penance due for past sins without adding regicide to the list.”
“But what does Emma have to do with a Breton plot?”
“I do not know,” Durand admitted reluctantly. “All I’ve been able to get out of John is that he has sent an urgent message to his favorite spy, the Breton. But Emma’s part in this remains murky. With luck, I’ll have been able to find out more by the time you get back to Paris with Emma.”
Opening his mouth to protest, Justin realized that there was nothing he could say. As little as he liked the idea of being drawn into John’s web, he had no choice. He knew what his queen would want, what she always wanted-to save John from himself.
Durand had told Justin that Lady Petronilla had invited John to spend the night, for his lodgings with the Templars were outside the city gate, now shut until daybreak. Returning to the house, he felt like Daniel going into the lions’ den and wondered grimly if he’d emerge alive like Daniel or if the lions would have the mastery of him.
Claudine was not in the great hall, to his relief. But John was still there, with the Lady Petronilla fluttering about him flirtatiously. His attention was distracted, though, his thoughts obviously elsewhere, and when he noticed Justin, he jumped to his feet with betraying alacrity. Extricating himself from Petronilla’s orbit, he strode toward Justin, saying, “Follow me.”
He led Justin across the hall into the small oratory, the most private place he could find. As soon as he closed the door, he demanded, “Why did you come back?” eagerly enough to reveal how dismayed he’d been by Justin’s abrupt departure.
Justin shrugged. “After traveling all this way, I decided I wanted to hear the end of the story.”
“Then you agree to escort Emma to Paris?”
“Only if I know why you have such an urgent need to see her, my lord.”
“That is not your concern,” John said curtly, and Justin shrugged again.
“As you will, my lord,” he said, and turned toward the door.
John impatiently waved him back. “If you must know, I need to contact the Breton. I daresay you remember him from your foray into Wales. He has never been an easy man to find, and the messages I’ve left for him have gone unanswered. Emma has more of a history with him than I do and she is likely to know other ways to reach him.”
Justin suspected there was more to it than that. For now, though, it would do. “I will leave on the morrow. But if the lady is not willing to come, I can hardly stuff her into my saddlebag.”
“She may not come for me,” John admitted, surprising Justin with his candor. “But she’ll come for the queen’s man. Emma is a clever woman, and she well knows how urgently she needs to regain my mother’s favor. Now, what will your cooperation cost me, de Quincy?”
“The queen pays me two shillings a day. For you, my lord, I would charge three, plus my expenses.”
“No more than that?” John tilted his head to the side, regarding Justin quizzically. “Why am I getting off so cheaply?”
“Because,” Justin said, “I am not doing this for money. After this, you will owe me a debt, my lord, a debt I may collect at my pleasure.”
“I see…” John’s eyes caught the torchlight above his head, giving off a golden glitter. After a moment, he laughed abruptly. “Since when did you become so crafty, de Quincy? I think you’ve been passing too much time with me!”
Justin was given blankets and he joined the other men bedding down for the night in the great hall. He was folding his mantle to use as a pillow when he heard a light step behind him, a step he well knew.
“Justin.” Claudine was standing only a few feet away. Acutely aware of the men within earshot, she said, very low, “I have too much on my mind to sleep, and will be awake very late tonight.”
“I expect to be asleep very soon myself. Good night, Lady Claudine.” Stretching out under the blankets, he turned his back on her, lying very still until he finally heard the soft rustle in the floor rushes as she withdrew. Her perfume lingered after she’d gone, a fragrant, ghostly reminder of all he’d rather forget. His body was treacherously tempted to accept her invitation, but he would not yield to the weakness of the flesh, not tonight. The bedchamber was her battlefield; he had no intention of giving her such a tactical advantage. He believed her avowal that she’d never meant him harm. But she was too susceptible to John’s inducements. Nor had she asked the question that would have been foremost in his mind if their positions had been reversed and she had been the one coming from England to join him in Paris. Not once had she asked him about Aline.
CHAPTER 5
January 1194
STALBANS, ENGLAND
Justin was sprawled in Baldwin and Sarra’s best chair, long legs stretched toward the hearth, his the boneless, easy abandon of youth, and Baldwin felt a twinge of envy, remembering when he, too, had been able to spend hours in the saddle without suffering cramps and blisters and spasms of the spine. The baby cradled in the crook of Justin’s arm was sleeping peacefully, and Justin’s own lashes were flickering drowsily. With an indulgent smile, Baldwin watched him fight his sleepiness. When he’d first realized how often Justin would be visiting Aline, Baldwin had been dubious, not eager to have a stranger so often under his roof, but Justin did his best to make his calls as unobtrusive as possible, and it could always have been worse. It could have been “the Lady Clarice” hovering underfoot.
“What happened to that handsome chestnut stallion of yours? Did you sell him?”
“Jesu forfend,” Justin said with a smile. “I’d sooner give up a body part than I would Copper. The horse I’m riding is one I bought in Dover. I’ll sell him in Southampton ere I take ship for France.”
“You do get about,” Baldwin marveled. “Just back from Paris and now off to Wales and then France again. I feel bone-weary merely listening to your plans, lad.”
“Me, too,” Justin admitted. He was dreading this trip into Wales, so much so that he found himself tempted to confide his fears to Baldwin. He didn’t, of course, for reticence was a lifetime’s habit, bred into his bones even before he’d become the queen’s man and the bearer of too many secrets. “I almost forgot,” he said. “I bought a rattle for Aline in Boulogne. It is over there in my saddlebag…”
“Sit still,” Baldwin instructed, “lest you awake the little lass. I’ll fetch it.” Rising with a creaking of what he ruefully called his “old bones,” he soon found the rattle. Straightening up, he smiled at the sight that met his eyes, for Justin had dozed off, joining his infant daughter in sleep. Sarra had also noticed, and gently freed the baby from Justin’s grasp, returning Aline to her cradle. Picking up a blanket, Baldwin tucked it around the young man’s shoulders, and smiled again, this time at his wife. “I think,” he said, “this might work out.”
Dusk was blurring the last light of day as Justin rode across the Dee Bridge and into the city of Chester. He stopped first at the castle, for he was hoping that the earl would provide him with an armed escort for his foray into Wales. He’d given Prince Davydd good reason to wish him ill, and Davydd was not a man to listen to his better instincts-assuming he had any. The earl’s steward remembered Justin from past visits and he was made welcome. But when Justin asked to see the earl, the steward had disquieting, disappointing news for him. The Earl of Chester was gone from the city, gone from the country, having crossed over to his estates in Normandy and Brittany more than a month ago.
Thinking this was not an auspicious beginning to his mission, Justin sought solace at Molly’s cottage. The shutters were drawn, no smoke smudged the sky over the roof, and his knocking went unanswered. Hoping that Molly was not off with Piers Fitz Turold, the wealthy vintner who was her protector and the suspected source for much of Chester’s criminal activity, Justin headed for the dockside tavern owned by Fitz Turold and run by Molly’s brother, Bennet.
Bennet was not there, nor was Berta, the sullen, buxom serving maid. The man pouring drinks was a stranger to Justin, a burly, scarred redhead with unfriendly eyes and a mouth like a padlock. Justin’s questions about
