by C. J. Archer
"How is that different to money?" I asked.
"Well…" Kitty looked to Miranda but Miranda merely shrugged. "It just is."
"And what about her mother?"
"Lady Deerhorn is prancing around the palace with her nose in the air. You'd think she was the king's favorite. Lord Xavier has become even more arrogant, if you can believe it."
"We try to avoid the Deerhorns," Miranda told me. "Particularly Lord Xavier. I don't want his attention."
"There is someone else paying Miranda extra attention lately, too," Kitty said with a smug smile. "A certain Vytill representative with only one arm."
"Lord Barborough?" I blurted out. When they both looked at me, I added, "I've heard about him."
"So you'll know he has two arms," Miranda said pointedly.
"One doesn't work," Kitty shot back. "But I suppose only one is necessary in his line of work. Anyway, he has been very attentive to our mutual friend, Josie. Very friendly indeed."
I picked up my teacup and took my time sipping. I wanted to warn them about Lord Barborough, but it would only lead to questions I couldn't answer. I'd promised Ruth not to tell anyone what had happened to her, and I'd promised Dane and the others not to mention the memory loss and magic.
"Be careful," I simply said. "Make sure you know him thoroughly before being alone with him."
Miranda cocked her head to the side, frowning. "Why?"
I lifted a shoulder. "I am not convinced his arm is useless. It may be an affectation."
Miranda's frown deepened. She suspected there was more.
"Why would someone lie about that?" Kitty asked, rising. "Of course it doesn't work. Nobody would pretend to have only one arm."
"He has two arms, Kitty," Miranda said again.
"We ought to get back, Miranda. Your mother will worry."
"As will your husband," Miranda said, following her out.
"Hardly." Kitty paused at the front door and, with a deep breath, lifted her skirts. "This is a day for new adventures," she declared and stepped onto the street. Her shoes squelched in the shallow mud.
"I don't envy her maid having to clean those shoes," Miranda said, laughing.
She kissed my cheek and promised to come visit me again, alone next time. "I'll let you know if we discover Lord Barborough's arm works after all."
I bit the inside of my cheek and waved them off, wishing I hadn't given them reason to spy on the Vytill representative when I didn't know how dangerous he could be.
Chapter 9
There was still some cake left over for Dane when he arrived late in the afternoon. He declared it delicious and was impressed with my baking skills. I stared at my second slice for the day and thanked him. Hailia would find an appropriate punishment for my small lie but it was worth it to see the satisfied look on his face as he finished his slice.
"How long can you stay?" I asked.
"The rest of the day. The king is resting now. When he awakes, he'll dress for dinner then dine with his favorites and play cards until the early hours of the morning. He doesn't need me and the men know their duties."
"Good."
He paused with the teacup halfway to his mouth. The gaze that watched me over the rim turned smoky. "You have plans for me?"
I gulped.
"Josie?" He set the cup down. The heat had left his eyes. Or perhaps I'd simply imagined it in the first place.
"Yes, I do," I said. "We have to question some friends of Ivor's."
"Morgrain? Why?"
"To find out where he was early last night. He claims he was with Tammara Lowe, but she says he wasn't. She said he's been spending a lot of time with Ned Perkin, and I want to ask Ned if he saw Ivor last night, but I don't want to approach him alone. He's a local troublemaker, and I'd feel better if you were with me."
"What happened last night?" he asked carefully.
"Ingrid Swinson was raped."
"Merdu." He dragged his hand through his hair, down his face. When he pulled it away, his eyes were closed.
I told him all I knew, including when it had happened and how. "It seems similar to Ruth's attack," I finished.
He finally opened his eyes. "Yes."
"And Ivor lied about his whereabouts to me when I asked."
His gaze held mine. "I told you not to approach him."
"I didn't seek him out. I bumped into him in the street. The question is, why did he lie? He may have lied to make me jealous of his relationship with Tammara, or he may have lied because he's Ingrid's attacker."
"It sounds like an act of a guilty man."
I tended to agree. Ivor seemed guilty, yet I couldn't imagine him raping anyone, let alone Ingrid Swinson. In Ruth's case, she was a stranger to him, and it was a little easier to believe he might attack a woman he didn't know. But not someone he greeted when they passed in the street; someone whose brother he drank with at The Anchor.
"Is she going to tell the sheriff?" Dane asked.
"I don't know. It wouldn't surprise me if she doesn't. She's a strong woman, and she wouldn't want anyone to know this happened to her. Her father is also not a believer in the sheriff's brand of justice. If he does find her attacker, he'll enforce his own punishment."
He nodded slowly.
"There's something else, Dane." I'd debated with myself all day about what to tell him and how much. In the end, I decided to go with part of the truth. Telling him Brant had been waiting for me here would not achieve anything except a deeper fracture in their relationship. Brant hadn't hurt me, and I doubted now that he would. Whether he would harm other women or not, I wasn't yet convinced either way. "I saw Sergeant Brant late yesterday afternoon here in the village."
Except for the deep rise and fall of his chest, Dane went very still. "Go on."
"Since the rape occurred just after that time, it's possible he was still in the village. He was supposed to be on duty, wasn't he?"
He gave a single nod. Despite his silence and steady gaze, he was simmering with anger. I could see it in the rigidity of his body and sense it in the thick air that enveloped us.
I forged on. I had to tell him the rest. "He also admitted to sneaking away from his duties to search the palace for the cabinet."
His palms flattened on the table but he remained silent.
"Brant’s partner is covering for his absences and lied to you about his whereabouts the night of Ruth's rape."
His fingers curled slowly into fists, the light scratch of his nails on the wood the only sound in the silence. I wished he'd say something to break it—anything. But he simply sat there like a cold, forbidding statue.
"Dane," I said quietly, hardly daring to speak at all. I hoped hearing his real name would reach through the dark cloud shrouding him.
He blinked, and a moment later, said, "Thank you for informing me. Where did you see him?"
"I… That is…"
His gaze sharpened. "He came here, didn't he?"
I folded my arms over my chest to ward off the chill in my blood.
He pushed his chair back, scraping the feet on the floor. "I have to go."
"No, you can't." I sprang up and blocked the exit. It was pathetic and futile—Dane could easily move me—but I did it anyway. "We have to pay Ned Perkin a visit."
"It can wait." He reached for his sword, leaning against the wall by the door, but I snatched it away.
"We have to do it now, tonight." I didn't know why I wanted to protect Brant from the worst of Dane's temper. He didn't deserve it. All I knew was that Dane couldn't return like this, with fury so fierce it vibrated through him. If they fought, it would divide the guard ranks. Brant had said some men believed Dane was hiding something from them. This could force them to take sides, and I didn't want anyone taking his side over Dane's. Besides, there was a very good chance that Dane would get hurt as much or more than Brant.
"Josie, give me the sword." He didn't sound as angry but fury still swirled in the depths of his eyes.
"Not until
you agree to come with me. If you don't, I'll go on my own."
"You don't need to go at all. I will speak to him alone."
"You don't know where Ned Perkin lives. I do."
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He must have released some of the anger too because his features didn't look quite so hard. "Very well, but only on the condition that he doesn't see you. Point him out to me then leave."
"Agreed."
Dane's mood didn't invite conversation so we walked to Ned Perkin's house in silence. He wasn't at home, however, and his neighbor suggested we try The Anchor since he went there every night.
The Anchor was sandwiched between a half-built warehouse and the rope maker's workshop. Unlike the larger Mermaid's Tail tavern, The Anchor was a single level wooden structure, a relic among the new multi-level buildings near the harbor. Like the rope maker's workshop, it clung to its prominent position but would most likely one day concede to the wealthy shipping companies muscling into Mull.
"It's quite safe," I said to Dane when he hesitated outside the tavern. "Besides, you'll have me to protect you." It was a pathetic attempt to lighten his mood, and deserved to fail.
He watched two men enter the tavern and his gaze moved further along the street. He suddenly turned around, forcing me to do the same. "It's Barborough," he said.
"What's he doing here?" I asked.
"Good question." He checked over his shoulder. "He went in. You go home, I can manage on my own."
"But you won't know Ned Perkin when you see him."
"I'll ask one of the staff."
"I've come all this way. I'm not leaving."
"Your house is a mere few streets away."
"Unless you've forgotten, there's a rapist on the loose."
He swore under his breath. "Come with me then, but do as I say and stay out of sight."
"That won't be easy. We're walking into a tavern where most people know me."
"No we're not."
"But—"
"Stop talking and follow me," he said, scanning the vicinity.
I sighed. "You're very demanding."
"And you talk too much."
"Only when I'm nervous."
He took my hand in his. The soft leather of his riding glove was warm against my bare skin. The move left me utterly speechless, which was perhaps his intention. "Better?" he asked.
I nodded. My nerves still twitched, but from his touch, not anxiety.
"Is there another entrance?" he asked
"There's a lane off the street that runs along the back of those properties. You don't want to go through the front door?"
"I'm too conspicuous. I want to know why Barborough is here, and I doubt I'll learn the truth by asking. Let's go, while there's no one about."
He led me to the lane where dusk had already given way to darkness. The silhouettes of the buildings guided us to the tavern's courtyard. The Anchor had only one stable, permanently occupied by the old nag that pulled the tavern keeper's dray. We paused near the rear door, listening. I could just make out the hum of voices, the odd raucous laugh, the clank of tankards. Light filtered into the courtyard from a window beside the door. The voices seemed to be coming from there. The glass was grimy but I could make out the room and people well enough. It was a private room, used by small groups. My father used to play cards in there years ago, and the market stall holders used it for the occasional meeting.
One of the men inside stood up and the light caught his pale face, his golden hair. Ivor. I swallowed my gasp even though I doubted any of them could hear it.
The door suddenly opened and Dane pushed me back against the wall. He shielded me with his body, blocking my view of the courtyard. The gold braid at the shoulder of his uniform filled my vision. I lifted my gaze to his throat where a vein pulsed. If I stood on my toes, I could press my lips to it and feel the blood pumping through him, feel his warmth, his life. I could reassure myself that he was real.
But I didn't dare move. The person who'd come to the door mustn't have seen us, thanks to Dane's dark clothing and hair. He whistled a tune as a steady stream of water splashed against the fence. Only it probably wasn't water.
I settled my hands lightly on Dane's hips. I had to put them somewhere, after all. I felt rather than saw his head shift to peer down at me.
A moment later the man returned inside. Neither Dane nor I moved. For my part, I didn't want to. I was perfectly content where I was. Despite the sounds of the tavern, I felt like we were completely alone. With Dane so close, it was easy to forget where I was and why. So easy, in fact, that I threw caution away and gave in to my desires.
I reached up and cradled his head in my hands, drawing him down to me. It was a gentle tug that he could have resisted if he'd wanted to.
He did not. He lowered his head and skimmed his lips against mine. The touch was light, fleeting, a mere whisper of a kiss. Yet it promised so much more.
My lips parted with my sigh and I relaxed into him. It must have been the signal he needed. He circled his arms around me, splaying his hands at my back, and deepened the kiss.
It was as passionate as I'd hoped it would be. Despite his position of authority and strong willpower, I'd guessed at the emotions he tried to suppress. It was a relief to know his willpower wasn't strong enough to fight this.
I stroked his hair, raking my fingers through it. I lost sense of time and place, yet every other sense responded to him—the smell of leather and spice, his firm hold on my waist, the sound of his breath and the taste of cake and tea on his lips.
Then, suddenly, he let me go. He turned away and stood by the window, his back to me. I joined him and tried to pretend that I was concentrating on the task at hand when all I was doing was trying not to look at him, not to think about that kiss, and about what it meant.
I drew in a slow, measured breath and forced myself to take in the scene before me. Dane signaled for me to stay out of sight but I ignored him. I needed to see if Ned Perkin was inside. Besides, the window was so dirty, and the courtyard so dark, it was unlikely we'd be spotted.
None of the men seemed interested in the window anyway. All the attention was on Ned, standing at the front. Now that I was closer, I could make out what he was saying.
"This ain't right," Ned said with a shake of his fist. "Mull is our village, our home, and we got a right to say who can live here."
The other men nodded or spoke their agreement. I counted twenty-eight crammed into the small room, and I recognized all of them, including Ivor Morgrain and Lord Barborough. The latter sat quietly by the door, looking inconspicuous in ordinary working man's clothing. What was he doing at a village meeting?
"We need a law to protect us," Ned went on.
"We need more lawmakers to enforce the ones we have," said another man. "The sheriff can't cope."
"Aye," several voices chimed.
"What's the new king doing about it?" Ned asked. "That's what I want to know. It's his responsibility to make sure Glancia isn't taken over by Vytill scum. It's his responsibility to protect his people!"
"Aye!"
Ivor got to his feet and pointed in a westerly direction. "He's sitting on his arse in that big fancy palace, dancing with pretty ladies and eating Mull's best crays and drinking our best wines, but what's he giving back? What's he doing for us? Nothing. I've seen the palace from the inside. It's filled with gold. The walls are made of gold."
Hailia and Merdu, he was a liar, but a convincing one. All the villagers believed him. Lord Barborough merely smirked.
Ned continued with his speech in a loud voice, receiving nods of agreement from the others, but Barborough never gave an indication of his thoughts. None of the men gave an opposing view, and when Ned finished, he was applauded. He accepted a tankard and drank deeply, spilling some of the ale down his beard.
There were no more speeches and several quieter conversations mingled together; I could no longer hear what was said. Lord Barborough slipped out
of the room.
Dane tapped my arm and jerked his head, indicating we should leave. I followed him out of the courtyard and lane. He didn't hold my hand. He didn't even look at me.
"I still don't know why Barborough was there," I said when we reached the street. "No one seemed to mind his presence, which is odd."
Dane led the way back toward the street opposite the docks, not in the direction of home.
"You don't think it's odd that a Vytill lord would be at a meeting about Glancia business?" I pressed.
"No."
"Why not?"
"They were voicing their discontent."
I thought about it for a moment but still couldn't fathom what it meant. "Barborough is interested in magic," I said, thinking it through as I spoke. "He wants to prove the palace was created by magic. What does that have to do with those men?"
"I don't think it has anything to do with magic. Barborough is here as the Vytill representative. He's spying on us, on Glancia."
I gasped. "He can't do that!"
"He can if he doesn't get caught. My guess is he's either fueling the discontent of a few Mullians or merely observing it. Perhaps both."
"But he's from Vytill and those men hate Vytill. They want the Glancia borders closed against them. Why accept Barborough?"
"They might not know who he is or where he's from. He might have said he's from another Glancian village. Not everyone is as honest as you, Josie."
It sounded like a barb but I couldn't be sure. The light was poor and I could only see his profile in silhouette. "So you think he's going to report back on that meeting to his king?"
"That meeting and others. He'll report on the general mood here in Mull and the rest of Glancia. He'll tell King Phillip how the Glancians are unhappy with their new king, how their laws can't keep up with the extra people flooding into Mull. Phillip will use that to his advantage."
"To what end?"
"I don't know," he said darkly. "But by all accounts, he wanted to take over Glancia before Leon took the throne. Now that Vytill has lost The Thumb, and its treasury isn't being refilled as quickly, it's possible he wants Glancia even more."
