The Last de Burgh

by Deborah Simmons

  Instead, he threw himself into the manuscript, but with little interest, and the day dragged by, gloomy and tedious.

  * * *

  Dinner had passed mostly in silence, but Guy had managed to coax a smile from Emery with his recitation of various remedies they might pursue for their aching heads, all unpalatable, including fresh eel and bitter almonds.

  Nicholas did not know which, if any, the squire had tried. But something seemed to have an adverse effect on the youth’s digestion, because not long after the meal he turned green and raced from the solar.

  ‘I’m sure it’s no more than he deserves,’ Nicholas said, when Emery appeared concerned. He studied her carefully, hoping that she had suffered no such ill effects from the wine. And then, suddenly, she caught him looking at her and he was aware that they were alone for the first time since last night.

  ‘He means well,’ Nicholas said, his voice huskier than usual.

  ‘I know.’

  The conclusion of the evening’s events seemed to hang in the air between them and Nicholas realised now was his chance to ask why she had refused him. But how could he question her reasons when he was unwilling to reveal his own? He turned away, too wary to broach the subject and heard her heavy sigh.

  ‘’Tis hopeless,’ she said, the soft words recapturing Nicholas’s attention immediately. Would she speak openly of that which he could not? Nicholas steeled himself for anything since ‘hopeless’ sounded even worse than ‘impossible’.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘I doubt that we shall ever discover anything about the object, here or anywhere,’ she said, gesturing towards the manuscript.

  Nicholas felt his sudden tension ease at the knowledge she was referring to their search, but his reprieve was brief.

  ‘I fear that we waste our time, that you waste your time, and that I have asked too much of you, an important man with far more significant duties,’ she said, the words coming out in a rush as she ducked her head. ‘Perhaps ’tis time I released you from your vow.’

  ‘My vow was to your brother, so you do not have the power to release me,’ Nicholas answered, more sharply than he ought, but he felt a surge of anger, hurt, frustration and, yes, fear. Was this because of last night? If so, he would gladly strangle his squire. Did she so dread his attentions that she would flee them? Nicholas did not care to think so, but she must realise that whatever happened between them was the least of her problems.

  ‘And what of the parcel?’ Nicholas asked, in a gentler tone.

  Emery blinked, as though flustered. ‘You may have it,’ she said. ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Nicholas said. ‘But there are those who do and I doubt that they will take our wishes into consideration.’

  She paled.

  ‘Would it make you feel better if I swore to keep my distance?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ she asked in obvious surprise, and a rosy glow was visible on her cheeks before she ducked her head again. ‘I can fault you for nothing, my lord.’

  Nicholas lifted his brows at the implication that he was blameless, for he had overstepped his bounds more than once. And he could hardly be credited for good behaviour last night when only the worst sort of rogue would take advantage of a woman in her cups. If Emery knew the strength of the desire that he held at bay, she would not be so willing to trust him. Indeed, she must harbour doubts, for her brow furrowed when she glanced up at him anxiously.

  ‘But how long can I ask you to continue to aid me?’

  At her words, denial rose in him with such force that it threatened to choke him. Nicholas no longer cared what her reasons were for offering him the chance to go; he only knew that he could not comply. He had no choice and he gave her none.

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ he said, through a throat thick with emotion. Not now. Not yet. ’Twas no promise, but a declaration, and Nicholas did not know what he would do if she could not accept it. But in her bright blue eyes he saw a kind of wary relief and shuddered with the strength of his own response. His gaze met hers—there was no mistaking the bond between them. ’Twas no figment of his imagination and he wanted to hold on to it, just as he wanted to hold on to Emery.

  But Guy chose that instant to return. His entrance was comical, for he strode in to find the two of them locked in silent communion and stood gaping, as if unsure whether to go or stay. But the moment was gone. ’Twas just as well.

  ‘Guy’s complexion is much improved,’ Nicholas said, inclining his head towards his squire. ‘Perhaps he can advise us as to our course.’

  Guy eyed them cautiously. ‘What course?’

  ‘Our work here seems to have yielded little,’ Nicholas said.

  Guy perked up. ‘Does that mean we can stop reading?’

  ‘When we have finished,’ Nicholas said, for they would soon be done.

  ‘If you would find out more about the statue, let us go to Campion,’ Guy said. ‘Your father might even be able to identify it.’

  ‘Campion is too far away and we are pressed for time,’ Nicholas said. Although he did not elaborate, he did not have to. Guy knew what he meant.

  ‘Your brother Geoffrey’s manor is closer and would be a safe haven,’ the squire said.

  Nicholas shook his head. ‘A safe haven will do us little good in the end, for there is no guarantee that interest in our parcel will wane while we hide ourselves away. And the de Burgh name is well known, so someone who is determined to seek me out would not have a difficult time of it.’

  At his words, Emery blanched. ‘I’ve brought trouble on you and your family,’ she said, looking dismayed.

  But Guy dismissed her concerns with a snort. ‘This business is hardly what the de Burghs would call a problem.’

  Frowning at his squire, Nicholas turned to Emery. ‘I’m sure Guy did not mean to make light of the danger you are in, only remind you that the de Burghs have vanquished far more powerful enemies.’

  ‘Not that anyone is menacing the family now,’ Guy said. ‘Campion rules in peace, as do his sons.’

  Did they? Nicholas wondered. The steward at Stokebrough might know if something had happened to his father, but his brothers could be facing threats that were not common knowledge. And Nicholas felt a twinge of shame and guilt that none could reach him, should they need him.

  When the message from Reynold had been received two years past, they had all rallied to his aid, only to find he had prevailed without them. Still, there was nothing like riding with his brothers, certain of right and might and triumph. Nicholas felt a heady rush of pleasure at the memory, followed all too swiftly by regret.

  ‘If not to your family’s strongholds, then where?’ his squire asked, breaking into his reverie.

  Both Guy and Emery looked to him in question and Nicholas felt the lack of his brothers’ counsel, if not their swords. He could use some fresh insight into this puzzle, for his quest for both Gerard and more information had been unsuccessful. Then, eyes narrowing, Nicholas wondered whether he’d been searching too far afield when he might simply turn around.

  ‘First, let us see if our sojourn here has shaken off any who might follow,’ he said. ‘And, if not, perhaps we should look behind us for answers.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Once she had dismissed Alda, Emery set aside the fine clothes she had borrowed and donned her brother’s old garments. At least they were clean, even the hat, and though she had grown weary of them, they would serve her well for now. She would have no need of delicate shifts and elegant mantles on the road or the place she would eventually make her home.

  Her days here at Stokebrough had been like an idyll, a fleeting glimpse into Lord de Burgh’s world, where it seemed, for a moment, that she might join him. But reality had intruded upon that waking dream, reminding her that she was not a high-born lady fit for a handsome lord or an idle maid with time to spend in flirtation. She had another life to which she soon must return.

  But not yet. For now Emery would conti
nue to search for Gerard and she was thankful that she did not have to do so alone. Despite all the trouble she had caused him and the sudden awkwardness between them, Lord de Burgh remained committed to her quest. And Emery felt a giddy pleasure at the memory, hugging his words to her. I won’t leave you.

  Grabbing up her pack, she left the luxurious chamber behind without a thought to join Guy in the passage. She stayed close as they made their exit as unobtrusively as possible, while Lord de Burgh met with the steward. He was giving out the story that Mistress Montbard had departed earlier, a flimsy lie meant only to satisfy the household.

  But it would do little to deter any serious pursuer, as Emery was well aware. When they slipped through the great hall into the bailey, without the great knight’s stolid form nearby, she felt especially vulnerable. Guy told her not to be conspicuous as they made their way to the stables, and she kept her head ducked. But she couldn’t help eyeing everyone she passed, even those on seemingly innocuous errands, and wondering whether they were looking for her, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

  Guy called for the horses, and, as Emery grew increasingly nervous, she realised that Lord de Burgh would be talking to her to keep her distracted. He had a way about him that was naturally steady that Guy, with his wild theories and schemes, sorely lacked.

  However, there was one thing that the squire did possess, which Emery found difficult to obtain from his master, and that was private information. Since she rarely could speak with Guy alone, Emery seized her chance. She told herself a conversation would calm her, but there was no denying her eagerness to learn more about Lord de Burgh.

  ‘Tell me something,’ she said.

  ‘If I can,’ Guy said, warily. Perhaps he expected her to ask about his matchmaking, but Emery wanted to steer clear of that subject. She was more concerned with what his master was hiding than Guy’s machinations.

  ‘What ails Lord de Burgh?’ she asked. Although the question was a personal one, Emery was not prepared for Guy’s reaction. He swung round to gape at her, all colour draining from his face before it flushed bright red.

  ‘Wh-what do you mean?’ he asked, his voice a mere croak.

  Emery faltered under his wide-eyed stare, but persisted. ‘Has he fallen out with his family? Why does he roam so far from home, refusing to seek shelter with his brothers?’

  To her surprise, Guy’s dismay appeared to vanish and he even loosed a low sigh before shaking his head. ‘You would have to ask him that.’

  Although disappointed with his answer, Emery could not fault Guy for his loyalty. ‘Yet from the way he talks about Campion, he cares deeply for it, as you do.’

  ‘Yes,’ Guy said, with a sigh. ‘I long to go home—’twould be good for him, too.’ He paused, as though fearful of saying too much, this young man who usually spoke his mind without hesitation. ‘But I won’t go without him.’

  Emery felt a rush of respect for Guy, who often played the fool. But he was staunch and brave and caring, and she nearly gave him a hug before she realised just how odd that would look while dressed in her current guise. ‘He is lucky to have you,’ she said, softly.

  Guy snorted, seemingly himself again. ‘’Tis not a view he often shares.’

  Before Emery could protest, the subject of their speech arrived, so tall and handsome Emery thought surely all attention must be upon him. She realised then how hard it would be for him to hide away, even without his famous name. He was born and bred to greatness and it rested upon his shoulders in a way that others could only hope to emulate.

  With Lord de Burgh’s return, Emery gave no more thought to those who might be watching until they left the castle walls behind them. Then her unease returned, for instead of eluding trouble, Lord de Burgh wanted to court it. His plan was to head in the opposite direction from whence they had come only to circle back, catching unawares anyone who followed.

  They kept to a narrow path, as usual, rather than the wider, more travelled road, and Emery tried not to glance behind her. Still, any sound made her flinch and she felt on edge, as though they might suddenly be attacked by a horde of pursuers. Yet when she did look back, she saw nothing, making her wonder whether this effort would yield as little as the manuscript search.

  Eventually, Lord de Burgh veered off the track, and they made their way along the edges of fields and hedges towards the castle and the path that had taken them away from it. They hung back, unwilling to get too close, but even then, they could see that it was deserted. Still, they remained where they were, as out of sight as possible, and waited, watching.

  They dared not speak or make noise of any kind, and Emery grew to appreciate the skills required to maintain such vigilance. She began to suspect that unless Gerard had changed, he did not have the necessary patience for the task, and she was not sure whether to be relieved or alarmed at that realisation. For if not her brother, then who? As much as she feared Gerard’s involvement, she would rather face him than Gwayne or someone else...

  Emery drew in a deep breath and shifted restlessly in her saddle, as did Guy. But Lord de Burgh remained still as stone, his dark eyes alert, a formidable foe to any who dared approach. Emery found herself staring so hard that the packed earth began to swim in front of her eyes, yet nothing stirred, not even a shepherd or villein in the fields.

  It seemed that time stopped, bringing everything to a halt around them, so when Lord de Burgh finally moved, Emery jerked to attention. He lifted a hand to point to his right, away from the narrow path in the distance, and Emery turned her head, her heart in her throat. Afraid of what she might see, she held her breath, but there was nothing except the forest that served Stokebrough, providing venison for the Strongs’ table.

  Emery blinked in confusion and Guy looked just as puzzled. ‘What is it, my lord?’ he asked softly.

  ‘A plume of smoke,’ the great knight said.

  Emery squinted and finally made out a faint line, barely visible in the sky above the trees, though she did not see its significance. ‘But we have not been there,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but ’tis a good vantage point from which to view all those entering and leaving the castle,’ Lord de Burgh said.

  ‘If someone was watching for us, they would have followed us when we left,’ Guy argued, eyeing the woods warily.

  ’Twas a wariness that Emery shared, but that Lord de Burgh did not. Indeed, he lifted his dark brows and nodded towards the smoke. ‘There’s one way to find out,’ he said, urging his mount forwards.

  ‘’Tis probably poachers,’ Guy muttered, falling in behind.

  ‘Or worse,’ Emery said, exchanging a chary look with the squire.

  But Lord de Burgh ignored their comments and they could do nothing except follow as he led them towards the forest. When they reached the outskirts, he gestured for them to fan out alongside him, an order that Emery obeyed with dismay. Did he think whoever had lit the fire was still there and would quickly surround a lone rider?

  Although Lord de Burgh wasn’t that far away and Guy was on the other side of her, within hailing distance, Emery felt the press of the trees and the darkness that came under their canopies. This was not the familiar copse near her home, but a strange place, where anyone could be hiding, before or behind or all around. And Emery listened intently, leery of every crack of twig or rustle of leaves.

  Swallowing hard, she reached for her short sword and told herself that she was prepared for anything. But the rib that had bothered her little these past days suddenly ached, making her wonder how well she could acquit herself in a fight. Still, she had no choice but to heed Lord de Burgh as he motioned for them to hang back while he headed forwards.

  Every sound was loud in the silence, including the rapid thud of her heart, and once Lord de Burgh disappeared from sight, Emery found it hard to remain behind. Only the sight of Guy kept her still as they waited and she became more agitated with each passing moment. She told herself that if Lord de Burgh had stumbled across bandits, there would be
some signs of a struggle. But what if the villains were aware of his arrival and surrounded him?

  Although ’twas hard to imagine the knight being overcome by anyone or anything, Emery’s concern for him began to outpace her own fears. Finally, she could bear it no more, and she slipped from her horse, determined to see for herself. Ignoring Guy’s frantic signals to stay back, she crept as quietly as possible through the growth into the small clearing.

  ’Twas obvious that someone had made camp here, for the fire was still smouldering, sending up its slender waft of smoke. But the area appeared to be deserted now, except for Lord de Burgh and... At her first sight of the Templar’s white robes, Emery choked back a cry. But the figure was lying on the ground, seemingly subdued, while Lord de Burgh kneeled over him.

  Indeed, the Templar was unmoving, and Emery hurried forwards, eyeing Lord de Burgh with alarm. ‘Did you kill him?’ she asked, her voice a cracking whisper.

  Lord de Burgh rose to his feet to face her. ‘No, but someone did.’ He looked down then and Emery followed his gaze. The Templar knight’s neck was broken in much the same manner as her uncle’s had been and on his back lay another card from the Moorish Game.

  Emery sucked in a harsh breath as bile rose up in her throat, but she swallowed hard against it, for this was no place to fall ill. In fact, a sound from behind made her swing round, fearful that Gwayne’s squire had appeared to avenge him. She blinked in relief as Guy made a noisy entrance, rushing forwards, only to halt as he reached the dead body.

  The squire blanched, then glanced nervously at Lord de Burgh. ‘But if Gwayne is not following us, then who is?’

  Lord de Burgh frowned. ‘The man who killed him.’

  * * *

  They made a hasty inspection of the clearing, but did not find any signs of the murderer. In fact, Guy suggested that Gwayne’s missing squire might be to blame, for it was not uncommon for villains to fight amongst themselves. But the presence of the card with its three ominous swords cast doubt upon that claim. Someone was sending a message, but who? And to whom?