by Nicole Locke
‘The day we arrived?’ Balthus’s frown eased. ‘I was occupied. Weeks in the company of men will do that.’
‘If you’re not to take this seriously, neither will I.’ They didn’t have time for this. ‘I won’t trust his word.’
Balthus picked one of the few leaves on a tree. ‘I wasn’t intending to ask. There’s no point. You’re loyal to a fault and, even if you can’t trust me or Ian, you trust Reynold. And fortunately for me, Reynold said to trust me.’
Louve did trust Reynold, but only after years together and careful observation. But that trust was sorely tested right now.
Reynold hadn’t sent that message regarding the parchment until they left Reynold’s home in Troyes. He and Balthus knew they were to confront Ian, or gather information. But could it be true that Reynold hadn’t known of the parchment until half a day later? Or was it equally true he didn’t want Balthus and Louve to know about it until they were away from their home?
Warstones and their games!
Balthus tossed the leaf, grabbed another. ‘I can feel you thinking.’
‘One of us has to.’ Louve looked to the chapel doors which remained closed. Some servants were going about their duties, none were near here. But their luck would end.
‘It doesn’t matter the possibilities, the result is the same,’ Balthus said. ‘Of course, I thought that Reynold could have written that message regarding the parchment so you’d be forced to bring me here and Ian would kill me for him. There’s also the scenario where Ian fed that false information to Reynold on purpose to lure us here, so he could kill us both. You see, the possibilities are diabolical and all of them probable, and none of them make any difference. The end result is the same.
‘We had to come here. I have to lure my family out of the house and you must look. When it comes to Warstones the scheming possibilities are endless. We can only determine the veracity and truth by eliminating the lies. Unfortunately for me, these conversations and the hunt might end my life.’
That was the truth Louve fought. ‘My task is to protect you, so I don’t care what the possibilities are. A life, even yours, is worth more than a scrap of parchment.’
Balthus walked faster and Louve, shaking his head, was forced to follow. The youngest Warstone was trying to escape that Louve told him he was worth something. How often had Reynold discarded Louve’s words of friendship? Too many times to count.
‘You know this is beyond a scrap,’ Balthus said. ‘The legend existed long before either of us were born. Finding that parchment which could lead to a treasure must be done by us, not my family.’
‘I can’t allow this,’ Louve said.
‘Reynold won’t kill you. Out of all of us, he knows sacrifices.’ Balthus opened up the pouch at his waist and held out a folded parchment. ‘I wrote a message you can give him.’
Louve held out his hand, realised it shook and snatched the sealed message. ‘You’re exactly like your brother.’
Averting his gaze, and looking up at the trees for longer than it took him to snap a few leaves from a branch, Balthus said, ‘We’re decided, then, on the hunt?’
Louve couldn’t imagine Balthus’s childhood. He’d had loving parents and grandparents. His friendships had been for life. Yet, somehow, he’d become involved with the Warstones, who actively avoided friendships or ties to anyone, who plotted against each other and wondered when a blade would be slipped between their ribcages. They lacked trust and, as arrogant as they were, they had an odd sense of worth.
He’d spent years with Reynold to build any trust between them. Apparently, it would be the same with Balthus.
Tossing one leaf, Balthus flashed a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘If it’ll ease your conscience, I should let you know I lost many bets to the mercenaries that you’ll now have to pay. And if anything happens, just remember, you can’t trust me. Any of this could be a lie to lure you to your death. Goodness knows, I’ve lured other men to theirs. So I am, indeed, no better than parchment. I am not even worth the seed that grew the tree.’
Louve inwardly cursed. Balthus had better return from the foolhardy hunt. In the meantime, if Fortune favoured, he would find the parchment and be one step closer to what he wanted: land of his own and peace. He knew now he wanted no other than Bied, but he had to put that aside until much later.
‘When I said you were like your brother, I meant the good one.’
Brows drawn suddenly tight, Balthus tossed another leaf to flutter in the cold air. ‘Which one is that again?’
* * *
Bied hadn’t seen Louve since he’d left with the family for the chapel. Maybe he was in the role of Usher again, or in the role of mercenary or...what did mercenaries do when they weren’t swinging swords?
Perhaps he was only ignoring her after last night. Not seeing him could be for any of those reasons. She’d rarely seen the Steward, who’d had duties throughout the fortress, and since Louve was near the kitchens yesterday it was conceivable he wouldn’t be here today.
Cook showed up again, but his tentative gaze snagged on a pot or a spoon or something, and he’d let out the briefest, most agonised sound she’d ever heard a human give. Henry had rushed to his side and helped him outside. She hadn’t seen either of them the rest of the day.
She thought she’d seen grief in all its forms, but she didn’t know how Cook was making it through. If she had the freedom of the house, she’d give him some payment and let him go. Or if he wanted to stay, he could garden, or do something else. She could understand wanting to do something different from the past. It seemed he was trying to stay occupied, but every moment in the kitchens had to be agony for him.
Not seeing Louve also gave a certain pain to her heart. She still didn’t know who he was, not truly. What Louve told of himself revealed someone who was complex. Underneath, he held a calm strength, while there also seemed to be an irreverence to everything he did. He said he played games with Lord Warstone, but now she wondered who instigated those games and how dangerous they could be.
And yet... There was truth when he’d touched her, kissed her with passion and humour. He’d looked at her as if he meant it. She’d never met a man like him. If her family was safe, if he wasn’t asking for something permanent, she’d demand more with him.
He’d said he wanted something different than her; however, she questioned that. He was a mercenary and, before that, he took care of an estate not his own and cared for a widow who didn’t want a husband either. The choices he had made were the absolute opposite of his desires for a plot of land and a peaceful life.
So where did that leave them?
She had to work to gain coin for her family. None of them were surviving very well. Granted she never meant to be this far from them, but one job after another she lost because she could never hold her tongue or her pranks. Their need for her didn’t lend itself to building a family of her own, even if she wanted it.
Maybe she could persuade Louve he didn’t want a wife. Maybe he’d want a travel companion. He was a mercenary and she never stayed in one location for long. They both had to earn their coin. Again, if her family was safe, she wouldn’t mind some danger or some games. That was certainly far from her childhood of toiling in the kitchens, toiling in the fields, and it still not being enough to save her sister...to save herself. Maybe...if she could learn to trust a man, if...
No, she had refused Louve’s offer to borrow her indefinitely and he’d taken it that way. She’d only appear a fool to change her mind. Even if she did, there was no certainty he’d take her back. She was on her own now, as it should have been from the beginning. All she needed to do was to work, to ignore her thoughts of Louve that there could be—
‘You’re late,’ Bied said, as she spotted Tess slinking in and grabbing an apple.
Tess merely raised her brows and tossed her apple from one hand to the oth
er. She was up to something. Bied wiped her hands across her apron and followed her into the small larder. Herbs hung over their head. She was short, but Tess stood with dried thyme hanging in her face, and Bied would have laughed if she didn’t know Tess did it purposefully.
‘What are you hiding from me?’
‘Who says I am hiding?’ Tess said from behind the thyme bundle before she leaned over and winked.
‘Tell me,’ Bied said.
Tess leaned down and whispered, ‘Margery.’
It took a few heartbeats before she comprehended Tess’s words because the delivery of them was far too jovial and everything to do with rescuing her sister was fraught with difficulties and Louve’s secrets.
‘Has something happened?’
Tess shook her head, peered over Bied’s shoulder and lowered her voice more. ‘Galen overheard the family talking of a hunt tomorrow.’
The family gone, including Ian of Warstone, meant her sister would be in the room alone. There might be a guard, the latch might be locked, but it was an opportunity she hadn’t had before. The sudden relief of it all was overwhelming and she wanted to ask a thousand questions. Instead she squeezed Tess’s arm. Eyes shining in understanding, Tess gave a quick nod and stepped away.
‘Wait!’ Bied said. ‘How do you know what Galen overheard?’
Tess took cheeky bite of apple, flicked her hip up and walked away.
Bied laughed. When this was all done and she and Margery were far away from the Warstones, she truly was going to miss her unexpected friend.
Chapter Seventeen
It wasn’t a sound that woke Louve from his sleep, it was a presence that skittered across his skin. Even that shouldn’t have woken him since for years he’d slept in rooms filled with other mercenaries. He was used to other men’s snores, the rustle of clothing and the minute movements of restless men.
So it was the sinister feel of the presence that alerted him to the danger. Of course, if the person standing in his room wanted him dead, he’d already be dead, so he didn’t open his eyes or move when he said, ‘Did it have to be this late?’
‘I couldn’t fit it into the day that we had,’ Ian said.
Shoving the quilt down with his feet, Louve sat, and ran his hands through his hair. He’d hardly slept the night before and the night before that, and the night... When was the last time he’d slept?
‘Why is it your entire household abhors my getting any rest?’ he said.
Ian chuckled. ‘Maybe we are afraid if you did, you’d think more clearly and leave while you can.’
Eyeing the Warstone who was barely perceivable in the dark, Louve stood and stretched.
‘You sleep without any clothing?’
‘Don’t you?’ Louve said.
‘Seems like a luxury to me. When you have to escape with your life, having a tunic is useful.’
‘Maybe if I had one as fine as yours, but I’m afraid I spend my coin on other matters, like the weaponry that is more functional when a life is at stake.’
‘Those are the financial choices a mercenary has to make?’
Those were ones he made. Louve swept up his tunic and slid it on. ‘Won’t you tell me why you’re here?’
‘It’s too dark in here for this,’ Ian said.
‘It’s perfect for sleep.’ Louve secured his braies and grabbed his breeches.
‘But we need to talk.’ Ian opened the door and returned with a torch to light the two in the room.
Maybe it was the lateness of the night, or the flickering torch, but Louve was again reminded that this enemy was also the brother to Reynold, his friend. They looked and talked so similarly—what went on in their heads, though, could be different. Louve needed to determine if Ian’s flashes were madness or warnings.
Nothing about Ian’s mannerisms now seemed tensed for attack and, in that brief moment that the door opened, Louve saw no one in the hall. Perhaps Ian truly was that secure in his skills, or this was another friendly, but odd visit.
‘How was the conversation with my brother in the garden?’ Ian said.
Louve wasn’t surprised Ian knew, he was only surprised he’d been allowed any access to Balthus.
‘He doesn’t trust you and neither do I.’ Louve adjusted his breeches.
‘That’ll take time, no?’ Ian said.
Time wouldn’t be enough. ‘I have some wine here if you’d like.’
Ian moved farther into the room. ‘I didn’t think I allowed such luxury for my servants.’
‘You don’t.’ But the ale was poisoned and it was safer to ensure he had his own wine in case someone had tampered with those casks.
Ian accepted the cup from him and drank, his eyes keeping with Louve’s. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s unnatural to have you here,’ Louve said.
‘What could be unnatural about conversing and sharing wine?’ Ian lifted his cup.
It was unnatural because Ian kept seeking out his company. With Balthus and Reynold he’d been the one to pursue any relationship. It’d been the same way with Nicholas when he’d returned.
Louve rolled the wine in his cup. Too much of his life had been dictated by others. He longed for the time when it could be his own. He longed for the time when he could sleep through the night again.
‘Surely you must have shared such time with my brothers,’ Ian continued.
‘A time or two.’ Louve took a sip.
‘I’m surprised either of them allowed you to approach my fortress.’
‘Are you?’ Louve said, indicating the chair behind Ian for him to sit, while he sat in the other.
‘I’d think they’d be more protective of someone who decides to be a friend. I know I would.’
Had he chosen any of this madness? ‘I think I’ll decline your protection since it entails attempted murder.’
Ian settled back in his chair. ‘Would you believe me if I told you I’m glad Balthus escaped?’
‘You know the answer to that.’
Ian shook his head. ‘True, it is right not to believe me since his death suits my needs. My parents’ as well. Balthus and Reynold only divide our power and wealth.’
‘You say this at the same time you talk of friendship and wanting your brothers back.’
‘We might have no choice, though,’ Ian said. ‘Only one of us can survive.’
Louve slid him a glance and something flitted across Ian’s face.
‘I said that aloud, didn’t I?’ Ian said.
Warnings or madness? Louve observed the lack of confident smugness and notes of vulnerability in Ian’s voice.
‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ Ian repeated.
The Warstone appeared frightened. Louve knew he himself was terrified. ‘You have no reason.’
‘I do...right this precise moment. But as a precaution, where’s your weapon?’
‘It’s near.’ Louve didn’t glance to his chair arm where he had strapped a dagger.
‘I don’t need to ask if you know how to defeat me. I know you can. First Nicholas, then Reynold trained with you. You’ve had practice.’
At the mention of Nicholas, Louve stilled.
Ian gave a scoffing sound. ‘Don’t be surprised by what I know about you, or who assisted in Guy’s death. Although I was always surprised that a man as large as Nicholas of Mei Solis could move as swiftly as he could. Do you have his speed?’
‘You woke me up in the middle of the night to talk of my fighting skills? I’m more likely to use them on you as a demonstration. Do you intend to do this hunt tomorrow?’
Ian stood suddenly. ‘If my brother, Balthus, asked me to a hunt, why would I not go?’
‘Because there will be consequences if he doesn’t return.’
Louve braced for an attack, but Warstone only walked to the table and poured
wine into his cup. So Louve raised his cup as offering to see what the eldest son would do.
Brows raised, Ian eyed Louve and with much flourish tipped the flagon until the remainder of wine filled Louve’s cup.
‘There are consequences to any death, but especially in one so dear. Balthus is dear to my mother.’ Ian set the flagon on the table, but did not return to his chair. ‘I am, as you said, losing my understanding. It’s been occurring...for some time. I thought I had hidden it from my parents. They are not pleased by my mistakes, Balthus dodging an errant arrow being one. They’ve tried to kill me, you know.’
‘As part of your childhood training,’ Louve said for clarification. It wasn’t possible that the Warstones recently attempted to murder their eldest.
Both hands cradling the crude cup, Ian strode to stand behind his chair. ‘I have theories, but I’d like to hear why Reynold ordered you here and why you allowed Balthus to be within my reach?’
‘Ordered. Allowed.’ Never taking his eyes off Ian, Louve kept his right hand near the dagger. ‘There are only moves on the board, Warstone—do you think any of us players can truly be influenced by another player?’
At Ian’s unexpected silence, Louve considered his night companion. Ian’s slips from one topic point to another weren’t alarming, but ignoring a question and not making a reply was.
Louve didn’t dare move, not when Ian suddenly sat in his chair and seemingly forgot Louve was sitting in the room with him. Not while he watched minute changes begin as Ian’s open expression closed before pale eyes rose once again.
‘It’s not here.’
‘What’s not here?’ Louve said as evenly as possible. Ian’s voice was now cultured, controlled, and a sly cunning etched his features. It was subtle, but even the way he sat in the chair was different. The moment they had, the right now that Ian said he had, was gone. Lord Warstone had returned.
Adjusting himself in his seat, Louve prepared for whatever fight would come. ‘What isn’t here?’
The second brother, Guy, was reported to be a brutal killer with no remorse. It was apparent Ian suffered from his own demons all while he was aware of them. Was this the fate that awaited Reynold and Balthus? And what did that say about his own destiny?