Read Online Prince of Darkness by Sharon Penman - Free Book Online Page A

identity? He’d lived twenty years before finding out that the Bishop of Chester was his father. All he knew about his mother was her name, and he’d only learned that a few months ago. He did not want Aline to travel down that same lonely road.
    The next morning, he asked the castle steward for parchment, pen, and ink. He did not have much to bequeath. He’d drawn up a will that spring, leaving his stallion to Gunter, the blacksmith who’d once saved his life, and his dog to Nell’s Lucy. His legacy to Aline must be the truth. She had the right to know her own history, her own heritage, and for several hours, he labored over a testament, trying to anticipate any questions she might have about the father she’d never known. He then wrote a brief letter to the queen, and carefully sealed both documents with borrowed wax, for the first time within memory sorry that he did not have a seal of his own. No seal, no land, not even a name that truly belonged to him. It had not mattered that much until he had a baby daughter and nothing to leave her but regrets.
    After departing the castle, Justin rode straight for the Bishop of Chester’s palace on the outskirts of the city. He was nervous, for encounters with his father were invariably tense. Waiting for the bishop in the entrance hall, he could not help stealing sidelong glances at the chapel, for it was there that he’d confronted Aubrey de Quincy, and there that his father had denied his paternity until challenged to swear upon his own crucifix.
    He turned at the sound of footsteps, saw his father emerging from the stairwell. “Well, Justin, this is a surprise.” The bishop’s smile was tentative, wary. “Come with me. I’ve given orders to have wine fetched.”
    As he followed his father into the great hall, it occurred to Justin that this was the first time that the bishop had not whisked him out of sight and hearing of any witnesses. He must be feeling confident that there’d be no scenes. Justin supposed that, in an ironic sort of way, this was Aubrey’s declaration of faith, as close as he was ever likely to come to acceptance.
    After taking seats near the central hearth, they drank their wine in an awkward silence that was broken at last by Aubrey. “The Earl of Chester told me that you’d recovered the ransom. I imagine the queen was very pleased with your performance. Are you... are you here on her behalf?”
    “Yes,” Justin said, watching closely enough to catch the subtle signs of Aubrey’s relief that this was an official visit. “I have to go back into Wales.” Drawing the sealed letters from his mantle, he held them out to his father. “If you would make sure that these are dispatched to the Queen’s Grace, I would be very grateful. I need you to wait, though, until you hear that she has returned to England. I am sorry I cannot explain why—”
    Aubrey waved aside his apologies as he accepted the letters. “There is no need. You have information meant for the queen’s eyes alone. I understand the confidential nature of your work,” he said, and there was an approving tone to his voice that Justin had rarely heard before. Apparently the queen’s favor carried weight even with a bishop.
    “Thank you, my lord.” Justin hesitated, taken aback by a sudden, mad urge to tell his father the truth, to tell him about Aline, the granddaughter he’d likely never see. He raised his cup hastily, drowning the impulse in a swallow of Aubrey’s spiced hippocras.
    The bishop had reached for his own wine cup, but he was not drinking. “There is something you need to know,” he said, speaking so softly that Justin had to lean forward to hear his words. “I was sorely troubled when you told me Lord Fitz Alan had learned that you were now using the de Quincy name.”
    “Yes,” Justin said quietly, “I remember.”
    Aubrey was staring down into his wine cup, fair brows furrowed. “I told him that you were a bastard son of my younger brother, Reynald.