The voice made her jump.
“Finn! What are you doing here?”
He approached her, a rueful smile on his face. “Sorry, lass. I didn't mean to frighten you.”
She studied the Irish knight for a moment. His gentle expression belied the fearlessness she knew he possessed. He was most striking in appearance, a tall strong silhouette against the backdrop of stars. Darkness suited him, she thought. Moonlight glinted off his long silver hair, and reflected in the depths of his eyes.
She wondered, as she had many times in the past week, about his true identity. So far, she hadn't found the courage to ask him about his connection to Alex. Something held her back, as if admitting she knew the truth about Caleb's identity would be unwise.
But perhaps the time for truth had arrived.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her. Had he just read her thoughts?
He glanced around the roof. “You'll catch cold up here, little one. 'Tis very late, too. Will you come downstairs?”
Emma frowned. Finn's vigilance for her since Caleb - Alex - left was notable, commendable even. Following instructions, no doubt.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
He hesitated for a moment. “You looked very pale at supper, so I thought I'd check on you. When you weren't in your chamber, I became worried and began searching.”
Emma, remembering the shadow on the stairs, didn't believe a word of it. “Ah. Well, I thank you. But as you can see, I'm quite well.”
“I think not, lass. You're as white as death.” He proffered his arm. “Please come inside. You need to rest.”
His gentle concern brought tears to her eyes again. “Very well.” She took his arm. “Thank you, Finn. 'Tis true I've not been sleeping lately.”
“It pleases me that Christophe took my advice about heightening the walls.” He gestured toward them. “'Tis much safer for anyone taken to wandering around up here at night.”
Emma's eyes widened. Finn had obviously been watching her more closely than she realized. “The walls were your idea?”
He shrugged. “My suggestion. As I said, much safer. Do you not agree?”
“I do.” She smiled at him. “Tell me, Finn. How do you do it?”
“How do I do what?”
“Manipulate people. Bend them to your will. Make them agree to your suggestions and believe your words without argument.”
“Manipulate? Bend?” He feigned an expression of dismay. “My dear lady, how you wound my poor sensitive heart.”
Emma took a deep breath. “Alex asked you to watch over me, didn't he?”
He tilted his head. “Who's Alex?”
“Finn, please.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Aye, he did. But even if he hadn't, I'd be watching over you anyway. At least until Stephen returns. Come away, now. Let me take you to bed.” He winked, leaned in and whispered in her ear. “And don't ever tell that young knight of yours I said that. Fear not, a chailín álainn. He'll be home soon.”
Emma took one last glance at the heavens, aware of Finn's scrutiny of her, sensing he saw more than his eyes beheld. For a brief moment, she was tempted to share her thoughts and fears with the gentle Irish knight.
'Twould be easier to count the stars in the sky.
And perhaps it would, for there were so many thoughts and unanswered questions in her mind. She decided to wait until Stephen and Keir returned to Thurston.
Keir. Aye, and there stood another mystery, another question. Who were these knights, really?
But of all the questions newly formed in her mind, one in particular insisted on pushing its way to the front.
How was Stephen involved in all of this?
* * *
Emma slept until mid-morning. By the time she wandered, bleary eyed, into the Great Hall, most people had finished the break of their nighttime fast. She glanced around, seeking a familiar face, squinting into the shadowed corners of the room. Only a few hints of daylight managed to filter through gaps in the shutters, which remained closed against the cold.
To atone for the resulting gloom, dozens of candles burned in several chandeliers, and a cheerful log fire roared in the hearth. Four men, including Christophe, occupied the chairs around it. Emma did not recognize his companions.
A thin veil of smoke hung in the air, softening the edges of whitewashed stone walls and ripened oak beams. Odours of roasting meat, crackling on spits in preparation for lunch, drifted in from the kitchen to mix with the cloying smell of melted tallow and wood smoke. Emma cringed at the thick atmosphere. It filled her nostrils, stung her eyes, and tasted bitter on her tongue. She swallowed against a sudden wave of nausea and reached out to grasp the end of a table. A hand settled about her waist as a familiar voice murmured in her ear.
“Sit, a chailín. 'Tis the pale face of a ghost you have. Did you sleep at all after I left?”
“Aye, some. Thank you, Finn.” She smiled gratefully at him and sank onto the nearest bench, her hand clutching her belly. “I don't know why, but lately the smell of food turns my stomach. Perhaps it was something I ate.”
He sat beside her, a frown on his face. “Or perhaps you need to eat,” he said, his hand summoning a serving girl who brought bread to their table.
Emma shook her head. “Nay. I couldn't right now. Truly.”
He broke off a piece of bread and offered it to her.
“Try.”
She sighed, took it from him, and nibbled on it.
“Where's Bee?” she asked after a few moments, glancing around the hall. “Have you seen her this morning?”
“Earlier, aye,” Finn replied. “She's probably hiding in the mews.”
Emma's gaze switched back to him, curious at his words. “Hiding? From whom?”
He ignored her question, instead gesturing to the bread. “Do you feel better?”
She looked at the remaining morsel in her hand, realizing her nausea had all but disappeared. “Actually, I do. But what do you mean by 'hiding'? Why would Bee need to hide? Is something wrong?”
He studied her with an unreadable expression. “Not exactly. Emma, you must listen to me. I think you need to prepare –”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” Emma heard something in his voice and a twinge of apprehension twisted inside her.
His eyes softened. “Pie Jesú. Fate is a cruel master.” He took her hand and placed it between his palms, his chest heaving with a deep sigh. “Bee is...unsettled.” He nodded toward the hearth, where Christophe sat chatting with the group of men. “See the fellow with reddish hair? The one wearing the green surcoat? He, and several of his knights, arrived this morning. His name is Lord Nathan de Maucier of Northumberland, and he's here to offer for Bee. Christophe has already agreed to the union.”
Emma gasped and turned wide eyes back to Finn. “You mean marriage? But I thought...my God, Finn, I'm so sorry for you both.”
Finn shook his head and squeezed Emma's hand. “On the contrary, 'tis a good match for the lass. I know Lord de Maucier will treat her well and I'm sure she'll learn to love him in time.”
Emma pulled her hand from his grasp, irritated by his calm tone. “I don't understand. How can you be so accepting of it? Bee loves you; surely you know that. I thought you felt the same. She must be heartbroken.”
“Easy now.” Finn's voice softened. “I know Bee has strong feelings for me, as I do for her. But she also knew I could never be her husband. I've always made that very clear.”
“But why? Why can't you marry her?”
He shrugged. “I'm something of a rogue knight, with no lands or wealth to offer. But 'tis not only that.”
“Then what?”
“Well, for one thing, I'm too old for the wee chailín. She deserves better.”
“You're not that old,” Emma protested, a small inner voice telling her more unspoken factors prompted Finn's excuses. “Older men often take young women to wife.”
“I'm older than I look.” He smiled and touche
d his fingers to Emma's cheek. “Bee knows how I feel. I opened my heart to her this morning. 'Tis many years since a woman compelled me to do that. Don't worry. She'll be fine. Indeed, I warrant she'll be very happy. Trust me.”
“I don't know how you can be so certain.” Emma glanced toward the door. “I think I should go to her.”
A muscle twitched in Finn's jaw and his gaze dropped to her belly. “How long have you had this sickness, little one?”
“Only for the past few days, on and off. Mostly in the mornings. It's gone now, though. I feel much better.” Emma popped the last small morsel of bread in her mouth and stood. “Thank you, my lord, for your concern, but you really don't have to worry. I'm perfectly well, and Stephen will be back any day. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find Bee.” She bent down and kissed his cheek, her heart touched by the sudden sadness in his eyes. “I believe Lord de Maucier has some very large shoes to fill.”
Emma scurried across the bailey, her eyes drifting briefly to the skies, which had clouded over. The mews lay at the rear of the stables. It was a small wooden building with six stalls, each fitted with a perch for the valued birds of prey so revered by nobility. The door stood open, and Bee's gentle crooning drifted out of the darkness. Emma paused on the threshold, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light.
“Bee?”
“Emma.” Bee's anguished sigh filled the air. She turned and looked at Emma with eyes red and swollen from crying. Arthur, her Merlin falcon, sat on his perch, ruffling his speckled breast feathers. He lifted his head and gave a series of short sharp cries. Bee made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I suppose you've heard. Even Arthur knows I'm upset.”
“Dear God, I'm so sorry.” Emma went to her and hugged her. “Finn told me.”
“Did he indeed?” Bee's voice trembled. “And what, exactly, did the heartless Irish devil say?”
Emma frowned at the harsh words. “He told me Lord Nathan had offered for you, and Christophe had approved the union. But heartless? I think not. Finn is very upset. He said fate was a cruel master. I believe I've rarely seen such sadness in a man's eyes.”
“Aye? Well, 'twas surely not for me. Did he happen to tell you how Lord Nathan came to be at Thurston?”
“Nay, he didn't.”
“Then let me enlighten you, my dear Emma. Lord Nathan is here following Finn's recommendation to Christophe. Can you believe it?” Bee's shaky laugh was edged with emotion. “He took it upon himself to find me a husband. Finn! The man I love. The man I thought loved me too.” She covered her face with her hands. “I'm such a damn fool.”
“Nay, I can't believe it.” Emma's mind spun with Bee's revelation. “He never said anything about that.”
“Oh, I assure you, 'tis true enough. Christophe told me first and Finn admitted it later.” She smiled through her tears. “But only when I tackled him about it.”
Emma shook her head. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Why indeed? Mind you, he always said he had nothing to offer me. No lands or wealth. I told him I didn't care and begged him to ask Christophe for my hand. After all, Stephen managed to sway him where you were concerned, so I thought...oh, Emma. Forgive me. I didn't mean that the way it sounded.”
Bee's words cut with a sharp edge of truth and summoned up the ghost of Emma's self-doubt. She knew Stephen could have made a far nobler match for himself. Still, she managed to smile at Bee through the hurt. “I know you didn't. You're upset, and rightly so. Perhaps it won't be so bad. And I must say, from what I saw, Lord Nathan is very handsome.” Knowing Bee's penchant for forthrightness, she added, “You weren't rude to him, were you?”
“Nay.” Bee sighed. “I curtseyed to the man and babbled something halfway pleasant. I surprised myself, actually. I think it was because I didn't want to admit how hurt I was. And 'tis true he's not displeasing to look upon.”
Emma nodded. “I'm glad you weren't...uncivil. After all, the poor man isn't to blame for your distress. Maybe you should give him a chance.”
Bee grimaced. “I have no choice. You should've seen the warning look on Christophe's face when we were introduced. If I make a bollocks of this, I'll be put in chains and shipped off to some God-forsaken convent.”
Emma bit back a smile at the paradox of Bee's statement. “I don't think he'd go quite that far.”
“Aye, he would. He's threatened it before. Do you know what else the bastard said?”
Emma flinched at the epithet. “Christophe?”
“Nay, not Christophe. Finn.” Tears spilled down Bee's cheeks again. “He said he'd never been so tempted to forfeit his existence and embrace the pleasures of a mortal life. He also told me I'll be forever in his heart and he'll always watch over me. What the hell does all that mean? Is the man's brain addled, for Christ's sake?”
Emma shivered inwardly. Finn's words roused a familiar awareness within her, as a certain aroma might bring a long-forgotten memory to mind. But, as quickly as it surfaced, it disappeared again.
“I'm not sure what it all means,” she said, glancing around the dark space. “But you can't hide out here all day. Christophe will come looking for you.”
“I know.” Bee sniffed and patted her hair. “And I'm sure I look a sight. I'm supposed to have lunch with my future husband.” She stuck out her tongue like a rebellious child. “Will you come to my chamber and help me prepare? I suppose I should try to make an impression.”
“Of course. I'd be happy to.” Emma hooked her arm through Bee's and headed back across the bailey.
* * *
“I can't do this, Emma.” Bee paused outside the Great Hall, fussing with her skirts. “I feel like a prize mare at an auction.”
Emma smiled. “Don't be silly. You look beautiful. Lord Nathan is a lucky man.”
“But what if I hate him? What if he smells? Or drinks too much? Or farts all the time?” Bee turned wide eyes to Emma. “Oh, shite. What if he has a sister who's like Anne?”
“And what if he's kind, gentle and loving?” Emma leant in and kissed her on the cheek. “Truly, no one else could have a sister like Anne. And don't use language like that in front of him. Please. Christophe would not be happy, and I've no desire to see you chained up in a convent.” She gave Bee one last critical glance. “You're magnificent.”
Indeed, Bee did look breathtaking in a forest-green velvet gown. Her chestnut curls, tamed and brushed until they shone, cascaded to her slender waist. She'd refused to cover her head, choosing to wear only a simple gold coronet that reflected the candlelight, giving the appearance of a halo.
“Well, here goes.” Bee lifted her chin. “Wish me luck.”
“You won't need it. Lord Nathan will be grovelling at your feet by the end of the first course.”
Emma lingered in the doorway, blinking back tears as Bee stepped across the threshold. A hush fell across the room, followed by a low hum of approval rippling through the crowd.
Christophe's smile could not have been wider at the sight of his sister so exquisitely presented. Lord Nathan's expression was more subdued, but spoke plainly of his approval. And his desire, Emma thought. He rose to his feet as Bee approached, took her hand in his, and kissed it. Bee bowed her head and sat beside him, tension obvious in the stiffness of her spine and shoulders.
Emma studied Lord Nathan and liked what she saw. He was tall, with handsome features framed by rich chestnut hair that fell carelessly to his shoulders. Although he exuded authority and brandished a commanding presence, Emma sensed an air of gentleness about the man. She glanced around the room looking for Finn, silently thanking him for his discreet absence. His appearance would only have upset Bee.
Throughout the entire meal, Lord Nathan's intense blue eyes shone with unabashed pleasure. He chatted to Bee constantly, his hands moving in descriptive motions to accompany his words. Every nuance suggested he liked what he saw in the young woman sitting at his side. Bee's posture gradually relaxed as she responded to her betrothed's devoted atte
ntion.
Perhaps things might work out after all. Perhaps Lord Nathan would ease the pain in Bee's bruised heart. Emma glanced at the door. Perhaps Stephen would be back today.
Or tomorrow, please God.
Troubled by a twinge of sadness, she let her gaze wander around the hall, her lips curving into a smile when she saw Finn leaning against the back wall, arms folded, watching her. He returned her smile, nodded toward Bee and mouthed 'I told you so'. Emma looked down at her untouched food, shaking her head at his self-assurance. Unbelievable. How did he know the two would be so compatible?
A foolish question. She'd been raised by a man who demonstrated similar mystical traits, and she'd never questioned those. They were simply part of her life. And Finn, like Alex, possessed abilities beyond mortal understanding. She knew it had something to do with the stone.
Maybe the time had come to ask about Finn's true identity, how he was connected to Alex. She looked up to find his eyes still on her. He beckoned, his expression all at once serious.
She slowed on her way across the hall, her attention snared by the silhouette of a woman sitting alone by the fire. It was Anne, her eyes fixed on Bee and Nathan, her face drawn into an expression of misery. Emma stopped mid-stride and glanced at Finn, who frowned and followed her gaze to where Anne sat. He shook his head and the message, although unspoken, came through quite clearly.
Leave her be.
But something about Anne's expression tore at her. Emma glanced back at the dais. Bee and Nathan were smiling and chatting, each focused on the other. Christophe sat with his arm around Miriam in a rare display of affection. He bent his head to whisper something in her ear and she responded with a smile.
Emma turned back to Anne in time to see a tear roll down her cheek, the proof of her sadness quickly removed by a stroke of her hand. Despite everything, Emma felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman.
She conveyed her intentions to Finn with a subtle gesture of her head. He grimaced with disapproval, but Emma ignored him and stepped over to the hearth.
“It's damp in here today.” She knelt down and held her hands out to the flames, surprised to realize she feared a rebuff. “But the fire is pleasing.”
The Cast Of A Stone Page 22