In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,51

undertaking.”

“In this, Lackland shows remarkable insight and intelligence,” the Wolf commented dryly.

“He has his moments.”

“Even though I am a cripple and a doddering old fool?”

“No one is calling you either,” William insisted. “Which is precisely why you must remain here, visible and accessible at all times. Thus, while he debates and ponders and concentrates all of his efforts watching you and waiting for you to come after the princess, he will not have much notice to spare on my niece.”

A general stirring occurred around the table as each man wondered at the connection.

“Your niece?” Eduard asked. “What has your niece to do with any of this?”

“As I mentioned earlier, the king has thoughtfully arranged a betrothal between the Lady Ariel and the son of William de Braose. My niece, through terms of her own concocting, has managed to avoid receipt of the charter, but it is only a matter of time before we are required to acknowledge it.”

“Ariel will never acknowledge it,” Henry insisted. “She will take herself to a nunnery before she agrees to marry the son of a common routier.”

Eduard, who was hearing of this proposed union for the first time, temporarily set aside his concerns for the princess and spared a muttered thought for the abbess. “I pity anyone who tries to teach her complacency and obedience.”

William smiled, causing a faint ruddiness to rise in Eduard’s throat as he demonstrated the excellence of his hearing. “I would be the first to agree she is in possession of a high spirit. Nevertheless, she is of my wife’s blood and a De Glare, and I do not thank the king for interfering in my family matters.”

“You will refuse his command?” Alaric asked.

“Outwardly, no. I intend, in fact, to send her back to England at once to comply with the king’s writ … in the company of a heavily armed escort, if necessary.”

“It will be necessary,” Henry murmured bleakly.

“I am counting on it,” William assured him.

Sparrow perked instantly. “For in this heavily armed escort …?”

“… Will be a few handpicked men who will break away at the proper time and …”

“… Pluck our Little Pearl out from under Lack Jack’s nose before he even sniffs a plot afoot!” Sparrow finished, puffing his chest with smug delight, pleased to have proved himself beyond worth yet again.

Not all of the conspirators were so smug or so pleased.

“How will you determine where to find the Pearl in order to pluck her?” Alaric asked with a frown, attacking the most obvious weakness.

“I … have my own sources of information among the king’s equerries,” William said carefully. “The right amount of gold in the right hands will buy what we need to know, and in plenty of time for Eduard to make his plans before he embarks from Normandy.”

“You predict the destination will either be Corfe or Bristol?”

“Those would be my choices.”

“They would be mine too,” Alaric admitted honestly, glancing at the Wolf. “For neither are hospitable to strangers and neither open their gates readily to visitors.”

“Aah, but they might … if they thought those visitors travelled by the king’s command, escorting the bride of his choosing to the groom of his choice. Since both castles lie along the route to Radnor, it would not seem unusual for the bridal party to pass by.”

“To pass by, aye,” Sparrow said, his enthusiasm waning under a puckered frown. “But to breach the gates, pluck the Pearl out of her shell, and make haste away with all heads still attached to shoulders …?” He paused and sucked a stubby finger, clucking his tongue with grave approbation.

“We have one other thing in our favour,” the marshal said, leaning forward. “The man assigned to guard the princess is known to me. His name is Brevant and he has a fondness for gold that matches his dislike for the king.”

“Neither reason warms my cockles,” Sparrow declared.

“Nor can they be counted upon to bear the strain of too close a brush with danger. But even assuming our stout fellows keep their ears and eyes and entrails, where do they go afterwards? Every road pointed back to Normandy will be too hot to tread upon.”

“And so thick with the king’s men,” William agreed calmly, “they will have few to spare on the roads heading north, into Wales.”

“Wales?”

“Northern Wales, to be even more precise. Powys. Prince Gwynwynwyn has promised to give Her Highness sanctuary for as long as is necessary. This too fits neatly into the scheme of things, for the Braose lands are