The Heart of the Phoenix (33 page)

Jaw hard, Stephen added through clenched teeth, “And he left me for dead.”

Voices clattered against his ears like hens cackling, roosters crowing. But Evie’s soft tone was the only sound he heard. His eyes drifted shut, and he could almost feel her hand in his, offering support, offering love. She alone knew the pain that revelation brought.

“Sire, this man is obviously deranged.” D’Ambrosie’s tone had calmed; a smug smile curved his lips. “His lies have become so preposterous, no one could believe him. Why would I kill my own cousin, my friend?”

“I believe him.” Geoffrey’s voice reached Stephen’s ears a moment before he stepped from the crowd. At first, Stephen did not recognize his friend. He wore dress reminiscent of the King of Jerusalem’s court. More flamboyant than those around him, yet suited to Geoffrey’s heritage.

His flowing, ankle-length robe was of deep blue silk, embroidered with silver thread around the neck and stiffened cuffs. A silver-studded belt held a jeweled dagger and his plain sword. Around his neck lay silver chains studded with jewels, and on his fingers glittered rings Stephen had never seen. His dark hair curled around his collar. He moved like nobility as he strolled to stand at Stephen’s side.

Sorya would have been proud of her brother. Stephen caught Evie’s gaze. She smiled in understanding.

King John frowned. He didn’t like surprises, Stephen knew. “Who are you?”

Geoffrey bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Geoffrey William Marcus Adolphus, third Baron l’Oriel. My grandfather was Sir Conrad of Nontien. He was a Crusader years past, one of those who chose to remain in Jerusalem when the other knights returned. Our family has served the King of Jerusalem since. You have perhaps heard of L’Oriel Castle in Outremer?”

Stephen’s teeth gripped the inside of his jaw to stifle a smile. No one here knew the castle was in ruins, the family fugitives from a vengeful new king in that far-off land. Geoffrey was a knight, a lord in his own right, and he looked every inch of it.

A very unkingly grunt came from John. “And you know Sir Stephen of Rively?”

“My family knows him well. My sister nursed him from the edge of death following the battle of Acre. I have been privileged to call him friend these years since. There is no doubt his story is true. Ask him to show you.”

The king rose, anger so near the surface he trembled with it.

“Then by God, let us see this proof and be done. For I tell you now, I am unlikely to doubt the word of d’Ambrosie against that of an unknown peacock.”

Titters rippled through the women nearby, but just as many sighs and murmurs followed when Geoffrey turned his head and bowed their way.

Surprise pinned Stephen in place. This was one eventuality he had not expected. He had prepared to disrobe for John, but not before the court. He held up a hand and stepped forward a short pace.

“Sire, I ask that I be allowed to show you in private audience. It is not seemly for the ladies.”

“Get on with it man. Unless it requires you to strip out of your hose, let us see this damned proof you supposedly have.”

He held John’s burning gaze for a moment then, gritting his teeth, placed his sword and dagger on the floor. Steady fingers pulled loose the ties at each shoulder, then shrugged his loosened surcoat to his waist, where his belt held it in place. With banked fury, he deliberately turned his back on the king and jerked off his shirt. It dangled from his right hand as he stood immobile.

Stephen knew what they saw, because Evie had described it to him in detail. Only she possessed the courage to do so. A thick, raised ridge of scar snaked from behind his shoulder blade, down his side, to disappear beneath the ties of his braise.. Half a handspan above his waist was a wide, red-spotted depression, courtesy of a lance. Smaller scars knotted the surface where infection had taken hold before Sorya could stop it.

A shriek from some lady made its way through the babble of voices.

“By God, boy, how did you survive?” Old Lord Rendall limped forward. “We searched for hours after we found Hawksworth. Never saw your body in that slaughter.” Gnarled fingers brushed at Stephen’s arm.

“This is no proof,” scoffed d’Ambrosie. “Anyone could have inflicted those wounds in any battle.”

Stephen had to give him credit for coolness. If attitude proved anything, he would carry the day.

“Then let us move to another topic,” Stephen said. “The robbery and murder of innocents.”

The tale of the village massacre when Sorya was lost brought gasps and murmurs from the men, tears from the women.

“Again, you have no proof of this. Your Majesty, these accusations have become ridiculous in the extreme.”

Geoffrey again stepped forward, his unusual presence commanding silence. “Where have you come by the cross you wear?”

“This?” D’Ambrosie fingered the cross. “It belonged to my mother. A family heirloom, that treasure.”

“Ah. Your family’s? My mother had a similar cross. As you see.” Geoffrey pulled a golden chain from beneath his robe, producing a smaller version of the cross the other man held. “My father had a pair of them commissioned. He wore the larger one. It was among the items stolen from my sister’s belongings when the outlaws attacked. She had taken it to my uncle to have the chain repaired. He was a craftsman. He, too, was murdered protecting his wife and son. All were killed.”

Geoffrey turned the cross up so the bottom showed. “Their initials were engraved into the base, so.” He held it up. “Show us the bottom of your cross, my lord.”

D’Ambrosie stepped back once, then again. “I won’t be subjected to such foolish accusations. Your Majesty, you cannot take the word of an unknown and of a mercenary. I have ever served at your will.”

“And do you suggest such travesty was at my will?”

“No, never Sire. I only ask that you allow me the opportunity to answer these outrageous claims. In a private audience, Your Majesty. Tomorrow.”

King John leaned back against the throne-like chair he occupied, gazed at d’Ambrosie, then Stephen, then Geoffrey. He frowned, steepled his fingers to his mouth.

“Very well,” he said at last. “These have been unusual accusations. We will discuss them tomorrow after the midday meal. Present your evidence then, both of you.” He rose, his heavy robes sweeping the floor. “We also postpone the wedding until that time.”

D’Ambrosie’s mouth parted. He darted an I’d-forgotten-all-about-you glance at Evie, who stood with hands over her mouth. Her brother placed an arm around her shoulders.

That evening, Stephen moved through the shadows of approaching darkness. The wedding had been postponed, and that gave him time to solidify his proof. He had all he needed now, delivered by Macsen just moments ago. As he neared the inn, chosen because it lay near the docks, his fingers twitched toward the slim packet tucked inside his belt. He stilled them. Taught by tragedy, caution was a lesson not forgotten. The surroundings appeared deserted, yet he’d take no chance by revealing the documents’ location.

Along with Macsen’s discovery and Geoffrey’s jeweled cross, the drawings and dates he and the men had gathered convicted d’Ambrosie without a doubt. However, if tomorrow’s audience with the king didn’t go well, the men would need the galley he just secured.

Stephen wouldn’t be leaving, in any event. If King John refused to punish d’Ambrosie, Macsen insisted he and the rest of the men would see the Dragon’s reign of evil ended. Accidents happened on the battlefield. They’d arrange one, if necessary. They didn’t require Stephen, they insisted. His place was here, in England.

They were right. He must take up the duties at home. His father needed him.

In reality, the confrontation with the king had gone better than expected today, but he couldn’t shake a feeling that something was wrong. He moved silently down a narrow alley, alert to a group advancing his way. How in hell had anyone found this obscure track?

A corner of his mind registered the approaching odors—perfume, sweat, musk. His gaze flicked to the side. D’Ambrosie’s captain led the advancing knights and women. The man’s hand squeezed the arm of a doxie, who sidled closer. Why had d’Ambrosie’s shadow left his master’s quarters on such a crucial night when they ought to be arranging plans? And why choose this particular path—to follow Stephen or to secure passage?

He faded into a deeper shadow as they passed. Perhaps it meant nothing. Yet vague disquiet plagued him. D’Ambrosie had accepted today’s setback with too much calm, and Stephen didn’t trust that. If the Dragon’s captain prowled the environs of the harbor, it was no accident. Stephen turned back toward the river.

****

Evie huddled in the dim entryway of the comfortable dwelling her brother had rented for the duration of the family’s stay. The messenger said Lord Fulk wished to speak with her about the ceremony on the morrow. Odd that the youth had not gone to the door but stood beneath the window to her bedchamber, tossing rocks until she opened the shutter. She should have awakened Henry, but he and Kate needed time to themselves.

Her palms tingled and her stomach knotted. She didn’t want to face her betrothed. Sweet Mary, she didn’t want to wed him. Was such a fate to be her penance for all those past acts of disobedience?

Surely, the Good Lord wouldn’t expect it of her. How could she face the rest of her days bound to such a man? He might be a favorite of the king, but she knew him to be a cruel, unfeeling beast. Henry must find a way to invalidate the betrothal contract.

Not that it would bring Stephen to her. She’d finally forgiven him for keeping his marriage a secret. But it had been apparent when he spoke to the king today that he harbored too many memories, too much bitterness. Until he freed himself from the past, he would not permit himself to seek happiness. Not with her, in spite of the passion they’d shared..

An ache kicked up around her heart, and she rubbed her chest. In spite of the pain, she felt hollow, lost, alone. Which was foolish, wasn’t it, what with Henry and Kate just a chamber away? The mysterious woman saved Stephen’s life. How could Evie dislike her? Without Sorya’s care, he wouldn’t be here today.

Even if Evie was fated never to find happiness with Stephen, she’d know he lived. Perhaps someday he could forgive himself for what he called his failures, and lay to rest his guilt for the tragedy that hadn’t been his fault. Perhaps he’d find contentment.

Evie’s breath grew shallow at the sound of boots scuffing outside. The door eased open beneath her cold hands, and she peered into the night. Lord Fulk loomed into vision.

“Step outside.” His low voice rang harsh in the stillness. Evie shivered. But when his rough fingers grabbed her upper arm to pull her forward, she didn’t resist. Let him say what he’d come for and be gone.

She stumbled as his long stride outpaced her own.

“Satan’s prick!” he muttered. “Keep up. We’ve a way to go tonight.”

“Stop.” Evie twisted in an effort to free herself from his vicious hold. He merely tightened his fist and pulled.

She tried again. “What did you want to say to me, my lord? I can’t go any farther. If my brother awakens and finds I’m gone, he will worry.”

“Your brother can worry, then. We won’t be stopping any time soon. Move, or I’ll carry you.”

The thought of Lord Fulk holding her in any capacity spurred Evie forward a step. But when his words sank in, she halted again. “What do you mean, we won’t stop soon?”

He glared, but she refused to move.

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice rose. Perhaps she should call out.

“Quiet, I said, or I’ll muffle you.”

“I won’t be quiet.” The words barely sounded when he slammed a palm across her mouth and hauled her up with an arm around her waist. She squirmed. He tightened his hold and dragged her high enough to whisper in her ear.

“Our wedding will be delayed until we arrive in France, my lady. I’ve decided not to wait for King John’s decision on the morrow. We leave tonight.”

She stilled. Nodded. He lifted his hand from her face.

“Why?” she asked. “You’re in high favor with the king. Why doubt his ruling?”

“I have been in his favor because I’ve performed services no one else would undertake,” he answered. “But I saw his face today when the accusations were made. Thoughtful. I know how his mind works. The evidence could have been fake—lies, all—but many of the lords who heard believed.”

He allowed her to stand but kept a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Was it wrong, the evidence?” Evie prided herself on the calm disinterest in her voice, when her heart pounded like a mallet on stone.

“It doesn’t matter.” He grasped her wrist and strode forward, forcing her to follow or be dragged. “The king will see an opportunity to rid himself of a connection that might anger the barons whose support he needs. That’s why, my dear, he gave you to me. He hoped to bring your brother, all your family, and their friends to his camp.”

“That will never happen.”

“So I told him, but he refused to listen. Too many of them sympathize with that sniveling brat Arthur. John’s of the mind that forging an alliance with one of the most influential families, no matter how he loathes them, will strengthen his hold on the crown.”

“He has the crown,” Evie said. “Why should he care?”

“Because getting the crown and keeping it are two separate matters. He’s lost too many of the lords he counted on in Normandy, in Aquitaine, even his own Mortaine. No, his hold on the lands of his brother and father will dwindle now, and Philip is the one who will achieve it. That’s why we’re traveling to France. Philip will need an ambitious captain whose wife’s family has power in England.”

Evie tried to stop again, but he refused to allow it.

“We can’t, I can’t, go to France,” she said. “How will Philip possibly believe that you’re willing to join him?’

Lord Fulk’s smile was not a pleasant one. How had she ever thought him handsome? “I’ve had occasion to carry out some one or two little projects for him in the past. Besides, he’ll be glad of someone who has knowledge of John’s plans.”

He pulled Evie along too rapidly for more words, but she used the time to think. A plan. She needed a plan to escape. Death would be preferable to boarding a ship for France. Well, perhaps not preferable, but she certainly didn’t intend to make that trip. If only Stephen…