‘Poisoned! I think... I believe I tasted that.’
‘I spotted your sister and Louve, coming from the ale house.’
‘Louve asked me if I had poisoned it.’
‘You! You would never—’
She gripped his leg. ‘Tell me. Why do you suspect the steward?’
‘Because Ian knew. In front of all in the Great Hall, Ian fed the steward ale at full strength. The steward drank it and died.’
He swallowed hard. He had to tell her.
‘Then Ian ordered me to carry him out. So I did.’
He waited for her gasp. For her to flinch from his hold. Or at least for her to look up at him in horror. She did none of those things. Maybe she didn’t understand.
‘I did it with ease. It’s not the first time I’ve carried a dead person. Nor seen one killed.’
Still nothing. His talkative Margery was quiet, whilst he shook. When he couldn’t wait any longer, he tucked a finger under her chin, marvelling again at the size difference between them. Her fierceness, her bravery, constantly made him forget.
She allowed him to raise her face to his. There was nothing but tears in her eyes, and something deeper than pity...empathy.
‘I’m so sorry you had to—’
She didn’t understand! He was a monster!
‘It’s ugly. The bodies are still warm, and because they were breathing moments before you expect them to again. At least with the Steward there was no blood. In truth, if you don’t get a body moved fast enough you will be covered in more than just blood.’
There. That should give her some hint as to what—
Margery laid her hand on his cheek.
‘This is the kind of man I am,’ he blurted.
This was the reason he needed to protect her.
‘What would have happened if you hadn’t taken the steward’s body out of the room?’
To have not followed the order of a Warstone, and in front of his parents?
‘You would have been killed.’ She slid her hand down his arm and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘No more, Evrart. You need to defend yourself. Now, tell me, is my sister safe?’
Her sister. ‘I left the body with the chaplain and came up the private staircase. Your door was still intact, so I went to the other staircase attached to the hall. If anyone had come after you...’
‘You’d have been there.’
Always. He’d always protect her. ‘I needed to see what had happened...if anyone else needed—’
‘Needed your help? At the same time you were protecting me?’
He nodded, searching the clear eyes that had never changed with his story. Perhaps later she’d realise what he was, but now she was concerned for her sister, so he continued.
‘Ian’s parents and their guards were already mobilised to leave. I don’t know why. I think they had something to do with the steward. Biedeluue and Louve stood together. Balthus was nearby, and Ian stood next to Louve, on the other side of your sister.’
She put her hand to her mouth. ‘So near!’
‘I was there in the shadows. No one saw me. I was there to throw a dagger if needed, Margery.’
‘Thank you.’
So simply said! Here was the evidence of her goodness. To ruin it with all he knew...? Never.
‘Ian threw a dagger to strike Balthus. Your sister flew from the bench and shoved him out of the way.’
Margery gasped. ‘That is just like Bied.’
‘Louve threw his own dagger which struck Ian. He fell.’
The dagger had been aimed at Ian’s shoulder. But Ian had moved towards the blade and it had pierced his heart. To tell her that a man may have ended his life in front of all? He must protect her as much as he could for now.
‘Your door was closed, but I should have seen to you. I should have—.’
‘You were there for my sister. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I hate it that I was locked in here.’
He eased his arms around her again, revelling in the fact she let him. He pressed a bit more, to convey that he understood. If his sister had been in danger, and he had been denied the ability to protect her, he would have torn down doors. But it was safer for Margery in here, and he wouldn’t have allowed her freedom anyway.
When she leaned fully into him he closed his eyes and rested his head on the top of hers. He didn’t know what beauty was, but he felt it with her. They sat like that as he watched the light dim in the room and her body became heavier.
‘I need to talk to my sister,’ she said, her voice slow, heavy.
He’d expected that. And he expected when she did, her sister would take her away from him.
‘Family’s important,’ he said.
‘But we’ll rest here now.’
He tried to lay her down.
She grabbed his hand. ‘We’ll rest here now.’
He could deny her nothing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Despite it still being dark when Margery woke early the next morning, Evrart was gone. She didn’t know when he’d left, or why she had needed to sleep. She’d been doing nothing but resting and sleeping for weeks.
It must be the fear, the worry...those shouts she had been able to do nothing to ease. The words Evrart had spoken. The fact she was locked in a room while Biedeluue simply charged forward in her life.
She hated not being able to do anything. She was useless. Had been made useless. It reminded her of all the times when, as a child, she had suddenly been swept up in someone’s arms without any acknowledgement. She’d be arranging rocks, or gazing at insects, and suddenly she’d been picked up and put somewhere else.
It hadn’t taken her long to realise that would be her life if she stayed in the village. And it also hadn’t taken her long to know her family couldn’t afford to keep her. She didn’t want to be a burden, and she wanted some freedom, so she’d taken Josse’s coin—for them, but at the same time doing something for herself.
Ian had been terrifying and could simply have killed her. It was as if he had known being imprisoned and forced to bend to his every whim was a worse fate. To have some independence, and then to be denied that very freedom...? That wasn’t her. She—
A timid knock on the door and Jeanne was there with a tray.
‘Oh!’ Jeanne stopped in the doorway. ‘You’re awake.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘I didn’t know what else to do this morning.’ Jeanne stepped in without closing the door. ‘I know it’s early, but I took a chance you wouldn’t throw me out.’
Margery eyed the food she knew she wouldn’t eat. It wasn’t quite light outside. They had time. ‘I’m glad you came. Set it here—stay and eat.’
Throwing herself into a chair, Jeanne grabbed a bread roll and Margery poured cold pottage into the two cups. She didn’t hide her smile. Jeanne was hoping for her company as much as she wanted it herself.
‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ Jeanne said. ‘I don’t know what’s to become of the household now.’
Margery’s heart eased at Jeanne’s easy way with her. She knew she wasn’t a servant—not truly—but she wasn’t royalty either. Having a friendship...any friend...was a gift.
‘Won’t the Warstone parents or Balthus take over?’
‘Did no one tell you...?’ Jeanne’s eyes widened. ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind. I keep forgetting you’re locked in here.’
Sequestered. Confined.
She should have checked on her sister, but Evrart had said she had Louve, and Margery had been loath to leave the comfort of Evrart’s arms.
She’d imprisoned herself!
‘That probably wasn’t kind either,’ Jeanne said.
Margery waved her hand. ‘No, don’t apologise. It’s not... I’m free now.’
‘You w
ere fortunate to be in here,’ Jeanne said. ‘To have missed everything.’
Margery didn’t feel fortunate—or free. She felt as if she was again being picked up and put somewhere else. Somewhere she wasn’t certain she wanted to be.
‘I had to serve the goblets of ale,’ Jeanne said.
Evrart had said much, but not everything. She knew it wasn’t reasonable to expect a man who barely made a sound to give details, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done it because he was protecting her. No. She had made it clear to him how important it was to her to know the truth.
Margery took a sip of pottage. ‘Goblets?’
‘They passed around wine for everyone, and then a tray of ale went—’
‘To the steward, who died,’ Margery said, not wanting to hear it again. Evrart had suffered enough.
Jeanne wiped her mouth with the back of the hand still holding the roll. ‘To the usher and the new cook as well.’
Margery stood. ‘My sister!’
‘Your sister?’ Jeanne said.
Evrart hadn’t told her everything.
Margery looked at the open door. Enough was enough. ‘Jeanne, forgive me...’
* * *
Down the staircase, across the great hall... Margery ran towards the kitchens. It was easy to spot her sister. The familiar hands on her hips, the hair waving with riotous indignation.
‘Bied!’ Margery skipped down the steps.
Biedeluue turned and enveloped her in her arms. Familiar. Wanted. Cherished. Their mother had always been fragile, and it had been Bied who had cared for her.
‘Margery, are you well? Are you harmed?’
How could she be harmed when she was cut off from life, and protected all the time? Jeanne had made it sound like a benefit; it was a curse. She hadn’t known her sister’s life had been in jeopardy.
‘What of you?’ She pulled back from her sister and looked her over. She was here. Not poisoned. Breathing. ‘You’re here in the kitchens!’
Bied clamped her hands on Margery’s shoulders—which, given their short stature and Bied’s curves, didn’t separate them much. ‘I’m only here because I was promised some tarts with extra honey. I’m starving.’
Margery didn’t want to eat. She wanted to know what had been happening in this castle. Whilst she’d been surrounded by pillows, others had been killed and had narrowly avoided drinking poisoned ale.
‘Can we simply—?’ Margery started, but then she spotted a woman bringing over a tray.
‘Thank you, Tess,’ Bied said.
‘If I’d known you had company in the kitchens I’d have brought more.’ Tess handed Bied the tray.
Margery didn’t want any food. She wanted her sister. ‘There’s four tarts here,’ she said.
‘Hardly enough,’ Tess said with a wink. ‘You’ll see.’
Bied linked their arms and pulled them into another room with a roof full of hanging herbs and a long table. Margery dragged two stools closer together.
‘Tell me what is going on,’ Bied said.
‘Isn’t that what I am to ask you?’ she said. ‘The ale that killed the steward was poisoned.’
Bied blinked.
Margery didn’t know where to begin. Half of her wanted to strangle her sister for risking her life; the other half wanted to keep hugging her.
‘Jeanne said everyone got wine, but a few were served ale. You and Louve and the steward.’
Bied nodded. ‘Ian ordered ours not to be poisoned.’
‘You didn’t know that when you were served it though, did you?’
Bied hesitated, then shook her head.
Margery pushed off her stool, wrapped her arms about herself and stepped away.
Bied shifted in her seat. ‘I haven’t been here long, but I’ve learnt if a Warstone wants you dead, then you’re dead. And they like their games.’
From the tone of her voice, it seemed her sister liked them, too. Margery walked to the other side of the table and stayed there, because she was furious.
‘Margery...’
She held out her hand. ‘Not yet.’
Whilst she’d been swept up at the whim of some Warstone scheme she knew nothing about, Bied had come here and risked her life. But Margery needed somehow to make the people around her see that she needed to rescue herself.
‘How do you know the usher?’
‘I met him here,’ Bied said. ‘But—’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Less than a month,’ Bied said. ‘But—’
Margery shook her head, turned her back again.
No. No. No.
‘I love him.’
Margery turned around. ‘The usher? You have only just met him.’
‘I love you.’
‘What do I have to do with it?’
‘I thought you were probably being served the ale as well. That you would be caught out.’
Margery leaned on the table. ‘You shouldn’t have taken the ale.’
‘What wouldn’t I do?’
All the fight left her. She loved her sister just as much. What would she do for her family? Everything. She’d accepted Josse...that way of life. It hadn’t been easy. Roul had been even worse, but she’d accepted that too, because she’d refused to be a burden to her siblings. She’d wished to ease her mother’s mind.
‘You’re not dead,’ Margery said.
Bied’s eyes watered, as if she was taking in Margery’s fear. ‘Neither is Louve. Nor you.’
‘Evrart told me what happened in the hall. That there were daggers thrown. That you pushed Balthus out of the way.’
‘Evrart!’ Bied said. ‘I don’t know how he did what he did.’
Hefting a body and carrying it to the chapel grounds. Explaining to the chaplain what was to be done?
‘He’s done worse,’ Margery said.
‘He told you?’
He’d told her enough. Enough to scare her away or to protect her from him? No more. From here on she’d never be forced behind a locked door again. She didn’t know what she’d do to avoid it, but it would be something. Because by hiding away she had only these words now. Words from Evrart, from Bied, from Jeanne... And she knew she still didn’t know all the facts that threatened those she cared for.
Already she had nudged Evrart into not treating her as if she was fragile. He wouldn’t betray her like that, would he?
Instead of crying here in the kitchens, she took a bite of tart. ‘Oh!’
‘Good, aren’t they?’ Bied said around the bite in her mouth.
Margery brushed the crumbs off her fingers. ‘They’re delicious.’
‘I’m sorry I called him a brute before, when you do truly care for him,’ Bied said.
And he had feelings for her—but why did she feel unsettled? Was it her past, and the fact she knew she wasn’t worthy of him? And yet if they cared for each other that shouldn’t matter. She should be feeling as free as she’d ever been. Not this unease.
He’d hurt her, though, even if it had been inadvertent, and letting down her defences and not protecting herself would be harder somehow.
‘What are you to do now?’ Bied asked.
Return to the village where she’d grown up? Never. To Josse or Roul? To another man to earn coin for her family? Not now. Not after Evrart. Not even for Mabile, who needed the coin.
Stay here? That didn’t appeal to her at all. Although Evrart was here. Ian might be gone, but Balthus would need a guard who knew the way of things. Still...
‘I don’t know. I think that depends on you,’ she said.
Bied shook her head. ‘Not me.’
Margery finished off her tart and grabbed another one. ‘You’ve never not made a decision about my life.’
‘Is that why you wrote me
that letter?’ Bied asked. ‘You told me how charming Ian of Warstone was and I was just to believe you? To stay away?’
She’d hurt her sister. ‘I didn’t want you to worry. So I told you of Ian and asked you to be happy for me.’
‘Except I got the other message.’
‘It was supposed to go to Servet and Isnard.’
‘The messenger told me so, and I said I’d deliver it. I even wrote a reply to you, since the messenger was still there to return it. A day later I couldn’t wait, and I opened the one you intended for our brothers.’
‘So you did write to warn me of Ian?’
When Bied nodded, Margery winced and took a large bite of her tart. Roul would have received that message. Had he read it and laughed? Was he even alive?
‘And you came to rescue me.’
‘I only wanted to help.’
Margery squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘You have saved me and cared for me in ways I can never repay.’
‘I don’t want repayment,’ Bied said. ‘I only want—’
‘What’s best for me. Do you think...?’ Margery shook her head. She needed this to be said, but was half terrified if she asked the question and Bied said no, her life would never be her own. ‘Do you think you could just let go? Let me be?’
Bied played with the crust of her tart. ‘I think I will have to. I don’t know if I have a place to live any more.’
Margery was certain if Bied and Louve talked they would find a home together. ‘What of this fortress?’ she asked.
‘Ian’s dead, and I don’t know about this brother Balthus who has taken over.’
‘Simply ask Balthus. You saved his life by pushing him out of the way.’
Bied’s gaze slid away.
Evrart had said Bied shoved Balthus out of the way, but he hadn’t said what had happened afterwards. ‘Did that knife hit you?’
Bied shook her head. ‘Balthus was injured before. We didn’t know how badly until I pushed him away from that knife. Louve has had to cut off his hand. He isn’t waking now, and is racked with fever.’
Evrart hadn’t explained this to her. He hadn’t wanted to tell her anything at all until she’d told him she’d leave if he didn’t. Had he lied to her?
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 61
