by Carmen Caine
The duke’s reply was lost as the hounds began to bark once again.
Julian raised a thoughtful brow as he watched the English king dismount and then hurry inside the castle just as the rain began to fall in earnest.
Rumors had run rife around the hall the evening before—rumors that Albany had promised half of Scotland’s land to Edward. In exchange, the monarch would lend an army to place the prince upon the Scottish throne. Apparently, Albany was more than ready to shed the blood of his own kinsman just for a crown.
Grimly, Julian folded his arms.
Cameron would need to know just how big an army Scotland faced in order to band the clans together, along with proof of Albany’s betrayal.
A sudden gust of cold air blasted through the window, and Julian grimly stepped back.
‘Twas time to spy upon Edward.
As he turned, a flash of green skirt from a nearby intersecting passage caught his eye.
Instinctively, he crouched and flattened against the wall, and drawing his dirk, extended the blade at an angle to catch the passageway’s reflection on its well-polished surface.
He couldn’t see any green.
He waited patiently for some time, but when nothing moved, he sheathed his dirk.
The moment he’d done so, he heard the soft click of a latch.
Peering cautiously around the corner, he saw a woman scurrying away from him. Aye, he’d recognize that green-velvet gown and cascade of honey-colored tresses anywhere.
It was Liselle.
He eyed her retreating form with interest. Had she been spying on him? And if so, was it at her brother’s behest or out of her own curiosity?
Rising to his feet, he stalked her through Fotheringhay’s twisting passages until she stopped before a heavy oak door guarded by two burly men. Bowing her head, she exchanged a few words with them, and after a moment, they moved aside and allowed her to pass.
As the door shut behind her, Julian tilted his head thoughtfully to one side. The two sentinels by the door wore the garb of the king’s bodyguard. For certain that meant Edward was nearby.
But Liselle’s presence was a curiosity. What had she to do with the king?
He cast a sharp eye at his surroundings. He was quite familiar with Fotheringhay Castle, and he knew there was a chamber directly above the one Liselle had just entered. ‘Twould be a simple enough task to leap from that chamber’s balcony to the one below; aye, and most likely, that point of entry would be unguarded.
Dashing up the nearest stair, he slid into the chamber he sought and found it to be empty. Thanking his luck, he threw the shutters wide open only to wince sourly at the driving rain that stung his face in greeting. He’d be swimming his way back to Scotland if it kept pouring with such fervor.
As expected, the balcony below was unguarded. Apparently, they thought only a fool would try to jump from above.
Ach, but they had not reckoned on Le Marin.
As Le Marin, he’d scaled and jumped from many a castle wall in pursuit of elusive answers. He’d also done so many a time as Lord Julian Gray, but in pursuit of willing maidens.
Balancing on the window ledge, he gauged the distance and angle, and then easily leapt to land lightly on the stone railing. Dropping onto the balcony floor, he listened at the window for a moment but could hear nothing. And then taking advantage of the wind rattling the shutters, he used it to mask the noise of his dagger lifting the latch.
As the shutters cracked open, he cautiously peered inside.
The room was dark, gloomy, and bare of furnishings. But to the right, a beam of light fell through a partially opened door, and in the shadows nearby, hovered Liselle.
Julian’s eyes lit with interest.
Plainly, the lass had no legitimate cause to be there lurking in the shadows. With a catlike grace, he slipped into the room.
He was behind her in an instant, and before she could utter a word he had clamped one strong hand over her mouth and had slid the other about her waist.
Liselle went rigid.
“I must beg your forgiveness, Lady Gray. I’ve no excuse for falling asleep so unforgivably early last night,” he rumbled in a soft, low whisper.
She relaxed at the sound of his voice, and he felt her lips curl into a smile beneath his palm. And then the scent of her hair filled his nostrils and his pulse quickened.
“Wed Cecily?” Albany’s angry voice rang from the adjoining chamber. “How can I?”
Upon hearing the man’s voice, Julian’s expression hardened.
Tightening his grip on Liselle, he leaned forward to see Albany pacing in agitation, running his hands nervously through his red hair.
A fire crackled on the far wall, and seated on a polished ornate oak chair was King Edward. A small writing table had been placed at his side, and he drummed his fingers on its shiny surface as his sharp blue eyes pierced the Scottish prince before him.
“And has your heart grown feeble already?” the English king asked in a tone riddled with disdain. “Do you reject in taking our daughter to wife as your queen?”
Albany drew up short. He swallowed several times, and then protested weakly, “But I’ve only just wed Anne! And Cecily has been betrothed to James’ son for nigh on several years!”
Julian rolled his eyes at the man’s diplomatic clumsiness. Any refusal to divorce Anne de La Tour to wed Edward’s daughter, Cecily, meant that the Scottish prince still hoped to retain ties with France. How could such a man beg for England’s army?
Insulted, the king flared his nostrils as his strong voice pressed, “You still wish to curry favor with Louis, but has he lent a hand to your cause? Did we not agree that you would renounce your alliance with the French?”
Albany mumbled something incoherent.
“Answer us!” King Edward demanded.
“I’ll sign your treaty, Edward,” the Scottish prince growled in frustration. “Aye, I’ll sign both agreements!”
With a calculating but vastly pleased smile, Edward waved his hand.
And then another man bearing a carved wooden coffer stepped into view, and Julian caught his breath, scarcely able to believe his eyes.
It was Archibald Douglas, the Earl of Angus, a man whose loyalty to Scotland no one doubted. Ach, the man was a Red Douglas, a staunch supporter of the Scottish Crown! If the powerful earl had betrayed Scotland, it could be a fatal blow.
“God’s Wounds!” Julian whispered under his breath.
Archibald Douglas placed the wooden box on the table and traced a stubby finger along the fine filigree lid several times before finally lifting it to remove several sheets of parchment.
"Aye, I'll sign!" Albany snorted nervously, snatching the pages from Douglas’ hand. Grabbing a quill, he pressed it so hard against the paper that the nub broke, and he required several attempts before both agreements were finally signed.
And then Gloucester appeared and Edward’s demeanor turned even colder. With a flick of a finger, he ordered his brother to take the documents from Albany.
No one spoke as the duke seized the papers from Albany’s rigid fingers. Placing them on the table, he proceeded to drip red wax upon them and affix Edward’s royal seal.
"Now, tell me of my army!” Albany demanded, pounding on the table even as his eyes fixed with horror on the red wax seals, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just done.
“Gloucester’s army,” Edward corrected frostily. “But you may ride with him to the mustering place.”
At that Albany lost his temper and began to shout. "Then I’ll see him leave at dawn! I"ll nae wait a moment longer for my crown!"
“You will leave when Gloucester chooses,” Edward retorted in disgust.
As the monarch rose to his feet, Julian drew back at once, pulling Liselle with him.
It was time to leave.
Twisting free, Liselle caught Julian’s sleeve and tugged him across the chamber towards a brightly painted door.
She paused to twist a key
into the lock, and they stepped through, discovering yet another door opening to the outside passage.
“Not yet, ye wee devil,” Julian growled, blocking her escape with his arm.
She glanced up in surprise.
Bracing his palms on either side of her shoulders, he caged her against the wall. And with a devilish grin, he asked, “What cause have ye to lurk in the shadows listening to the private words of a king?”
“And what cause have you, Lord Gray?” she asked in turn, her voice adopting a subtle purr.
“I was merely chasing ye, lass,” he lied easily enough. “I thought to find myself in your chamber.”
Uncertainty entered her eyes as she searched his face, and then her lips parted to reply, “And I came when Albany summoned, my lord. I had no knowledge of his visitors.”
“Albany?” Julian cocked a brow. A twinge of jealousy flared to life. “Have a care with the man, lass—” he began.
“Basta!” she interrupted. Recoiling at the implication, she pinched her nose in disgust. “Have a care where your thoughts lead you, my lord! Albany has promised my brother that he would safely escort me to the Scottish court. That is all!”
“Scottish court?” Julian repeated with narrowed eyes. So, Orazio wasn’t in Fotheringhay? That could be good news for Dolfin. “What business have ye in Scotland?”
“And I will answer, though you have no right to pry into my concerns,” Liselle replied, her voice adopting a low, melodic pitch. “I journey to Edinburgh in my sister’s stead, Lord Gray. Nicoletta was struck with the ague.”
“Then I wish Nicoletta well,” Julian replied courteously even as he eyed Liselle from head to toe. His distrust of her was growing by the moment, but the thought of seeing her often in the Scottish court was an exhilarating one.
“But do not allow me to delay you, my lord,” the lass was saying. “Should you not be in the hall, drinking wine and trading kisses with any maiden that catches your eye?”
Refocusing his attention upon her, Julian chuckled. “Is that an invitation, Lady Gray?” he asked in a suggestive tone.
She lowered her eyes demurely, but he knew it was an act. Aye, but the wee beastie was wickedly enthralling. Sliding an arm about her waist, he pulled her close, locking her in a possessive grip.
“I’ll nae be sharing wine with ye again, ye shameless lass. But I’m still right willing to taste your lips,” he said, his voice hard and low. Aye, he’d play upon her interest in him and find out why she had drugged him.
Liselle shook her head. “Che bixùco pitóxo” she whispered, sliding her hands to rest on his chest.
Shivering at her touch, he was careful to hide the fact that he knew quite well she’d just called him a piteous fool. Faking ignorance, he whispered, “Ye speak in such seductive words, lass. I’ll take ye up on the invitation!”
He lowered his head.
With a coy smile, she tapped him lightly on the nose with one finger and said firmly, “My kisses must be earned, Lord Gray.”
Suppressing a grin, he pretended to be affronted. “Ach, ye’ll beg for my kisses soon enough, Lady Gray,” he murmured, running his thumb lightly over her bottom lip.
She froze under his touch, but then clearing her throat, managed a small laugh. “Will I?”
A strange mix of suspicion and desire flooded through him as he looked deeply into her hazel eyes and asked, “Aye then, mayhap ye’ll confess why ye poisoned the wine and left me naked?”
Something he couldn’t interpret flashed across her face, but she masked it well, and scarce a moment later her eyes twinkled up at him mischievously. “Wine, my lord? Cà de dìa!” She rolled her eyes a little before explaining with a distinct note of humor, “It was the bread, my lord.”
His lip lifted in mild surprise. Aye, the lass was a cunningly clever one. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice even more as he whispered into her hair, “And did ye find what ye were seeking, lass?”
“Yes, my lord,” her voice hitched a little. “Your safety was all I sought.”
Safety? He frowned at the unexpected answer. He stayed where he was a moment, inhaling the fragrance of her hair. He could hear her soft, rapid breathing, and his pulse quickened in response. Ach, that would never do. He couldn’t develop a real attraction to the lass; he only meant to find answers.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped back and repeated, “Safety? Safety from whom?”
But she pushed him away. Placing her hand upon the door latch, she countered coolly, “And what of you, Lord Gray? What is the real reason you are here at Fotheringhay? I’m told you travel the lands indulging your whims, but from what I can see, your actions are more befitting of Le Marin than a scandalous drunkard.”
He drew a sharp breath in astonishment as his gray eyes swept over her face.
Le Marin. Most likely, she’d only referenced Le Marin coincidently, but she was the first to come so close to the truth. Even by accident.
Mayhap the less seen of this particular wee devil, the better.
Tossing his blond head back, he forced himself to roar with laughter. “And if I were to claim that I was Le Marin, lass, surely that would deem me worthy of a kiss now, aye?”
She stared at him then, and his pulse leapt once again as he suddenly found himself drowning in her hazel eyes. The wee lass was complex and most likely dangerous. Why did he find that alluring?
And then she pulled the door open. Pausing on the threshold, she said, “We must leave separately, Lord Gray. It would not do to let Pascal find us together. He is not as … understanding as Orazio.”
“Pascal?” Julian inquired, careful to sound only mildly curious. Pascal. Yet another Venetian he must investigate.
“My cousin,” she explained, dipping a curtsey. And then a gleam of wicked amusement entered her eye. Pointing to the shuttered window, she added, “Perhaps you should leave the way you arrived. It might be safer.”
Julian chuckled. “Mayhap ’twould be, if your kinfolk are prowling about, ye wee beastie. But I’ve no mind to risk a broken limb. Ye can avail yourself of the window if ye desire. I’ll be leaving through the door.”
“Then remember that I warned you, bixùco pitóxo mio,” she said, shaking her head in mock pity. “I wish you well.”
“Until we meet again, Lady Gray,” he replied, bowing with a flourish.
She did not reply, and then slipping through the door, she was gone.
He did not hesitate.
After all, he scarcely trusted the lass. She could very well be setting a trap.
Exiting the chamber, he boldly strode down the passageway and past the two royal bodyguards still standing by the door. Surprised to see him, they glanced at each other nervously as if trying to assemble the courage to accost him. But he was long gone before they’d succeeded.
He had much to do. Not only did he have to secure proof of Albany and the Red Douglas’ betrayal, but he had to get a firm count of the soldiers under Gloucester’s command.
Exiting the stairwell, he paused for a moment to peer through the narrow window slit. The rain had ceased; the clouds were breaking. Perhaps the sun would be shining soon.
With a deep yawn, he lifted his arms to stretch when he felt the cool steel of a blade suddenly pressed against his throat.
“Leave the Lady Liselle alone if you wish to live, Lord Gray,” a grim voice warned.
Chapter Six – The Mysterious Ring
It had to be Pascal.
Swatting the blade from his neck, Julian summoned a mask of arrogant astonishment and turned to face a slim, dark-haired aggressor. “And who dares to threaten Lord Julian Gray?” he demanded with the affected disdain of a slighted noble.
“A man who would defend his cousin’s honor,” Pascal replied in a deadly soft tone.
Affecting a clumsiness in keeping with his character, Julian fumbled with his dirk and waved it towards the youth.
Pascal sidestepped him with an easy grace. Any man could have, but it was the way in whi
ch the lad had done it that caught Julian’s attention. He moved with the expertise of one highly trained.
There was more to the lad than met the eye.
“And who might ye be?” Julian asked, surveying him as if bewildered.
Twirling his own blade, Pascal sheathed it in a single fluid motion. His gaze was shrewd, his handling of the dagger sure, and he stood with the poised stance of an accomplished swordsman.
Ach, were all of Liselle’s kin assassins?
Pascal’s eyes glittered dangerously through his dark lashes. “As we should never meet again, Lord Gray, you need not know my name,” he replied with a contemptuous tilt of his chin.
There was a moment of strained silence, and then brushing imaginary lint from the sleeve of his black-velvet doublet, Pascal spun on his heel and set off down the passageway without a backwards glance.
The corner of Julian’s lip lifted in a knowing smile. Such youthful conceit was prone to beget mistakes.
He waited until Pascal had entered the stairwell before following.
“Aye, ‘tis time to unearth secrets,” he muttered under his breath. The task of procuring Albany’s proof was better left to the darkness of night, anyway.
Fotheringhay bustled with activity, and it was easy enough to lurk in the great hall unnoticed, keep an eye on Pascal whilst listening to the words of pompous English knights for secrets that might be used to Scotland’s benefit.
Liselle’s cousin strolled aimlessly about for a time. Periodically, the young man would pause to squint through the narrow window slits at the foul weather outside and tap his fingers nervously on the stones.
Finally, the rain stopped. And as a ray of sun broke through the dark clouds, the slim youth threw a cloak around his shoulders and slipped out of the hall.
Julian was only a few steps behind, shadowing him out of the castle and into the village below. Once or twice along the way, Pascal had glanced back over his shoulder, but Julian kept a safe distance and remained undetected.
The village of Fotheringhay was a bustling one in spite of the wet weather. Men and women slogged through the muddy streets, dogs barked, wet-feathered chickens scrabbled in the muck, and the occasional cart rolled through the mire headed to or from the castle.