Chapter 10

Boston, Lincolnshire

S omewhere in this port town were those Richarde had been tasked with discovering—a nest of Les Fléaux de l’Anglais surely commanded to locate seafarers in service to the one first named a scourge to the English.

Since Richarde and Charles—another mostly trusted—strove to conceal the identities of those behind The Great Mercia Shipping Company, Gert could only guess at what was planned. Hopefully, soon those plans would be finalized and implemented, ending the worst pirating along England’s coast and seeing justice served.

Seven good years lost to me, Gert, Amaury thought. Seven ill years owed you, though I would settle for a fairly swift death and end to your enterprise if sooner I could reunite with the boy you made fatherless.

Or would I? he questioned as he looked to the hooded and hunched Richarde barely riding alongside. Had he internal bleeding, likely death rode his other side. Though sleep had benefitted him as Lady Fira predicted, only so far that he was able to ride unassisted the last league of the journey so they not draw attention—especially that of Baudri and Herman who might watch for them.

His own head covered by a cap and the lady’s a hood, Amaury looked from others traversing the bridge over the ditch surrounding Boston to St. John’s Hospital erected outside the town. Operated by Knights Hospitaller monks, Richarde would have been tended there if not for a safer option than the holy order associated with King Edward’s enforcement of the law.

As they came off the bridge into town, the lady shifted against Amaury’s chest and turned her face toward him. “I worry for Richarde. We must get him abed quickly.”

Amaury looked from the main street off which they would turn to get out from behind the throng coming to buy and sell at market and met her gaze. “Soon, Lady.”

She gave a nod. “’Tis a busy town.”

“As are most places whose livelihood depend on import and export.”

Her mouth curved slightly. “I know ’tis mostly wool and grain sold across the sea. What is imported?”

He preferred not to converse while negotiating streets with which he became fairly acquainted once it was determined the town would serve his purpose, but as the breaking of her silence surely meant she was recovering from last eve’s ill, he said, “Wine, spices, cloth, and from Scandinavia come timber and fish.”

When he urged his mount down a narrow, less-traveled street with Richarde following, she shifted around. Narrowing her lids to better see Amaury without donning spectacles, she said, “I am thinking Boston also imports pirates.”

He hesitated. “I believe so, though not in abundance. If Sir Achard searched here for those harrying the coast, likely he and his men have continued north.”

How near Scotland might they venture? he wondered. And would the king’s man risk taking forces into Scotland to search out the great number of Les Fléaux given safe harbor in exchange for harrying the English? If so, would his army be sizable and clever enough to end their incursions on sea and land?

Returning to the lady, he said, “Once I have secured rooms for you and Richarde, I will confirm whether Sir Achard was in Boston and if he remains.”

“And send word to my brother, the baron.”

“Oui,” he said, and when she turned forward again, looked to the man who over and again proved an ally. “Not much farther, Richarde.”

“I can make it to the docks.”

“Non, you and Lady Fira require better lodgings,” Amaury said with an edge for mentioning the docks in her presence. If she even halfway believed once more he flew the flag of Le Fléau de l’Anglais—whether in the singular or plural—that belief would be furthered. “For safety’s sake and to see your injuries well tended,” he added.

Richarde snorted. “You fear you will have to…break me out as we did the lad.”

“Easier done him than it would be you,” Amaury said with finality since the lady need learn no more of his business. As for the boy who, useful in sending and receiving messages, last year yielded to the temptation of his former occupation—cutting the purse of a nobleman who then stuck him with a blade—Donal had been taken to the hospital outside town rather than left to bleed out.

On the ill side of that good fortune, he would have had to answer to the law, and not only for thieving as a St. John’s layman told Richarde. Whilst in a fever, the lad spoke of pirates, which was reported to the sheriff. Upon learning Donal was to be taken for questioning before fully healed, Amaury had delayed his plan to settle in Wulfenshire to retrieve him. The Knights Hospitaller were monks, but their fighting skills were not to be underestimated—though that night they had been, Amaury and Richarde sustaining wounds that required stitching.

The boy they brought out had healed and become more committed to his employer. But then, he was not slain to ensure his silence, which would have been easier than taking him from a place that was more fortress than hospital.

Now, for going the long way to the finer side of town to avoid being seen by undesirables, it took nearly twice as long to reach the inn that was among Boston’s best. However, of greatest import, the innkeeper and his middle-aged daughter were trusted acquaintances beholden to Amaury and Richarde for thwarting an attempt to relieve the elderly man of his horse, purse, and life when the former pirates first traveled to Boston. Thus, they would provide more than what was due patrons lodging beneath their roof—above all, discretion and reports if anything seemed amiss.

Arriving at the rear of the inn whose ground floor was constructed of cut stone and those above it timber, Amaury looked to the boy hastening forward to greet those who, unlike most come this side, did not deliver food nor drink supplies.

“Send a groom to stable our horses, then inform your mistress I require two adjoining rooms and her sire’s physician,” Amaury once more tempered his French accent, just as he would when that woman appeared.

“Aye, Master Argent,” the boy said and hurried away.

“Argent?” Lady Fira questioned, looking around again. “ Pray, Amaury de Chanson, also known as Mason of bent back and bad leg, how many other names have you?”

“No more,” he said almost truthfully since The Great Mercia Shipping Company likely qualified.

“Yet,” she said.

“As two beyond the true suffice, I doubt I shall add to them.”

She harrumphed. “At least the false are meaningful.”

“One meaningful to you as well,” he acknowledged their D’Argent kinship he hoped would be of some comfort when he must leave her for a time.

Without commenting on that, she said, “If Richarde has not gone down into sleep, soon he shall.”

Lest he lose the saddle, Amaury dismounted and stabilized him until the groom appeared, then came Alice who set all in motion without questioning him.

Once the physician completed his examination and concluded Richarde needed only healing rest and a draught to ease the pain, Amaury rapped on the inner door between his man’s room and the lady’s.

He was not kept waiting, being the one slow to respond when she opened the door. Having unraveled her braids, hair framed her freckled face, draped her shoulders, and skimmed her slender waist. Though it had yet to be washed, it shone from the toil of a brush provided with the robe she wore while awaiting the return of garments sent for laundering.

For the brilliance of red tresses rimmed in gold, Amaury felt the tight of his jaw and thump in his chest. Another thing bothered—that she seemed not to know how lovely she was. Unlike Alainne, Lady Fira’s bright green eyes did not reflect the mischief of one certain of her beauty and ability to use it to gain what might be denied her.

Granted, this lady’s comeliness was not the sort that snapped a man’s head around to gaze hungrily at what he wished. It was the kind requiring an admirer exercise patience to gain the greater reward of savoring what he hoped others overlooked.

Clearly I am long without a woman’s attentions, he silently berated.

Before he could remedy the awkward silence, the lady’s frown became wide-eyed alarm. Clapping a hand to her upper chest exposed between the robe’s lapels, she closed the door to a hand’s width. “’Twas inappropriate to answer thus. I vow I am not wanton. I am…” She blinked. “…unprepared for all that has happened.”

Now greater this forbidden attraction, and further it confounded. Because in spite of all she endured, including the horror of slaying a man, some of her light had returned?

“Chevalier?”

“Forgive me, my lady, and be assured I do not question your virtue.” He stepped to the side to show Richarde on the bed. “The physician tells he needs rest and medication to ease his pain. Alice will check on him every few hours, but I shall leave his side of the door unlocked so you may aid if you hear anything indicating he requires assistance.” At her hesitation, he added, “I vouch he will do you no harm.”

“You know him that well?”

He nearly told he was first acquainted with Richarde ten years ago, but lest she calculate it was during his pirating days, which would not recommend his man, he said, “I do.”

“Then I will help if needed.” She raised her eyebrows. “Now you shall send word to my family?”

“I will.”

“I thank you. When next do you come?”

“No later than the morrow. Between now and my return, rest and avail yourself of the inn’s hospitality, but do not leave these rooms. If you require anything, ask Alice who is to check on you as well.”

“I will remain,” she said and closed the door and secured her side.

When Amaury departed Richarde’s chamber, he used one of two keys—the other in Alice’s keeping—to lock his friend inside, ensuring only those welcome entered. As he passed Lady Fira’s chamber, he realized he had no key for her outer door, but when a discreet check revealed she had locked it from the inside, he determined that and his warning would suffice—especially now she had greater experience with the dangers of being born into a fallen world.

Belowstairs, Alice gave him writing instruments to compose the missive to be delivered to Wulfen Castle. Next, he gained a razor to shave the silvered stubble from his face. Though he meant to apply the keen edge just as severely to his head, once the cap was off, recall of Lady Fira’s protest against shaving his hair made him pause. Though he named himself a fool, he returned the cap to his head.

Now to find Donal.

She was ashamed by regret over the loss of the beautiful bow her youngest brother fashioned for her, but even were it here, she could not look upon it. Not now, mayhap not for a long time. However, for being so painfully far from home, there would be some solace in having it with her.

Deserved pain, Fira thought as done often since what should have been an adventure twisted into a frightening dream.

As she leaned more heavily against the shutter she had opened to peer down into the bustling street, the bag she had thrust beneath the bed beckoned, and she looked around. Though only a corner was visible, her belly tossed over the knowledge that missiles capable of taking human life were within.

“As I proved,” she whispered and, turning forward again, saw a man stride toward the sound and scent of the docks. Strange that even were he to wear a different cap and garments, she believed she would know it was him.

Amaury de Chanson of short acquaintance was in his stride, carriage, and broad shoulders—of great detriment to one pursued by enemies, she thought, then hoped only she was so perceptive, though what that portended could prove heartbreaking for her emotions trailing him.

When he went from sight, she closed the shutters and crossed to the bed. Feeling a twinge in her lower belly, she hoped it was not of her menses that could be relied on to be unreliable and, she suspected, made her more vulnerable to The Gloaming. It was bad enough being seized at her family’s home, but here…

“Pray not, Lord, and if You deny me, let it be while I sleep,” she said, then lowered to the bed, put a fold of the coverlet between her teeth, and closed her eyes.