Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  He gritted his teeth, staring into the mug of ale he gripped in both hands. His reflection swirled around in the golden liquid. Haunted eyes stared back at him.

  Were there ghosts in the castle? he thought, echoing Jordan’s question in his mind. Yes. Yes, there were. And he knew his family was one of them. A mere shadow of what it used to be. He was one of them, too. A mere shadow of what he, as a boy, had always imagined he would become. He was supposed to be lord of this castle. Now he was nothing more than an outcast on his own lands.

  His hound, Doom, lifted his head, his ears pointing straight toward the door.

  “Ahhh,” a voice greeted from across the room, “the fox rises early.”

  Fox did not look up at Frenchie’s warm greeting, recognizing the voice of their cook. Doom put his head back down at Fox’s feet.

  “Could it be for my delicious tarts?” Frenchie wondered, scratching the three white hairs on his balding head.

  Fox glanced up at him in surprise. “You have tarts?”

  Frenchie shrugged apologetically. “No. But you sitting there reminds me of the days I cooked for the king. Everyone rose early just to get my scrumptious tarts fresh from the ovens. Ahh, they were glorious. Flaky and golden brown, rich with fruit.” Frenchie licked his lips.

  “You never cooked for the king,” Fox retorted, looking back at the blackened logs on the fire. “You can barely even cook for us.”

  “No, but if your father can say he is lord of this castle, then I can say I cooked for the king!” Frenchie exclaimed and pulled up a chair beside Fox. “I do have bread.”

  “Is it moldy?” Fox wondered.

  Frenchie straightened his back. “No. A bit crusty. But no mold ever grazes my bread.”

  Crusty. That meant hard as a rock. Fox declined with a shake of his head. “I think I’ll wait until Beau and Pick return with some berries.”

  “Always no. But you’ll see. Someday I’ll cook a meal fit for a lord... and I won’t be offerin’ you any!” Frenchie grinned a toothless grin. “‘Sides, you kind of get used to the bread.”

  Fox rubbed his sore arm, gingerly. The physical battle with Jordan last night had done nothing to help it heal. He was beginning to wonder if it would ever be fully healed again.

  “There was no one there,” Beau’s voice echoed from the corridor outside the room, interrupting Fox’s thoughts.

  “I say someone was there,” Fox heard Pick retort.

  Fox stood as they entered the room. He crossed the room, concern etching his features. “You saw someone?”

  “Yes,” Pick answered quickly.

  “No,” Beau replied just as quickly.

  Fox’s gaze burned into Pick. “Which is it?” he demanded.

  “I swear I saw someone in the forest just west of the castle as we were returning,” Pick said.

  “Soldier or villager?” Fox asked.

  “It was too far to see.”

  Beau shook his head, his blond locks waving across his shoulders, denying Pick’s words. “When we got there, there was no sign of anyone. No branches broken, no footprints. Nothing.”

  “Hallucinating again,” Frenchie chuckled at Pick. “Why can’t you hallucinate about my bread being soft?”

  “No one can hallucinate that well, old man,” Pick answered Frenchie.

  Beau chuckled. “I keep telling him to stay away from those green berries.”

  “I want a wider perimeter set up around the castle today. If anyone’s out there, we’ll find them,” Fox ordered. “Beau, you take the north end. Scout will take the south.”

  Beau grabbed a handful of berries from his sack before handing the rest to Fox. “You and your hallucinations,” he mumbled to Pick.

  Pick halted Beau with a wave of his hand. “We also heard a new rumor in town today.”

  Beau nodded and laughed low in his throat. “Apparently, someone saw the castle crying tears of fire last night.”

  “Tears of fire?” Fox asked.

  Pick nodded. “We overheard the miller and the baker talking about it in the village this morning.”

  “Imagine!” Beau hooted as he walked toward the door. “Tears of fire!”

  Fox’s gaze involuntarily rose to the northern ceiling, toward the north tower. It appeared Jordan’s plea for help had helped them more than it had helped her. He grinned at the thought, imagining her expression when he told her the news.

  Jordan turned toward the door of her prison room as she heard the lock being undone. The door swung open and the woman she had seen earlier entered, holding a bowl in her hands. What was her name? Scout, she thought, remembering one of the men calling her that earlier. Wordlessly, Scout placed the bowl down on the bed.

  The smell of sweet porridge reached Jordan’s nose and her mouth watered at the thought of tasting a decent meal. Jordan turned her gaze to the bowl to see the wooden container was indeed filled with porridge, on top of which was a piece of bread.

  Jordan lifted her gaze to the woman standing darkly silent before her. Scout was slender, clothed in well-worn breeches and a nearly sheer tunic. The tunic hung open halfway down her chest to her navel, almost revealing the entire rounded globe of one of her breasts. Her hair was long and wild, falling down her back in thick tangles of curls. Jordan frowned at her wanton, almost primitive appearance.

  Scout glared at Jordan, then turned sharply away from her and slammed into a small girl. The child tumbled to the floor. Scout stared down at her for only a moment, then stepped out the door.

  Aghast at Scout’s chilling behavior, Jordan raced to the girl’s rescue. She picked her up and set her on her feet. “There you go,” she said softly and brushed off the girl’s dress. Jordan looked at the girl’s face to see large tears glimmering in brown eyes, her lip puffed out.

  Jordan’s heart twisted at the girl’s pain. She lifted a hand to the girl’s knotted brown hair, wanting to soothe her, but the child pulled back from her touch.

  “It’s all right,” Jordan whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

  But the small girl stepped away from her, her face a picture of horror.

  Jordan immediately released her, letting her go. She didn’t want to, but she knew if she tried to restrain her, the girl would resist her help even more. She studied the girl in the second that she hesitated. Her hair was a mass of tangled strands, her face streaked with dirt. Jordan met her gaze. Brown eyes stared at Jordan in confusion and uncertainty.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Jordan repeated in a soft tone.

  The girl dashed for the door, disappearing into the corridor beyond. Scout appeared for just a brief moment in the doorway to glare at Jordan before slamming the door shut hard, again sealing her in her prison.

  Jordan stared at the heavy door, the young girl’s mask of fear burning in her mind. She thought of her children -- little Kara with that brown curl that remained forever in the middle of her forehead; willful Jason with an unending supply of energy; Ana, who was growing into a beautiful, if shy, little woman; John, the smartest of the lot, quick with a solution; and baby Emily, her pudgy little cheeks begging to be kissed, her bright brown eyes shining with joy. Was she crying now? Who was watching to make sure she stayed away from the spring?

  She could only imagine what they were thinking about her, the fear they were feeling. They would all be afraid of being alone, of being abandoned by her.

  Jordan collapsed onto her bed, her grief coming hard and fast. But through her hot tears a determined voice made a vow: You will pay for this, Fox. You will pay.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Just as Fox finished breaking his fast with a few handfuls of berries, his father entered the room. Frederick sat beside his son at the table.

  Fox studied his father, his old eyes, the wrinkles of worry permanently crinkling the corners of those eyes. His once full head of brown hair was now gray, thinning everywhere. He had been through a lot. Too much. And still he harbored the secret of who had murdered the baron. All this time, even under
Fox’s insistence that he tell him, his father had not once talked about it. His eternal silence about the matter had driven father and son apart, causing Fox to draw his own conclusions. And he had.

  Fox looked away from his father. Now, even if he revealed to him the identity of the murderer, Fox would never believe him. His father lived in his own world, a world where nobles still walked the halls of Castle Mercer, servants still scurried about urgently seeing to the needs of a bustling castle, and beloved friends and guests still filled the air with tales of wonder, local gossip, and news of the kingdom. It was true that ghosts haunted Castle Mercer -- ghosts of his own father’s forever-fevered mind.

  “Where is our guest?” his father asked.

  “Guest?” Fox echoed blankly, still thinking of the invisible nobles roaming only in his father’s disturbed imagination.

  “Lady Jordan,” Frederick said, his tone thick with the obvious.

  Fox’s gaze shot to him, startled.

  “Don’t tell me she has already left!”

  “No. She dined earlier,” Fox lied, hoping his father would drop the subject.

  Frederick nodded, accepting Fox’s answer. He took a now cold bowl of porridge and stared into it for a long moment. “It’s been a long time since we’ve last seen her.”

  “Longer than you think,” Fox grumbled.

  “She certainly has changed,” Frederick said.

  Fox nodded in agreement, thinking of her large luminous eyes, the way her girlish figure had matured into curvy womanhood. The way her hair seemed so soft and vibrant. And her lips...

  “She would make a good wife, don’t you think?”

  Fox bridled. So that was where his father was going with this. “For someone,” Fox admitted.

  “Why not you, my boy? You’ve always been fond of her. She’s quite a lovely creature. I’m certain Lord Harding agrees, don’t you, Edward?”

  Fox looked over to see his father staring at an empty space opposite them. His father always amazed him, no matter how many times he sat to speak with him. He would be carrying on a normal conversation for a while, then suddenly address his ghostly companions. Only then would Fox realize that to his father these ghosts had always been in the room with them, listening and watching. Sometimes it was just downright eerie to be around him.

  His father continued, looking back at Fox. “We could petition Lord Ruvane and –”

  Fox stood suddenly. His jaw tightened and his eyes burned with rage and fierce anger. That was the past. He would not petition Lord Ruvane for a piece of bread, let alone his daughter. As Fox stared at his father, at his earnest expression, his look softened and he turned his gaze to the floor, shaking his head. “I don’t think the Lady Jordan would want to marry me.”

  “Why Fox? Why do you say that?”

  “She’s in love with Evan Vaughn.”

  In love with Evan Vaughn. Saying the words aloud left a bitter taste in Fox’s mouth. He wasn’t sure why, because what did it matter to him who she loved? Whether it was a man marked for death or not.

  Fox had taken his turn scouring the north side of the castle for intruders, but he had found evidence of none. He wasn’t surprised he hadn’t seen anyone. His thoughts were not on his duty. Not on his duty at all.

  When he returned for the evening meal, the sun was setting and the wind had picked up. He entered the castle and noticed Mary Kate sitting in the inner ward near the stables. Fox smiled to himself. A wild dog had made her home in the stables and was expecting puppies any day. Mary Kate was anxiously awaiting them, checking every day for their arrival. Fox moved over to the girl and sat beside her. “No puppies yet?” he wondered.

  Mary Kate shook her head and turned her large brown eyes to him.

  Fox tousled the girl’s straight locks. “It will be any day now,” he told her. “Have you eaten?”

  She shook her head.

  “Come on, let’s go.” Fox stood and lifted the girl up, setting her onto his shoulders. He entered the Keep, being extra careful to duck into the opening so as not to bump Mary Kate’s head on the doorframe. He moved down the hallway and into the room.

  He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Jordan eating at a table beside his father. What was she doing out of her room? Rage filled him, and he shot an accusing glare at Beau, who sat beside the door.

  Beau shrugged helplessly. “Lord Mercer ordered me to,” he said around a mouthful of bread.

  Fox lifted Mary Kate from his shoulders and set her on the floor. “Get yourself one of the trenchers,” he said and patted her bottom lightly before moving over to the table. He stood, meeting Jordan’s gaze for a long moment before his father looked up.

  “Join us, my son!” Frederick exclaimed.

  Fox clenched his jaw tightly. His father was still treating her as some damned guest rather than a prisoner. It was ludicrous. But it was no use arguing with him. Fox sat in the chair beside his father.

  He looked past his father at Jordan. Rings of exhaustion darkened her skin beneath her clear blue eyes. Yet there was something bright and innocent and pure in those depths, something that instinctively called to Fox. He grimaced and looked away, taking a trencher of vegetables, bread, and roast duck. He smiled at the sight of the duck. Scout must have had a successful hunt today.

  “Where have you been? Seeing to the peasants?” Frederick asked. He directed his next words to Jordan. “Fox is very dedicated to seeing his people get what is needed to survive. He is always making sure the woods are secure and the stores are plentiful for the winter.”

  Fox didn’t look up. He didn’t need to reply to his father’s questions. He learned long ago his father would make up his own answers. Fox took a bite of the bread.

  The uneasy silence stretched.

  Fox chewed quietly, not even aware of the bread’s hardness. He chanced a glance over at Jordan, unable to avoid the temptation. She was finishing up with her portion of duck, her vegetables already gone. The rock-hard bread had one bite out of it, but then had been subtly pushed aside.

  He watched her place the last piece of duck into her mouth. The way her lips closed over the piece of meat, the way the slight hint of the bird’s moistness glimmered on her lips, immediately enflamed desire throughout his body. Fox ground his teeth and tore his gaze from her. He lifted his ale to his lips, draining the cup.

  Someone bumped his arm, and he looked over to see Mary Kate pushing her trencher next to his. She tried to pull herself onto the bench, struggling to climb onto the seat beside Fox.

  Fox reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her onto the bench. Mary Kate placed her bottom on the bench and looked up at Fox, smiling.

  Fox couldn’t help but grin at the proud smile on the girl’s face. She immediately turned to devouring the duck.

  “Who is she?” Jordan asked, drawing Fox’s attention.

  Fox looked at Jordan for a moment, for some reason surprised she had even spoken to him. Her right hand was hidden from view in her lap, but she quickly placed it back onto the table as he gazed at her. There was an odd look on her face for a brief second, but then it quickly vanished. “Her name is Mary Kate,” Fox finally responded, looking down at the child.

  “Lady Jordan tells me she is staying in the north tower,” Frederick said, holding his ale cup and gazing into it.

  Fox groaned to himself. His father would think the room was not good enough for her. And it wouldn’t have been if she were truly a guest. But it was fine for an enemy. “That’s right,” Fox replied.

  “Don’t you think it inappropriate for a woman of Lady Jordan’s stature?”

  “It fits Jordan just fine,” Fox replied shortly. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s time Lady Jordan returned to her room.” Fox shot a meaningful look at Beau as he finished.

  Jordan gave Fox a withering stare he easily ignored.

  Beau climbed to his feet, setting his trencher on the floor. Doom immediately lumbered over to the food and ate it.

  “But Lady Jor
dan hasn’t seen the entertainment! The minstrel has a fine rendition of the King Arthur –”

  Fox rose. “I think Lady Jordan is looking weary. She begs for pardon, Father.”

  Jordan looked hard at Fox, but then nodded at Frederick and stood. “Yes. Your minstrel will have to wait another day. Good eve, Lord Frederick.”

  “Good eve, my child,” Frederick replied and smiled at her.

  Fox took a step forward, but halted immediately when his father cleared his throat loudly. Fox groaned inwardly.

  He knew his father was expecting him to personally escort Jordan back to her room. He looked back at Jordan, staring at her for a long moment. She was beautiful. Damned beautiful. If it had been another time, another life...

  Fox reluctantly offered her his arm, steeling himself. But even his guarded preparation couldn’t lessen the effect of her touch. When she placed her hand on his arm, bolts of lightning pierced his body, sending tingles from his fingertips to the tips of his toes. He lifted his gaze to hers. Had she felt it as well? The blue of the bluest sapphire didn’t do justice to the color of her eyes. Like precious gems, they glinted innocently, unaware of the raw beauty emanating from them. His gaze dropped to her lips as if summoned to them. God’s blood, how he wanted to taste her!

  He moved forward, jerking her into motion.

  When they exited the room, he waited for her to break contact with him. But she didn’t. And he couldn’t bring himself to do it, despite knowing every moment they remained together, touching, he dropped another inch of his defenses.

  They moved up the spiral stairway toward the tower. He wondered what she would do if he pressed her against the wall and kissed her.

  As if sensing his intent, she dropped her hand from his arm and picked up her skirt to continue up the stairs.