by Nancy Morse
“I am not hungry. My men and I ate earlier.”
Tavis laughed, the sound rough to his own ears. “You are sweating, Crandall.”
“The chamber is warm!”
“Not that warm.”
Crandall wiped his brow then gestured to one of the guards: the man with light brown hair. “You eat it.”
“What?”
“Go on. Eat some of the cake.”
The guard’s eyes widened. His throat moved with a swallow.
Tavis frowned, for the man wasn’t just shocked, he was holding secrets. “You know the cake is tainted, aye?”
The guard’s focus shifted from Tavis to Crandall, and then back again.
“What is wrong with the cake? For God’s sake, tell us,” Helena cried.
The guard’s lips pressed into an unyielding line.
“Answer!” Helena shouted.
The guard shook his head. “I…dare not…”
With a menacing snarl, Tavis strode forward, looped his left arm around Crandall’s neck, and hauled him backward to the door. The guards moved to intervene, but Tavis pressed the blade of his dagger to the official’s neck. “Stay back.”
The men halted. How curious; they seemed relieved to be thwarted from helping his lordship.
The oniony stench of sweat rose from Crandall as he stood trapped in Tavis’s choke hold. “Helena, his lordship will eat some of that cake now.”
A strangled moan broke from the official: a sound of dismay, but not one of surrender.
Helena walked up to Crandall and broke off a chunk of the dark, moist cake. As she raised it to his mouth, he choked out, “Wait.”
“Why? If you ordered your guard to eat this, there cannot be aught wrong with it.”
She raised the cake to his lips. Sweat running into his hairline, Crandall clamped his mouth shut.
“Pry his lips open,” Tavis commanded.
Helena smiled. “Gladly.”
“I will help you,” Lord Marlowe said, accompanied by the creak of the bed ropes as he heaved himself up and pulled back the bedding.
Anticipating an attack, Tavis glanced at Crandall’s guards. They remained where they were; they weren’t making any attempt to rescue him. As Tavis’s gaze locked with the light-brown-haired guard’s, he saw remorse in the man’s eyes. On a flare of rage, Tavis tightened his arm around the official’s neck.
Crandall’s face went an ugly shade of red, while his breathing became a ghastly rasp. “All right,” he choked out. “All right!”
With unsteady, shuffled steps, Lord Marlowe reached Helena’s side.
“All right…you will eat the cake?” Tavis asked. Meeting Helena’s gaze, he tipped his head, telling her to continue.
“Please. ’Tis tainted,” Crandall blurted. “’Tis…fouled.”
“Fouled?” Tavis growled against the official’s ear. “How?”
“In London…by the River Thames…there are stagnant pools. ’Tis where unclaimed corpses are dumped, and trash and rotting animals float.”
Lord Marlowe moaned.
Helena inhaled a shocked breath. “Oh, God—”
“You tainted the cake with that water?” Tavis couldn’t keep the revulsion from his tone.
“A-aye,” Crandall said. “I poured water on it in London, soaked it again…during our journey.”
Moaning again, Lord Marlowe stumbled to the wall and covered his mouth with his hand. He looked about to retch.
“Did you taint the cake you took to Dumfries in the same way?” asked Tavis, fury burning like white-hot embers in the pit of his stomach.
“A-aye.”
“Does the King know what you have done? Did he order you to take such actions?”
“He…does not know. I acted on my own.”
Tavis scowled, for King John could very well have ordered the tainting. By taking the blame, Crandall was protecting the sovereign. If the London official was as loyal as Tavis expected, he would die before implicating the King. “Why would you do such a thing?” Tavis demanded.
“To cause deadly sickness,” Crandall choked out.
“Why not use poison? Why the fouled water?”
“Poison…leaves signs. Too obvious.”
“The tainted water could be as effective as poison, though,” Helena said, following the progression of Tavis’s thoughts. “Older folk, or those weakened from battling another illness, would likely perish.” Worry etched her features as she glanced at her sire, who was leaning against the wall as though ’twas the only way to keep himself from crumpling to the floorboards. “’Twould be difficult, if not impossible,” she added, “for anyone to prove the cake had caused the illness—”
“Unless Crandall admitted what he had done,” Tavis finished for her.
“Exactly.”
“Is it true?” Tavis asked the guard with the light-brown hair. “Is what has just been explained the truth?”
The man hesitated a moment and then nodded.
“How dare you?” Pointing a trembling hand at Crandall, Lord Marlowe said, “How many good folk have you sickened and killed, you cold-hearted bastard? How many other lives have you ruined?”
The official averted his gaze.
“At the very least, you will be tried for the attempted murder of Lord Marlowe, milord,” Tavis said. “Once my parents learn of the tainted cake, I promise you, my sire will want justice. He will not rest until you have been punished for what you have done.”
“I will not rest either,” Lord Marlowe said, anger bringing color back to his cheeks. “When I write to the King, Crandall, I will demand a full investigation not only into what happened to me, but all of the other lords who became ill after you visited them.”
His expression mutinous, the official remained silent.
Tavis kept the dagger at his lordship’s neck. Crandall had admitted to his crimes, before witnesses, but he no doubt had well-connected associates in London who could get the charges against him reduced or even thrown out altogether. That mustn’t be allowed to happen.
“Lord Marlowe, do you have a quill, ink, and parchment in this chamber?”
“I do.”
“Good. Helena, will you ready those items on the trestle table? Lord Crandall has a confession to write.”
“Never!” his lordship spluttered. “I will not—”
“You will.” While Helena crossed to the table, Tavis’s earlier conversation with her filled his mind. A signed confession didn’t in any way compensate for the evils Crandall had committed. “Moreover,” he added, “you will personally assume the debts of every lord you have murdered or attempted to kill.”
“What?” Crandall gasped. “’Twill ruin me! I will be destitute.”
Meeting Helena’s astonished gaze, Tavis winked. “You will write what I have demanded, Lord Crandall. Otherwise, I will send letters this day to every lord I know telling them how you tried to murder my sire and Lord Marlowe. Do you want to be the cause of a bloody war?”
Chapter Ten
“I have summoned Delfina, Father,” Helena soothed, as she tucked the bedding around her sire’s shoulders. Across the chamber, Tavis cleared away the writing implements and stowed them back in the front drawer of the trestle table.
Moments ago, after finishing two signed copies of his confession to Tavis’s satisfaction, Crandall had been hauled away by her sire’s men. He was to be chained at the wrists and ankles and locked in a dungeon cell. Tavis had also managed to get written statements from Crandall’s guards. While the men weren’t to be imprisoned, her father had told them not to leave the castle, for they might be needed for further questioning.
While Crandall had been working on his confession, the three men-at-arms from Kellenham had helped her sire back into bed. The strain of the confrontation seemed to have nigh sapped the life from him. He lay motionless against the pillows, purplish smudges under his eyes, his sweaty skin a ghastly hue. Despai
r weighed upon Helena, but she mentally forced it aside. Delfina would know what to do. Now that they knew what had sickened her father, he could be healed.
Oh, how she hoped so.
A rap on the door announced Delfina’s arrival. In hushed tones, Helena and Tavis explained Crandall’s treachery to the healer, who gasped and then hurried off to gather more potions and herbs.
As silence settled in the solar—her sire had fallen asleep—Helena pressed fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears threatened, but she refused to give in to them. She couldn’t. She must be strong, must keep up hope, for her father.
The floorboards creaked under Tavis’s softened footfalls. She expected to hear the chamber door open, for him to leave, but instead, he walked up behind her. Cloth whispered as he wrapped his strong, warm arms around her waist. Silently, gently, he pulled her backward, until she was leaning against him, her nape against his broad shoulder. His lips touched her hair, and her eyes burned at the tenderness of the kiss. She knew full well that Tavis would soon be leaving Kellenham, for he needed to return to Galloway, but it felt wondrous to have his comfort now, to know that she didn’t have to bear the terrible worry of her father’s illness alone.
He didn’t hurry to leave, and so she remained in Tavis’s embrace until a knock sounded on the chamber door. Reluctantly drawing out of his arms, Helena went to the door to find Delfina waiting. The healer hurried in and set to work unloading her basket.
“Can I help?” Helena asked.
“I can manage on my own for now,” the healer said with a kind smile. “Why do you not go and get some rest, milady?”
Rest was the farthest thing from Helena’s mind. She had other matters to attend to, though—including sending a missive to Fremley Keep to warn them of Crandall’s tainted cake—so she quit the solar. Tavis followed.
A few strides down the quiet passageway, he caught her hand and pulled her to a halt. Frowning, she faced him. His expression etched with concern, he cupped her face with his hand.
“Are you all right, Thistle?”
“I am as well as I can be. I will be happier when Father is hale again.”
Tavis’s gaze filled with sympathy. He clearly understood the agony of having an ill parent.
“You must be worried about your sire.”
“He is a strong man. My mother will also pester him day and night until he is hale again.”
A grudging smile tugged at Helena’s lips. “She sounds like an exceptional woman.”
“She is.” His gaze shone with admiration. “Just like you.”
Her heart fluttered, as if brushed by the wings of a dove. “I want you to know,” she said softly, “I am very grateful to you for getting Crandall to confess. I never imagined you would make him assume Father’s debts.”
“’Tis a just outcome, considering what Crandall did.”
“Well, I am most relieved, and as I said, grateful.” Indeed, the words didn’t come anywhere near to conveying how glad she was.
Tavis’s thumb moved in a gentle caress. The slight, poignant touch roused a craving deep within her, a need she’d only ever experienced when with him. “I must say, you were magnificent earlier when you challenged Crandall,” he murmured.
“Thank you, but you were the one who made him divulge what he had done, and convinced him to write out his confession.”
“We work well together, then.”
A heady tremor wove through her, for she sensed he referred to more than the conversation with Crandall. Before she could ponder what he truly meant, Tavis’s head lowered and he kissed her, with such bold passion, she felt as if she’d been enrobed in brilliant sunshine. Pleasure washed over her, filling her soul, chasing away all but the yearning for him that steadily grew stronger.
A groan rumbled in his throat as he nudged her backward to the wall. As her back touched the stone, he groaned again, a helpless sound. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her throat, the shadowed hollow between her breasts, and then her lips once again.
Gasping, she clung to him. She should stop kissing him, stop caring before—
He suddenly went still. He lifted his lips from hers, and his breath fanned her skin.
“Tavis?” she whispered, and then she heard the sound of sobbing, rising from the great hall. A young girl was in distress.
“Merry,” he said, abruptly drawing away. “I must go to her.”
“I will come with you.” Resisting the urge to touch her tingling lips, Helena hurried with him to the wooden landing and stairs leading down to the hall.
Merry sat on the bottom step, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Sylva knelt beside her, holding the little girl’s hands. Tavis’s boots rapped on the planks as he hurried down the stairs. Helena followed.
“Merry?” He sat down beside her. “What is wrong? Are you injured?”
The little girl shook her head. Sniffling, she said, “D-Dandelion is missing.”
Tavis slid his arm around his daughter and drew her in close; the touching image roused a dull ache in Helena’s breast. “Your kitten has probably found a cozy place to sleep,” Tavis said.
“Nay, Da. W-we looked. He is g-gone.” Merry’s face crumpled with anguish and she sobbed again, burying her face against Tavis’s tunic.
Helena stepped past so she stood beside Sylva, who slowly rose. “I am sorry, milady,” the young woman said, her expression fraught with guilt. “Last I saw the kitten, he was in Lady de Rowenne’s chamber. When I went by the room a short while later, though, the door was ajar; I believe one of the maidservants had returned Lord de Rowenne’s washed garments that he’d worn when battling the fire. When I peeked inside the chamber, I could not see the feline, but I thought he was likely asleep under one of the beds, so I shut the door. I did not realize he had escaped.”
“Why was the door left open?” Merry wailed. “Why?” She rubbed at her tear-streaked face as Tavis hugged her tighter.
“The door was most likely left ajar by mistake.” Helena crouched to take hold of Merry’s hands. The poor child’s face was blotchy and red, and her concern for her furry companion shone in her eyes.
“We searched every chamber upstairs,” Sylva said. “All, that is, except the solar and your room, milady.”
“Tavis and I were in the solar with Father until a few moments ago. We would have seen Dandelion if he’d found his way in.” ’Twas unlikely the kitten had gotten into Helena’s room, but still… Pressing the little girl’s fingers, Helena said, “Shall we look in my chamber, in case he managed to sneak in?”
Hope warmed the child’s gaze. Sniffling, she asked, “W-what if Dandelion is not there?”
“Then we will search the whole upper level again, room by room. Come on.”
Merry quickly stood, spun, and pounded up the stairs. Tavis heaved a sigh of relief, for he hated to see his daughter cry. He always felt damned helpless when she was upset, and never knew quite what to say or do to make things better; Elyse had been the one to soothe tears, whisper kind words, and make matters right again for Merry.
Since he was the only parent Merry could turn to now, he tried his best to comfort her. Sometimes, all he could do was hold her tight and wait for the tears to pass. Clever Helena, though, had seemed to know exactly what Merry needed to hear.
Helena was a few steps ahead of him, her elegant strides marked by the whisper of her gown. Tavis quickened his pace to fall in beside her, while Sylva walked close behind.
As Helena glanced at him, he said, “Thank you for helping Merry.”
“We will find her kitten, even if I have to order everyone in the keep to join the search.”
He grinned. “There is that magnificent woman again.”
Smiling, Helena hurried on ahead to open her chamber door for Merry.
He stepped inside, deciding to linger by the entrance; if Dandelion emerged and tried to bolt for the open doorway, Tavis would catch hi
m. A lavender and almond oil scent perfumed the air: a fragrance that would always remind him of Helena. His gaze roamed over the sparsely furnished room with whitewashed stone walls as Helena and Merry went to the bed, draped in a faded blue coverlet, and peered under. “Not there,” Merry said, straightening.
Sylva searched among the pillows on the bed, while Helena strolled toward the hearth. Just watching her caused Tavis’s blood to grow warm. She moved with such grace, he almost couldn’t tear his gaze away, but his focus now should be finding Dandelion. Merry wouldn’t be happy until she’d reunited with her cat.
As his attention shifted to the bedside tables—even small Dandelion couldn’t have squeezed behind them—Merry cried: “I hear a kitten.”
Everyone in the room went still. A faint mewling came from close by.
Tavis pushed the door shut, while Merry darted to Helena’s painted linen chest. Her face broke into a huge grin. “He is in there.”
As Tavis crossed to Merry, and Sylva joined them, Helena lifted the linen chest’s lid. Dandelion rose from where he’d been lying on the garments. He’d obviously played amongst the top ones, for they were rumpled, not neatly folded. The kitten gazed up at Merry and mewled plaintively.
“Oh, Dandelion.” The little girl scooped him into her arms and kissed him over and over. “I missed you so much, you silly boy.”
“However did he get in there?” Sylva asked, clearly bewildered.
“He must have jumped in when the maidservants brought my clean garments,” Helena said. “I am surprised they did not see him.”
Merry beamed. “I am so glad we found him.”
“As am I.” Those three words couldn’t come close to revealing Tavis’s relief. Yet, even as he savored the joy on Merry’s face, his focus returned to the linen chest. Was that object toward the back what he thought it was? Surely it couldn’t be, and yet…
He leaned in for a better look. Astonishment and disbelief snarled up inside him.
God’s holy blood!
He straightened to face Helena. Resolve ran like liquid fire through his veins. “Sylva, would you please take Merry and Dandelion to our chamber? I will join you there in a moment.”
