Prince of Darkness by Sharon Penman Page B

has more of a history with him than I do and she is likely to know other ways to reach him.”
    Justin suspected there was more to it than that. For now, though, it would do. “I will leave on the morrow. But if the lady is not willing to come, I can hardly stuff her into my saddlebag.”
    “She may not come for me,” John admitted, surprising Justin with his candor. “But she’ll come for the queen’s man. Emma is a clever woman, and she well knows how urgently she needs to regain my mother’s favor. Now, what will your cooperation cost me, de Quincy?”
    “The queen pays me two shillings a day. For you, my lord, I would charge three, plus my expenses.”
    “No more than that?” John tilted his head to the side, regarding Justin quizzically. “Why am I getting off so cheaply?”
    “Because,” Justin said, “I am not doing this for money. After this, you will owe me a debt, my lord, a debt I may collect at my pleasure.”
    “I see...” John’s eyes caught the torchlight above his head, giving off a golden glitter. After a moment, he laughed abruptly. “Since when did you become so crafty, de Quincy? I think you’ve been passing too much time with me!”
    Justin was given blankets and he joined the other men bedding down for the night in the great hall. He was folding his mantle to use as a pillow when he heard a light step behind him, a step he well knew.
    “Justin.” Claudine was standing only a few feet away. Acutely aware of the men within earshot, she said, very low, “I have too much on my mind to sleep, and will be awake very late tonight.”
    “I expect to be asleep very soon myself. Good night, Lady Claudine.” Stretching out under the blankets, he turned his back on her, lying very still until he finally heard the soft rustle in the floor rushes as she withdrew. Her perfume lingered after she’d gone, a fragrant, ghostly reminder of all he’d rather forget. His body was treacherously tempted to accept her invitation, but he would not yield to the weakness of the flesh, not tonight. The bedchamber was her battlefield; he had no intention of giving her such a tactical advantage. He believed her avowal that she’d never meant him harm. But she was too susceptible to John’s inducements. Nor had she asked the question that would have been foremost in his mind if their positions had been reversed and she had been the one coming from England to join him in Paris. Not once had she asked him about Aline.

V

January 1194
St Albans, England
    Justin was sprawled in Baldwin and Sarra’s best chair, long legs stretched toward the hearth, his the boneless, easy abandon of youth, and Baldwin felt a twinge of envy, remembering when he, too, had been able to spend hours in the saddle without suffering cramps and blisters and spasms of the spine. The baby cradled in the crook of Justin’s arm was sleeping peacefully, and Justin’s own lashes were flickering drowsily. With an indulgent smile, Baldwin watched him fight his sleepiness. When he’d first realized how often Justin would be visiting Aline, Baldwin had been dubious, not eager to have a stranger so often under his roof, but Justin did his best to make his calls as unobtrusive as possible, and it could always have been worse. It could have been “the Lady Clarice” hovering underfoot.
    “What happened to that handsome chestnut stallion of yours? Did you sell him?”
    “Jesu forfend,” Justin said with a smile. “I’d sooner give up a body part than I would Copper. The horse I’m riding is one I bought in Dover. I’ll sell him in Southampton ere I take ship for France.”
    “You do get about,” Baldwin marveled. “Just back from Paris and now off to Wales and then France again. I feel bone-weary merely listening to your plans, lad.”
    “Me, too,” Justin admitted. He was dreading this trip into Wales, so much so that he found himself tempted to confide his fears to Baldwin. He didn’t, of course, for reticence was a lifetime’s