“I'm tempted to say I knew her mother.”
“Why?” Keir looked puzzled. “I see no reason for that.”
“It may prompt her to speak of her past. Perhaps I can ease her mind a little.”
“She's the image of her mother.” Finn dropped the bone on the table and licked his fingers. “It's remarkable.”
“What's remarkable is the amount of food you just consumed.” Keir eyed the pile of chicken bones stacked up in front of Finn. “Are you even able to stand?”
Finn rolled his eyes. “Pah! Too much food has never stopped me from standing. Too much ale, aye. Oh, and there was that wild night in Kildare when I woke up naked in a stable with –”
“God help us, will you never cease?” Tears of mirth in Keir's eyes belied his tone of disapproval. “I must check the scrolls when we return. Your acceptance to the Circle was obviously an error.”
“I think not. But I must confess, I miss all this.” Finn's eyes swept around the room. “Which is why I intend to enjoy it while I can. Caleb, methinks we have a visitor.”
Alex turned to see Emma approaching, alone. He thought she looked better than she had that morning. Her cheeks had a soft blush of pink and her eyes shone. But he didn't fail to notice dark shadows under her eyes and the uncertainty in her step. He watched her as a father might watch his child, painfully aware of her courage as her body and mind still coped with a shattered soul and a broken heart.
It tore at him, knowing that the carefree girl he had raised had gone, and likely forever.
“Easy, Guardian.” Finn's whisper drifted into his thoughts. “Take it slow.”
“Aye.” Alex sighed, the pain under his ribs forcing the air from his lungs. “I will.”
As she drew near, all three men stood.
“My lady.” Alex smiled at her. “'Tis a pleasure to see you again. Did you enjoy your archery practice?”
“I did, thank you.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Keir and Finn before her gaze returned to Alex. “I'm pleased Lord de Montfort saw fit to accept your services.”
“As are we,” Keir replied. “You're Lady Emma, are you not? We were not formally introduced this morning.”
Emma nodded. “Aye, my name is Emma. Stephen, I mean, Sir Stephen is speaking with his brother, so I thought I might come over and welcome you all to Thurston.”
Keir nodded. “'Tis very kind of you, my lady.”
She chewed on her bottom lip and looked at Alex. This gesture he recognized, and it gladdened his heart. Emma was awaiting his permission.
He gave it.
“Would you care to join us?” He gestured to the seat at his side.
“I won't be in the way?” She sat down before he could answer and he bit back a chuckle. He glanced at Finn and Keir, seeing hints of smiles on their faces too.
“Nay, my lady.” He sat down next to her. “You won't be in the way at all.”
Christophe's voice faded into the background as Stephen watched Emma from across the room. She sat chatting with Caleb, her hands moving as she spoke, her face lit with a shy smile. It had been a while since Stephen had seen her so animated. The pleasure he got from her reaction to the Scottish knight cushioned a mild stab of jealousy. If anything, Caleb's uncanny resemblance to Alex gave Stephen some comfort as well. As if aware of being scrutinized, Caleb turned and met his gaze. A familiar tingle of excitement lifted the hair on Stephen's arms and his eyes drifted to the sword sitting at Caleb's side.
“Nay,” Stephen murmured to himself. “It can't be.”
“What can't be?” Christophe's voice finally broke through. “Stephen, are you even listening to me?”
“What? Oh, aye. I mean, nay. Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.” Stephen kept his eyes fixed on Caleb's sword.
Christophe followed his gaze. “Is something wrong? Does Emma know those men?”
“Nay, there's nothing wrong. The Scot reminds her of her guardian. 'Tis likely why she's drawn to him.”
“They seem honourable enough, and their arrival was timely. Speaking of Emma and her guardian, I need to ask you about them.”
Stephen faced his brother and glanced at Miriam. “Not here.”
“Nay, not here. Father's writing room.”
“Now?”
“Aye, now. This morning's little fracas caused quite a stir. I'm tired of the evasive answers about your future wife. There are things I must know.”
His father's writing-room had always been Stephen's favourite as a child. Memories flooded back when he stepped through the door. The smell of musty leather, parchment, and beeswax all combined to transport him back to his childhood. Even his father's chess set sat where it always had, beneath the tall lancet window. Long before Stephen learned the game, he would play with the wooden figures, creating mock battles between the two colours.
Christophe settled himself at the desk and gestured to a chair. “Sit, please.”
Stephen straddled the seat. “Before you begin, let me say that Anne was entirely to blame for the morning's events. I overheard what she said to Emma, and there was no excuse for it.”
Christophe cleared his throat. “But perhaps there is reason, even if Anne's handling of it was misplaced. I cannot say I approve of the...behaviour I've seen since Emma's arrival. The girl does not act as most noble women would. Her interests are, shall we say, less than ladylike. I have concerns.”
Christophe's remarks prompted an immediate and defensive response. “So, you've changed your mind about my choice of a bride?”
“Don't put words in my mouth, Stephen.” Christophe's jaw tensed. “I didn't say Emma wasn't suitable. I'm merely curious about her ancestry.”
Stephen fidgeted in the chair. He'd seen this conversation looming on the horizon and dreaded its arrival.
“I've told you. Emma's ancestry is as pure as ours.”
“So you keep saying, but I should like to know more about it. I've never heard of this guardian, this Alexander Mathanach. And why the guardian? Who were her true parents?” Christophe leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, hands folded in front of him, eyes fixed on Stephen's face. “Stephen, I need to know who it is you are bringing into our family. 'Tis not an unreasonable demand. So far, you've managed to avoid answering any of my questions.”
Stephen's gaze drifted to the signet ring on his brother's right hand. It had been his father's ring. Even from where he sat, he could make out the shape of the Rampant Lion, carved into the dark gold face.
A memory surfaced of himself as a little boy, clambering into his father's lap. He remembered his father's hands, strong yet gentle, folding themselves around Stephen's small body. He remembered the patience in his father's voice as he explained to his youngest son, for the umpteenth time, what the engraving on the ring meant.
The de Montfort crest.
Even as a child, Stephen nursed a strong sense of pride in his family's name. That pride surfaced again as the childhood memory played out.
Christophe and Miriam had been wed almost two years. Stephen knew how desperately his brother wanted a son and heir for Thurston, yet so far there had been no sign. For as long as his brother's marriage proved barren of a male child, Stephen remained next in line. He decided to speak the truth as he knew it.
“What I have to tell you must not go beyond this room. I insist on your vow of discretion, my brother, before I answer.”
Christophe sat back, his eyes narrowing. “You have it.”
“Thank you.” Stephen sighed. “Emma's parents are dead. Her father was a knight by the name of Edward Fitzhugh. Her mother's name was Alicia. Lady Alicia Mathanach.”
He watched the changing expression on his brother's face, not quite sure what to expect. Understanding of Emma's situation showed itself through a brief shake of the head and a soft exhale of breath.
“You're telling me the girl is illegitimate.” Christophe's gaze dropped briefly to the warm amber surface of the oak desk. “So, Lady Alicia was Alexander Mathanach's sister?”
/>
“Nay.” Stephen swallowed. “Alicia Mathanach was Alexander's wife.”
“My God. The woman had an affair? Where was her husband?”
“In the Holy Land.”
Christophe leaned forward again, frowning. “I don't understand. Why would a man raise his wife's bastard? What happened to Alicia and this lover of hers? This Fitzhugh?”
Irritation hardened Stephen's voice. “Do not call Emma a bastard.”
“Forgive me. 'Twas a slip of the tongue. Will you answer the question?”
“I will, and then we're done with this conversation.” Stephen ran his fingers through his hair. “From what I understand, Alexander came back and found his wife with Fitzhugh. There was a fight, an altercation. Both Alicia and Fitzhugh were killed.”
“The man killed his own wife?”
“It would seem so. Maybe he adopted Emma to appease his conscience and chose to live quietly thereafter. But he never told her the truth. She only recently discovered what supposedly happened, which is why she left Alex and came back to Thurston with me. She's very hurt by what she's learned.” He would not - could not - tell Christophe about Argante.
“What supposedly happened, you say? Do you believe otherwise?”
Stephen shrugged. “I don't believe Alex told her the entire story. I don't believe the man capable of killing in cold blood.”
Christophe closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples. “So, you arrive home with an illegitimate girl, raised by a guardian who killed his wife and her lover and appears to be hiding some secret. Then you proceed to openly share a bed with the lass under my roof. And you expect me to approve of this?”
“I don't...that is...we don't...oh, Christ. What does it matter?” Stephen had no desire to explain the situation. “I don't expect anything from you. I'm going to marry Emma whether you approve or not. Is there anything else, my lord? I haven't eaten today, and my stomach is grumbling almost as loudly as yourself.”
“Oh, I've no doubt you'll ignore any reservations I might have.” Christophe's lips lifted in the semblance of a smile. “If I'm to be honest with you in return, I suppose I can confess to some envy. Miriam and I are not unhappy, but our marriage lacks the affection I see so clearly between you and Emma. And I do like the girl, Stephen. She's missing a certain...noble polish, but she possesses a unique charm.”
“I consider myself fortunate to have found her.”
“Oh, and there's something else.” Christophe reached behind him and picked up a letter from a small table. “This came for you earlier.”
Stephen's heart clenched, for he recognized the seal at once - an armoured knight, sword aloft, sitting astride a horse
The seal of King Henry.
Stephen snapped the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, already knowing what the letter demanded. He read Henry's words as guilt soured his stomach. Not that he couldn't provide what his liege asked of him - Henry would have his report on the mysterious stone. Stephen would go to London, look his king straight in the eye, tell him what he had learned.
Perjure himself. Commit treason.
May God forgive me.
“If you were not already sitting, I would tell you to do so.” Christophe's quiet voice interrupted Stephen's guilty contemplation. “What has Henry said to cast such a pallor upon your skin?”
Stephen lifted troubled eyes to his brother's face.
“I have to go to London. He's asking for a report.”
“On this mysterious investigation you were asked to complete?”
“Aye.”
“Do you have a report to give?”
“Aye, I do.”
Christophe raised a brow. “Then might I suggest you remove your mask of guilt beforehand, or His Grace may be inclined to question the sincerity of your words.”
A smile tugged at Stephen's mouth. “I forget how well you know me.”
“You're my brother.” He heaved a sigh. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Stephen?”
“Nay. 'Tis simply that I find my loyalties conflicted.”
“Indeed? Would this conflict have anything to do with your future wife?”
A flare of anger lifted Stephen to his feet. “Absolutely not. God's blood, but how you misjudge her. You ask if I'm troubled? Aye, perhaps I'm troubled by my family's recent hostility toward my betrothed.”
Christophe shook his head. “Calm yourself, little brother. 'Tis you who misjudges me. I harbour no hostility toward the girl. Emma will be well cared for and protected in your absence. I swear it.”
“Good, for there are things...” Stephen grimaced as dark thoughts tripped through his mind. “There are things of which I cannot speak, except to say that Emma is fragile, vulnerable. I need to know she'll be safe here, Christophe, for her life is...is...like a feather in the wind.” A chill ran across his skin as the image of a crow's mangled and twisted body drifted unbidden into his thoughts. “I'll delay my journey for a week, maybe a little longer. But I shall tell Emma of the summons today. Give her time to accept it.”
“She'll be safe here, I promise. I just don't understand why you won't tell me what troubles her.”
Stephen shook his head. “I gave my word. But if you still doubt the girl at all....” He lifted his shirt, exposing the recent wound, which trailed a ragged red furrow across his ribs.
“Sweet Mother of God.” Christophe jumped to his feet and strode around the desk to touch the scar with his fingertips. “Who the hell did this?”
“I cannot say. But if not for Emma...” Stephen smiled at the memory, “...if not for a little forest faerie who found me bleeding to death, I wouldn't be standing here now.”
Christophe's eyes widened. “I see. Then it would seem I'm in her debt for saving my brother's life.” He sighed and patted Stephen's shoulder. “'Tis quite remarkable that you can say so much, yet say nothing at all. Perhaps you should take up politics.”
Stephen grinned. “Will you speak to Anne before I leave for London? Order her to leave Emma alone? Or would you rather I did it, using my special political talent?”
Christophe chuckled. “Leave Anne to me. The poor woman almost expired of fright this morning.”
Stephen felt a pinch of regret. “Aye, I was perhaps a little harsh. I'll try to make amends, for your sake.”
“It would be much appreciated. Now, go and eat.”
Chapter Eighteen
Alex sat beside Emma, feigning polite interest in her chatter, fighting his emotions as he studied her in depth. Faint shadows clouded the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her slender hands, conducting her story in the air, trembled as she spoke.
She had lost weight too. Most disturbing, though, was the colourless grey aura surrounding her, almost void of spirit. Yet it flickered weakly as she spoke to him and brightened a little whenever he responded. He searched her eyes for a glimmer of hope, but saw only pain and confusion.
Oh, Emma.
He made a decision, and interrupted her mid-sentence as she continued to relate the events of her ride that morning.
“May I say that you're the image of your mother, my lady.”
His words brought a loud gasp of shock from Emma and twitches of discomfort from Keir and Finn.
“My mother? But...how...how could you know that?”
“I knew who you were as soon as I saw you.” Alex smiled. “If naught else, your eyes would tell me who delivered you. Identical to hers, they are.”
“And my...her...husband. Alexander?” she stammered. “Do you know him too?”
“Aye, I do.” The stone vibrated at his side, responding to the strength of Emma's emotion. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to distress you.”
“Nay, 'tis not you. I'm shocked, is all.” She glanced around wildly. Alex knew whom she sought.
“Sir Stephen left with his brother a few moments ago. Would you like me to fetch him for you?”
“Nay.” Emma turned tearful eyes on him. “But I'd rather not talk here. Please Cal
eb, will you walk with me? The bailey, perhaps? I have questions.”
Alex threw a glance at Keir and Finn. Emma saw it and apparently misunderstood its meaning, drawing a sharp breath as she pushed herself to her feet, her voice shaking as she spoke. “I do beg your pardon. Pay me no heed, my lords. Sir Caleb, I... I did not mean to impose upon you. Perhaps another time?”
“You are not imposing on me at all, my lady.” Alex rose and offered his arm. “I would be honoured to walk with you, although I'm not sure I can answer the questions you have. My friends can manage well enough without me.”
“Caleb speaks true.” Keir smiled. “Go with him and bear us no thought, my lady.”
“Aye.” Finn gave Alex a telling look. “He knows where we'll be.”
Emma almost dragged Alex outside, her eagerness evident in the pull on his arm and the quickness of her stride. They stepped into a bailey topped by dull grey skies. The fog had vanished, leaving behind cool, damp air. Emma didn't slow her steps until they approached the gardens, which lay at the south side of the castle. She glanced around, apparently satisfied at seeing no one, before turning her eyes to his. A shiver ran through her, so violent that it travelled through her hand and up Alex's arm. The sword at his side trembled.
Stimulated by Emma's intense emotion and profiting from Alex's compromised resolve, the stone sent an unexpected burst of immaculate energy through every cell in his body. His sight blurred as he struggled to maintain command over the unearthly forces swamping him. All at once, a second rush of energy warmed his skin and calmed his mind.
Breathe easy, Guardian. We have you.
Finn.
Alex managed to focus his eyes on Emma's face.
“My lady?”
“Please sir, I beg you, tell me how you know of my mother and my guar...my father.”
He flinched inwardly at Emma's denial of her illegitimacy, at the same time noticing her shivering had not stopped.
“You're cold, child,” he murmured, pulling off his cloak and settling it around her shoulders.
She appeared not to even notice the gesture. Alex realized her desperate mind saw only what she believed to be a link back to her home, back to her past.
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