Free Juliana Garnett by The Quest Page A

years now, but I would not harm his daughter.”
    He did not miss the look of disbelief on Sir Guy’s honest face and smiled wryly. ’Twould seem that even one of his most trusted men was uncertain of his reaction to this woman. Aye, and well he felt like doing someone harm. The loss of Edmund de Molay was as bitter as his failure to retrieve his son. The old master-at-arms had been with him since he’d been a squire in training for knighthood, and he felt his loss keenly. Leaving the body behind had been equally difficult. He could only hope that Edmund would receive a decent burial, as would the other bodies he’d been forced to abandon. If such had happened at Dragonwyck, he would have sent a priest to tend the matter, but he had no assurance that Seabrook would do the same.
    “Milord,” Guy murmured, “do I have your leave to go now? I maun make haste if I am to negotiate the lady’s ransom.”
    “Aye, ride swiftly and safely. And see what you can learn about those we left behind.” He passed a hand over his face and snarled an oath. A sleeping mastiff at his feet woke with a startled bark, and he soothed it before muttering, “Would that matters had ended differently, Guy. It weighs heavily on me that I abandoned our dead.”
    “There was no other choice, my lord.” Guy’s face bore lines of strain. “There was still the living to consider.”
    “Aye. ’Tis true enough. As now. Watch to your safety.” Rolf dismissed Sir Guy and sank into a high-backed woodenchair near the fire. He put an absent hand upon the great mastiff’s head when the dog rested a muzzle on his knee. The day’s events were sorrowful, indeed. Now Seabrook would be ever more watchful and probably would send word to the king of Rolf’s attempt. Not that he cared a whit for that. John rarely involved himself in his barons’ squabbles, except where it would benefit him.
    Rolf had sworn fealty and paid homage to John in 1199, though it had galled him to do so. But King Richard, on his deathbed in Châlus, had commanded that his brother John be king instead of Arthur of Brittany, their nephew. It had been the wisest choice, for few Englishmen wished a foreign king, and Arthur had been brought up in France under Philip. With him as king, the English would have been subject to Philip before long. William the Marshal had urged the barons to accept John, and they did, though most barons misliked it as much as did Rolf. John Lackland, he was called behind his back.
    Rolf smiled faintly. How that appellation must irritate the king. His older brother had been respected by all; even the greediest barons had been reluctant to incur Richard’s wrath for fear that he would be at their gates with his troops. Yet John frightened few with his military prowess. Nay, this king’s skills were more political, with his intrigues and convoluted plots that even the most seasoned courtier found alarming. With Richard a man had known just where he’d stood in the king’s favor. John would smile into a man’s face even while sharpening the dagger for his back.
    Worse, not even the king’s sworn oath could be trusted. ’Twas common for him to rescind an agreement at his slightest whim. His court was a pit of lies and intrigue, while he busied himself trying to recapture French provinces. Before, it had been Ireland and Wales. For months John had been absent from England. England was left in the tyrannical hands of the Bishop of Winchester, Peter des Roches, who ruled with an iron fist. And that, too, created new problems with many of the barons.
    God’s mercy, William the Marshal and the Earl of Salisbury were able to temper the worst of the bishop’s acts, as well as John’s. If not for those men—as well as a mere handfulof other earls who stood high in the king’s interests, if not his favor—England would be even more chaotic. Laws were erratic, or worse—deliberately ignored.
    Not the least of which was the matter of dishonest sheriffs