by Lily Baldwin
Alec leaned closer. “You’ve already sent a message to the king about the robbery.” This wasn’t a question. Alec knew he had.
The keeper shrugged, feigning indifference, but Alec could feel his pounding heart. “I thought it better if I reveal what has happened, than for it to be discovered by someone else on my watch.” The keeper started to get up. “You will tell me if you hear anything?”
Alec nodded. “You know I will,” he lied.
As soon as he aided the lass from his vision, Alec would leave the palace and England altogether, and he could only hope to never return. He considered asking the keeper about who occupied the southern wing, but he decided to question someone who would be less curious about why he was asking.
Once more, his mind returned to the lass. He had felt her pain so deeply. It cut a fiery path straight to his heart, bypassing all the shields he had spent years erecting. But why this girl? Why her fear, and why now? Everyone he encountered was afraid of something. He leaned back and looked around. Across from him sat a man nearing his fiftieth year. His shoulders stooped over his tankard as he eyed the young serving girls. He feared death. Farther down the table was an older prostitute whose smile hid her fear for the health of her youngest daughter who, at that moment, was lost to fever. She had wanted nothing more than to remain by her side, but she needed coin to pay for the doctor and medicine. A young man who raised his cup, making toast after toast, feared being found less than his older brothers. Illness, betrayal, failure, the wrath of God — everyone was afraid of something.
“Where have you been these last weeks, Randolph?”
Alec looked up at Sir Hugh Godfrey. There was no man more vain and shallow than Sir Hugh, which was why Alec did not offend him like he did the others. In fact, he seemed to admire Alec’s indifference, thinking it evidence of his discerning taste. Sir Hugh smoothly sat down. Alec abhorred his type most of all. He was like a snake, smooth, charming, seemingly polite and chivalric, but every word from his lips was a lie.
“I’ve not felt well,” Alec said.
Sir Hugh’s brows drew together. “I’m glad you’re on the mend.”
Lie.
“Thank you,” Alex said, his voice flat. But then he realized Sir Hugh was the perfect man to question about the Southern wing. He thought of only himself. His discretion was guaranteed, but only because he possessed the depth of a puddle.
Alec kept his eyes trained forward as if he watched the serving maids briskly moving about the room. “Who occupies the last rooms on the southern wing?”
Sir Hugh jerked his head toward a large man at the keeper’s table. “Geoffrey Mercer and his leman, Diana. His manservant also has one of the rooms and so on.”
“Diana,” Alec said her name aloud. He remembered seeing her the night before. He remembered feeling her failing body. “She has a lovely voice,” Alec said absently.
Sir Hugh shrugged. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Lie.
“She isn’t that beautiful,” he continued.
Lie.
A vision of Sir Hugh soliciting Diana in the great hall when Geoffrey was preoccupied in conversation with the keeper flashed in Alec’s mind. Diana had refused him. “Yes, you are, indeed, a man of discerning taste,” Alec said dryly as he stood.
Now that he had obtained the information he needed, he was ready to leave. But then he felt the shard of stone against his chest begin to heat. He scanned the room for the serving girl and spied a maid wiping a spill on one of the trencher tables in the back. Long, tangled black hair made him take a closer look. He crossed the room and stood behind her.
“Excuse me,” he said not wanting to intrude upon her mind by touching her.
The girl turned.
He bowed his head. “I thought you were someone else.”
With wide eyes, the girl quickly bobbed up and down in the fastest curtsy Alec had ever seen. Then she backed away from him and turned on her heel and made a dash for the kitchen. Alec was not surprised, however. Like the rest of the world, she believed him cruel and cold.
He turned away and started toward the wide doors that led out into the courtyard, but then he froze. He felt the emotion of her song before the first fragile note traveled through the air to his ears. As the sound penetrated his mind, the stone scorched his chest. His nostrils flared against the burning heat, but when he turned and saw the elegant figure standing on the high dais, the pain was forgotten. Could the polished and painted girl be the same girl he had encountered in the hallway? The figure on stage was clad in deep blue finery. She moved slowly across the floor, her eyes trained above the heads of the revelers as if she stared at a distant horizon known only to her. Her unbound dark hair curled in thick, shiny waves to her waist. Her pale skin glowed warmly in the candlelight, and her eyes were outlined in smoky color, giving her an exotic look. Her voice rasped from her throat, low and languid. Then it climbed clear and pure to the highest notes as effortlessly as if she sighed.
She stood there in plain sight, but her soul was somewhere above them all, flying through clouds of soft memories. Again, a vision flashed in Alec’s mind of an older woman with warm, faded blue eyes. He could feel the love the woman had for the girl on the stage. And he could feel the security she had once known in the older woman’s presence. Their bond was powerful and strong, fueling the girl’s strength. What radiated from her soul was so different than the all-consuming fear he had felt from the girl in the hallway. He walked forward, joining the others who had moved to get a closer look. She slowly glided to one side of the high dais, then descended the stairs onto the main floor.
She was an angel. Her voice reached the rafters and shattered around him. Then her powerful notes suddenly shifted and crooned into a fragile caress of sound. Images so beautiful swirled around his mind of green forests and stormed-tossed seas. He knew of what she sang. He could see the rugged Highland mountains and moors of purple heather. Then, despite the demands of her own soul, she looked at the front table, and it felt as if Alec had been punched in the gut.
For a moment, he struggled to draw breath. He had opened his soul to her song, and now her fear crashed down around him. He fell back and grabbed the table behind him to catch his fall. He shook his head, trying to dispel the sudden dizziness. Her voice still reached his ears. She had not stopped her song, but he could barely hear her music above the din of her pounding heart. Her fear had returned with all the force he had felt in his dreams. It was thick and viscous, making his limbs heavy. On the outside, he knew his mask of cold indifference held, and yet on the inside he had to fight to push beyond her terror. He stood his ground and harnessed his strength, barring her from his soul. His vision cleared, and he took the sight of her in, still ensuring his own eyes revealed none of his emotions. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor. He could feel her desire to shield herself. But from what? From whom? Then another emotion cut its way into the mix. Beneath her fear fury burned, fierce and lashing — the sort that was felt in the deepest places of the heart where only truth dwells. Alec opened his eyes and looked at the source of her anger and saw the merchant, Geoffrey. But Geoffrey appeared oblivious to everything around him other than her appeal.
Alec scanned the room. Men stared in rapture. Lust dominated the room — so much so that he imagined if feelings had color, slow pulsing swaths of red would be weaving around the tables and benches, pouring from the men’s bodies like beckoning fingers of desire for the girl. Each one wanting to snatch her away for himself.
Suddenly, her spirit lifted and the fear that had held him in its grip eased away. He noticed greater boldness in her step and felt her heightened confidence and unmistakable relief. Why her fear had dissipated, he could not guess. She moved among the tables, her rich voice binding the men to her as she passed. Then she approached the table where Alec stood. They locked eyes. Hers narrowed in confusion, and then an instant later, he knew she recognized him as the man in the hallway earlier that morning. She h
eld his gaze. He did not look away. He felt her fear rebuilding like wood tossed on a fire. It sparked and grew until hot flames of it licked his insides. Her song continued, but she backed away from him like a prey retreating from a predator.
~ * ~
Joanie turned away from Geoffrey, her voice crooning notes faithfully, but inside she struggled to keep from laughing hysterically and crying with relief. Geoffrey had not recognized her. She was sure of it. Eventually, he was bound to discover the nameless singer was his servant, but at least for now she was safe from his fury. She turned away and proceeded around a cluster of tables. The men stared at her with open admiration. Never had she ever felt the warm eyes of a man on her. Never had she known what it meant to be desired. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once. One part of her wished to flee from their unwavering gazes while another part wanted to savor the honeyed warmth of being desired. She infused her song with greater passion. She was singing her favorite of her grandmother’s songs about lovers forbidden to wed who fled from their families and found themselves trapped within a tempest that raged across the moors. They were swept away by the wind and landed in a place of enchantment where love conquered all. Emboldened by the heated gazes, the feel of silk against her skin, and the haunting sound of her own voice echoing off the high ceilings, she let her guard down and gave herself over to the game. She boldly looked the men in the eye but faltered when she met black eyes as cold and distant as the night sky … familiar eyes. A tremor shot up her spine as she recognized the man from earlier in the hall, and unlike Geoffrey she knew this man recognized her for who she really was. He did not look away. His face was beautiful with full lips, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. He wore his black hair long and straight unlike the rest of the men in the room. His tall leanly-built body exuded power in the most terrifying way. He sat perfectly still, his eyes ice cold and empty, and yet he seemed to reverberate feeling, like he was secretly shaking the room but only he and she knew it.
She started to back away. Her instinct was to flee, back to Diana, back to Geoffrey even, anyone but him and his endless, powerful gaze. She looked away, moving to the tables on the far side of the hall. With a last, lingering note that started out soaring from her lips but ended in a near whisper, she finished her song. The room erupted into cheers with an intensity that shocked her. She scurried back. Geoffrey stood with everyone else, cheering and clapping, his eyes heavy with drink and desire — he had never looked at her like that before and a warning crept up her spine. She jerked around to find the other man in the room she feared, but his seat was empty. He had gone. She bowed her head, her true self returning in a blush that burned her face with warmth. She dipped into a low curtsy and turned to mount the stairs to the high dais. She had to force her feet to walk, but her heart sprinted ahead, pounding in her chest. She rounded the screen and gasped as she met hollow, black eyes.
Chapter Nine
Alec stood just behind the screen, waiting for the lass. He felt her trepidation, before she circled around. Fear surged through her when she saw him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, pressing his hand across her lips just in time to smother her scream. He prepared his heart and mind for the onslaught of images and memories that would be revealed to him when he touched her … but he saw nothing, not even the old woman whom he had glimpsed when he had grabbed her arm earlier in the hallway. Stunned, he dropped his hand. He could still feel her emotions — fear at the moment, and he could hear her pounding heart. Still, he had touched her and saw nothing, no window into her soul. But then the vision of her standing on the bridge, her wide dark eyes brimming with tears flashed in his mind, and once more he heard his name on her lips. Whether she knew it or not, her soul was reaching out to him. Why, he could not say. He had not even learned her name.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Joanie’s heart raced as she considered his question. His voice was not what she had expected. It was deep but flat, as emotionless as his eyes.
“No one,” she said, backing away from him and turning up the stairs. He followed behind, his long strides easily overtaking hers.
He stepped around her to stand in front of her, but to her relief he did not grab her again. He did, however, block her escape.
“What is your name?”
Joanie wanted to scream why do you care? She needed to get back to the room to change out of Diana’s clothing. She did not want Geoffrey to see her in the room dressed as she was. Eventually, he would know that she was the singer — but she thought being seen in Diana’s finery would only fuel his ire.
“What is your name?” he repeated in the same flat voice.
She fisted her hands at her side to keep herself from lashing out with her tongue in frustration. Whoever he was he exuded danger. “I am no one of consequence.”
“What is your name?”
“Margaret,” she answered, giving her grandmother’s name.
He stepped closer. “Do not lie to me.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Joanie,” she blurted, her heart pounding.
His expression was unreadable as were his dark eyes that, despite their emptiness, seemed to penetrate her very soul. He was effortlessly inescapable. “You are in danger,” he said, his voice still void of emotion despite his warning.
Who was he? And what did he want with her? “Let me pass,” she said, her heart racing harder.
He stepped closer but did not touch her. He had not raised his voice, and yet it felt as if he had surrounded her, bound her.
“Please,” she whispered, choking back on a sob. “Let me pass.”
“You need to calm yourself,” he said, soft and low. He reached out a hand toward her, but he stopped short of touching her. Instead, he raked his hand through his long hair. He closed his eyes. “Come away with me. Whatever it is you are afraid of, I can help. I will take you away from here.”
Alarms sounded in Joanie’s head. Did Geoffrey send him? Was this a test to prove her loyalty?
“Joanie,” he said, drawing her gaze. He was so tall, she craned her neck back to meet his gaze. But a chill raked up her spine, forcing her gaze to drop. It was then she noticed his hands fisted at his side, his one betrayal of the frustration she knew was building within him. She could feel it, like heat pouring off him.
“Please,” she said, “if you really want to help me, then get out of my way. I must get back to the room before…” She did not know what else to say. But she could feel herself begin to panic. “Please,” she cried.
He did not move. He remained in front of her, an unbreachable wall of both fire and ice. Then at last he stepped out of the way. “Go,” he snapped.
She gasped. Then she lifted the hem of her tunic and shot forward down the hall as if she was fleeing from the Devil himself. She glanced back to see if he gave chase. He stood there, watching her, his long black hair glinting in the candlelight. His black eyes stood out against his snowy white skin. She tore her gaze from his and sped up, the candles streaking past in a blur of light, and she did not slow her pace until she reached Diana’s door.
Chapter Ten
Joanie threw open the door, then slammed it shut behind her. Leaning against the slatted wood, she let her head fall back as she fought to catch her breath.
“Is he coming?” Diana blurted from where she sat in bed, her knuckles white from squeezing the fold of her blanket.
“No,” Joanie said, breathless. “At least I don’t think so.” And then she realized Diana couldn’t have known about the man with black eyes. She, of course, had meant the master. “I don’t know when Geoffrey will come.”
Diana released her death grip and smoothed the blanket over her lap. “You looked like you were running away from someone just now.”
“I was,” Joanie said, still trying to slow her racing heart. “But not from the master. There was another man.”
Diana sat straighter. “What man? Did he hurt you? Are you alright?”
Joanie put out a
calming hand. “I’m fine. He … he frightened me, but he didn’t hurt me.”
“Who?”
Joanie shook her head. “I don’t know his name. He was tall with very long black hair, and his eyes…” her voice trailed off as a shiver shot up her spine. “They were like the night sky before it snows — cold, empty, and teeming with power just beneath the surface.”
“Ahh,” Diana said, nodding knowingly. “Randolph Tweed.”
Joanie hurried to Diana’s bedside and sat down. “You know him?”
Diana shook her head. “I’ve never spoken a word to him, but I’ve seen him in the hall on occasion. He keeps to himself, barely speaking to anyone, his eyes as cold and unfeeling as the dead. I’m told he is favored by the keeper, but all the maids in the castle are afraid of him. One of the girls told me that he keeps to his room most of the day and only comes out at night. She says he wanders the streets. They believe he is a dark angel or even the devil himself — beautiful to look upon but wicked to his core.”
Joanie’s hand flew to her throat. “He bade me go away with him.”
Diana’s eyes widened. “He didn’t?”
Joanie nodded. “He did.”
Diana clasped her hand to her chest. “Keep away from him, Joanie. He has the evil eye. He’ll put a curse on you or worse.”
“I hope to never lay eyes upon his dark soul again,” Joanie said. “I can’t imagine why he approached me in the first place.”
Diana laughed softly and cupped Joanie’s cheek. “Whereas, I am not surprised in the least. How could he resist you?” Then she sighed. “I wish I could have been there to hear you sing.”
Joanie blushed and looked down at her hands at rest on blue silk. Suddenly, she drew a sharp breath. “Your tunic!” She jumped to her feet, and with trembling hands, she furtively pulled the borrowed garments over her head, which she then hung carefully in Diana’s wardrobe.
She scanned the floor. “Where’s my tunic,” she cried to Diana, her heart once more pounding.
