“I have been playing this game for a long time now, Castor,” she said. “I know the rules inside and out. You need not remind me.”
The small procession passed through the gates and into the bailey of Castle York. A flock of attendants was there in a heartbeat. She stepped down onto the stand they placed beside her horse to allow her to dismount as Castor walked away, speaking with one of the Duke’s housemen.
And when she stepped down from that, she found herself standing before a tall man with light brown hair that fell just below his shoulders, dark brown eyes, and a full, thick beard. There was a wild, untamed look about him. The man was broad through the chest and shoulders, had thick arms and larger hands than she’d ever seen before. He was fearsome looking and had an intimidating presence that sent a cold finger of ice sliding down her spine.
Ivy cleared her throat and stood up a little straighter, trying to regain her composure. She did not want to seem startled in the presence of the servants. Though she quickly realized he was not wearing the livery of House Hamilton but a dark green cloak over a tunic that bore the crest of House Lennox. He didn’t even need to speak for her to know he was a Scotsman. Apparently, Col and Gillian had already arrived.
“You may take my bags to my chambers,” she said as she tried to casually brush the road dust off of her. “And please have the chambermaids draw me a warm bath. I would like to get clean after my journey here.”
The man stood there looking at her with a crooked grin on his face. And yet, he did not move. Ivy was used to having servants jump at her command, and she felt a sudden flash of irritation.
“Did you hear me?” she snapped.
“Aye,” he replied. “I ‘eard ye.”
“Well?”
“Well, what then?” he asked.
He looked at her with an expression of amusement on his face that made her blood boil. His sheer insolence enraged her.
“Well then take my bags--”
He laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound that started in the pit of his stomach and reverberated through the air between them. It was a sound that made her eyes flash dangerously, and her hands ball into fists at her sides.
“Nay, I willnae be takin’ yer bags anywhere,” he said. “Mebbe ye should learn tae carry yer own bags.”
Ivy’s back was rigid, and she felt her cheeks flushing. “Your master should do a better job of teaching you some manners,” she hissed. “You should learn your place and learn how to speak to your betters.”
“Ye ain’t me better,” he said, his voice suddenly low and intimidating. “And I am nae yer servant. Nor dae I ‘ave a master.”
And with that, he turned and walked away. Flustered and irritated, Ivy stood there for a long moment, watching him as he walked across the bailey and toward the keep. She intended to have a strong word with - well - whoever was in charge of running things at York. That sort of insolence and defiance — though common among the Scots — should not be tolerated here at a keep as prestigious as this.
“Insufferable beast,” she muttered. “Bloody insufferable beast.”
Chapter Four
Fin
The next morning, Fin woke and slid out of bed. There was a cold chill in the air as he stood before the window and stretched, the sound of him yawning echoed around the stone chamber. Dawn was just beginning to break outside, and the first fingers of sunlight were slowly creeping over the distant horizon, casting the sky in vivid shades of pink and purple.
In the bailey below, the workers were starting to assemble for another day of work. Their voices and laughter, though muffled by the distance, drifted up to him. Behind him the door opened, and he turned as a pair of chambermaids bustled in. He was only wearing his breeches and saw the two women blush as they quickly looked away from his naked torso.
“Good mornin’, My Lord,” said the first, a young woman with dark hair. “Thought you might want to freshen up a bit before breakfast.”
Fin nodded. “Aye. Thank ye,” he replied. “But I’m nae a Lord. I’m just Fin.”
“Very good, My Lord.”
He chuckled to himself as he watched them set down the washbasin and fill it with warm water. After that, they laid out cloths, towels, and bottles of what he assumed were soaps. He leaned against the wall beside the window and folded his arms over his chest. When he’d awakened that morning, the first thought that went through his mind was of the English woman who had turned up at the keep yesterday. Her bearing suggested to Fin that she was a noble. But he did not recognize the standards their entourage flew.
The dark-haired chambermaid turned to him. “Will there be anything else we can get you, My Lord?”
“How ‘bout an actual title then, since ye insist on callin’ me a Lord?” he chuckled.
A faint smile flickered across her lips, and she gave him a curtsy. “I shall see if they have any spares lying around.”
Fin smiled at her. “Tell me somethin’.”
“Yes, My Lord?”
“The two who came to York yesterday, I didnae recognize thae standards of their House,” he said. “Who’re they?”
“That is Baron Castor Welton of Elix,” she replied. “And his sister, the Lady Ivy.”
Fin nodded and stroked his beard as he took in the information. “Elix,” he finally mused. “I daenae know that I’ve ever heard of it.”
“I have never been there myself,” she said. “But it is a small barony to the southwest of York. I have a sister who worked in the household.”
Fin gave her a small smile. “Thank ye,” he said. “That’s most helpful.”
“Of course, My Lord,” she replied. “Breakfast is being served in the formal dining hall.”
He thought about attempting to correct her again but then thought better of it. Fin knew that no matter what he said, she would probably still refer to him with the honorific that was not his to claim. Nor did he want it; he had no desire to be a noble lord. He had no stomach for politics or games. He did not enjoy the formality, nor the pomp and circumstance of nobility.
“Thank ye,” he said.
She gave him a nod and left his bedchamber, still amused by the exchange. Fin thought of himself as a simple man. He enjoyed waking up early, walking through the forests around Westmarch Hall, and breathing clean, fresh air. He enjoyed hunting or fishing, good conversations with good friends, and of course, drinking down mugs of ale at the tavern with his lads.
He found politics boring and bothersome. Fin didn’t believe he had the head or stomach for it. Not like Col. His cousin could walk that line and play those games with the best of them. And from where Fin stood, he saw Col as one of the few who did not let being granted a title of nobility and the power that came with it go to his head. He was still as humble as ever, and if anything, having real power allowed him to care for his people even more. Even better and in more tangible ways. It was something that had always been a priority for him.
Fin used the washbasin to clean himself up and prepare himself for the day. He ran through the list of things he needed to do in his mind, getting everything organized and prioritized. And he silently cursed Col for tasking him with this assignment in the first place. This was far outside his normal list of duties, and he still did not feel comfortable in the role of chief investigator. He did not feel fit nor competent enough for the responsibility. He did not think he had the mind for it. Not like Col did.
But he knew that his cousin couldn’t leave Gillian’s side. And if Fin were honest with himself, he had to admit that seeing her lying in that bed, clinging to life by a thread, had enraged him. And there was a large part of him glad to have the opportunity to do something to help bring her would-be assassin to justice. Truth be told, Fin was looking forward to swinging the sword that took the man’s head off his shoulders himself.
As Fin readied himself for the day ahead, his thoughts turned to the Lady Ivy. She had that cold, haughty, noble demeanor he found so off-putting. The way she’d tried to orde
r him about like she had yesterday irritated Fin to no end. But he felt that he’d set her straight before he walked off. Of course, he knew he would catch an earful if it got back to Col that he had offended some friend or ally of the Duke’s.
And this was why Fin hadn’t wanted this responsibility in the first place. He only knew one way to be - blunt and direct. He said what was on his mind and did not play the games of Court well enough to know when to temper his attitude or bite back his words. That had never been his strong suit. Nor would it ever be. He was too old to change his ways or learn how to play games that held no interest for him - like politics and the affairs of the nobles.
Still, for as irritating as she was, he could not deny the beauty of the Lady Ivy. She was nearly a foot shorter than he and had skin the color of fresh cream. Hair blacker than the midnight sky fell in waves to the middle of her back. Beneath the wisps of hair framing her face, her eyes sparkled like polished sapphires. She was breathtaking to behold, and Fin had found himself stricken by her.
“At least till she opened her bleedin’ mouth anyway,” he muttered to himself.
Finished getting ready, Fin looked at himself in the mirror and thought he was about as presentable as he could make himself. He turned and headed out of his chamber and down to the formal dining hall.
* * * * *
“I ken today we should talk tae the apothecary,” Fin said. “And mebbe later, take another run at Marcus. See if a night in thae dark cells loosened his tongue any.”
Hollis nodded. “Aye. Sounds like a plan,” he said. “But dae ye truly b’lieve the lad had anythin’ tae dae with it?”
“Daenae yet,” Fin said. “Me gut’s tellin’ me he put the poison in the Duke’s cup. But I cannae prove it.”
“And who put the poison in Col’s? Couldnae’ve been Marcus.”
He shook his head. “I daenae that either. But yer right, it couldnae’ve been Marcus,” he admitted. “Which makes me ken there’s a bigger plan in motion. Tis a conspiracy afoot and somebody’s hidin’ in thae shadows, pullin’ thae strings.”
Hollis shrugged. “The Duke’n Col have enemies on both sides of the border,” he noted. “There’s plenty of men in Scotland’n Aingland who’d see them both daid.”
“Aye. But it seems tae big a coincidence that both the Duke and Col were targeted within days of each other tae make me b’lieve it.”
Hollis nodded. “Aye. I’d the same thought, actually.”
“I wish I’d had the thought sooner,” Fin said. “I assumed twas the same assassin.”
“Daenae be tae hard on yerself,” Hollis told him. “We all thought that. Col did tae if ye remember.”
“Aye, but that means Col and Gillian’re still in danger,” Fin said grimly.
“So, who’s pullin’ thae strings?” Fin mused aloud. “Who got Marcus and whoever tried to poison Col to dae it?”
“I’ve not a clue,” Hollis replied. “But we need tae find out.”
“Aye. We dae,” Fin stated. “And we need tae get word tae Alistair tae keep tighter security ‘round Col and Gillian. And tae start questionin’ the household staff.”
“I’ll send a rider with a message tae Westmarch after breakfast.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“Tough tae believe one of our own could’ve done this.”
“Aye,” Fin nodded. “But until we ken otherwise, we’ve got tae b’lieve it’s true.”
The doors to the hall opened with a loud creak, and Fin looked up. The Baron of Elix and Lady Ivy were walking through the doors. As dictated by custom, he and Hollis rose to their feet and waited until the newcomers were seated before sitting down again. A moment later, an army of the household staff descended upon the hall bearing more trays of food than Fin knew they could eat - even with Hollis’ notoriously hollow stomach.
He watched them set out trays of ham, eggs, fried potatoes, and rashers of bacon. There were sweet rolls and other fruit-filled pastries, as well as peaches that had been soaked in a brandy glaze. Everything looked and smelled amazing, and Fin’s stomach rumbled as he breathed it all in. Hollis cut him a look, and he shrugged, giving him the signal to dig in.
Once they all had plates of food in front of them and had started eating, an awkward silence descended over the hall. The only sound was the smacking of lips and the scrape of fork on plate. Fin cut a glance at Ivy and saw her daintily picking at a plate that had some of the brandied peaches and a couple of the small pastries. When she looked up and caught him staring, he quickly looked away and cleared his throat.
As they ate, the four of them stole glances at one another for long moments. The air between them crackled with tension, and it seemed as if a battle of wills had commenced as they sized each other up. The man Fin knew to be Castor put his fork down and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.
“Good morning. I am Castor Welton, Baron of Elix,” he announced. “This is my sister, the Lady Ivy.”
Fin gave them both a nod, his eyes lingering on Ivy, who was wearing a light blue dress with a high collar that looked to have been made from silk and had intricate black scrollwork down the sleeves. Her brother wore dark breeches and a tunic that matched his sister’s. A brocaded dark blue sash stretched from his shoulder to his waist nearly causing Fin to roll his eyes before he caught himself. Everything about the man was neatly squared away and perfectly coiffed. There was not a hair out of place.
It was then that Fin decided that Castor was a preener and the sort of man more concerned with the well-being of his wardrobe than his people. Somebody he could easily dismiss. But for the moment, he knew that he had to play his role.
“I’m Fin Begbie, and this is my second, Hollis Karstan,” Fin said by way of introduction.
“Your second what?” Castor asked.
A sly smile pulled the corners of the Baron’s mouth upward that grated on Fin’s nerves. There was something he did not like about Castor that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps it was his preening, or perhaps it just felt like the man was a buzzard circling the not-yet-dead carcass of Duke Hamilton. Whatever it was, Fin was on edge, and he remained stone-faced.
Seeing that his joke had fallen flat, Castor cleared his throat. “You’re Scotsmen,” he said. “What brings you to York?”
“We are lookin’ intae the Duke’s poisonin’,” Fin said. “On orders of the Baron of Westmarch.”
Castor sighed and nodded. “Yes, most disagreeable business this all is,” he replied. “I am glad to see that a couple of very clearly capable men are looking into this, however.”
“Aye. We’ll find who did it,” Fin stated. “And ye? What brings ye tae York?”
“My family has been a longtime ally of Duke Hamilton and his family. The friendship between Welton and Hamilton spans generations,” he said. “When we heard of this awful business, we came immediately to offer support and lend any help we could during this difficult time.”
“Tis very kind of ye,” Fin said.
“It is no less than the Duke would do for my family.”
Fin popped a piece of brandied peach into his mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully as he studied Castor for a long moment. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ivy looking at him, so he turned. She quickly looked away, and though her cheeks glowed red, her face was an icy mask of detachment.
“So, what have you found out so far?” Castor asked. “Are you close to finding out who did this horrible thing to the Duke?”
“We’re lookin’ intae it,” Fin said. “But the Duke wasnae the only target.”
“Oh, no?” Castor arched his eyebrows. “Was somebody else attacked?”
“The assassin tried tae murder the Baron of Westmarch as well.”
Fin narrowed his eyes and watched the Baron of Elix carefully, looking for any sort of a tic or twitch. Some tell that might give him away. Castor was stone-faced, though, and his eyes were full of interest as he looked back at Fin. If he was deceptive, Fin could not see it in the man.<
br />
“Instead of the Baron though, twas his wife, the Lady Gillian, that ingested the poison,” Fin said.
Ivy gasped, and her fork dropped onto her plate with a clatter as loud as a cannon-shot in the hall. Castor seemed to blanch and looked stricken as Fin relayed the news. Again, he studied them closely, looking for the slightest tell, but saw nothing that would indicate to him that they were lying or were somehow involved. To Fin, they looked as shocked as he was by it all. He cut a glance at Hollis, who, although he was silent around others most of the time, never missed a thing. He was more than observant and seemed to see everything that happened around them.
“Is she - the Lady Gillian…” Castor’s voice trailed off, unable to finish the question.
“She lives. She will recover,” Fin assured them. “Twas an uncertain thing at first, though. Col is half out of his mind with worry.”
“I can only imagine. That is awful, and I’m well pleased that she is recovering,” Ivy said. “The Lady Gillian has always been very kind and generous to my family. And I’ve always thought of her as the sister I never had. She was - is - one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. She always thinks of others first.”.
“Aye. She’s one of thae finest women I’ve ever known,” Fin agreed.
A strained silence descended over the hall as the four of them turned inward, reflecting on their own thoughts for a moment.
“So, where does your investigation lead you today?” Castor asked.
Fin opened his mouth but hesitated. He was loath to divulge too much about their investigation. Especially this early in its infancy. Fin knew they had very little to go on and even less of an idea of who they could trust. And since he did not know the Baron of Elix, he had not yet earned Fin’s trust.
“Hollis and I are looking intae a couple of things.”
“Is there anything I can assist you with?”
Fin shook his head. “Nay. We can handle it. But thank ye.”
Siren of the Highlands: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Cherrythorn) Page 3