Winter's Flame (Seasons of Fortitude Series Book 4)

by Elizabeth Rose

  “That’s enough,” said the old woman, pulling the girl’s hand out of his embrace. “Is yer headache gone now?”

  “Huh?” He tore his gaze away from Winnie to see the old woman’s wrinkled face coming between them. “Yes, I do believe I’m feeling better.”

  “Come along . . . Winnie. We need to get on the ship and stop stallin’.” The old healer took hold of the girl’s arm and hauled her down the pier and to the gangplank of the ship. Martin let out an exasperated breath. Damn, this wench infatuated him and he didn’t understand the power she seemed to hold over his emotions.

  No longer wanting to waste any more precious time, he decided to let the old woman join them on their journey after all. But something in the back of his mind told him he was probably going to regret this decision.

  * * *

  The trip up the coast was beautiful. Winter stood at the rail of the ship watching the coastline change. It became rockier and full of lush vegetation as they got closer to the border of Scotland. It made her wonder about her time growing up in the Lowlands before most of her family fled to England at the onset of Burnt Candlemas. That was over fifteen years ago, and Winter didn’t remember their home in Scotland at all since she’d been so young at the time.

  “You seem to like the journey so far.” Martin walked up and put his hand on the rail, standing next to her. His falcon swooped from his arm and settled on the lookout basket atop the main mast.

  “I have always been intrigued by new challenges and going new places.”

  “I’ll bet you have lived in Ravenscar your entire life.”

  “Nay, that is not so. I just recently arrived here.”

  “Really?”

  She could have kicked herself for saying that. Now she was going to have to tell him something that wouldn’t make him suspicious. “We originally came from Hetherpool,” she told him, which was not a lie.

  “Ah, Hetherpool,” he answered.

  “Are you familiar with it?” she asked, trying to find out how much he knew and if he knew her grandfather.

  “I’ve never been there personally, but I’ve heard that was the home of the mother of the king’s bastard triplets.”

  “Yes. Their mother was King Edward’s mistress. Gabrielle is dead, but her twin is still alive.”

  “You seem to know a lot about these bastards.”

  “So I’ve been told.” She looked out over the water, biting her tongue to keep from saying more.

  “I’ve never met up with the bastard triplets, but I hear they’re self-absorbed, black-hearted and cruel,” he said.

  “Nay! That’s not true,” she spat, wanting to defend her brothers but, at the same time, knowing the more she said, the more questions he would ask. “So I’ve heard.”

  “They raided their own father under the guise of the Demon Thief,” he stated.

  “Only because King Edward ordered them killed as babies. They are lucky to be alive.”

  He looked at her oddly.

  “I hear a lot from tradesmen and travelers when I’m working at the forge.”

  “Aye, I suppose you do. You are unlike any girl I’ve ever met before,” he told her.

  “Really?” She smiled slightly, hoping he wasn’t seeing through her charade.

  “I’ve never known a woman who works at the forge. Are you just the blacksmith’s helper or do you have a true talent for the trade?”

  How was she going to answer that? He thought Wallace was the one with the talent – and at one time it was true. But now . . . without her, Wallace would be doomed. If Lord de Grey knew that, there was no telling what he might do.

  “I learned everything I know from Wallace – my father,” she corrected herself. “So, tell me. What is Castle Heaton like? Is it big?”

  Asking any man how big his castle was would surely distract him. Thankfully, her little plan worked beautifully.

  “Does a size of a man’s castle really matter?” He said it with hooded eyes, making heat rush to her face. Somehow, she got the idea they were no longer talking about a castle.

  “I’ve heard some lords have castles so large that ladies from all across the country would do anything to marry them and experience it for themselves.”

  “My castle is large enough that I assure you any lady who has experienced it has been quite satisfied.”

  “Interesting.” She was the one to raise a brow this time. “I’ve also heard the Scots have nice castles. They are known for their big . . . castles.”

  He cleared his throat and adjusted his stance. His hand cupped her chin and he brought his face closer to her. “I would love to give you a tour of my big castle personally.” His mouth came closer and his eyes focused on her mouth. She was sure he was going to kiss her. “Would you like that?” he asked in a low whisper. He was so close now that she could feel his hot breath on her lips.

  Her body warmed at his touch and a tingle of excitement coursed through her. “I . . . would,” she whispered, closing her eyes and waiting for the kiss. To be kissed by a handsome lord was something she welcomed.

  “My lord, would ye like a sweetmeat?”

  Winter’s eyes popped open to see Nairnie’s hand reaching up between them with a dried fig in her bony fingers.

  “Nay,” he said, releasing Winter and standing upright. He cleared his throat again. “Prepare to dock,” Martin shouted out. Then, in a few long strides, he was across the deck, giving orders to his men.

  “Nairnie, what did you do that for?” asked Winter, upset that the woman had interrupted her first kiss.

  “Ye’d better watch yerself, lassie or ye’re goin’ to find yerself in a compromisin’ position with that one.” She popped the sweetmeat between her thin lips and chewed.

  “It was only a kiss – and you ruined it,” complained Winter, crossing her arms over her chest, frustrated with the old healer. “Nothing more would have happened.”

  “So sure are ye?” asked Nairnie, digging another sweetmeat from her bag and offering it to Winter.

  Winter shook her head, so Nairnie popped that one into her mouth as well.

  “Nairnie, I am eighteen years old, and I’ve yet to have my first kiss. If you keep interfering, I’ll never know what it’s like.”

  “Ye’re forgettin’ that Lord de Grey thinks ye are naught but the daughter of a blacksmith. He’s used to takin’ servants and commoners to his bed only to sate his lustful desires. It willna mean a thing to him. Ye dinna want that. He will ruin ye for any lord that might want to marry ye in the future. Ye are a lady and need to remember that. I dinna like this game ye are playin’. Ye need to tell Lord de Grey who ye are, or I will.”

  “Nay, don’t do that, Nairnie.” Winter held up her hands trying to ward off Nairnie’s threat. “I will tell him. I promise I will. Just not yet. Not until the sword is completed and Josef is set free.”

  “Ye’re playin’ with fire, Lady Winter.”

  “Don’t worry, Nairnie. I’m used to the hot flames, and I’m careful. I haven’t been burned yet.”

  “Bein’ burned by fire is one thing. Bein’ burned by a man who will lead ye on to get what he wants and then drop ye faster than the swish of a horse’s tail is another thing altogether. Do ye think ye can handle that?”

  “I can,” said Winter, not feeling as confident as she was before Lord de Grey almost kissed her. She had turned molten in his hands. Aye, this man did seem to hold a power over her, and she didn’t like to feel that weak around anyone. Perhaps Nairnie was right. She should be more careful around the handsome Lord de Grey.

  Chapter 6

  “This will be where you’ll forge my sword,” said Martin, showing Wallace the blacksmith shop in his castle’s courtyard.

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Wallace, entering the shop with a box of tools in his hands. Winter entered right behind him.

  When they’d docked at Goswick, Martin had his crew unload their supplies as well as his horses. He had several wagons waiting, and his things
as well as the blacksmith’s things were loaded into the cart. They’d then traveled to Castle Heaton that was over the River Twill just outside Cornhill-on-Tweed and near Coldstream.

  Martin couldn’t stop thinking about Winnie’s question, asking him the size of his castle. The truth was – his castle wasn’t all that big. But if she had really meant what he thought she meant, then he wasn’t lying. And he still planned on giving her an exclusive tour of his castle – in every way.

  “This shop is amazing,” said Wallace’s daughter, walking through the room examining every little thing, even though her father didn’t look around at all. She ran her hand along the anvil, caressing it like a lover. This only made Martin’s thoughts stronger of taking her to his bed. By right, he could demand she join him in the bedchamber. After all, she was only a commoner. She was naught but a mere tradesman’s daughter. Perhaps he would do that later. For now, his primary concern was getting the blacksmith to construct his sword as quickly as possible.

  “I’d like you to get started working on my sword right away.” He stopped his squire who had entered the room with a wooden box. “Hold up, Rock,” Martin told him, opening the box and taking out the Damascus steel. He held it in two hands, carefully, wanting nothing to happen to his prized possession. “Have you ever seen such fine steel before?”

  “Nay,” said Rock. “I haven’t.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Squire. I was talking to the blacksmith.”

  “Nay, I can’t say I have,” said Wallace.

  Martin ran his fingers along the top of the block of steel. “I paid dearly as well as traded for this. If anything happens to it, I will be very upset.” He held it out to the blacksmith. The man hesitated to take it, but the girl shot forward.

  “I’ll take that,” she said, holding out her arms.

  He contemplated whether to hand it to her or not. After all, she was just a young girl. “I’m not sure you know the importance of this or anything about it,” he told her.

  Her hands lowered slowly. “Do you mean that Damascus steel was first brought back by Crusaders or would you be talking about the fact it is sometimes called wootz? It is made by melting pieces of iron and steel with charcoal using reduced oxygen, so the metal absorbs the carbon. It’s then cooled at a slow rate. Forging the metal alters the structure, making the wavy, decorative bands that, when shaped into a long sword, makes it stronger but at the same time more durable.”

  “Oh, you do know something about it,” he said, very impressed since he hadn’t even known everything she just rattled off nonchalantly.

  “Once forged into a sword, Damascus steel is so sharp that if a hair fell across it, it would be cut in two.” Her hands went out, and she waited. He slowly and carefully laid it in her arms.

  “Your father has taught you well. Now, be careful with that. I don’t want you to do any of the work on it. Only a master craftsman like your father is allowed to hammer and temper the steel. Once he completes the sword, I’ll use to kill my enemy.”

  “Kill your enemy?” she asked with wide eyes as if the idea shocked her.

  “Why did you think I wanted the sword? To hang on the wall in the great hall? Of course, I’m going to use it.”

  “Of course,” she mumbled, putting the steel down on a wooden bench.

  “My lord, if you don’t mind me asking, where will we live?” asked Wallace.

  “You’ll stay here at the smithy in the back room. My former blacksmith died recently, so you’ll have the place to yourself. As for your daughter – I won’t have her staying here out of my sight. The guards sometimes get well in their cups, and I can’t protect her from randy men unless she is in the castle with me.”

  “I’ll be staying in the castle?” The girl’s head jerked upward at hearing this.

  “You can stay in a room with the old healer woman, Nairnie. She seems to keep a good eye on you.”

  “Did I hear my name mentioned, my lord?” Nairnie hobbled into the blacksmith shop carrying a large travel bag over her shoulder.

  “Aye,” said Martin. “You and the girl will stay in a room next to mine during your visit. You will all eat in the great hall. But Blacksmith, I don’t want to see your face unless it’s for a meal. Every waking moment, you will spend constructing my sword. I need it as quickly as possible.”

  “Aye, my lord,” said the blacksmith with a nod of his head.

  “Rock, take the ladies to the castle and have my steward show them to their room,” commanded Martin. “I’m going to stay here and give the blacksmith instructions as he starts working on my sword.”

  “Aye, milord,” said Rock, heading to the door.

  Winter’s heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t leave now. Not when Lord de Grey was going to give Wallace instructions and planned on watching as he constructed the sword.

  “My father works better when he is well-rested,” she blurted out. “I think it would be better if he started the work first thing in the morning.” She held her breath hoping this would work.

  “Your father doesn’t seem able to speak for himself,” said Martin.

  “Aye, I agree with Winnie,” the blacksmith finally spoke up. “She is right. Tomorrow would be better. My head will be clearer then.”

  “All right,” he said. “But I still want to go over the instructions with you, Wallace.”

  “I’ll stay too,” said Winter, pulling up a chair. “Since I’m his assistant, it would be good if I heard your plans as well.”

  Martin looked at the girl suspiciously. She was acting odd. He had a feeling she was hiding something, but he didn’t know what. Still, since she was Wallace’s assistant, mayhap it would be good if she were there as well. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ve already told the blacksmith what I require, but since it has been so long, I’ll go over my instructions again.” Wallace seemed a little absent-minded, reminding Martin of his own father at times. He could only hope the blacksmith wasn’t addled, or he’d never get his sword.

  * * *

  Winter entered the great hall with Nairnie later that day, joining the others for the main meal.

  “Ye willna pull this off,” Nairnie warned her. “Ye need to tell Lord de Grey the truth.”

  “Nay, don’t say anything, Nairnie,” she begged in a soft voice. “You heard what Lord de Grey said. He doesn’t want me doing anything to forge his sword. If he knew I was a noblewoman, he’d be even less apt to allow me in the smithy. Then, where would poor Wallace and Josef be? They would be doomed. I have to help them.”

  “Fine, but just dinna think I’m goin’ to be involved in this deception. Ye are on yer own, lassie.” Nairnie walked away.

  “Ah, you’ve shown up for the meal,” said Martin, walking up behind her.

  “Yes,” she said, once again wondering how he always seemed to sneak up on her without her knowing it. She hoped he hadn’t overheard her conversation with Nairnie.

  “I suggest we get seated since the servers are waiting to bring the food.” He walked toward the dais and she automatically followed him up the steps. It wasn’t until he turned around and scowled at her that she realized her mistake.

  “What are you doing on the dais?” he growled. “You’ll sit below the salt where commoners and servants belong.”

  She was so used to sitting in the designated spot for a lady that she hadn’t thought twice about following him to the table of the nobles. How was she going to explain this?

  “I . . . I . . .” Looking out to the sea of faces, she noticed Wallace walk in and take a seat at a long table next to Nairnie and several other tradesmen. “I was looking for my father and figured I could find him from up here. Oh, there he is,” she said, pretending to wave to Wallace even though he wasn’t looking in her direction.

  Feeling the blush of embarrassment paint her cheeks, she quickly turned to go.

  “Wait!” commanded Martin.

  “My lord?” She slowly turned to face him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw e
veryone watching her.

  “After the meal, I intend on showing you my castle. Just as I’ve promised.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. I’ve seen most of it already today. But thank you just the same.” She started away, but Martin’s hand on her arm stopped her. His hot breath whispered in her ear.

  “You haven’t seen it all. My bedchamber is something you will be quite familiar with by the morning.”

  Her head snapped around and she looked directly at him. The sultry look as well as the hint of amusement in his eyes told her all she needed to know. He was talking about taking her to his bed. What was she to do? She couldn’t deny him – not while she was posing as the merchant’s daughter. He was a noble and could order any girl to sleep with him, and she couldn’t object. But he couldn’t do that with a lady.

  She held her breath and blinked twice, not knowing what to say. It was much too soon to reveal her true identity. Her mind screamed for more time. With a small nod, she did the only thing she could in this dire situation. “I would like that, my lord,” she whispered, feeling scared out of her mind and yet excited at the same time.

  “My lord, the servers would like to know if you are ready for the meal,” interrupted his steward. Martin’s gaze lingered for a moment, sending a sweeping sensation through her.

  “Aye, we are ready,” he said, breaking the connection between them and turning away.

  Winter rushed back to the table and scooted onto the bench next to Nairnie as the meal began.

  “What were ye doin’ on the dais, lassie?” asked the old woman.

  “I mistakenly went up there. I am not used to sitting down here below the salt.”

  “I saw you talking to Lord de Grey,” said Wallace, leaning over to speak to her. “What did he say?”

  Her eyes traveled from Wallace over to Nairnie.

  “Aye, what was that look all about between ye?” asked Nairnie.

  Winter wanted to tell them but didn’t think it would sit well with either of them, so she decided to keep at least part of the conversation to herself. “Lord de Grey is going to show me his castle after the meal.” A server laid a trencher, an old, stale crust of bread, between her and Nairnie. They would share this, serving as a plate for their food.