by C. J. Archer
"He won't do that," Theodore said. "He relies too heavily on us."
"You believe that? Even now, with Lady Morgrave exerting influence over him? The Deerhorns will see that we're replaced with people they can control. People who won't let us near the king. And then where will we be? We'll have no answers and no way of getting answers. We'll also be cut off from the rest of the staff."
"Then what do you propose?" Dane asked.
"Leave it with me. I have a plan." Balthazar limped out of the garrison, Theodore on his heels.
There was nothing for us to do but wait for Quentin to return. The wounds were clean and the bleeding had stopped. Dane sat calmly, although he looked troubled. That could have been from the discussion rather than the pain, however.
Max rose and inspected the roster on the wall.
"You'll need to be in charge out there," I told him. "The captain will be off duty until—"
"No." Dane shook his head. "I'll remain on duty."
I crossed my arms. "How?"
"You could borrow Balthazar's stick," Max said, helpfully, only to follow it with an apology when Dane gave him a withering glare.
"I'll limit walking to a minimum," Dane said. "I can continue to ride into the village."
I rolled my eyes. "While you're there, please do see Doctor Ashmole."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like him and I can't think of a better way to annoy him than to inflict a stubborn patient upon him."
He crossed his arms too.
Max glanced between us, smirking.
Quentin returned with my pack, and I set to work suturing Dane's wounds. It wasn't easy. He tensed every time the needle went in and either grunted, hissed, or swore under his breath.
"Sit still," I told him. "You didn't want Mother’s Milk so now you have to face the consequences."
He drew in a fortifying breath. "Just get it over with. Please."
Perhaps it was the plea in his voice, or the fact he looked vulnerable, but my heart tripped. My frustration at having a recalcitrant patient vanished. I set down the needle on the cloth and placed both hands on his leg above the wound. I caressed his calf with my thumbs.
"I know it hurts," I said gently. "But it'll be over soon. Sooner if you can be still."
He gave a short, sharp nod.
Standing behind Dane, Quentin held up the bottle of Mother's Milk.
Dane frowned then suddenly turned, but Quentin had already tucked the bottle behind him again.
"Quentin, pour another drink for the captain," I said. "I think he's going to need it. Not much," I added as he took the cup to the sideboard. "Just a little." I hoped he remembered I'd only used a small amount when I'd sutured Max's arrow wound when we'd first met. Diluted in ale, he could put in more, but not much.
I waited for Dane to drink the ale. When he only sipped, I told him to drink it all. "It'll numb the pain."
"This won't get me drunk enough," he said but drank it all anyway.
I pretended to clean and inspect the needle then re-threaded it while I waited for the effects of the Mother’s Milk to take hold. When I noticed Dane relax, and his eyelids droop, I finished suturing the other cuts.
He didn't fall asleep, however. When I finished and smiled at him, he scowled back. "You put Mother’s Milk in my ale."
"Yes."
"Quentin, you're taking over from Erik on prison duty."
"No, you're not," I told Quentin. "He was only following my orders," I said to Dane.
"I'm the only one who gives orders to my men." There was no anger in his tone, no resentment, only tiredness. He wouldn't make Quentin do prison duty, and Quentin must have known it because he didn't look worried.
I stood and patted Dane's shoulder, resisting the urge to kiss the top of his head.
With a speed I didn't expect from someone under the influence of Mother’s Milk, he trapped my hand beneath his. "The key," he murmured.
I crouched and he removed it from around his neck and placed it around mine. It brought our faces very close. When our gazes connected, it was as if the sorcerer had placed a spell on us. Everything else ceased to exist for me in that moment—the room, his injury, Max and Quentin. There was only Dane and his handsome face, his blue eyes and strong jaw.
Then the garrison door opened, and Dane looked away, breaking the connection. The leather strip slid through his fingers, but before he let go, he brushed his thumbs along the underside of my jaw. "Thank you," he whispered.
I stepped back, feeling as if I'd just woken from a deep sleep. I tucked the key into my bodice and accepted a pouch from the footman. It jangled with coins. Balthazar thought of everything.
"Quentin, take Josie's bag and escort her home," Dane said. "Make sure Lord Barborough goes nowhere near her."
"You should rest now," I said. "Max, help him to the dormitory."
"I can rest here," Dane said.
I mouthed "Good luck" to Max over the top of Dane's head and left with Quentin.
I resisted the urge to find out how Dane fared all the following day. The day after that, I gave in and sent word to Balthazar. I knew I'd get an honest answer from him. He sent his cryptic response with Kitty and Miranda.
"He told us to tell you that all is well in the garrison," Miranda said as she accepted tea from me. Dora and Remy had gone out early that morning and not yet returned, leaving me alone with my thoughts and very little to do. The visit from my two friends was a welcome distraction.
"What does that mean?" Miranda asked.
Dane wouldn't want me telling anyone of his injury, and I didn't want to have to explain what had happened and where. I waved a hand in dismissal. "Two of the guards fought the other day."
"Over you?"
"No!"
Kitty sighed. "How romantic."
"They didn't fight over me," I assured her. "Kitty, are you all right?" She looked glum and not at all her perky, pretty self. Her eyes were slightly swollen too, as if she'd been crying.
"I'm well," she said with a smile. Kitty might not be all that bright, but she knew how to be a lady. It was second nature to her. And being a lady meant smiling when she was sad, laughing at jokes that weren't amusing, and dancing when her feet ached. This smile looked genuine, but I didn't believe it. "We have something to tell you, Josie. Some gossip."
I leaned forward. "Go on."
"The king is feeling better."
I waited but she didn't continue. "You came into the village just to tell me that?"
"No," Miranda said, glancing at Kitty. "There's another reason for our visit. Kitty?"
Kitty reached across the table and clasped my hand in both of hers. Her smile turned bright. "We wanted to see you, of course. And you're right, there is more. The king seems a little frosty toward Lady Morgrave lately."
"Really? The last time I saw him, he talked about her a lot. He seemed besotted with her."
"Not in the last day or two. It's nothing too noticeable, however, just a cooling between them. It's not on her part. She continues to flirt with him and push herself onto him at every opportunity. He still sits with her and talks to her, even kisses her sometimes, but something's changed."
"I heard he no longer takes her to his bed," Miranda added. "And he's flirting with other ladies."
"Including Miranda again."
I frowned at Miranda, worried that the king's renewed attention would encourage her parents to consider marrying her off to become queen.
"Don't look at me like that, Josie," Miranda said. "I know exactly how to manage the king and men like him. Now, Kitty has something to ask you. It's the real reason we came today."
Kitty stared into her teacup.
"Tell her," Miranda urged. "She's a midwife and your friend. You can trust her."
Midwife? Kitty was with child? Why did that make her unhappy?
It turned out I'd guessed wrong. Her announcement wasn't that she was with child.
"I'm barren," she said, blinking back tears.
Miranda gave Kitty her handkerchief and Kitty dabbed her eyes. "I thought you might have a remedy," Miranda said to me. "Not that I've ever heard of such a remedy, but I know you village apothecaries sometimes make up your own medicines and I just thought…" She trailed off and rubbed Kitty's shoulder.
"I'm afraid I don't," I said. "How long have you been trying?"
"Ever since we got married, two years ago. It never seemed to bother Gladstow until recently. Since we arrived at the palace, he's changed towards me. He used to be good to me, buying me whatever I wanted. Now, he ignores me. He doesn't come to my bed, and if he does talk to me, it's just to say something cruel." A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away with the handkerchief. "He blames me for not giving him an heir. He says it's the only reason we married. He didn't want a wife, you see." She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth and sobbed into it. "He called me useless. As useless as a broken ornament, that's what he said."
Miranda put her arm around Kitty's shoulders. "Don't listen to him. He's a horrid man."
"He's my husband."
The Duke of Gladstow was more awful than they realized, but telling them I'd seen him torment Lady Claypool wouldn't achieve anything except further hurt.
"The problem could be him," I ventured.
"It's not," Kitty said. "He has an illegitimate daughter by a woman who used to work for him. It happened before he met me. I've seen the girl. She has the Gladstow nose and eyes. He's definitely the father."
"Sometimes these things take time. I know couples who had children after years of trying. My mother told me about a woman who bore a child after being married for eighteen years. There is hope."
"There might be, if he bothered to come to my bed."
"He will again," Miranda said.
I kept my mouth shut. I'd rather be accused of being barren than having that man in my bed. But I wasn't Kitty.
"What will I do if he keeps ignoring me?" Kitty wailed. "What if he decides he wants an heir more than he wants me as his wife?"
Was she suggesting murder? A man could only remarry after his first wife died. Barrenness wasn't an excuse to set her aside and marry another. Kitty needed to be diverted from such dark thoughts.
"Give it more time," I said gently. "And try not to worry. Eat healthy food and enjoy the things you've always enjoyed."
Kitty wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. "Thank you, Josie. Perhaps you're right and our time hasn't come yet. I'm sure he'll return to my bed soon."
"That's it, keep your spirits up," Miranda said, handing her the cup of tea. "You're the Duchess of Gladstow. Never forget that."
"No, Miranda. I am the Duke of Gladstow's wife."
With the ells from Balthazar's payment, I was able to fill my basket the following morning at the market. It was wonderful to load it with fresh produce and the best fish. We'd dine well for a few days, and I might even do some baking.
I lingered in the market, enjoying conversation with people I saw less of these days. Many asked me about the palace, knowing I still went regularly. They listened intently to my report of the dazzling sights, the scale of the building and gardens, and the animals kept in the menagerie.
The mood of the marketplace was generally somber, however, with the usual complaints of high prices and rising rents on everyone's mind. Some spoke about the problems in The Row and the governor's now-abandoned plan to demolish it. Many thought as I did, that a dilapidated roof over one's head was better than no roof at all.
I returned home via The Row and waved at the two guards on duty at the entrance. Dane wouldn't appreciate me discussing his injury with his men, so I continued on without asking how their captain fared.
Once home, I gave Dora a loaf of bread and some apples to deliver to her friend in The Row. She and Remy set off, and I returned to the kitchen and searched for my mother's recipe for butter biscuits. It had been an age since I'd tasted them, and even longer since I'd baked a batch. My father would laugh if he saw me. Baking and the other domestic arts were not my strength.
The soft click of the front door opening had me looking up from the recipe book. I hadn't locked the door after Dora left. She might have forgotten something, but I'd had too many unwelcome visitors of late to assume it was her returning.
I grabbed the metal stirring spoon and tiptoed toward the dresser near the door where the knives were kept.
I didn't reach it.
Lord Barborough rushed into the kitchen, his black riding cape billowing behind him, his face twisted with wild rage. I barely had enough time to gasp before he kicked me in the stomach. I stumbled to the floor, breaking my fall with my hands, jarring my wrists.
He stood over me, a foot planted on either side of my hips. I scrambled back toward the table, but he pressed his boot against my thigh, hard enough for it to hurt but not hard enough to break the bone.
He withdrew a knife from his belt. "Don't move," he snarled. "I have no qualms about peeling the skin off your pretty face and serving it to the palace pigs."
Chapter 11
I tried to form words, to beg, but my heart pounded in my throat and nothing came out but unintelligible babble.
"You've been avoiding me," he snarled.
"No!"
His foot pressed harder. "I saw you at the palace in the company of a guard. Always in the company of a guard."
"I—I wasn't avoiding you."
"Stop lying! Have you told the captain about me? About our agreement?"
I nodded. He would have known it was a lie if I claimed I hadn't. "He forced me to. He wanted to know why I was asking him so many questions."
"You stupid fool!" He leaned forward, putting his weight on the foot, crushing my thigh, and thrust the knife under my chin. It stung as it bit into my flesh. "You've made me the captain's target."
"I don't understand."
He wiped his sweaty brow on his shoulder and adjusted his grip around the knife handle. The knuckles were white, the muscles taut. His hand would cramp soon or his palm might become too sweaty to grip properly. He couldn't swap the knife to his other.
"I was moved to a small, shit-hole of a room in the attic. No one would tell me why. And someone followed me one night and threatened me. It made no sense at the time, but the shadowy figure…it must have been that thug of a captain."
He pressed hard on my leg, and I cried out. Tears burned my eyes, blurring my vision, as he thrust his face into mine. He bared his teeth as he pressed the blade into my skin. "I'm going to cut you up so he doesn't recognize you."
"I learned something from him!" I blurted out. Desperation and fear loosened my tongue. I wished it hadn't. I wanted to be stronger, braver, but blood trickled down my neck and my leg ached from the pressure.
To my utter surprise and relief, he eased back. My words had intrigued him, given him hope. At that moment I realized I wasn't the only desperate and afraid person in the kitchen. He was facing execution in Vytill if he returned without information.
"Tell me," he snapped.
"It's about the gem. If I tell you, you have to let me go."
"That depends on how good your information is."
I swallowed. "I think the sorcerer's magic is contained within the gem Sergeant Brant told you about. The king used the gem's magic to create the palace."
"I know that already."
"No, my lord, you suspect. But I saw him use it to make a wish to improve his health."
He cocked his head to the side. "You saw him?"
I nodded.
"What words did he speak to it? How did he make the magic work?"
"I didn't see or hear, but I do know his health has improved." It was a risk to pretend that the king had used the real gem. If he started to feel ill again, Barborough would know I lied. But I had no other choice. "Has he been looking better?"
He eased right back, giving me my answer. "Where is the gem now?" he asked.
"The king has it." Lie upon lie upon lie. He looked like he beli
eved me, thank the goddess.
"Where does he keep it?"
"I don't know. He doesn't confide in me. I'm nothing to him."
"As you are nothing to me. You're not even worth the bloodstains."
He removed his foot from my thigh, and I was able to scramble away toward the dresser. I used it for balance as I stood. Lord Barborough's gaze fell on the knives in the block, but he seemed unconcerned that they were within my reach.
"If you tell anyone that you've spoken to me about the gem, I will come back for you," he said. "And I won't be so gentle next time."
He tucked his knife into his belt and strode out of the kitchen. The sound of the front door opening and closing was the sweetest thing I'd ever heard. I sucked in a deep breath of pure relief and pressed a hand to my racing heart. My thigh would soon sport a bruise in the shape of his boot, and the cut beneath my chin still stung, but those had been worth it. Lord Barborough was finished with me. All I had to do was not tell anyone about this visit. Not even Dane.
One other positive had come out of Barborough's visit. I'd learned that he wasn't the one who'd followed us to the cottage. He hadn't known where the gem was located. If he had been the one watching us from the forest, my life might not have been spared when I lied about its whereabouts.
My encounter with Lord Barborough played on my mind overnight. So much so that I needed to see Dane. Not because I wanted to tell him, but because he made me feel safe and not weak. He lightened my heart and bolstered my spirit.
I had no excuse to go to the palace, so I went to The Row instead, and I was glad to see Quentin guarding the entrance with another guard. He hailed me with a beaming smile.
"Thank Merdu for sending me someone to talk to," Quentin said.
The other guard glowered at him. "Am I invisible?"
"You just want to talk about swords and fights."
"What else is there to talk about? The latest fashions?" He snorted. "Don't answer that. I know what you'd say."
"I'd rather talk about diseases and wounds."
"Come closer. I'll give you a wound to talk about."