By the time he was finished, Daniel’s cheeks were pink again and his jaw was ticking. “You accuse me of being dishonorable, my lord,” he said. “You accuse me of being subversive.”
William was looking at him closely. “I am not accusing you of anything,” he said. “But a pattern is following you around, too much of a pattern to be coincidental. What are you going to do the next time someone gets in your way, de Motte? Kill him?”
Daniel was so angry that he was trembling. What William said was shocking at best and not at all untrue. That was the problem; it was all true. Had he been so obvious? God, he thought he’d been so very clever, but had that been his undoing? Had he been so confident in his covert abilities that he’d been blind to the fact that it was all too convenient, as William said?
Possibly. But he couldn’t let William get the upper hand.
He couldn’t!
“My lord, I have apologized for my actions,” he said, his voice quivering. “You could have simply told me that you do not accept my apology rather than concoct an outlandish story that has me the villain in every mishap since I have been at Deauxville Mount. I did not come here to be accused of all the world’s problems. I will therefore excuse myself and thank you for speaking with me. If you could relay my apology to Edward, I would be grateful.”
With that, he bowed politely to William, and to Adam, before stiffly leaving the solar. When he was gone and the door bounced softly against the jamb, the only sound filling the chamber was of the fire snapping softly in the hearth. But the mood was full of tension. Paris finally turned to William.
“What was all that about the mishaps at Deauxville Mount?” he asked. “Did Brockenhurst tell you he suspected de Motte as being behind them?”
They were referring to Stephen Brockenhurst, former captain of Deauxville Mount who was a good friend of them both. But William shook his head.
“He said no such thing,” he said. “But as I was listening to Daniel, all of those mishaps occurred to me. Very coincidental mishaps. Did you see the look on de Motte’s face when I brought it up? I do not think he is the moral, quality knight he wants us to believe.”
“He looks like Daniel de Troiu,” Adam said softly.
Both William and Paris looked at him. In William’s case, it was curiously because not only was Adam’s statement completely off-topic, it also happened to be true. “I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose he does,” he said. “He has the same coloring. Daniel was quite handsome with his black hair and blue eyes.”
Adam fixed on William. “And de Motte’s name is Daniel,” he said. “I pointed this out to Paris, but he thinks I am mad. Mayhap I am. My eyesight certainly isn’t what it used to be. But if you ask me, there is more to Daniel de Motte than meets the eye.”
William was intrigued. “Why do you say that? Simply because he happens to look like de Troiu? Many men have that coloring. There is nothing unusual about it. But de Troiu… I have not heard that name in a long time. That was well over thirty years ago.”
“And how old is de Motte?”
William shrugged as he looked at Paris. “I do not know,” he said. “He is not young. He is older than thirty years.”
“And de Troiu died more than thirty years ago.”
William’s intrigue grew. “What are you saying, Adam? That there is some kind of connection between de Troiu and de Motte?”
Adam shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
“But de Motte’s father is Thaddeus de Motte. That is established.”
Adam threw up his hands. “All I am saying is that Daniel de Motte and Daniel de Troiu look very similar, at least from what I can recall of de Troiu. And now de Motte is at Deauxville Mount.”
William’s mind was churning with the possibilities, which were more astonishing by the moment. He turned to Paris. “What if he is de Troiu’s son?” he said, incredulous. “But Thaddeus raised the boy. Did Thaddeus send him back to Deauxville Mount with a purpose? To somehow assume command of his father’s army, his legacy?”
Paris shook his head. “I do not know Thaddeus de Motte,” he said. “I could not speak to any of this, but de Motte’s mother is at Deauxville Mount. She lives with him there. Mayhap one of us should visit Deauxville Mount and drop in on the woman to see if she can clarify this connection.”
William scratched his chin. “I knew Thaddeus de Motte years ago, back when I spent a good deal of time in London,” he said. “As I recall, he did not have black hair or blue eyes. He was bald, actually. A big man who was much more of a follower than a leader. But beyond that, I do not really know anything about him.”
Paris lifted his shoulders, equally perplexed by the situation. It was Adam who finally spoke up.
“I think you got under de Motte’s skin when you mentioned the commanders at Deauxville Mount that went before him,” he said. “As I said, I think there is more to de Motte than meets the eye and he is not someone I want here at Northwood. Paris, send him back to Deauxville Mount. Do it as tactfully as you can, but convince him to leave. I want him gone.”
Paris nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “And I do not want him courting Cassiopeia. I do not like what I have seen and I do not like what I hear, so it is better for all concerned if I send him on his way. But rather than throw him out, I would like to give him a reason.”
Both Adam and William looked at him. “What do you mean?” William asked. “You do not need a reason. Simply tell him to get out.”
Paris’ gaze was intense as he looked at William. “It would make things easier if I could tell him that Cassie is already betrothed.”
William understood his meaning right away. “To Eddie?” he said. “I would like nothing better, but Edward is an entirely different problem right now. He is so humiliated by what has happened that he is heading back to London.”
“Then let us give him a reason to return.”
William sighed heavily, thinking on that statement before eventually shaking his head. “I am not certain that would work,” he said. “He feels as if Cassie does not want to see him. He is certain she was embarrassed by what she saw, too.”
Paris threw up his hands. “William, my daughter is mad for your son. Can you stop making excuses and just consent to a marriage between them?”
William started chuckling. “Edward did tell me that leaving Cassie behind would be his biggest regret,” he said. “But knowing how he feels right now, I cannot agree to a contract. I think Cassie would have to tell him that she wants him to return before we can agree to terms. Do you think she would be willing to do that?”
“I shall have her write a missive to Edward before the night is out.”
William liked the sound of that. He felt quite encouraged by it. “I believe he has already left Questing, but I can send a swift messenger to catch up to him.”
Paris’ eyes were glimmering with mirth, with hope, and with joy. “Then that is what we shall do,” he said. “I have brokered marriage contracts with you before, with Athena and Helene and Hector. With Athena and Helene gone, you have no idea what joy this brings me to see Cassie wed to Edward. In a small way, it is the reclamation of what I have lost. My daughter married to a de Wolfe. To see her happy with Edward means everything to me.”
William reached out, putting a big hand on Paris’ shoulder as the conversation shifted from Daniel and Edward to Cassiopeia and Edward. It was an animated and much happier conversation now, and Adam simply sat there and listened with a grin on his face.
But he wasn’t the only one listening.
When Daniel quit the solar, the door hadn’t shut all the way. Just enough to make it look like it had closed, but the truth was that the door was still cracked. He could still hear the conversation inside and he heard the entire conversation about his possible relationship to Daniel de Troiu. If they figured that out, then they would figure out everything.
It had come down to this.
There was no more time to waste.
He had a m
an to kill.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Black Bull Tavern
The village of Wooler
The village of Wooler was about ten miles to the south of Castle Questing and since Edward had gotten such a late start, he stopped an hour after sunset at a tavern he and his brothers had frequented on several occasions.
But that had been long ago, at least for Edward, yet the tavern keep, an old man with missing teeth and one eye that stared up at the ceiling, greeted Edward as if greeting a long-lost son. In fact, Edward was surprised the man recognized him, given the fact that it had been a long time and the man surely couldn’t see anything with his wandering eye, but the old man was quite attentive with him.
Before he realized it, he was tucked back in a corner, with a table of his own, and drink was coming his way via a heavy-chested woman who smelled like an old fishing boat. She grinned at Edward, winked at him as she poured him a generous cup of wine, and then headed off to the kitchen to retrieve his food.
Edward simply smiled at her until she turned her back before puffing out his cheeks and waving at the air as if to wave away her smell. Over near the hearth where men were gathering, a man on a lute played the forbidden song that James had been banned from playing back at The Lyceum:
“Aye! Tilly, Tilly, my goddess near,
Can ye spare me a glance from those eyes?
My Tilly, sweet Tilly, be my lover so dear,
I’m a-wantin’ a slap of those thighs!
Then our young man, his life less grand,
Since the day he met our Tilly.
His love for her nearly drove him daft,
When he discovered not a puss, but a shaft!”
The lyrics brought a smile to Edward’s lips. He’d heard James sing it before, with great input from Scott and Troy, the latter of which sung horribly off-key, and it was a perfectly acceptable song in a room full of men. In truth, he’d been rather disappointed at not hearing it at The Lyceum, but his mother’s threats were understandable. No one wanted to hear about a man’s shaft at a wedding feast. As he pondered his brother with the big mouth, the food began to come in droves. A beef and ale pie, peas, and copious amounts of bread hot from the oven. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday and he took to the food ravenously, finding himself wondering what Cassiopeia was doing that night.
His mood sobered dramatically. Was she feasting, too? Had Daniel left Northwood or was he still there, trying to court her? In spite of the fact that he was trying to put it all from his mind, he couldn’t. He’d stopped trying about the time he reached the tavern and, now, he simply let his mind wander, thinking of Cassiopeia and everything else that was going on in his absence.
Missing her.
He started to second-guess himself, wondering if he’d done the right thing by leaving. Perhaps it had been impulsive, but his fear of seeing disgust in Cassiopeia’s eyes had been the deciding factor. Better to remember her the way she had looked at him when all was well and she believed he was a powerful, noble man. She had spoken of her respect for what he’d accomplished in Edward’s court, a glow about her that made him feel warm and giddy inside, and that was what he chose to remember.
And then there was the kiss.
It hadn’t been a normal kiss. It had been instant sparks, like the clash of flint against stone, and he’d gone up in flames the moment he’d touched her. He never knew such a thing was even possible, but with Cassiopeia, it was. He was capable of such emotion and it was incredibly distressing to lose it.
It was disappointment he was going to live with for a long, long time.
As the evening wore on, the weather outside the tavern took a downturn and rain began to fall as a summer storm moved into the area. More people began to spill into the tavern, which was growing lively at this hour. People came in to eat, or rest, or both, and the tavern had a hearth that was big enough to accommodate at least six full-grown men, standing up in it on the fringes as the fire burned in the middle.
It was an enormous hearth giving off a great deal of heat and Edward could feel it from where he sat. He was just about to start in on the second round of food from the kitchen, a stuffed eggs dish brought to him by the smelly wench, when a man who had been wandering around the tavern looking for an empty seat stopped by his table.
“May I sit, my lord?” the man asked in raspy voice, speaking as if he had rocks in his mouth. “It seems that the tables are full.”
Edward didn’t really want the company but he politely indicated the chair across from him. “You are welcome.”
The man nodded his thanks and sat heavily, laying his well-used broadsword on the table and slinging his saddlebags onto the floor. Edward caught sight of the bags; they were well-made satchels but worn, the leather old but well-tended. It was the stamp on the edge of the saddlebags that caught his attention. He’d seen it before – three lions in a three-point shield.
The crest of the royal family.
As the old man settled in, Edward found himself studying him from across the table. He was a big man, with big hands and a bald head. He was also dressed rather slovenly and smelled nearly as bad as the serving wench did. It was an unsettling stench, one that would have been off-putting had Edward not been so hungry, still. He continued with his stuffed eggs as the pungent serving wench brought more drink and hot bread over to the old man.
“The weather was clear when I arrived earlier,” Edward said, simply to make polite conversation. “I hope it clears up by the time I leave tomorrow.”
The old man took a sloppy drink of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It is a summer storm,” he muttered. “It will pass quickly. I have been seeing them for the better part of three weeks.”
“Is that how long you have been on the road?”
“Aye,” the man said, breaking his bread apart. He hunted around for the butter until Edward slid it across the table at him. “The further north I go, the more rain there is.”
“There is a fair amount in the south.”
“Have you spent enough time there to know?”
“Indeed I have. I have a home in Surrey.”
That caused the old man to look up at him. “And you are so far north?”
“My family lives in Northumberland.”
The old man nodded in understanding and went back to smearing butter on his bread. “So does mine,” he said. “I am going to visit my wife and her son.”
Edward watched the old man take a bite of his bread, chew twice, and then chase it down with an entire cup of wine. Belching loudly, he poured himself a second cup and downed the entire cup in a few swallows. Then he poured a third before returning to his bread. Edward could tell that the man was quite used to drinking a good deal of wine; by the pitcher from the looks of him.
“How much further do you have to go?” he asked, simply to be polite.
The old man shoved more bread into his mouth. “Not too much,” he said. “I am very close, I think. Can you tell me where Deauxville Mount Castle is from here?”
Edward nodded firmly. “If that is where they are, then you are very close,” he said. “Take the road northeast out of the village and it is no more than two or three miles up that road. Very close, indeed.”
The old man swallowed the bite in his mouth, looking at Edward in surprise. “I did not realize I was that close. With the darkness and the weather, I suppose it did not occur to me.”
“You are nearly there.”
He pondered that as he gulped most of his third cup of wine, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Had I realized that, I would have kept going,” he said. “But I suppose it does not matter. I shall see them on the morrow.”
The mention of Deauxville Mount had Edward more than interested about the man seated at his table. He eyed the saddlebags. They were on the floor where he could see them. As he studied the faint stamp, the serving wench brought beef pie for the man and he dug into it with gusto. But Edward couldn’t take his eyes off the saddlebags
– a royal stamp? Asking about Deauxville Mount?
His curiosity grew.
“Do you serve the king?” he finally asked, motioning to the sword and the saddlebags. “I ask because you have the property of a royal knight. Your bags have the royal stamp on them.”
The old man kept eating. “I used to,” he said. “That was a long time ago.”
“My father is older than you and he still serves the king,” Edward said. “Old knights never surrender their service. They will die with a sword in their hands, like my father will.”
“Who is your father?”
“William de Wolfe.”
That caused the old man to stop chewing. “De Wolfe?” he repeated. “The Wolfe of the Border?”
“Aye.”
The old man took a closer look at him. Up until that point, he’d mostly been interested in his food and not the company. But now, he was quite interested in the man seated across from him. He swallowed the bite in his mouth and licked his lips.
“I served with your father many years ago,” he said. “I knew him. Your father is still alive, you say?”
“Still alive and still spirited. He has not surrendered to anything, and especially not to age. He can still put up a good fight when the mood hits him.”
The old man grinned. “Did he do that to your face, then?”
It was Edward’s turn to grin. “Nay, he did not,” he said. “I said he was spirited, not a brute.”
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