"Maggie?"
"Philip's lover when he was first turned. Then he turned her, too."
His jaw tightened, and his eyes clouded with anger again. "Oh, her." He walked back to the window.
Eleisha worried that she might never understand him, but she had come in here for a reason. "We're glad to have you with us, but you need to stop behaving as if you make our decisions. Can you do that?"
He nodded once without looking at her and then said, "I know you can't help what you are, but you don't understand anything. There are laws we have to exist by… that we did exist by. Julian's maker, Angelo Travare, broke two of those laws, and a nightmare started that hasn't stopped."
"What are you saying?"
He dipped his head, looking so unhappy that she felt sorry for him.
"I don't know how to tell you," he whispered. "I don't think I could make you understand."
Words were not certainly Robert's strength, but he seemed desperate to convey the meanings of these "laws." She was drained and tired, and dawn was still hours away. The last thing she wanted to do was share consciousness with Robert. But once home, she wanted them all to be able to start moving forward-and that would take mutual understanding.
Reluctantly, she sat down on the floor. "Close the window shutter. You don't have to tell me anything. Just show me. Take me back."
He frowned. "Take you back?"
"Don't you know how to share memories?" she asked, puzzled. "You must. We've all shared our memories, even Rose. Come sit here. You just think back, and I'll follow inside your head."
Still uncertain, he sat on the floor in front of her. "I just focus on a memory and you can see it?"
How could he not know this? He was five hundred years old.
"Yes, go back as far as you need to go."
"I only need to show you one."
"All right," she answered. To the best of her experience, none of them had ever shown each other a single memory-as the flow always started in one point and just continued until it finished or somebody managed to pull away.
"Just relax and think back," she said, closing her eyes.
She reached out for his thoughts, stretching her consciousness into his.
Think back, she projected. As far back as you need.
She felt a moment of panic inside him as her consciousness meshed with his, and then his memories began to surface, and then she lost awareness of herself, falling into his past.
Chapter 12
Robert
Robert Brighton cared nothing for titles or power-or even for family. His grandfather had been a soldier, his father had been a soldier, and he never considered any other life than following the same path.
He didn't mind the simple designation "man-at-arms," and he was loyal to the lord he served.
In the year 1514, his lord, Thomas Howard, was named Earl of Surrey. And Robert, at the age of twenty-three, had already been in his service for five years. He rejoiced in his lord's success.
By this point he had followed Thomas Howard into wars with Spain and Scotland, and he liked traveling from one battle to the next.
The course of his life simply followed that of his lord's, and this was comfortable, with a natural kind of flow that Robert desired. His left arm was broken once and his nose twice, but he always healed enough to fight again. He did not think into the future. He preferred living day to day, and the earl made certain the needs of his closest men were always met. Robert had little to consider besides loyalty, courage, and following orders-and he excelled at all three.
The earl's first wife died of consumption, but Robert had barely been aware of her existence. He was almost equally unaware when his lord had remarried in 1513 to Elizabeth Stafford, daughter to the third Duke of Buckingham.
A man-at-arms like Robert would hardly be included in the wedding party, and he and his lord were rarely at home. He'd seen Elizabeth a few times, but she was barely sixteen at the time of the marriage. Later, he wished he had taken more note of the event, as it came to shatter the course of his life.
After the Battle of Flodden Field in Scotland, to Robert's disappointment, his lord began growing interested in the political arena, and they spent more and more time at court in Eltham or Lambeth Palace-wherever the king was residing. Robert hated inactivity, and there was little for him to do. But he enjoyed those weeks when the court made preparations to "move," and then the hordes of Henry VIII's household took to the roads for a short journey.
Always acting as guard to his own lord, Robert liked the traveling and the break in monotony.
There were brief stints when the earl took time to rejoin his new wife, either at court or their seat at Arundel Castle in Sussex or their family home at Kenninghall, Norfolk. As a result they had a son named Henry and a daughter named Mary, but again, Robert barely noticed these domestic happenings.
Then, in 1520, his lord was given the thankless task of "putting Ireland in order," and Robert rejoiced once more. The following year they fought in France. They were merciless, burning all of Morlaix. After this, Robert hoped the earl would not be recalled home, and he got his wish. They were sent back to Scotland, killing men and ravaging lands, and Robert felt nothing but respect for his lord.
Then… in 1524, Thomas Howard's father died, and so he became the third Duke of Norfolk. As a reward, he was allowed to go and live in his own house in Kenninghall. At first, Robert thought little of this. By this point, he was thirty-three years old and quite resigned to going wherever his lord went.
Upon arriving at Kenninghall, Robert found out that he was to live inside the manor, as head of the household guard. This appointment honored him. He was placed in charge of the watch, arranging schedules and making certain his instructions were maintained.
He sometimes worried about missing the traveling and the fighting, but perhaps it would not be so bad to oversee the Kenninghall watch. His lord had a young son who would soon need training, and there seemed to be plenty to keep a man like Robert occupied.
There was only one problem.
His lord and lady hated each other.
Whereas Robert had barely noticed his lady before, he was now faced with her on a daily basis. Nearing her late twenties, Elizabeth was tall, slender to the point of being spindly, with dark hair and a widow's peak. She dressed carefully, paying attention to each detail down to her earrings matching her gown, but Lord Thomas somehow always managed to find fault, criticizing her in front of the servants, humiliating her whenever he could.
Robert found his lord's actions base… Worse, he found them common.
Thomas was fifty-one, with a narrow face and a nose so long it seemed to stretch from above his eyes to the top lip of his mouth. His brown hair was thinning, but he, too, dressed carefully, often wearing his robes of state at home.
He had never spent much time around his wife, Elizabeth, and now one of his main pleasures seemed to be verbally torturing her.
One night, she walked into the dining hall wearing a forest green gown with a matching headpiece, Spanish in design, as was the current fashion. They had six guests for dinner that evening.
"Good God," Thomas said. "You look like a brown scarecrow. If you're going to wear that color, the least you could do is cover your face in powder."
Elizabeth froze in her tracks. Several guests tittered. Several glanced away in embarrassment.
Robert tried not to wince as he stood near the door. He was ashamed of his lord. A man of honor did not humiliate his wife.
Yet as uncomfortable as he found the situation, Robert never imagined it could get worse.
He was wrong.