The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) by E.M. Powell Page B

I’d swear my life on it. So he ran away like the cowardly cur he is. Fighting for my father, his wife says? I believe that as much as I believe a woman would open her legs to him without gold in her pocket. Or a knife to her throat.’ He stood up from the table, with a loud scrape of his chair. ‘Now he’s out there, scheming and plotting and conniving to stop my progress.’ He paced and all eyes followed him. ‘Waiting to make his strike, the cursed snake that he is.’
    Theodosia’s gaze locked on him too, tensed for what John might do in a rage like this.
    ‘We could hunt him down, my lord,’ said Walter, not obviously less sober than John. ‘You could join me. And we wouldn’t only take his hand.’
    Murmurs of agreement met his words, with feet stamping, and fists and goblets struck on the tabletop in a rousing clamour.
    John nodded with vigour, retaking his seat as he held up one hand to silence them again. ‘I have much to consider about where we fight next and who we chop to pieces in our victory.’ Hi s bloodshot eyes had the shine of fever, but it was a glow stoked by his rage. ‘ I al so have much to consider about what to do with de Lacy’s wife.’ He chewed his lip, frowning. ‘Gerald, you said at Windsor that th e Ir ish have a reputation for treachery and guile?’
    ‘That is the truth, my lord,’ said Gerald.
    ‘Well, Eimear O’Connor is one of them. You saw her today, where she would kiss the hand of the King of Munster, even in death.’ John spat on the floor. ‘She hates our success.’
    ‘As de Lacy will too,’ said Walter.
    ‘Precisely.’ John helped himself to more wine, slopping it messily as he poured. ‘We cannot afford the risk of her sending information to him.’
    ‘Which she may have already,’ said Walter.
    ‘Agreed.’ John tapped the tabletop with his fingers. ‘I’m going to have her brought within this keep and held here under close watch. Then I can take my time finding out what she knows and what she doesn’t.’ He smiled. ‘I can be very persuasive.’
    Theodosia stiffened. She knew the terror of a woman who is at the mercy of murderous men, men who would torture for sport in the worst of ways before they killed. She could not sit by while it was planned for another of her sex. But what in the name of the Virgin could she do?
    Gerald raised his voice in disapproval. ‘My lord, I would advise caution. Eimear O’Connor is of noble birth.’
    John rolled his eyes. ‘Noble Irish birth. A savage spawned by savages.’
    ‘Nevertheless. You do not want to antagonise the Irish any more than is necessary.’
    John drew breath to dismiss the argument.
    ‘My lord.’ Theodosia used her will to keep her hands, her voice steady. ‘May I make a suggestion?’
    ‘Who asked you to speak?’ John looked as if he couldn’t believe her forwardness.
    Gerald gaped at her, appalled.
    ‘I am guided by God, as always, my lord.’ Theodosia prayed God did, at this moment, direct her. ‘I know from my time in the Church that people will say much when they pray.’
    John continued to stare as if she were a cat that spoke.
    ‘I could pray regularly with my lady in her captivity, my lord.’ Theodosia pressed on. ‘I may find a way of truly knowing her heart while helping her soul on the path to God’s forgiveness.’
    ‘God, eh?’ John raked a hand through his hair. ‘I believe He mocks me right now. Only one woman at my feast, and she’s a nun.’ He grinned round at his friends. ‘And a talkative nun at that. The worst type.’
    His reward was more laughter as Theodosia’s shoulders tensed at his ignorant jibe.
    Theobald Walter pointed the greasy capon leg he held at John. ‘Might be worth a try, though.’ He interrupted himself with a belch.
    ‘I agree,’ came Gerald’s swift remark. ‘I of course apologise for Sister Theodosia’s rudeness. However, I believe there is value in what she says. She may have found a way to get what you want, without