Scoundrel of Dunborough

by Margaret Moore

  So she would sell the house to Ewald and either pay off all her sister’s debts or pay what she could and leave the rest unsettled. If she didn’t have enough to bribe the bishop to send the mother superior away, there were other convents. Before she left Dunborough she would write to Roland and tell him her concerns about Duncan MacHeath’s death, suggesting he ask more questions about what had happened the day Audrey and her bodyguard had died, particularly of Norbert.

  Lizabet returned empty-handed, just as Celeste had expected. “I couldn’t find any, Sister.”

  “Never mind. I’ll be all right. I’d like you to go to Norbert and Ewald on your way back to the castle and tell them I’ve decided to sell the house and all its contents tomorrow. If they want to buy them, they should come after lauds. As soon as the sale’s concluded, I shall be returning to Saint Agatha’s. Did Bartholemew and Marmaduke—”

  “Yes, Sister. They came and took the chests away. You’re planning to return to the convent tomorrow? With a sprained ankle?”

  “Since Audrey’s mare belongs to me now, I can ride.”

  “Where is Daisy? I didn’t see a horse.”

  “She ran off when I fell, but she’ll come back, I’m sure, to the castle if not here. Gerrard brought me home on his horse.” Celeste didn’t want to tell Lizabet any more about what had happened, so she hurried on. “Please have a groom bring her here tomorrow if she returns to the castle, and tell Gerrard I will have no guards tonight. I would rather be completely alone when I spend my last night in my family’s home.”

  Because this would be her last chance to search. She didn’t want to have to worry that a guard would see the light and wonder what she was about or, worse, come to the door demanding to be told.

  “Gerrard won’t like that, Sister,” Lizabet said warily.

  “Whether he likes it or not, it’s my wish,” Celeste replied, her tone growing harsher as her patience and self-control frayed. “If he does send guards, I shall send them back, however many times I must. Now please go and do as I bid you.”

  The maidservant’s’s lip trembled and her limpid gray eyes filled with tears. “And your meal, Sister?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

  Celeste was sorry to upset her, yet she wanted so much to be alone. “I can see to that myself.”

  With a gulp, Lizabet nodded. She took her cloak from the hook near the kitchen door and ran outside.

  Celeste started to rise, then sank back down and covered her face with her hands. She was in pain and aching.

  But not because of her ankle.

  * * *

  The door to the hall flew open, banging hard against the stone wall as Gerrard strode in. He tore off his cloak and tossed it toward a peg, not bothering to pick it up when it landed on the floor instead.

  Peg, Arnhelm and the other servants and soldiers in the hall leaped to their feet, not sure what this sudden fury heralded.

  “Wine!” Gerrard called out, sending Peg scurrying to the buttery without so much as a backward glance before he just as abruptly turned on his heel and marched back to the entrance.

  “Have the wine brought to the solar,” Gerrard ordered. He opened the door with as much force as before and, without a cloak, stepped out into the cold air.

  Arnhelm looked at the soldiers, who were likewise preparing to leave the hall—although to do what, he had no idea. “What’s the matter? We’re off duty now.”

  Hedley took him aside while the other men gathered up their helmets and gloves and went to put on their cloaks. “Precautions, that’s what,” he quietly informed him. “Habit, too, I suppose. When old Sir Blane was in a furious mood, he’d mete out all kinds of punishments for neglect of duty, or anything else that struck his fancy. Best not to be seen.”

  “That was Gerrard, not his father.”

  “Nevertheless, precautions,” Hedley repeated. “Now I’m off to see that my chain mail’s all in order.”

  Thinking it was better to be safe than sorry, Arnhelm also left the hall.

  * * *

  Was that somebody tapping on the door, or was there a rat somewhere?

  Gerrard listened again and decided it was somebody outside the door.

  God’s blood, why couldn’t they leave him alone? They let Roland brood in silence often enough. Did they never think he might want to be by himself, to have time to contemplate things he’d done?

  Things he was sorry he’d done. Things he would never do again, as well as things he would.

  The tapping continued like an annoying drip and he gave up hope that whoever it was would go away. At least he could be sure it wasn’t Celeste. She wouldn’t have been able to walk here tonight, not with a sore and swollen ankle.

  “What is it?” he growled as he opened the door.

  Lizabet stood on the threshold, nervously wringing her hands.

  “What are you doing here?” She should be with Celeste, especially with her ankle sprained. “Shouldn’t you be with Sister Augustine?”

  “Sh-she sent me here, sir,” the young woman stammered.

  “Come in,” he replied with glum invitation. Best he should hear what Celeste wanted him to know and get it over with.

  He swung the door wider and left it open as Lizabet came into the room. He would rather have a draft than run the risk of tales of impropriety in the solar.

  In spite of that precaution, the maidservant sidled into the chamber as if she feared he was going to have her for his evening meal.

  “So what message does Sister Augustine send?” he asked, trying to sound less annoyed. After all, it wasn’t Lizabet’s fault he’d been angry. He shouldn’t have entered the hall like one of the Furies, despite how upset he was. Nor should he have left it so abruptly, regardless of the way the soldiers and servants were staring at him.

  God’s wounds, why couldn’t he control his actions and his feelings? Why couldn’t he be more a master of himself and his longings? He should have let go of Celeste at once, even if she’d kissed him first, and even if that passionate encounter had been like a dream come true.

  “Sister Augustine said to tell you she’s selling the house tomorrow and going back to Saint Agatha’s and she doesn’t want any guards tonight.”

  “What?”

  Lizabet’s big eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, sir, that’s what she said to tell you.”

  Once again Gerrard cursed himself for an impetuous fool. No wonder Celeste wanted to leave, and soon. He’d made her feel she could be safe only within the confines of the convent. And he could hardly blame her for going when he was thinking of leaving himself. Once she sold the house and contents, there would be no reason for her to stay.

  The guards, though...that was another matter. It was still dangerous for her, for any woman, to be in that house alone.

  “She also said if you did post guards, she’d send them back, however many times you sent them.”

  “Then I won’t.” He knew better than to try to force Celeste to accept the guards. He would find another way to make sure she was safe while she was still in Dunborough.

  Lizabet took a deep, quavering breath and straightened her shoulders. “I trust you will, sir, in spite of what she said. She can’t know what it’s like out in the world.”

  “Have no fear, Lizabet. I will see that she’s kept safe, and I commend you for your concern.”

  And the nerve to confront him.

  The maidservant still looked doubtful, so he decided to risk being more specific. “I will personally see that she’s not in any danger, although I would rather this didn’t become common knowledge.”

  At last Lizabet’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Thank you, sir!”

  “Now I suppose you should see what Verdan’s up to. Say nothing to him, either. I like the fellow, but I fear he
couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.”

  “No, sir,” she agreed with a giggle. “Not a drop of guile in him,” she added, before she hurried away.

  * * *

  Verdan frowned as he regarded his brother later that night. He’d taken the first opportunity he could to get Arnhelm alone since he’d talked to Lizabet after her return from the D’Orleau house. They stood near the kitchen in the shadow of the inner wall.

  “Lizabet said Sister Augustine was different when she got back,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “It was like she’d taken a potion and given up the ghost. She’s sellin’ the house and everything in it tomorrow and goin’ back to Saint Agatha’s. She had Lizabet tell Norbert and Ewald to come to see her in the morning.”

  Arnhelm rubbed his bearded chin. “Aye, something happened, all right. Gerrard came into the hall like a whirlwind and then shut himself up in the solar. Hedley said to get out o’ his way, and I did, as fast as I could.”

  “Any other time I’d say you was after any excuse to see Peg in the kitchen,” his brother replied, “but I don’t blame you for gettin’ out of his way. Lizabet had to go to the solar and tell him that Sister Augustine won’t have any guards tonight—her last night in her family’s home, she said. He was cross as a trapped boar at first, then changed his mind. Lizabet said not to worry about it, but I don’t like it. Maybe we ought to go there and watch from the stable or somewhere.”

  “Maybe, or maybe Lizabet knows somethin’ we don’t.” Arnhelm took hold of his brother’s arm and pulled him deeper into the shadows. “Gerrard and Sister Augustine rode out alone today, didn’t they?” he whispered. “No guards at all.”

  “Lizabet said they went to see Martha, and on the way back Sister Augustine fell and hurt her ankle. At least that’s what she told Lizabet, and she was limpin’. Daisy came back without her, too.”

  “They were gone a long time,” Arnhelm noted significantly, raising his brows.

  Verdan’s eyes widened. “You don’t think they...?” He shook his head. “No, I won’t believe it.”

  “Shhh, you nit!” his brother warned. “I’m not sayin’ that they did anythin’ they shouldn’t. Maybe her horse did throw her. Maybe that’s why they took so long, but she’s a good-lookin’ woman and he’s...well, he’s Gerrard. Just in case somethin’ did happen, though, somethin’ that upset her, I think we ought to let Sir Roland know Gerrard might be back to his old ways and Sister Augustine might be returnin’ to the convent because of somethin’ he done.”

  Verdan stifled a groan of dismay. “You’re not to go back until you’ve got a message from Gerrard.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  “Lady Mavis will be sorry, and Sir Roland, too.”

  “Not as much as we might be if we keep quiet and they find out another way that something disgraceful’s happened.”

  Arnhelm suddenly reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him away from the tree toward the kitchen.

  “What the—”

  “Shhh!” Arnhelm commanded, and he nodded toward the tree. They both watched in stunned surprise as Gerrard swung himself up into the lower branches, light as a cat, then over the wall.

  The two men exchanged wide-eyed stares, until Verdan whispered, “You’d best leave at first light.”

  * * *

  Gerrard spent the longest, coldest night of his life huddled in the branches of a large tree outside the fence of the D’Orleau house. From there, though, he could see three sides of the building. There were no windows or other openings on the fourth.

  Every so often, he saw the flicker of a candle in one of the windows. Either Celeste had a lot to prepare before she left, or she was spending an equally sleepless night. Maybe her ankle was worse than he’d thought. He should have insisted Lizabet return and remain with her.

  Too late now. How would he explain how he’d come by his concern?

  As the night wore on, some bushes beneath him stirred. He held his breath, scanning them for what might have caused the noise. It might be house-breakers, or so he thought until the biggest cat he’d ever seen dashed from the bushes to the stable and in through the half-open door.

  At last the light went out. Celeste must have finally retired.

  Did she ever feel as lonely as he did? he wondered. Would she miss Dunborough at all when she returned to the convent?

  Would she miss him?

  Or had he thoroughly destroyed, once and for all, any affection she might have had for him?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gerrard shook Ralph awake at the crack of dawn.

  The sergeant at arms was up in an instant and reaching for his sword before Gerrard could say a word. “No need for that!” he quickly told him. “We’re not under attack.”

  Ralph blinked and regarded him warily, as if he wasn’t quite sure he could believe the reassurance.

  “Get dressed and summon the men to the hall,” Gerrard said. “All of them, including the ones on watch.”

  “Sir?”

  “I have an announcement to make.”

  Only then did Ralph seem to realize that Gerrard was dressed in his mail and surcoat. “You’re going somewhere?”

  “Yes. Now summon the men.”

  As Ralph reached for his breeches, Gerrard turned to find Verdan watching him from his cot with wide, amazed eyes. The man looked as tired as he felt, and Gerrard wondered if he might have spent the night elsewhere, too. He would say nothing about that; Verdan’s morality, or lack of it, was not his concern. “Since you’re already awake, go to the kitchen and tell Florian I want every servant in the hall, as well.”

  Verdan sat up. “He’ll be doing the bread.”

  “Then he can stay in the kitchen. But I want everyone else there.”

  “Aye, sir!” Verdan replied. As he, too, rose and reached for his clothes, the other men began to stir.

  “Get dressed and stay in the hall, every one of you,” Gerrard ordered. “I have something to say and I only want to say it once.” He looked around at the sleepy men, some rubbing their eyes, others scratching, a few stretching and more than one yawning. “Where’s Arnhelm?”

  The half-dressed Verdan cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. “He’s seein’ to his horse.”

  “Fetch him and the grooms and stable boys, too.”

  “Aye, sir,” Verdan replied.

  * * *

  By the time Verdan returned from the stable, where Arnhelm was not, most of the soldiers and all the servants except Florian were in the hall, including Lizabet.

  “What’s happening?” she asked in a whisper, grasping Verdan’s hand.

  “Gerrard has something he wants to say to everybody,” he answered just as quietly.

  “About what?”

  “Not a notion.”

  “Where’s your brother?”

  Verdan didn’t reply, except to hush her and nod at Gerrard, who was standing in the center of the dais. The garrison commander of Dunborough wore his chain mail and surcoat, his sword belt and gauntlet gloves, and carried his helmet under his arm. He also looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink.

  “I have decided to give up command of the garrison and leave Dunborough,” Gerrard announced, his expression as grim as his twin brother’s could be and maybe even more.

  “S’truth,” Verdan muttered, and other hushed exclamations filled the hall.

  Gerrard waited for the whispers and murmurs to die down before he continued. “I will be going to DeLac today to inform my brother of my decision. Ralph, you will be in command of the garrison until Roland either returns or appoints another.”

  “Damn,” Verdan whispered, sidling toward the kitchen door. “I’ve got to go, Lizabet. I’ll be back—”

  “Verdan!”r />
  The soldier turned as still as a stone when Gerrard’s voice rang out in the hall, and his face flushed red as poppies.

  “Where is Arnhelm?”

  Verdan swallowed hard. “H-he’s, uh, he’s somewhere about, Gerrard. Sir.”

  “Find him and tell him we’ll ride to DeLac together.”

  “Yes, sir!” Verdan replied. He gave Lizabet a swift farewell glance, then hurried from the hall.

  While from the kitchen entrance, a grinning Lewis slipped away.

  * * *

  Celeste rose slowly, her ankle sore and her knees stiff from kneeling on the hard wooden floor of the bedchamber. This time, she hadn’t been praying. She’d been knocking on each of the panels that lined the room, thinking there might be a hollow hiding place behind one of them.

  All for naught, unfortunately. Her time had run out, for dawn had broken. Today she must sell the house and go. It was leave or endanger her chance for the peaceful security of the religious life, and for a man who would never be hers.

  A knocking on the front door interrupted her mournful thoughts.

  At least one of the merchants who wanted to purchase the house must have arrived. It couldn’t be Gerrard. Things had been so strained when he had left her here that she doubted she would ever see him again.

  She limped down the stairs and opened the door, to find both Ewald and Norbert standing on the threshold. Ewald smiled and bade her good morning. Norbert looked like a man about to engage in a battle to the death.

  Which he was going to lose. She wasn’t going to sell the house to him, no matter how much he offered, not after what he’d said about Audrey. However, she wasn’t going to let Ewald be the sole bidder, either.

  “Please come in,” she said, standing aside to let them pass.

  Doing her best not to limp, for she didn’t want to answer any questions about her injury, she led them to the main room, where the carpet still covered the floor. The ginger cat, which had been sitting on the windowsill, jumped down and walked sedately from the room as if unimpressed by any of them.