by Robyn Carr
His timing was perfect, for a silver tray covered with a linen napkin sat ready to be delivered to Trent’s study.
Treena, a young, slim kitchen maid, fluttered around in a fuss that he had come to the kitchen himself and apologized profusely for making him wait. He teased her kindly, causing her to be even more flustered, and finally picked up the tray and asked her to bring him a pot of tea. Jocelyn found herself nearly giggling at the way he played the surly master to the women in the kitchen, and the way they behaved in his presence, almost knocking each other over to rush to his beckoning.
But amused as she was by their behavior, she would have had to be blind not to notice the way they looked at him with obvious adoring. She was also aware of the fact that Trent either failed to notice their vulnerability, or chose not to give it attention. She had seen the truth to Glynnis’s estimation of their resistance to her. Not a woman in this room would have lightly denied Trent’s pursuit. They were all quite shaken in his presence.
“I’ll take these myself since you’re such a lazy twit,” Trent teased. “But hurry with my tea and fix a tray for visitors.”
“Aye, sir. And anything for you, mum?”
“No.” She smiled. “But I’ve been looking for Glynnis. If you see her, will you tell her so?”
“Aye, mum, she took a basket to William and will be back shortly. I’ll send her straight away, mum.”
They walked together back toward the place in the hall where they’d met. Trent balanced the tray on one hand and squeezed her waist with the other. “I thought myself hungry for Treena’s tarts, but now that I’ve seen you, my appetite is of another kind,” he said, his voice teasing and playful.
Jocelyn was feeling more lighthearted every moment. She picked a piece of pastry off the tray and popped it into his mouth, catching him unaware with her movement.
“Then get thee fed, lest you shame me and perform in your own hall with your servants as the audience.”
“Would I share my private moments with servants, madam? No, I would drop the pastry here and take you to the privacy of my bedroom.”
“Bedroom, ha! ‘Tis yonder dungeon I fear most. Here, a morsel to stifle your hunger, beast!” She tapped a finger on his chest. “You have work to do.”
When she would have left him to flee up the stairs, she looked up to find Avery and a guest standing just inside the door, both of them obviously having heard this playful discussion. A man much younger than Avery and probably a few years Trent’s junior held his plumed hat in his hand and grinned most devilishly at them. Avery seemed somewhat uncomfortable and was trying to hide it.
The young man bowed. “My lord,” he greeted. And bobbing down a second time: “My lady.”
Jocelyn felt Trent stiffen slightly beside her and he did nothing to remove his hand from her waist. When she would have moved away for decency’s sake, he tightened his hold. She looked up at him to see his eyes slightly narrowed and his frivolity gone.
The man was a handsome youth, fair of face and lithe of body. He seemed perhaps five-and-twenty years old and was dressed in exquisite silk with jewels on his shoes and a diamond pin in his stock. His tawny hair was thick and wavy and his eyes glittered in quick perception, as if he’d just caught two young lovers in a haystack. He appeared to be a rich young lord, come to call.
After a moment, he turned his hat in his hands and commented jovially on the quiet. “Well, Sir Trent, do I not merit an introduction?”
Trent made a gesture for Avery to take the tray and seemed to let his breath out in exasperation. “No, you do not. But I am forced to accommodate you so that this young woman does not think I am a complete clod. Jocelyn, this is Tronnier Laurant, an acquaintance of mine. He is known among his friends as Sir Troy.”
Taking the sides of her gown, she curtsied lightly and somewhat ineptly, for she’d only seen the servants bobbing and never the slow, elegant drop of a noblewoman. The man came forward quickly to seize her hand and posture over it.
“Troy,” Trent continued, “this is Jocelyn.”
Sir Troy held her hand in his and let his eyes go slowly over her, missing not one detail. “Ah, a fairer beauty I have not seen in all my travels. And a sweeter pleasure I have never known than to touch your soft hand and bathe in the glow of your meagerest smile.”
He made quite a show of pressing his lips to the back of her hand, taking an unnecessarily long time and failing to rise again. When Jocelyn shifted a bit and looked up at Trent, she saw his hand grasp Troy’s shoulder and give a stem squeeze.
“That should do nicely, sir,” Trent warned impatiently. The younger man rose reluctantly, not at all concerned for his safety.
“You look fit, and I can plainly see why,” he said casually. “Your house and vault may have taken a blow, but your good taste was preserved. You have returned to your noble stature well fixed.” He looked toward Jocelyn with a deep sigh. “Ah, to be as rich as he and steal you away from this beggarly hall.”
“Show Monsieur Laurant to my study,” Trent tersely commanded. “See if you can get him there before he encounters any unwary maiden, and stay with him so he does not plunder my money box.”
Sir Troy bowed again. “Your courtesies are as greatly appreciated as they ever were, my lord. Your servant.”
When Avery and Troy had gone, Trent turned to Jocelyn, his mood altered considerably with this new arrival. “I have work to do, madam, and I trust you can keep yourself occupied.”
“Certainly, milord,” she replied.
“Good. Don’t wander too far from the servants. Have a care.”
“Certainly, milord,” she replied again, watching him swiftly turn to leave her. With a confused shake of her head, she returned to her chamber to sit out the remainder of the morning in wait of Glynnis.
The afternoon passed more happily than any of her previous days at Braeswood had. Jocelyn went with Glynnis to the stables where William showed her every corner and stall. This kindly gentleman had earlier granted Jocelyn a place in which to sleep and a blanket with which to cover herself. Judging from the elaborate tour he gave her, he did not recognize her as the same person.
It was clear he was both accepting of her and very proud of the work he did in the stables. He commented more than once on how beneficial it was for his wife to have the lighter task of serving in the lady’s chamber, and he did not use the term snidely.
On their way back from the stables, they stopped and gathered flowers and chatted with the gardeners. Although no one made mention of the past night, almost without exception Jocelyn was treated to amiable smiles and good-natured conversation.
She found herself received more readily in the kitchen and sat for a long while upon a high stool, watching with rapt attention as Treena filled pastry shells with jellied fruits and set them to bake. Even though pleasantries were exchanged as if they all shared equal services in the manor, Jocelyn was grateful for Glynnis’s closeness. The serving woman seemed to oil the conversations and ease Jocelyn’s presence into each area of the great hall and grounds. She had begun to wonder if her small role in Trent’s escape of Stephen Kerr’s accusation had made all the difference, or if in shyness she had misjudged these people. Perhaps, given enough time, she would have found them a friendly lot even without near disaster pulling them together.
At the afternoon’s end, feeling fit and even somewhat tired, Jocelyn changed her dress for dinner. The sun was lowering when Glynnis brought a tray to her room, her signal that Trent was occupied and would not be joining her for the evening meal. She felt no disappointment in this, for her day had been so full and she was so much more comfortable.
It was nearly dark when she was putting away her clothing and noticed that the wrap she had used when she went to the stable with Glynnis was not there among her things. She instantly panicked at thinking it lost. She’d taken such special care with these garments she was given to use and fretted that if it was discovered missing, someone would be angry with her. Whether it
would be Trent, Enid, or even Glynnis did not matter; she had had only a brief space of time in their good graces and paled at the thought of it passing too swiftly.
Jocelyn paced about the chamber, desperately trying to remember what she had done with the shawl. It came to her quickly that the day had proved warm and she had laid it carelessly over the stall when she leaned over to caress a lovely golden mare’s soft muzzle. Quickly, and without giving too much thought to what she was doing, she donned the dress she had only just removed, found her shoes, and dashed out of her room in the direction of the stables.
From the door in the back of the manor, she could see the stable doors standing open and the light still shining within. She breathed a sigh of relief and hoped she could dash in, find the wrap, and lay her things carefully away. With this single thought in mind, she lifted her skirts slightly and ran toward the stable. Her relief upon finding the soft blue wrap easily and unharmed was great, and she picked it up and held it against her.
As she turned to go, she heard voices and paused, thinking very bravely that she would say good evening to William, who was apparently still occupied in the back room. She turned, loving the impetuous feeling of pausing to chat with acquaintances, maybe even friends. Even in her own village she’d been guilt-ridden when she took the luxury of chatting about nothing at all. Her father would punish her for wasting time or spreading gossip. That all seemed so far away and this felt heavenly.
She was quite near the door when a sudden outburst stopped her and she heard a man’s angry voice. “Dammit, I don’t know who killed the bitch. I left her too much alive, screaming her bloody lungs out!”
There was no mistaking the man’s voice, although his pattern of speech and choice of words was incredibly changed. This was the undisguisable voice of the house-guest, Sir Troy. Jocelyn tipped her head in curious wonder at the meaning of his words and found herself listening intently to a mumbling voice she could neither hear nor identify. And then Troy’s voice boomed again.
“Then I’ll tell you again, fool! I got them out of the coach when it was stopped, left their coffers intact, and lifted only the diamond-and-emerald brooch. That was the single thing I took, although the mouth on that woman earned me a hundred pounds. I’ve heard more decent language out of His Majesty’s courtiers, and God but they’re a lewd bunch of beggars. Then we loosed the horses and left them sitting in the road, just as mad as wounded boars.”
“Yet the driver made tracks to Dearborn in plenty of time to name sir knight the vandal and murderer,” another man said. “It’s a fair distance to walk.”
“Odds are the bastard killed his lady and thought he’d done in his master; if the old man lives, we may yet hear another tale. But I’ll say again, I left the bitch and her old dragon alive.”
“They say her throat was cut. Did you get the itch and finish ‘em?” someone asked.
Jocelyn stood in stunned silence. She tried to count the number of voices she heard, but the only one raised loud and angry was Troy’s. The responses to him could have been one other man, or several. But the essence was that the Trendell coach had been halted and violated by Sir Troy...and this a man who was only today engaged in some business with Trent. His charm and courtly graces were obviously just for show, and he was actually a dangerous criminal, one the others in the room suspected capable of cold-blooded murder.
She was suddenly terrified of what she had heard and turned very slowly to creep away. After two small, quiet steps, her heart racing and her limbs shaking fearfully, she began to breathe faster and her feet took off by a will of their own. She clutched at her shawl and grabbed for her gown, making for the stable doors as quickly as she could. The shawl caught on the door, wrenching her backward with a loud thump, and she whimpered as she tore it free in the sheer panic of being discovered. Then half-crying out and half-sobbing in fear, she bolted for the manor doors, certain she heard someone follow her.
She hadn’t taken ten steps when she was certain she had been found out and someone ran close at her heels. The ground beneath her was a maze of blurring traps of crevices and holes, and the manor doors seemed a hundred miles away. She tried to concentrate on that distant, dim light ahead, when someone stepped directly into her path and she collided with him. She gasped at the hefty thump they made as they came roughly together, and when she felt ironlike hands gripping her upper arms, she let out a horrendous, wailing scream.
“Jocelyn! Jocelyn! What is it?”
She gulped suddenly and ceased her struggle instantly as she realized it was Trent. Immediately she began a hysterical blubbering. “Oh, Trent, oh, please, you must listen, I heard them talking, you must let me tell you, they’ve done it, they were the ones—”
“Jocelyn, hold! Stop this chatter and calm yourself. I can’t understand you.”
He pulled her with him toward the manor and tried to soothe her, but she trembled and tears stained her cheeks. By the time they were within the light of the door, she could breathe without gasping.
“First, tell me what you are doing out here,” he demanded.
“My wrap,” she sobbed, a distorted snort leaving her along with the last word. “I couldn’t find it when I was putting away my things this evening and I remembered I left it in the stable. I went to fetch it.” She looked up at him with a quivering lip and hot tears making a mess of her face. “I’m sorry, my lord. I meant to be careful with the things.”
“You’re distraught, madam. It’s only a cheap wrap. Now, what frightened you?”
“I ... I meant to say something to William when I thought I heard him. I thought he was still working...but when I went near the room I heard other men. My lord, I heard your friend Sir Troy.”
“Sir Troy?” he asked, frowning.
“I don’t know who else was with him. I heard voices, it could have been one man or several. I heard him because he was shouting. Oh, Trent, he was swearing loudly that he only robbed the Trendell coach and did not murder the lady. It was him,” she sobbed.
She collapsed against him and cried and he patted her back. “What else did you hear, madam?”
“That’s all,” she said. “He insisted again and again that he only robbed them and did not kill anyone...but whoever else was there seemed not to believe him. I gathered the other man or men thought him quite capable of doing it.”
“And that frightened you?”
She nodded piteously. Then she pulled herself away from him and looked up at him. “All I could think to do was reach you—and warn you. What if he means you harm?”
“Me, madam?” he asked, seemingly shocked.
“He only plays at civil manners and indeed he is a dangerous man. If he has the courage to attack and kill one noble, he would do it again and again. Oh, Trent, if he were to catch you unawares—”
“Jocelyn, I don’t think I’ve lived this long by being careless. I will pay heed to Sir Troy’s movements.”
“Can’t you make him leave? Can’t you tell him he’s been overheard and he dare not stay near Braeswood now?”
“And endanger you in the telling?” he asked, smiling and looking down at her with some amusement.
“Oh, how does that matter?” She stomped her foot. “I don’t care if you tell him I am the one who heard him. I don’t even know if you’d believe me over him—but if he would rob you or do you harm, you must be warned.”
He touched her cheek and wiped away a tear with the back of one finger. “I will have a care, madam. But I think Sir Troy better placed where I can watch him than banned from my presence only to await me on some lonely road. Now, are you still frightened?”
She sniffed back her tears. “Only a little,” she said, feeling far less brave than she tried to pretend.
“Will you go to your rooms if I promise to come later?”
“You aren’t going to the stables, are you?”
“I just may,” he said, nearly chuckling. “But if I do, I shall be much more quiet and keep my head when leaving. I
won’t let anything go awry.”
“Please be careful,” she begged.
“Jocelyn, listen to me. I’d like you to promise me you’ll say nothing of what you heard or what you told me. Not to anyone. Not even Glynnis. Do you understand?”
“All right,” she said with a nod.
“And you’re certain you didn’t hear any other voices you knew?”
“I wish I could tell you more, but I was so frightened and the other words were spoken more softly. I’m sorry.”
“There’s naught to regret, you’ve come to me straightaway with the truth, and that is something I admire. Now go quickly to your own room where you’re safe, and I will join you later.”
She did precisely as she was instructed, and the only reason she did not bolt the door was because she knew Trent was coming. But she was anxiously alert to every sound and even peered out her window from which she could see the stable and the light from the doors. It remained lit for a long time after she was inside.
When finally Trent did come to her room, she was still so distraught that she didn’t even realize that this was the first time he had ever seemed comfortable in the room that had been his mother’s. He seemed in full control, neither upset nor worried about anything. She rushed toward him anxiously; he strolled into the room leisurely.
“Did you go to the stable? Did you hear them?”
“I went,” he confirmed. “I believe you are entirely right, Jocelyn. I think Sir Troy heavily involved in some dangerous dealings.”
“I knew it,” she whispered.
“But there remains a serious lack of evidence to accuse him. There is no booty, no witnesses, and I am certain there will be no confession. And let us not forget, I am the one most highly suspected.”
“What will you do?” she asked.
“I plan to take your advice and urge his swift departure.” She looked at him with stunned surprise. “In fact, should he prove the criminal here, I think it best to minimize our association with him. I would not deem it wise to mention his visit.”