Page 43 of Hers To Command
“Yet even so,” the king said firmly, “we cannot be too open with our favor. The barons are looking for anything they can use against us to foment rebellion.”
Roald could well believe that, especially after the king’s recent foray in France. It had been a disaster, and the king had been forced to agree to a five-year truce.
It was also no secret that many of the English nobles didn’t like the queen, believing that she was too eager to reward her relatives at the expense of England.
The clergy also held the queen in low esteem, for she seemed equally determined to reward her ecclesiastical relatives with power and influence. And if the church courts decided to make him pay for her sins by decreeing that his late uncle’s second will took precedent over the first—
Damn the law and all who practiced it! Damn the English and their courts! Damn everyone who stood in the way of his rightful inheritance!
The young monarch rubbed his chin and regarded Roald thoughtfully as he spoke. “We point out that when it comes to matters of law and property, possession is more important than words written on a parchment, even in Latin. Therefore, Sir Roald, if you should, by chance, come to possess the castle of Ecclesford, so much the better for you. We will always be ready to support the claim of a faithful courtier.”
Roald nearly shouted for joy. The king had as good as given him permission to take Ecclesford by force.
Oh, that shrew Mathilde was going to be sorry she ever tried to refuse him! Giselle was going to pay, too, for siding with her sister and always treating him as if he had ringworm. And D’Alton was really going to regret sticking his nose in something that didn’t concern him.
Thinking of that arrogant bastard, Roald assumed a mournful expression and didn’t hesitate to use the king’s dread of conspiracy to his advantage. “I fear my cousins have managed to find themselves an ally—the brother of the lord of Dunkeathe.”
Roald eagerly watched the king and queen’s reactions to that information. As he’d expected, they weren’t pleased. The lord of Dunkeathe had been given his estate by the king of Scotland, not England, and Lord Nicholas made little secret of his lack of respect for the rulers of England. Henry, too, had sometimes been less than judicious in his comments about the monarchy.
“I would hate for something…unfortunate…to happen to Sir Henry because he’s interfered in matters in which he should have no interest,” the king said slowly.
Roald was sure, from the gleam in the king’s eyes and the look in the queen’s, that if D’Alton should die, they would not be sorry. However, it was also true that Henry and his brother were not without allies at court, so they had to be cautious with their enmity.
The king rose. “We are fatigued,” he declared, gazing down at his wife. “We shall retire.”
“I, too, am weary,” she said, likewise getting to her feet, although the look she gave her husband was anything but indicative of fatigue. “Good day and good luck, Roald,” she said, bestowing a cool smile upon him.
He bowed deeply. “Your loyal servant, Your Majesty.”
“So I would hope,” she said before she turned and departed with the king.
Roald didn’t care if they started rutting behind the throne. Now that he had royal approval to take Ecclesford, he was more concerned about where he was going to find the money to raise an army. It would take more than ten men to capture the castle.
ROALD WAS STILLdeep in thought when he reached the small room he had rented in Southwark, across the London Bridge. In this crowded, stinking part of the City given over to entertainment and the vices that went with it, a man could hide more easily.
He was not expecting to find Charles De Mallemaison awaiting him in the murky shadows of his windowless room, with his sword drawn.
Roald instantly reached for his weapon, but before he could grab the hilt, De Mallemaison’s blade flashed like a striking snake, slicing Roald’s swordbelt from his body. It and his sword fell to the floor, striking the bare boards with a clatter.
Roald turned to flee, but De Mallemaison hauled him over the threshold and kicked the door closed behind him. Then he stood in front of it, blocking Roald’s escape.
“I’m here for the money—or something in lieu,” he said in his low, raspy voice.
Roald’s blood turned to ice. He couldn’t pay his debts; indeed, he would have to borrow more if he was to gain Ecclesford.
De Mallemaison’s blade hovered lower, near Roald’s manhood. “What’s it to be?”
As Roald regarded the man reputed to be the most cold-blooded mercenary in England, an idea came to his tumultuous mind—one so astonishingly brilliant, one that also offered the perfect solution to all his troubles, it was a wonder he hadn’t thought of it before.
“It seems you’ve come down in the world, De Mallemaison, if you’ve taken to collecting debts of tradesmen,” he said, no longer afraid in spite of the sword blade still close to his body.
A scowl darkened De Mallemaison’s features. “Don’t have it, eh?” He added a completely pitiless, “Too bad.”
Roald held up his hand. “I know a way you can earn more than the goldsmiths are paying you.” Not that he knew how much that was, although it was likely a considerable sum. De Mallemaison wouldn’t come cheap.
De Mallemaison’s eyes gleamed with greedy interest. “The goldsmiths pay well and you’re already in debt up to your neck. If you know a way to get money, how come you haven’t got it?”
“Because my cousins are stubborn fools who refuse to give me my rightful inheritance. However, I’ve just come from the king, who’s given me leave to take possession of my estate by any means necessary.”
