WolfeBite (De Wolfe Pack Generations #10)

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Two Days Later

“T ate, you know I will do anything you ask, but must we be separated?”

Tate could hear the sorrow in the young king’s voice. Having just returned from his hunting trip that morning, Edward, King of England, had been thrilled to see his uncle and mentor back at Woodstock. He was also thrilled to see his wife, whom he affectionately embraced beneath clear skies and soft winds. The hunt had been a success, and the young couple was reunited again, but according to Tate, that wasn’t going to last long.

Truly, Tate felt bad for him.

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “Mortimer has confided in a source I trust that he believes your mother to be pregnant with his child. It is his intention to supplant you with his own offspring, and we do not believe your mother will have the power to stop him, so until we can arrest Mortimer once and for all, you and the queen must be taken to separate locations of safety. It is for your own good, Edward, truly. You know I would not tell you this were it not so.”

Fair and lanky as he grew into manhood, Edward was genuinely disappointed. “I know,” he said. “And… and you believe this is credible?”

“I do.”

“But I am certain my mother would not agree to such a thing.”

Tate cocked a dark eyebrow, over the eye that was black and blue from the kick he’d received two days earlier. “We have discussed this,” he said, lowering his voice further. “Your mother is engaging in a difficult dance at this time. Mortimer has done things for her that she believes to have been helpful, and she feels that she is in his debt. Does she love the man? Or has he hypnotized her? No one can say but your mother, but the truth is that she has acquiesced to Mortimer before. Even in matters of your safety, so I do not trust her, I am sorry to say. Once again, you must go into hiding. I do not take pleasure in this, but if you want to live, it must be done.”

Edward trusted Tate more than anyone in the world because the man had nearly single-handedly kept him alive all these years, but he was still indecisive about splitting him from his wife.

“But Phillipa—” he began.

Tate cut him off, though not harshly. “Your wife carries the next heir to the throne,” he said in a tone that suggested the subject matter wasn’t up for debate. “Given what happened to your father, and what could possibly happen to you if we are not careful, the child your wife carries is the biggest threat of all to Mortimer’s quest for power. Do you understand me?”

“But why?”

“Roger Mortimer would kill your wife, and your child, and take pleasure in it. Is that plain enough?”

After that, Edward shut his mouth. There was no more time for protest, no more angles to play on this sickening situation. Tate had told him about Gideon of Loxbeare’s conversation, so he knew that Mortimer had plans for him. What Mortimer didn’t know was that Phillipa was pregnant.

With a child that would change everything.

“It is plain enough,” he finally said. “But you will listen to me, Tate. I am finished running from Mortimer. I am finished fearing him. The man must be stopped for good and I intend to do it. Your king has spoken.”

Tate dipped his head. “Aye, your grace,” he said. “The king has spoken, indeed, but what has he said other than he intends to stop Mortimer? How does he intend to do so?”

Edward’s jaw twitched. “That is something we shall discuss while sequestered at Carlisle,” he said. “The plans will be laid.”

“Good,” Tate said, approval in his eyes. “It is time.”

“But I still do not want to be separated from Phillipa.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice,” Tate said. “Think on a scenario where we rush you both off to hide and Mortimer discovers you. If he discovers you, he discovers her. Would you truly put her in such danger? But if you are separated, it will take much more work on Mortimer’s part to locate you. Even if he does, he may decide it is not worth the risk to lay siege to Carlisle or Ashendon.”

“Ashendon?”

“Seat of the Earl of Hull,” Tate said. “That is Leo’s seat.”

Edward nodded quickly as he was reminded of what he already knew. “I’ve not seen Ashendon but I hear it is a massive place,” he said. “And I remember that the previous earl was loyal to my father. What was his name? Ned or Nolan de Cottingham?”

“Edmund de Cottingham,” Tate corrected him. “He was a good man, loyal to the Crown. That is why your father arranged the marriage between his widow and Leo when Edmund passed away. It was to stabilize the Hull earldom, but also to link them to de Wolfe. You know they control the entire northern border. Marrying Leo to Lady Hull not only gave Leo the earldom, but it brought three thousand soldiers to support the de Wolfe empire. It was a wise political move.”

Edward’s memory was refreshed as Tate spoke. “I heard about Lady Hull’s death last year,” he said. “And there are children now?”

Tate nodded. “They were her children from her marriage to Edmund,” he said. “She died giving birth to Leo’s daughter, who also died.”

“Was he sad about that?”

Tate eyed him. Edward may have been barely a man, and he was mature in some ways, but he was immature in others, including empathy. “I will tell you so that you do not ask him,” he said. “Aye, he was sad. He and Lady Hull had a good marriage. That is why he came to Woodstock so quickly when Marcus de Lohr summoned him into your protection detail. I think he wanted to leave the sad memories behind.”

Edward pondered that. “Phillipa likes him,” he said. “She says he behaves like her father.”

Tate smiled faintly. “Leo’s stepchildren are about your age, I think,” he said. “At least, the older one is. A daughter, I believe. Then there are younger twins, a boy and a girl. He’s had to assume the fatherly role in their lives, so I’m not surprised he’s that way with Phillipa.”

Edward averted his gaze for a moment, thinking on what was to come. They were in a small antechamber next to the king’s hall, a room that was much more private and secure than the gaping hall. It was just him and Tate because Tate wanted to speak with him privately about the situation, and Edward could understand why.

But he still wasn’t happy about it.

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

“As soon as Phillipa can pack a satchel,” Tate said. “The sooner we leave, the better. We must get to Carlisle before Mortimer catches on to the fact that we are moving you out of Woodstock.”

“He would try to stop us,” Edward said. “He would block the roads. He would know me on sight.”

Tate smiled ironically. “Not really,” he said. “Ken is going with Leo to Ashendon, so we are going to dress you in his armor and tunic. It will only be you, me, and Stephen. If men see us, they will think you are St. Hever.”

Edward looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you mad?” he said. “Kenneth is considerably bigger than I am. The man has arms the size of tree branches.”

Tate chuckled. “We will stuff the tunic, have no doubt,” he said, but quickly sobered. “I know you do not want to go, Edward, but it must be this way. If you truly want to protect your wife and child, then it must be this way.”

Edward understood. He’d had it drilled into him. He slumped a little, thinking of the wife he would soon be separated from.

“Does Phillipa know?” he finally asked.

Tate shook his head. “I thought I would leave that to you,” he said. “No matter how much she begs, you must be strong. Convince her that it is only temporary.”

Edward mulled over the suggestion. “I thought to tell her that I am going on a great mission,” he said. “One that will secure our future. If she thinks I am doing something with the knights, then she will not ask to come.”

Tate’s lips twitched with a smile. “It’s sweet that you think so,” he said wryly. “She asks to go everywhere you go, including hunting. What makes you think she’ll not want to go on a military mission?”

Edward shrugged, fighting off a grin. “She will listen to me.”

“Again, it’s sweet that you think so.”

“Does your wife not listen to you?”

Tate looked at him incredulously. “Toby?” he said. “You know her. How well do you think she obeys me?”

That gave Edward pause. “My wife is more obedient.”

Tate broke down into soft laughter. “Every wife in England is more obedient than mine,” he said. “But she is mine and I would not trade her away for all the gold in the world.”

Edward reluctantly grinned. “I understand,” he said. “I like Toby. You are deserving of her.”

“She is deserving of me ,” Tate said, putting his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Come along, now. Let us see if you can convince your obedient wife not to come on a mission of significant importance.”

Edward stood up. “I cannot make it sound too dangerous,” he said. “I do not want to worry her.”

They headed for the door. “Just dangerous enough,” Tate said.

“Precisely. Just dangerous enough.”

They reached the door that led to the queen’s suite of rooms, but Edward came to a pause before they passed through, facing the knight who was his uncle, his mentor, and his friend. Tate de Lara was all those things to Edward, the man who had been the steadiest male figure in his life.

A role model, even.

The young king caught a glimpse of the sword at Tate’s side.

“Dragonblade,” he muttered, indicating the sword when Tate looked at him questioningly. “The sword that gave you your name. Will you pass it on to your son, I wonder, or will you be buried with it?”

Tate looked down at the heavy sword with the dragon-head hilt in its scabbard at his side. Edward referred to the moniker that he had acquired a long time ago as a young knight. That distinctive sword had defined him in battle, but his prowess had firmly cemented his reputation as an elite knight and fearless warrior.

Llafn y Ddraig was what the Welsh had called him.

Dragonblade.

He put his hand on the sword.

“I will not be buried anytime soon,” he said. “Nor will you. But in answer to your question, you do realize that this is a Welsh sword, forged by my mother’s ancestors because Wales is the land of dragons. The sword did not start with me, nor does it end with me. Is Roman, my son, worthy of it? He will be a great knight someday. He will be the Earl of Carlisle after I am gone. But during my lifetime, he will have to prove himself to me worthy of the sword. If he is not, then mayhap I know a young king who is.”

Edward’s eyes widened as he looked up at him. “Me?”

With a smile, Tate opened the door and stepped through, leaving Edward to follow. They headed over to the panel leading to the queen’s antechamber, and the moment they opened it, they ran into Leonidas. He’d just come from the stables, selecting the mount that would take the queen into East Yorkshire, so he had entered the antechamber the same time Tate and Edward did, only Edward hadn’t seen Leonidas since his return from hunting.

One look at the man and he burst into laughter.

Leonidas knew why.

“Laugh if you must, your grace,” he said, sighing sharply. “I’ve just endured servants and soldiers alike doing the same thing, but this will be the last of it. There will be no more laughter in an hour.”

Tate was struggling to keep a straight face. “What do you intend to do?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Leonidas lifted a hand and pounded on the door leading to the queen’s privy chamber. Edward, hands over his mouth, could see that Leonidas was quite annoyed, but he couldn’t stop laughing.

“What happened?” he asked between snorts. “Who did that to you?”

Leonidas’ eyes narrowed. “Someone who will pay, your grace,” he said. He pounded again and shouted, “Open the door! The king has arrived!”

The door abruptly swung open, straight into Leonidas, bashing him squarely in the face because he’d been unprepared for it to open so swiftly. Christelle stood in the doorway, her eyes wide as she realized she’d hit the man, who was standing there with a hand over his nose and mouth.

“ You, ” he growled. “I should have known it would be you.”

Christelle was genuinely contrite. “I did not mean to do it,” she said, moving to inspect the damage. “Let me see what I’ve done.”

“This!” Leonidas hissed, pointing at the red cross on his forehead. “You did this and now I am a laughingstock, so if you do not remove this thread, I am going to do it myself and probably tear a hole in my forehead.”

Tate and Edward slipped into the privy room, grinning, as Christelle faced Leonidas apologetically.

“It was the only thread I could find,” she lied. “It needed to be stitched up quickly and that was all I could find at the moment.”

He sighed sharply, with great disapproval. “Take it out.”

She hesitated. “Removing it may pull the wound apart again,” she said. “I do not think enough time has passed to allow it to heal properly.”

He frowned. “I do not care,” he said. “Remove it or I will.”

“Do you want me to replace it with thread of another color?”

He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I do not trust you. I will have Stephen sew it up. He used to be a Hospitaller and, I’m sure, will do a far better job than you did.”

Christelle nodded. “As you wish,” she said, turning for the privy chamber. “Come inside and I will do it.”

He followed her into that cluttered chamber that was now moist with humidity because the queen had taken a bath earlier. Christelle indicated for him to sit on the same stool he’d sat on before while she went to find a sewing kit.

Leonidas watched her closely, making sure she wasn’t grabbing a hammer to use on the wound instead of a needle and thread. What he wanted to do was put her over his knee and spank her because he’d endured almost three days of men snickering at him as he’d walked by, knowing that red cross on his forehead looked ridiculous. He was certain she’d meant it as a joke, but what it had done was undermine men’s respect for him.

That was something he wouldn’t tolerate.

Spanking her, however, was out of the question. The Blackchurch-trained warrior in her would not stand still for that, and he could find himself in more of a fight than he had intended. Nay, Christelle was different from the annoying women he knew, mostly because she was far more dangerous. That lovely, fiery woman wasn’t just something pleasing to the eye.

She was also deadly.

Therefore, he had to tread carefully in his quest for revenge.

But make no mistake… revenge would come.

Christelle returned with a sewing kit that had at least a dozen different colors of silk thread. Leonidas could see it as she set it down on the table next to him. Amidst the moist air of the chamber and the faint smell of lavender, he sat still as she silently and swiftly remove the red thread from his forehead. Leonidas kept his eyes closed because if he opened them, she would have been six inches away and he didn’t want to study the woman and her perfection more than he already had. If he didn’t focus on his annoyance with her, me might actually feel some attraction, so it was important that he didn’t. Therefore, he kept his eyes closed. Even so, he could still feel her touch.

And that would have to be enough.

*

Here she was, close to him again.

This wasn’t how she’d expected her day to go. Christelle had been helping Phillipa mix some paint colors because Phillipa liked to paint from time to time, but here Christelle was, standing a few inches away from Leonidas and dragging out removing those stitches because she didn’t want to be finished too soon. She liked standing next to the man who was more than twice her size, even if she did make a game out of annoying him. She especially liked it when he smiled because he had a beautiful smile, with straight teeth, and big canines that protruded slightly, enough to give him a rather fang-like appearance. She’d heard the soldiers whisper about Leonidas—

Le Morsure

The Bite.

In battle, that was a terrifying expression, or so she’d heard. Soldiers talked and, over the past year, she’d listened. Leonidas used that fanged smile to frighten his enemies because he had a helm designed in the image of a wolf so that when he smiled, his teeth were fully visible. She knew that he had dozens of cousins and four brothers. She’d heard him tell Phillipa about his family once, and he had four older sisters and four younger brothers, born to a diplomat and his lady wife, whose father was the captain of the army at Northwood Castle, far to the north.

In fact, Leonidas had been born in the north and spent a good deal of time there until he fostered at Kenilworth and Warwick Castles before enduring the rigorous training at Blackchurch. Christelle had endured it as well, only years after he had, but the truth was that she had failed at an exercise in her third year, which had drummed her out of the guild. Blackchurch only allowed one mistake from its recruits in the five years it took to train there, and she’d made her one mistake. But it didn’t really matter because she was still highly trained at that point. However, it was an embarrassment for her to admit she hadn’t finished the training.

But she’d finished enough.

But Leonidas…

He was a warrior beyond anything she could ever hope to be.

As Christelle was removing the last stitch, they began to hear voices from the queen’s chamber. The voices grew louder until they could hear Phillipa shrieking about something. They could only hear the tone, not the words, and Christelle looked at the door with concern. Setting down the tiny scissors she’d been using to remove Leonidas’ stitches, she started to move toward the panel, but Leonidas grasped her by the wrist.

“Nay,” he said quietly. “Leave them alone.”

Christelle frowned. “But my lady is upset,” she said. “Should I—”

He cut her off, but softly. “You needn’t do anything,” he said. “Finish my forehead.”

“It is finished,” she said. Then she gestured toward the chamber door. “What is going on in there?”

Leonidas let go of her wrist. “What does my forehead look like?” he said, ignoring her question. “Do you need to replace the stitches?”

Christelle’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before she looked back at the wound, studying it. “I do not think it is necessary unless you want your scar to be minimal,” she said. “It will heal, but without stitches, the scar will be bigger. The skin will stretch a little.”

Behind the door, Phillipa began weeping. They could both hear it. Christelle took a step toward the door again, but Leonidas grasped her wrist one more time and stopped her.

“Leave them alone,” he muttered again. “This is not a situation for you. Stay out of it.”

She looked at him again. “ What is happening?”

Leonidas inhaled, taking a deep breath of contemplation. “Edward and Tate are telling her that she and her husband must be separated for a while,” he said quietly. “She is reacting to it.”

Christelle’s brow furrowed. “Separated?” she said. “Why?”

Leonidas was still holding on to her wrist as he gazed up at her. “What I tell you will not leave this room,” he said. “Do you understand me?”

She nodded without hesitation. “If you ask, I will comply,” she said. “But what is it all about?”

He tugged on her wrist, directing her toward a chair that was a few feet away from him. “Sit down,” he said. “I will tell you, but this is for your ears only.”

Christelle promptly took her seat and looked at him expectantly. “Has something happened?”

Leonidas still seemed hesitant to tell her. “I realize that you and I have not worked closely together even though we both serve the king and queen, so I’ve not built any trust in you,” he said. “Know that my trust is given, but if broken, you will never have it again.”

“The same can be said for me,” Christelle said. “I do not abide liars, and if I tell you that I will not repeat anything, I will not. Now, can you tell me what has happened?”

Leonidas didn’t insult her by delaying further. They understood one another, so there would be no mistake if she broke her word.

“We have it on good authority that Isabella may be pregnant with Mortimer’s child,” he said in a low voice. “It is Mortimer’s intention to supplant Edward with his own offspring. There was a time, in the past, when de Lara and St. Hever and Pembury took Edward into hiding to protect him from Mortimer and, unfortunately, we are going to have to do the same thing again, only it is more important now that Phillipa is with child. That will make her Mortimer’s target, as well.”

It was shocking news. Since Leonidas had never shared information with Christelle, she took it very seriously. Gone was, perhaps, the flippant attitude toward him, the one always daring him to take her challenge so she could verbally best him. Or stitch a red cross in his forehead.

For once, she took him seriously.

With Phillipa involved, she had little choice.

“That is not welcome news,” she said after a moment. “Roger Mortimer seems to have been quiet over the last several months. Now we see that he was, mayhap, not so quiet.”

Leonidas shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Therefore, the plan is to send Edward to Carlisle Castle with Tate and Stephen, while Ken and I will take Phillipa to Ashendon Castle.”

“Where is that?”

“East Yorkshire.”

“You were born there?”

“Nay,” he said. “But it belongs to me through marriage.”

She cocked her head. “I did not know you were married.”

He eyed her. “How much do you know about me?”

Christelle shook her head. “I know you are a knight who used to serve Henry’s father,” she said. “I know your father was a great diplomat and that you are from a powerful northern family. Truthfully, you and I have not had much contact other than what was completely necessary, so I do not know much about you.”

“Not even rumor?”

Again, Christelle shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “The queen only speaks of Edward and her family in Brabant. Sometimes she speaks of Tate. He is Edward’s uncle.”

“He is.”

She shrugged. “Then I know you are knights in Edward’s service and that he trusts you completely,” she said. “That is all I really need to know. Why do you ask?”

“Because Ashendon Castle is my seat, as the Earl of Hull,” he said. “I obtained the title when I married the widow of the former Earl of Hull—and, nay, I am no longer married. My wife died last year.”

Christelle was a bit taken aback by his frankness and his story. “I see,” she said, with perhaps a hint of remorse. “I did not know that you were an earl, my lord. And I am very sorry about your wife. My sympathies to you.”

His gaze lingered on her a moment before he stood up and looked for the big, polished mirror that Phillipa kept in the chamber. It was in the corner and he made his way to it, inspecting his forehead once he could see his reflection.

“It is healed enough,” he said. “It does not need further stitches.”

“It might,” she said, peering over at him. “If it pulls apart, it will bleed again.”

He grunted and turned away from the mirror. “That should be a source of pride for you,” he said. “I am going to tell everyone who will listen how you tried to kill me. You can gloat.”

She smiled faintly. “I do not think so,” she said. “Gloating is in such bad taste.”

He let out a guffaw, those famous canines making an appearance as he grinned. “You think so?” he said. “If it were me, I would gloat. I suppose that means I have bad taste.”

“You probably do,” she said. “But I shall not hold it against you because when you take the queen to Ashendon, I go with her. And I should not like to be looking over my shoulder for the duration.”

He conceded the point. “Wise,” he said as he wandered back in her direction, listening to more crying in the queen’s chamber. “It sounds as if Edward has his hands full with his wife. I do not envy him.”

Christelle watched him as he sat down on the stool again. “You speak from experience, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Do you have children?”

“Do you?”

He deflected the question right back at her and she looked surprised. “Of course not,” she said. “I am not married, nor have I ever been. I do not ever expect to be.”

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

She looked at him as if he were daft. “Who would want a wife like me?” she said. “I’m not a fine lady, trained in a fine household, but rather a woman trained in a way most women aren’t. And do not make jokes about it. I do not find them humorous.”

“I was not attempting to be humorous,” he said. “You are relatively young and if you would brush your hair once in a while, you would be quite comely. Do you not have a dowry? Is that it?”

She looked at him, rage on her features. “I told you not to jest about it,” she growled. “Do not talk to me anymore.”

With that, she stomped off toward the door leading into the queen’s chamber, leaving Leonidas puzzled.

Puzzled and intrigued.

“Come back over here,” he commanded softly. “Come along—turn around and come back over here.”

“Why? So you can make jokes about me?”

“I was not joking when I said you were comely,” he said. “We may not know each other well, but I suspect that you know me well enough to know that I do not say anything that is not the truth. Now, come back here and sit down.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t make me come over there and get you.”

There was a threat in that, and Christelle eyed him with a frown. But he was waving a hand at her, gesturing for her to return, so she did. Reluctantly, she did. Truthfully, she didn’t want him dragging her back to the chair, which he was pointing at.

“Sit down,” he said. “I think you and I must have a discussion.”

“Why?”

“Because you know about me but I do not know about you, and if we are to work closely together with the queen, then we should remedy that.”

Christelle considered that. She’d admired de Wolfe from afar for so long that the thought of actually having a conversation with the man that didn’t involve insults or relaying the queen’s wishes seemed… interesting.

Unnerving, even.

“Very well,” she said, still not particularly happy with him. “What do you want to know?”

Leonidas sat back down on his stool, facing her. “Start from the beginning,” he said. “You were not born in England.”

She shook her head. “I was born in Metz.”

Leonidas nodded. “That is the duchy of Lorraine,” he said. “Your family is not ruled by France.”

“Nay,” Christelle replied. “My father and the queen’s father are old friends. That is how I came into her service.”

“As a woman protector?”

“Can you think of anyone better to protect the queen and remain close to her at all times?”

Leonidas shook his head. “Probably not,” he said. “But the truth is that we all thought it was mad when you first came to serve Phillipa. That is, we thought it was until we saw you in action for the first time. Then we did not think it was so mad.”

“The servant who tried to touch her?”

“The man whose arm you broke.”

“He should not have tried to touch her.”

Leonidas couldn’t argue with that, but he was getting the distinct feeling that she didn’t want to talk about herself. Christelle had always come across as professional and guarded, and even now in this situation, she remained wary. If she wasn’t insulting him or taunting him, she was wary of him. He’d seen her with Phillipa and knew she could be easy with her laughter and quick with a smile, but she’d never been that way with him.

Given his attraction to her, perhaps that was a good thing.

But he had to make things clear.

“Agreed,” he said. Then he fixed her in the eye. “Lady, we are to spend a good deal of time together in the future, so the only purpose of this conversation is so we’ll be more at ease with one another. You will be in my home, around my children and around me, so I am asking you politely—be respectful and show restraint. No more red crosses on my forehead. By doing that, you imply a lack of respect for me and you try to undermine the respect my men have for me, so I do not want to be the butt of any further jokes from you. Do you understand me?”

She eyed him as if debating whether or not to agree. “In my defense, the truth is that I did not know you were an earl,” she said. “I thought you were simply a knight like the others. I thought…”

He held up a hand to stop her from continuing. “Tate is the Earl of Carlisle,” he said. “Kenneth is a widely respected knight and Stephen will assume the Culpepper barony on the death of his father, so we are not simply ‘knights.’ We are knights of the highest order and, I might remind you, Tate and I are also Blackchurch trained. That should invite respect immediately.”

Christelle knew she didn’t have a point to argue so she simply nodded her head. “I understand,” she said. “No more red crosses. But it really was the only thread I could find in a hurry.”

“And no more lying.”

“I am not lying.”

He knew it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a topic he chose to fight about. Scratching his chin, he studied her. “So you say,” he muttered. “Tell me where you fostered.”

“Foix Castle.”

“How did you come to Blackchurch?”

Christelle sighed sharply. “This is not a conversation,” she said. “This is an interrogation. You want to know about me? Then let me tell you. I am the only child of Bernard de Lorrain. My father is of the House of Lorraine and he serves Louis IV.”

“The Holy Roman Emperor?”

“Indeed,” she said, rather clipped. “My father’s mother was a de Hapsburg, which makes me related to several royal families. When my father was young, he spent a few years with the King of France because France held him as a hostage against his own family’s disobedience against the French throne, so when I was born, my father made a vow.”

“What vow?”

She calmed a little. “Isabella is French,” she said. “My father has no love for the French. Given the fact that Phillipa’s father and my father are childhood friends and distant cousins, it was agreed when Phillipa was betrothed to Edward that I should go with her as her lady-in-waiting, only my father wanted to make sure that I could protect Phillipa adequately. He did not want me to be a weak lady. He wanted me to be strong and sure. When I fostered at Foix, I was trained by their sword master, and when I came of age, my father sent me to Blackchurch. He told me that if I failed to be accepted into their training, then I was not to come home.”

That diatribe explained quite a bit about Christelle’s background, and Leonidas acknowledged that. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “Now I know a little about you and you know a little about me. We will be more comfortable comrades in the future.”

The crying on the other side of the door ceased and the panel abruptly opened, effectively ending their conversation. Tate spilled forth, looking straight at Leonidas.

“We leave at dawn,” he said. “Have you selected an appropriate palfrey for the queen?”

Leonidas stood up from the stool. “I have,” he said. “But wouldn’t it be better for the queen to ride in a wagon, given her condition?”

Tate shook his head. “You’re not traveling on horseback all the way home,” he said. “You are going to London where you shall take a cog and travel by sea. It should be easier on her and also keep her away from Mortimer and his supporters. Less chance of her falling into his hands if she is on the ocean.”

Leonidas understood. “Have arrangements already been made for the cog?”

“I’m sending Ken ahead to do precisely that,” Tate said. “You will meet him in London and then all of you will continue on to Hull. Come—we shall find Ken and make plans.”

His manner was weary and sharp, unusual for him, but that told Leonidas that there had been quite a battle in the queen’s chamber. Tate was eager to move on. With preparations to make for the coming journey, Tate and Leonidas headed out of the manor, leaving Christelle watching them go. Of course, when she told Leonidas of her relationship to the Crown, and her duties to Phillipa, she’d left out one very major point—that she was still in touch with her father, sending him missives of any and all developments between Mortimer and Edward, and splitting up the royal couple and sending them into hiding was, indeed, a major development.

One could always find messengers in London willing to delivery missives for a price.

And she had one to send.