by Sara Bell
"You've a twisted idea of fun if you find amusement in this,” Gareth said as they made their way up the stairs. “I only hope he's taking the bait."
"Only one sure way to find out.” Alric topped the landing and pointed ahead to the bedchamber he and Gareth now shared. “After you."
Gareth had just stepped onto the landing himself and was waiting for Tristam to do the same when a voice behind them said, “Where do you think you're going? I demand to know what this is about, and now."
Gareth turned to see Nadar and Jeoffry coming up the stairs. He stepped aside, allowing Tristam to pass before giving Nadar his full attention. “I've no time for this, Nadar. I've a task I must see to.” Gareth tried to move forward again, but Nadar came around him and stepped into his path.
"You'll go nowhere until you explain yourself to me. If the pretty speech you gave about being my servant had even a grain of truth to it, then you owe me that much, at least."
Gareth gritted his teeth, knowing to lose his temper now would be a grave error, indeed. Swallowing down his irritation, he said, “Come with us, then, but stay out of the way. You'll be able to see for yourself the truth as it unfolds."
Nadar's jaw remained stubborn and set. At first Gareth thought he was going to refuse, but after a moment Nadar nodded and fell into step behind him. Jeoffry took position behind Nadar and the matter was settled, for the moment at least.
Gareth exhaled his relief, but the feeling was short lived. They'd arrived at the bedchamber door.
Locking eyes with Alric just long enough to receive his husband's tight nod, Gareth shoved the door wide and stepped inside.
Bertrand's head whipped around so fast Gareth swore he heard the man's neck crack in complaint. The traitor's eyes went wide as he took in the five men standing in judgment behind him.
"Sires.” Bertrand bowed low before rising to give polite address to Jeoffry. “Commander.” His eyes darted back and forth to take in the lot of them. “What ... what are you doing here?"
"A good question, one I should put to you.” Gareth crossed his arms over his chest. “How is it you find yourself in my private bedchamber this fine evening?"
Bertrand's nose twitched as he searched for a proper answer. Finally, he said, “I've no purpose save to see to your comfort. Yours and King Alric's, that is.” He warmed to his topic. “Indeed, I confess I was making certain you had firewood enough to last you the night."
"How very thoughtful of you.” Gareth leaned against the door frame, keeping his tone light and casual. “You'll have to forgive me if I seem a bit skeptical, considering I don't keep firewood in my bedside chest.” Gareth pointed to the open casket on the table behind Bertrand. “I'm not by nature a gambling man, but if I were I'd wager you were searching for much juicier fare than a stack of dry kindling."
Bertrand wrung his hands. “I don't know what it is you're suggesting, Sire, but I pray you'll excuse me, as I have our guests to attend to."
Bertrand made a move to quit the room, but Gareth put a stop to that notion, and quick.
"Jeoffry, old friend,” Gareth said as he stepped further into the room, “would you be so kind as to grant me a boon and search yon Bertrand for evidence of his misdeeds."
"'Twould be my pleasure, Sire.” Jeoffry's face split into a frightening grin as he reached for Bertrand.
Bertrand backed away from the commander, but Alric and Tristam blocked his path. The cornered man fought as Jeoffry grabbed him, but in the end he was no match for the commander's superior strength. Within moments, Jeoffry had stripped Bertrand to the waist and uncovered a piece of rolled parchment that was tucked into the folds of Bertrand's tunic.
Holding the paper up for Gareth to see, Jeoffry said, “I take it you know what this is."
Gareth gave a grim nod. “Indeed I do. ‘Tis the evidence Alric and I fabricated against Denmar and left for good Bertrand here, to find."
"Fabricated?” The lone lamp Bertrand had lit when beginning his search of the room gave just enough light for Gareth to see the panic on his face. “What ... what's the meaning of this?"
"I've been asking myself the same question.” Nadar caressed the hilt of his sword with two twitching fingers. “If this is some scheme you've concocted to steal my kingdom, Gareth—"
"By the saints, Nadar, not everything is about you.” Gareth clenched his jaw until it ached. “Every word I said down there concerning you is true. Lachlan is yours, and I pledge myself wholly to the cause of peace between us. The only falsehood I've told this evening concerns Denmar and this manufactured evidence against him."
Nadar started to respond, but Alric spoke before he could. “What my husband isn't telling you, Nadar, is that he and I had reason to believe there lives at Kray a traitor, someone devious enough to sell my family's secrets to Denmar. ‘Tis this very traitor who made it so easy for you and your men to find me yesterday."
Alric took a step closer to where Bertrand was still standing beside Jeoffry. “After the failed kidnapping attempt, Wycaster was fairly certain he knew who the traitor was, but we needed proof positive before we accused Bertrand outright.” Gareth watched as Alric's glorious silver eyes filled with a deep sorrow. “How could you do it, Bertrand? How could you betray the House of Kray after everything my father did for you?"
"After everything Declan has done for me?” Bertrand's voice took on the shrill quality of a trapped animal determined to go down fighting. “The only reason Declan even tolerated me is because your mother made him.” Bertrand's moss colored eyes flashed with anger in the dim light. “I should have been exalted as a member of the royal family. Revered and then married off into a noble house. Instead, Declan kept me here to be little more than his lackey. Once your mother died, Declan made it plain I was nothing more than a nuisance.” He smiled then, a sickly sight. “Ah, but I got even with him and his pretty new wife ere ‘twas all over."
Gareth went still. “What do you mean by that?"
Bertrand shrugged. “I suppose I've no reason not to tell you now. ‘Tis a dead man I'll be when you're done with me, anyhow.” He folded his hands over his bare belly. “'Tis I who set fire to the tower where Adela was held."
Gareth heard Alric take a sharp breath. “You killed Adela?"
"Oh yes.” Bertrand sounded well pleased with himself. “'Twas my Lord Denmar's idea, but I'm the one who kindled the flame that sent the bitch writhing to her death. And that's not all.” His speech was thick with pride. “I took care of Declan as well."
"Are you saying you're the reason Declan is dead?” Gareth reached around Jeoffry, grabbing Bertrand by the shoulder and whirling the loathsome creature around to face him.
Bertrand gave him a full-toothed smile that made Gareth feel ill. “Actually, the poison I fed him is the true reason Declan is dead, but since it came to him by my hands, I suppose ‘tis safe to say I killed the cur.” He clasped his hands together in glee. “'Twas the same poison that killed your first husband, King Gareth, or so I understood Lord Denmar to say.” He laughed, a crazed sound that cut through the stillness of the room. “There's a certain beauty to it really, knowing that the same poison that killed your love and Alric's father is about to claim you, as well."
Gareth released Bertrand so fast the man stumbled. “What are you talking about?"
Bertrand preened like a proud peacock. “'Tis quite simple, really. Before I came up here to destroy your so-called evidence, I slipped a goodly portion of the foul mixture into your wine.” He leaned in close to Gareth and lowered his voice to a loud whisper as if the two of them were sharing some great secret. “Take one last, long breath, Gareth of Lachlan. ‘Tis a dead man you'll be ere this night is out."
Chapter Thirteen
Later, Alric would remember little of the moments following Bertrand's announcement save for the satisfying crunch of Bertrand's windpipe beneath his fingers as Alric dove on the man and began to choke the life out of him. He could hear Tristam and perhaps even Nadar beseeching him to stop
, but Alric was beyond listening. All he cared about was wringing the life out of the man responsible for Gareth's impending demise.
Bertrand croaked and sputtered, trying desperately to free himself from Alric's grasp, but Alric gave the villain no quarter. It wasn't until strong, steel-like arms wrapped around his waist that Alric was forced to break his hold on Bertrand's throat. As Bertrand collapsed to the floor and wheezed for breath, Alric turned to fight against the man holding him. It took a long moment of being pressed against an iron-hewn chest for Alric to realize that Gareth was his captor.
"Hush, now.” Gareth held him tight. “I'm all right, Alric. Listen to me. All is well."
Alric shook his head with violent force. “You heard what he said.” He struggled to break away. “We must get you to Balthazar.” He fastened on the notion, seeing in it a pale spark of hope. “He can heal you. He can—"
"'Tis not necessary, Alric.” Gareth pulled back enough for Alric to see the truth in his eyes. Holding Alric's face with tender hands, Gareth said, “Bertrand's plan has failed. I didn't drink any of the wine served to me at the feast."
"You're certain?” Alric was afraid to believe.
"Positive.” Gareth's slow smile was a soothing balm to Alric's frightened soul. “I'm fine, pet. I swear it."
"Creator be thanked,” he whispered against Gareth's ear as he pulled him close. “I love you.” Alric was unable to stop the words from spilling out, but he was beyond caring. “I fear living without you is the one thing I cannot manage."
Gareth kissed the side of Alric's throat. “'Tis good to know, because I plan to be with you for long years yet to come.” His voice fell to a husky whisper. “I've only just found you. Damned if I'm going to leave you so soon."
Alric was about to respond when Tristam interrupted them. “Much as I hate to intrude on so tender a moment,” he said, “we've still this pile of refuse to deal with.” Alric turned in time to see King Tristam give Bertrand a swift kick in the arse.
Bertrand yelped, but remained defiant as ever as he looked up at the five men now looming over him. “Do to me what you wish, but you'll never outsmart my Lord Denmar. By your own words, the so-called evidence you have against him is a forgery. The High King will never back you in a war against the man now."
"You're wrong, Bertrand.” A new voice spoke from the door, and Alric looked to his left where a pale Wycaster was standing on the other side of the open threshold.
Wycaster spared one last disdainful glance in Bertrand's direction before looking to Gareth and Alric. “A messenger has arrived from Stiles, my kings. I believe you'll be most interested in what the man has to say."
Gareth hesitated, prompting Jeoffry to say, “Go ahead and attend your business.” His eyes sparkled with a feral gleam. “I'll see that this heap of horse dung makes it to the cells."
Gareth nodded. “I am in your debt, Jeoffry."
Jeoffry grabbed Bertrand by the scruff of the neck and led him to the door. Wycaster stepped aside so they could pass before falling into step behind them. “I'll go with you, Jeoffry. Perhaps together you and I can persuade Bertrand to divulge more about his crimes."
For all his talk of being ready to die for his new master, Bertrand set up a noisy protest as the two commanders led him away. As soon as they were gone, Tristam sank into a nearby chair, his expression an even mix of exhaustion and relief. “I fear I lost a dozen years or more off my life when Bertrand announced he'd poisoned you."
Gareth nodded. “'Twas not something I welcomed hearing myself. Indeed, I was halfway on to panic when I realized I'd drunk nothing save a spot of water early this evening.” He turned to Alric. “Are you well enough to great the messenger?"
"Yes.” Alric took a shaky breath. “I'm not certain my heart will ever again beat a normal rhythm, but I'm well enough to hear what Stiles's envoy has to say.” His eyes darkened. “First, I must speak with Balthazar. If ‘tis true what Bertrand said—if he really did poison my father before trying to do the same to you—the drink he mixed for you must be isolated. Perhaps Balthazar can use the concoction to formulate an antidote of sorts. If nothing else, we can make certain no one drinks from your cup by mistake."
Gareth took his hand. “Let's be quick about it, then.” He led Alric to the door but stopped as Nadar stepped into his path.
"Not so fast, brother.” Nadar watched Gareth closely. “Were you speaking true when you claimed you wanted peace between us?"
"Yes.” Though Gareth spoke softly, that single word said volumes.
"'Tis what I thought. I'll greet this messenger with you, then.” Nadar turned on his heel, pausing only long enough to say over his shoulder, “Perhaps what he has to say will hold interest for me, as well."
"As you wish.” Still holding tight to Alric's hand, Gareth turned to Tristam. “Are you coming?"
Tristam gave a weak nod. “I'll be along in a moment—just as soon as I'm certain these trembling legs will hold me."
* * * *
Balthazar, having been summoned to the newly emptied hall by one of the servants on Gareth's behalf, held Gareth's cup to his nose and took one cautious sniff.
"'Tis difficult for me to say on smell alone, but the scent makes me believe this brew has been laced with tisrocaine powder.” Balthazar pulled three small vials from the pouch at his belt. Setting the cup on the table, he uncorked the vials and placed them beside the cup before again reaching for it and emptying the liquid into the tiny bottles. Corking the vessels tight, he handed the cup to Vanick, the young servant assigned to help him. “Take this to the kitchens and plunge it into the cooking fire until all the liquid has burned away. After ‘tis charred black with soot instruct Cook to cleanse it with water and lye till it is scrubbed clean."
Vanick nodded his dark head. “I will see it done, Master Balthazar."
Balthazar gathered up the corked vials, holding them with infinite care. “I've some herbs in my room that react only when introduced to certain poisons. Through trial and error, I should be able to tell you what Bertrand used."
"I thank you, Balthazar.” Gareth nodded to the healer from his own place at the head of the table. “I'll be in your debt if you can solve this mystery for us."
Balthazar bowed and then turned to go, but Alric—who was seated beside Gareth and had been quietly watching up until then—stopped him.
"Balthazar, I've a question for you ere you go."
Balthazar turned back around. “Yes, Highness?"
"This tisrocaine powder...” Alric faltered over the words. “Could it have been responsible for my father's death rather than the love of strong drink you first thought?"
Balthazar swallowed so hard Gareth could hear it all the way across the table, but to the boy's credit, he held his head high as he faced Alric with the truth.
"Indeed it could have, Sire. Tisrocaine is so rare, I confess the thought never crossed my mind. If my suspicions are correct,” he fell to one knee and bowed his head, “then ‘tis my fault King Declan is dead and I should be punished for my negligence."
Alric rose from his seat and crossed the room on stiff but steady legs. He stopped beside Balthazar, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Rise, Balthazar,” Alric said in a soft, soothing tone. “If my father was poisoned, ‘twill be Denmar and Bertrand who answer for the crime, not you.” He pulled a trembling Balthazar to his feet, lifting the lad's chin until the two of them were eye to eye. “You shall hold a place of honor in this house for as long as you want it.” He dropped his hand and stepped back, still holding Balthazar's eyes with his own. “Do you understand?"
"Yes, Highness.” Balthazar took a deep breath. “I'd best be about my tasks.” He turned to go but stopped before he'd taken so much as a step. “Do I have your leave to instruct the servants to search Bertrand's quarters? ‘Tis possible he's hidden the rest of the poison somewhere in his rooms."
Gareth nodded as Alric made his way back to the table. “Well thought, Balthazar. With any
luck, we'll also find more tangible proof of Bertrand's connection with Denmar."
Balthazar nodded and then left. From the other side of the table, Nadar watched as Alric reclaimed his seat beside Gareth.
"What of this messenger from King Stiles?” Nadar draped his hands on his stomach. “Your commander seems to think he has news that could affect your right to wage war against Denmar's house."
"He's in the kitchens, refreshing himself from his journey,” Tristam said as he came into the hall. Choosing a seat midway between Nadar and Gareth, he offered his apologies. “Forgive me for taking so long, but after I regained my wits I stopped to share a private moment with my wife.” Tristam gave all seated a sheepish grin. “She calms me as no one else can."
"I understand.” Gareth reached below the table and squeezed Alric's hand. “I'll have the messenger brought in now, and we'll hear what he has to say."
"I've already sent for him.” Tristam steepled his fingers on the table. “I've also sent for Jeoffry and Wycaster. I imagine they'll want to hear this as well."
As if by design, Jeoffry and Wycaster came into the hall. The both of them were wearing grim expressions that gave Gareth pause.
"I take it Bertrand had little to say on the subject of Denmar."
Jeoffry sighed. “Silent as stone."
Wycaster waited until Gareth motioned for he and Jeoffry to join the three kings at the high table before bowing in acquiescence and taking the seat across from Tristam. “We tried everything short of torture to make the man speak but it seems Bertrand fears revealing his secrets more than he fears us."
Jeoffry sat down beside Wycaster. “Were I to guess, I'd say Bertrand fears what Denmar will do to him once he learns Bertrand failed in his plot to assassinate you, Gareth. Indeed, a swift execution by Kray's hangman would be preferable to the method with which Denmar has been disposing of his enemies as of late."
"Balthazar believes he knows what poison Denmar has been using,” Gareth said. “With any luck, we'll soon have an antidote."