Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  Told?

  “And I am wondering,” she went on, “what brings you to our little part of the world. Is it business or pleasure? Although heaven knows you wouldn’t be able to tell me everything if it is business. I assume men of your ilk need to keep your secrets before a job is finished! Still, I enjoy learning something of the visitors to my meager estate.”

  Edmund blinked at her.

  Say something!

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” he managed to say. “I’m here on, on business, well … that is, p-pleasure, too. That is to say, we’re here on business, and it, it’ll be a pleasure to do it … here, I mean.”

  The Baroness waited for a fuller explanation.

  “You see, I, I recently acquired some trinkets and the like, nothing special, you understand. Just a few items that we’d, that we’d like to sell in Dardenello, or perhaps in Long Ravine.”

  The Baroness nodded.

  Nervous sweat began to prickle the skin of Edmund’s forehead.

  “But!” he said, a bit too eagerly. “This, this is such a sterling region, such a beautiful place, that I wouldn’t mind living here. It’s beautiful. Beautiful!”

  He decided to stop talking.

  The Baroness continued to nod thoughtfully to herself.

  “And I understand you are acquainted with His Royal Highness, King Lionel,” she said in a businesslike tone.

  “Wh-what?” Edmund stammered, wondering where the Baroness had gotten her information from and what else she knew. “Well, yes. That is to say, I am an acquaintance of his, though, well … I mean—”

  “He’s a bit of an ass, isn’t he?”

  “What?” Edmund said again, flummoxed. He gave an anxious giggle and then found himself saying, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, he is.”

  The Baroness laughed, a loud rolling sound that bordered on a cackle.

  “Oh!” she said, dabbing at the corners of her teary eyes with her handkerchief as she fought to stop laughing. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that, but your expression was priceless! Simply priceless!” She hooted again. “And I agree with you. Lionel is a pompous ass. But there, I’ve said it. He’s an ass!”

  Edmund watched the heavyset woman teeter back and forth with more laughter.

  “Ah!” she exclaimed. “I can see you are an honest man! I like you already. As far as I’m concerned, you may stay as long as you please!”

  “Yes, ma’am, but—”

  “Nobody likes old Yellowhair in our lands, as you can imagine. Nobody! Especially not our King Ambrose. The two of them abhor each other with a passion, I can tell you!”

  “Yes, ma’am, but—”

  “I swear,” she went on, “they’ve been at each other since they were children. I wish Lionel would just shut his mouth and let us all be. Why won’t he just let us be, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am, but—”

  “I tell you, things would be a lot different if his eldest brother, Lawrence, had lived. Him I liked. And a good-looking, fair-spoken fellow he was. I liked him immensely. But I am sorry. Please forgive me. You were saying?”

  “Yes, well, I was just wondering … how, how do you know so much about me? I mean, I, I didn’t realize that stories about me have come this far south.”

  “Ah yes, that,” the Baroness said. “Well, to be completely candid, I had not heard of any of your exploits until today. I don’t particularly pay attention to such tales, you understand. However, I came across your manservant in the rose gardens earlier this morning, and he told me everything.”

  Manservant?

  She means Pond!

  Did he say something about killing—?

  “He’s a wonderful man,” she said. “If only I had servants so loyal and thoughtful as he.” An expression of concern drifted over her face, as if hinting to Edmund that she was in on some secret and he could unburden himself, if he felt so inclined.

  What’s she getting at?

  “You know …” A musical lilt crept into her tone. “This Saturday evening I will be hosting a small gathering. Nothing too extravagant, you understand. Just something that I do every so often.”

  “Small gathering?” Edmund repeated, trying not to breathe in her direction. Even he could smell his rancid breath.

  “Yes, exactly. Just a few of the most sophisticated young women of the region …”

  Uh-oh.

  “… and a few of the most eligible bachelors, you understand. Very intimate. Just the thing to cure a broken heart … and other such ailments.” She gave a pained smile.

  What did Pond tell her?

  “I, I … I’m afraid my … my manservant may have spoken out of turn,” Edmund stammered.

  Baroness Melody tutted.

  “Not to worry, not to worry. I will keep such things to myself. I am very discreet.” Her eyes brightened. “In fact, I know one or two young ladies of prominent standing who would be simply perfect for you!”

  “For me?” Edmund found himself saying.

  “Yes, of course! A famous adventurer and member of King Yellowhair’s court—why, you would be quite the catch, as we say here by the sea. Quite unlike any of the other men around here, I can assure you. I am positive that all the ladies would be simply dying to meet you!”

  “I’m … I’m sorry. I’m really not in the, in the—”

  “Mr. Edmund,” Baroness Melody said, saddening, “I understand what it is like to lose somebody.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I’m … I’m afraid I—”

  “My husband is gone. My beloved sons are gone. All I have left in this world is to see that my cherished guests are happy and comfortable.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I, I understand. However, I’m not sure that I—”

  “And although I have not journeyed all over the wild lands like you, fighting heaven only knows what and making the world safe for myself and so many others, I like to think that I do my part.”

  “Yes … y-yes, yes ma’am, but—”

  “Splendid! Then it’s settled! I shall look forward to the pleasure of your company, as will all of my other guests.” Leaning heavily on her cane, she rocked herself to her feet.

  “B-but, but—”

  “Not to worry about the specifics,” she said, tottering up the cobblestone walkway toward the manor house. “I have already informed your manservant of everything that you’d need to know. He said he’d take care of everything. Wonderful man! Simply wonderful!”

  Edmund growled.

  Pond! What did he get me into?

  Chapter Seven

  Edmund found Pond in the rose garden, examining the colorful carp swimming in a kidney-shaped pool. Clean-shaven, showered, and wearing new clothes fit for a wealthy traveler, he looked far better than Edmund felt.

  “Ed!” Pond called as Edmund entered the garden. “I was just about to go check on you. How are you feeling? Did you see the new clothes I put out for you?”

  With a splash, Becky dove headlong into the pool, chasing the brightly colored fish.

  “What did you do?” Edmund demanded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With Baroness Melody? What did you tell her about me?”

  Placing a hand tenderly upon his breast, Pond bowed low. “Your humble manservant merely told her what he could.”

  “Which was?”

  “That you are a famous adventurer who has significant influence in Eryn Mas—”

  “Oh, Pond!” Edmund began to pace. “She’s going to find out that it’s a lie! King Lionel detests me! He threatened to cut off my head! As soon as she checks—”

  “Don’t worry so much. She isn’t going to check. The people here hate Lionel.”

  “Fine! What else did you tell her?”

  “That we are here to sell some exceptional jewelry you’d acquired on an absurdly dangerous adventure involving a troll. By the way, she would like to look at what we have. I think she would love to buy the diamond necklace. She clearly has the r
esources to pay what it’s worth.”

  “What else? What else did you tell her about me?”

  “Just that you were in your room, in the clutches of despair, nursing a heart that was broken by an evil woman.”

  Edmund huffed.

  “What did you want me to tell her?” Pond asked. “We’re staying in her guesthouse! She had all sorts of questions about who you are and what you are doing in Dardenello. I had to say something, and what I told her seemed relatively harmless, if not completely true.”

  “Harmless? She wants me to go to some, some … get-together!”

  “Which reminds me,” Pond said. “We need to go into town and buy you some suitable clothes. Something in a robin’s-egg blue, I think.”

  “Forget it! I’m not going.”

  “Ed.” Pond jumped clear of the water splashed by Becky as she thrashed after a large orange and white fish. “Do you really think Baroness Melody is the type of woman who will take no for an answer? If you aren’t there, she’ll come up to the suite and drag you out. And you’d better have something to wear when she does.”

  “But I don’t want—”

  “It isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need.”

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I don’t want to draw attention to myself!” Edmund insisted. “We’re supposed to be hiding, remember?” He glanced around the garden to be sure nobody was within earshot.

  “Ed,” said Pond calmly. “If you don’t do this, people are going to talk even more. And word flies fast in the social circles of nobility. They’ll wonder who the one-eyed man with the crazy dog is. They’ll ask around. Word will spread. Trust me.”

  “Ugh!”

  He’s right. If you don’t go, there will be a lot of gossip and speculation as to who you are and why you’re hiding in Baroness Melody’s guesthouse.

  But I don’t want to go! I hate being around people, especially rich snobs. Not to mention women.

  Becky pulled herself out of the water, charged along the pool’s length, and vaulted back into a cloud of carp with a colossal splash. The fish scattered to the other end, leaving Becky to flounder after them.

  A vague memory materialized in Edmund’s splitting head.

  “Did you actually kill somebody?” he asked.

  Pond’s face flushed.

  “Don’t change the subject. You know you’re going to have to go to this get-together, don’t you? If you want to blend in, you have to be seen in the crowd, so to speak.”

  Dripping, Becky climbed out of the pool and shook herself, spraying water in all directions.

  Edmund wiped his face. It was the closest thing he’d had to a bath in over a month.

  “If you don’t come to town with me,” Pond said, “I’m going to tell people you’re an escaped convict.”

  Edmund inhaled deeply. The sea air had a salty tang to it, mixed with the hint of growing grass and sweet flowers. Something about it seemed to make his heart grow stronger. He inhaled again.

  “All right,” he said. “Just let me put some dry clothes on. But we’re only going for an hour. No more!”

  Edmund and Pond strolled along the brick-paved streets of the port city of Dardenello, passing people of all sorts—wealthy merchants in their fine attire, filthy dockworkers stinking of sweat and fish, out-of-place travelers who were clearly from other lands. A barking dog ran by, chased by a herd of laughing children. Whistles blew from a three-masted ship as it slipped from the wharf and glided out into the rolling sea. Merchants standing by their carts haggled with potential buyers.

  Situated in the only low spot in the grassy bluffs overlooking the Western Sea for hundreds of miles, Dardenello was the main harbor of the small coastal kingdom of Havendor. Compared to the likes of Eryn Mas, it was tiny; perhaps only ten thousand people lived there, including those from the surrounding farms and wineries, but it was pretty, built in ever-widening squares that rippled outward like waves from the town’s center. Further, it showed no signs of decline or decay, having been completely rebuilt after being destroyed by storms only eighty-six years earlier.

  Edmund and Pond approached the merchants’ quarter but were blocked by a log jam of people standing around the notice boards where royal decrees and other announcements were posted. On top of a wooden box stood a boy of about twelve years who had just finished reading something of great interest to the crowd.

  “That can’t be right,” shouted a squat man with a black scruffy beard. “Read it again, or give me my money back!”

  The growing mob seemed to share his skepticism and urged the boy to read the notice again. Motioning for Pond to follow, Edmund began to fight his way through the mass of bodies.

  The boy, irritated, turned back to the board and read in a theatrical tone: “Notice! Five thousand Havendorian gold coins shall be given to any person, or persons, who locates or otherwise obtains the Scepter of the Wind and brings said item to His Royal Highness, King Ambrose the Third.”

  An animated murmur rustled around Edmund.

  “Five thousand gold!” people repeated.

  Edmund thrust his way past several more onlookers.

  “See that, Harold,” said an old woman to a man who was trying to ignore her. “Find that little thingie, and you wouldn’t have to go about the docks anymore, now would you? How hard could it be?”

  Evidently many in the crowd were asking themselves the same question.

  Edmund wove sideways to the middle of the blockage, taking an elbow to the stomach from an apologetic bystander.

  “Any idea where it is?” Pond whispered, close behind Edmund as they pushed through the assembly.

  Edmund nodded with an expression that indicated he didn’t care one way or another. He attempted to step between two burly sailors but was thrown back when the men closed ranks. He pointed at another route to try.

  “Are you sure it says five thousand gold pieces?” the squat man shouted.

  “Yes, read it again!” people called to the boy.

  “Oh, for the love of—!”

  Many in the crowd turned to look at Edmund.

  “Here,” he said, trying to get his shoulder between two people. “Let me r-r-read … let me read the blasted thing to you all. Just let me through!”

  The throng parted, and Edmund stomped to the posting board to examine the notice.

  “The boy is correct. It says—”

  Another announcement caught his attention, the words “The Lord and Lady of the Highlands” scrawled across its bottom. According to this notice, Norb offered ten gold coins to any tradesmen willing to relocate to Rood.

  Tradesmen? The fool! They’ll all starve. Without farmers, what are they going to eat?

  “It says what?” yelled somebody in the crowd.

  Edmund shook himself out of unpleasant thoughts.

  “It says: Five thousand gold to anybody who turns in the Scepter of the Wind. There you have it! The b-b-boy is correct. Now leave the lad alone.”

  The murmuring grew even more enthusiastic.

  Edmund’s gaze returned to Norb’s announcement.

  Don’t do this. Don’t get involved.

  The crowd began to dissipate; men in twos and threes headed both up and down the street, discussing where they might find the Scepter of the Wind and in what tales of old it played a prominent part.

  “My good people,” Edmund called over the clamor. He shoved the boy aside and climbed up onto the wooden box, waving his arms. “My good people!”

  Don’t! Let Norb get what he deserves!

  The crowd of at least one hundred came back together.

  “Are any of you farmers?” he asked. “Or perhaps r-r-ranchers? People who can work the land?”

  Many exchanged puzzled glances, but a few cautiously raised their hands.

  “Well, for those of you who can work the land or can raise sheep and cattle,” Edmund said, “there is … there is an even better op
portunity for you. Far better than a mere five thousand gold pieces!”

  “Better than five thousand gold?” several people muttered.

  “What is this?” somebody shouted at him. “Talk quick and talk plain.”

  Edmund tore Norb’s announcement from the posting board and lifted it like he had unearthed a priceless treasure long overlooked.

  “Here!” he said.

  “What’s it say?” a woman called out.

  “What do we have to find for that one?” someone asked from the front rows.

  “That’s just it,” Edmund replied. “You don’t have to find anything! Here, let me read it to you.”

  Praying he wouldn’t stutter, he cleared his throat and held the paper before him like a town crier.

  You shouldn’t do this. Every time you try to get involved in something, you screw it up. Don’t get involved. Forget about them! You should be hiding, remember?

  “T-to, to whom it may concern. Up to f-f-fifty acres of the best arable land will be given to any able-bodied men or women willing to settle in or around the town of Rood in the beautiful region known as the Highlands!”

  The boy peered over Edmund’s arm. “It says they’re looking for tradesmen.”

  Edmund hushed him, a silent snarl forming on his lips.

  Unnerved, the boy stepped away.

  “What the hell does ‘arable’ mean?” somebody shouted.

  “It m-m-means, it means high-quality farmland, suitable for growing nearly any crop!” Edmund kept the notice close to his chest.

  “Where’s this Rood? I’ve never heard of the place.”

  “Me neither.”

  People grumbled.

  “Never heard of it?” Edmund cried with overblown shock and dismay. “I can’t believe such a thing. The people of Havendor have always been well-educated, skilled at travel, and, and … able to grow anything, even in this dreary land!”

  He lifted his arms to the picturesque bluffs that rose on either side of the city. A purplish hue cast by the setting sun twinkled across the rolling waves of the relentless sea.

  “Rood is a quaint hamlet just a day’s journey south of the ancient city of Azagra, famed for its abundance and wealth! Why, fifty acres in such a place is worth more than ten thousand gold pieces anywhere else. Furthermore, the Lord of the Highlands, a just and honorable fellow, is even forgoing any taxes you would normally pay!”