“We’d better hope it was her,” Duncan interrupted, irritated beyond measure. “If it wasn’t, we have no idea who else might have taken it. It would be just like her, too,” he added bitterly. “Come on. I’m going to get it back from her.”
“If you can,” Wildfire muttered, but he knelt for Duncan to climb into his saddle again.
Neither spoke on the ride back. Duncan left Wildfire next to the side door to the castle and, ignoring the throb of his stitched-up wound, he made his way up the staircase and down the hall to Alberta’s room.
Her door was open. She sat within, reading a book as usual. Duncan rapped his knuckles against the casing to let her know he was there.
She looked up with such unconcern that he instantly knew that she had expected him. “Ansel’s let you go, I see,” she said lightly.
He cut to the chase. “Where’s my armor?”
Alberta returned her attention to her book. “It’s safe.”
“You had no right to take it,” said Duncan, and he stepped forward into the room. “I’ve come to get it back.”
“No,” Alberta replied. She looked up again with that same aloof expression on her face. “You advised me to take control of the situation, so I have.” Then, she returned to reading.
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Of course it wasn’t. I took liberties, I’ll readily admit.”
“I need my armor, Alberta.” He didn’t bother with a title—at the moment he didn’t think she deserved one.
His familiarity didn’t faze her in the least. “No, Duncan, you don’t,” she replied. “One false move might tear that wound in your leg wide open again, and from the amount of blood you’ve already lost, it’ll be weeks before you’ve regained your strength. The last thing you need right now is to be riding around the countryside stirring up trouble.”
“That’s not your decision to make!”
“Obviously it is, since I’m the one who has your armor.”
He found it incredible that someone could be so completely stubborn.
Suddenly, she raised her eyes from her book and pinned him with a piercing stare. “You were going to disappear into oblivion without so much as a ‘by your leave,’” she said flatly. “You can give up that notion entirely. I’ll return your armor when you’ve fully recovered, and not a moment sooner.”
“I can leave without it,” he snapped. “It’s not as though I don’t have the means to have a new suit made.”
She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I wonder if it would fit me,” she said then, and her voice turned speculative. “I mean, if you disappeared and left your armor behind, I might just feel like putting it on and pretending to be Goldmayne myself. What sort of mischief would that cause, I wonder?”
“You’d be killed!” he protested in horror.
“Oh, but what do you care about that?” she said caustically. “If you disappear I really will put it on and go riding around the countryside—I’ve already provided Father with his spear tip, so who’s to say I’m not the real Goldmayne after all?”
He opened his mouth to retort but thought the better of it. “Of all the impossible—!” he muttered, and he stalked out of her room.
“So glad to see you up and about!” she called after him. He could tell from the smugness in her voice that she was proud of herself, too.
Wildfire was still waiting by the side of the castle when Duncan flung himself out the little door there.
The black scowl on his face was probably explanation enough, but he still announced, “She won’t give it back.”
“We can get another set from Otis,” said the horse.
“She says if I disappear without it, she’ll put it on herself and ride around the countryside stirring up mischief in my name. I wouldn’t put it past her, either.”
Wildfire snorted. “Neither would I.”
“Was she this difficult when you knew her before?”
He did not immediately respond, and Duncan thought that perhaps he had crossed a line by referring to Wildfire’s life prior to his curse.
“She was always a precocious child,” said the horse after a moment’s thought. “I don’t know that she was always this manipulative, but I can certainly see how her intelligence could lead her to that pastime. She was always getting into mischief because of boredom before—she’s kind of like you in that respect.”
“Take it back!” cried Duncan.
“Don’t be childish,” Wildfire told him. “At least you know she likes you. She wouldn’t concern herself with you otherwise.”
Duncan’s heart flip-flopped, but he mercilessly suppressed that feeling. “She just likes to be in control, that’s all,” he said disagreeably. “It has nothing to do with her liking or not liking me.”
“Suit yourself,” said Wildfire. “If we’re going to be staying here, though, you had probably better report to Gardener sometime soon.”
Resentfully he agreed. After returning the horse to his stall, he sought out his supervisor and found him at last in the second greenhouse.
Gardener swished his mustache in annoyance when he caught sight of him. “Well, well, well,” he said unpleasantly. “Look who’s finally reappeared.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Duncan sheepishly. “Princess Alberta made me see a surgeon, and he wouldn’t let me go until just today.”
“Clumsy oaf, falling on a rake,” Gardener muttered.
Duncan decided to embellish the lie. “A piece of it broke off in my leg,” he said cheerfully. He patted his pockets. “Where is it, now? I had it with me. I was going to try my luck with the king’s spear, but that’s all over with since a match has already been found.”
Gardener took a swipe at him, but Duncan ducked out of his reach. “A bit of rake for the hand of a princess!” the man cried contemptuously. “Don’t be getting so full of yourself, Scurvyhead!”
Duncan played his part perfectly. “I’m sorry!” he cried, and he held his arms protectively above his head. “I thought everyone was trying their luck! I know it wouldn’t really fit!”
He made such a pitiful figure that Gardener decided he wasn’t worth beating. “The hedge along the back wall still needs trimming,” he snarled instead. “Get to it!”
“Sir, yes sir!” said Duncan, and he scurried along his way.
As he went, he reflected on the sniveling, halfwit persona he had created for Scurvyhead. It was for his own protection, he knew, but he was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with it. He imagined what would have happened if he had kept the spear tip for himself and presented it before the king. Everyone would have laughed at him until it actually fit. Then, they would all have been astounded. He could imagine how red in the face Gardener would have become upon discovering the truth. The whole scene would have been quite comical. If not for Dame Groach and her continued pursuit…
Duncan stopped short and shook that thought from his head. Dame Groach notwithstanding, he was a peasant and had no business being anything other than a peasant. As nice as it was to imagine Gardener and any number of other people getting their comeuppance, the momentary satisfaction he might have felt wasn’t worth it.
Besides, claiming his rights as Sir Goldmayne would have earned him a princess for a bride, and the only princess he wanted would have kicked his teeth in if he dared to make such a choice. He wondered again what was wrong with him that he liked her so very much, even in the face of her conniving nature.
None of it mattered, he told himself. The spear’s point had been restored already and his secret identity was well-protected, even if he didn’t have the luxury of disappearing. Alberta certainly would never tell, and Ansel seemed tight-lipped enough to be trustworthy. Duncan simply had to carry on within the castle as he had before and hope that no more bands of marauders gathered to hunt after him.
And that was that.
Chapter 28
He resumed his task of trimming the back hedge. In his two-day absence, no one else had pi
cked up where he had left off. Sometimes he wondered what the other under-gardeners spent all their time doing, but he knew that there were plenty enough chores across the extensive castle grounds. The back hedge was simply a low priority except for the most maligned among their ranks, namely him.
Not half an hour later, he felt ready to topple over into the grass. Ansel had warned him that his stamina would be weak. Duncan had always taken it for granted before, accustomed as he was to working long hours. He stopped to lie down in the meager shade of the hedge.
“At this rate, I’m never going to finish,” he murmured as he surveyed the untrimmed length that remained. He had to get it finished, though. After so many weeks of tireless work, any reduction of his productivity would bring him under Gardener’s scrutiny.
Everything would have been so much easier if Alberta had just let him go. He had half a mind to tell her as much, too, their difference in rank notwithstanding.
A shout from the direction of the castle interrupted these musings. Duncan rose to one elbow and saw a page boy sprinting toward him.
“Oy! Scurvyhead!” the boy yelled, and Duncan’s heart dropped into his stomach. He had been caught resting on the job. Quickly he stood, brushed the dirt from his clothing and made certain his wig was on straight. The page stopped just in front of him, an ill-tempered scowl on his face. “You’re wanted up at the castle,” he reported.
“What for?” asked Duncan.
“They only tell me who to fetch, not why,” the page retorted. “Come on. It’s not nice to make Princess Bellinda wait.”
“Not Alberta?” Duncan asked sharply. The only thing Bellinda ever wanted him for was to tell stories of Goldmayne. He didn’t think he could stomach that today.
The page looked him over with grudging sympathy. “Princess Alberta’s off on her morning ride,” he said. “You’re safe from her for the moment. Hurry up, now.”
He allowed the boy to lead him back to the castle. Though the prospect of having to tell Bellinda more stories wasn’t appealing, he was also grateful for the interruption to his work. The interior of the castle was blissfully cool in comparison with the rising summer heat.
The page deposited Duncan at a parlor door. “I’ve brought you Scurvyhead, your Highness,” he said into the room, and he blushed with boyish self-consciousness.
“Thank you,” she replied from where she sat within. “You may go. Come in, Scurvyhead.”
Duncan hesitated only briefly before he obeyed. Princess Bellinda sat upon a sofa, an embroidery hoop resting on her lap. There was no one else in the room. Duncan had expected Prince Perceval and a handful of adoring courtiers at the very least.
Bellinda watched him enter. “You’re limping,” she remarked before he could so much as bow before her.
The blood drained from his face, but he mustered Scurvyhead’s foolish smile. “I tripped and fell on a rake,” he told her. “It’s nothing, your Highness.”
“When was this?” Bellinda inquired innocently. Duncan instantly wondered what she knew.
“A couple of days ago. I’ve already been to a surgeon to have it stitched up, though.”
She hummed and then abruptly changed the subject. “How’s your mother?”
The question wasn’t terribly out of the ordinary, especially given her understanding of his mother’s health, but the way she asked it seemed calculating. He was now certain that she at least suspected something.
Duncan swallowed his nerves, determined to give nothing away. “She’s well, last I heard. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”
“You should sit,” said Bellinda, and she gestured to a chair next to hers. When Duncan did not immediately drop into it, she added, “Your injury from the rake is probably hurting you. I’d feel terrible if you suffered any pain while standing on my account. Sit.”
He obeyed, but he watched her warily from the corner of his eyes. She stabbed her needle into her embroidery fabric and slowly pulled it through. Duncan wondered how long she meant to sit in silence. He certainly was not going to speak out of turn.
“I feel quite stupid, you know,” said Bellinda at long last. “I really should have put things together a lot sooner than this.” She looked up then, her blue eyes piercing.
Duncan’s best course of action was to feign ignorance. “Put things together?” he repeated. “Was something broken?”
Bellinda was not amused. For an instant her expression mirrored Alberta’s customary scowl so closely that his heart stuttered in his chest. He diverted his gaze to the corner.
“Did you know there’s a bundle of armor in Alberta’s closet?” Bellinda asked.
The question was so abrupt that he could not stop his instinctive reaction. Wide eyes snapped to her face and then averted again, but not soon enough.
“There’s a lovely gold tassel on the helmet,” Bellinda continued, not an ounce of pleasure in her voice. “I really shouldn’t snoop around Alberta’s closet, I know, but when I run out of something I do hate to bother her. And that armor wasn’t there the last time I went snooping.”
Duncan looked nervously to the open parlor door. “She’s always collecting odd things, isn’t she?” he asked, his mouth suddenly like cotton.
For an excruciating moment, Princess Bellinda simply stared at him. Somehow, he managed to meet her gaze.
“It was the spear tip that really sent me down the right trail,” she said at last. “What a coincidence that Alberta should witness someone tossing it over the garden wall from her window, and then that she should be able to locate such a tiny point out in all of that grass! Father might be fooled, even Mae seems to accept the explanation, but I know Alberta better than either of them.”
“Your Highness,” Duncan interrupted helplessly, “isn’t your sister the one you should be discussing this with?”
“Has she threatened you?” Bellinda asked.
“No!” he cried, but he immediately amended that statement. “That is… yes, she has. But she threatens everyone, doesn’t she? I mean, she does make threats, but when she happens to discover secrets, she’s also very good about keeping them.” He was trying his hardest, in the most circuitous way possible, to let her know that Sir Goldmayne’s secret was not something Alberta had threatened him to keep. He had never wanted it discovered in the first place.
“So you expect me to believe that you gave it to her of your own free will?”
His brain skidded to a halt. She was still talking about the spear point, he realized. “Of course I did,” he said. “What was I supposed to do with it?”
“You could’ve brought it directly to Father,” said Bellinda plainly.
Duncan frowned. “Look, I don’t mean to speak out of place, your Highness, but you don’t seem to understand my position. I’m an illiterate peasant.”
“What does that matter? There are plenty of stories where someone of low birth—”
“I don’t believe in fairy tales,” he interrupted before she could finish her thought. “It’s not that I don’t think they actually happen,” he added, for indeed he had seen and heard enough by now to know that such things were possible. “I just don’t believe in them. I can’t put my trust in a happy outcome, not with as many hurdles as I still see in front of me. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”
Bellinda stared, wordless. Duncan thought it was best to take his leave. He stood and bowed, but as he straightened again, her voice broke the silence.
“I really liked you, you know,” she said quietly. “You were nice and hard-working, like you were always trying to do your best. This isn’t doing your best. This is hiding in the shadows.”
“Sometimes that’s the best a person can do,” he replied. Her gaze snapped up to his face. He bowed his head again. “Good afternoon, your Highness.”
He left then. He thought Bellinda would keep his secret under wraps, but there was nothing he could do to force her silence. He was half-inclined to go straight to Alberta’s room, retrieve his armor from her c
loset, and be gone from the castle before any rumors could begin to circulate.
He had taken the servants’ passage that would lead him there, but even as he paused at the base of the stairs and debated whether to go up or out, the outside door swung inward, and he found himself face to face with none other than Princess Alberta.
She recovered her wits quicker than he did. “What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.
Duncan had had quite enough of veiled accusations for one day. “Your sister summoned me,” he replied. He might have left it at that, but instead he boldly continued, “It seems she discovered a suit of armor in your closet and drew some conclusions.”
Alberta’s eyes widened, but then her brows drew together in a scowl. “What did you tell her?”
“As little as I possibly could,” said Duncan sourly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a hedge to trim.”
“No you don’t,” she replied. “Follow me.”
She swept past him up the stairs.
“No,” he called after her. He didn’t feel like following orders at the moment. “I have gardening duties to fulfill as long as I’m in this castle. As you’re the one who’s kept me here, I should think you would understand that well enough.”
Alberta paused halfway up the flight of stairs. “Trimming a hedge in your condition?” she asked. “How long will you last in the heat of the afternoon? An hour? Do you think that wig will stay nicely atop your head when you collapse from exhaustion?
“Oh, do what you please,” she added irritably. “I only thought to give you a refuge from being overworked—since it’s my fault you still have gardening duties, after all—but if you’re bound and determined to run yourself ragged, I certainly am not going to stop you. Ingrate.”
“I’m the ingrate?” he replied with building outrage. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, and how do you repay me? You steal my things and trap me here! You might as well throw me into the dungeons while you’re at it!”
Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale Page 33
