by Tamara Leigh
It was this Maynard had sought when he had followed Liam to his chamber that fateful evening. Fortunately for Ashlingford, Liam had paid his brother out of the smaller coffer he kept locked in his clothes chest. Unfortunately, there had been too large a sum there, one that would soon be in Ivo’s hands if it was not already.
He unlocked the coffer, counted out enough to pay the barony’s accounts for the next month, and placed the coins in a leather pouch. Since he must leave this day, it would be Hugh’s to dispense, but Liam need not worry over the steward’s honesty. The monies would go where they were owed, allowing Liam to return to Thornemede and continue his work there.
He locked the chest and lifted it back into its vault.
“Unca Liam?”
He snapped his head around.
Oliver stood in the narrow space between door and door frame.
Liam chastised himself for his carelessness. Maynard’s death and now Ivo’s removal from Ashlingford had lulled him such that he had not locked the door. “What do you here, Oliver?”
“Lookin’ for you.” He tipped his head to the side, pointed at the hole in the wall. “What is that?”
What was he to tell him? That this was where the gold and silver of Ashlingford was hidden? Or a lie that would ease little of his curiosity?
He beckoned, and the boy hastened forward and bent to peer into the hole.
“Look close, Oliver.”
“There’s a box in there!”
“A secret box.”
Propping his hands on his knees, Oliver looked up. “A secret?”
“Aye. Have you ever had one?”
He thought a moment, beamed. “Uh-huh.”
“What was it?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Can’t tell, ’cause it’s a secret.”
Though Liam no longer need worry over Maynard or Ivo, the boy’s assurance would not suffice with something of such import. Being only a child, he might unintentionally reveal the location to one who would empty the coffer for his own gain.
Liam momentarily considered taking it with him to Thornemede, but it would not be necessary. Out of sight of Oliver, he would replace the coffer in the wall with the smaller one, filling the latter with sufficient coin to be of use to the boy’s mother should monies be needed during his absence. And the large coffer with the bulk of Ashlingford’s monies would be hidden elsewhere in the castle.
He smiled at Oliver. “I have a secret to share with you. Can you keep it?”
“Keep it good.”
“This is a special hiding place. Only I know of it, and now you. ’Tis important no one else learns of it. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“There are some who might wish to take from us what is hidden here.”
“What’s in the box?”
“Coins. Money that will be yours when you are grown.
The boy’s eyebrows shot up. “Lotsa money?”
“Aye.”
After a thoughtful moment, Oliver said, “Emma’s got money too. I seen it.”
“I am sure she does.” What little came the woman’s way, she always held close. “Now, have I your word this secret shall remain between us?”
“Promise.”
As Liam fit the stones into place, he said, “There is only one you may tell of our secret.” Which, hopefully, would be sufficient to alleviate any need to reveal it.
“Who?”
“Your mother. Should she need coin and I am not here to give it, I wish you to bring her to my chamber and show her these stones. Will you do that?”
“Uh-huh. You leavin’ again, Unca Liam?”
There was such concern in his eyes, Liam felt as if he betrayed the boy. He laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I must. My own barony needs tending.”
Tears brightened his eyes. “You promised a story.”
He had forgotten. “Ah, the bear.”
Oliver jerked his chin.
Liam longed to keep his word, but he said, “I am sorry, Oliver. If I could, I would stay and tell it to you. But I must leave this day.”
The boy lowered his head, picked at his hands. “Don’ want you to go.”
“I will be back, and when I return, I shall tell you two stories, hmm?”
Oliver regarded him from beneath long lashes, then leaned forward and tried to fit little arms around a man of a size he himself would not be for many years. “A’right, Unca Liam.”
Feeling nearly as awkward as that first time Oliver had inched his way against his side at Settling Castle, Liam hesitated. Then he enfolded the little boy.
“Love you, Unca Liam.” Oliver spoke into Liam’s chest.
Liam felt the heart he had determinedly kept closed to Maynard open. “And I you, Oliver.”
The boy pulled back. “Mama too?”
Unwilling to examine the truth of it, knowing Oliver needed it affirmed, Liam nodded.
Joslyn’s son smiled.
Liam lifted him onto his arm and pushed the bed into place. “When I depart, you will wave me away?”
Oliver draped an arm around his neck. “Till I can’t see you no more.”
Liam crossed the chamber he would return to in Oliver’s absence to secure the large coffer, then descended to the hall where Thornemede knights stood ready to brave the foul weather.
“Where is your mother?” he asked.
Oliver pointed. “With Cook. Why?”
“I should bid her farewell, do you not think?”
“She would like that.”
Halfway across the hall, Emma appeared. “I wondered where you had gotten to, my boy.” She wagged a finger. “Found your uncle, eh?”
“Aye, an’ he told me a secret.”
Liam tensed. It was of utmost importance the large coffer be moved.
“Then you know you cannot tell it, aye?” Emma reached to take him from Liam.
Oliver pressed his lips tight, nodded.
“Come, then. No doubt your uncle has tasks to tend ere he rides for Thornemede.”
“But Unca Liam wants me to wave him away.” Oliver looked back at him. “Don’ you?”
“When I am ready to leave.” Liam stepped past them.
Joslyn was not to be found amid the haze of heat hovering over the immense kitchen. “Where is the lady of Ashlingford?” he asked a kitchen maid.
“Gone below, my lord.”
“And in quite a dither,” Cook added.
“Something is amiss?”
The man scowled. “Only what she makes it to be. Imagine gettin’ upset over the leavin’s of a rat.” He nodded at the sack of flour poured out on a nearby table. “You would think she had never seen ’em before.”
It was commonplace for rodents and insects to find their way into the stores of a cellar, but Liam understood her concern. Though no one knew for certain how the plague spread, one thing was known—it took the most lives where there was uncleanliness and an abundance of rodents.
Liam left the kitchen and descended the cellar stairs. Hearing Joslyn’s labored breathing, he skirted barrels of untapped ale and saw her ahead.
“Joslyn.”
She was so intent on restacking sacks of grain away from the wall that she did not respond. But as he neared, she turned. Flushed with exertion, she gasped, “I did not hear you.”
Liam’s hands brushed her arms as he took the sack from her. “You should not be lifting these.” He laid the flour atop the new pile.
Trying to calm her pulse that sped from their brief contact, Joslyn busied her hands with straightening her hair veil. “The rats are getting into the grain.”
“You thought you would chase them out?”
She smoothed her skirts. “With the sacks away from the wall, they have fewer places to hide. ’Tis how I kept them from Rosemoor’s stores—that and with the aid of several cats.”
His eyes lowered to her mouth. “A good thought, but you need not do it yourself. I will send men to aid you.”
Wonderin
g if he meant to kiss her, she hastened to add, “We will also need more cats.”
“I am sure they can be found.” He drew a thumb across her cheek and showed her the smudge she had worn. “You work too hard, Joslyn.”
Having believed Liam’s intentions quite different, she would have laughed had realization not tripped over her. “You are leaving.”
“I am.”
“But you have been here little more than a day.”
“Aye, but if word of the plague has not yet reached Thornemede, it will soon. I am needed there.”
What she wanted to say was that he was needed here too, but that was selfish. “Night nears. Can you not leave in the morn?”
“Nay. I should have departed hours ago.”
Better this way, she told herself. The more distant he was, the less likely she would further her sin.
“I will return within a fortnight. Should you need to send a message, do so through Sir Hugh’s man.”
“I shall.”
Liam took a purse from his belt and gave it to her. “Sir Hugh sleeps now. When he awakens, give him this. It will cover the month’s expenditures.”
From its weight, it held a good deal of coin. “I will give it to him.”
Liam considered her, and she grew uncomfortable amid the silence, then he said, “You are frightened.”
She gripped the purse tighter. “We have not a priest to lay to rest any who…die.”
“I have told Sir Hugh to send for Father Warren. Once he learns Ivo is gone, I am certain he will return.”
She forced a smile. “I thank you.”
He caught up her hand. “Promise me something.”
The tenderness in his eyes made her heart convulse. “Liam?”
He bent his head near. “If you allow the people of Ashlingford to know the depth of your fear, their own fear will be greater. You are their lady now, and in the months to come they will look to you when their faith wavers. As much as for Oliver, you must be strong for them. Can you promise me that?”
“For Oliver and the people of Ashlingford, I will be strong,” she agreed and could not keep from adding, “And for you.”
A smile moved his mouth. “Do you love me, Joslyn?”
That was how it sounded, but how did it look? Was it all over her face? Though tempted to admit it, to do so would make the forbidden harder to resist. However, neither could she outright deny it. “How can I?” she murmured.
Her heart squeezed hard as what seemed disappointment worked across his face. But then he said, “Indeed,” and stepped back. “Do not forget your promise.”
Liam looked back. It was something he did not do when he rode from Ashlingford—perhaps a superstition of his Irish forebears coursing through his blood—but the urge was too strong to refuse.
He picked out the keep rising above the castle walls. From her chamber did Joslyn look out across the land to where he and his men rode? Or was she yet in the cellar crying as he had feared she might do?
An ache at his center, he turned his mount toward Thornemede.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The plague entered England from the south, where most of those who had left Thornemede before Liam had claimed lordship of the demesne had gone. Now they eagerly returned to the barony in hopes of escaping the dread sickness.
But they would not evade it. Steadily, the plague worked its way northward, and when it reached Thornemede, the difficulty would be in holding people to the land when fear tempted them to flee farther north.
In the meantime, Liam kept them occupied in the fields. The land having been neglected, there was much plowing to be done to increase the yield. Then there were the villeins’ own small plots and the communal village strips to be tended. The crops would be small, providing scarce sustenance throughout the coming winter, but the people would not starve, for Liam would provide what they could not. He had made them that promise and would keep it even if it meant spending his last coin.
He laid aside his quill and read through the missive he would dispatch to Sir Hugh. Since the steward reported all progressed well at Ashlingford, Liam had decided against returning when he had said he would. He would remain at Thornemede another week until Lammas, the day that marked the beginning of harvest. This way he could assure those recently returned to the barony were settled in and knew their places. As his father had taught him, always it was better to assert authority sooner rather than later.
Liam rolled the parchment, poured melted wax onto its seam, and pressed it with his signet ring to seal the document. Then he called to Sir Hugh’s messenger who, for a half hour, had patiently awaited his response.
When the man departed the hall, Liam stood and felt ache in every limb. Though he prided himself on knowing the land as well as those who worked it, never had he toiled so hard. Nearly every daylight hour was spent in the fields supervising the work or doing it himself, leaving little time for sleep. But he could not rest now.
He stepped out of the keep into the light of a day that wished to rain but could not squeeze enough moisture from its scattered clouds.
They had been fortunate these past weeks. Whereas other parts of England continued to suffer unusually heavy rainfall, by the time the clouds converged on this region, they were mostly empty. Had there been more rain, much of the coming harvest would rot. Since Liam was counting on purchasing grain from Ashlingford to fill his stores for the coming winter, the weather was as much a concern for Thornemede as it was for the other barony.
With six hours remaining of daylight, he struck out across the bailey.
“My lord,” called Meg, the woman into whose care he had given Maynard’s children. Of a kind and generous nature, she had accepted them as if they were her own and they had taken to her, especially little Gertrude.
Liam inclined his head and crossed to the stables, where a squire held his mount in readiness.
“You would like company, my lord?” the squire asked as Liam swung into the saddle.
“I will not be needing you. The remainder of the day is yours to practice at swords and the quintain.”
“Aye, my lord.”
As Liam guided his mount toward the open portcullis, he caught the eye of his captain of the guard who conversed with one of his men-at-arms. After a hesitation, Gunter acknowledged the lord of Thornemede with a nod.
Progress. Though the man persevered in his dislike of the Irishman made his lord, every day he lost a bit of ground.
Returning his thoughts to Thornemede and all that had yet to be done to set it and its people right, Liam prayed for more time. Time the plague threatened to deny him.
“I am sorry, my lady, but ’tis only another sennight.”
Joslyn lowered the missive shared with her, nodded at Sir Hugh, and moved her gaze to Father Warren who sat beside the steward.
The priest offered a sympathetic smile, understanding better than Sir Hugh what Liam’s delay meant to her. Days past she had confessed to him her love for the Baron of Thornemede, but though she had expected condemnation as Ivo would have loosed upon her, he had been kind and assured her he would pray all would come right for her, Oliver, Liam, Ashlingford, and Thornemede.
Just as Joslyn had prayed all would come right for Rosemoor and, this noon, been delivered hope by way of a missive that revealed her brother had returned home. At last, Richard and their father would set aside their differences to face together whatever effects the plague would have on the village and manor. Thus, she had spent the past hours feeling light as air, but what had also lifted her high was the belief Liam would return on the morrow.
She passed the parchment to the steward and turned away. What was she to tell Oliver? All day, until she had put him to bed this eve, he had spoken of little else save the return of his uncle and the bear tales he had waited a hundred years to hear. How was she to tell him he must wait another fifty years—or in her time, a sennight? And how was she to hide that she, herself, ached over Liam’s continued absence?
“My lady!” Emma stumbled to a halt upon the stairs above Joslyn, bright spots of color in her cheeks, breath quick.
“Something is amiss?”
“Naught, my lady.” She brushed imaginary lint from her skirts. “I but thought I would sneak something to eat ere bedding down.”
Odd—not only the rush the woman was in, but how anxious she seemed. Concern and curiosity mingling, Joslyn said, “If you would like, I will join you.”
“I thank you, but I can see you are tired and ought to be abed, not gabbing with the likes of me.”
Joslyn nearly persisted, but decided it would make Emma more cautious with whatever she sought to hide. “You are right”—she continued up the steps—“I am quite spent.”
“Good eve,” Emma said and descended past Joslyn to the hall.
Once the woman was out of sight, Joslyn paused and listened long before starting down again.
Sir Hugh and Father Warren looked to her when she returned to the hall. She offered a quick, reassuring smile and continued to the kitchen. Finding the great room dim and deserted, she wondered if Emma had gone to the garden, and if so, what she did outside at night.
Quieting her footsteps, she moved down the short corridor and saw the door that let out onto the garden was not completely seated, meaning Emma had left the keep. Joslyn put her ear to the crack of the door. And heard the clink of coins.
“That is all?” a male voice hissed.
“For now,” Emma hissed back.
“Witch,” the man said louder. “I ought to—”
“Do it, Ivo. Do it and I shall watch from heaven your descent into hell.”
Joslyn’s heart leapt. How had Ivo gained entrance to the castle? Had Emma let him in?
“Heaven?” Ivo scoffed. “You are no more destined there than that Irish whore’s son.”
“And you think you are? You delude yourself. ’Tis the devil who will take you, not the Lord. And I pray it will be soon.”
A slap on flesh resounded through the garden. Though Emma made no sound, Joslyn was certain she was the one struck.