by Nicole Locke
‘Tell me what is going on,’ Bied said.
‘Isn’t that what I am to ask you?’ she said. ‘The ale that killed the steward was poisoned.’
Bied blinked.
Margery didn’t know where to begin. Half of her wanted to strangle her sister for risking her life; the other half wanted to keep hugging her.
‘Jeanne said everyone got wine, but a few were served ale. You and Louve and the steward.’
Bied nodded. ‘Ian ordered ours not to be poisoned.’
‘You didn’t know that when you were served it though, did you?’
Bied hesitated, then shook her head.
Margery pushed off her stool, wrapped her arms about herself and stepped away.
Bied shifted in her seat. ‘I haven’t been here long, but I’ve learnt if a Warstone wants you dead, then you’re dead. And they like their games.’
From the tone of her voice, it seemed her sister liked them, too. Margery walked to the other side of the table and stayed there, because she was furious.
‘Margery...’
She held out her hand. ‘Not yet.’
Whilst she’d been swept up at the whim of some Warstone scheme she knew nothing about, Bied had come here and risked her life. But Margery needed somehow to make the people around her see that she needed to rescue herself.
‘How do you know the usher?’
‘I met him here,’ Bied said. ‘But—’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Less than a month,’ Bied said. ‘But—’
Margery shook her head, turned her back again.
No. No. No.
‘I love him.’
Margery turned around. ‘The usher? You have only just met him.’
‘I love you.’
‘What do I have to do with it?’
‘I thought you were probably being served the ale as well. That you would be caught out.’
Margery leaned on the table. ‘You shouldn’t have taken the ale.’
‘What wouldn’t I do?’
All the fight left her. She loved her sister just as much. What would she do for her family? Everything. She’d accepted Josse...that way of life. It hadn’t been easy. Roul had been even worse, but she’d accepted that too, because she’d refused to be a burden to her siblings. She’d wished to ease her mother’s mind.
‘You’re not dead,’ Margery said.
Bied’s eyes watered, as if she was taking in Margery’s fear. ‘Neither is Louve. Nor you.’
‘Evrart told me what happened in the hall. That there were daggers thrown. That you pushed Balthus out of the way.’
‘Evrart!’ Bied said. ‘I don’t know how he did what he did.’
Hefting a body and carrying it to the chapel grounds. Explaining to the chaplain what was to be done?
‘He’s done worse,’ Margery said.
‘He told you?’
He’d told her enough. Enough to scare her away or to protect her from him? No more. From here on she’d never be forced behind a locked door again. She didn’t know what she’d do to avoid it, but it would be something. Because by hiding away she had only these words now. Words from Evrart, from Bied, from Jeanne... And she knew she still didn’t know all the facts that threatened those she cared for.
Already she had nudged Evrart into not treating her as if she was fragile. He wouldn’t betray her like that, would he?
Instead of crying here in the kitchens, she took a bite of tart. ‘Oh!’
‘Good, aren’t they?’ Bied said around the bite in her mouth.
Margery brushed the crumbs off her fingers. ‘They’re delicious.’
‘I’m sorry I called him a brute before, when you do truly care for him,’ Bied said.
And he had feelings for her—but why did she feel unsettled? Was it her past, and the fact she knew she wasn’t worthy of him? And yet if they cared for each other that shouldn’t matter. She should be feeling as free as she’d ever been. Not this unease.
He’d hurt her, though, even if it had been inadvertent, and letting down her defences and not protecting herself would be harder somehow.
‘What are you to do now?’ Bied asked.
Return to the village where she’d grown up? Never. To Josse or Roul? To another man to earn coin for her family? Not now. Not after Evrart. Not even for Mabile, who needed the coin.
Stay here? That didn’t appeal to her at all. Although Evrart was here. Ian might be gone, but Balthus would need a guard who knew the way of things. Still...
‘I don’t know. I think that depends on you,’ she said.
Bied shook her head. ‘Not me.’
Margery finished off her tart and grabbed another one. ‘You’ve never not made a decision about my life.’
‘Is that why you wrote me that letter?’ Bied asked. ‘You told me how charming Ian of Warstone was and I was just to believe you? To stay away?’
She’d hurt her sister. ‘I didn’t want you to worry. So I told you of Ian and asked you to be happy for me.’
‘Except I got the other message.’
‘It was supposed to go to Servet and Isnard.’
‘The messenger told me so, and I said I’d deliver it. I even wrote a reply to you, since the messenger was still there to return it. A day later I couldn’t wait, and I opened the one you intended for our brothers.’
‘So you did write to warn me of Ian?’
When Bied nodded, Margery winced and took a large bite of her tart. Roul would have received that message. Had he read it and laughed? Was he even alive?
‘And you came to rescue me.’
‘I only wanted to help.’
Margery squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘You have saved me and cared for me in ways I can never repay.’
‘I don’t want repayment,’ Bied said. ‘I only want—’
‘What’s best for me. Do you think...?’ Margery shook her head. She needed this to be said, but was half terrified if she asked the question and Bied said no, her life would never be her own. ‘Do you think you could just let go? Let me be?’
Bied played with the crust of her tart. ‘I think I will have to. I don’t know if I have a place to live any more.’
Margery was certain if Bied and Louve talked they would find a home together. ‘What of this fortress?’ she asked.
‘Ian’s dead, and I don’t know about this brother Balthus who has taken over.’
‘Simply ask Balthus. You saved his life by pushing him out of the way.’
Bied’s gaze slid away.
Evrart had said Bied shoved Balthus out of the way, but he hadn’t said what had happened afterwards. ‘Did that knife hit you?’
Bied shook her head. ‘Balthus was injured before. We didn’t know how badly until I pushed him away from that knife. Louve has had to cut off his hand. He isn’t waking now, and is racked with fever.’
Evrart hadn’t explained this to her. He hadn’t wanted to tell her anything at all until she’d told him she’d leave if he didn’t. Had he lied to her?
Too many uncertainties!
‘What happens if Balthus dies?’ she asked. ‘What happens if his parents return?’
‘We don’t know.’
Margery cared about Evrart’s fate here, and her own...maybe she couldn’t leave that readily either. But this Louve—he was somebody, and he was far too self-assured not to have some power or skill. Her sister loved him, so why wasn’t he here?
Her sister...her brave sister...had uncertainties too.
‘You are with Louve, aren’t you?’
Bied looked to the side. ‘I don’t know.’
Her sister loved this man. Talk of Evrart, of Balthus or any Warstone, could wait. Margery knew what sacrifices Biedeluue had made to protect her from the men of the village. Biedeluue
had offered herself. Margery had been only a child then, and no part of the decision, but still she couldn’t forgive herself. Not truly. It was another reason why she’d accepted Josse’s offer. After what her sister had done, how could she have done anything less?
‘Are you uncertain of Louve because you don’t trust?’ she said.
Were they both to be ruined because of their past?
‘I want to trust, but...’ Bied gave a small smile and shrugged. ‘I’ve been a terrible sister and I have been blind to how strong you are. You saved me in the Great Hall, and you’ve been surviving in this fortress.’
Margery didn’t blame her sister for changing the subject. She would too, if she had to talk of Evrart and trusting him. ‘I’ve had Evrart.’
Bied shook her head. ‘You’ve had your wits—which must have been honed far before you entered here. You haven’t been living in leisure.’
Terror had been her constant companion. Was it all truly over?
‘Louve loves you.’
‘That can’t be true,’ Bied said.
Her sister had been hurt, just as she had been growing up in that village. Biedeluue had always seemed so strong. It pained her to know she had suffered and couldn’t trust easily.
‘He does love you,’ she insisted. ‘It is in the way he looks at you, and how he rushed you out of my room. The very fact he brought you to my room. I’m certain that took much effort.’
Bied worried at her bottom lip. ‘He doesn’t know me.’
Evrart knew some but not all of her past. Her sister, however, was noble and kind. Bied’s deeds had been done solely to help the family, whereas her own... Her birth had been a burden...accepting Josse had been merely a means to make matters right.
‘Maybe it’s time you told him.’
‘Louve has some duties. I think they’ll keep him here with Balthus, who was his friend. But I don’t know where to go next. If I stay here, will you stay too?’
Louve was friends with Balthus? A Warstone? That explained his bearing and his vanity.
‘Stay here? But Louve killed Ian—how will Balthus keep him? I know that the brothers were enemies, but—’
Bied shook her head. ‘Louve didn’t kill Ian. Louve threw the dagger at his shoulder, but at the last moment Ian moved towards it,’ Bied said. ‘It pierced his heart. Louve was beside himself. Held Ian as he died. Promised him that he’d find his wife.’
Margery didn’t understand. It wasn’t what Evrart had told her.
‘It’s confusing, I know,’ Bied continued. ‘But Louve is friends with two of the brothers—Reynold and Balthus. I think he was trying to save Ian when he...did what he did.’
Margery looked at her eldest sister but didn’t see her at all. Weren’t enemies to stay enemies? If Ian had thrown a dagger at Balthus, why would Louve care for Ian? All she had seen of Ian was his cruelty. Except at night, with his murmurings. No. That kindness was for his lost wife. No one else.
‘So...what of the Warstone parents?’
‘The children are against their parents.’
Margery had a mother who had been physically exhausted when she was born. Soon afterwards her father had abandoned them and she had been raised by her siblings. It had always been a struggle, but there had been love there. The fact her sister could talk of family betrayal so easily was beyond her comprehension. Nor did she have any desire to understand.
‘You like their games.’
‘I don’t play games.’
‘You’re in the kitchens, ordering servants about,’ Margery said. ‘Cooking... You’re pretending to be someone you’re not, and you love a man who isn’t an usher. What is he truly?’
‘He’s a mercenary to Reynold, and he’s here for other purposes.’
Fools. All of them. Her most of all. She had been swept up in the arms of everyone and deposited somewhere. If she’d heard someone talk about her sister’s deeds, she wouldn’t have believed them. She was fierce, and she did charge into matters, but she never pretended to be someone else.
Margery hadn’t only been locked in a room surrounded by pillows—she’d been living a lie. Did she know anyone?
‘Louve is friends with a Warstone, who is enemies of his brother, and yet when he died, Louve comforted the enemy?’
‘It was all to save Balthus!’ Bied said.
‘But Balthus is at death’s threshold, isn’t he? Louve had to chop off his hand. And it wasn’t Louve who saved him from Ian’s dagger. You’re the one who shoved him out of the way. You’re as culpable as them.’
Bied’s expression was half-hurt, half-horrified. Margery didn’t care. She’d been hiding away and hiding her feelings. Giving everyone the benefit of not telling her the truth. Evrart because he was quiet, Jeanne because she’d forgotten Margery was confined, her sister because she was so brave.
Except it hurt her to be separated from everyone. Pained her not to be told the truth.
‘Everyone here is pretending!’ she said. ‘Is it only me who was threatened with death, kidnapped, then held captive awaiting decisions to be made that I could do nothing about?’
‘I’m not pretending anything,’ Bied said. ‘I had to be someone else to save you!’
‘Maybe I don’t want to be saved anymore.’
Bied opened her mouth, shut it. ‘You sent that letter.’
‘And it was a mistake!’
A terrible mistake. Not because she hadn’t wanted to risk her siblings’ lives, but because she should have done something on her own. She’d thought she taken risks because she’d written on some scraps of parchment and hidden them from a murderer, but she’d been wrong. Being truly brave would have been not to journey with Ian of Warstone. To have fought him. Not to have begged the palfrey to run the other way.
Because that was what she had done as she’d stared at the fortress gates: begged a horse to save her!
‘It was a mistake, me coming here?’ Bied said. ‘A mistake!’
Now that she knew more, she was certain Evrart had purposely not told her what had happened in the hall—or on any other day for that matter. Did no one believe she could be strong, equal enough to be by their side? They were so intent on protecting her—didn’t they think maybe she could protect them too? No. Because they believed her to be useless. Only useful for her hair and eye colour.
‘Stay out of my life, Biedeluue. Protect someone else. Go and play your games with this Louve and his Warstones.’
Chapter Nineteen
Evrart spied Margery in the chapel gardens. Unlike the last sennight, this time he strode towards her.
There had been so many changes since he’d left her bed while she’d fitfully slept. Despite all he’d told her, his heart was light. She was alive, and well. Ian was dead—as was his debt to him. For the first time in a decade his family was safe. Louve, the new usher, was actually a mercenary of Reynold’s, and he cared for this woman named Biedeluue, who happened to be Margery’s sister. The Warstone parents hadn’t attacked, and Balthus, after many nights, had awakened.
If he hadn’t believed in good fortune before, he certainly did now. His life had been one thing for almost ten years, and now it was something else. Something he thought he’d share with Margery. But after she’d spoken to her sister she’d hurled words at him he hadn’t fully understood, had avoided him or ordered him away. So he’d watched her from afar.
He could wait.
His changing duties kept him occupied. He was no longer Ian’s personal guard, but Louve and Balthus had brought other mercenaries here, and they didn’t get along with the guards already in residence. Then there were the new ones Ian had brought that day he’d arrived with Margery.
All men who worked for coin, now he needed them to work for loyalty, for skill, for something other than the reputation of a Warstone. Because with Ian gone this fortress was defended
by Louve—a person with no power, and no noble blood or connections. A man from whom mercenaries weren’t pleased to be taking orders.
It was one thing to be paid in coin, but quite another to be linked to a house with power. Most of the mercenaries wanted both, and some had already left. Unfortunately, because the Warstone parents might lay siege any day, they couldn’t afford to lose more. For the last week it had been a constant battle bringing the men to heel.
Thus, he had given his Margery time, but more changes had come, and he could wait no longer.
More than that, he missed her. Missed the light brushes of her hands against his arm, his cheek. Missed her voice and her demands he talk. He’d lived most of his life in silence, and now he no longer found it comforting.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he said.
Margery did not stand or turn around, but she did kneel amongst those flowers she smelled of. He might not see all the colours, but could discern she was more beautiful than those flowers, more precious to him than the land they grew on.
‘I have news for you.’
She adjusted herself from kneeling to sitting, but she did not turn or give voice to whether she wanted to hear him or not. He took hope from the fact she hadn’t simply stood and walked away.
‘Balthus is awake. He bears no ill will for his hand, and has agreed when he is healed, he will search for Ian’s wife, Séverine, and her two boys.’
Margery laced her fingers together and laid them in her lap.
‘Louve and your sister will stay to defend the fortress,’ he continued. ‘Balthus will send missives to the King of England, requesting the title be transferred to Louve. If that fails, he will defend it in Balthus and Reynold’s absence, against his parents. They’re staying, Margery; I am certain you can have a home here as well.’
‘What makes you think I want a home here?’
Her voice wasn’t bitter, but it didn’t hold that light lilt which had teased him in his sleep. For all the days she’d ignored him, he had wished only for her attention. Now she was talking of leaving.
His thoughts scattered. Had he not made himself clear? If she left, so would he.
‘You’re leaving?’ he said.
