“Who is there?” he shouted at the door. Who had carried him away dying in a pool of blood? It had to be his cousin’s men. Where was he? He demanded answers and shouted again and again until the door to his bedchamber opened. He narrowed his eyes, waiting to see who entered.
An older soldier, perhaps a little over two score years, came inside with two of his men behind him and another larger man at the rear of the two. He spoke calmly and with a chilling smile. His eyes were almost black, like his hair that was slicked back into a queue at his nape. His skin was tanned and weathered. Beneath his red uniform and muddy boots, he moved with elegance and authority.
“Mr. Chisholm, we meet again.”
It was Commander Roger Parrock, his cousin’s right-hand man. They had met once before in a castle in Winchester, when Bertram returned to Louis to tell him that his whore, Clare, had had a boy.
What should Bertram tell him now? That a veil of a woman had almost killed him and thwarted his mission?
“I was sent to retrieve a small boy called Edward. Where is he?”
“I had him but…he is with a woman—a slave of mine.”
“You let a slave woman injure you and take the boy?” the commander asked without so much as a hint of amusement or mockery on his face.
The man behind him on his left smirked at him, as did the bigger brute at the rear.
“Aye,” Bertram admitted, not caring what any of them thought of him. “She is a hellcat.” He thought about her slicing off his— “If I had my way now, I would make her wish she never crossed me.”’
“Well, you do not have your way now,” the commander told him with authority, making his voice louder. “The bishop wants the boy dealt with by this time tomorrow. Now, I must tell him that you failed yet again. Do you think he will be surprised?”
“I dinna give a shyte what he is.” Bertram belched and scratched his head. “I dinna care what ye do with the boy. I am killin’ the bitch.”
The soldier to the commander’s left mumbled under his breath, “I wonder why the bishop cares about what happens to a boy from some village.”
Commander Parrock turned his dark gaze on him.
The soldier stared straight into his eyes with defiance in his gaze.
Parrock released his sword and pierced the soldier through with his blade and then pulled it out and watched the soldier collapse to the ground.
He looked at the soldier unmoved on his right. “Doyouwonder anything?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Good,” Parrock said with a slight smile. “I would not want to kill one as pretty as you just yet. You will do as I say if you want to live. You will help me and I will make things easier for you. Aye? Good. Let us get ready to leave this place. Mustel,” he said to the last man in the back.
Had Parrock just called the man Muscle, Bertram wondered? It would be fitting for he possessed many enormous ones.
“Help this miscreant stand and walk. You,” he pointed to the man on the right, “stay with him and meet me at the table later.” He turned to Bertram, who took little insult in being called exactly what he was. “Do you know where this slave took him?”
“Aye,” Bertram answered. “She likely took him to where he lived.”
“And where is that?” Parrock asked, his patience at an end.
Bertram had a feeling that Parrock wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he didn’t need him anymore. He wouldn’t tell him exactly where to find the boy. It would keep him alive until he thought of something else. “South of here.”
Parrock moved closer, his dark, merciless gaze on him. “Where?” he growled.
A lesser man would have shyte his breeches, but not Bertram. What could any man do to him that was worse than what Lily had done?
“I dinna know the name of the place or if it even has a name at all,” he said. “I need to show ye where it is.”
“Very well. Be outside in an hour or I will cut out your tongue, since you do not need it to speak.” He turned for the door and stepped over the first soldier.
The second soldier waited while the commander left and then he produced a blade that flashed in Bertram’s eyes so that he almost missed the soldier’s lightning fast movements. The man shoved the blade into Muscle’s guts and then turned around to stand face to face with his dying victim as he twisted his dagger. “That is fer pushin’ me.”
Bertram watched, stunned as Muscle went down with a thump. “Ye there!” he called out in his loudest voice. “Help me! I am the bishop’s cousin!”