by Maren Smith
"Ah yes, that's right. Showed remarkable potential, if I recall."
"So long as he isn't required to think,” Kenton agreed.
Varden studied the note. “Have Bull transferred to the third rank, and send Dobbs and Kellington both home. I'll write Lord Kellington personally and inform him of his son's disgrace. As for the Ameses, send them a sow from my pig yard and ten shillings, and offer to have her bred free of charge when the time comes."
Kenton made a note in his ledger. “Very generous, Your Grace."
"I need the good will of all of the Wooler residents too much not to be generous. If it happens again, the entire camp will go on half rations."
"Look at these.” Kenton passed three notes across the desk.
Varden picked them up. He groaned. “Not again."
"Three different brawls, same night, all of them at the Vulgar Crown."
Varden dropped the notes on his desk and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “Have a notice posted by nightfall: Wooler, Candlewick, and Barton-Under-The-Hill are all off limits for the rest of the quarter. Anyone caught near those villages will be flogged and confined. That and about two pounds should take care of the tavern-keepers grievances."
"Not to mention this sudden rash of pregnancies.” Kenton held up a wrinkled paper. “There's another one in Candlewick, Willie the Butcher's daughter. She was promised to Alan the Bricklayer, and now he has cried off. There is some question as to whether poor Meg was willing or not."
"Same as the last: a parcel of good farmland and three pounds dowry to the man who weds her.” Varden sighed. “Is it just me or do they get worse every year?"
"The trainees or the tenants?"
"Trainees, of course."
"I don't know. Seems about the same to me.” Kenton handed him the last note. “Sperry's medical expenses and the cost of a new pair of trousers."
"How is he?"
"Improving, though he'll likely limp a while yet. At least he's stopped threatening to kill the Douglas boy."
"That's good.” Varden lay the note on top of the stack to be paid. “First time I've ever had to yell at a boy who had to squint to see me. You'd think someone would have noticed he was halfway to blind before they put a bow in his hands. Where did you manage to hide him?"
"With the blacksmith. Apparently, Douglas sees well enough if things are up close. Hollis is happy enough with the arrangement. Says the boy shows real aptitude for the craft, when he isn't wringing his hands over what you intend to do to him. What did you say to him, by the way?"
"He fired three arrows directly into the Training Camp. What do you think I said? It's a miracle that no one was killed or even seriously wounded. Except Sperry's pride, of course."
"And his ability to sit,” Kenton added.
Varden struggled to keep from smiling only to fail at the same moment that Kenton, shaking his head at his own lack of restraint, lost his composure to a smile. They both leaned back in their chairs and laughed. “In all the years that he's been with us, I've never seen Sperry that furious at a new recruit!"
"The poor boy ran four miles,” Kenton laughed. “If I hadn't been on horseback, I never would have caught up with him. I thought he was going to run all the way home."
Still chuckling, Varden wiped a tear from his eyes. “Thank you, Kenton. I needed to laugh."
Gathering his ledger, Kenton stood to go. “Any time."
"Your Grace!” Grete charged into the study, pink-cheeked and short-of-breath from running. “Her Grace is vanished! I only turned my back for a moment and she just disappeared!"
"The day just gets better and better,” Kenton said under his breath.
Varden set the bills aside. “Have you looked in the nursery?"
"I have searched everywhere!"
"How long has she been missing?"
"A half hour,” Grete said, wringing her hands. “Maybe more, I'm not sure. The Dowager wished to inspect the progress of her gown. Her Grace said I should go, and so I did."
Varden turned to Kenton, who had already put the ledger away and was waiting quietly for instructions. “Where is Godfrey?"
"I am not sure.” Kenton paused, thinking. “I don't believe that I have seen him all morning. He might be on the Field, or still in bed asleep. Were I a betting man, I'd put my money on the latter."
Varden stood up, straightening his desk and neatly drying his quill. He saw no need to hurry. He already knew where she had gone. After two weeks of “madness,” things were finally returning to normal. The walk in the garden had been feigned. Her devotion to Devin, when she smiled at Varden and got him to smile back, all a ruse. How she must have laughed behind his back! Poor Devin would no more know his mother than Caleb had.
It hurt, but it was also a vast relief. No more craziness. No more insanity. No more smiles and laughter and soft, sweet glances cast from eyes so green and large that a man could lose himself in them.
At least now, he knew where he stood. Smiling grimly, Varden walked to the door. Grete backed hastily away, swallowing convulsively, but Varden's interest was not in her. Anger propelled him upstairs and through a veritable maze of corridors until he reached the room he sought. He reached for the door, pausing only briefly as the high trill of feminine laughter touched his ears. Throwing open the door, Varden charged the bed. He ripped back the blankets and dragged his brother off the mattress by his hair. Reeking of ale, Godfrey fell to the floor with all the gracelessness of a complete drunk. Varden had done it often enough himself to know.
When Godfrey tried to get up, he fell again. “What—"
Varden's fist connected solidly with his brother's jaw and the woman shrieked as the younger man dropped naked and unconscious to the rushes.
Never had hitting anyone felt this good. If it were not so far beneath him, Varden would have danced in victory. But then he heard a whimper and remembered the second half of this betrayal. He turned on the woman who cowered in Godfrey's bed, ready to drag her back to her room by her long, red hair.
He stopped.
The maid was huddled against the headboard, her brown eyes as wide as a frightened doe's, trying to cover as much of herself as was possible with only two hands. He should have known her name but for the life of him, he couldn't recall what it was.
"I'm sorry, Yer Grace,” she said, trembling. “I was finished wi’ me chores, I swears it!"
Varden looked from her to Godfrey, lying half underneath the bed. He had lapsed from unconsciousness into sleep and deep snores rattled out of his open mouth. Hopefully, he was too drunk to remember who'd hit him, otherwise there would be hell to pay.
Picking the blanket up off the floor, Varden handed it back to her. “What is your name?"
"Mary, Your Grace. I—I work downstairs."
"Mary.” He gave the blanket back to her. “I apologize for ruining your night."
Mary offered him a tremulous smile, and Varden turned and walked slowly back out of the room. He closed the door, then leaned against it.
All right, so she wasn't with Godfrey.
Varden made a quick search of every set of chambers in the hall. Then, even knowing it would be empty, he checked Claire's room for himself. He even glanced into his own, though he seriously doubted that she would be there. And he was right; his room was just as vacant as hers.
Just to rule out the possibility, he searched the nursery next.
Leaning over the cradle, the new governess, Nanna, raised her head. A plump grand-motherly woman with round, blushing cheeks, she beamed him a broad smile and hastened to bob a quick curtsy. He still considered himself lucky to have found her on such short notice. “Good day, Your Grace."
"Has Her Grace been here?"
If the woman was surprised by his question, she didn't show it. “Not since she put the little master to ‘is nap."
"She put him to bed?” Varden echoed, surprised.
"Bathed and cuddled and fed the wee darling, then popped ‘im into ‘is gown and
down ‘e went without so much as a whimper. I swear Lady Mallory ‘as a special touch, she does. If I ‘ad not seen it with me own eyes, why I never would ‘ave guessed ‘Er Grace could be so devoted a mum."
Lady Mallory? Varden scowled. Well, at least her interest in Devin seemed a stable thing. He started to withdraw.
"'Er Grace is a strange duck, pardon me saying."
"So long as you say it only to me.” Frankly, Varden was in whole-hearted agreement.
Because the library door was slightly ajar, and he could think of no other place to look, Varden checked there next. He wasn't greatly disappointed to discover the room empty, but somebody had been there quite recently. There was a candle on the table by the settee, which was surrounded by a small scattering of books. He gathered them together: The Modern Warrior by Edgar Viceroy; The Evil of the Female Animal by Vicar Thomas Westcraven; Illnesses of the Brain by Doctor Richard Henry Henderson the Third. Varden turned that one over in his hand. Several pages were marked with down turned corners. Kenton must be studying up on the subject. He paused when he glimpsed the only book lying open on the settee cushions, Bawdy Annie meets the Buccaneers by Anonymous. Varden had the grace to blush. He'd forgotten all about that book. Wondering where Kenton had found it, Varden slid it beneath one of the settee cushions. The rest he returned to their regular shelves before leaving the library.
Standing in the hall with his hands on his hips, he looked first one way and then back down the other. Where was Claire? Nestled with a new lover in some darkened corner, perhaps?
No. Varden banished the thought. More than likely, madness firmly in hand, she'd stepped out of her room and promptly gotten lost. There was probably a trail of tipped paintings and overturned vases to lead him right to her, if he only knew where to look.
With Kenton and a few servants, Varden began a search of the castle from the servant's floor all the way down to the cellar. Having spent his entire life in Cadhla, Varden had never really paid attention to all the dark and winding passages that led to closed off rooms and dead ends, and all the steep, narrow staircases, which emptied into empty wings that hadn't seen a trespasser in over half a century. A wanderer unfamiliar with Cadhla's immense size could easily find herself thoroughly lost in a very short period of time. After an hour of fruitless searching, Varden felt the first twinges of real concern knotting his stomach.
Standing on the second floor corridor that overlooked the Great Hall, he was contemplating checking the nursery again when he spied Kenton and another servant coming out of the first floor west wing. Varden leaned over the banister and called down, “Anything yet?"
"One of the maids saw her near the kitchen about an hour or so ago,” Kenton called back. “The cook is threatening to quit, by the way. Someone more fluent in the Parisian tongue should speak to him. All I make out is some nonsense about crinkle cut french fries, whatever the hell those are."
Varden braced his hands on the banister. “Was he upset?"
Kenton smiled, though only faintly. “That is a mild understatement."
"Did he stomp on the ladles?"
"With both feet. His apron was also on the cook fire and he was flinging plates."
"The tin or the porcelain?” Varden asked.
"Both."
Varden grunted. “Is anything cooking?"
"Beef pottage, I believe.” Kenton thought a moment. “You're right. If he hasn't tossed it to the pigs, then he's not yet serious about quitting."
Staring at the section of banister between his hands, Varden frowned. “Mayhaps we should try to think like a lunatic. If you lost your mind, Kenton, where would you go?"
"Egypt,” the valet said promptly.
Varden straightened in alarm. “You don't think she'll try to sail to America, do you?"
"No, of course not. She has probably locked herself in a room somewhere,” Kenton said blandly.
"That is what I've been hoping. Has anyone searched the old well house?"
"I have two men there now."
Varden glared down at him. “You think I'm being irrational, don't you?"
"I think you should decide whether you love or despise your wife and stop bouncing back and forth between the two passions. The rest of us have cricks in our necks from watching the two of you spar."
"Search the castle again,” Varden ordered.
As he marched away, Kenton called after him. “Perhaps she went outside."
"She hates the out-of-doors."
"Of course she does, which is why she went with you to the garden last week. Showed particular interest in the hedge maze, if I recall."
Varden stopped where he was. The flowers and rose bushes had been close to the hedge maze. Naturally, she had asked about it. He directed the servants into two groups and to Kenton said, “Take those men and search Cadhla again, top to bottom, room by room. Everywhere, do you understand? If a door is locked, break it down. The rest of you, come with me. I want a complete search of the grounds."
While not small, the garden was restricted in growth by the parameter of the encompassing castle walls. Flowerbeds of hyssop and germander formed elaborate designs around a variety of stone statues, both nude and not, some holding bountiful baskets, or grateful lovers, or with arms out stretched to the heavens. David wrestled a stone Goliath, surrounded by a tidy sand walkway, while further on Sampson dallied with a perfectly formed, white-marble Delilah on a bed of twining ivy. Toward the center of the garden was a giant stone fountain with an ornate centerpiece that spouted water. Behind that was the hedge maze: cypress and lavender shrubs standing eight feet high and planted impenetrably close together.
Taking with him only those who knew the way, Varden entered the maze. He ventured around every corner and into every dead end, past marble benches, smaller fountains and decorative statues. Nothing. They searched the flower beds, under rose bushes, even going so far as to search the branches of every tree in the orchard in case she had climbed one and could not get down again. Still no sign of Claire.
Finally, hot, sweaty and tired, they reached the far edge of the garden. Discouraged, Varden looked back at the castle.
"Again,” he said. “I want every place searched again."
By the time Varden rendezvoused with Kenton, half the day was gone and his twinges of concern had tied themselves into full-blown knots of alarm. “Tell me you found something."
"Nothing that has to do with your lady wife.” Kenton seemed subdued, which meant he was also growing concerned. To insult and needle the nobility was one thing, but to misplace one was an unpardonable breech of responsibilities.
"She left,” Varden said.
"There is little point in panicking until we have sufficient reason."
"Such as being absent for four hours?"
"The baby is still here, the horses are all accounted for, and so is her jewelry,” Kenton said. “Even insane, where would she go without money or clothes?"
"You're right.” Varden looked over the group. A few servants were still missing, still searching. He took some comfort from that. Unfortunately, those missing party members all straggled back as empty-handed as he, and his slim hopes vanished.
"All right.” Eyes closed, Varden held the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “If she hasn't left me, then she might have wandered beyond the castle walls. I will kill whoever is on guard if she did, but for now ask the noon shift if they have seen her. Search the pig yard and the well.” It stuck in his throat to say it. “And the moat, just in case. The rest of you are back with me."
Varden led half of the search party to the outer bailey. All around, people were calling for Claire, but there was no answering hail.
A few off-duty soldiers approached and expectation rose along with a smothering sense of dread. One had seen her by the stables but that had been much earlier in the day. Having heard the searcher's calls, they offered to join the hunt.
A thought occurred to Varden. “We are using the wrong name. Kenton, have th
em call for Mallory. She might answer to that."
They split up: Kenton taking a small group to check the pig and chicken yards; Varden following grimly behind four men with long poles to search the length of the moat. Another hour passed before Kenton and Varden finally reunited on the castle steps.
"She must be inside,” Kenton said. His white sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Angry red scratches marred his forearms where he had tangled with a thorn bush in the garden. Rips in both his shirt and vest suggested Kenton wasn't the victor in the match. There was also a smudge of mud on his cheek. “We have been all over both the courtyard and the garden. A few of the lads are still searching the wall-towers. I even sent two riders to the Training Field, but—"
Varden swung sharply back to stare at the gate. “You don't think she could have gotten as far as Wooler, do you?"
Kenton held up his hands, catching Varden before he charged for the gatehouse. “No one saw her leave. I was just taking precautions."
"Yer Grace!” Heads turned expectantly as a young stable hand crossed the courtyard to them, half-jogging and half-hopping over a small pile of hay like a freckle-faced, gangly frog. “They found ‘er! She's in the barracks!"
For the barest of moments, Varden knew relief. She was not floating in the bottom of the moat where the searchers’ poles could not reach. She was not lying unconscious at the dark bottom of a flight of steps, waiting to be found. She was in the barracks.
The barracks—sleeping quarters for the eighty-six permanent soldiers that patrolled Cadhla and its grounds day and night. While he could attest to Claire's safety—if not fidelity—in the hands of his own men, Godfrey's soldiers were also quartered in the barracks. And Varden trusted them no more than he trusted their master.
"Tell her I will see her in her chambers,” Varden commanded and started back toward Cadhla. It was definitely time for a drink. He dared not trust himself to deal with her without calming down first.
"I-I told ‘er, Yer Grace."
The boy flinched when Varden stopped on the top step and turned slowly to face him. He scowled. “And? Is she coming?"