Page 48 of The Earl

Lindemere drank again, prompting both he and Cait to do the same.

“But not to place myself in a position of more prominence, as he claimed.”

“I did not come here to discuss a matter so long ago resolved,” Conrad began, not wishing to open old wounds.

“Ha! Resolved? You glare at me as if I were some mad old man responsible for his father marching to court with a retinue of lanced knights and nearly getting himself tossed into prison for it.”

Conrad’s eyes narrowed. “Precisely that.”

He glanced at Cait then. Though she stayed silent, he could feel her anger for him. For his family. She knew what the deterioration of his father’s kinship with the king had ultimately cost his parents.

“I assure you, my boy, I am not to blame for such an act. Your cousin defiled my daughter and should have been grateful I did not kill him.”

Conrad’s head snapped back from Cait to the baron.

“What did you say?”

“Defiled. Though she’d granted him permission.” Lindemere shrugged. “He was ten years her senior and knew well enough not to do so.”

Conrad shook his head. “Father would have made mention of it. He’d never have defended such an act.”

“Perhaps. If he had known.”

Cait leaned forward. “The earl never knew the reason for your original argument with his nephew?”

Impossible.

And yet the baron shrugged. “My daughter wished for it to be so.”

It was true. He said it with such straightforward simplicity. The mad baron, perhaps not so mad as he seemed, looked him directly in the eyes.

“You know well, my dear boy, some things are worth more than your own life. When Sir Marcus flew into a fit of rage that so angered the king, enough to have the man nearly beheaded, your father refused to listen to reason. If he’d not stormed from court, returning with those men, it would have been nothing more than a dispute between two wronged parties, provided, of course, your cousin simply apologized to the king. ’Twas all he required for having disrupted the court. He’d never actually behead a man for such a disruption, despite his threat. Instead . . .” Lindemere shrugged. “It was just as well. The father was no more noble than the son is now.”

It took Conrad a moment to realize he spoke of the king.

“You do not care for him?”

Ignoring the rest of what the baron had said, which would take him time to process, he focused on the reason they had come here.

“For the king?” The tone of his question effectively answered Conrad’s question.

“Why haven’t you joined the rebellion?”

Lindemere rolled his eyes. “I am too old to involve myself in such matters. My daughter’s husband will inherit this.” He waved his arms to indicate the great hall. “Imagine that. A Frenchman. At Lindemere.” He made a sound. “’Tis no better than a Scotsman . . .” He stopped then, peering at Cait. “Begging your pardon, my lady.”

From the flash of heat in Cait’s eyes, she did not seem inclined to give it. Even so, she nodded as demurely as if he’d not just insulted her.

Conrad withheld comment, waiting for the man’s next words.

“Lindemere is lost,” the baron continued. “What do I care if England is lost with it?”

He needed to think. To strategize. This was not at all how he’d envisioned this conversation, and frankly, Conrad was at a loss for words.

“Your connection to the French court is well-known,” Cait said. “Your support could mean the difference between taking London peaceably, by force, or not at all. If we are forced to call upon the French—”

We.Cait had said we.

Lindemere crossed himself. “All will have been lost.”

“But surely it would bring prominence and attention to Lindemere if you were at the center of such an effort,” she said.

He raised his mug, considering, and Conrad and Cait exchanged a glance.

“What do I care either way?” the old man finally said. “Let’s drink! A toast to your happy union.”

If he had been confused before, Conrad was even more so now. He could not decide if this were the wiliest, or craziest, man he’d ever met.

“Our union, my lord?”

“Aye,” he said as firmly as a man his age could manage. “You and the lovely Scotswoman. For the insult I’ve given her, I shall rectify it with the support you seek. Now drink.”

He did so gladly.