“My maid, ‘tis late.” She leaned out the door and peered down. “I brought your meal. Are you not hungry?”
“I shall be up in a moment,” I assured her. “I only wish to take one last circuit before I sup.”
Ealdine nodded, but doubt lingered in her features as she withdrew.
“Bryn,” I whispered the moment she disappeared from sight. Scooping the dagger from the ground and sheathing it, I scanned the deep brush. “Bryn, I wish you didn’t keep disappearing like this.”
“I haven’t left.”
Catching my forearm, he pulled me to the wall. I knew I should resist, but I didn’t want to. We huddled, hidden from the rest of the garden by the thick limbs and needle-heavy branches of a pine. With barely space for the two of us to stand, my nose came level with the lacings on his jerkin. I lifted my chin to look up into his face. The scents of evergreen and leather filled my senses.
“We are worried for your safety, my maid.”
“You and Silvanticus?”
The blue of his eye deepened. “Aye. Be careful. Stay aware of your surroundings, bar the door to the garden when not without, and only eat what Ealdine serves you.” He slid his hand from my arm to my waist and pulled me a half step closer. Any farther and I would hurt my neck to look at him. “Promise me?” he urged, a strange tone to his voice.
“I will.”
Instead of releasing me, he studied me as though to assess my earnestness.
Heart beat quickened, but not from fear, I returned his scrutiny. My hands rested on his chest, trapped between us. The steady thump of his heart beneath them assured me I wasn’t dreaming this. A war broke out betwixt the desire to press closer to him and the reality I was another’s by law.
“I am betrothed to Silvanticus.” The words were more of a reluctant reminder to me than rebuke for him.
“I know.” He groaned. “Fool that he is.”
With his free hand he brushed the skin between my eye and ear. His calloused fingertips were rough against my cheek and caught in my hair. I closed my eyes savoring his touch. Silvanticus’ hand would not be as welcome.
“I will not return immediately. I have business with a healer woman a half day’s journey from here. Rumor is she sells potions and powders to cure or kill. We have hopes she will be able to identify your brother as the poisoner. I leave this night.”
“A witness,” I murmured, focused on the war within. I should push away. I should pull my face from his hand. I should strike at him for his audacity to …
“Verity?” Ealdine’s voice came from the stairs.
I registered the note of anxiety in her voice before Bryn pressed his lips to my forehead and moved away. By the time I opened my eyes, he was gone. Only the soft movements of the pine branches against the wall remained as evidence. If I didn’t still see the knives lying among the grass, I would have thought his visit a dream.
“Verity?” Desperation colored Ealdine’s call.
I stepped out into the open. “Here, Ealdine. I am here.” My heart still thrummed too fast. Perhaps my hair no longer fell smoothly over my shoulders, but I would blame the disorder on the pine branches.
“What were you doing here? Supper grows cold.” Ealdine’s lined face creased more as she examined my sap-marred surcoat.
“I thought I spotted a bird’s nest,” I immediately regretted my lie. “I found none.” The second part was true enough.
“Come. Eat, child, the mutton will give you strength.”
I followed her up the stairs, bolting the garden door from within as Bryn bid me. I would do it for him, not Silvanticus. Not that I meant Silvanticus ill. My irritation came from the fact he wanted me for my coastline. Bryn saw me, the woman I was.
Or did he? We had spoken four times, not even a full handful.
“My maid, you must eat to keep your health. The wedding is not far off. Lord Silvanticus petitions your brother to move the day nearer.”
“Why?”
“He says he has been bewitched by your beauty.”
A harsh laugh escaped. The stoic man of our first meeting couldn’t claim bewitchment. He barely moved toward me, touched me not, and spoke only of my father’s death. Not the words or manner of a lover beguiled. Bryn, his man, however, acted and uttered the part of a friend.
“He barely spoke anything beyond discussing my father’s death, hardly the words of a man in love.”
Ealdine hushed me with a flap of her hand. “He was too overcome to speak of love without losing countenance. It is a common ailment among wooing men.”
I swallowed another retort. I needed to cease such thoughts. I was betrothed to Silvanticus. Despite the fact I didn’t agree to the marriage, honor bound me to him. He paid my bride price and I, for the sake of my father’s name, would pledge my life to him.
Ealdine departed with untouched mutton on her tray. I remained.
Night drew close, air heavy with the promise of more rain come morn. I lay on my pallet wide awake. My heart ached, my conscience scolded, and between them I suffered.
Hours later, as sleep tugged at my limbs, I heard a noise in the garden below. When the scrape reoccurred three heartbeats later, I sat up, senses alert.
In the darkness, I couldn’t see a thing. The moonless, clouded sky offered no assistance. My candle stood on a table by the door, useless without a flame for light. Remembering my betrothed’s gift, I reached for the bundle where I had tucked it between my pallet and the wall.
Despite my lack of skills I did find courage in gripping the hilt when the sound came again, this time closer. I recognized the scratching now. Someone was climbing the stairs to my door.
Clutching the knife to me, I slipped from my bed and crossed to the inner door. On the other side, a guard stood to keep me in, but hopefully to also assist in times like this. I rapped on the door as softly as possible.
In the answering stillness, the scrape of boot on stone came from right outside the garden door.
I banged on the wood again, praying that the guard had not fallen asleep.
The garden door shifted on its hinges as the invader attempted to open it.
In vain, I lifted the latch on my own door, hoping against hope. The echo of the door striking the thick bar on the opposite side was muffled in the empty stairwell. A sob of lost faith ached in my chest.
The scuffling from outside indicated my assassin was attempting to climb to the lattice. A booted foot appeared in the corner. Soon only a frail wooden frame would bar me from death. Then an idea formed, prying past my frantic fear.
Running to the window, I acted before I fear paralyzed me. I jabbed the dagger through a gap, driving it deep into the boot. The man sucked in breath and muttered a curse, but my hope of him giving himself away died when he grabbed the window’s edge.
My single weapon still imbedded in his boot, I leapt to collect the remaining two.
The lattice creaked as he forced it. A sharp crack of snapping wood announced the release. The broken remains skittered across the floorboards.
Gathering the knives to me, I turned to find him half in the window, a shifting black shadow against the blurred night sky.
I screamed.
He hesitated, half in and half hanging out in the night. When no sounds of rescue came, he pulled his last leg through the ruined window.
Panic threatened to close my throat, but I fought it. Running to the door, my remaining avenue of rescue, I pressed my back to the wood, pounding at it with the hilt of a dagger.
The sound echoed below, reverberating through my spine. Still the man continued to advance, slowed by his injured foot.
Realizing no help would come, I straightened my shoulders. Adjusting my grip on my knives, I solidified my stance as Bryn taught me mere hours before and prepared to meet my end fighting.
A raspy laugh interrupted. “I shall enjoy this, minx. Ver did not say you would have fire. I like women with fight.”
My blood turned to ice, frozen by my broth
er’s name. Believing he had reason to want me dead and knowing I would die were two different realities.
The man lunged.
Instinct brought up my fisted hand. The blade twisted in my grip, inflicting minimal damage, yet it was enough to drive him back for a moment. He cursed as he stumbled away.
Both of us were blind in the darkness. He thrashed about, seeking me. Something scraped my face.
I jumped back, stepped on the edge of my smock, and fell to the floor, shoulder striking the door.
“Maid Verity?” a male voice queried distantly.
“Help!” I yelled. I had lost the assailant’s location, but I could hear someone moving about in the middle of the room.
The bolt shifted. Hope rose. I inched along the wall attempting to get out of the door’s path as it opened. The flickering light of a lantern pushed back the night. Sudden exhaustion pressed against my chest.
“My …” The man cut off in a gasp. “Verity? Speak. Where are you?” I recognized the voice. It wasn’t the guard.
“Sir Hirion?”
Light blinded me. I struggled to my feet and toward the source.
“Are you whole?” he asked as I plowed into him.
The light shifted as he set the lantern on the table. Hirion served my father for many years before Verdon claimed the title and his loyalty. I knew him to be a harsh man, but I needed comfort, assurance that this nightmare was over. He held me awkwardly, turning so our backs were to the room.
“Is he restrained?” I stepped away. Hirion’s familiar features cast into stark relief by the lantern’s glow.
Concern registered in his eyes. “Nay, he is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Aye.”
“I killed him?” I pushed at his shoulder enough to see a pool of red soaking into the warped boards. Convulsions shook me. I struggled to keep still.
His eyebrows lowered. “Perhaps you should sit.” He attempted to guide me toward my bed. I fought him.
“I need to speak to Lord Silvanticus.” He at least should know of the would-be assassin’s employer. He would protect me until Bryn returned.
“You can’t. He is not here. He and his three advisors left last evening. Only his soldiers and their commander remain. If you want to speak with Sir Mowbray, I can fetch him. As it is, I think it wise to fetch your companion and inform Verdon of what has happened here.”
I shook my head. “Don’t tell Verdon.” Seeing the doubt in Hirion’s eyes, I caught his arm, intent on making him listen. “Please, Hirion, don’t tell my brother. Silvanticus needs to be informed first.”
Suddenly light-headed, I closed my eyes.
“Nay!” Hirion grasped my shoulders tightly. “No fainting. Sit.”
I obeyed.
“I will wait until late morning to enlighten Verdon, though I do not promise he won’t learn of it by other means. Now, let me fetch Ealdine and some men to dispose of this …” He grimaced. “… refuse.”
He left.
I rested my head on my pillow while I waited. Silvanticus and Bryn would return. They knew how to deal with Verdon.
------
Chapter Five
“Get up.”
Propelled to wakefulness by a flare of pain in my side, I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar face leering down at me. I blinked up at him in the early dawn light.
“Move.”
His foot swung to kick me again, but I scrambled away, clutching bedding to my chest as I backed against the wall.
“Who are you?” I demanded with all the dignity I could summon wearing a blood-stained smock.
“Your keeper. Now dress, Lord Ravenridge awaits.”
“Where is Ealdine?”
“Not to be found.”
“I must speak with Sir Hirion.”
“Gone, disappeared this morn. He will be found and brought forward. He will pay for his treachery, be sure.”
I peered up at the man. “Treachery?”
“You shall find out soon enough. Now dress or I shall dress you.” The lecherous look in his glance made me long for a scalding bath.
“Nay. I am capable.” I glanced about before spotting my kirtle and dress from the previous day. Rising to fetch them, I encountered my guard’s interested gaze. “Turn your back.”
He scoffed and complied. I dressed cautiously with my back to him, not allowing a bit of skin to show should he turn about to watch. Taking as much time as possible, I braided my hair into a single rope down the center of my back. Finally pulling on my slippers, I was ready to face my fate.
When we emerged into the courtyard to cross to the keep, I gazed up. The sky, streaked with thin cloud trails, stretched cold and pale above. Taking a steady breath, I prepared to meet my brother.
“Move on.” My keeper prodded me with a stick like an animal.
The stable master and his boy looked up from watering the horses. For the boy’s sake, I chose to not make a scene. Life in service was going to be difficult enough without witnessing the beating my guard was eager to give.
When I entered the great hall, I was surprised to find it vacant. Rushes at least a week old and molding with dog leavings stank worse with each step. The tables lay uncleared from the evening meal. Flies and a mouse helped themselves without worry to the half-eaten meat.
“I have you to thank for this, dearest sister.” Verdon’s voice echoed in the empty room as he strode down the center toward me. “All of this is your doing. My men quarrel and gossip behind my back. The servants neglect their tasks. Are you proud of your curse now, witch? You brought shame to the noble house of Favian.”
Upon reaching me, he backhanded me across the mouth.
“Never speak a word again, woman, if you wish to keep your tongue to plead your case to the saints.”
Swallowing the bitter taste of blood, I glared at him. My hands fisted against my skirt; I resisted the impulse to return the blow.
“Ah, wisdom. A little late.”
Verdon strode to the dais. The soldier jabbed my ribs, and I followed my brother.
“Your fate is now in my control. The great and chivalrous Lord Silvanticus has quit the field. Left last eve, I believe.” Grabbing the earthen jug of wine on the table and he filled a cup. “Apparently your ways were not winsome enough for him.”
Lord Silvanticus will return for me, I reminded myself. If not him, surely Bryn would.
He crossed to edge of the dais and regarded me with full cup in hand. “Now you shall have your payment.” He thrust the cup at me, spilling some down the front of my gown. “Drink.”
I poured out the contents on the floor, throwing the cup at Verdon before my keeper’s first blow brought me to my knees.
“Cease,” Verdon cried. “There is plenty more. Restrain her. We shall pour it down her throat.”
I fought, biting deep into the soldier’s arm before he released me. His elbow caught my head, but I ignored the pain. I ran for the door to the outside. If I could only reach the guardhouse, surely Lord Silvanticus’ men would protect me.
Halfway there, my keeper caught me. Twisting my arm behind me, he forced me back to face my brother.
“Unhand her!”
Bryn.
I almost wept in relief. Straining in the direction of Bryn’s voice, I pressed against my assailant’s grip. He responded by twisting my arm further. Agony burned through my shoulder. Black spots crowded my vision. I drew in air only to cry out a wordless plea for release.
“I said unhand her.”
The crack of wood meeting my assailant’s skull echoed through the hall. He tensed and then released his hold. I stepped away. I turned in expectation of glimpsing Bryn only look up at Lord Silvanticus. My former keeper lay in a crumpled heap at his feet. None of Bryn’s kindness shone in the face above Silvanticus’ armor, but they were definitely his features sans the eye patch.
“Lord Ravenridge, halt in the name of the king.”
“Not for you, Silvanticus. I never was inclined to
listen to you.”
Men crowded through the hall doors, now flung wide. I recognized few of the faces, some men loyal to my father and uneasy in my brother’s service. The others gathering at Silvanticus’ back bore the colors of his house.
“It is over, Verdon. The truth has been proven. Now it is time for you to answer for your crimes. The king will hear and judge your actions.” Silvanticus nodded to the man on his left.
“Nay, my lord high-and-lofty …” Verdon’s half hysterical laugh chilled my blood.
I turned in time to see Verdon gulp down the whole jug of wine. Throwing the vessel from him so it shattered on the stone floor, he wiped at the burgundy liquid dripping from his chin.
“It is done, Bryn. I am now beyond your or the king’s so called justice.” He spat. “Tell him, Verity, tell the bastard what you forced me to do.”
Lord Silvanticus strode past me without a glance. “Nay, Verdon, I can discern for myself who has driven you. It was not your sister. Be certain that God will be much more thorough than I in His justice.
“Before these witnesses you are accused of murdering your father. On the night of his death, you intercepted the mulled cup meant for him, contaminated it with the poison stolen from Mistress Yelder, and served it to him.”
Verdon’s eyes burned as he glared at Silvanticus. “You haven’t won, Bryn. You will never win. I have removed everything of value and will never tell where they are hidden. You might have stolen my father’s heart, you and my harpy of a sister, but you cannot take his things. They are mine. No one will touch them again.”
“I don’t envy you your end, Verdon, but you have only yourself to blame. Your father loved you deeply, yet you scorned him because he didn’t love you only.”
Verdon spat at Silvanticus, who neatly stepped out of range. “You lie!”
Lord Silvanticus nodded toward his gathering men. “Take him away and watch him. I suspect the vomiting will begin within the hour. Also, remove this.” He gestured to my fallen assailant. “Treat him as he deserves when he wakes.”
As three of his men moved to obey, Sir Hirion pushed through the crowd.
Word and Deed Page 3