by Rue Allyn
The chamberlain turned his head and uttered a soft “Ugh” before turning back. But the man’s eyes had narrowed, and his mouth thinned. “Does Lady Sorcha know you have left your bed, my lord?”
Had the chamberlain discovered Colin’s secret? The answer must wait. Colin issued a vapid grin. “N . . . nae. Too tired to swive—damned woman thinks of naught but cleaning. Decid . . . cided to fuck chambermaid at wood . . . woodcutter’s hut.” He let his voice get progressively weaker and went slack when he’d finished his story.
“My lord, my lord.” The chamberlain shook Colin’s shoulder. “You must wake up, my lord.”
“Wha . . . what?” Colin fought his way to a sitting position.
“My lord, have you been deceiving your wife as to your recovery so you could slip out to swive while she slept?”
Colin beamed his idiot’s grin once more. “Aye. Sorcha neglects me. A man has needs.” As he spoke he made a fumbling and unsuccessful attempt to stand.
“Allow me to help.”
He let himself be hoisted to his feet. “Th . . . thank you.” He pushed himself away from the chamberlain then took several unsteady steps toward his goal.
“My lord, you canna go that way. It has been locked since before I came here and the key lost.”
Colin frowned, fumbled in his belt pouch. Withdrawing the key, he held it up for the chamberlain to see. “’Tis nae a door to be used by any but the earl.”
“Ah, I understand. Shall I assist you to your bed?”
Colin shook his head. “I shall be fine, thank you. Promise me you’ll nae mention this encounter to anyone.”
“Of course I shall keep silent,” the chamberlain vowed.
What else could the man say if he wished to keep his post? “Excellent, now I must hurry.” Colin turned his back on the chamberlain, passed through the door. He locked it behind him, resolving to be more careful as long as caution didna interfere with his mission.
CHAPTER FIVE
By full light, Colin sat in bed leaning against pillows Sorcha had just fluffed and watched her bustle about the room. She claimed to be straightening up. It looked to him like she tried to avoid talking with him by staying in constant motion.
“I dinna understand why you willna speak of the months after your betrothal with Brice was broken.”
“You left,” she accused. “You were nae there, so you’ve nae need to understand. Those events are in the past, and there they will stay. Naught you can say will change them or make me change my mind, so you might as well forget the subject entirely.”
Colin clenched his teeth. If she wouldna speak with him, he’d find someone who would. But no with Sorcha about. The woman had more secrets than pharaoh had slaves, and she clung to them just as tightly. He would have to play Moses and get her to let her secrets go.
He shrugged with pretended indifference and changed the subject. Let her think he’d forget; he wouldna. ’Twas too important. ’Twas vital, he assured himself, that he know every detail about Sorcha to be able to convince her to trust him completely. Nor could he protect her properly from traitors if she hid potential threats from him. You are neither father, brother, nor husband to her.
He didna care. He’d put her in this situation and protect her he would. He’d do the same for any of his men.
“Do you think Henry forgot? ’Tis pure famished I am.” Colin let his empty stomach distract him from his circling thoughts. ’Twould nae be the first time he used hunger to distract himself. With winter arriving early and turning harsh, food had been scarce coming north in November. Sometimes hunger had been the only thing standing between him and a misery of regret. Still, he’d anticipated enjoying good food when he arrived home. Instead, necessity forced him to indulge in an invalid’s meals and pretend to tolerate poisonous porridge from Lady Agnes.
“You’ll nae starve,” Sorcha commented, breaking in on his thoughts. “If Henry doesna bring you a tray before I’m done picking up this mess, I’ll get you food myself. Those who visit you talk, and I’ll nae have every person in the clan thinking I allow my husband to lie sick in a pigsty.”
Colin’s patience all but broke. Perhaps Brice had died of starvation. If his stepmother’s swill from last night was any example of the fare Strathnaver served to the sick, could the fare for the hale be much better? Nonetheless, keeping to his vow of caution, he waited as Sorcha bent, lifted, folded, put away, and in general did everything she could to avoid him while being in the same room. She was folding the coverlet on her pallet when a knock sounded.
“Sir Henry Marr to see his brother,” announced a deep male voice.
“Just a moment.” She headed for the door but turned to look at Colin before she opened it.
He sank down into the bed, nodding at her.
Colin’s mouth began to water the moment the door opened. The scent of sausage, potatoes, and what he hoped was buttered honey buns nearly propelled him from the bed. Keep still. A man but a short walk from death’s door doesna find new life from a mere whiff of food.
“Good morning, Henry,” Sorcha was saying. “I’m surprised your mother dinna send her fortifying porridge.”
“She did.” The younger male voice chuckled. “But cook changed out the tray when mother said she would be talking with the priest for a while.”
“Then the earl’s prayers have been answered, for he was little pleased with last night’s supper.”
Colin could hear the smile in Sorcha’s voice.
“No one could be pleased with my mother’s porridge. Sir Broc, put the tray on that table over by the window. I would break my fast with my brother. And my sister-in-law may have some much needed time to herself in the fresh air.”
“Oh, I don’t know if the earl is strong enough…”
“Do nae worry, Sorcha. If need be, I will feed Brice. I promise to nae tire him,” Henry said.
Please, please, please go, Colin mentally begged, though some base part of him wanted her to stay.
“Very well, but I must check on Brice first and make sure he feels able to visit. Wait at the table. If he’s awake, I’ll bring him to you.”
“Are you certain you don’t wish my help?”
“Absolutely.”
Footsteps shuffled about the room and soon Sorcha turned back the bedcovers. She bent to help Colin sit, as she would for a patient just starting to recover. “I’ll guide you to the corner chair where the light is weakest,” she whispered. “We dinna want Henry to see how healthy you are.”
“Aye.” Colin clasped her shoulders and tried to look as if he depended upon her for support.
They made their slow way to the table, passing Henry who—for reasons known only to a boy’s mind—sat on Sorcha’s pallet, fiddling with one of the corners.
As she helped Colin sit, she called to the boy. “Henry, would you be kind enough to bring me the two quilts from my pallet?”
“I am happy to aid you and see to my brother’s comfort,” came the cheerful reply.
She took the quilts and practically swaddled Colin so that only his face and hands showed, while Henry occupied a seat on the opposite side of the table.
“Stop fussing, woman. I’m nae dying any longer.” Colin kept his voice faint but irritated. He actually enjoyed her fussing, for it forced her to touch him. However, much more touching, and even two blankets would not disguise his body’s lust.
“I’ll return as quickly as possible.”
“’Tis no need, Lady Sorcha,” said Henry. “Sir Broc will remain outside the door until I leave. If Brice tires, he will have plenty of help.”
She nodded. “Well enough.”
Colin prayed that Sorcha’s quick return would take a very long time. He had a great many questions to ask Henry and the last thing he needed was her interference.
• • •
Sorcha went to the kitchen and requested some stew, fresh bread, and a bowl of spiced cider.
“My lady, is th’ breakfast I sent wi’ Sir ’enr
y nae t’ th’ earl’s likin’?” the cook asked.
Sorcha smiled at the woman. “I’m certain the meal is satisfactory. I want the stew and bread for later. ’Tis nae good for my husband to have too many visitors. He’s just begun to recover. With the stew in a small pot, I’ll be able to keep it warm on the hob of the chamber’s hearth. Thus he may eat when he pleases, and no one need disturb his rest.”
“Very well, yer ladyship.” The cook gave orders for the tray to be assembled. “Would ye like some tea while ye wait, milady? I recall how you liked visitin’ th’ kitchens when you and Master Brice—beggin’ yer pardon, th’ earl—were courtin’. Though some may think differently, ’tis a right shame what happened, and glad I am that our clans will be at peace again. I’ll be able to visit my cousin who married a MacKai and lives in Dungarob Harbor.”
Clearly the woman wanted Sorcha to accept the invitation, so she settled onto a bench near the hearth. “Yes, I would like tea, thank you very much. Would you join me, please?”
The cook blinked. “If ye wish. I got some o’ them honey oatcakes ye loved when ye was last here.’”
“Those would be wonderful. I must visit the kitchens more often, since you know my preferences so well.”
“Happy I’d be t’ have ye, Lady Strathnaver. Yer maither-in-law never visits the kitchens.”
“Not even when her husband lived?”
The cook shook her head as she set out the cakes and plates, got mugs and prepared the tea. “Even now she sends orders through the chamberlain or summons me to the solar and only discusses meals and other kitchen work. Says she wishes to save you the trouble while th’ earl is ill.”
Sorcha pressed her lips together. She didna imagine for a moment that Lady Agnes gave orders to save Sorcha trouble and worry. The dowager would hold tight any authority she could grasp. The woman presumed much to order any of the staff in the stronghold. She was no longer countess and should have deferred decisions to Sorcha. The chamberlain was equally to blame. With his status and position, he should have known who his mistress was and acted accordingly.
“’Tis kind of my mother-in-law to want to ease my burdens. However, my husband is now beginning to recover, and I would have you and the other servants bring all stronghold concerns to me. Do you understand?”
The cook sipped her brew before replying with a smile. “Aye, that I do. Th’ dowager willna be happy t’ have her orders ignored and th’ chamberlain may interfere.”
Sorcha smiled back. “I will deal with the chamberlain, and the servants must, of course, comply with any orders Lady Agnes gives regarding her own needs but only those needs. Any other orders she gives must be directed to me for approval.” She blew on the heated tea then swallowed several sips.
“Of course, Lady Strathnaver. Would ye like me to share yer instructions wi’ the other servants?”
“That would be very kind of you, yes. After we finish our tea, I would like to inspect the larder and keeping rooms.”
Cook nodded her approval, but her expression was troubled. “’Tis right glad I am t’ have ye do so.”
Sorcha tilted her head to the side. “Is something the matter?”
“Th’ chamberlain and I each take a count of supplies every week, and our counts haven’t been the same for close on a month. We’ve used this method well for many years, so to have different results is causing awkwardness that makes working together difficult.”
Four weeks. The same length of time she and Brice had been in residence. “Did this start before the earl and I arrived here? Are all supplies showing shortages or just some, and if so, which ones?”
Cook wrinkled her brow in thought. “Nae, ’tis mostly th’ herbs, some salt, and flour. As to how long this had gone on, I can’t rightly say, milady. ’Tis certain it wasna much before ye came here. Th’ chamberlain keeps the written records, seein’ as how I canna read or write.”
“Then how can you be certain the two counts are different?”
“Well, I’ve a right good memory, but even so, I keep my counts in the old way by notching sticks.”
Sorcha had to agree about the cook’s memory. Ten years was a long time to recall one woman’s favorite foods. “I see, and for several weeks your notched sticks have not matched the chamberlain’s written records.”
“That’s right, yer ladyship.”
Sorcha set aside her empty cup. “Let us go and take a count of supplies now while I inspect the larder and keeping rooms. Then I will take your sticks and compare them with the chamberlain’s accounts when next he visits with the earl.”
What she found, or rather didna find, during her inspection of the kitchen supplies disturbed Sorcha greatly. Most of the supplies that were low were those that, in sufficient concentrations, could be used as poisons or the means to mask poison. Even more disturbing, a small mortar and pestle had disappeared. Any number of reasons could explain the use of poisons. But if the use was innocent, why take the items without asking for them or at least mentioning it to the cook or chamberlain?
It would not surprise me if you are trying to poison your husband.
Nae. Lady Agnes’ words couldna be true. Brice had died from fever and a bloody flux, nae poison. Her mother in law’s accusation had been flung as an insult and couldna be taken seriously.
Sorcha’s head began to ache. She rubbed her temples as she and the cook returned to the kitchen. Spies, theft, and murder? Colin’s suspicions made her jump at shadows, and he was the last person she should trust.
Yet she had done as he asked and not told anyone Brice was dead. She even let everyone believe Colin was his brother. She resolved to be stronger in the future. ’Twas time to let him know she wouldna be his pawn.
To the cook, Sorcha promised to look into the matter of the missing supplies, and declining an offer of help, picked up the loaded tray then set off for the earl’s chamber.
• • •
Colin waited until the door closed on Sorcha and Sir Broc then loosened the blankets she’d tucked about him. When he was able to move easily he leaned forward and inhaled the aroma of the first decent meal he would have in many a day.
“You seem much better, my lord,” Henry said.
The boy looked nothing like the old earl and resembled Lady Agnes in only the most obvious things like his thin, yellow hair and a tendency to portliness balanced by a frame much taller than most lads of eight or nine. Did he get outside to play with other boys or practice knightly skills with a wooden sword and buckler? At Henry’s age, Colin and Brice had already mastered most of the riding skills they would need as future knights and began training with blunted metal blades. Did Henry do that? Or was he too much under the thumb of his mother? As soon as time and circumstance permitted, Colin decided, he would take over the boy’s training. For the present at least, he was Colin’s heir and should be treated as such.
The boy sat unusually still for a lad scarcely nine years old, though his hands trembled as he shifted dishes and trenchers about the table.
“’Tis difficult to judge how ill you’ve been,” the younger Marr continued. “Until my mother forced her way in, your wife has allowed few visits since the priest gave the last rites.”
Colin was glad to hear it. With so few visitors, creating the impression that he was Brice would be easy.
“Could you cut me some sausage?” He watched as with trembling hands the youth divided the meat into bites. Was he inexperienced at carving, palsied, or nervous? The boy was too old to lack experience cutting meat. A glance at Henry’s carefully bland and ruddily healthy face plus the absence of any other symptoms of palsey made Colin settle on the latter explanation. Why would the lad be nervous? ’Twas not his first meeting with Brice, surely, so uncertainty about his status with the new earl shouldn’t be the cause. Anger at being replaced as the heir?
“Are you disappointed that I have recovered?” Colin asked.
The knife slipped, and Henry looked up, eyes wide. “N-no. Of course not.”
The lad straightened and set down the carving utensils. “I am overjoyed at your improved health and pray you are soon returned to your full strength and ability. Why would you ask such a question? Do you think I want to be earl and own Strathnaver?”
Colin repressed a frown. That very atypical young lad pronouncement had been delivered as if memorized. “It would nae have been odd for you to feel upset at being denied the earldom.” In his role as a severely ill man, Colin allowed his voice to shake a bit. “However, I ask only because you seem to have something on your mind.”
Henry looked away as he responded. “If I seem so, ’tis only because, as you know, life with my mother is not always easy or calm.”
“Ah. If you wish to unburden yourself, I’ll be happy to be your confidant. Naught that you say will leave this room.”
Henry cast him an upward glance. “Truly?”
“Aye.” Colin reached for some of the sausage. “You talk. I’ll eat.”
He chewed while he waited for his half-brother to come to the point. ’Twas nae hardship to wait. He’d nae had food this good since leaving Northumbria.
“I … ah … I hardly know where to start.”
Colin made a comforting noise but continued with his meal.
“The dowager is a verra demanding woman.”
Colin snorted. The boy has much to learn. All women are demanding in one way or another.
“She constantly nags at me about my posture, my manners, my clothing, my speech…”
Colin finished eating then leaned back in his chair. His brother’s list of complaints about his mother was lengthy, but naught was different than any son might complain of in even the best of mothers. What intrigued Colin was that throughout the recital, Henry’s nervous tics and twitches increased. Instead of relaxing by sharing his troubles, he became more agitated.
“Oh, good,” the lad interrupted his monologue. “You’ve finished. I’ll have Sir Broc remove the tray then help you back to bed.”
Obviously the boy had decided nae to confide his deepest troubles.
“That would be satisfactory, but wait a moment or two before you summon him. I’ve something I wish to ask you.”