“We’re taking you with us to the bishop’s palace,” Victor said, and Simon didn’t have the strength to argue against it for his own well-being. He was too busy fighting off the waves of pain Victor’s confused look had brought.
Simon had caused Theodora Rosemont’s death as surely as if he’d followed Glayer Felsteppe’s orders precisely. And the bright, young, quiet boy’s, too. The child may as well have died in the fire that took his family, the less cruelty he likely would have suffered.
“Simon, can you hear me?” Victor demanded, drawing his attention from the chasm of despair Simon wanted to throw himself into. “I want you to tell me about the woman.Look at me.”
Simon raised his eyes to the priest.
Victor’s gaze was intense. “Tell me everything.”
And so Simon did.
Chapter 22
Constantine felt as though he had entered into another foreign country rather than the London he had once known so well. The sights and sounds that were familiar to him as General Gerard, and then as the earl of Chase, seemed hostile to him now as he led Theodora Rosemont through the streets on their tired mounts. They drew suspicious stares from the night walkers prowling the growing shadows—two people of poor dress but traveling astride—and Constantine kept his senses attuned and his sword beneath his hand as they drew ever closer to their destination.
It was evening, but the king’s household was still engaged in raucous activity, if the stream of people going to and fro the wide building were any indication. Constantine thought to ease past the guards into the courtyard unnoticed, but one sharp-eyed sentry seized the bridle of Constantine’s horse at the last moment.
“Where d’you think you’re going, mate? The fair’s moved on—naught for you to see nor buy any longer, if you had a penny to your name.”
Constantine had to steel himself from jerking his horse free. He spoke calmly. “I’ve come bearing important news for the king. The lady I travel with requires an immediate audience.”
The guard leaned sideways and eyed Dori with a smirk before straightening and looking askance at Constantine. “Lady, you say.”
“Yes, lady. We’ve been traveling the whole of the day. Our horses require shelter and feed, and we must see the king at once.”
“Your horses are of the better sort, and your speech is fine, but many connivers’ are.” By now the milling crowd about the torchlit courtyard had turned toward them in blatant curiosity and were watching the exchange with hungry gazes. “But if I interrupted the king with every beggar who wished to bend his ear, I’d be tossed from my post into the gutter.”
“Your post won’t be endangered in the slightest. Only announce our petition to the king,” Constantine suggested as calmly as he could. “He will want to see us, I assure you.”
The guard gave a bored sigh and then signaled to one of the pages along the wall behind him.
“Deliver a message to court,” he told the lad, and then paused and looked up at Constantine. “Who shall I say is calling upon His Majesty?”
“The earl of Chase and the Lady Theodora Rosemont.”
The guard’s eyebrows drew together as he stared up at Constantine and then Dori in turn, his arm waggling as the horse he still held shook its head in impatience.
Constantine did not elaborate, nor did he break his gaze with the sentry.
“You heard the man,” the guard said to the page, this time with much less scorn in his voice. “Announce the earl of Chase and Lady Theodora Rosemont. Return as quickly as your feet can carry you.”
The boy was off through the crowd in a flash, although Constantine saw the lad pause twice at different clusters of people gathered in the courtyard, his mouth moving rapidly before holding out his hand for payment and dashing away.
A rumbling hush swept through the space beyond the gate as the guard drew Constantine’s attention.
“If you’ll dismount, my lord, I’ll have your horses seen to.” Constantine swung down, recognizing the guard’s cunning. If Constantine turned out to be who he said he was, the man would ingratiate himself to a noble; if Constantine was lying, he would be unable to escape and would likely be thrown directly into prison.
He moved to Theodora’s horse and reached up to take hold of her waist as she slid down into his arms.
“What’s happening?” she whispered into his ear as a large retinue of riders exited the gate near them, a noble of obvious importance somewhere in the center of the group outfitted with great pomp, not to mention accompanied by a goodly number of the king’s own men.
“We’re being announced.” He set her on her feet and placed her hand in the crook of his arm when she fidgeted with her skirts. “Only a few moments.”
“I think I might be sick. What if he won’t see us?” Her fingers tightened on his arm and she leaned in to speak near his shoulder. “They’re all looking at me, whispering.”
Constantine turned his face to look down at Theodora, her heart-shaped face a mask of dread. “It’s because you’re beautiful, Dori,” he said with a smile. “It’s why they’ve always whispered.”
“Lord Gerard?”
