In a Glance

by Lisa Shea

  Divine.

  Cecily smiled at her enjoyment. “You could eat like this every day,” she prompted. “While we move from location to location for obvious reasons, we bring our retainers with us. This cook has been with me for several years now. We have her whipped into shape.”

  Michael stabbed a piece of meat with his knife and plunked it into his mouth. “She will eat like this every day,” he corrected Cecily. “Of course Joan will be staying with me.”

  Cecily’s smile widened, and she turned to Joan. “So it is all decided?”

  Joan forced her face to hold a smile. “Of course,” she murmured. “My Michael is back with me again. I would be no place else.”

  Michael skewered another piece. “No place else, indeed,” he agreed. “You were made mine years ago. Your father practically gave you to me.”

  Joan pitched her voice to be dutiful and meek. “I will never leave your side again.”

  Michael shook his head. “You will be heading out tomorrow morning,” he corrected.

  Joan’s pulse quickened. Finally, they were getting to something. “Oh? But I just found you!”

  That look of weary annoyance she knew so well flitted across his face, quickly replaced by an attentive smile. “Ah, my dear, I know you miss me. But this is important. It has to do with that blackguard, Hugh.”

  The sound of his name on Michael’s lips stilled her breath. What would they want from Hugh?

  Michael tapped the table with one finger. “When we shared an apartment in the Holy Land, Hugh knew that one of my personal items held special meaning to me. It was a silly thing, a wooden salad bowl, but it always reminded me of my mother. I had often joked with Hugh that, should there be a fire, the one thing I would want to save was that salad bowl.”

  He gave a soft shrug. “When Hugh thought that I had died, apparently he kept it with him. Probably to celebrate his ability to outlive me.” His eyes sharpened. “I want it back.”

  Ada leant over from her place on Michael’s other side. “I’ve been through Hugh’s apartment at the tavern,” she commented. “He’s got several pottery bowls there, but that’s it. I don’t know where he’s put it.”

  Joan looked between them. “Maybe he threw it out or gave it away at some point,” she mused. “It’s been five years, after all.”

  Michael shook his head, his face glowing with certainty. “I know Hugh. He is a simpleton about things like honor and duty. He has that bowl, and I want it back. It belongs to me.”

  Joan stilled, suddenly remembering the morning she lay in Hugh’s bed. She had looked up over her shoulder and seen the wooden circle with the soaring seagull carved into it. There had been a convex curve to the wood surface, a roundness to the shape.

  She kept her voice even. “So you will send me, alone, back to fetch this bowl?”

  Michael gave a harsh laugh. “Absolutely not! I would not risk having that man get a hold of you.” He nudged his head to the side. “Ada will be with you every moment. For every breath. When you have met your objective, she will guide you back to our new location, the same as last time.”

  Joan’s heart thumped in her chest. “It might be better if I went alone, so that –”

  Michael cut her off. “This is my plan, and we do it my way,” he stated. “Ada will never leave your side.”

  Joan dropped her gaze. “As you wish.”

  Michael put a hand beneath her chin, and raised her head to look into his eyes. “You always were a good, obedient girl,” he reminded her. “Do not let me down in this.”

  She held her voice to a meek murmur. “I won’t.”

  “Good,” he stated, and then he was standing, calling out to the men sitting at the lower tables. “And now, who is ready for some gambling?”

  A roar of approval echoed back to him, and he was lost in the swirl of bodies.

  Joan drew herself to her feet. “I am afraid that I am worn down from the day’s events,” she apologized. “I will call it an early night.”

  “Of course,” agreed Cecily with a smile. “Just be sure to be ready by noon tomorrow. You and Ada have a long ride before you.”

  Joan nodded, then made her way through the hall, up the stairs, and into her room. She slid the bar into place across the door, then crossed to the window, looking out at the glistening ocean. The moon was high in the sky, sending pearlescent shimmers over the waves. A lone fishing boat was plying its trade, a small lantern adding its soft, golden glow to the scene.

  Joan sat on the sill, closing her eyes for a long moment. The events of the day were still nearly too much to take in. Her memories of Michael were becoming tangled and skewed, as if someone had taken a beautiful tapestry and begun pulling randomly on its strings.

  And what was the true story about the bowl? Joan doubted Michael was sentimental. Was it that he was jealous of Hugh, that Michael bristled at the thought of Hugh having anything that rightfully belonged to him? Or was there something intrinsically valuable about the bowl? Surely a carved piece of wood could not hold much worth. But Michael had seemed insistent on getting it back, and when Ada’s investigations had failed, he felt this was his next best chance.

  Iron bands constricted around Joan’s chest as she thought about the task that lay before her. Ada would be watching her every move, her every glance, and would report back to Cecily and Michael if one action went awry. Joan would have to pretend that she was over Hugh, that she was fully back in love with Michael. She would have to deceive Hugh and somehow get her hands on that seagull-carved bowl.

  Then she would bring the bowl back to Cecily and Michael, to see what the true story was. Maybe, then, they would trust her enough to reveal their involvement in the kidnappings and smuggling activities. Joan had no doubt that the empire was far less beneficent than Cecily purported it to be.

  She took one last look at the fishing boat before her, then pulled the curtains closed. It was time to get some rest. Tomorrow she would start one of the most challenging tasks of her life.

  Chapter 17

  Joan nervously glanced at the closed main gates of the curtain wall, then back to the trio who stood before her. Ada, like her, was dressed for travel with a light cloak and sturdy boots. Both wore a long, crimson dress over a white chemise. Cecily and Michael were more elegantly outfitted, with embroidery dancing at their cuffs and gold piping around their neckline.

  Cecily stepped forward first, giving both women a warm hug. “I have the utmost faith in you,” she offered them. “You will do what needs to be done and return to us. Then will have a celebration the likes of which has never been seen.”

  Michael was cooler, first touching Ada on the cheek, then turning to Joan. He ran his eyes down her body, then nodded in satisfaction. “You are fully mine,” he reminded her. “See that you do not disgrace me while you are outside these walls. Your temporary fling with Hugh was understandable, but it is over.”

  She looked down. She kept her voice to a low murmur. “Of course.”

  Satisfied, he nodded, then held his arm out for Cecily. She hooked hers into his, and together the two returned to the main keep.

  Ada’s eyes lit up in anticipation, and she turned, striding toward the main doors leading out into the wood. Joan followed along behind her in confusion, glancing back to the stables. “But surely we will be taking horses?”

  Ada shook her head with conviction. “Not necessary.”

  The large, wooden doors were pulled open before them, and Joan’s heart fell. It would take them a week, if not more, to walk the distance back to town. She held in her complaints. If, for whatever reason, this was Michael’s plan, then she would not cause waves. Not when they felt she was under their spell.

  Ada stepped through the gap, and Joan followed her, the midday sun shining down over the clearing. A rutted dirt path headed across the opening and into the depths of the shadowed woods. The two women stepped quietly along the trail. Behind them, there was the soft thunk as the gates sealed the keep.

&
nbsp; The oaks and birch closed in around them, a coolness settled over her shoulders as the shadows grew dense, and a shiver ran down Joan’s spine. Her hand moved to her hip – and swept through open air. She still had no sword. The loss of it wore at her, so used to it had she become. Both she and Ada wore knives, of course, but what use could they be if bandits were to attack? Little better than a kitten’s nails against a hungry badger.

  There was a creak behind them, and Joan’s heart leapt. Ada seemed oblivious, and Joan wondered if the woman had nerves of steel or simply had not noticed the sound. There was a shimmer before them …

  Hugh stood in the center of the road, his face in shadows, his stance still.

  Every ounce of Joan’s being called her to race to him, to wrap herself in his arms, to press her face against his neck, and to know that everything would be all right. It was only through the greatest self-control that she held herself in place, drawing in a deep breath and soaking in the sight of him.

  There was a long moment where it seemed the world held its breath. At last he took one step toward them, then two. His gaze flicked to Ada for a moment before returning to hold hers.

  Joan could barely speak his name. “Hugh …”

  Ada stepped forward into the gap. “We are so relieved to see you,” she stated brightly. “We are fortunate that Cecily did not find any use for us. Her wolves’ heads have freed us, and we can now return back home to where we belong.”

  Hugh held Joan’s eyes with steady regard. “Cecily had no use for you?”

  Joan flinched. She could see, now that he had stepped forward from the shadows, how the mask of steadiness overlay depths of passion, of desire – and of keen hesitation.

  His voice, when it came again, was rough. “And was Cecily the only person in the keep?”

  He knew.

  The image of the fishing boats sprang to Joan’s mind, and suddenly she knew with absolute certainty that he had been on one of those vessels. He had seen her run into Michael’s arms. He had watched as they talked together at length on the cobblestone patio.

  Ada gave a tinkling laugh. “Of course there were others at the keep,” she teased him. “But none of note.” She began walking forward. “If we are going to go on foot, we should get moving. It’s a long way home.”

  Hugh’s eyes were still on Joan, but he gave a soft, clucking noise. Two large forms moved in the woods, and in a moment Accipiter and Aquila stepped into the open path.

  Ada’s eyes lit up with delight, and instantly she was at Aquila’s side, running a hand down his dark brow. “I had heard of them, of course, but to see them in person!” She wound her fingers through his mane. “Joan, you and I should ride on this one. Hugh can take the other.”

  Hugh glanced over at that. “I thought I might ride with Joan.”

  Ada shook her head in determination. “I will stay by Joan’s side until I get her to safety,” she stated, brooking no discussion. “The woman has been through a lot, and I will not leave her alone. Not for one moment.”

  Understanding lit Hugh’s eyes, and when he brought his gaze back to Joan there was a softer edge to it, a gentling of his focus. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself yet to speak.

  Ada vaulted onto her horse’s back. “Come on, Joan,” she urged. “The faster we move, the more quickly we get this all done with.”

  Joan moved over to her horse’s side, and Hugh went with her. He put out a hand, and she folded hers into it.

  Electricity shimmered through her at his touch. Despite her best intentions she glanced up into his eyes, passion and desire warring within her.

  She wanted him. She craved him with every particle of her being.

  He drew in a breath, stilling for a long moment, and there was an easing of his shoulders. He gave her a boost, and then she was sitting before Ada. He mounted Accipiter and drew alongside them.

  Ada urged Aquila into motion, and they were in flight.

  *

  Joan watched for an opportunity, a space, even the briefest of pauses in which she could talk with Hugh alone. Ada was clearly on guard for such an event. She stuck stubbornly by Joan’s side, watching every word, every glance that passed between the two. They rode and rested, pacing the horses, and Joan would have guessed that they were halfway back before Hugh called for a halt. He had steadfastly avoided every village along the way, and they now made camp in a quiet clearing by a trickling brook.

  He took the crossbow off his saddle, slipped into the woods, and a short while later returned with a plump rabbit. Ada set up a spit over the small fire they had built, and the fragrant smell of roasted meat soon set all of their stomachs rumbling. Hugh passed around the ale skin, and the rabbit was soon being shared as well.

  He looked between the two women. “I imagine we will return to the tavern about dusk tomorrow. Is that where you both want to go?”

  Ada nodded in agreement, tearing off a bit of flesh with her teeth. “That would be perfect. If you wouldn’t mind letting us use your apartment, I think Joan and I would sleep best there. Just for the first night, of course. To get over the shock of it all.”

  Hugh nodded without inflection. “Of course.”

  The words burst out of Joan before she could reel them in. “I want to go home.”

  Both turned to look at her in surprise. Ada spoke first. “But Joan, my dear, I think it would be best if we took advantage of Hugh’s kind hospitality.”

  Hugh’s eyes held hers as if they were searching for something. “Why do you want to go home?”

  An intense longing carved its way through Joan’s heart. Why? Because home was safe. Home was where the tapestry hung, where she could sort through all the chaos which had invaded her world, twisted her memories, and made her unsure of what to believe. Home was where she had curled against Hugh, with Remus and Romulus snuggled at their feet, and the world was whole and complete.

  Ada’s eyes narrowed, and Joan was brought swiftly back to the present. She could not falter now.

  “I … I want to check on my dogs,” she murmured.

  Ada raised an eyebrow. “You have dogs?”

  Joan nodded. “Two of them. I haven’t been home for days, and I just want to make sure they are all right.”

  Ada relaxed back against an old oak stump, taking another bite of the rabbit. “I’m sure they’re fine,” she soothed. “What are their names?”

  A thought suddenly struck Joan, and she drew in a breath. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to converse with Hugh without Ada listening in – but that didn’t mean they could not share information.

  She held his eyes. “Apate and Dolos.”

  He stilled, all attention on her.

  Ada gave a tinkling laugh. “What kinds of silly names are those?”

  Hugh’s voice was low, considering. “They are Greek gods,” he explained. “They came from Pandora’s box. Apate was the goddess of deceit.”

  Joan nodded. “And Dolos was the god of trickery.”

  Ada shook her head. “What kinds of names are those to give to pets?”

  Joan’s voice was hoarse. This might just work. “Oh, the names seemed quite appropriate at the time,” she murmured. She gave herself a shake, turning to Ada. She put on a warmer smile. “They were quite mischievous as puppies,” she explained.

  Hugh’s voice was steady, and his eyes were fixed on Joan. “I enjoy stories, especially by a campfire. What would the young pups do?”

  Joan knew she had to be careful. Ada was no dullard; she would catch on if they spoke too openly. “Dolos, especially, loved to play fetch.”

  He sat back for a moment, his brow creased in confusion. “Fetch?”

  Ada laughed in delight, taking a long swig on her ale. “Did you never have dogs as a child, out there in your father’s camp?”

  “I grew up here in England,” he replied absently, his focus still on Joan. “I only went out to Jerusalem when I turned eighteen.”

  Ada belched. “Oh,
right,” she agreed. “It was –” She stopped abruptly and took another long swallow to cover the halt. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “It was someone else,” she finished up.

  Joan looked into Hugh’s eyes. “Fetch is a game where one player wants an item, and the other one goes and finds it, then brings it back.”

  Ada leant forward. “Dogs love to play fetch,” she informed Hugh. “They could play it for hours and hours.”

  Hugh held Joan’s gaze. “And what did Dolos like to play fetch with?”

  Joan’s mind raced through the options. Ada clearly knew what they were actually looking for, and she would be alert to any mention of it. But if it were seemingly innocent …

  Her eyes lit up. “I started him with a wooden stick, when he was young,” she explained. “But that quickly got to be too easy for him. So I made for him a wooden discus, like they used in the Greek competitions. I could throw it much further, and that absolutely was his favorite toy. That is what he would want me to fetch.”

  Ada nodded in approval. “Smart puppy.”

  Hugh’s brow furrowed. “A discus? Of wood?”

  Then, suddenly, awareness sharpened his eyes, and he sat back. He let out a long breath. “Of course.”

  Ada nudged Joan in the ribs. “See, he’s starting to get why dogs are so much fun,” she teased. “Soon he’ll want one or two of his very own.”

  Hugh’s gaze was even more attentive now. “At least, when you needed to get the discus back from him at the end of the day, you could simply go to his doghouse.”

  Joan shook her head. “Apate and Dolos were wild puppies. They didn’t like to stay in the same place for long. I’d have to track them down each time to see where they were holed up.”

  Ada giggled. “One night in the stables, the next in the shed!”

  Joan nodded. “Exactly right, Ada. Sounds like you had some puppies of your own.”

  “Oh, we had loads of them,” agreed Ada. “A bundle of terror, sometimes. You never knew what those rascals would get into. Tearing holes in clothing, chewing the life out of shoes.”