Fin drained the last of his mug and left it on the desk as he got to his feet. He tried to focus on something other than Ivy — like the reason he was in York, to begin with. Fin stalked the halls of the castle, wrestling with the problem. With the household staff bustling about, it was soon too stuffy and noisy for him inside, so he left the keep through a side door and stepped out into one of the many courtyard gardens.
The wispy clouds looked like red and orange slashes across the rapidly darkening sky as the day gave way to dusk. The light was already dimming, and thick, inky shadows began to slither out and reclaim the world. Fin stopped beside a flowering bush and breathed in deeply, savoring the heavy floral aroma of the courtyard garden. And as he stood there, he became aware of the sound of muffled voices.
Curious, he crept along the dirt path winding around through the tall trees and bushes that filled the garden. The voices growing closer with every step. He paused when he caught sight of two figures up ahead. He sheltered behind a tall screen of bushes, peering through the thick foliage. The two men were huddled close together, talking low so their voices could not be heard.
To Fin, the whole scene looked suspicious. Something about the way they stood and the pitch of their voices made him believe they were up to something. The two men, cloaked in the encroaching shadows and partially hidden by the thick bushes of the garden, looked to be conspiring with one another. But from where he stood, he could not make out who it was, nor could he hear what they were saying.
He gritted his teeth, frustrated. Fin wanted to creep closer but knew he could not do it without giving himself away. Just when he was about to do it anyway, though, one of the men turned his way, seeming to be searching the oncoming darkness for anybody out there. And at that moment, there was enough light for Fin to see that it was none other than Castor, the Baron of Elix.
“What in the world is he doin’?” Fin whispered to himself.
Not knowing what was happening, but determined to find out, Fin took a step backward. His foot came down on a dry twig, and it snapped with a noise that in such a quiet, confined space was as loud as a cannon shot. Fin sucked in a breath and held it, his eyes wide and focused on the pair of figures ahead. Castor and his mysterious counterpart both paused, and Fin saw their heads turn his way.
He stood as still as a statue, confident they could not see him through the screen of bushes and the growing gloom of dusk. But then the second man turned and fled, hidden behind the bushes, and lost to Fin’s sight. Castor stood where he was for a moment, hesitating, as if unsure where he should go.
Fin capitalized on his indecision and carefully turned, picking his way along the path. He moved quickly and quietly, making it back to the door he’d come through. Fin slipped inside and gently shut the door behind him before retreating to his office. He called for a chamberlain as he barged through the door. A moment later, a pair of young men in the Duke’s livery that he was familiar with appeared and quickly set about lighting a fire in the hearth, bringing him a fresh pitcher of ale and fresh cups.
“Thank ye, lads,” he said.
“Of course, M’Lord.”
“I’m nae a Lord,” he reminded them - again. “Fin is fine, lads.”
“Of course, M’Lord.”
Fin opened his mouth but closed it again and dropped down into the chair behind the desk. He accepted a mug of ale from one of the chamberlains and leaned back in his seat, mentally sorting through everything he had just seen.
“Can I have some supper sent into your office, M’Lord?”
Fin resisted the urge to argue, and just nodded instead.
“Aye. That’d be nice,” he said. “Thank ye, lads.”
They both gave him a courteous nod and quickly departed, closing the office door behind them softly. Fin stared into the flames in the hearth, his mind consumed by what he’d seen. It had been Castor, of that there was no doubt. But what was he doing out there? And who was the second man?
There could have been a perfectly reasonable, perfectly innocent explanation for it all. Fin knew that just because he thought their behavior looked suspicious, it didn’t mean that it actually was. He knew there could have been a thousand different things they were talking about and reasons for them to be meeting in private.
But if it was innocent, why had the second man run off the way he did? Why did they just look so suspicious? Fin knew he was not the smartest man in the world, but he thought he was pretty good at reading people and knew human nature. And to him, they looked suspicious. Like they were conspiring.
It was then that Fin started to have some very disturbing and uncomfortable thoughts rattle through his mind. He sipped his ale and stared into the flames, hoping against all hope that he was wrong.
Chapter Twelve
Fin
The sound of shouting voices and the hard pounding of boots on the stone floors beyond his chamber doors pulled Fin out of sleep. He was out of bed and on his feet in a heartbeat, his body taut, his mind alert. Something was going on in the castle.
Fin quickly got dressed and dashed out into the corridor. The castle was a hive of activity with the household guard filling the halls and a palpable sense of tension among the men. The men were obviously upset, and Fin could feel the anger and bloodlust that saturated the air around them. Hollis appeared by his side, and together they pushed their way through the anxious crowd, finally arriving at the Duke’s bedchamber door.
A tall, hulking man in the Duke’s livery with chain mail armor beneath it and a steel helm upon his head blocked the doorway. He was not letting anybody through. Fin recognized him as Henry Carson, Captain of the Duke’s personal guard. Fin had become acquainted with him over the years, and they got on well, but Henry was a man of strict duty and kept people held at an arm’s distance. But he knew what Fin and Hollis were doing there and had already vowed to assist them in whatever way he could.
He glared at Fin and Hollis with fire in his eyes, but Fin knew the man’s anger was not directed at him.
“What happened, Henry?” Fin asked.
The man gritted his teeth. “The Duke was the victim of another assassination attempt,” he growled.
“Is the Duke all right?”
He nodded. “We got to the assassin before he could finish the job,” he said, sounding relieved. “The Duke is fine.”
“Good. That’s good news,” Fin said. ‘But how did it happen? I saw guards on the door--”
“He created a diversion. Murdered somebody in the physician’s chambers first,” Henry said. “Got the guards down there then tried to slip into the Duke’s bedchamber. Luckily, somebody saw him going in.”
“Do ye have him in custody?”
He nodded. “He has been taken to the dark cells already.”
Fin felt his heart and stomach lurch. He could not believe a second assassin had tried to kill the Duke. Fin was relieved they’d caught him in the act. His mind flashed back to images of Castor and the mystery man in the garden, and it made him wonder about the timing of it all. Had Castor ordered the unseen man to kill the Duke?
As he turned it over in his mind, a second thought belatedly occurred to him. He cut a glance at Hollis then turned back to Henry.
“Who was killed in the physician’s chamber?” he asked.
Henry’s jaw clenched. “The kid who tried to assassinate the Duke before.”
Fin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Marcus had been murdered. And another attempt had been made on the Duke’s life. Which meant there was an even larger conspiracy afoot. But something didn’t feel right about this whole thing. He could not say what it was exactly, but some things were not adding up for him. It all seemed too… coincidental. Too neat and tidy to be believable to him.
Fin thought that if Marcus had been coerced into attempting to poison the Duke it stood to reason that this second assassin had been made to do the same thing. Which brought him back to what he had seen in the garden. If the man they had in custody was the
same man he had seen in the garden, it meant that Castor was the one ordering the Duke’s assassination. It meant he was the one pulling strings behind the scenes.
But how would he prove the assassin was the same man he had seen in the garden with Castor? Marcus had proven unwilling to name the Baron of Elix as the man who had coerced him into attempting to kill the Duke, and Fin did not see any reason to think this other man would be any more willing to name Castor either. But he would not know for sure until he questioned the prisoner.
“Has he said anythin’ yet?” Fin asked. “Anythin’ at all?”
Henry shook his head. “No. He’s refusing to speak.”
Fin nodded. “All right,” he said. “I will need tae speak tae him. Which means I am goin’ tae need him alive, Henry.”
The Captain gritted his teeth, and a low growl escaped his throat. He, like his men, wanted nothing more than to string the would-be assassin up by the neck and hang him from the curtain wall parapet. Henry and his men were loyal to the Duke. They would die for the man in a heartbeat. Fin had always considered that the best testament to the man’s character he could find. That other men would lay down their lives for him spoke well of Duke Hamilton.
“I mean it, Henry,” Fin pressed. “Ye can have him when I’m done with him. But until I am, he’s nae tae be harmed. Dae ye understand?”
He blew out a long breath. “I understand.”
“Please pass the word along tae yer men.”
Henry nodded. “I will.”
Fin nodded, content to take the man at his word. Though a hard man, he knew that Henry was a man of honor. A man of his word. And when he gave that word, he would follow through with it or die trying. It was good enough for Fin. He turned to Hollis and gave him a nod.
“With me,” he said.
Together, they strode through the halls, weaving around the gathered men as they went. They were still enraged, but the murderous energy that had infused the crowd earlier was slowly starting to bleed away as cooler heads prevailed. For that, Fin was grateful.
Hollis followed him into the office and shut the door behind them as Fin turned and leaned against the desk, folding his arms over his chest. A frown pulled the corners of his mouth down as he tried to sort everything out in his own mind. So much had happened, and the sun was not even up yet.
“Tis goin’ tae be a long day,” Fin said.
Hollis nodded. “Aye. Certainly seems tae be startin’ that way.”
Fin filled him in on everything that had happened, telling him about seeing Castor in the garden with the mystery man. He went on to share his theory that the man he’d seen Castor with was the same man who had murdered Marcus and had tried to assassinate the Duke.
“Tis a fine story,” he said. “But how are ye goin’ tae prove it?”
“That’s the problem,” Fin said. “I need him tae confess and name the man pullin’ thae strings.”
Hollis chuffed. “Good luck with that,” he said. “We couldnae even get Marcus tae tell us. And he was scared.”
“Then I’ll have tae make sure the assassin kens that I’m much scarier than the man he’s protectin’.”
Hollis sighed and stroked his beard as he thought about it. Fin didn’t know how he would convince the assassin that he was scarier than whoever he was protecting. He had no leverage. And the man pulling the strings did. It was probably the same threat he had used on Marcus - that he would kill his entire family if he did not do as he was told.
“I need ye tae dae somethin’ for me, Hollis.”
“Anythin’.”
“I need ye tae get back tae Westmarch Hall,” Fin said. “If they took another run at the Duke, they may try takin’ another run at Col’n Gillian tae. I want tae make sure they’re protected’n ken what’s happenin’ down here.”
Hollis hesitated. “I daenae like the idea of leavin’ ye here alone.”
“I’m a big boy,” Fin replied. “I can take care of ma self.”
Hollis sighed. “All right,” he finally said. “But once I ken things at Westmarch’re fine, I’m comin’ back here.”
Fin nodded. “Good. That’s good.”
“Just keep yer arse out of trouble ‘til I get back.”
“I’ll dae me best.”
Hollis grinned. “Daenae forget, I ken ye,” he said. “So dae better than that.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fin
He looked down at the young man lying on the table before him. His skin was pale and waxy, his eyes wide open and unseeing, fixed on some point far in the distance. Fin’s eyes traveled down to the ragged slash across his throat. He noticed the dried, crusty blood around the wound, and the dark, viscous pool he laid in.
“I’m sorry, lad,” Fin whispered. “I didnae mean for this tae happen tae ye.”
Fin knew Marcus was bound for the headsman anyway. There was no way he would avoid the executioner’s axe for attempting to assassinate the Duke. The fact that he failed, and the Duke lived did not mean his sentence would somehow be lighter. Marcus was going to die either way. Fin just never meant for it to happen in such a grisly way.
“I suppose it saves them the trouble of having a public execution,” Walter said. “Shame it had to end this way, though.”
“He didnae deserve tae be cut down like a sick dog in the middle of the night,” Fin growled. “He didnae deserve tae be bled out like that.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Fin found himself wondering what the last moments of Marcus’ life were like. Had he been scared? In pain? Had he even realized what was happening? Fin sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. He knew this was not his fault. Marcus brought this upon himself by trying to kill the Duke. It did not matter that he was being coerced to do so, it was his decision to do it. But even though he knew it was not his fault and that Marcus only had himself to blame, he could not help but feel responsible anyway.
“He was a kid,” Fin said. “He shouldnae’ve been caught up in this in the first place.”
“Maybe it was precisely because he was a kid that he was caught up in it in the first place,” Walter replied.
“What dae ye mean?”
“If he was coerced into doing this like you believe, maybe the person doing the coercing picked Marcus because he is young. Vulnerable,” Walter offered. “Or was young and vulnerable, at any rate. He was easy to scare. To coerce.”
Fin nodded thoughtfully. “That could be,” Fin said. “That makes a lot of sense.”
They both fell silent for a long moment as Fin continued to look down at the torn, bloody body of the boy. He was doing his best to stifle his guilt but was having a difficult time.
“So, what is your next move?” Walter asked.
“I’m going tae question the assassin.”
“Take a deep breath and try to relax, son,” Walter said. “You are not going to do yourself any favors if you go charging into that cell like an enraged bull.”
Fin blew out a long breath, recognizing the wisdom in the man’s words. “Aye. I ken ye’re right,” he said. “But part of me wants tae rip the man’s head off his neck with me bare hands.”
Walter nods. “I know. Just keep in mind that you will not get the answers you seek if you tear the man’s head off his body.”
Fin nodded. “Aye. I’ll dae me best tae restrain myself.”
“Good plan.”
Fin took one last look at Marcus, stretched on the table, laying in a puddle of his own blood and felt the corners of his mouth pulling downward in a frown. He marched himself out of the physician's chambers and down the corridor, heading for the black cells.
He needed answers, and the only person who could give those to him was in a dark cell below the keep.
“Dae ye have his name?”
Henry shook his head, a grim expression on his face. “No, unfortunately,” he said. “He will not give it to us. Nor will he tell us anything else of consequence.”
“He’s nae
said much, eh?”
He shook his head again. “Not a word,” Henry said. “He’s got a zealot’s determination and resolve, I will say that.”
“Does he work here at the castle?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” Henry said. “I like to think it is my job to know most of the household staff, and I’ve never seen him.”
Fin sighed. This was not going to be easy and getting information on this guy might prove to be more than a bit difficult. He couldn’t even get Marcus, a scared kid, to talk. Fin was not sure what made him think he was going to be able to get this man, a hardened assassin, to spill everything to him. But all he could do was try. And if he came up empty, he would have to go from there and rethink his position.
“Where is he?” Fin asked.
“Third gate on the right.”
Fin nodded his thanks and walked down the short corridor. Grabbing a small stool, he set it down in front of the man’s cell. Fin sat down and stared at the man in the cage. He was in dark breeches and a dark shirt. He wore no cloak, and he was barefoot. Fin assumed the guards had taken them away from him.
Outwardly, there was nothing truly remarkable about him. He was of average height and had brown hair, brown eyes, and was so plain, you would forget him five minutes after you met him. Which was probably advantageous if you were an assassin.
“What’s yer name?” Fin asked.
The man just stared straight ahead, his eyes boring into the wall across from him, and not even bothering to look over at Fin.
“Name,” Fin repeated.
Again the man said nothing. Did nothing. He just sat there, staring at the wall, looking like he was carved from the very same stone the cells were.
“Ye murdered a boy,” Fin said.
A low chuckle drifted out of the man’s mouth. “The lad was bound for the headsman’s block anyway,” he said. “Ye know it as well as I.”
So, he’s Irish. Twas not much, but twas somethin’ tae start with.
Siren of the Highlands: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Cherrythorn) Page 8
