“He will,” he assured her quietly. “He has not abandoned you, Joey. He would not do that. Wherever he is, he has good reason to be there.”
Deep down, Josephine knew that. She forced a smile. “I am sure that is true,” she said. “But it seems as if he has been absent all day and, naturally, I am concerned. I was afraid that…”
She was interrupted by an entourage of well-dressed servants appearing from the door on the south side of the hall. Their finely-shod feet made clacking noises against the stone floor of the hall, an unusual feature when floors were usually made of hard-packed earth. Josephine saw William Ward, the king’s chancellor, as he entered the room with several servants, and she immediately stiffened. She didn’t like the man; she hadn’t the first time she’d seen him.
Unfortunately, William spied her almost immediately and headed in her direction. She kept her gaze on him as Nicholas came up behind her.
“This cannot be good,” he muttered.
Somehow, Josephine knew that. “About the earl?”
“More than likely.”
But she stood her ground as William came up to her, eyeing her in a way that made her skin crawl. He didn’t seem to notice anyone else standing around her; not Nicholas, not Ridge, nor Sully, Donald, or even Justine. He was looking strictly at Josephine.
“My lady,” he said politely. “I had gone to your chambers but was told you were not there. I was hoping you were here, with the party from Torridon.”
Josephine cocked her head. “And so I am,” she said. “What can I do for you, my lord?”
William seemed rather pleased to deliver his message. “The king wishes for me to inform you that your betrothed, Alphonse d’Vant, has arrived,” he said. “Surely you saw the man and his army enter the grounds?”
Josephine nodded. “I did.”
William was puffed up, prideful, as he delivered his message. “The king has ordered a great feast in Blackbank’s honor and you are to be the guest of honor,” he said. “I am to tell you to dress in the white gown Blackbank has given you and wear that to the feast this evening. The earl wishes to see his betrothed in all her glory. He wishes to inspect you and the king is proud to show you to his favored ally.”
The more he spoke, the more resistant Josephine became. So she was to be inspected, was she? It was infuriating as well as degrading. Frustration filled her and it was a struggle not to react. Where was Andrew when all of this was happening? Was he truly to leave her to the wolves?
“I will be ready,” she said. It was all she could manage.
William had been expecting more of a gleeful answer from a young woman about to marry a very wealthy and powerful earl, but her reaction was restrained. Unhappy, even. Puzzled, the smile faded from William’s face.
“An escort will be sent at the proper time,” he said, turning away in some confusion. But he caught sight of Ridge, standing over near the table that was half-filled with the remnants of food, and he paused. “The king has been asking for you, Ridge. You are expected.”
Ridge immediately departed, heading across the hall and disappearing through a door. With a lingering glance at Josephine, William left the way he’d come, followed by a host of servants who seemed to orbit around him. Once he left the hall, Josephine turned back in the direction of the table, the impact of William’s news taking a toll on her expression. Justine put a hand on her.
“Not to worry,” she whispered. “We are here now. Nothing will happen to you.”
Josephine turned to her sister, seeing such assurance in the woman’s eyes. But Josephine knew it was foolish to expect that Sully, Josephine, Donald, Ridge, or even Andrew at this point could protect her from the earl. So many people had come to help her, but they were essentially helpless.
As she’d known from the outset, railing against the situation would only cause grief. The only way she would be able to create any change would be to at least show some complicity with what was happening, to lull the king and the earl into a false sense of security. She put a hand on her sister’s fingers, squeezing them.
“I know,” she said. “Andrew has a plan. He must have one. Until then, all I can do is pretend to go along with this. There is truly nothing else I can do.”
Sully heard her. “She’s right,” he said, mostly to Justine. Then, he looked at Josephine. “I was truly afraid I would find you chained up because you went wild and threatened to kill everyone. You are a strong woman, Joey, but you are not stupid. I am pleased to see that you’ve shown some sense in all of this. Until we can figure out what to do, you’re simply going to have to go along with the betrothal.”
Josephine was glad that Sully was agreeing with her. “I do not want you to think I’ve grown spineless,” she said. “But it is my hope that they believe I am in agreement with all of this. That way, mayhap they are less likely to watch me. If I do escape, they will not expect it.”
Sully could see that Justine didn’t quite agree. She was still thinking of resistance, of fighting, but Josephine had realized that subterfuge would be more effective. As they stood there in relative silence, the majordomo appeared to inform Justine that her rooms had been prepared.
As Donald and Nicholas escorted Josephine back to her chambers, Justine and Sully followed the majordomo to the same building where Josephine was lodged. A parade of servants followed them, carrying Justine’s numerous trunks, and Sully had to wonder what she’d brought that would pack up four large trunks. He soon found out.
Once they were settled in their chambers and the servants left them alone, Justine opened up two of the trunks to pull forth all of the things that Sully had little patience with – decks of cards, a box of bones that she used like an oracle, and special tables to put them on.
Sully stood there and shook his head as Justine unpacked all of the tools he had hoped she’d given up, but he supposed it was too much to ask so soon after their marriage. Even though Justine had changed a great deal in the past few days, she was still, in fact, the Justine he’d always known. She truly believed in her cards and oracles and divining rods.
He wasn’t sure he could ever break her of that.
“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.
Justine turned to look at him, seeing disapproval in his eyes. God, she did so want to please him, but she felt very strongly about what she must do. That was why she had brought all of her cards and other things with her.
“I must see what the future holds,” she said. “I must see if my cards will tell me what is in store for my sister.”
Sully sighed faintly. He was becoming rather fond of Justine because he could see that she was trying very hard to be a good wife. She had moved beyond that annoying woman he’d known all these years and was transforming into someone warm and wise. He appreciated watching the transformation but when he saw her cards come out, he felt as if she was taking a giant step backwards.
“Your sister’s future is not in the cards,” he said as he went over to her, standing over her as she held the wooden deck in her hand. “Your sister’s future is divined by God and the king, and Andrew, if he can help it. You would serve her better in prayer, not witchly pursuits.”
He touched her shoulder, gently, and walked away, heading to go clean himself up. Justine watched him go, her heart tugging.
“You do not approve of what I do,” she said. “I… I am sorry, Sully. I know you do not like it. But I feel strongly that the cards will tell me what prayer cannot.”
He paused by the door to a smaller room off the master chamber, looking at her earnest face. After a moment, he chuckled, wondering why he would want to change the woman. Her belief in the occult was part of her charm, he supposed. Like the rest of her, he’d married it and needed to accept it.
“Then play with your cards if you feel you must,” he said. “As for me, I am going to take a bath. You are invited to join me if you wish.”
Justine flushed a violent shade of red, grinning as she turned away from him. Sull
y laughed softly at her reaction.
“Or you can remain here and play with your witch’s curses,” he said. “It is your decision.”
As Sully went to go take a bath in a smaller room attached to a large bedchamber, his last vision of his wife was as she laid out a series of cards on two separate tables, clearly intent on reading the signs. Perhaps the lure of bathing with him wasn’t strong enough, and he found he was actually insulted by it. If the woman would rather play with cards than with him, then it was a fine marriage he’d agreed to. He was going to have to do something about her attitude.
Servants came and went with buckets of hot water, filling up a big, dented copper tub. When the servants vacated the chamber and Sully was about to get into the water, he looked up to see Justine standing in the doorway, wrapped from head to toe in one of those sheer dark sheets she liked to wear. He’d seen her wearing them before, with nothing underneath. But now, her appearance in such a garment was a little different for him. The body beneath now belonged to him. In fact, it was rather arousing.
He could see her small, big-nippled breasts beneath the fabric and the dark triangle of curls between her legs. Her naked body beneath the fabric drew his lusty stare.
“So you have changed your mind?” he asked, already feeling himself growing hard. “You are most welcome to join me.”
With an embarrassed grin, Justine came into the chamber, her eyes never leaving his. She walked right up to him, standing still as he reached out to pull the sheer fabric off of her, revealing her naked body beneath. When Sully wrapped his arms around her and bent over, sinking his teeth into her tender shoulder, Justine forgot all about the cards.
Whatever troubles her sister had, for the moment, were going to have to wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Edinburgh’s district for cattle and horses was called, appropriately, the Cow Market area, and it was in this district not far from the castle where Andrew found what he was looking for.
He needed a blacksmith; but not any blacksmith. He was looking for a man who specialized in weapons because, for what he was about to enter in to, he needed something better and stronger than the weapons he already had.
He needed a giant killer.
Seeing his brother with his army from Haldane hadn’t been the life-changing experience Andrew thought it would be. He thought he would feel a surge of unmitigated hate and anger, foaming at the mouth and all that. But he hadn’t. The hate and anger he’d always had was there, but it didn’t surge. Instead, he felt some kind of odd satisfaction at the sight of Alphonse, as if he had once again sighted the reason for the turmoil and was pleased to see no one else had killed the man yet. That privilege was reserved for the one he’d done the most damage to.
Andrew.
The Street of the Blacksmiths in the Cow Market was more like an alleyway. It was hot and full of steam and smoke, impure air, and the alley ran with dirty water and slag from the anvils. Andrew wandered down the street, looking at each man’s stall, seeing what they were doing and what they specialized in.
Every smithy specialized in something. One man was making chainmail while another was working on something that looked like fire pokers. Still another was working on shields, which he had hung up along the eaves of his stall to advertise.
Andrew paused to look at the shields, as they were very well made. When the smithy came to talk to him to see if he could sell him a shield, he and Andrew began to engage in conversation about weapons as well. The smithy didn’t make weapons, but he knew who did, and Andrew spent almost an hour with the shield smithy because he appreciated the man’s work and inspected every one of the shields he’d already made. He found one he liked a great deal; a big tri-corner shield that was lightweight but extremely durable. When he purchased it for a good price, the shield smithy was more than happy to take him down the row of stalls to the man who produced the weapons.
And what weapons they were.
Andrew had seen many weapons in his life and he knew excellent craftsmanship when he saw it. The weapon’s smithy had beautifully made daggers on display, on tables that were surrounded by heavily-armed men to protect the wares, but as much as Andrew admired the daggers, he was more interested in broadswords.
The smithy was not Scottish nor English, but from across the sea, where he had learned his trade. Tyre, he’d told Andrew, and when he brought forth the first of four big broadswords for Andrew to inspect, he pointed out the wavy steel patterns of Damascus steel, a secret he’d brought with him from the Holy Land.
Andrew was awed. He’d heard of Damascus steel, but he’d never seen it. And, already, he knew he was going to purchase a broadsword from this man. Damascus steel was the strongest, most durable steel in the known world and Andrew very much wanted a weapon forged of such material. Perhaps it would be that giant-killer he was looking for.
The first three broadswords were magnificent in size and craftsmanship, but they weren’t exactly what Andrew was looking for. Then the man, called Abe, brought forth the last sword he had – a massive weapon with one razor-sharp straight edge and the other edge serrated, like viper’s teeth. Andrew fell in love with the sword the moment he put his hands on it.
This was what he’d been looking for.
It was a spectacular piece and extremely expensive, but price was no object. In fact, Andrew paid Abe for it before he even took it into an open area next to the stall to test it out. Six gold coins ended up in Abe’s palm as Andrew took the sword and began moving it around, swinging it, becoming accustomed to the weight of it. One of Abe’s heavily-armed guards came out with another sword so Andrew could practice the use of the sword against the man.
There was some gentle parrying and thrusting against each other as Andrew quickly became adept with the sword, which was magnificently balanced and surprisingly lightweight for such a weapon. The swords clanged against each other but when Andrew would stop to inspect the blade to see if it was damaged, there was no such blemish on the steel. Damascus steel was nearly impervious to nicks or scratches. Andrew ran a careful finger over the blade with satisfaction.
“Abe,” he said. “You are a master at your craft. I cannot believe I did not know you were here in Edinburgh. I thought I knew where all of the good weapon craftsmen were.”
Abe, short and old and wrinkled, with enormous shoulders and biceps from years of hammering steel, grinned.
“I have been here for many years, young knight,” he said in his heavily-accented voice. “Where have you been?”
Andrew chuckled. “Everywhere,” he said. “My army and I are paid very well to fight other men’s battles, and we go everywhere.”
Abe watched him as he swung the sword around casually, adjusting to the weight. “But you have not been to Edinburgh.”
Andrew’s smile faded. “Nay,” he said. “Not until now.”
“And now you intend to fight another man’s battle?”
Andrew shook his head. “I am here to fight my own battle.”
Abe could see the change in his expression. “It must be a serious battle.”
“It is.”
Abe was an old man, wise with years and experience. He sensed this strong, young knight was not about to fight a battle for his own pleasure. There was something more behind the man’s eyes, something quite serious.
Normally, Abe did business with only the elite of Scotland. He even had English lords that traveled all the way from their homes to purchase his wares. Many of these men simply put the swords on the wall and never used them, but this man was different – clearly, he knew how to use a sword, and he fully intended to do so. It wouldn’t simply be a trophy piece for him. And the man had a good knowledge of metal and weaponry, as Abe had discovered during the course of their conversation. But he seemed most serious about purchasing this sword, showing there was only one purpose for it.
As if it were only meant for one thing, one event.
“Come, Andrew,” Abe said, calling him by name becau
se Andrew had introduced himself at the beginning of their business. “Come and sit with me. We must speak.”
Andrew stopped swinging the sword around and came into the stall again, sitting on a stool as indicated by Abe. It was dim and hot in the stall, as two of Abe’s sons operated the anvil. They were hammering away at something, working on another weapon perhaps, but Andrew had what he’d come for so he wasn’t paying attention. As he placed his sword carefully on the table next to him, Abe’s wife came forward with a tray of refreshments.
The woman was wrapped from head to toe in dark fabric that resembled something Justine might wear. It covered her head, her body, and part of her face. She set a tray down in front of her husband, a steaming metal pitcher and two metal cups, most likely pewter. Abe poured something hot from the pitcher into the cups, handing Andrew one of them.
“Drink,” he said. “Tell me why you have purchased my finest weapon. What is this battle you must fight?”
Andrew sipped at the hot drink, discovering it to be minty and sweet with apples. He rather liked the old man, who had been kind and helpful, and didn’t much mind the question. But he wasn’t sure he intended to answer it.
“All men have battles they must fight, Abe,” he said, pronouncing the man’s name as “Ah-bay”, the way the old man had. “Does it truly matter?”
Abe shook his head. “It does not,” he said. “But I have six sons. I have lost two to battles they were sworn to fight. I sense that there is more to your battle than simple obligation and it worries me.”
Andrew smiled faintly as he sipped at the very hot brew. “Why? You create weapons, Abe. You know men purchase them because they must fight battles. Why should I worry you so?”
Abe sipped at his own brew. “Tell me of yourself, Andrew,” he said. “You said you are paid a great deal of money to fight other men’s battles. That makes you a mercenary.”
Andrew nodded slowly. “It does, indeed,” he said. “I have been a mercenary for many years.”
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