“Aye,” said Dominic.
“Armed?” Simon asked.
Silence stretched like a harp string, then Dominic shook his head.
“Nay,” Dominic said. “The baron is shrewd indeed. He will spy out the keep from the inside before he decides if he is insulted by my cold welcome.”
Erik gave Dominic a quick, slanting glance, realizing that the Glendruid Wolf had hoped to anger the baron enough so that he would refuse to pass through the keep’s gates.
“Subtly done, wolf,” Erik said softly.
“But unsuccessfully,” Dominic said. “Now we will have to find the baron’s weakness before he finds ours.”
“Are you so certain we have one?” Simon asked.
“Yes,” Dominic said. “As certain as Deguerre is.”
“In the name of God, what is it?” Duncan demanded.
“In the name of God, I don’t know.”
30
Silently the four warriors watched Baron Deguerre ride up to the keep.
“Lower the bridge,” Dominic ordered.
Within moments the bridge creaked down to lie across the moat. Deguerre rode over the planks without pausing. Five men came with him.
None of them wore chain mail or battle sword.
“The Baron of Deguerre greets you,” said one of the knights.
Simon looked at the six men. Instantly he knew which one was the baron. Like Geoffrey, the baron was as handsome as a fallen angel. But unlike Geoffrey, there was nothing of dissipation in Deguerre’s face. Intelligence and cruelty vied equally to shape his expression.
Simon found it hard to believe that his passionate nightingale had come from such a cold man’s seed.
“Lord Dominic of Blackthorne Keep greets you,” Simon said neutrally.
“Which is Lord Dominic?” demanded one knight.
“Which is Baron Deguerre?” Simon returned sardonically.
One of the knights rode forward until his horse threatened to trample Simon into the planks of the bridge. Simon stood in the middle of the bridge, legs braced against the wind, unmoving but for the whipping of his mantle.
“I am Baron Deguerre,” said the man who looked like a fallen angel.
Simon sensed a stir behind him. Dominic came to stand at his side. In the cloud-ridden night, the crystal eyes of the Glendruid Wolf flashed eerily.
“I am Lord Dominic.”
“What is this nonsense about not wearing swords within the keep?” the baron demanded.
“The Glendruid Wolf,” Erik said from the shadows beyond the torchlight, “prefers to celebrate peace rather than war.”
“Truly?” the baron asked in tones of wonder. “How odd. Most men relish the test of arms.”
“My brother,” Simon said, “leaves idle testing to others. It gives him more time to savor his many victories.”
“But when someone foolishly forces Lord Dominic to take the field,” Duncan added from the shadows of the gatehouse, “there is no more ruthless knight. Ask the Reevers—if you can find someone to talk to the dead.”
Deguerre’s hooded glance moved from the two brothers to the gatehouse, where Erik and Duncan waited.
“I regret that I can’t offer better hospitality for your knights than the stable,” Dominic said, “but there wasn’t enough advance warning of your coming.”
“Indeed?” the baron murmured. “My messenger must have gone astray.”
Dominic smiled at the casual lie.
“’Tis an easy thing to do in these lands,” Dominic said. “As you will see, this is a place where success lies with one’s alliances, rather than with one’s own sword.”
Dominic gestured to the men behind him. Erik and Duncan stepped into the uncertain light.
“These are two of my allies,” Dominic said. “Lord Erik of Sea Home and Winterlance Keeps, and Lord Duncan of Stone Ring Keep. Their presence, and that of their knights, is why my hospitality must be limited.”
With emotionless eyes that missed nothing, Deguerre assessed the men standing in front of him. Most particularly his glance lingered over the ancient wolf’s head pin on Dominic’s mantle.
“So,” Deguerre said beneath his breath. “It has been found at last. I had heard rumors, but…ah, well, there are other ancient treasures not yet found.”
Deguerre’s glance cut to the man who both wore and was the Glendruid Wolf, noting the match between Dominic’s ice-pale eyes and the uncanny crystal of the wolf’s eyes.
“I accept your hospitality in the spirit in which it is offered,” Deguerre said.
“Harry,” Dominic said distinctly. “Open the gate.”
Moments later, six men rode through the gate. Simon and Dominic flanked Deguerre the instant he dismounted.
“You will find the lord’s solar more congenial than the bailey,” Dominic said. “Your quarters are being prepared. If you don’t object to sleeping in a half-built room that is destined to be a nursery…?”
“Nursery,” Deguerre said, glancing sideways at Dominic. “Then it is true. Your Glendruid witch is increasing.”
“My wife and I have been blessed, aye.”
Deguerre’s smile was as cold as the cobblestones. “No offense intended, Lord Dominic. I, too, married a witch and had children by her.”
The forebuilding’s door opened, giving a hint of the heat and light to be found inside. Servants hurried around, supplying a cold supper, a hot fire, and warm wine.
The men strode down the great hall to the solar’s comfort. A woman stood silhouetted against the flames leaping in the solar’s hearth. Her hair was unbound in the fashion of a Learned woman on a quest, but the hair was as black as betrayal rather than the rich gold of Amber or the fiery red of Meg.
“My lady,” Simon said quickly. “I thought you were abed.”
Ariane turned. She held her hand out, but it was Simon whose touch she sought, not her father’s.
“Word of the baron’s arrival came to me,” Ariane said.
Her voice was like her face, without emotion, yet her Learned dress seethed restlessly about her ankles. The silver embroidery glittered as though alive, barely leashed.
Deguerre watched Simon’s fingers interlace smoothly, deeply, with Ariane’s. With eyes that were neither blue nor grey, but rather a shifting combination of both, the baron measured his daughter’s heightened color at her husband’s touch, and the subtle inclination of their bodies toward one another.
Had they been alone, they would have embraced as lovers embrace. Deguerre was certain of it.
“So,” Deguerre said, “that, too, is true.”
“What is?” Dominic asked softly.
“The marriage of Simon and Ariane was for love rather than for the convenience of kings or families.”
“We are both well pleased with the union,” Simon said succinctly.
The sensual approval in Simon’s eyes as he looked at his wife said far more. The answering blaze in Ariane’s eyes made them glow like gems.
Deguerre turned his intelligence toward assessing the lord’s solar. Though the trappings were costly enough, they were nothing to what the baron had in his own home. For all his power and far-flung holdings, the Glendruid Wolf was not nearly as wealthy a man as rumor had suggested.
Which meant that Dominic could not afford nearly as many fighting men as Deguerre had feared.
The baron turned and looked at Dominic.
“I have heard,” Deguerre said, “that your brother’s loyalty to you knows no bounds.”
“Simon’s love for me is well-known, as is mine for him,” Dominic said. “Be assured that your daughter could have no husband more highly regarded or closer to my heart than Simon.”
With a grunt Deguerre flipped back the cowl that had protected his head from the storm. Hair the color of hammered silver gleamed with reflected light. His eyebrows were utterly black, steeply arched, oddly elegant.
The chiming of tiny golden bells made the baron turn quickly. Despite his age, there wa
s a fluidity to the movement that spoke of strength and coordination.
“Lady Margaret,” Dominic said. “I thought you were asleep.”
With a rustle of scented fabric and a sweet singing of bells, Meg walked to Dominic’s side.
Deguerre’s eyes narrowed at the obvious signs of Meg’s pregnancy. The only thing more obvious was the bond between Glendruid Wolf and Glendruid witch. It was so strong it fairly shimmered.
“Baron Deguerre, Lady Margaret,” Dominic said.
“Charmed, lady,” Deguerre said, smiling, holding out his hand.
The smile changed the baron. He had been handsome before. Now he had an unearthly yet distinctly sexual beauty.
“’Tis our pleasure to welcome you,” Meg said.
If the baron’s startling transformation from cool tactician to smoldering sensualist made any impression on her, it didn’t show. She touched his hand as briefly as courtesy allowed.
“You have the beauty of fire, Lady Margaret,” the baron said in a low voice. “And your eyes would shame emeralds.”
Ariane’s hand tightened suddenly within Simon’s grasp. She well knew her father’s ability to charm women. He had practiced it often enough on the wives and daughters of enemies.
Saying nothing, Simon brought Ariane’s hand to his lips and kissed it soothingly.
“Her eyes would shame more than emeralds,” Dominic said. “They would shame spring itself. There is no green more beautiful than Lady Margaret’s Glendruid eyes.”
If Meg had been indifferent to the baron’s compliments, her husband’s words made her flush with pleasure. For a long moment Dominic and Meg looked at one another, and for that moment nothing else in the room existed.
“Touching,” Deguerre said coolly.
“Isn’t it?” Simon said cheerfully. “’Tis the talk of the land, the love of wolf and witch. Will you eat and drink?”
As Simon spoke, he gestured toward the lord’s table. The servants had been hurrying back and forth, heaping dishes up until the table fairly buckled beneath the bounty.
Deguerre cataloged the food with a single glance.
“Much more has been sent out to your men,” Simon said. “I hope it will be enough. No one seems to know how many retainers are with you.”
“I would not have you cut into your winter stores,” Deguerre said.
“There is no danger of that,” Meg said, turning back to her guest. “This was the best harvest in memory.”
“And all of it lies safely within the keep’s walls,” Simon added smoothly.
“How fortunate for you,” the baron said. “Many keeps to the south of you suffered from untimely rains. For them, winter will be a season of trial and famine.”
“Blackthorne has been singularly blessed,” Dominic agreed.
Deguerre grunted.
Silently Dominic waited to parry the baron’s next thrust as Deguerre probed for weaknesses within Blackthorne Keep.
“I expected a favored knight of mine to greet me here,” Deguerre said, turning to confront Simon.
A stillness went through the lord’s solar. Deguerre appeared not to notice.
“The knight is a very great favorite of my daughter’s,” the baron added, looking meaningfully at Ariane. “Is our well-loved Geoffrey here, daughter?”
“Aye,” Simon said before Ariane could answer.
“Send for him,” the baron said to Simon.
“I have sent your Geoffrey to his last place.”
Deguerre’s eyes changed, focusing on Simon with tangible intensity.
“Explain yourself,” the baron said curtly.
Simon smiled and said nothing.
“’Tis simple,” Dominic said in a casual tone. “Geoffrey is dead.”
“Dead! When? How? I have heard nothing of this!”
Dominic shrugged. “’Tis true all the same.”
“God’s blood,” Deguerre muttered. “I heard there was illness and men died, but not Geoffrey.”
“Aye,” Ariane said. “There was illness. Only a handful survived.”
“Where are they?” Deguerre asked.
Simon smiled coldly. “I suspect I killed two of them in the Disputed Lands, and wounded the others. Perhaps they died, too. Geoffrey the Fair died today, at Blackthorne Keep, by my hand.”
Deguerre’s face became as expressionless as a blade.
“You are very free with the lives of my knights,” Deguerre said calmly.
“When I killed all but Geoffrey,” Simon said, “they were outlaws wearing no lord’s mark on their shields.”
Deguerre’s black eyebrows rose for a moment.
“And Geoffrey?” the baron asked scornfully. “Did you call him outlaw, too?”
“I could have. He admitted to it before he died. But before he approached Blackthorne Keep, he painted your device on his shield again.”
For a time there was silence. Then Deguerre grimaced, hissed something beneath his breath, and accepted the loss of an ally within Blackthorne Keep.
“A pity,” the baron said. “The lad had promise.”
“Rest easy. His promise is being kept in hell,” Simon assured him. “What of you, baron? Have you any promises you haven’t kept?”
“None.”
“Indeed?” Dominic asked sardonically. “What of Ariane’s dowry?”
“What of it?” the baron asked.
“The chests were filled with rocks, dirt, and rotting flour.”
Deguerre froze in the act of adjusting his mantle.
“What did you say?” the baron demanded.
Dominic and Simon looked at one another, then at Duncan. Grimly Duncan turned and left the solar, knowing that his wife would be needed once more.
Black eyes narrowed, Simon looked back at Deguerre.
“’Tis quite simple,” Simon said. “When the chests were opened, they contained nothing of worth.”
“They left my estates filled with a ransom fit for a princess,” Deguerre retorted.
“So you have said.”
“Are you questioning my word?” Deguerre asked silkily.
“Nay. I am simply telling you what occurred when the chests were opened.”
“What did Geoffrey say when he saw the empty chests?” Deguerre asked.
“He wasn’t present,” Simon said.
“Who of my men was?”
“No one,” Simon said in sardonic tones. “Your fine knights dropped Ariane at Blackthorne Keep and bolted without so much as taking a cup of ale.”
“More and more remarkable,” the baron murmured. “What of my seals on the chests?”
“Intact,” Dominic said succinctly.
“Extraordinary,” Deguerre said, opening his grey-blue eyes wide. “I have only the word of Blackthorne Keep’s knights that my spices, silks, gems, and gold were magically transformed to dirt between Normandy and England.”
“Aye.”
“Many men would assume trickery on the part of one lord or another.”
“’Tis likely,” Dominic agreed.
Deguerre’s smile was different this time. It was cold and triumphant with the assurance that he had found what he had hoped to find.
Greed was one of the oldest and most common of human weaknesses.
“Am I being accused of going back on my given word?” the baron asked kindly.
“No,” Dominic said. “Nor are we requiring any payment from you. Yet.”
Before Deguerre could speak, Amber came into the solar. She was wearing a scarlet robe, her hair was unbound, and the amber pendant around her neck gleamed like a pool of captive sunlight.
“Lord Dominic,” Amber said, “you required me?”
“Nay, lady. I ask a favor.”
Amber smiled slightly. “It is yours.”
“The baron and I have a small mystery we would like resolved. Would you scry the truth for us?”
At Dominic’s words, the baron turned and examined Amber with keen interest.
“Amber is Le
arned,” Dominic said to Deguerre. “She can—”
“I am aware of Learned gifts,” the baron said succinctly. “It has been one of my life’s studies. Does this lady have the gift of truth?”
“Aye,” Dominic said.
Deguerre sighed with disappointment.
“Then you didn’t steal the dowry for your own use,” the baron said, “or you would never bring a truthsayer within reach of you. Ah, well. Here, lady. Touch my hand and discover my truth.”
Amber let out a long breath, calming herself. Then she touched Deguerre.
She cried out and would have gone to her knees if Duncan had not caught her. Despite the pain scoring her, Amber held to Deguerre’s hand.
“Quickly,” Duncan hissed.
“Did you cheat on your daughter’s dowry?” Dominic asked the baron.
“Nay.”
“Truth.”
Instantly Amber withdrew her touch.
“Thank you, lady,” Dominic said.
Deguerre watched Amber with rather predatory interest, noting what it had cost her to use her gift.
“A useful, if fragile, weapon,” he said. “One I had always hoped to own.”
Duncan gave the baron a murderous look.
The baron smiled. “I believe the question is now mine.”
Surprised, Amber looked at Dominic.
“If I may impose, lady?” Dominic asked reluctantly, holding out his hand.
Though Amber had never touched the Glendruid Wolf, she took his hand without hesitation. A tremor went through her, but it was quickly controlled.
“Was there anything of value in those chests when you opened them?” Deguerre asked Dominic.
“Nothing.”
“Truth.”
“Were the seals intact?”
“Aye.”
“Truth.”
“Remarkable indeed,” Deguerre muttered.
Dominic lifted his hand from Amber’s.
“My apologies,” Dominic said. “I would not bring you pain.”
“You did not, lord. There is great power in you, but no cruelty.”
Deguerre smiled sardonically, for Amber had said no such thing about him.
“It appears,” Dominic said, “as though one of your knights stole Ariane’s dowry.”
“One of mine? Why not one of yours?”
“The seals were intact. Your seals, baron. Not mine.”
Enchanted Page 33