Page 141 of Historical Hotties
Jory snorted, making his way over the table where the alcohol was. He had a smug expression on his face; but, then again, he always seemed to have some manner of exaggerated swagger. It was one of the characteristics that made him truly unlikable. The question hung in the air as Jory reached for a cup.
“If we do not have trouble with the Scots, we could have it with the king,” Jory made sure he was standing next to Creed as he poured his wine. “We have some traveling merchants staying here for the night.”
Ryton lifted an eyebrow. “So? What does that have to do with the king?”
Jory took a long, satisfying swallow, making sure to draw out the answer. “I heard some gossip from the travelers,” he said, taking another drink. “Most interesting news.”
Ryton’s patience was at an end. “What in the hell did you hear?”
Jory was enjoying the moment. He gazed at the wine in his cup, casually, swirling the dregs. “Rumor has it that Queen Isabella is pregnant,” he said, hoping the statement had as muchimpact as he thought it would. “Six months pregnant, that is. Of course, she and the king were only married a few months ago, so she conceived this child well before they were wed. On the trip from France, in fact, as rumor would have it.”
Creed did not react but Burle slammed his cup to the table and bolted to his feet. “Do you want another beating, d’Eneas?” he jabbed a finger at the shorter, smaller knight. “I would be happy to shut your mouth permanently.”
Ryton held up a hand to calm the knight, watching as he angrily sank back into his chair. He gazed steadily at Jory.
“Did you really hear that?” he asked slowly. “Or are we again privy to your lies and assumptions?”
Jory grinned, a hatefully confident gesture. “It could be only gossip, but the merchant’s guards were quite free with the information. It seems that all of London is in an uproar because if it and I would suspect the king is not entirely happy, either.”
Ryton looked at his brother for the first time to see how he was reacting. “Lies, all of it,” he looked away from Creed’s emotionless face and back to his cup. “Who is to say the king is not the father? There is no proof otherwise.”
“No proof except for the gossip that the queen had a knightly lover in France. Rumor has it that the Church is now getting involved. We certainly cannot have a bastard heir to England’s throne, can we? I am told the Church is starting an investigation.”
“Then that is the king’s fault for marrying a whore.”
No one had much to say to that. Jory took another long drink of his wine. “No one would know that better than Creed. He was one of her escorts from France, after all. I would imagine he would be one of the first people the Church will interview.”
Burle tensed again but a glance from Ryton stopped him. He wondered just how far Jory was going to go before Burle snapped and there would be no stopping him. Or, worse still, ifCreed snapped. His brother was so powerful that he could break Jory’s neck and not even raise a sweat. He had never seen Creed lose his control, but there was always a first time for everything, especially when dealing with so sensitive an issue.
“I suggest you drop the subject, d’Eneas,” Ryton said quietly. “No one cares about your foolish prattle. If you want to gossip, go congregate with the serving women. They are the only ones who would care what you say.”
Jory drained his cup and poured another. He made sure to walk away from the table before he spoke again. “I did not mean to imply that Creed would have first-hand knowledge of the queen’s activities. Of course he’s innocent. Creed is a fine, upstanding and chivalrous knight. But since he was charged with our lovely hostage, the truth will be known about his knightly character if she turns up pregnant, too.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Burle and Stanton were up, charging at Jory. Cups went flying and chairs were toppled. But Creed shot to his feet, grabbing Burle before the man could get past him. Burle, in turn, grabbed Stanton before the man could get too far. Only Ryton was not holding on to someone or, in turn, being held by someone. But he was on his feet and he was focused on Jory. He moved past his brother, his dusky blue eyes riveted on his knight. The mood of the room was no longer relaxed; it was deeply brittle as Ryton faced off against his subordinate.
“I will say this one time, d’Eneas, so make sure you understand me clearly,” his voice was low, controlled. “You will not repeat what you heard from the merchant’s guards and you will never again say what you did about my brother. Should any rumors or other slander get started around here, you will be the first one I come for and I can promise that you will not like my reaction. Do you comprehend me?”
Some of Jory’s smugness faded as he gazed into Ryton’s tense face; he could see serious implications in the glare. After a moment, he shrugged weakly. “I do,” he said. “I meant nothing by it. I was simply… thinking aloud. Just the thoughts of a tired man.”
By this time, Creed had let go of Burle and was heading from the room. Ryton watched his brother quit the common room and disappear into the darkness of the bailey beyond. Had he not been Jory’s commander, he would have throttled the man. Instead, he followed his brother out into the black night without another word in Jory’s direction. He was more concerned for his brother at the moment than an idiot knight.
Stanton and Burle were slower to disband; Stanton moved back to the table, glaring daggers at Jory, while Burle still stood where Creed had stopped him. Jory gazed into the knight’s fat face, his smile fading completely. Of all the knights, he knew that Burle was the one that would mostly likely move against him. His head was still swollen from the beating he had received earlier.
“What?” he said to Burle’s menacing stare. “I apologized. What more do you want?”
Burle did not say anything; he started to turn away but thought better of it. Stanton heard a loud smack followed by a heavy grunt. Something hit the floor hard. Burle joined the table and reclaimed his cup as if nothing in the world was amiss and Stanton did not turn around to see the source of the loud grunt; he knew for a fact that Jory was lying on the floor behind him in a muddled state of unconsciousness.
Outside, Ryton caught up to Creed just as the man was mounting the wooden steps that led into the keep. He put his big hand on his brother’s arm, stopping the man before he could get away from him.
“Creed,” he said quietly. “Do not let d’Eneas’ ramblings get to you. He is a bitter little man with a bitter little mind. I would not believe everything he says.”
Creed’s face was emotionless. The ghostly moon’s glow gave him a stark, phantom-like appearance as he loomed on the steps above his brother. “He is still angry with me for preventing him from taking advantage of our hostage,” he snorted softly. “I should have strangled him and left his body for the wolves. It would have saved us much grief.”
Ryton nodded in agreement; there was no disputing that bit of wisdom. “Nonetheless, I intend to talk to Richard about him now. I will no longer tolerate his disruptive presence in my ranks.”
Creed lifted an eyebrow. “He is a baron’s son.”
“A baron’s bastard son.”
