“Ah, and that gave Cecil ideas far above his station,” Saxan murmured.
He leaned against the wagon and crossed his arms in an attempt to resist the urge to keep touching her. “Exactly. Cecil was not without opportunity and funds, but he hungered for it all. I am not quite sure when he began to try to murder me, for I was slow to see the truth. Howbeit, even though he knows I am now aware of the deadly game he plays and must spend his life in hiding, he continues his attempts against my life. My mother does not wish to see the truth. Cecil was as her own babe.”
“And by stabbing at you, he stabs at her. The painful curse of an ungrateful child.” Saxan studied Botolf for a moment. “He looks much akin to you.”
“As close as a twin save for that scar above his eye.” Botolf sighed. “I gave him that.”
“So, you have already come to sword point.”
“God’s beard, aye.” Botolf quickly thrust away the painful memory of Cecil making love to Alice. “So, now you must see why I try to keep as much of this trouble as possible hidden from Lady Mary.”
Saxan nodded. “It can be no small distress to you as well. Cecil is forcing you to kill him or be killed. He presses you to spill his blood, blood gained from the same father. It would be best if a sword other than your own were the one to put an end to his treachery.”
Botolf tensed at her tone. He noticed that Pitney reacted as well. For a moment, Botolf scoffed at the idea of a woman tracking Cecil and ending the assassin’s machinations, but only for a moment. Saxan had hunted Botolf when she had believed he had killed Pitney. Just moments ago, she had fought and killed with an indisputable skill. She might think she owed him something because he had cared for her brother or even because she had tried to kill him. Saxan could also see it as a wonderful adventure.
“Do not even think upon it,” he ordered.
Saxan did not try to deny that she had considered ridding him of the problem of Cecil. “I could do it. Well, mayhap I could. It would take very careful planning.”
Botolf glanced at Pitney, who rolled his eyes then scowled at Saxan. “I begin to fear that madness lurks in your family.” He grasped her by her slim shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “I will have your word.”
“My word?” Saxan asked sweetly as she pushed her tousled hair off her face.
“Aye, your solemn word that you will not act against Cecil.”
“Oh, all right. My word, then. I did have a very good idea,” Saxan murmured.
“You may now forget it.”
“M’lord? There is one thing. Does it not seem strange that Cecil so often knows exactly where to strike?”
“We were raised together,” Botolf answered, even as he frowned in thought. “Cecil knows my habits well.”
“True, but I think you should not ignore the possibility that someone within your entourage is aiding Cecil.”
“You are right, Saxan. There have been times when I was most surprised to be set upon. It does bear some study,” he said, then muttered a farewell and strode away.
Saxan watched Botolf rejoin his friends, then looked at Pitney. “I sincerely hope the earl does more than simply ponder the matter.”
“He is not without sense,” Pitney replied.
“Of course not, but, in this matter, he does have a weakness.”
“Which is?”
“Unlike Cecil, our liege lord does not wish to spill the blood of a kinsmen, of the man who shared a mother’s milk with him. We must try and insure that such a weakness does not kill him.” Saxan spoke quietly, then smiled sweetly at Lady Mary when the woman joined them in the cart.
Botolf could not set aside Saxan’s warning. It rang in his mind with each step his mount took toward Regenford. Arrogance and pride had made him dismiss any thought of a traitor in his ranks, but that could now cost him his life. Many of the men who rode with him remembered Cecil; some had known him throughout the years Cecil had lived with the family. Despite Cecil’s evil ways and his cruelty, the man had a way of gaining strong and often intensely loyal allies.
“Do you worry o’er what you may find at Regenford?” Wesley asked as he and Roger rode up to flank Botolf.
Botolf shook his head, then, without preamble, said, “Cecil knows my every move.”
“It would seem so,” Roger agreed slowly. “Why do you think on that now?”
“It has been hinted that Cecil may have eyes and ears amongst those who travel with me,” replied Botolf. “It is most strange that even a man who knows my habits well could guess my every move as accurately as he does.”
“God’s teeth,” hissed Wesley. “Habit certainly did not take you to the tournament. You attend few. Not all of those who favored Cecil’s company left with him.” He looked at Botolf, his eyes widening. “Then Regenford—”
“May not be safe,” Botolf finished and sighed, shaking his head at the enormity of the problem he faced. “I must be wary. I need to look for a traitor, yet not cause offense to those loyal to me. Some who befriended Cecil are now true to me, and I must not affront them with hasty, false accusations. If I blunder too badly, I could make enemies where none existed before.”
“Which man warned you of this?” asked Roger. “If he is not a knight, mayhap he should be so honored for his keen insight.”
“That would be difficult, Roger,” Botolf said with a smile as he started to move away. “My advisor was Mistress Saxan Todd. I think, for now, I have gifted that clan with enough accolades.”
“Does something trouble you, Saxan?” Pitney asked as, that night, she slipped into bed beside him.
“Tell me of kisses, Pitney,” she demanded, staring at the roof of the cart.
Pitney tensed. “You know of such things, or should, considering whom you call kin.”
Saxan ignored the hint of dismay and suspicion she heard in his voice. “True, but I wish to know about the feelings a kiss can rouse in a person. Are there many kinds? Is there a way to know if ’tis only lust?”
“I am not sure. As yet, lust is all I delight in.”
“And does lust heat your blood until all thought is seared away?”
“I have never grown that warm. Although thought does not hinder me, ’tis not completely banished.”
“I see.” Saxan was disappointed; she needed more knowledge than Pitney seemed able to give.
“It is said that lust can be blinding, can shield a man’s eyes until it is too late,” Pitney added. “Men have wed or made complete fools of themselves because of lust or because they mistake it for love. Later, when the lust burns away, they are left with naught but regrets and shame.”
“Is there no way to tell lust from love?”
“I would think it would come when the couple is not entwined or captivated by passion. ’Tis love if you can still care about and like the one you lust after even when your passion wanes.”
“Ah, aye. Therein lies the answer.” She took her brother’s hand in hers even as her eyes were weighted closed with the force of encroaching sleep. “Thank you, Pitney. Thank you for simply answering my questions and not pressing for the reason behind my interest.”
He gently squeezed her hand. “I hope you will tell me when you deem the time is right.”
“I will. Do not worry o’er me.”
She smiled crookedly when she heard him mutter, “There is advice I shall never heed.”
Five
As they crested a small hill, Regenford loomed ahead of them. Saxan could not fully quell a sense of awe, the same sense of wonder she had had since she was a child. Lord Botolf’s ancestors had planned well when they had built Regenford as a bulwark against the Scots. The large multi-towered keep was encircled by two thick walls and a moat. It sat on a small cleared rise. No one could approach its walls unseen. To get a better look, she wriggled forward in the cart and climbed onto the seat next to the stocky, grey-haired driver.
Botolf trotted up alongside, and she felt a return of her uncertainty. Her talk with Pitney last nig
ht had eased only a few of her qualms. It was not as easy to understand her feelings for the man as she thought it ought to be.
“ ’Tis a fine castle, is it not, mistress?” Botolf asked, his pride clear in his voice.
“Very fine. One would think the Scots would run back to Scotland the moment they set eyes on it.”
“That would be a blessing, but I fear they see Regenford as a challenge,” Botolf replied, smiling.
She returned his smile shyly, but her expression swiftly faded when she finally noticed the mount he was astride. “You are riding my horse.”
Although she spoke quietly, her words carried the force of an accusatory shout. Saxan looked as angry as Botolf had expected her to be. He smiled, benignly patting her horse’s strong neck as if oblivious to her fury.
“He is a fine beast,” he said.
“Aye, and he is mine,” she snapped.
“Have I ever questioned that? I need to ride him if I am to fairly decide the question of his suitability as a lady’s mount.”
“He is a suitable mount for me. I have ridden him since my father gave him to me as a gift.”
“Your father gave you a stallion to ride, a mount fit for a knight’s destrier?” Botolf could not keep his surprise out of his voice.
“A fit mount for a Todd.”
He grinned at her haughty pride. “We will see. Have you been to Regenford before?”
“I have seen it a few times,” she muttered, deciding the argument about her horse would have to wait. “I have been within its walls only once—when I was a very small child.”
So Botolf described his home, and she felt her anger about Midnight ebbing as he piqued her curiosity. She struggled to hide her keen interest without appearing rude. She did not want Botolf to think she was prepared to agree to his plans for her to make a lengthy stay.
Once within the thick high walls of Regenford, Saxan lost sight of Botolf as he was caught up in the bustle of greetings and unpacking. She began to feel uneasy beneath the stares of his people. It was clear they had never seen a woman in a lad’s attire. When Lady Mary requested that she accompany her, Saxan accepted the invitation with a relief she found difficult to hide.
It proved to be a short respite from confusion, however. Lady Mary led her up the narrow stone steps, around corners, and down halls until she was hopelessly lost. She was then left alone in the bedchamber allotted her. Saxan sat gingerly on the large, ornately carved bed; the quarters were much too large for her needs. She replied eagerly to a soft rap on the door only to suffer a sharp pang of disappointment when three young maids entered. Saxan heartily welcomed the bath they readied for her, however. A dainty brunette lingered after the other two maids left.
“I am called Jane, m’lady,” the girl said and curtsied. “His lordship said I am to tend to all your needs while you stay at Regenford.”
Saxan cast a rueful glance at her travel-stained clothing, “I hope you can find me some clean and more suitable clothes,” she said.
“They will soon arrive,” Jane replied as she helped Saxan undress. “Lady Mary herself is tending to it, m’lady.”
Saxan sank into the hot bath with a delighted sigh. “I am but the fourth sister of a baron, Jane. There is no title for me. I am simply Mistress Todd.”
Jane touched Saxan’s long, pale hair. “ ’Tis easy to mark you as a Todd. Some of your kinsmen are at Regenford. They have already gone to visit with your brother, Sir Pitney.” Jane began to wash Saxan’s hair.
“Sir Pitney Todd,” Saxan murmured, making no effort to hide her pride in her brother. “That has a very nice sound to it, does it not?”
“A very fine sound,” agreed Jane. “It was well earned. Your brother was very brave.”
“God’s beard, has the story winged its way through Regenford already?”
“The herald brought it when he arrived two days past to tell us that his lordship was soon to arrive.”
“Of course. This is a very large household.”
“Aye. You will see that even more clearly when you go to the great hall to dine. It is necessary to keep Regenford well manned. You will find many friends here.”
“I am not sure there will be time for that. I must return to Wolfshead Hall.”
“But—” Jane frowned. “I was told you would be staying with us for a long time.”
“So his lordship says. We shall see.” Saxan almost laughed at the look of surprise on Jane’s face and knew the girl was unaccustomed to anyone’s questioning her lord’s orders.
Jane’s words prompted Saxan to consider her situation more seriously. It was clearly accepted at Regenford that she was to be staying for a long time. That determination probably came from Botolf himself, and that could mean trouble. Her eldest brothers’ impending arrival might not make any difference. Botolf was also their liege lord. They might not feel they could resist the man’s wishes. It was quite possible that she would have to make a long stay at Regenford, and it might be wise to start to accept that.
She grimaced as she climbed out of the tub. Regenford was a fine keep, but it was not her home. Most of the multitude of people rushing about its halls were strangers to her. She was not too pleased about the idea of taking lessons in manners either, even if her teacher were to be the sweet, kind Lady Mary. Saxan could see no practical purpose in such affectations.
Perhaps, she mused as she donned the gown a maid had brought in while she bathed, what she needed to do was to show the earl that she did not need lessons. She had not been raised totally ignorant of courtly ways. If she made the effort, she could present her prettiest manners. Then Botolf would have to allow her to go home.
For one brief moment Saxan wondered why she was so eager to leave. New places and people were usually exactly what she sought out. The opportunity for both was right in her hand, and yet she could only think of running back to Wolfshead Hall. A small voice in her head whispered that the earl himself was the reason. His kisses and the fire they ignited within her were constantly in her thoughts. That passion was both frightening and intriguing. She hated to admit it, but she could well be running from her desire for him as well as her inability to guess exactly what the man’s intentions were. Saxan could not shake the feeling that it was not particularly safe for her to stay too close to the Earl of Regenford.
Saxan straightened her shoulders and told herself not to be such a coward. There was nothing to fear from the earl or from what he made her feel. If his intentions proved to be dishonorable, she had plenty of kinsmen to turn to for aid and guidance. Pride of family alone would make every one of them willing to stand firm against the earl if it were revealed that Botolf sought no more than a pleasant tussle. The earl would have to look elsewhere if he thought to make her his leman. Saxan felt confident, however, that her own common sense and strength would prove armor enough against any dishonorable intentions.
Feeling more at ease, she smoothed her skirts and allowed Jane to lead her down to the great hall.
Botolf sat at the head table in the great hall and watched his guests and retainers drift in. When he realized that he was watching for Saxan, he scowled. That was a habit he would have to put a quick stop to.
Then Botolf became aware of the attentions of Saxan’s kinsmen. Evidently, they had noticed his interest in Saxan and had decided to keep a close watch on him. Botolf was amused, but also irritated. Edric’s surveillance was almost unnoticeable. His sons and the three young Jagers, Saxon’s cousins, did not possess Edric’s subtlety, however.
At first, Botolf was insulted, but he easily shrugged that aside. The Todds and the many branches of the family were closely tied. Botolf knew that if he had a sister or any young, pretty, female relative, he would act as they did. He had not made his intentions clear. They were right to wonder what game he played.
He grimaced as he admitted that he was not exactly sure what his intentions were. He needed a wife because, if he did not find one on his own soon, one would be chosen for him. That
was a fate he dearly wished to avoid. Saxan intrigued him and aroused him. He could talk to her openly, plainly. Nevertheless, he was glad that it would be a few days before her eldest brother, Lord Hunter Todd, would arrive. He had made his decision, but he needed time to adjust to it. Botolf also felt that time would help insure that Saxan would at least be amenable to the plan.
“God’s teeth,” Wesley whispered.
His friend’s oath interrupted Botolf’s thoughts. Botolf followed his sergeant-at-arms’ gaze and echoed his curse. Saxan dressed as a lad had been tempting, but Saxan dressed as a lady proved sweet torture. The soft, blue gown she wore enhanced the rich color of her eyes and flattered her slim figure. Her bright hair was neatly braided, the thick braid draped over her shoulder. He was astonished that such a difference could be wrought by a mere change of clothing.
Saxan blushed beneath all the gazes turned her way as she entered the great hall. Gathered there were all the men she had traveled with and who had seen her dressed as a boy. She readily accepted Lady Mary’s proffered arm, needing the support, and allowed the woman to lead her to Botolf. Saxan wondered if she should be insulted by the men’s looks of near-amazement, then shrugged the pinch of hurt aside. They had simply become accustomed to seeing her as a headstrong girl in boy’s clothing and now had to struggle to adjust to the change. It was quite possible that some of them had not really seen her as a woman. A smile curved her lips as she realized that many of them were probably trying frantically to recall if they had said or done anything that could be offensive to a lady. They would soon come to understand that her sensibilities were not so delicate and again be at ease with her.
She hesitated when she was urged to a seat on Botolf’s right. “Is this not rather high up the table for me?”
Her nervous query broke the spell which held Botolf and he motioned to her. “Nay. Come, sit down.”
“But—”
“Saxan—sit.”
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