Page 24 of The Knight's Pledge
Effie crouched down once more and enveloped her son, her eyes squeezing back the tears. “Be a good boy, George Thomas,” she whispered with a squeak. “Mindyour lessons.”
“Oh, I will, Mama,” he promised. “But do come back soon.”
“I will hurry back so quickly, you won’t even know I’ve been gone.” Her voice was reedy, like wind over the moors. “Do as the king says and giveme a kiss now.”
George pecked her cheek noisily and then went to the other side of her face to repeat the gesture. “That one’s for Father,” he whispered in her ear before he drew away.
“Come along, George,” Caris Hargrave cooed in herhaggish voice.
“No,” Effie said, rising to her feet, her hand still on George’s shoulder. “Not with her. I won’t allow it.”
“You allow nothing in my court!” the king shouted, the sudden volume and fury at odds with his heretofore composure. “I will do with the boy what I see fit, until you have fulfilled my commands!” He looked at Effie’s son. “George Thomas, come to my side until your mother has gone, lest she lose her very mind and make a mistake that prohibits any chance of your profitable future.”
“Yes, lord.” George looked up at her and gave a little smile. “Don’t worry, Mama. He is ever so kind. Truly.”
Effie’s heart cracked as she felt his small warmth withdraw. She caught sight of Iris Montague staring her down, and the woman who had married her brother gave her a single, solemn nod.
Lucan Montague bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He glanced at Effie.
Effie curtsied stiffly, but could not bring herself to speak.
“You are dismissed,”the king said.
Lucan took firm hold of her arm—perhaps too firm, Effie would later decide at the bruises that formed thereafter. But she also knew that it was only his guidance that allowed her to leave the hall on her own feet.
They came out into the crisp, cold, midmorning sunshine of the austere yard, and Effie’s knees buckled as the huge doors closed with a thud of finality. Lucan Montague caught her up against him as the first wail came, and he held her on the threshold of Westminster Hallas she sobbed.
Chapter 6
Everyone in the motley band of criminals besides Chumley was waiting for them in the wharf yard when Lucan and Effie returned to the houseon the Strand.
Gorman started toward Effie’s horse before they had reached the sandy, damp plot, and Lucan could see the desperate concern on the burly man’s face. “Where is George?Was he there?”
Effie nodded, her pale face startlingly blotched, her lips and eyes swollen. “He iswith the king.”
They were the first words Effie had spoken since they’d left court.
Winnie came forward to tug on Effie’s skirt. She made a quick pair of hand motions, her high brow knit over her clear eyes asshe looked up.
Effie reached down and took hold of the old woman’s hand. “Heis very well.”
“What happened?” Gorman pressed as he caught the bridle, but Rolf brushed him aside and so Gorman went to place his hands at once on Effie’s waist, swinging her down from the horse and holding her to his side in a familiar manner. “You’ve been weeping, so it can’t be good news. What—?”
“Let’s go inside,” Lucan suggested, dismounting and turning Agrios over to Stephen. “Have Cook send some strong ale to the solar,if you would.”
The man didn’t so much as glance at the others gathered in the yard. “Right away, lord. Will you come through the front?”
“No, this way will be fine, Stephen. Thank you.” Lucan turned and led the group through the low door into the kitchen and then through the twisting maze of arched passages that madeup the cellar.
Another Warren, hethought darkly.
Up the narrow, dark staircase to the main floor he led them, to where the tall front room sat off to the right of the entrance hall. Lucan breezed through, his step hesitating only briefly when he saw the lanky Chumley slouching in one of the ornate, cushioned chairs. His eyes were open—even from across the room Lucan could detect their bright red color. His long, thin fingers held up his head at his temple, his elbow braced against the edge of a carved table top, which had been decorated for the winter season witha bowl of nuts.
Lucan didn’t think he’d seen the man semi-conscious before noon more than twice.
A young kitchen maid appeared at the doorway, bearing a large tray supporting a wooden pitcher and a pair of matching cups. She slid the tray onto the table, glancing nervously at the lethargic Chumley. His lizard-red eyes caught hers.
“We’ll be needing a brace o’ cups, love,” he said in his low, smooth voice. “P’haps a bit larger ones than the thimbles was sent, if you’ve a mind. Another pitcher, as well.”
