De Wolfe Pack 05 - Walls of Babylon (31 page)

“I know you will,” he said, kissing her again. “But for now, we must pretend to hate each other. Can you do that?”

She nodded, somewhat wryly. “I made a good show of it before.”

He laughed. “You did,” he said. “But right now, I want you to slap me as hard as you can.”

She looked at him, shocked. “
Slap
you?”

“Aye,” he said firmly. “As hard as you can. And then scream at me and tell me what a bastard I am. It will show them that you truly hope I rot for what I did to Babylon. You must be convincing, love.”

Nicola sighed. She understood what he was saying and she knew that it was a necessary ruse, especially if she was going to try and gain information about their future plans for Kenton. It was important that St. John and the rest of them believe there was no love lost between her and Kenton le Bec.

“Very well,” she said, standing up. But first, she bent down to kiss his cheek, the one she was about to slap. “Hopefully this will take the sting out of what I will do.”

He grinned, touching his face where she had kissed him. “It will undoubtedly,” he said softly. “Now hit me,
hard
.”

Nicola hesitated a moment before hauling off and slapping him across the face so hard that his head snapped. She looked at him in horror for a split second but all he did was grin, putting his hand to the cheek that was already turning an angry shade of red. She began screaming at him.

“You contemptable bastard!” she yelled. “How dare you… you smashed his tomb! You smashed it! I told you not to do it, I
begged
you, but you still did it! How could you have destroyed Gaylord’s tomb like that?”

Her screams brought the cavalry. The door swung open and St. John and Saxilby appeared. Nicola saw the door fly open from the corner of her eye and she launched herself at Kenton, slapping him in the head and trying to kick him. St. John moved swiftly to pull the angry lady away, but Nicola struggled against him, swinging her fists in Kenton’s direction.

“I… want… my…
vengeance
!” she grunted, trying to hit Kenton. “You will not deny me my right!”

Saxilby was beside himself, putting himself between the swinging lady and the seated prisoner. “My lady,
please
,” he begged. “Please calm yourself!”

Pretending to be furious was fairly easy for Nicola. She lashed out a booted foot and caught Saxilby in the knee. “But you do not know what he has done!” she screeched. “He smashed my husband’s tomb and… and he tried to steal my children!”

St. John had her around the waist, easily lifting her and carrying her to the door. “Come along, my lady,” he said calmly. “You are simply overwrought from the events of the past few weeks. You must rest and I am sure you will return to reason.”

Nicola was struggling and twisting, now trying to hit St. John. “Nay!” she yelled, grabbing on to the door frame as he tried to pull her through. “I will not leave! I must stay and punish him!”

St. John and one of the armed guards outside the door had to peel her hands off the door frame in order to pull her completely from the room; it was clear that she was not going easily. She was fighting and yelling the entire way. Kenton could hear her as St. John took her down the steps, his calm voice against her frenzied one. When their voices faded away, Saxilby, who was still in the room, turned to Kenton.

“God’s Bones,” he hissed in relief now that Lady Thorne had been taken away. “What on earth did you say to the woman?”

Kenton shrugged carelessly, standing up from his bed. “I do not know what set her off,” he said. “She is volatile as it is, so it could have been anything. We were discussing my incarceration, the condition of Babylon after the siege. I told her I should have sold her children off into slavery because they were wild ruffians and suddenly the woman becomes enraged.”

Saxilby frowned at the man. “You said that you should have sold her
children
?”

“Aye. They serve no purpose in a military installation, which was what Babylon was after I confiscated it.”

Saxilby shook his head in disbelief. “I was worried about her attacking you,” he muttered. “I should have been more worried about
you
provoking
her
.”

Kenton merely shrugged and turned to the window, his usual position. He was trying to convey disinterest in Lady Thorne, hoping he was able to do it adequately. “She said what she wanted to say,” he said. “Mayhap she will leave me alone from now on.”

Saxilby wriggled his eyebrows, turning for the door. “I have a feeling she might sneak up here to try and stick a dagger in your ribs,” he said. “Make sure you watch that door, le Bec. If Lady Thorne manages to bribe the guards to let her in, you may have to fight for your life.”

Kenton shrugged again, as if he didn’t care in the least, and Saxilby left the room without another word. When the door shut and he heard the bolt thrown, that was when Kenton’s guard came down.

Bravo, love,
he thought.

The man had a smile on his face for the rest of the day, for the hope he had prayed for, had wished for, was indeed alive and well. Hope, and love, had worked miracles.

Now they would see if it could work another.

Outside of Wakefield, Yorkshire

Warwick’s encampment

Trembling and terrified, Brome St. John’s sister stood by the brazier in Warwick’s big, lush tent, wrapped up in a heavy blanket that one of Warwick’s advisors had given her. Standing next to her was Lord Pollard, trying to speak with her, but Lady Katryne refused to speak at all. She was traumatized and furious and frightened, a volatile combination.

Warwick had been away from camp when Katryne had been brought in early in the morning and was only now returning as the day neared noon. The woman had spent several hours in Warwick’s tent, ignoring Pollard and weeping on occasion when Warwick, weary from his ride and not in the best of moods, finally made an appearance. De Russe and Wellesbourne were with him and when the three men entered the tent, especially the two enormous knights, Lady Katryne stiffened with terror.

“My lord,” Pollard said, eyeing the terrified woman. “You have a guest. Allow me to introduce….”

Pollard was cut off by Warwick as he moved to his broken-legged desk. “It can wait,” he snapped at the man. Then, he gestured wildly to Wellesbourne and de Russe. “And that is something else, good knights, our winter stores are very low and require replenishment. It is my suggestion we purchase goods immediately because we are returning to Warwick Castle very soon. From what we heard this morning whilst we were in Wakefield, it appears that Edward has gathered sufficient force and is moving south towards London. We need to move as well, quickly, and will need the supplies to sustain the men on the march.”

De Russe was removing his gloves as he spoke. “What about regaining Babylon and Manchester?”

“Our focus is elsewhere now, de Russe. Edward is on the move.”

The knights understood. They’d been told that morning by their scouts whom they met at a tavern in Wakefield that Edward, who had landed in Yorkshire the previous month, had gathered a significant army and was moving south, towards London. They had known of Edward’s landing in Yorkshire right after it happened but they hadn’t heard about the army he’d collected until recently. Now, things were changing all around them and the reclamation of Babylon wasn’t a priority any longer. Stopping, or engaging, Edward was now the focus. The situation was fluid and rapidly changing.

“How soon do we leave, my lord?” Wellesbourne asked.

Warwick took a deep breath, evidently laboring to calm himself. His entire focus was now on Edward’s movements and he was brittle and preoccupied.

“Within a few days,” he said, eyeing Lady Katryne in the dim tent as if just remembering someone else was there. Realizing it was a young woman, thoughts shifted from Edward as he found interested in her. “We will speak more of it later, but for now, do as you are instructed. We must rally supplies.”

De Russe and Wellesbourne nodded, quitting the tent with orders to fulfill. It was at that point that Warwick turned to Pollard and to Lady Katryne, who was holding the blanket tightly around her small body. Warwick fixed on her.

“Ah,” he said appraisingly. “Who can this be?”

Pollard spoke. “This is Lady Katryne St. John,” he said. “She has been brought from Lincolnshire, at your request.”

Warwick’s face lit up and his expression relaxed. “St. John,” he repeated with great satisfaction in his tone. “Can this be the sister?”

“It is, my lord.”

Warwick stepped out from behind his desk, his attention riveted to Katryne. “So she was with Lady Holland?” he said, more to Pollard, who nodded his head. “How splendid. Welcome to my humble encampment, my lady.”

Katryne, a small and very pretty girl, obviously backed away from him as he moved towards her. “I was told my brother was ill,” she said, her voice trembling. “Where is he?”

Warwick smiled thinly. “Were you well-treated on your trip north?” he asked, avoiding her question. “Were you well-fed? Were my men polite?”

Katryne backed away as he came close. “I was well-fed,” she said. “But where is my brother? I was told he asked for me.”

Warwick stopped stalking her because she was moving away from him with every step he took towards her. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“Your brother is not here,” he said. “Your brother is Brome St. John, is he not?”

Confused, frightened, Katryne nodded. “If he is not here, then where is he?”

Warwick jerked his head in a westerly direction, off in the general direction of Conisbrough. “He is the garrison commander at Conisbrough Castle, so I am told,” he said. “Can you confirm this?”

Katryne was puzzled at the moment more than she was frightened. “Aye,” she said. “The last I heard from him, he was. Why do you ask? And why am I here?”

Warwick moved away from her, back to his leaning desk where a covered pitcher of wine sat surrounded by dirty cups. He uncovered the pitcher, picked up a cup and shook it out, and filled it with some of the contents from the pitcher.

“Because I have need of you, my lady,” Warwick said, extending the cup to Pollard but indicating it was meant for the lady. “Will you please sit? I should like to discuss something with you.”

Katryne was standing far back from Warwick, in the shadows, but she timidly accepted the cup of wine when Pollard came near, mostly because she was very thirsty. Pollard indicated a chair for her to sit in, one he’d been trying to coerce her into for the past two hours. This time, she moved near the chair but she didn’t sit. She stood near it, very much on her guard. She didn’t want to be trapped by the man in armor, the man who had yet to tell her his name, so she remained on her feet, ready to run at a moment’s notice. Not that she could go anywhere, but she was ready to run nonetheless.

“I want to know why I am here,” Katryne said, firmly, although her voice was tremulous. “Why have you brought me here?
Who
are you?”

Warwick was seated at his desk, near the brazier. “I am Richard Neville,” he said. “Have you heard of me?”

Katryne frowned, thinking. “I… I believe so.”

“I am the Earl of Warwick.”

Her eyes widened as her fear returned, full-bore. “Warwick!” she gasped. Then, she started to move away from the chair again, preparing to run even though she knew she had nowhere to go. “What do you want of me?”

She was frightened. Warwick could hear it in her voice as well as see it in her actions. He didn’t move, watching her as she tried to angle towards the tent opening, possibly to make an escape. “You are quite important to me right now, Lady Katryne,” he said. “I wish you would sit so that we may discuss this rationally.”

Katryne shook her head. “Tell me what you want!”

Warwick was unmoved by her terror. He sipped at his wine. “Do you want to see your brother?”

“Of course I do!”

Warwick glanced at her. “Good,” he said. “He will want to see you, too. You see, he has one of my men and I very much want him back. In fact, I need him back now more than ever so it is my intention to offer you in exchange for my man. A rather fair trade, I would say. Your brother gets you and I get my man back. It is really very simple, truly.”

Oddly enough, Katryne seemed to calm significantly now that she knew why, exactly, she was here. Her trip to Warwick’s encampment had been based on lies and she really wasn’t all that surprised to realize that. In hindsight, she’d known all along. But the unknown of why, exactly, she had come fed her fear for the most part so now that she knew the reasons behind the abduction from Bradley Manor, she seemed to relax. Still, she stood near the door. She would not sit down, not yet.

“Then… then the tale the soldiers told Lady Holland about my brother asking for me was a lie?” she asked.

Warwick nodded. “It was,” he said regretfully. “It was necessary to bring you here, although I cannot imagine it was an easy task. You look as if you did not make it easy in the least.”

Katryne wasn’t sure what he meant. She looked down at herself, all wrapped up in the heavy blanket, and was puzzled. “Why would you say such things?” she asked.

Warwick drained his wine cup. “Because you are fearful and combative,” he said. “Am I wrong?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“Then, for Christ’s Sake, come over and sit down before you fall down,” he commanded softly. “Take some wine with me and let us discuss what will happen from this point on. Will you do this? No one is going to hurt you, my lady, I swear it. Do you believe me?”

She eyed him dubious. “Well….”

“Has anyone hurt you yet?”

No one had. Katryne began to see his point. Moreover, she had no real choice. Reluctantly, she finally went to sit in a chair opposite Warwick, near the brazier that was giving off a good deal of heat in the damp and cold tent. Pollard pulled up another chair and sat near Warwick, eyeing the fair young maiden who appeared vastly uncomfortable and vastly nervous.

“Now,” Warwick said as Katryne perched in the chair with her cup of wine still in hand, still untouched. “I will send a missive to your brother and relay my terms to him. We should have an answer shortly, as we are a two-day ride from Conisbrough. I am sure your brother will be more than happy to exchange his sister for the man he holds prisoner.”

Katryne watched him as he poured himself more wine. “And if he does not?”

Warwick lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Then you and I shall discuss your future,” he said. “I could marry you off to the highest bidder or I could send you to the nearest convent. Those are things we will discuss.”

Katryne eyed the man, a hardened man she thought. “You… you do not intend to kill me to punish my brother for refusing your terms?”

Warwick’s gaze lingered on her. “Does this frighten you?”

She thought on the question a moment. “Not as much as being ravaged does.”

Warwick smiled faintly. “You fear a man’s touch more than death?”

She shrugged. “I was educated by nuns, my lord,” she said. “I fear many things more than death.”

Warwick liked that answer. In fact, he was coming to respect the girl just a little. She was flighty and silly, but at least she was honest. He turned back to his wine. “In answer to your previous question, a dead young woman is no good to anyone,” he said. Then, he grinned. “Mayhap I will marry you off to your brother’s worst enemy. Is there anyone he hates in particular?”

Katryne could see humor in his face although she was unsure what, exactly, was so funny. “I do not know, my lord,” she said honestly. “It has been two years since I last saw my brother and would not know his mind these days.”

Warwick shrugged. “Well, it is something to think on,” he said, drinking his wine. “Meanwhile, I will send him a missive and we will wait eagerly for his answer. While we wait, you will be my guest. I am an excellent host, by the way.”

Katryne watched the man as he drank more wine and unlaced his boots, evidently weary after a busy morning. She had no way of knowing just how fatigued or how worried he was about Edward’s movements. And she couldn’t know how very badly he wanted Kenton back with Edward on the march. She simply kept the blanket wrapped around her tightly, like a shield, especially when the same two big knights entered the tent and Warwick engaged them in a discussion she could not hear.

She should have been rightly terrified at being a captive of the Earl of Warwick and, truth be told, she
was
frightened. But she was also oddly intrigued by it all. She was fairly certain her brother would negotiate for her release so she wasn’t worried in that regard. She was the only sister he had and she knew he would not let her languish, so her fears were somewhat eased by that thought. Therefore, she would be a prisoner of the Earl of Warwick for a few days until her brother delivered his prisoner in exchange for her, and she would have quite a tale to tell her friends. It wasn’t every young maiden from the dales of Cumbria who became a prisoner of the Earl of Warwick. She would be quite special in that regard.

Before the day was through, a messenger was riding hard for Conisbrough with a missive proposing the terms of a prisoner exchange – St. John’s sister for Kenton le Bec. If the terms were not agreed to, Warwick warned, St. John would get his sister back in pieces.

Katryne never knew that part of it and it was probably best that she didn’t.