Jennifer August

by Knight of the Mist

  Millane giggled, the stiffness easing from her body. Stirling relaxed as well, though she wondered at the maid’s tension. It had been nearly palpable. “My lady, ‘tis not right to go through another person’s things.” She chuckled again as she sprang to her feet. “Shall we?”

  Stirling shook her head. “Nay, Millane, I did but fun you.”

  The girl knelt in front of the chest, moved the sword and yanked at the latch. “Nonsense, my lady. I’ve been with him many times with the lid ajar. He will not mind. Really.”

  Stirling shrugged. “‘Tis not right.” But she was intrigued by the secrets held within the man’s coffers. She was certain ‘twould offer little more than clothing and boots. She stood. “Very well, but you shall do the looking.” Her smile faded when she saw Millane’s white face. “What is wrong?”

  The girl slammed the lid back down and jumped up. “Naught, my lady. Really. I, that is, the other reason I came, was to fetch you.”

  “Me?”

  “Aye, Lord Quinn requires your immediate presence in the war room.”

  Stirling narrowed her eyes and strode closer. “Nay, ‘tis not that. What do you hide?”

  Pushing the girl aside gently, Stirling flipped open the lid and stilled, her heart frozen in her throat. Staring up at her from Marcus’ chest was her missing bridal sheet, the one stained with the blood of her virginity. She pulled the white linen from the box, quickly finding the monogram stitched into all her bedclothes. She crushed the material against her, biting a corner to hold her enraged outburst at bay.

  She now knew just how far Marcus would go to protect Quinn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Stay with him, Millane,” Stirling ordered when words would come again. “I must talk to Quinn.”

  “Do you think it wise, my lady?” the maid questioned hesitantly.

  Stirling frowned. “Wise or not, I will have my say.”

  “But what if he does not believe you?”

  Stirling paused, brought up short by the realization that Quinn may indeed doubt her word. She sank to the chair, still clutching the white sheet. “I don’t know.”

  Millane stepped forward and clasped her shoulder. “Give me the linen, my lady, and I shall guard it until you can make him—”

  Stirling surged to her feet. “Nay. He must take my word about this discovery.”

  “Perhaps Marcus had a sound and logical reason for stealing it away,” the maid insisted tearfully.

  Stirling looked at Millane’s ashen features, knowing the girl feared for her lover, but caring not. He brought these consequences on himself.

  “Remain here, Millane.”

  The girl nodded, crying softly and knelt by Marcus’ bed as Stirling left.

  Snow jumped from her slumbering perch and followed her down the steps. Stirling knew she would be glad for the hound’s company when she faced Quinn.

  She found him ensconced with Temple and John in the war room. Rolling the sheet into a tight ball, she hid the lump in the folds of her skirt the best she could, then pushed the door open wider. “My lord, I must speak with you now, ‘tis urgent.”

  Quinn’s head snapped up. “Marcus?”

  The worry in his voice ate at her resolve. How could she hurt him by accusing his wounded friend of such a heinous act as betrayal? She shook her head, she could not. “Nay, my apologies, my lord, he is well, though not yet awake.” She licked her lips, her eyes touching on the other two men in the room. “I will return when you are free.”

  Temple stood. “Nonsense, lass. His lordship doesna require us further. We’ve a wee bit o’ work to be done and best be gettin’ tae it.” He winked as he passed her. “Take your time and soothe his temper, lassie. Ye’ve a magic touch with him like none I’ve seen.” His whispered advice brought a flush to her cheeks, but she forced a smile, watching them go. Snow eased around the door and headed for Quinn. Balancing on her back paws, she pitted her massive weight fully against her now-standing master.

  Stirling looked at the pair of them with surprise, realizing Snow’s head reached only the middle of Quinn’s chest. She’d always thought the animal to be much larger. The concealed bundle weighed heavily in her hand and desperately she sought a quick excuse to flee without raising his suspicions. Not an easy feat, to be certain.

  Quinn ruffled the white fur of Snow’s shoulder, neatly avoiding the avid licks the dog tried to bestow on him. “Enough, you hound.” Quinn laughed as he pushed the dog away and propped his hands on hips, staring quizzically at his lady-wife. Her eyes, wide and rounded, were indiscernible bits of glittering gold and sweeps of pink highlighted her silken cheeks. He wondered what Temple had said to cause the look and knew an uncomfortable jolt of jealousy.

  “Now, then, what is so urgent if ‘tis not Marcus?” He smiled to lessen her obvious discomfort, but the tactic failed and she backed away a step.

  “‘Tis silly, really.” She bit her lip and looked behind her, then at him again. Her light laugh sounded forced. “I can not remember. Isn’t that silly? I really must see to Dustin, my lord, though I will certainly seek you out should I remember what ‘twas I sought to ask you.” Her words tumbled pell-mell over one another until ending in a breathless jumble. He narrowed his eyes, what did she hide?

  He reached out, grabbing her wrist as she turned to flee. Her gasp rang loudly in his ears as an ivory ball of material thudded against his boot. Slowly he reached down and lifted the linen, shaking it out fully. When he saw the dark red splotches in the center, his heart constricted. His gaze flew first to her pale face, then to the small crowd of curious servants gathered in the corridor. He jerked her into the room and forced the door shut.

  “Explain this,” he rasped, slamming a fist into the wood near her ear. She jumped and closed her eyes briefly, her black lashes fanning her cheeks like dark circles of coal. When she opened them, he read her uncertain anguish as plainly as he would a scrawled message from William. “Tell me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

  “I cannot, my lord.” Her reply, though softened by unshed tears, held stiff resolve.

  “Stirling,” he cupped her chin tenderly, tilting her face up. “You must trust me. I will allow no harm to come to you.”

  “None shall come to me in the telling, Quinn, but mayhap to you.” Her voice broke slightly, but she remained firm.

  He frowned, her words making little sense. “Why can you not answer a simple question, lady-wife?” He waved the sheet in his hand, then tossed it to the floor.

  “Because ‘tis not as simple as you believe,” she insisted, ducking under his arm and slipping to the hearth. Hands clasped behind her back, she stared into the fire. He followed, spinning her around to face him again.

  “Aye, ‘tis indeed an easy query. I ask, where did you find this and you say, why, my lord, ‘twas in the wherever ‘twas.” He clenched his teeth and inhaled sharply, corralling the flaring rein of his temper.

  “Nay, lord,” she said snippily. “I shall not tell you. Suffice it to say, I believe the situation to now be under control, and I will take the steps necessary to protect --”

  “Protect?” he roared, his control flying with the wind. “You may pretend to be a knight, play at being the guardian of this keep, but ‘tis my sword which shall save Falcon Fire.” He glared at her affronted gasp, then gentled his tone. “And I shall save you, as well, if you would but trust in me.”

  “How do you imagine I came by the sheet, my lord?” Her brow puckered with her frown and her eyes shot heat at him.

  “You found it in the pantry, or one of the serving girls discovered it, I do not know. And I do not care.” He could tell she was not convinced by his firm response and he groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. He regarded her sternly, formulating a plan.

  “My lord, really, ‘tis not so grievous a matter that we should dwell so heavily upon it.” Her suddenly cheery manner roused suspicion, but he held his tongue, curious to hear her out. “Do you not think we sho
uld concentrate on getting Marcus well? There will be plenty of time for investigating this when he is able to --” she trailed off, her gaze slipping away from his.

  “To what, lady-wife? To help us defend ourselves from more assassins? To battle whoever seeks to take Falcon Fire? I fear ‘twill be much too late then. But I shall make you a bargain.” Though confident she protected a disgruntled servant, he would have confirmation.

  “What sort of bargain?” she asked warily.

  “My word is my bond, my honor. ‘Tis a fact well-known throughout William’s courts, here and in Normandy.”

  “Aye, I am well aware of the value you place on your oath.”

  “Then I make this vow to you.” He knelt before her, clasping her cold hands. “I vow that should I discover the identity of the thief ere you tell me, I shall kill him or her immediately.”

  She gasped and jerked away from him, the back of her hand covering her lips. Good, he thought, perchance the shock of his bold pronouncement would prompt her to tell him what he sought to know.

  She shook her head. “You would not be so cruel.”

  Quinn frowned, ‘twas not the answer he expected. “‘Tis not cruelty, my lady, but necessity. ‘Tis possible, even probable, that the person who stole the sheet is in league with those who seek to overthrow William.”

  “Nay.”

  “Aye.” Quinn, sensing she neared the breaking point, stepped closer. “Perhaps you are right not to tell me. ‘Twill be a mercy that I end their life rather than have them face the wrath of William’s justice.”

  Stirling’s breath came in short, jerky gasps. Spots swam before her eyes and she reached out a hand to Quinn. This could not be possible. Marcus held no affection for her, ‘twas true, but would he betray his king? She willed herself to calm. Think rationally, she admonished. She let go of Quinn’s arm. She had no choice, he must hear the truth from her.

  “Then I would have your word you shall not harm this person, should I tell you.”

  “Impossible,” Quinn ground out, crossing his arms.

  Stirling imitated his stance, seeking only a fraction of the intimidation he projected. She fared miserably and well she knew it. “Aye, then. I will trust in you, and your heart, to do what you see is best.” She bent and retrieved the now-repulsive sheet. “‘Twas in Marcus’ chambers.”

  Quinn smiled broadly and Stirling’s mouth fell open. “Did you not hear me, my lord? I discovered the bedclothes in Marcus’ wardrobe,” she ended on a near-screech.

  “Aye, lady-wife, you spoke plain as day.”

  “Then why do you grin like a buffoon? He is your second-in-command, your trusted friend and he has betrayed you. Betrayed us.” Stirling feared the shock of the information may have addled Quinn’s brain. Why else would he react thus?

  Quinn chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Stirling leaned away from him, looking into his eyes, searching for the tell-tale signs of insanity she was sure to find. “I am pleased by your honesty, lady-wife, ‘tis all.”

  She frowned, even more confused. “Please, my lord, explain your jovial acceptance of this.”

  “Aye, you do not know Marcus as I do. Come.” He sat down and eased her onto his lap, his arm draped heavily across her legs. “When we were young pups, he and I, we often found much trouble together. Or, to be entirely truthful, I discovered the trouble and he the solution. Marcus has always protected me, always looked out for me. We are brothers in all ways that matter.”

  Stirling relaxed slightly, pondering this new information. “So you believe that he found the sheet and hid it away to protect you?”

  “Aye.”

  “But why did he not come forward sooner? How much time elapsed between his discovery, our meeting in the dungeon and the attack on him?”

  Quinn shrugged. “I do not know, but finding those bedclothes may be the reason he was assaulted.”

  Stirling knew a moment of relief, as though a tremendous burden had flown from her heart. If Quinn were correct, then Marcus did not betray his liege lord. “But Quinn,” she straightened with a start. “We still do not know who took the linen.”

  Quinn’s visage turned hard. “Aye, and when Marcus wakens, we will discover the truth.”

  “Let us go up and check on him, my lord, though he may well sleep through the night.”

  Quinn nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear and she shivered. “Mayhap we should view our chambers beforehand.”

  Stirling peered over her shoulder at him, pleased at the desire smoldering in his gray gaze. “That would take the remainder of the evening, my lord, and I’ve not yet supped,” she reprimanded breathlessly, silently urging him to take her anyway.

  “Aye, regretfully, I agree. There is much I must see to before we retire.” He stood, setting her gently on the floor and kissed her lightly. He studied her intently, his serious regard making her nervous.

  She brushed an escaped curl away from her face. “Why do you stare so, my lord?”

  “We live in times of peril and uncertainty, Stirling. Wars abound and rebels seek to destroy all that we build.”

  She frowned, why did he speak so? “My lord Quinn--”

  He touched her lips with his finger and shook his head. “I would have a pact between us, one such as my parents had, that no matter what occurs beyond the walls of our bedchambers, there we shall always be honest. And true. And loving.”

  “Loving, my lord?” Did he mean the sort of loving her mother and father spoke of? The intense, emotional bond that connected them, even after death? Excitement thrummed through her as she waited for his explanation. Could it be that her unspoken girlhood dreams of a loving husband were yet to be fulfilled by this dark Norman?

  His slow smile held a wealth of sensual promise and warmth furled low in her belly. He stroked her cheek, trailing his blunt fingertip down her neck and along the curve of her bodice. She shivered, even as her nipples tightened, begging for his touch. “Aye, the loving we find in our bed, deep in the night. The kind that makes you cry out my name as you shake and quiver beneath me with the pleasure I give you.”

  She could not hold still the tremble that wracked her inside and out at his bold words. Nor could she tamp her small amount of disappointment that he had not spoken of love. Stirling inclined her head. “Very well, my lord.” She sketched a brief curtsy and marched to the door. She tried to dislodge the discontent still swirling in her heart, but found the process difficult.

  Loving, she scoffed. The man had no knowledge of the word. She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open, then stopped. But what if, she wondered, she could teach him the difference? Aye, ‘twas exactly what she would do, because somewhere in his loving there must be a way to discover his heart.

  “Do you require something else, Stirling?” His deep voice resonated from behind her. She turned, eyeing him as he poured over the maps spread atop the oak table, his brow furrowed with what she thought was fascination. She smiled softly, remembering her father’s deep interest in the scrolls as well. Perhaps the two were more alike than she realized.

  “Did you wish to visit Marcus with me?”

  Quinn looked up, his gray eyes hazy with his faraway thoughts. “Hmm? Oh, nay, you see to him and report back to me should there be change.” His gaze dropped back to the map and he drew one long finger along some line etched on the parchment. Snow woofed sharply, jumped up and splayed her paws on the tops of Quinn’s map.

  “Go on, hound, follow your mistress,” he ordered, not looking up. Stirling chuckled at his absorption and called for Snow, shutting the door behind them.

  The white hound ran circles around her, butting her hands and growling playfully. “You’ve been trapped inside, too long, friend, haven’t you?” She crossed to the entrance and ushered her out. “See what trouble you can discover out there.” She watched her race along the dirt road leading to the village, until she disappeared over the rise and down the gentle slope. She hoped the hound would not disrupt the villagers to
o much.

  After consulting with Dustin on the evening meal, she returned to Marcus’ chambers. Millane slept by his side, still kneeling on the floor, her hand clasping his.

  “Millane, wake up,” Stirling softly murmured, touching the girl’s shoulder. Millane started with wild-eyed fear and sprang to her feet, her hand clutching the empty sheath at her waist.

  “Oh, Lady Stirling, ‘tis you.” She laughed nervously and dropped her hand, her eyes skimming Marcus. “How does he fare?”

  Stirling looked at her curiously. “I’ve yet to check him, but I can see he still breathes. ‘Tis a good sign.” She moved to the wounded man and discovered his body cool to the touch and his breathing steady. Peeling back the linen bandages, she grimaced at the puffy flesh and redness surrounding the wound. He needed more of the poultice or ‘twould not heal properly.

  “Retire to your own bed, Millane. He will likely sleep until the morn.” Stirling tugged at the maid’s arm, urging her toward the door.

  “But what if he needs me?”

  “He doesn’t require anything other than rest, fresh linens and more of the salve.”

  “But do you have more?” The girl’s clinging fingers would not let go. Stirling yanked her arm away.

  “Nay, I will need to grind more of the herbs, but ‘twill take no time a’tall. Go Millane, and rest. You may visit him on the morrow, after Lord Quinn has spoken with him, I promise.”

  Stirling managed to gently push Millane into the hall corridor. The girl turned to her once more, distress and exhaustion mingling in her face. “Is Lord Quinn going to punish him for concealing the sheet?”

  Stirling smiled, trying to ease the girl’s tangible fear. “Nay, he only wishes to talk of the person who attacked Marcus.”

  Millane’s eyes brightened and she clasped her hands together at her chest. “Does Lord Quinn know who did this, then? Oh, how wonderful ‘twould be.”