Vow of Seduction. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
released from the oubliette, what did you do then?”
Alex reached for his chalice and took a long, soothing draught of wine before he answered. “You may be sure I tried again to convince my captors of my ability to pay ransom. But my entreaties were not appreciated, and the guards had a unique way of silencing recalcitrant prisoners.” Uncomfortable revealing even a hint of the torture he endured, Alex shifted against the back of his chair. The hard wood chafed the welts lacing his back.
From a distance, Alex heard the king say, “And yet you are here. Returned to us, like Joseph, the lost son of Israel reunited with his family after years of slavery.”
A guttural laugh escaped Alex. The similarities between their experiences were eerie. Alex, too, was betrayed, tossed down a pit and sold into slavery in Egypt, or rather Egyptian-held Syria. But unlike Joseph, he was not so forgiving. Years of his life were stolen from him, years he could have spent in Kat’s arms. Nay, Alex lived for revenge. And he would receive satisfaction if it killed him.
Alex loosened a white-knuckled grip from his chalice and replied, “Aye. ’Tis a miracle you see me before you, alive and well.”
Then Alex went on to tell Edward how he escaped and made it back to England, paying passage on a merchant ship with the two horses he stole when he fled.
“’Tis an amazing journey you have had, Alex,” said Edward. “But something troubles me. This attack that landed you in a Mamluk dungeon is very odd. If the men who attacked you were enemy soldiers, you would be dead now. It was too dangerous for them to encroach upon the camp simply to capture a prisoner. And if they were simple thieves, they would have killed you or left you where you lay. But instead they captured you, carted you hundreds of miles away, and sold you into slavery. It sounds to me like this attack was personal.”
A vein in Alex’s temple throbbed. “Aye, Sire. I’ve come to the same conclusion,” he said, his voice low and lethal. He refilled his goblet.
The king’s eyes lit with keen interest as he leaned forward in his chair again. “You have a powerful enemy, my friend. Whoever it is, he wants you dead, and not a quick, merciful death, but a slow, agonizing one. Do you know who might have a grudge against you?”
Alex shrugged, but he saw the king was not fooled.
“Come, man, I know you must have some idea who the culprit is.”
“I made many enemies, as you well know, when I helped subdue the rebels after the Barons’ War. It could be any one of them.” Alex paused.
King Edward’s chair creaked. Not given to idleness, he rose from his chair and moved to the wall of windows. “Aye. Many lost their ancestral homes or paid steep compensation to regain their confiscated lands. But we have peace in the land now, and many former rebels I consider friends.” As he gazed down on the scenery below he asked, “Do you have any proof or clues? Did you perchance get a look at your attackers’ faces?”
Alex rose from his chair and sat on the edge of the table, crossing his arms. “It happened very quickly, but I did see the face of the man who struck the blow to my head. He was dark skinned, with a distinctive scar on his left cheek.”
“And was he known to you?”
“As a matter of fact, we met on one occasion. Though I don’t know his name. And the circumstances were quite similar. He and two others ambushed me on my wife’s estate several years before Kat and I married. I killed his two minions, but he escaped.”
Alex smiled in remembrance at Kat’s brave interference. He was so angry with her then, but looking back, he could not help feeling an odd sort of pride at her fearless defense of him. Alex did not explain to Edward that he was responsible for the man’s disfigurement.
Alex continued. “The first time the man whom I have come to call Scarface attacked me, he bragged he was hired to kill me. The incident occurred only a year after all the rebels were subdued. But when there was no other attempt on my life, I thought that the end of it. Until he attacked me again.”
Edward turned, his gaze intense. After pondering Alex’s words, he began pacing as he spoke. “So you believe one of the defeated barons hired this Scarface to kill you. When it failed, he waited for you to become complacent and looked for an opportune moment to dispose of you, and in such a way your death would not be examined closely. He wanted no suspicion to be raised as to the cause of your death. ’Tis absolutely diabolical, if so.”
Alex said naught, his jaw clenched. A black mist rose before his eyes, blinding him with rage. His entire body locked as he controlled the desire to grab the table and toss it aside like kindling. King Edward’s quick, analytical mind had sorted out the bare facts and rearranged them to form a coherent puzzle.
Edward paced back to the table and refilled his chalice. “What do you intend to do now? You saw the face of your attacker, yet you don’t know his identity or his whereabouts.”
Alex expelled his breath slowly and met Edward’s perceptive gaze. “The night I was attacked, the only weapon I carried was my dagger. If you remember, it was a very distinctive weapon, passed down through generations of Beaumont eldest sons.”
“Aye. I remember the Beaumont dagger. The Saxon heiress your great-great-great-grandfather married had it commissioned upon the birth of their first son. She gifted it to her husband as a gesture of peace. Early Briton in design, was it not?”
“You do not err. In prison, I met an English knight by the name of Sir Richard of Ludlow. He told me that before his capture he witnessed a man with Scarface’s description selling the Beaumont dagger to an English traveling merchant. The merchant trader resides here in London, and I plan to seek him out as soon as I can. From him I will secure the mercenary’s name and where I can find him.”
“And when you find this Scarface, he will lead you to the man who hired him.”
Alex would not rest until the perpetrator was either dead or rotting in gaol. “That’s my belief. And with Parliament coming up, I reason the man behind the plot will be here soon at Westminster, if he is not already.”
“Then it’s imperative that no one suspects you know your incarceration was deliberate and not a random act.”
“I’ve told no one but you of my suspicions, Sire.”
King Edward returned to the window and his inspection outside, sipping his wine. Slowly, as if in deep thought, he asked, “And what about my cousin, your lady wife? Do you intend to tell her?”
“Nay. I don’t want Kat involved. The danger is too great. I have a cunning enemy who I doubt will be happy to see me returned from the dead, and the fewer who know, the better.”
Besides, his wife was stubborn and willful and loyal to a fault. Despite how she felt about him, he believed Kat would insist on helping discover the traitor. In a misguided attempt to help, there was no telling what mischief she would stir up. Like the day Scarface attacked Alex at Montclair. Heedless of the peril, Kat had charged into the battle. She was not harmed that day, but the next time she put herself in the way of danger she might not be so lucky.
Alex picked up his chalice and drained the last of his wine. Nay. It was best for all concerned that Kat remain ignorant. Although he did not like the deception, the alternative could only lead to disaster. He would go to any lengths to protect Kat from harm.
The king spoke over his shoulder, “’Tis for the best.” Then he turned and leaned against the window embrasure. “I hear your father is on the mend.”
Alex left the table and joined Edward by the window. “His leg is finally healed enough that he can start walking on it again. But it will be longer before he is able to travel. He has asked me to stand proxy for him at council.”
“Good, I will need Briand support if I am to find a way to pay the debt accrued by my Crusade.” With the mention of Parliament, and no doubt the reminder of the difficult task of raising taxes, the king concluded the interview. “’Tis good to have you home at last, Alex. Let me