When he was settled again, the trooper said, “I will tell you what I know. It’s not much.”
Leaning back in his chair, Murdoch crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
“I’m a soldier. I know this to be true because of the calluses I have on my hands.” He showed Murdoch his palms. “These tell me that I am a trained swordsman, but not if I’m any good.”
Murdoch conceded that much. “I myself didn’t see you fight, but they tell me you wore the uniform of an officer. I doubt that means you were incompetent.”
The trooper took that much in and nodded before he continued. “If you and your captain are to be believed, I served a man named Duke Keirthan, and through him, Lord Fagan, although I don’t know why.”
He was making no sense. “How could you not know something as simple as who it is you serve?”
Again, another long pause. “Believe me or not, but the memory of my life began when I awoke in this bed. I cannot recall anything about my life prior to that minute.”
He stared up at the ceiling as if hoping to find answers there. “I remember nothing of the battle that brought me here or what I’ve done that would make me your enemy. However, I understand that I am your prisoner and will face judgment for my acts.”
This time when he looked at Murdoch, his expression appeared unnaturally calm. “But if you want explanations, I have none to offer. I remember nothing of my life, nothing of me. Not even my own name.”
Murdoch wasn’t sure he believed the man. In fact, he didn’t want to, but the glint of fear in the trooper’s eyes gave the weight of truth to his outrageous claim. It didn’t change the fact that the man had served the duke and had no doubt killed good men as part of that service.
Maybe he deserved to die for his crimes, but not if he didn’t know what he’d done or why. In the past, Murdoch had known other soldiers who suffered temporary confusion after a blow to the head. The trooper showed no sign of a head wound, but that didn’t matter; the results were the same.
Murdoch didn’t have it in him to see the man executed for crimes he didn’t remember committing. Once his memory returned—if it returned—there would be time enough to decide the trooper’s fate.
“I believe you, although I’m not sure why I should.” He considered the possibilities. “I will ask Captain Gideon to withhold judgment until such time as your memory returns.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we will let the gods decide your fate.” Murdoch pushed himself back up to his feet, ignoring the tugging pain of his stomach wound.
He paused before leaving. “Until then, what would you like to be called?”
The trooper gave it some thought. When he answered, it was with the first spark of humor Murdoch had seen in his expression. “Call me Sigil. Since we don’t know my real name, it seems proper for me to be known simply by the duke’s symbol that I wore.”
Murdoch offered his own hint of a smile in return. “Sigil it is then. We will speak again.”
As he walked away, Sigil murmured, “I’m sure we will.”
Then in a louder voice, he called out, “Can I know your name as well? And who it is that you and Captain Gideon serve?”
“I am called Murdoch. We are the Damned, avatars of the gods.” With that happy thought, he returned to his room to await his dinner.
Chapter 8
All Duncan wanted was to seek out his bed in the guest quarters and lie down. Blood still oozed through the stitches in his leg, and the surrounding flesh was swollen and raw. Maybe the ointment the herbalist had given him would help, but he hadn’t had time to apply it since she’d closed the wound.
Spending several hours searching through the caravan hadn’t helped either his injury or his mood. Granted, he didn’t particularly care what the trader and his people thought of him. He’d killed two of their own and didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms.
However, considering he’d prevented the assassination of Lady Lavinia, the least they could do was wait until he was out of sight to start warding off evil. But no, as he approached each wagon, the owner went through all the motions, only to repeat them again as soon as Duncan walked away.
Maybe it wouldn’t have made him so angry if Lavinia hadn’t been there to witness their behavior. He needed her to trust him enough to allow him access to the abbey’s library. Otherwise he would have failed Gideon and his friends. How likely was he to succeed on his mission when everyone around him thought he was the spawn of darkness?
Night had fallen several hours ago, but Musar had insisted that the search be finished so the caravan could leave at first light. The trader wanted them to ensure that his clan wouldn’t carry the evil with them when they returned to their winter homes. While Duncan and Lavinia searched the wagons, Rubar and the other guard were quietly buried in the small cemetery in the valley below. Later, after the traders were gone, Duncan would pay his respects to the two men.
When they’d finally finished with the last wagon, the abbess had asked him to wait in her office, although she didn’t say why. Perhaps it was because they still needed to determine what to do with the tainted coins. Earlier, they’d locked them away in a heavy steel box, where they should stay for now, for safety. It was far too dangerous to deal with magical artifacts of such power at night. According to the memories his friend Kane had shared with the Damned, blood magery was born of darkness and was at its peak strength during the night. No, it would be better to take action in the bright light of day.
So there he sat, unsure of what else needed to be said tonight, although he had his suspicions. It was unlikely that Musar’s remaining guards would appreciate sharing quarters with the man who killed two of their own.
The only question was if Lavinia would offer Duncan another room or if she’d order him to ride out immediately. He still needed to persuade her to let him look through the library before she turned him away from the abbey. He settled back in the chair and let his eyes close. These few minutes might be the only rest he’d get for hours to come.
* * *
“Sir Duncan, wake up.”
A hand on his shoulder giving him a bit of a shake jerked him back to consciousness. He blinked several times and looked around to remind himself of where he was—in Lavinia’s office. The candles on the wall had burned down a good inch since he’d drifted off.
Lavinia waited until he sat up straighter to speak. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
“It has been a long day for you as well.”
The dark circles under her eyes were proof of that. She’d managed to get through everything without breaking down, but the whole affair had taken its toll on her. He was used to people wanting to kill him. He doubted she was.
The thought had Duncan wanting to put his arms around her to keep her safe from all threats. Although he hardly knew the abbess, something in her quiet dignity spoke to him. Yet he doubted the gesture would be appreciated. He settled for asking, “Are you all right?”
Her smile didn’t last long. “I will be, especially after a good night’s sleep.”
He understood the sentiment. “About that. Do you think Sister Berta would mind if I slept in the infirmary tonight? I would rather not force my presence on Musar’s men if I can help it. I’m sure Musar has forbidden them to come after me, but I would rather not provoke them unnecessarily. They’ve been through enough.”
“Actually, I’ve already given the matter some thought.” Lavinia bit her lower lip. “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather you not sleep in the infirmary. That would be the next logical place for them to look.”
She picked up a lantern off her desk. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to a room that I doubt any of Musar’s clan knows about. I had Sister Joetta move your belongings while Musar and the others were at the funeral.”
“I appreciate your forethought.”
He stood up, doing his best to ignore the fre
sh stab of pain when he put his full weight on his injured leg. Lavinia started toward him, but he waved her off.
“I’m fine.” Or he would be when he could lie down.
She didn’t appear to believe him, but she allowed him his pride. “We don’t have far to go.”
She led him outside through her private garden where the night air was heavy with the perfume of roses and night-blooming lilies. He drew a deep breath. The rich scents reminded him of his mother in a way. She’d loved flowers of all kinds, something else about her that his father had never understood. To him, a plant was worthless unless it provided feed for animals or humans. He’d thought it foolish to value something simply for its beauty.
Duncan started forward again. Now was certainly not the time to get lost in his past. Those events were centuries old and the people involved had long since turned to dust. For the Damned, the present was all that mattered. They had been called here for a purpose, and their faithful service might at last provide them respite from their damnation.
Lavinia stopped at a narrow doorway hidden behind a trellis covered in a thick vine. She pressed her palm against the smooth wood. “Put your hand beside mine.”
When he did as she asked, she adjusted the position of his hand slightly, the warmth of her touch against his skin far more distracting than it should’ve been. As she murmured a few words, a gentle tingle started in his fingertips and spread up his arm.
Magic! His first instinct was to jerk his hand back, although it was already too late. She’d already invoked the spell, but as with Lady Merewen’s gift with horses, Lavinia’s incantation didn’t bear the stench of dark magic. In fact, the sensation was almost pleasant.
When she finished speaking, there was a soft click as the door swung open, and he could again move his hand. Lavinia lifted the lantern higher to illuminate the room beyond. He half expected the air to be stale and the walls covered in cobwebs, but instead everything was fresh and clean.
For a few seconds, they both remained in the doorway as Duncan studied the room before them. There was a narrow bed along one wall beside some shelves, and his belongings had been left in the corner on the floor. On the other side were a table and chair. Judging from the stack of blank paper, a jar of pens and brushes, as well as various bottles of ink, the room was intended to be used by a scribe.
Perfect.
Lavinia walked ahead of him to set the lantern down on the table. “Will this do for tonight?”
“It is far nicer than I expected.”
“Tomorrow we will decide what to do about the coins. Afterward, we can talk about your duties here at the abbey.”
“So you’ve decided that I can stay.”
“For now. You may change your mind after I explain what I have in mind for you.”
She looked around one last time, the light bathing her beauty in a soft glow. It was only with great effort that he could turn his gaze back to the room itself.
“For now, is there anything else you need?”
Her. The kindness of such a beautiful woman toward him offered temptation almost beyond his control. Duncan slammed the door on that line of thinking. He had no right to be thinking of her that way, even if he’d give anything to know if that lush mouth tasted as sweet as it looked.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Then I shall see you in the morning. The door and that window are both warded against anyone but me and you.”
Interesting to discover the magic she wielded did have an edge to it. But surely the Lord and Lady of the River, the gods he served, would’ve warned him if her gift was tainted by evil. He felt no misgivings in her presence. Quite the contrary, in fact.
“I will go now. My personal quarters are on the other side of the courtyard.” She pointed to the door on the far wall.
“Thank you, my lady. You’ve been more than generous.”
“You are welcome.”
She stepped back out into the courtyard but paused to look back at him. “It is just an indication of how tired I am that I cannot remember if I thanked you for saving my life. If not, please accept my gratitude. It was a miracle of the gods that you were here when I most needed a champion.”
That had him smiling. Little did she know.
“Sleep well, Lavinia.”
She smiled. “You as well, Just Plain Duncan.”
Then she was gone, leaving him standing there grinning after her. He made quick work of getting ready for bed. Before blowing out the lantern, he applied a thick layer of the salve to his leg, hissing when it stung. But then a soothing, warm heat spread through his skin and down deep into the muscles, leaving a blessed numbness in its wake.
He stretched out on the bed, happy to be without pain for the first time in hours. As he gave himself over to sleep, his last thought was of the beautiful woman courageous enough to tease one of the Damned.
* * *
Lavinia paced the length of her office. Despite the late hour when she’d finally sought her bed, she’d been up at first light to watch Musar and his clan set off. She hated the new tension between them and prayed that time would heal the wound. She didn’t fault the trader or his clan for the attack. She didn’t even blame the two men who’d actually come at her with swords.
However, she wasn’t so sure that in some manner Musar didn’t blame her, and perhaps he’d be right about that. She no longer doubted the attack had been aimed at her. If his men hadn’t come into contact with her, they might have lived long lives with their honor unquestioned.
She had her suspicions about the source of the dark magic, but that was her secret. Soon, with Duncan’s assistance, she would see what she could do to destroy the coins.
Not that she completely trusted Duncan. There was far more to the man than he wanted her to know. Part of what she felt was a straightforward reaction to a handsome man, but it went beyond that. He carried with him an energy unlike anything she’d ever before experienced, and yet he lacked the feel of any mage she’d encountered.
No, he was more like a conduit for magic, the tool of a more powerful hand.
She shuddered. If that were true, was he controlled by the same mage who had sent the coins out into the land to seek her? Her instincts said no, and she’d told Duncan the truth last night. The wards she’d placed on his quarters were intended to keep anyone other than herself and him out. What she hadn’t told him was that she’d also set the ward to keep him in. If he’d tried to leave the room, he would’ve been rendered unconscious until she arrived to release him.
But he’d slept through the night. She’d removed that half of the wards when she first awoke. For now, she couldn’t afford to treat him as a prisoner. When she learned more of his true purpose in coming to the abbey, she’d decide how to proceed.
The door to her office opened just far enough to let her novice peek in. “Lady Lavinia? Was I supposed to meet you here instead of in the library?”
Lavinia wanted to bang her head for forgetting, but she carefully schooled her expression. “No, Sarra, the mistake is mine. I should’ve sent word to Sister Joetta that I would need to cancel our class this morning.”
Sarra’s hopeful look faded. “I understand.”
Lavinia motioned for her to come in. “I’m sorry. I would far rather spend the time with you.”
Duncan’s deep voice joined the discussion, startling both females. “Instead, she has to put up with me. I apologize for usurping your time with the abbess.”
Sarra, who had little reason to trust men, scooted closer to Lavinia. Duncan kept his distance and did his best to look harmless. Lavinia thought it likely that he recognized Sarra’s reaction for what it meant and appreciated his attempt to reassure the girl.
The little girl stared at him with something akin to fear in her eyes. “You’re the man who killed those two bad men last night. The ones who wanted to hurt Lady Lavinia. Are you glad they died? I am.”
He flinched but nodded. Then he stepped closer and knelt down so that
he didn’t tower over Sarra.
“We haven’t been introduced. My name is Duncan.”
“My new name is Sarra. It used to be Elizabeth.”
When the little girl realized what she’d said, her eyes grew round. “Sorry. I wasn’t supposed to say that. My name is Sarra. My old name is a secret, so can you forget I said it? It’s important.”
To give Duncan credit, he took the little girl seriously. “I’m very good at keeping secrets, Sarra. You honor me by trusting me with yours.”
Sarra looked to Lavinia for reassurance. What could she do but nod?
Duncan went on talking, his expression grave. “Sarra, those were not bad men. Someone else tricked them. I stopped them the only way I could, but their deaths make me sad, not happy. I wish there had been some other way to keep them from hurting Lady Lavinia. I know that’s hard to understand, but I hope you believe me.”
Sarra’s small body thrummed with tension. “But bad men killed my father and stole my mother. I hate them.”
There was such sadness in Duncan’s pale eyes. He reached out to touch Sarra’s cheek. “That’s understandable, little one.”
To Lavinia’s amazement, Sarra responded by giving Duncan a hug. Since coming to the abbey, she had avoided any contact with the few men who passed through. Clearly Duncan had passed some test for Sarra to respond to him in such a way. It was something to think about. For now, Lavinia had pressing business with the man.
“Sarra, I promise to spend time with you when I can, but right now Sir Duncan and I have work to do. Why don’t you go see if Sister Joetta has time to work on your music?”
The little girl immediately dropped into a low curtsy. “May I be excused?”
“Yes, you may.”
Sarra skipped toward the door, her good mood obviously restored. At the last second, she stopped abruptly to return to Duncan. She frowned, her small mouth a straight line.
Her voice shimmered with power when she spoke, sounding far more adult than it should have. In fact, it was deep and male. “We are sorry you were hurt, Sir Duncan, but trust that you’ll find your way back soon and find yourself at peace at long last.”
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