Cast Love Aside

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Published by Flora Speer At Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 by Flora Speer

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Windsor, England

A.D. 1116

It was, Magnus thought, the kind of secret
meeting that ought to have taken place at midnight, in some
mysterious, heavily guarded location, with thunder and lightening
attending his arrival at the designated spot. Given the terse
instructions scrawled on the parchment a squire had handed to him
that morning, he found it odd to be waiting all alone in a
sun-dappled clearing in a forest near Windsor Castle on a balmy
late May morning. The weather and the setting did not fit the
occasion as he understood it from the message.

Odder still was the sensation of cold that
stroked along his spine, like a skeletal finger presaging disaster.
Despite the warm day and the sweet fragrance of unseen flowers
drifting on the gentle breeze, Magnus thought of cold, clammy
darkness, of rank odors and foul, constantly dripping water.

He shivered as the back of his neck began to
prickle. It had been so long since he’d felt that particular
frisson
of unease that he hadn’t recognized it at once. He
knew what it was now, and every instinct warned him to flee. He’d
regret it if he didn’t. He couldn’t count all the times during his
boyhood at Ashendown when he had regretted not obeying that
unwelcome portent.

Still, he didn’t leave the clearing. The man
who had summoned him was not a lord to be trifled with. The
difference in their stations in life was so great that he had
wondered why Royce of Wortham had singled him out. A rustling in
the woodland made him turn as Royce and two younger men rode into
the clearing.

“Good day to you, Sir Magnus.” Royce pulled
off his leather gauntlet and leaned from his saddle to clasp
Magnus’s hand. His smile was friendly, his face open and
guileless.

“My lord.” Magnus took the proffered hand in
a firm grip, but he said no more than those two, deliberately
clipped words. He had discovered long ago that whenever he didn’t
know what was happening the best reaction was silence. He would
learn soon enough what he wanted to know. Others were always eager
to talk and to explain themselves. So he waited, allowing his gaze
to move from Royce to his two companions.

“I believe you know Sir Braedon,” Royce said,
indicating the dark-haired man at his right, who lifted a gloved
hand in acknowledgement and grinned at Magnus.

Magnus nodded, but did not return the smile.
Everyone at court knew Braedon was a bastard, his father unknown,
his elevation to knighthood uncertain until the autumn just past,
when King Henry himself had decided to reward the loyal squire for
bravery in service to the crown. Magnus couldn’t understand how a
man without a family history could be so lighthearted. His own
position in the world wasn’t much better than Braedon’s, but at
least he knew who his parents had been and that they were lawfully
wed long before he was conceived.

“This is Sir William, captain of my
men-at-arms,” Royce said, nodding toward the other man who rode
with him.

In contrast to Braedon’s striking good looks,
William was nondescript in appearance, of medium size with light
brown hair, a man who could pass unnoticed almost anywhere. At that
thought, and recalling whispers he’d heard about the baron of
Wortham, Magnus began to wonder if the present meeting had anything
to do with spying. Another cold shiver went up his back at the
possibility, and that was very odd, indeed. With a start Magnus
realized that Royce was speaking to him and he had missed the first
few sentences.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. Did you say an
English agent has been captured by the French?”

“Yes.” Royce did not complain about Magnus’s
inattention, but regarded him with remarkable seriousness, as if he
believed the information he was about to impart would be of vital
significance to the younger man. “It happened last autumn. An
attempt was made to help the man, but the would-be rescuers were
themselves caught and killed.”

Royce stopped talking. No one else spoke. The
quiet of the forest was broken only by the sweet trill of a bird
and by the rustling of leaves as a squirrel ran up a nearby
tree.

Magnus waited, expecting something more.
Still Royce said nothing, and Magnus began to realize that the
baron was using the same patient method on him that Magnus so often
employed on others. They could sit in silence forever if he did not
say something. After what he’d just heard, a few questions did seem
to be in order.

“Why have you summoned me here to tell me
this?” Magnus asked.

“Because,” Royce answered, “the captured spy
is Desmond of Ashendown.”

Silence fell again as Magnus tried to appear
unmoved by the news while he wondered what in the name of all the
devils in Hades Desmond was up to now. At least he knew why he’d
been experiencing those strange chills and intimations of darkness
and damp over the last hour. Des must be in mortal danger.

“I see,” he finally said, knowing some
response was expected of him and unable to think of anything else
to say.

“No, you do not see,” Royce contradicted him,
an edge of steel sharpening his voice. “Desmond has come to the
attention of King Louis of France.”

“I suppose Louis has demanded a large
ransom?” Magnus asked, struggling to keep his voice calm. It must
be a matter of ransom. He would not permit himself to consider any
other possibility. The fate usually meted out to a captured spy did
not bear thinking about. “Unfortunately, I possess nothing that I
could sell or trade to raise a ransom, for I refuse to give up my
sword, my armor, or my horse. If King Henry wants Desmond back, he
will have to ransom his own spy.”

“My God, man!” William exclaimed. “How can
you be so callous about your own brother?”

“Can wailing or gnashing my teeth help him?”
Magnus asked with cold logic.

“I do understand the poverty of a household
knight,” Royce said, his quiet words putting an end to William’s
brief outburst. “I cannot fault any man for refusing to give up the
knightly equipment by which he earns his keep. There is something
else you can do for Desmond, if you will.”

“Tell me what it is.” Magnus spoke in quick,
clipped fashion, making the words into an order. He knew a certain
grim satisfaction when he saw Royce’s eyebrows go up in surprise at
being spoken to that way.

“I asked you to meet us here today,” Royce
said, “because I’ve been told that you make a habit of using your
mind rather than erupting into undisciplined emotion as so many
young knights are prone to do.”

“I am not undisciplined!” William exclaimed.
“I’m concerned about an honest man who is being mistreated.”

“An honest spy?” Magnus repeated, staring at
him. “If you think that, you are an innocent. I, on the other hand,
am absolutely certain that Desmond set about his work for King
Henry with no illusions as to the honesty of his occupation, or to
what the consequences would be if he were captured. Desmond has
never cared overmuch for honesty.”

“Even so,” Royce said, “we cannot allow him
to be tortured and executed. I assure you, King Henry is appalled
at the prospect.”

“No doubt, he’s also appalled to think of the
secrets Desmond may reveal under torture,” Magnus said coldly.

““Suppose we were to capture a French agent,”
William suggested. “We could then make a counter-offer of the agent
in exchange for Desmond.”

“It will have to be a very important French
agent,” Braedon said. He hadn’t spoken before, though he’d been
sitting forward in his saddle, leaning on the pommel while he
listened intently to every word. He’d had the good sense to keep
his mouth shut during the altercation between Magnus and William, a
fact that raised him in Magnus’s estimation.

“I do know of an agent whose capture ought to
force King Louis to consider trading Desmond.” Royce sounded as if
he’d just thought of the idea. “He’s presently living in a manor
house on the seacoast near Calais. As it happens, my late wife and
I visited Manoir Sainte Inge while its previous lord was still
alive. The house sits on a promontory that juts out into the sea.
Beaches on either side of the promontory could offer a landing site
for a small boat. Once our man is in custody, he can be transferred
to a larger ship and smuggled across the Narrow Sea to England with
little difficulty. Yes, that scheme could work.”

“First, we have to capture him,” Magnus said,
intrigued by the project despite his initial reluctance to become
involved. “If he’s so important to King Louis, he must be well
guarded. What is the man’s name?”

“Erland, the count of Morvan,” Royce said.
“My old friend, Paul de Sainte Inge, was his brother. After Paul
and his wife died, King Louis made Erland guardian of their
children. Erland moved into the manor, claiming he didn’t want to
disrupt the children’s lives, but he’s now using Manoir Sainte Inge
as his headquarters.”

“Do you mean there are children living in the
house we are to invade and perhaps fight our way out of?” Magnus
demanded. “I will not be a party to harming infants.”

“My informant reports that the children are
no longer in residence. Only Erland and a small contingent of
men-at-arms are at the manor. I have a rough plan of the house,
smuggled to me by my man in Erland’s household.” Royce looked more
closely at Magnus. “Are you willing to join us?”

“I am,” Magnus answered. A mere instant later
he regretted his hasty response. It was clear to him that Royce
intended his two companions to be part of the force sent to capture
Erland. Magnus wasn’t certain either man would be a dependable
accomplice. “You will be leading us, of course,” he added to
Royce.

“Not I,” Royce said. “King Henry has ordered
me to remain in England, to prepare a suitable place for Count
Erland while he resides with us”

The satisfied look on Royce’s face confirmed
what Magnus suspected. He had been duped.

“You’ve been playing with me,” he accused the
baron. “I see it clearly now. The idea to capture a French agent
was yours, not William’s. Before this meeting ever began, the
decisions were made, the arrangements were set, and you had
obtained King Henry’s consent to them.”

“But isn’t it a splendid scheme?” Royce asked
with a smile.

“Who is to lead your group of secret agents?”
Magnus demanded, praying it wouldn’t be William, though he doubted
if the overly cheerful Braedon would be much of an improvement over
the emotional man-at-arms.

“You are to be the leader,” said Royce, still
smiling the smile that hid a multitude of secrets he would most
likely never reveal. “Who better than the man who must want his
brother freed?”

“Damnation,” Magnus muttered between his
teeth. Only rigid self-discipline enabled him to cut off the rest
of his angry response before the torrent of bitter words residing
in his heart had a chance to leave his tongue. He’d thought himself
free of Desmond, but once again he’d been drawn into something he’d
rather not be part of, a game originally instigated by his feckless
twin. Past experience warned him that he was going to need all of
the wits that Royce had praised if he hoped to reach the end of the
assignment alive.

When the next icy chill crept along his spine
he did not consider it the least bit strange. He did wonder,
though, what other important information had been withheld from
him.

Manoir Sainte Inge.

The Coast of France near Calais

June, A.D.1116

He was the biggest man that Lilianne had ever
seen. Possibly, he was also the quietest man she would ever
encounter. He stepped silently through the narrow arch that led to
the staircase, blocking her way before she even realized he was
there. She couldn't see him distinctly. His dark clothes covered
him completely, making him appear to be part of the shadows. She
did see the broadsword he held ready to use. Even there in the
gloomy upstairs corridor enough light existed to glint off the edge
of the long steel blade.