, Liora smiled at the big, blond knight and the equally big bald knight who seemed rather young for such a bald head. “Welcome to Ludlow, my lords,” she said. “Will you be staying with us tonight?”

Kress nodded. “Aye, Lady de Lohr,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Liora smiled prettily. “Our pleasure, my lord,” she said. “You are always welcome here. Do you have a family?”

“I do.”

“They are welcome, also.”

Kress smiled politely, accepting the cup of wine that came his way, as The Marshal spoke up simply to continue to keep the subject away from what had occupied their attention since they’d entered the hall. It wouldn’t do for Lady de Lohr to catch wind of it before Peter had a chance to tell her that he was leaving, off to do what he’d been trained to do.

“I meant to tell you that I saw Saer de Quincy in London the last time I was there,” he said to Christopher. “He mentioned about Walter losing Astley Cross to Marcus Burton.”

Christopher nodded. “It belongs to Marcus now,” he said without remorse. “I hope Winchester doesn’t hold a grudge against those who took his cousin’s property.”

The Marshal snorted. “On the contrary,” he said. “He seemed rather grateful. I never did ask what happened to Walter. Not that I care, but after the mess he created, the man has all but disappeared.”

Christopher shrugged. “Marcus took care of that problem,” he said. “He told me that he sent the man to Scotland under penalty of death should he return to England.”

“Do you think he’ll remain there?”

“If he values his life, he will.”

“But what happened to Agnes?”

Christopher’s eyes took on an amused twinkle. “Marcus found her a position.”

The Marshal eyed him curiously. “A position? What kind of position?”

“As a serving wench at The Pox,” Christopher replied. “I heard she married a de la Londe, in fact. They are the dregs of polite society, but I have little sympathy for her. Given her history, she’ll be right at home amongst that scheming French family.”

“You had trouble with them back in the days of Richard, did you not?” Peter asked him, taking a bite of bread.

Christopher nodded. “A rotten barrel of apples, that bunch.”

“Poor Agnes,” Liora said.

Peter and Christopher looked at her in surprise. “Why would you say that?” Peter asked. “After everything she did, you still feel pity for her?”

Liora shrugged, watching men shovel food into their mouths. “She tried so hard to keep hold on something that was never hers to begin with,” she said. “I find that kind of desperation sad.”

Christopher, chewing, patted her on the arm. “You are a saint, Lee-Lee,” he said. “Now, where is that wonderful cake you make? Do you have some?”

She grinned, putting a hand on his shoulder. “For you, I always have some,” she said. “I will return.”

She dashed off, heading for the kitchens where she always kept apple cake because she loved it so much. Christopher, in his many stays at Ludlow, had come to love it, too, so much so that Liora taught Dustin how to make it. Apples chopped fine with cinnamon, eggs, flour, and honey created a fabulous cake. It was made without milk or butter, meaning it could be eaten at the table with meat in adherence to Jewish dietary laws. That was the one thing Liora had never strayed from. She still ate in accordance to Jewish dietary laws because she always had and it was a difficult habit to break. Peter never pushed her, of course, and he’d been privy to some wonderful dishes she had made for him because of it. In fact, the entire de Lohr family had been.

As Peter watched her scurry away, his heart grew heavier and heavier. He’d only just come home and now he was going to have to leave her again. He had a myriad of conflicting feelings as he watched her but, in the end, he knew this was something he had to do. There was no question in his mind and putting off telling her wasn’t going to help.

She had to know.

Excusing himself from the table, he followed her trail to the kitchens.

He found her in the kitchens that smelled heavily of yeast. The ovens were in full use as the cooks baked bread for the day and he spied her bent over an earthenware bowl. As he watched, she put something from the bowl in her mouth and he grinned.

“Are you going to eat all of the cake and then tell my father there is none left?” he teased.

Startled by his appearance, Liora quickly relaxed, laughing because he was. “I will bring him some,” she said. “But it smells so good I wanted a taste for myself.”

Peter bent over the bowl, smelling the cinnamon. “It does smell good,” he said. “Mayhap I will eat it all myself.”

“I think your father would be very disappointed.”

He shrugged. “He’ll live,” he said, his smile fading. “I wanted to speak to you before you go back into the hall, sweetheart. Can you spare me a moment?”

Liora gazed up at him with those beautiful eyes. “I can spare you all the time that you need,” she said. “But I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“You’re leaving again.”

His eyes took on a glimmer. “I am?”

“You are.”

“Where am I going?”

“I do not know yet,” she said. “But when William Marshal shows his face, it is not simply to visit. He came here for a reason.”

It was very astute of her. She had only really come to know The Marshal through Peter and through her father-in-law, but she knew enough to know that the powerful earl didn’t simply show up randomly. Every action had a purpose.

She was smart enough to know that.

“He did,” Peter said quietly. “He has asked an important task of me and I must comply. I cannot tell you more than that, but I can tell you that I am not going into battle. It is something different.”

She nodded, accepting what he was telling her without angst or upset. “How long will you be gone?”

“I do not know.”

“Will you return for the birth of your son?”

He stared at her for a moment before pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I hope so,” he murmured into the top of her hair. “God, I hope so. But I cannot promise that I will until this task is completed. It is very important, Lee-Lee. It is so important that I must be part of it. But I swear to you that I will return as soon as I can. My thoughts, my hopes, and my dreams will be only of you, every day, until we see each other again.”

Liora collapsed against him, trying very hard not to tear up. She was hormonal, and emotional, and tears were close to the surface these days.

“If you say it is important, then I believe you,” she said huskily. “You need not explain yourself because I know there are things you cannot speak of. I knew you were an elite knight when I married you. I simply did not know how important you were to a great many people and how often you would be called upon.”

He pulled back and looked at her. “I may be important to a great many people, but you are the most important person in the world to me,” he said. “There is no one in my life I love more than you. There is no one in my life who means more to me than you do. I am simply sorry that we have spent so much of our marriage apart. I hope that will change after this task because I do not like leaving you. I do not want to leave you ever again when this is finished.”

Liora forced a smile. “I will not let you,” she said, teasing him gently. “The next time you try to leave me, I shall throw myself upon you and cling to you like a great anchor. You will hardly be able to move as you drag me around.”

He grinned. “It would be pleasurable, I assure you,” he said. “But until that time… I am afraid I must leave you just once more.”

“Will you tell me one thing?”

“If I can.”

“Will you be in danger?”

He thought on how to reply but ended up looking at her regretfully. “Do you want me to tell you the truth?”

“Please.”

“It is very possible.”

She considered that, forcing herself to be brave because she had asked him, after all. She couldn’t become upset about it if he’d been honest with her.

“Thank you for being truthful,” she said. “I may not like the answer, but I appreciate the honesty.”

He leaned down and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered. “More than my own life, I love you. You are the heart that beats within me.”

She kissed him in return, her hands on his face, feeling his warmth against her flesh. “Come home to me, my angel,” she murmured. “Come home safely. I will be waiting.”

He kissed her again but was forced to release her because the cooks were pulling out multiple loaves of bread and putting them on a table nearby. Steam and the smell of hot bread was filling up the kitchen. Liora wiped at her eyes and quickly moved around him, picking up a cloth that contained the apple cake and putting it in Peter’s hands.

“Take this to your father,” she said.

He looked at the cake. “Are you not coming with me?”

She shook her head, smiling bravely. “I have a feeling you and your guests would like to be alone,” she said. “But do not worry. I will be nearby if you need me.”

He smiled sadly. “I am sorry,” he said. “I will finish with them as quickly as I can and we can spend the rest of the day together, just us.”

She nodded, suspecting that might not be possible. “Go on,” she said. “Do what you must. I will see you later.”

His gaze, warm and loving, lingered on her. “Aye, you will,” he said. “You most certainly will.”

With that, he turned and headed back for the great hall, leaving his wife watching him walk away. Tall, broad, and powerful Peter. Her pride and joy, the breath in her lungs that sustained her. She watched him until he disappeared from sight and then, and only then, did she head out into the kitchen yard to collect herself.

But it didn’t work.

Leaning against the wall of the keep, Liora hung her head and wept.