by Nancy Morse
“He will come. He knows the true reason for your sire’s illness, although he’d never willingly admit he knows. Moreover, he suspects your sire is allied with lords who support the Great Charter. If there is any chance of gleaning new information on the document that can be passed along to King John, Crandall will not be able to resist; it could earn him a reward or promotion.”
Helena rubbed her forehead, as if fighting a headache. “I hope you are right.”
Tavis moved nearer, so their bodies were almost touching. Admittedly, he was improperly close, according to the rules of chivalry, but he didn’t want his words heard by anyone but her.
Helena’s gaze darted past him to Merry, who was sitting cross-legged on the rug stretched out in front of the hearth, playing with straw-filled cloth farm animals and a wooden barn. The toys had been Helena’s when she was a child. Dandelion was curled up and fast asleep in Merry’s lap.
“Thank you,” Tavis said, keeping his tone hushed, “for what you said to Merry earlier.”
Helena nodded and seemed to be debating how to respond.
“She has never seen me kiss anyone but her mother.” He traced a scratch on the oak table. “I did not expect her to walk in on us, but I also did not know she would be so upset.”
“Merry seems all right now,” Helena said, as the little girl talked to the animals she was lining up from the biggest horse to the smallest pig. Helena touched the parchment, no doubt to ensure the ink was dry, and then pushed aside the earthenware mugs pinning down the corners.
“She does seem all right. Thanks to you.”
Helena laughed, sounding surprised. “And you. I thought you were wonderful the way you were honest with her, but still reassured her. You made sure she knew that whatever had happened between us, she was important and loved. ’Twas was exactly what she needed.”
Tavis swallowed hard. God’s bones, but his admiration for this woman had just increased tenfold.
“My father was the same way with me when I was young,” Helena said, as she rolled up the parchment. “I have so many fond memories…”
“And you will have many more.” Tavis pressed his hand over hers. “Your sire is going to be all right.”
She averted her gaze and then met his again. Her mouth formed an unsteady but determined smile. “He is. And I want you to know that earlier, with Merry, ’twas my pleasure to be able to help.”
He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her lush, perfectly formed mouth. Softly, he said, “’Twas my pleasure to have kissed you, Thistle.” Hellfire, he wanted to kiss her again, right now, and not stop until she’d promised him her heart.
Her face reddened. “Tavis.” She picked up the quill, dropped it, and splattered droplets of ink on the table. Shaking her head, she wiped up the mess with the rag.
“Tell me, Thistle. Did you also mean what you said? That we are old friends?”
He held his breath. He shouldn’t care if she considered him a friend, but he did. If they were friends, mayhap there was even a chance at forgiveness?
“I meant it,” she said softly.
He grinned. “Thank you.”
“That does not mean you can kiss me whenever you wish,”—she cast him a sidelong glance—“even if you are a knight.”
“Does that mean I can kiss you whenever you wish, milady?”
She stilled. “You are very bold, milord, to assume I want more kisses from you.”
A roguish laugh broke from him; she’d just issued a challenge. “Shall I test the truth of your words, Thistle? Shall I kiss you here, now, and see whether you yearn for more?”
Clearly trying to hold back a laugh, she threw the rag at him. “Enough talk of kissing. We have urgent matters to attend.”
“The letter. Of course.”
“We must take it to Father so he can sign and seal it. The sooner we send it, the sooner we will be able to question Lord Crandall.”
Chapter Nine
“Lord Crandall and his guards have arrived, milady.”
Sitting beside Merry near the hearth in the great hall, Helena put down the toy horse she’d been tucking into the barn. Her hands were suddenly damp, for the moment of reckoning was upon them. “Thank you. I will greet his lordship in the bailey.”
“Aye, milady.” The man-at-arms strode away, his boots crunching on the straw and dried herbs covering the floor.
Merry pouted. “Will you come back and play? We have not put all of the animals in the barn for the night.” She pointed to the cloth fox hiding behind the leg of a nearby table. “He is going to eat the chickens.”
Helena patted the little girl’s arm. “I will return as soon as I can.”
“Father went to check on his horse, so he cannot play with me. Dandelion is sleeping on my bed. Now you have to leave.” Merry sighed. “I will be all alone.”
Across the hall, Helena spied two pages. They were only a few years older than Merry, and helping to set the trestle tables for the evening meal that would soon be served. The boys were sons of noblemen; they were serving her father’s household as they trained to become squires and then knights. “I can ask those two lads to play with you. Would that be all right?”
The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Are they nice? Boys can be…well…silly.”
Helena chuckled. “I expect they will be delighted not to have to do their chores. They will play whatever you like.”
Picking up the horse Helena had put down, Merry tidied the animal’s mane made of brown yarn. “All right.”
Helena rose and walked over to the lads who bowed, one of them almost falling over in his earnestness. She spoke to the boys and, excitement in their eyes, they agreed to play with Merry. Helena led them to the hearth where they sat and chatted with the little girl, who issued instructions on what was to happen with the farm animals.
As Helena started for the forebuilding stairs that led down to the bailey, she pressed her hands to her belly. Her innards were twisting into an anxious knot. Yet, she wouldn’t allow Crandall to see her unease. For her father’s sake, she must be resilient and, with Tavis’s help, find a way to convince Crandall to admit to what he’d done.
Late afternoon sunlight slanted over her as she hurried out of the torch-lit forebuilding into the outdoors. At the ruins of the stable, men were clearing away ash and charred wood. By the well, servants were drawing water. Maidservants with armloads of folded garments were heading for the keep to put away the clean laundry, while giggling children chased one another in a game. The daily routines of the castle went on as usual, even as the pivotal meeting with Crandall was about to unfold.
Tavis approached her from the direction of the tiltyards. When his cloak pin caught the sunlight, the glass center glowed blood red. “A man-at-arms told me his lordship has arrived.”
“He has.” An awful coldness settled within her as the clatter of horse’s hooves echoed from the gatehouse and then Crandall appeared, followed by his guards.
Tavis growled. His hand slid down to the sheathed dagger secured to his belt.
“Do not do anything rash,” Helena said quietly. “If he doubts our reasons for summoning him, he will turn his mount around and ride off.”
“I will be gallant,” Tavis muttered as his hand fell to his side. “I will be thinking, though, how much I want to crush his face into the dirt.”
Seeing them waiting for him, Crandall guided his horse to them and halted the enormous, lathered beast. Tack jangled and leather saddles creaked as the other riders also halted, their horses winded from a fast ride.
“Lady Marlowe.” His lordship dipped his head in greeting.
“Good day, milord. Father asked me to welcome you, since he is resolving an unexpected matter right now.” How she hated to speak falsely, but in this instance, she had no choice. She clasped her hands, trying not to fidget.
“Your father is well?” his lordship asked.
What a wicked question. Cra
ndall was no doubt trying to find out whether her sire had fallen ill—as the London official expected. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing his poison had worked. Managing to keep her polite smile, she said, “He is, thank you.”
Suspicion touched the older man’s gaze. His grip tightened on his mount’s reins, as if he might suddenly turn the destrier and bolt, but then Tavis strode forward and patted the horse’s head. “What a magnificent destrier.” Tavis glanced over the animal with undisguised appreciation. “What I would give to own a horse as fine as this one.”
Frowning, Crandall asked, “Have we met, milord?”
Tavis stepped away from the horse and bowed. “Tavis de Rowenne. I do not believe you and I have met before, but you undoubtedly know my father, who is lord of Dumfries Castle in Galloway.”
“Ah. I did not realize you were visiting Kellenham.”
Helena’s clasped hands tightened as she fought a pang of dread.
“I was traveling through this area with my daughter when I heard about the fire.” Tavis gestured to the remains of the stable. “I offered my help putting out the blaze, as would any honorable knight of King John’s realm. A shame we could not save the building, but at least no one was badly harmed in the fire.”
“You were a tremendous help,” Helena added.
“I am glad, milady.” Tavis grinned up at the London official. “My travels were fortuitous, but even more so now that I have met you, Lord Crandall. ’Tis not often we Scots get to meet high-ranking men from our King’s court.”
The flattery seemed to come easily to Tavis, and yet, Helena saw the tension in the taut line of his jaw. Folk who didn’t know him as well as she did would never guess he was suppressing anger.
Crandall nodded stiffly in acknowledgement of Tavis’s words, before his hard stare returned to Helena. “I must speak with your sire.”
“I will take you to Father now. Would your men like to come to the great hall for some ale and fare, milord? I will ask the servants—”
“Two of my men will wait for me here,” Crandall cut in, as one of the stable hands brought a wooden block and set it down by the destrier so that his lordship could dismount. “The other two will accompany me. I will not be staying long.”
Helena fought the urge to share a glance with Tavis; she mustn’t betray their plan. “All right. Please, follow me, milord.”
Brushing dust from the sleeves of his cloak, Crandall walked with Helena to the forebuilding, Tavis and the other two men a few paces behind. Merry and the pages were so engrossed in their play with the animals and barn, they didn’t even glance up as the group walked past. After climbing the steps to the castle’s upper level, Helena halted outside the solar and knocked.
“Come,” her sire called.
She opened the door and gestured for Crandall to enter first. He walked forward into the room lit by the hearth fire and candles. Several folded blankets, a bowl of water, and cloth rags had been left on the trestle table. Helena followed the London official, aware of Tavis and Crandall’s guards behind her. The solar door clicked shut.
Crandall abruptly halted, his gaze on her glowering father sitting up against his pillows. Three armed guards from Kellenham’s garrison stood to the left of the bed.
The London official glanced back at Helena, his eyes bright with fury. “You told me your sire was well.”
“I was,” Helena’s sire snapped, reclaiming Crandall’s attention. “I vow you can explain why I suddenly became sick.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
His posture stiffening, Crandall said, “I received a missive stating you wished to speak to me, milord. Was that a deception? If in truth you have naught to say—”
“I have a great deal to say.” Helena’s father shook his fist. “If I was not so damned weak, I would knock you to the floor and shout every word in your face.”
Spinning on his heel, the London official signaled his guards to fall in beside him. “I have had enough of this idiocy. King John will be most displeased when I tell him—”
“Milord!” Helena moved to intercept him. If he left now, they’d never get answers.
Tavis darted back against the door, blocking the way out. He nodded to Helena, indicating he wouldn’t let Crandall or his men leave. Grateful for his intervention, she nodded back.
Scowling, Crandall said, “Move aside, de Rowenne.”
Tavis folded his arms. “I think not.”
“If you do not move, I will order my men to arrest you.”
Tavis smirked. “Will you, now?”
Crandall hissed a breath and set his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You cannot defeat me and my men. Move, or—”
“Enough threats,” Tavis said sharply. “Attack me, and you will also have to battle Lord Marlowe’s guards. By provoking a fight within this castle, you, a man appointed by King John, will be responsible for starting a confrontation with one of the most respected noblemen in these northern lands—and his peers, in both England and Scotland, will rally behind him. Is that in the best interests of the sovereign, who is already struggling to prevent a rebellion?”
Crandall looked angry enough to spit stones. “De Rowenne—”
Tavis gestured to Helena and her sire. “We want answers to a few questions. You would be wise to cooperate.”
With a furious sigh, Crandall dropped his hand from his sword and motioned for his men to stand down.
Tavis didn’t move from the doorway. Hell, he didn’t trust Crandall. In London, Tavis had met plenty of men like his lordship, ambitious thugs who used their duty to the King to manipulate others and further their own interests. Selfish, ruthless bastards, the lot of them.
“What are these questions, then?” Crandall demanded.
“Well,” Lord Marlowe groused, “for a start—”
“Father, allow me,” Helena cut in. “Please,” she added gently.
That incredible fire gleamed in her eyes again. Not only was she protecting her sire, still stricken by fever, from jeopardizing what little strength he had left, but she wasn’t going to give up until she’d learned the truth from Crandall.
With a weak flick of his hand, her father gave his consent for her to continue.
“Lord Crandall, soon after you left Kellenham a couple of days ago, my sire became grievously ill.”
“Mayhap the fare was not fresh, or did not agree with him?” his lordship said with a careless shrug.
“The food is not to blame. All of us at the lord’s table dined on the same fare, but Father is the only one who succumbed to sickness.”
“’Tis unfortunate that he is ill. However—”
“Did you poison my father?”
Crandall’s mouth dropped open then snapped shut. “Poison him?”
“Aye.” Her unyielding tone brought a smile to Tavis’s lips.
“How could I have committed such an offense? You were with us when we ate in the great hall. We sat at the lord’s table, in full view of the rest of the folk eating that meal. If I had tried to put poison into his food or drink, others would have noticed.”
“True, and yet—”
The official’s lip curled. “What reason would I have for poisoning your father?”
“A desire to replace him with a lord favored by King John.”
Crandall’s expression darkened with indignation. “You are very unwise, milady, to make such accusations of a man in my position.”
Helena was shaking now with the force of her anger. Tavis yearned to cross to her, to stand at her side and offer reassurance, but he still didn’t dare move away from the door. “I want the truth of what happened, milord,” she said evenly. “If you would be honest—”
“You want honesty?” Crandall bit out. “The most likely cause of your father’s ailment is the fare your folk served. To accuse me of deliberately causing your sire’s discomfort is n
ot only foolish, but an offense I will report to the King!”
Helena’s face paled, even as she clearly rallied her resolve.
Rage welled once again within Tavis, along with a fierce sense of protectiveness. Crandall knew how to play this hazardous game; Helena did not. “She has every right to ask such questions,” he said, drawing Crandall’s stare. “You recently visited Dumfries. Not long after you left, my sire fell very ill.”
“There must be a sickness spreading through this area,” the official said.
Tavis shook his head. “Not that I am aware, and I have traveled these northern lands for more than a sennight.”
Crandall sniffed, a sound of disdain. “’Tis merely a coincidence.”
“Is it?” Tavis tsked. “I do not believe so.”
“You, also, are accusing me of foul deeds? Unwise, de Rowenne.”
The London official’s stare filled with menace, but Tavis refused to drop his gaze. De Rowenne lords didn’t yield to threats.
“Cake,” Lord Marlowe said, his voice strained. “The gift from the King—”
“Exactly,” Helena said. “The only thing Father ate that was different from anyone else is the fruit cake brought from London.”
Still holding Crandall’s gaze, Tavis said, “Helena, please fetch the cake, so we can remind his lordship of it.”
As Helena walked to the trestle table, Crandall’s narrowed stare moved to her. She set aside the blankets to reveal the rectangular wooden box lined with linen and filled with slices of cake.
“My sire also received fruit cake,” Tavis said.
“A present sent by the King,” Crandall insisted, sweat beading on his brow. “’Twas most generous of our sovereign.”
“Since the gift is so exceptional,” Tavis said, “I vow you would enjoy trying some of the cake.”
Crandall’s guards shifted their stances. They suddenly appeared nervous.
Helena brought the open box to Crandall and held it out to him.
Raising his hand, palm up, the official said, “As much as I would like to—”
“Eat the cake,” Helena said firmly.
