by Nicole Locke
‘Stories, if they’re true.’
‘This one is,’ he said. ‘It’s not a French story. It’s not entirely an English one, but this one is told there frequently. There’s this gem. It’s ugly, but through the ages a story was attached to it. That whoever holds it holds power. The story has changed over the centuries. Most recently because of the conflict in Scotland, it has changed to whoever holds the gem holds the power of Scotland.
‘You can imagine why the King of England or any driven family like the Warstones would want it.’
Her brows drew in. ‘This sounds familiar. It’s a jewel, isn’t it? The Jewell of Kings.’
Feeling as though Fate hurried their parting, he nodded. ‘The Jewell of Kings, like Excalibur, is a legend, but it’s based in some truth. It’s been hidden inside a dagger’s handle for years and has recently resurfaced. Reynold...’ he shook his head ‘...Reynold loves to read—you wouldn’t believe how he lugs books around from one place to the other. He’s left daggers and swords behind in his haste to travel from one location to another, but his books, those always were wrapped first.’
‘What has this to do with the parchment?’
Impatient. Demanding. Still staying with him though he had befriended a Warstone.
‘The legend might also contain a treasure, but all the bits of information are spread about,’ Louve said. ‘One part is on the dagger’s hilt, the others are words written on parchment. It could have been an entire book, but I don’t know. All Reynold knows is that Ian has a complete piece and he wants that.’
‘Thus, he can rule over others. Have power and wealth and—’
‘No, so he can hide the whole lot and be done with it. He wants nothing else than to settle down with his wife in their home and have peace.’
Something flitted behind her eyes, something which made him uneasy, but it was quickly gone. ‘But the parchment’s not here,’ she said.
‘It appears not,’ he said.
‘Ian knows who you are, doesn’t he?’ At his nod, she continued, ‘What of Balthus? How can he be good if he’s hunting with his family, if he’s a Warstone?’
How to explain Balthus when he’d spent so little time with him as well? ‘I pretended I was an usher. Here, he’s also pretending to be someone he’s not.’
She snorted. ‘With any hope, he’s better at it than you are.’
‘He is, or else he’d already be dead. I’m here to protect him.’
‘From his brother or his parents?’
‘Most would not guess Balthus needed protection from his parents.’
She frowned. ‘I’ve known adults, parents and otherwise, who are dishonourable...who don’t deserve to be in the presence of children. Tess also told me they were never here under the same roof, which is a hint that their relations are torn. That stuck with me because if my family could be safe, fed, I’d give anything to be with them under one roof.’
Louve wanted to ask questions. Biedeluue’s expression when she talked of children and parents—there was something there...something personal. ‘I can’t rule out that they wouldn’t kill him.’
‘That’s what you meant when you said Balthus was alive. You thought his own parents would kill him on the hunt?’ She gasped. ‘Could they have poisoned the ale?’
He couldn’t see how that was possible, but anything was probable when it came to them. That wasn’t what concerned him, however. ‘You’re taking this too... You’re understanding too readily and now you’re helping me solve one of the mysteries?’
‘I have siblings whom I have had to protect from numerous situations.’ She flapped her hand. ‘Margery the most of all. At some point, I’m going to grab every last goblet in this house and smash it against a wall, after I drink wine from every cup first. But right now, I need to get my sister free of this.’
He waited, fascinated by the numerous thoughts behind her troubled eyes. He had thought it would be difficult to tell her. He had thought she’d lean away from him when she fully understood not only that he was a hired sword, but who he worked for. He had thought—
She poked him in the chest. ‘If I understand correctly, we’ve got a murdering family who want to kill each other, all to get some gem that the King of England is after.’
Unfortunately, Bied understood all too completely. ‘It’s not just them. Everywhere they spread their poison, they spread danger. They could not have got this far without allies and support. Without others undermining other families and countries.’
‘All this is happening in this fortress while my sister is trapped in that room,’ she said, pointing in the general direction of the private chambers.
Margery had a strength that had surprised him. The night of the feast, she’d appeared as though a cruel word could fell her, but the Margery he’d questioned was nothing like Bied had described her. Bied seemed equally bewildered and impressed by her younger sister.
‘I think we can safely say Margery’s being trapped in that room isn’t entirely Ian’s doing,’ Louve said. ‘You might have a lot more in common with her. You’re both stubborn, both fierce.’
‘Fierce!’ Bied said, then stopped. ‘Was it this place that changed her or—’
‘She would not have survived long in Ian’s presence if she didn’t have the strength already.’
‘Battles over legends and kingdoms,’ she breathed. ‘It’s almost incomprehensible.’
‘All of that is happening while we were in our own private storage room.’
‘Now you jest. I cannot honestly tell if there is humour in you, or tragedy.’
Both. ‘I’d jest more. I’d tell you more of the Warstone intrigues if you’d trust me some.’
‘Trust you? There’s no point to that now. I’m leaving.’
Her words! Once they left this room all of it would change. Ian would know he’d failed to bring anything out of his room. Balthus, no doubt, would have done something to tip his hand, and there was no parchment for Reynold. This was all before the elder Lord and Lady Warstone played their part.
‘There’s a point because you need to know the truth,’ he said. ‘I wanted this time with you, to tell you, show you my feelings.’
She snorted. ‘You haven’t shown me your feelings. You’ve been telling me, repeating to me, of danger, danger, danger, which doesn’t seem as though it will ever end. I already knew about your concerns here because I can see it with my own eyes. That guard outside my sister’s door, he would have harmed us, wouldn’t he?
Louve nodded. That guard would have killed her. How could he be contemplating trying to keep her? He couldn’t. It was...simply the time they had, the way she felt in his arms. He needed her and he needed her safe. Some trust was necessary for that.
‘Knowing the details,’ she said, ‘explains what is happening, but doesn’t earn my confidence.’
‘Bied, I—’ He stopped himself. ‘Can we have a bit of understanding between us? Maybe let me...borrow that as well.’
‘You can’t.’ She shook her head, sighed. ‘You have a little of it—how can you not after this room?—but what you told me is too much danger for my sister, my family! Moreover, I’m not certain it’s my trust you need to earn, but your own. You say you want peace, but when has your life not been like this? I think...this is the life you want.’ She brushed her gown. ‘There’s no time for this now. I hear everyone and so can you.’
This was the life he wanted? The danger, the plots, and subterfuge? He knew how to play the games, but he wanted what his friend Nicholas had, what Reynold was just now building. A family. Something, someone of his own.
The voices in the hall were getting louder and he needed to warn her.
‘I’ll do what I can to get you and your sister out of here. When we leave here, it will be different. I might need to do some acts, but know—’
She placed her
hand on his mouth. ‘I know. You need to keep Balthus safe, might be cruel or order me about as an usher would. Or something else that you’re not telling me that I can almost guess at in those blue eyes of yours. But know that I need to protect Evrart.’
Tragedy. Humour. One of them won.
The merest thought of Biedeluue protecting Evrart burst a situation far too unfathomable through his heart which ached. The warrior was larger than an oak and weighed twice as much as all the guards put together. ‘Protect... Evrart.’
She nodded in earnest, her expression brooking no argument. ‘Because if something happens to him my sister won’t forgive me. That’s what she wanted me to promise if you hadn’t yanked me out of there. So move.’
She was serious. Louve looked at her. Looked again, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, or ease the instant tightness in his chest. The ache. He wanted to laugh and mourn. This woman! He imagined her as he saw her that first day. Shuffling from side to side, her arms outstretched. But instead of shouting to protect the children, she’d shout—
‘We’ll need to stop,’ he choked. ‘By the kitchens.’
‘Why?’
‘To get some goblets.’ Louve laughed.
Her eyes crinkling at the corners, Bied threw a dozen linens at him, before she marched out of the room ahead of him.
She didn’t see him take one last look at their room.
Chapter Twenty
Flying past the guards and servants who gave them room, Louve hurried behind Bied, ready to block anyone who stopped her. The moment the linen door was open, all laughter was gone. Now he needed to protect her, knowing full well their time together was over. He shouldn’t even try to keep her. She needed to be as far away from the danger as possible.
Whatever game Ian wanted to play, he won. They know. They always know. Duped in this, but he could see no other angle when he negotiated to gain access to the private chambers.
How could there be any other interpretation? Her lip was cut, she pulled away from Ian’s touch and sent a message to Bied to rescue her.
Ah, but he hadn’t taken in the entirety of the situation. He hadn’t registered the giant of a warrior, Evrart, attempting to cheer her. He thought he was only making a fool of himself for Lord Warstone. Maybe if he had bothered to look at the warrior, he would have noticed a look of concern, but he kept his eyes on the enemy. Which, of course, Ian would have been aware of.
Down the stairs, Bied in front, her height all the more noticeable, the efficient way her hips swung at each step a beacon for his eyes. Even now.
Was he trying to get them killed with distractions? Was she, because she was a distraction? They weren’t done. Not nearly done enough and he burned for her. How was he to let her go? If he had his way, she would be a distraction for ever and they only had heartbeats of moments left.
He’d seen the Warstones emerge from the forests. Balthus was safe, but he felt as though time was not in their favour. That events had changed and he just didn’t know what they were. No more time to deliberate on whether he could trust Balthus or Reynold. For better or worse, he had to play the game before him.
When they hit the bottom of the stairwell, he grabbed Bied’s wrist to hurry their steps to the kitchen. There was a possibility he could hide her there until...the Hall was teeming with people, guards and Warstones.
Near the dais, Balthus and Ian were conversing, their heads close together. From this angle they appeared more like brothers than enemies. The shock of it stopped him, which yanked Bied against him and brought attention their way.
Ian’s eyes locked on him holding her wrist. His expression turned quickly to a victorious knowing while Balthus rolled his eyes. One brother discovering his weakness. The other disappointed he’d displayed it.
Why had he grabbed Bied’s wrist? Nothing for it now. Keeping his hold, he positioned himself in front of her.
* * *
Bied hadn’t meant to cry out and slam into Louve when he suddenly stopped, but the man had legs as long as countries and it took everything in her to keep up and gawk at the Hall which seethed something menacing. Most of the people she didn’t recognise; many of the guards had weaponry at their waists or in their hands.
‘Why is there no food on the tables?’
Bied swung her gaze towards the haughty voice. Lady Warstone strode across the Hall as if she owned it. Her green gown with enormous sleeves was so fine the weave shimmered as it flowed behind her.
‘I agree!’ Lord Warstone was as tall as his sons, his frame thicker, but no less formidable. ‘Are we to starve here?’
Ian must have given some sort of signal because three guards strode to the kitchens, their feet thudding against rushes roaring in her ears.
Louve didn’t make a sound, but his stance blocking her told enough, as did his protectively holding her wrist, his finger tapping gently at her pulse as if to let her know what he could not say.
He didn’t need to say anything, she knew they were trapped between predators. He said it would be different when they left the linen room, but she wasn’t prepared for it to happen so fast.
She thought there would be moments to prepare, but the Hall was flooding with people as if there was a gathering or announcement. Had Louve known such a sight would greet them and was he to be an usher or a mercenary? His back was to her, but the tension in his shoulders told her perhaps he didn’t know either.
If so, who did that make her when he continued to hold her wrist?
‘Oh, there’s Usher standing there,’ Lady Warstone drawled. ‘What are you doing with your household if he is so lazy? It appears he’s clasping a servant while your guards are fetching, how odd.’
‘There’s plenty of guards to spare, Mother, and they were closest to the doors.’ Ian’s voice perfectly mimicked his parent. ‘Usher and the cook are new, let them stay to celebrate our successful hunt and the return of a most faithful servant. Come, isn’t it happy news we could meet him on the road? There’s a feast to be had tonight!’
Lady Warstone waved her hand. ‘As if that much game will be prepared properly by tonight. Do you have any of that venison from yesterday? If so, get your cook to do something. I am terribly hungry.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, dear,’ her husband said, eyeing Bied and Louve. ‘This is our son. There’s more afoot here. See how protective this Usher is of his cook. Are they married? Is there a bond we’re about to break?’
Elder Warstone eyed them both as if they were a feast. Louve’s finger swept across her inner wrist once again and she took what comfort she could from it.
She was ready to run or fight and all they’d done was enter a Hall where people were talking. Talking! But it was the way they conversed, a flow between them that was tangible the more words were said. It was that feeling the words made that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, made her wish for a weapon so she could end them.
Whatever it was the Warstones created, she’d never experienced it before, not in all her travels. If she had to put a name to the feeling that permeated the Great Hall, she’d call it malice. But even that fell far short.
The doors behind them opened and many heads turned to watch servants including Tess, Galen and Henry carrying trays with multiple goblets. Too many.
Bied gasped. Louve clasped her wrist that bit tighter as he, too, realised the implication at the same time she did. The faithful servant whom Ian had met on the road had to be Steward.
More guards coming down the staircase behind them, but no Margery. In front more guards poured in from outside, including Evrart, whose eyes stayed a moment with Louve’s, then Bied’s. For some reason, that, too, brought her comfort as she recognised the person at his side. Steward, with a rigid smile slashing across his face, had returned.
He didn’t look at all well. His thin frame was gaunt, his pale skin sallow with drips of sweat bead
ing under his nose. The sweat must have been profuse for her to see it a distance. He’d brought back the favoured goblets, but it seemed as though it had taken a toll on him. Or perhaps he didn’t like being in this Hall any more than she did.
‘Here are the refreshments, Mother,’ Ian said, his voice booming from wall to wall. ‘Wine for you all.’
Ian’s mother wasn’t looking at the servants carrying wine. Her pinched gaze was focused on the Steward and his wide, almost frantic, gaze was solely towards Lady Warstone. His father, however, appeared delighted and grabbed the first goblet, drinking it down and placing it on the next tray where he snatched another.
It was an odd way of serving refreshments. Customarily, the goblets would be empty and there would be someone carrying a pitcher of wine behind, or the wine would be on a table in the Hall to serve from. Perhaps it was another English way of serving she was unaware of, but it was little wonder Henry and Galen were there because the trays would be heavy.
As Bied tried to catch the gaze of any of her friends, she watched Ian stand by the dais with his family, while Balthus, conversing with one guard, shifted away. Evrart and the Steward remained side by side like matched sentinels, though Steward seemed on the edge of collapse.
Why she was noting everyone’s positions in the room she couldn’t say. Or, perhaps, the fact she couldn’t see Louve’s expression made her desperate to determine from others what was occurring.
As people drank, as servants with pitchers refilled those whose goblets were already empty, the smell of food began wafting from the kitchens. Her stomach growled even though she was hardly hungry, could at any moment be sick. Her lips were dry, however, and she eyed the goblets of liquid, but as tray after tray passed them, it became clear she and Louve were ignored...as was Steward.
With shaking knees, she stepped forward to see some of Louve’s profile to determine his thoughts on their being overlooked and was surprised to see the same bored expression on his face as the Warstones’ held. If he hadn’t continued to hold her wrist, she would have collapsed. Who...was this man? Who were any of them? How was it just moments before she’d told him she’d protect Evrart for Margery? Now, she absorbed Louve’s slight touch to remain standing.