Lady Chantal nodded, seemingly mollified by her sister’s assurances. “Sir Hervey has sent a man to the gates to speak with the porter. The last time she ran away, we were able to glean information —”
But she cut herself off when she saw Hervey approaching with a guard. The guard was tall and thin, a scraggly beard on his narrow face. His tunic was ill-fitting and the belt sagged at his waist, further emphasizing his slimness. But despite his slender frame, the way he carried himself clearly showed that he held a position of power and rank.
“Sir Andhun has already spoken to the guard at the gate, my lady. It appears that Lady Clarisse has run away once again,” Hervey said, his lips compressed into a narrow, disapproving line.
“Did the guard see her leave?” Lady Chantal asked.
“Nay,” Hervey said, frowning.
“’Tis likely that she left the castle in secret, my lady,” Andhun said, his voice devoid of emotion. “The guard at the gate confessed that not too long ago, a cart loaded with goods had left the castle. He was not vigilant in checking over the contents, and Lady Clarisse may very well could have hidden among the items.”
Lady Chantal put a trembling hand to her lips. “I fear that she is not herself. She was so upset earlier…”
“She has no reason to be upset,” Lord Servian said, coughing into his clenched fist. “We are grateful for your assistance, Sir Hervey. I have never known my daughter to be so unruly. I had thought that these years here as Lady Edeline’s attendant would have made her a proper lady.”
Hervey flashed his teeth at them. “Perhaps with firm guidance from her future husband, she will understand the folly of her actions, my lord.” Then bowing to the ladies, he took his leave.
Gareth watched the knight. Outwardly, he seemed unaffected by Clarisse’s disappearance, but there was a simmering anger beneath his act. Clearly this man was dangerous. It was no wonder that Clarisse feared him.
“Aren’t you going to join in the search for Lady Clarisse, sire?” Leofwin said, looking over at Gareth.
“Nay,” he said.
The boy’s jaw dropped open in disbelief, and he looked at him as if he had deliberately drowned a kitten. “Surely you jest, sire.” He paused, searching Gareth’s face. “But what if something happened to her?”
“I doubt that she would come to harm.” Grabbing his tankard, he took a deep drink from it. “You can go on my behalf.”
“Is this a test, Sir Gareth? Will this show my worthiness in becoming a knight?” Leofwin asked, his eyes lighting up with understanding. He began to speak even faster than normal, and didn’t even wait for a reply. Instead the boy nodded his head as if he already knew the answer. “Aye, I know ‘tis surely a test.”
“Take it as you will.”
Leofwin leaned forward, a big smile on his face. “I will find Lady Clarisse, sire. And I’ll prove myself worthy.” With that he spun around, and ran after the men who were marching out of the great hall.
Gareth turned his gaze back to the group of distraught women. Lady Edeline placed her arm around her sister’s shoulders, and the rest of the women trailed behind them to the solar. For a moment, there was uncertainty among the remaining guests. But soon enough, they returned to their food and drink, although the previous gaiety was slightly muted. Still, when he slipped out of the room, he was certain that no one noticed that he had left.
Chapter 10
As soon as Gareth set foot in the kitchen, the heat from the open hearth blasted him all at once. The cook was barking orders, and his underlings scurried every which direction to comply with his commands. For a moment, he paused from his yelling to raise his arm and wipe the sweat from his forehead.
Pots and pans of various sizes and shapes hung on iron hooks that were hammered into the stone walls. On one side of the wall was a large cooking pit where they were roasting a pig. The whole pig was on a spit, where two red-faced and sweaty men stood on opposite ends, each turning the crank. At its center was another man basting the meat with butter. He brushed the hot oil along the length of the pig’s skin. And as the rind crackled and crisped over the open flames, the excess oil slid down, hissing and spitting as it dropped into the fire below.
A dog lay underneath the table gnawing on a bone, but it raised its head when Gareth stepped into the room. However the occupants in the kitchen were busy with their tasks, and didn’t notice his arrival. Opposite to the cooking pit, the cook’s assistant dipped a wooden spoon into a large vat of steaming broth, which sat on a tripod over the cooking fire. He blew at the broth before taking a tentative taste. Off in one corner, near baskets of dried beans and corn, a man churned a batch of fresh butter. Suddenly a lanky servant looked up from chopping vegetables and stared at Gareth for a moment before nudging at his friend beside him. At the same time, the cook turned and saw him standing at the entrance.
“What the hell are you —?”
“Leave this place,” Gareth said, his voice carrying across the smoke-filled room.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” the cook said furiously. He folded his fat arms over his chest. “This is my domain. No one ever comes in here and orders me around.”
“Except for Lady Clarisse,” the tall underling offered, but he gulped when the cook turned a murderous glare at him.
“As I was saying,” the cook said through clenched teeth, “supper is only half done, and there’s much to prepare!”
Gareth looked calmly at the stocky cook and leaned forward. “Do I have to repeat myself?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
“I don’t know who you are —”
“And you don’t want to find out,” Gareth said, his voice low and threatening.
The cook’s eyes widened, sensing danger. He took a step back, staring at him as if he was the devil incarnate. “Please sire, I’m only the cook. I don’t want any trouble here.” He grabbed a corner of his apron and began to twist it. “What will you do?”
“That is not for you to know. Now leave this place.”
The pupils in the man’s eyes shrunk. “I — I cannot let the meat burn,” he said, casting a panicked look over at the roasting pig. “Sir Gordon will have me hanged.”
“Then don’t let it burn,” he said simply.
A moment of indecision entered the cook’s face, and he looked over at his underlings, who watched the exchange with varying degrees of interest and anxiety. Finally, he brought his apron up and wiped the sweat off his face.
“Men!” he barked. “Take the spit off the fire!”
His helpers hurriedly lifted the long stick that contained the whole pig, and placed it on a large platter that sat on the worktable. Despite the heat in the room, the cook’s round face was as white as his apron. As he shooed his helpers out of the kitchen, he glanced furtively over at the storage area where barrels of grains and flour were kept.
“You won’t be long, will you, sire?” he asked, running his hands nervously on his apron. “Perhaps you’ll only be here for a few minutes?”
“Aye,” Gareth nodded.
The cook slapped the side of his leg, drawing the attention of the hound. The old dog got up, and followed his master with little more than a glance at Gareth.
When everyone had cleared out, he walked to the worktable where he found an apple in a bowl. He pushed a few items aside, and hopped up onto the wooden table. Bringing the fruit to his tunic, he began to rub at it.
“You can come out now, my lady.” He took a bite from the apple. “You no longer have to hide from your lover.”
The large fire continued to burn while the logs crackled loudly in the open hearth. For a moment he thought that his hunch was incorrect, and that she wasn’t here after all. Except he remembered that the cook had looked over toward the storage area.
Jumping off the table, Gareth walked toward the sack of grains. Just as he reached the grain area, he heard a slight rustling. Then a wooden sieve that was used to sift through the wheat and rye fell, clattered softly t
o the ground. The noise might have been undetectable had there been others in the room. A split second later, he saw the top of a head emerging from behind a large sack of flour. It was then followed by pretty amber eyes which peered out at him. Clarisse looked cautiously around as if she didn’t trust his words. Then when she was satisfied that he told the truth, she stood up.
“How did you find me?” she asked, a careful expression playing on her compelling face.
“’Twas not difficult,” he said, taking another bite of his apple. “Someone told me that the most obvious places are the best places to hide.”
Her eyes widened as if she remembered those same words that she uttered only a few days ago.
He grunted in response to her reaction, and tossed the apple core aside. “Actually I saw you slip away to the kitchen,” he said, approaching her. “What do you have to gain by coming here, my lady? You have half the castle searching for you.”
“I do not know why you concern yourself in my affairs.”
“I would not have bothered with you if it had not been for my friend,” he said shrugging. “Derrik, along with everyone else, is worried about your welfare.”
An uncomfortable look appeared on her pretty face. Good, he thought. Let her feel bad for interrupting supper.
“You need to go back to the great hall,” he said.
At first she looked past him, as if to measure how many steps she needed in order to escape him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He wanted the brave woman who sat at his table in the tavern, not this frightened mouse who cowered behind a sack of flour.
“I will not betray you,” he said.
She searched his face, and then convinced about his sincerity, he saw that the tension leaving her shoulders.
“I do not want to go back there,” she said.
“Perhaps you should face your problems instead of running away from them.”
She looked at him strangely, and then in a sweet, innocent voice, she said, “Perhaps I should follow your example, and drown my problems in drink.”
His eyebrows snapped downward and he frowned. “I change my mind. I’ll take you back to Sir Hervey after all. I’m certain that he would be overjoyed to see you safe.”
“Nay, wait,” Clarisse said, unable to keep the note of panic from her voice. She reached for his arm, but she wasn’t prepared for the contact. Even through the fabric of his tunic, she could feel the shock of electricity coursing through her, and she pulled her hand back as if she touched scalding water. Bringing her hand up in front of her, she stared at it, feeling bemused. If it was at all possible, she still felt the energy throbbing through her fingers. But what was that? She had never felt a shock like this before. Then she remembered that she had an audience. When she looked up, her eyes locked with his and her breath seized in her throat. She was so close to him, so close that she could feel the searing, intense heat coming off of his large frame. She took a step back even though something within her wanted to compel her forward. She could tell that he experienced the sensation as well because he inhaled sharply.
“I was making a jest,” she lied. A jest that held no amusement for anyone. “There is no need for you to take me to Sir Hervey. I will go myself, and reveal myself to everyone.”
The idea caused a cold finger of dread to streak down her back, but she knew that her hiding game was finished. She wasn’t sure what she had to gain by concealing herself in the kitchen. But then she remembered that awful feeling of being ignored. Hervey sat at her table, and treated her as if she ranked lower than a serf. In that instant, she envisioned herself married to him. And in the next moment the frightening memory of how he treated her in the great hall floated to the fore, and her blood turned to ice. Not only would she be miserable in the union, but she would also be fearful of his punishments. Suddenly she wanted, needed, to get away from him, from the inevitable future. Looking back, she knew that it was a foolish thing to do, but the feeling of helplessness choked at her. And when she saw the opportunity, she ignored all rational thoughts and ran. She needed time away, and the kitchen was the one place that she felt safe and secure. No matter who she was, the kitchen help accepted and loved her. It never occurred to her that by disappearing, she would unwittingly cause another disturbance...
Gareth reached over, and with one finger he brushed it against her cheek. Unable to help it, her body flushed hot and cold, and she shivered. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, and she took a step back.
His hand dropped to his side. “There was flour on your face,” he murmured, but he made no move to come after her.
“Thank you,” she said, rubbing her cheek, now feeling foolish. Gareth was an altogether different man, she reminded herself. He was not the one who pervaded her nightmares.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
A silence fell between them, although she was acutely aware of the man who stood before her. His heated gaze fell to her lips, caressing them with his eyes, and causing her to feel warm.
“I should escort you back to the great hall,” he murmured, “yet here I am hesitant to do so. Why is that?”
“I am not certain,” she said slowly.
His eyes darkened and the look on his face caused a strange whirling in her stomach. But the sensation wasn’t caused by fright, she knew. Gareth had never done anything to frighten her, yet his physical presence suggested that he was capable of doing great harm. If she was smart, she would leave the kitchen this instant, but her feet felt as if they were stuck to the stone floor. A curiosity took hold of her, and as the seconds passed by, its intensity grew.
“May I kiss you, Clarisse?”
Her lips parted, while her gaze went down to his mouth. Every fiber in her body wanted her to say yes. His heat drew her in, and for some inexplicable reason she knew that once his firm lips touched hers, she would reel from the heady passion that she heard about only in stories.
The look on his face turned soft, gentle, and inviting. She had often seen Derrik look at Amelie in a similar fashion, especially when he thought that no one was watching.
However she wasn’t Amelie, and this wasn’t Derrik.
Closing her eyes, she shook her head and whispered, “I cannot.”
But it wasn’t Gareth. Being close to any man brought the latent dark memories and fears to the fore front, memories that were best kept locked in her mind. No matter how hard she tried to shake off the negative influence, these old irrational fears tightened around her neck like thick cords. Yet through all this, she wanted to reach out to Gareth, to taste the kiss that would surely be as sweet as she imagined. The yearning inside of her mingled and danced within her breast, teasing her into wanting to know more. But the fear in her was very real. And that emotion was strong. How could she tell him that she wanted to kiss him yet she was afraid? From the moment that she met Gareth, she had liked him. But what if his kiss made her feel clammy and vile?
She expected him to be angered by her refusal, to lash out at her. And she even braced herself for his blow, waiting for the back of his hand to connect with her face. But nothing happened. She opened one eye and saw him watching her with an odd expression on his face.
“Something happened to you,” he said slowly. “And I believe ‘twas bad.”
She shook her head, not wanting to reveal her shame. Only Helewise knew about that, and her friend took that secret to her grave.
Clarisse took another step back. She wanted the entire length of the room between them, because there was something in his eyes that made her want to recklessly bare her soul to him. But if he knew the truth, he would likely be repelled by her.
“I have no desire to kiss any man,” she said, moving to the other side of the wooden worktable, ready to bolt. “Least of all you,” she lied.
“You have made your point,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
Clarisse let out a rush of air from her lungs. She knew she should have felt grateful. In fact, she
should have felt great relief. But instead, she felt a peculiar sense of disappointment, and her longing for the forbidden remained there, just beneath the surface. Was she going mad?
“Tell me the reason why you’re here,” he said casually. “Are you hiding from a certain knight?”
Swallowing, she felt another urge to lie. She should tell him that something angered her, and she had gone into the kitchen to collect her thoughts. There was no need for him to know what her intentions were. There was no need for him to hear about her worries.
But she believed that he told the truth. For some reason she knew that he wouldn’t turn her in unless she was ready to face everyone. But what disarmed her was the fact that he genuinely wanted to know why she ran away. No one had ever asked her reasons for doing things; they just expected her to do her duty.
“Aye,” she said slowly, opening up to him, despite her reservations. “I know that hiding will not solve my dilemma, but I panicked and did not know what else to do.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and she looked down at her gown. There was wheat husks and dirt on it, and she bent down and brushed at her skirt. “Only a month has passed since I was informed by my lord father and eldest brother that I am to marry Sir Hervey; I should already have come to terms with this idea. But today, my parents were in the solar discussing my future, as if I was a pawn in a game of chess.” She grimaced at the memory. “I could not handle hearing it.” Her voice broke, the sympathetic expression on his visage causing her eyes to burn. And she confessed to the one thing that she dared not say aloud. “I favor to marry a man for love. And I fear that I do not love Sir Hervey.”
Now that she revealed the truth, she almost regretted it. She had put aside those thoughts for so long that by speaking the truth, it was akin to opening a barrel of rotten fish.
Clarisse blinked rapidly, willing that her tears remained unshed. Then taking a deep, shuddering breath, she tried to get a hold of herself. She didn’t know Hervey that well. In fact she had only just met him recently. Her mother had sent a message for her to immediately return to Laventon Castle. There was no explanation, but being the dutiful daughter she was, she returned home. She wouldn’t deny that it felt joyous to return to her place of birth, to see everyone she loved. Edith was one of the first people to greet her, swooping down on her as if she was the same child that had left the castle almost ten years ago. But Clarisse’s joy quickly turned to sorrow when she discovered that her father had arranged a match with Hervey without her knowledge. As Hervey came to visit her often, she felt more and more that a union with him wasn’t what she desired. When the knight looked at her, it was always cold, as if he calculated her worth. She knew that her father offered a handsome dowry for her, however she didn’t like to think that money was her only draw.
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