The Worst Is Yet To Come
Roland’s father summoned the family members to gather in his solar before the evening meal. “I’d like to get a clear picture of events before we decide on a course of action,” he told them when everyone had found a seat.
Looking less like a prisoner of war after his bath and a change of clothes, Terric bowed. “I thank Adrien for my new wardrobe, and you, my lord comte, for your warm welcome.”
“It’s good to see you looking more like the nobleman you are. Our tailors will measure you for clothes of your own,” Becket replied.
“I admit I thought my life was over, until I espied Roland,” Terric declared. “He looks like your twin, Becket, I recognized him instantly.”
“Dark hair and blue eyes do tend to run in our family,” Roland agreed.
“But, of course,” Becket added. “I am older and wiser.”
Everyone chuckled, except Marguerite. Roland wasn’t surprised when she stood abruptly and fell to her knees before Terric. “I beg your forgiveness,” she pleaded. “King John would never have abducted Adelina and stolen your home if it wasn’t for me.”
“Nay,” Terric replied, coming to his feet. He took hold of Marguerite’s hands and helped her rise. “John’s visit to Melton Manor had nothing to do with you. He was on his way from Hastings to Arundel and would have stayed overnight anyway.”
“But he was incensed when I disappeared. If Adelina hadn’t helped me…”
Choking on tears, she seemed unable to continue.
Terric shook his head. “John isn’t aware she helped you find the secret tunnel. I doubt he yet knows of its existence. We’re not the only family that’s been thrown out of its home on the south coast. That has more to do with the king’s fear of a French invasion.”
Marguerite sniffled. “I hope Adelina knows how much I appreciate her bravery.”
“Of course she does. She has never uttered one word of regret about aiding your escape. In fact, she would never have forgiven herself if John had taken you away and separated you from Becket.”
“The fact remains,” Roland’s mother remarked as Becket drew his wife into his lap. “Terric can make a home here for as long as he needs to, but Adelina is trapped.”
“I am more than grateful for the offer of sanctuary,” Terric replied. “However, eventually, I must return to England and rescue Adelina. I cannot live here in comfort and relative safety while she is John’s ward.”
Roland’s heart went out to the courageous young woman he’d never met. “You won’t be able to accomplish such a thing alone. You’ll need help crossing the Narrow Sea for one thing. Let’s think on how to plan it together.”
* * *
Seated as a guest of honor at the high table in Montbryce’s great hall, Terric surveyed the crowd assembled for the evening meal. He’d noted the warm reception the people had given Roland and Adrien on their return home. The family that ruled here was loved and respected. Nor had he seen any hint of haughty reluctance to respond to the cheers of the common folks. He’d always been proud of his Montbryce lineage. The nobility of that blood pulsed even more strongly in his veins now.
Aye, he was proud of his Norman ancestry. However, Normandie was now part of France, and he wasn’t a Norman in any case. He was an Englishman, and his duty lay in his own country. John had to be brought to account for his cruel and rapacious misrule. Voicing opposition to the king was dangerous but, increasingly, courageous voices were being raised against him. Terric felt duty-bound to be one of those voices.
However, if he succeeded in rescuing Adelina, they would both be hunted down—unless they escaped to a safe haven in Normandie. He could well imagine his beautiful sister enjoying life here in this place where nobility, honor and contentment held sway. It was plain to see the Montbryces were content with their lives, as were the decently-clad and obviously well-fed people they ruled.
An uncertain future loomed, but Terric was grateful Roland had offered to help in any way he could. He dreaded what might befall Adelina if the king believed her brother had died in the failed attempt to retake Anjou.
* * *
Heart beating frantically, Adelina entered the Palace of Westminster’s throne room and dropped into a full curtsey before King John and his queen. The unusual summons had taken her off guard, and Isabella’s facial expression gave no hint as to what the interview was about.
It was the first time Adelina had come face to face with the king since the fateful day he’d ordered her to court two years before. She suspected he’d forgotten his anger over the disappearance of his cousin, Marguerite—the very reason he’d whisked her away from Melton Manor and Terric’s protection. The fact she was still alive led her to believe he’d never suspected her part in Marguerite’s escape.
Perhaps this was the day of reckoning.
“Lady Adelina de Quincey,” John drawled.
Trembling, she raised her head, noting a few hints of grey in the monarch’s dark red hair. His locks might be showing signs of age, but he was still the stocky, barrel-chested figure she remembered.
She gritted her teeth, trying to tamp down the anger seething inside. She knelt before the man who was responsible for the loss of her freedom and her ancestral home. She wanted to tear him limb from limb, but John had an uncanny knack of sensing people’s feelings—perhaps because he was universally feared and hated.
“We must inform you Sir Terric de Quincey is missing, and presumed dead. Out of the goodness of our hearts, we have therefore taken it upon ourselves as your guardian to arrange your betrothal to a worthy knight of the realm.”
A lead weight settled in Adelina’s belly. After hearing rumors of the failure of John’s efforts to retake Anjou and Normandie, she’d spent every waking moment praying for Terric. Now, the worst had happened. Grief and despair tightened her throat. Her beloved brother, her only champion, was dead.
“One of our loyal Cumbrian barons, Sir Baldric de Waterthwaite has agreed to take you to wife,” John announced, spitting out a fingernail he’d chewed off.
Cumbria! Just before she swooned, she knew that the worst was yet to come.