by Nicole Locke
Louve widened his stance and something flitted across his eyes that pierced fear through her caution. Bied eased more of her body from the table. Whatever Ian just said made Louve wary, so she would be as well.
Balthus cleared his throat. ‘There will be an argument for the ages between our parents tonight.’
Ian’s lips curved. ‘I was certain Father would throw his dining knife at her back.’
‘He’d want to make it personal.’ Balthus grinned.
‘How much more personal than her not telling him her plans to kill you, his favoured son?’ Ian said.
‘As personal as our father not telling our mother about attempts to kill you, her favourite,’ Balthus said. ‘You are fortunate not to have siblings, Louve.’
‘I believe I’m fortunate not to have parents such as yours,’ Louve quipped.
Balthus and Ian both laughed. Bied ran her hands down her skirt and glanced again at the stairwell for her sister and the exit for Evrart. She also eyed the spare knives on the table next to hers. The wealth to have knives simply left around, but nowhere near her!
These men talked of family and friendships, but their stances spoke of battlefields and death. Bied glanced around the hall for any hidden dangers and saw none. Most of the guards were already tearing parts of their trenchers. None looked as if they were interested in the conversation happening between these three.
What was happening? Why were family and friendships words that tensed Louve’s shoulders and flexed Balthus’s good hand?
‘Our parents...’ Balthus shook his head as if imagining a recalcitrant child. ‘Can you imagine the chaos they’d cause if they conversed their schemes with each other?’
‘I believe they talked the King into that massacre at Berwick.’ Ian frowned. ‘Oh, yes, and they shared in the other massacre of that village in Scotland.’
‘I thought you did that,’ Louve said.
Massacres! Bied wished with all her heart she wasn’t sitting. The way Louve held himself, the way he talked, it broke her to see him so. All of them, smiling, but so cold. She desperately ached to make it stop.
‘Do you like it there? I despise Scotland and can’t imagine any place worse.’ Ian gave a fake shudder. ‘What made you think I did that?’
‘Because of that Englishman you hired,’ Louve pointed out.
‘Sir Richard Howe’s loyalty seems to be along the lines of my former Steward’s. Who knows what side he’s truly on?’ Ian’s gaze whipped to Balthus. ‘What was that look?’
‘What look?’ Balthus said.
‘You just shared a look with my Usher.’
‘I’m looking everywhere, Brother. Your Usher, you...your men.’
‘But he is my friend, aren’t you, Louve?’ Ian turned to Louve, the smile returning to his face, but it appeared...fixed. ‘You said you’d be my—’
Bied watched it all in horror. The tenor of the conversation tense, but awkward. Ian’s voice faded in and out. The movement of his hand hidden in the folds of his tunic revealing one of the dining knives...and its sudden lethal trajectory.
Roaring, Louve vaulted and released a dagger towards Ian. Guards rushed towards them.
And Balthus with a bandaged hand reacting too slowly. Her eyes on Louve, on Ian, Bied bounded from the table and shoved Balthus away from Ian’s thrown blade.
Not enough.
The blade cut across the top of her palm as it struck Balthus. Louve’s own blade’s flight arcing towards Ian. A fierce light in his pale eyes, Ian wrenched his body—
No!
Balthus falling, Bied clasped to him, tumbling over, pressing into the blade!
Circled by gaping guards, Bied scrambled away from Balthus. The blade struck his arm. Relief until she registered his closed eyes, his fast breath and fevered skin. Something was wrong.
She turned. Louve knelt on rushes, cradling Ian. Guards on their side as well, casting shadows across their bent forms.
‘Curse you and your ancestors,’ Louve choked. ‘You didn’t have to go this way.’
‘I always was,’ Ian gasped, blood trailing from his mouth. ‘Don’t forget...you made a promise.’
Then a sound from Ian that Bied never wanted to hear. And a vision she never wanted to see: Louve clutching Ian’s lifeless body.
There was no anger in Louve’s voice, no disdain, only anguish. Only one word repeated over and over: no.
‘Louve!’ Bied cried out. ‘Balthus lives!’
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘You need to rest,’ Louve said, coming up to Bied in the winding hallway that connected the private chambers.
It was late—most of the household had gone to bed after a day he never wanted to repeat. Balthus’s hand and Ian’s death had scoured Louve’s heart all day. Regret battered his every deed until he second-guessed even the most basic of directions he gave.
They’d whisked Balthus to a room where a healer could help him recover. The guards had carried Ian’s body to the chapel. For reasons that he couldn’t address, the priest laid his body near that of the Steward’s. Their funerals would have to be discussed tomorrow, decisions he’d have to make. He hoped this time, they were the right ones.
When he wanted only to stay at Balthus’s side, he’d been plagued with immediate emergencies. The first was to get his own mercenaries out of the forest and into the fortress. Something which made Louve feel more secure for the safety of Balthus, Bied and Margery, but which caused more unrest with Ian’s men. Ordering Ian’s men to follow him was no easy feat. Twice he had had to prove his worth via sword, a sword he wanted never to see again, it being the same one he had to use to sever Balthus’s hand.
It’d only taken moments after the healer unwrapped Balthus’s hand to know it could not be saved. It was swollen and almost all black. Bied had wept at his side, asking all the questions he should have, but his throat had closed.
When she turned her broken gaze to his, he knew what had to be done and done swiftly while Balthus remained unconscious. But...the agony of Balthus’s scream before he succumbed back into that darkness still echoed in Louve’s mind.
The only good, if there could be any, was that Balthus had a chance to live and the guards, ever loyal to a Warstone, kept their duties which he increased in case Ian’s parents came charging back. He’d also sent a messenger out to Troyes, to tell Reynold that his brother was dead and Balthus gravely injured. When Reynold arrived, he’d let him know both were his fault.
There were times when he tried to bring up his desires of a wife, a home, peace, just to get him through, but the words only pained him more and he knew why. None would ever actualise for him. He could imagine no wife other than Bied, though too much separated them and, after what happened in the Hall, what should always separate them.
He loved her. Even if she could accept him as a mercenary, as a man with no home, would he allow it knowing that with the Warstones, and Ian’s last words, there was so much more to do and it was up to him to do it? No. He couldn’t.
That brought him to the other truth. The one Bied mentioned when they talked of trust and trusting himself. The conversation with Ian about him liking the games.
He said he wanted a wife, a plot of land, peace, but Bied was right, he never chose that for himself. He fooled himself, thinking it was because the right woman wasn’t at Mei Solis, but had he ever pursued anyone else other than the widow Mary, who was unavailable?
And he wasn’t just good at the games, of the thoughts and intrigue, he was fascinated by them. He’d pursued a friendship with Reynold of Warstone because he wanted more late-night conversations.
He wanted Bied with every breath he would ever take, but she didn’t want a husband. Even if she did, she loved her family, and the life he led, the one that spilled blood and wine in a Hall, would never be good or safe for her and the ones she loved.
/> So he went about his duties, knowing that, soon, he’d say goodbye. But not now.
Most of the torches were unlit, but the one flickering behind her in the hall was enough to see her swaying on her feet. She’d changed clothes since this morning, her hair was unbound and damp. Refreshed, but there was a slump to her shoulders, her walk uneven. A hollowness around her eyes that likely mimicked his own.
All day, she’d overseen the cleaning of the Hall, the comforting of the servants, the multitude of questions. He’d watched her all day, stolen moments to talk with her about the fortress care, to enquire about her hand, which was only scraped. But it’d been hours since he’d seen her this close. It felt like centuries since it was just them in the linen room.
* * *
‘I’ll rest now,’ she said. ‘I was visiting with my sister again. Evrart’s been with her since this morning. Did you know there’s a tunnel to the private chambers? When he left the Hall, he just came back in and up the stairs, and...’ She stopped. ‘Don’t mind me. I’m relieved that she was never alone today.’
‘Will they stay—’
‘No, they moved to Evrart’s room which is a door down. That bed is enormous.’ She yawned. ‘There were men outside his door I didn’t recognise.’
‘Balthus and I came with mercenaries—they’ve been paid to wait in the forest this whole time.’
‘And they did?’
‘They’ve been promised more coin.’
‘To wait in halls?’
He heard the humour in her voice, but it didn’t carry given her eyes kept closing.
‘To guard your sister. We’ll have some of our own outside my room. Come,’ he said, clasping her wrist and escorting her to his room.
* * *
Bied didn’t protest when Louve brought her to his room. The bed was large, the room thankfully private. Needing quiet, she’d been reluctant to return to the quarters where she slept with Tess and everyone.
Louve stayed silent as he dipped a linen in a basin and wrung out the water. Walking carefully over to her, he gently washed her face and neck. He gave her no words, simply a cool gentle touch. Then he did the same to himself with more brisk efficiency.
She didn’t know how he liked to sleep, but she hadn’t any spare strength to ask or to wait so she crawled into his bed and pulled the quilt over her.
Only a moment later it was lifted and Louve adjusted himself beside her. Less than that when his arm wrapped around her and pulled her close. She settled further in his arms, further into the soothing silence he created. It was as if he knew just how to care for her. She was exhausted, but her mind could not rest.
‘I thought it was for us,’ Bied said.
‘What was for us?’
‘The ale. When three goblets were handed out. You, me, Evrart and, somewhere upstairs, I imagined Margery was handed one as well.’
‘You drank it anyway.’
‘If Margery was drinking it, if you—’ She didn’t want to finish those thoughts. ‘I was relieved it wasn’t handed to Evrart—at least I kept my promise to my sister.’
She felt him rubbing his chin against the top of her head. Felt the pull of her hairs caught in his dark whiskers that were never completely gone no matter if he shaved. She loved that part of him. She loved... She was scared she loved him.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said.
‘I know.’ She closed her eyes. ‘This is the life you chose.’
‘I might not have known the extent of this dark world, but, yes, I did volunteer.’
She adjusted herself to see a bit more of him. ‘You told me of the danger, but a man was poisoned in front of so many and then...carried out like filthy rushes.’
‘It is difficult to explain danger and I wish I could have protected you from all of it.’
‘You’re awfully good at it,’ she said. ‘Louve, I’m only here because my sister wrote me a rescue message. Even with this Evrart, I will continue to beg her to return home. To be done with it all. He can come, too.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you certain you only want a wife, peace and small plot of land?’
‘I thought about the words you said. About the choices I’ve made and what I truly want.’
When it got quiet, she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. She knew he was as tired as she, that they only spoke because there was so much to say.
‘You’re right to have doubts. What I say I want and what I do are contradictory. But I still want those things...just differently than I thought.’ He touched the small scar under her chin. ‘A hot turnip, huh?’
Part of her wanted to keep talking, but the warmth and security of the room was already lulling her. Words and thoughts were harder to form and there would be time to talk before she left. It seemed with Louve’s abrupt subject change he felt the same.
‘A turnip popped out of the boiling pot and landed all over me. It hurt.’
She felt him trace the small, thin scar there. Felt him wondering about her words and what he saw on her skin. ‘Then I scrambled all over the place to get away from the offending vegetable and hit my chin on a table or chair or...something.’
His low chuckle vibrated through her as his finger continued to trace along her jawline. It felt...soothing, as did his body against hers. She was grateful she wasn’t alone today; she was grateful it was him beside her.
Yawning, she adjusted the quilt some more. ‘I think we need to talk about you and me.’
His finger stopped its caress. ‘Is there an us?’
A warm bed, long legs for her icy feet. Her body begged for sleep. ‘Did you mean those words you said to me in the Hall? The ones you said without sound?’
Long moments as he no doubt shifted throughout the entire day and she regretted her choice of words. She was so tired.
But when he eased against her back, when he gathered her more securely in his arms and brushed his jaw against her head in that caress she was beginning to crave, she knew he remembered the right words.
‘Very much,’ he said.
She knew what his answer would be. She did. It was in the way he gathered her in his arms now, the way he protected her as best he could. But even if she had feelings for him, where did that leave her or her family? They needed her to work. Margery’s coin would stop now and, with Mabile’s pregnancy, there would be difficult days ahead, especially since she needed to find work elsewhere.
Louve said his pursuits hadn’t changed, only became different. How different could they be when he, too, had to work for coin? And Louve...he would be chasing after danger for ever, not peace.
Even if he managed a home, she could never stay in kitchens or till fields. It would be reliving her worst nightmare. Yet, Louve had been good to her and he deserved some answer. Even if the words were slurred and barely audible.
‘I don’t see how we can be together,’ Bied replied, barely getting the words out before succumbing to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bied woke, saw two slumberous eyes softly looking at her, yelled like a banshee and recoiled...violently.
Louve yelped, the quilt was flung into the air and she banged her arm into the wall so roughly it throbbed.
‘What kind of perverse pleasure do you get sneaking up on me!’ She was cradling her arm while Louve was laughing so hard, tears sprang from the corners of his eyes.
‘I was sleeping next to you all night, at what point could I have sneaked up?’
She’d never slept with anyone overnight before. Oh, she’d had men and a night in various locations. A linen closet wasn’t so odd given the multitude of occupations she’d had over the years, but laying in someone’s arms for comfort...that was something entirely different.
‘I don’t know, you just did.’
‘You’re beautiful when you sleep,’ he said
, lying back on his side, his head propped up on one arm.
‘There! I knew you were being devious,’ she huffed. ‘Watching me sleep.’
‘Your lips look softer and the way they part makes a man wish you were awake.’
‘If you say I snore, you will soon be finding a new room in which to sleep.’
He grabbed her calf and rubbed it. ‘Threatening to take over my room, are you?’
Not if he kept doing that. His thumb was digging in a bit, making her leg and other bits feel altogether better. He gave her a knowing smile. Sly!
He wore a tunic covering the expanse of his chest which didn’t seem entirely fair, so she tugged on the quilt some more to cover more of her and—‘You’re naked.’
He smirked. ‘I compromised since I usually don’t sleep with anything.’
That image made her just want to stay in bed all day. With that thought alone, the world outside their room crashed within her again. He must have seen it on her expression because he stilled his hands on her calf.
‘We should go,’ she said.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them the humour was gone and a bit of that tragedy circled about.
‘I know you came here to rescue Margery, but what if she doesn’t want to go?’
‘Where else can she stay? Evrart has no other home than here, and this place isn’t safe. No matter how...big...he is, he can’t protect her here when Balthus recovers. And who is to say Balthus will want her here, or the other Warstones? This isn’t their home. And... I’m sorry.’
‘No, I understand. I do. It’s something I know all too much of. You remember my telling you how I managed another’s estate?’
When she nodded, he continued, ‘I was good at it, but... I always knew it wasn’t mine and it didn’t fit. It wasn’t the home that I dreamed of sharing with a wife.’
‘With Mary,’ she said.
His hands on her leg jerked. ‘Until you brought her up that day in the cellars, I hadn’t thought of her in years, not in any true sense. It was...what she represented more than her that I wanted. I know that now.