Page 6 of Retribution

Aidric could only nod. “As did I,” he said. “If there was any hint of animosity, one of them would have to go.”

“Edward invited Gerard personally.”

“Orion has seniority.”

Aidric paused, watching the knights in front of him enter the gathering chamber. “Edward,” he muttered. “I am still not used to that. The man has been our king for over a year and he has only just arrived in England. It is a new world for us, Dirk. Those of us who have served Henry faithfully.”

Dirk knew that. “I know,” he said quietly. “The fact that Edward has not disbanded us outright is… confusing. Henry always insisted that we remain so close to him, but Edward has his own men, his own way of doing things. I will admit that I am puzzled as to why he has invited Gerard to join our group.”

Aidric shook his head. “I am not,” he murmured. “De Velt has a… past.”

“You’re speaking of the Executioner Knights?”

“The one and only.”

“I heard they exiled him when he disobeyed an order.”

Aidric looked at him. “He is their executioner,” he whispered. “Or, at least, he was. The man has his grandfather’s looks and more than a hint of his dangerous reputation. He is not a man who would normally be part of a group like ours. We are not spies or assassins. We serve the king directly, as his protectors. It is true that we have been known to do things for Henry that weren’t particularly savory, but on the whole, we did not operate in the shadows. Nor do we operate autonomously. We have our orders and we have a purpose. To invite a man like de Velt into our ranks is… troubling.”

They both turned to look at the chamber, seeing Gerard and Orion just inside the door in an animated conversation.

“I did not want to say what I was thinking when I heard the news,” Dirk said. “Edward is a different man than his father. He is a warrior, like us. He and de Velt were on crusade together. From what I was told, de Velt returned home with Edward. They are friends. Therefore, something tells me that Edward has moved de Velt into our group for more than simply protection.”

“What do you mean?”

Dirk shook his head. “I do not know yet,” he said. “But we speak with Edward on the morrow and present the Guard of Six as a whole to him. He wants to see us all, together, now with de Velt as part of us. Something tells me that we will know his intentions at that time.”

“You suspect the Guard of Six will evolve?”

“I suspect we are about to find out.”

That wasn’t a comforting thought, but at least they would have some direction. As it was, since Henry’s death and the absence of Edward, they’d spent a year without direction. They were in a limbo of sorts, waiting for the new king to arrive, waiting for the new direction their lives would take. Surely Britt felt it, too. They were the three senior members of the group and they’d given much for the crown. But Aidric was right—Gerard’s arrival was concerning.

Tomorrow would hopefully make the future more clear.

All they could do now was wait.

CHAPTER THREE

Thornhill Manor

London seat of the Archbishop of Cambridge

He’d summoned her.

She’d long learned to rush when the man summoned her and today was no exception. The archbishop demanded swift responses, in any given situation, so it was a struggle not to run as she made her way down the mural stairs in the center of the great house at Thornhill. The lavish, enormous townhome was technically owned by the archbishop’s family, the extremely powerful de Fulbourne family, but the archbishop was the eldest son and even if the title had passed to his brother because of the heir’s commitment to the cloister, Clarence de Fulbourne still held most of the power in the family. As a prince of the church, and the former heir to the Earldom of Gainsborough, he was a man born to power, a man who wielded power, and a man who bled power.

He was not to be disobeyed.

Even if she had been in her bath when he summoned her.

“You’re going to slip and break your neck!” a maid running behind her was hissing as she tried to keep her mistress from falling. “You are still wet!”

She was. Fortunately, the rush to the archbishop’s hall had dried her off by sheer wind power, but her hair was still wet and that was flicking droplets of water onto the polished stone floors. When most manors or domiciles had wood, rough stone, or even dirt floors, Thornhill had polished floors. Like marble.

And they were slippery when wet.

“Lady Cleo!” the maid cried. “Do you hear me?”