Page 26 of The Knight's Pledge
Chumley belched. “They’re nothorses, love.”
“You were unconscious most of the time in the Warren,” Rolf offered. “There are many more of the family whom you didn’t meet.”
“You’re suggesting we addmoremembers to our party?” Lucan closed his eyes, held up a hand, and shook his head. “That’s simply not possible. Time is of the essence, and we must travel quickly.”
“We travel quickly,” Gorman insisted.
Lucan tried to hold back his exasperation. “We’ll attract attention.”
“Isn’t that what we want, though?” Gilboe asked, a confused expression on his face.
“What?” Lucan stuttered. “No!”
At Effie’s side, Winnie’s hands and fingers danced in the air, little slippery, sandpapery,smooth sounds.
“Yes,” Rolf said with anod. “I agree.”
Gilboe smiled in satisfaction. “Precisely.”
“Splendid.” Chumley reached for the pitcher.
Lucan offered his palms, looking from face to face. “What?”
Effie spoke at last. “It can only be to our benefit for Thomas Annesley to know that his daughter is alive. Perhapshewill findus, which should save a gooddeal of time.”
“I’ll start at the taverns this night,” Chumley offered. “There are six in the immediate vicinity of the Strand. By the time we leave on the morrow, word will alreadybe spreading.”
Lucan stilled and his eyes met Effie’s once more. Did she know what she was doing? Did she realize that she was warranting Thomas Annesley’s execution?
Of course she did, Lucan told himself. She would do anything for her son, even if it meant causing the unjust death of the father she’d never met. An innocent man who’d had his very life stolen from him.How could she?
Lucan reminded himself that Effie was a Hargrave, after all. Perhaps this was the portion of blood that was willing to allow a blameless old man to suffer so that she could have what she wanted.
But wasn’t that what Lucan would do, as well? Surrender Thomas Annesley, a man he now felt he knew better than either of his own parents, a man wronged, in order to have a stretch of grass where Castle Darehad once stood?
“I don’t agree that this is the best course of action,” he said at last, hearing the strain inhis own voice.
Effie stood from her chair. “Then don’tcome with us.”
Lucan felt his head draw back as if she’d struck him. The air in the solar should have been thick with awkwardness, but the other observers only looked backat him plainly.
“This is my operation,” Lucan announced calmly. “By order of the king himself, Effie Annesley is in my custody, and it shall be I who decides the manner in which we proceed.” He looked to the bearded man at Effie’s side, hoping to enlist support. “Perhaps Gorman will agree to be my advisor, if that better pleases you all.”
“Ah, you’ve got it all wrong, love,” Chumley murmured in dark delight. “Effie’s our leader. She has been since she was a score. Old Robin left her chargeof the Warren.”
“Who is Old Robin?” Lucan looked back at the woman, and it was as if the tender scenes at Westminster of Effie with her son, Effie weeping in Lucan’s arms, had been nothing more than a dream. She was, again, the woman who had shot him in the wood.
She ignored his question. “I don’t care what the king has said. You’ll not be my jailer and you certainly don’t own me. I’ll allowyouto go withus, in thanks for finding us shelter in London. But don’t undermine me, Lucan. I’ll have you turned out, your precious reputation and worthless inheritance be damned.” She drained her cup, set it down on the tray and swished from the room in her skirts just as confidently as if she had been in herwoodland garb.
All the others followed her without another word for Lucan, although Rolf did give him a somewhat apologetic bow and a departing, “Lord.”
All save Chumley, who still slouched in the chair, the deep bowl resting on his thigh. His chin was nearly on his chest as he openly regarded Lucan with something akin to amused curiosity in those bloodshot eyes.
“So that’s the way she thinks it’s going to be,” Lucan stated.
Chumley chuckled. “Oh, no, love—that’s the way it’s going to be. And it’s the way it should be. You want no other leading this charge, on that you can depend.”
Lucan felt red to the tips of his ears—his neck throbbed as though it were on fire. “And what would an old drunk know of the ways of a charge handed down from the king? I daresay there’s more to it than what you might hear around the piss pot in a whorehouse.” Even as he spoke them, the atypically vulgar words left a distasteful feelon his tongue.
