by Grace Draven
“Has Cinnia seen him like this?”
Gavin shook his head. “No. What will you tell her?”
“Everything. She needs to know why he’s locked in a cell—that it’s more than angry cries and a few days out of sight below the buttery because the roasted capon didn’t agree with him. She may wish to leave. She may wish to stay, but she’ll make that decision knowing what resides here.”
Gavin gave a defeated sigh. “I can’t fault you for trying to protect her.”
“I can.” Ambrose glared at Gavin. “I still don’t know why we opened the gate to this shrew.”
“Not an issue if your precious lordling here hadn’t absconded with my sister!”
“Enough!” Gavin’s command made the two foes start. “We’ll resolve this upstairs.” His nose wrinkled. “Mistress, you’ll want a bath before you visit anybody. I’ll meet you both in the hall to break our fast, and we’ll hash this out between us.”
Louvaen nodded, still shaken from her encounter with the master of Ketach Tor and sick to death of arguing with every person she encountered in this cursed place. She took her pistol back from Ambrose and climbed the stairs two at a time.
She found the housekeeper in the kitchen serving a groggy Cinnia a cup of ale at the table. Magda backed away while Cinnia covered her nose and mouth with her hand and spoke through her fingers. “Sweet mother of night, what happened to you? You smell like you’ve been sleeping with the swine.”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” She placed the flintlock on the table and clasped her hands together in a semblance of prayer. “Please, Magda. A basin of hot water and a cake of soap, and I will be your servant forever.”
The older woman laughed. “Too bad all help doesn’t come so cheap.” She gestured to a small alcove off the hearth. “Get yourself into that corner. You can bathe in the kitchen. It’s the warmest room. We’ll bring out a screen for privacy.”
She eyed Louvaen curiously. “You’re a right mess, and I keep the buttery tidy.” Her features stilled. “Where were you?” The question was rhetorical, the answer reflected in Magda’s eyes.
“Introducing myself to your master.” Louvaen marched to one of the sinks where Clarimond waited to pour a pitcher of icy water over her filthy hands. She gasped at the sensation of cold fire spilling between her fingers. “Gavin or Ambrose will likely call for your help soon. I think I broke his lordship’s nose.”
Clarimond’s grip slipped on the pitcher. Water splashed across Louvaen’s night rail, soaking her to the skin. Cinnia nearly dropped her cup in her lap. “Oh, Lou, how could you?”
Dripping wet and freezing, Louvaen scowled. Magda’s guffaw deepened the scowl, but she stayed quiet. As the woman in possession of soap and hot water, the housekeeper held all the power here, and Louvaen knew how to pick her battles.
The two servant girls set up the screens; Cinnia volunteered to bring a change of clothes from her room while Magda whisked away her ruined garb with a disapproving cluck. They left Louvaen to ladle warm water out of the large pot at her feet and wash off the grime from the cell. Her hair had taken the worst of it, and she scrubbed her scalp until it burned. She was in the midst of wringing the excess water out of the wet locks when she heard heavy footsteps and Magda’s warning command.
“Keep walking. I’ve a lady at bath and don’t need you hanging about getting in the way.”
Gavin’s voice drifted to her. “Father needs—”
“Aye, I know. I’ll check on Hisself in a moment. He best mind his ways or I’ll add a split lip to that busted nose of his.”
The booted feet tromped out, and Louvaen poked her head around the screen. “Just us?”
Magda tossed her a drying sheet. “For now, but don’t dawdle. They’ll be wanting their breakfast, and the threat of finding a naked lass standing in the kitchen isn’t likely to keep them away.” She gathered up the ladle and shoved the pot aside with her foot. “I’ll not say it isn’t my place because this is my home, and you’re a stranger, so I’m telling you as I see it. You had no business in the well room. His suffering isn’t your concern.”
Louvaen paused in drying her hair. A mixture of admonishment and pity painted the housekeeper’s words. The loyal servant protecting her master—she’d seen it with Ambrose. As much as she disliked and distrusted the wizard she admired his devotion. Chained, imprisoned and half out of his mind though he was, Lord de Sauveterre inspired an impressive degree of loyalty in those who served him. She wrapped the sheet around her for warmth and took the clothing Magda held out for her.
“As long as Cinnia resides here, Magda, everything in this castle is my business.”
“You love that girl very much.”
“Yes, though she can be a right pain in my arse at times.”
Both women grinned at each other in truce, and Louvaen finished dressing to the tune of a milking song Magda sang in the most excruciating off-key voice. By the time Cinnia returned from relighting the hearth in Louvaen’s chamber, platters of bread were laid out at the table along with cups of warmed ale for sopping. Louvaen occupied a spot on the bench next to Cinnia to enjoy her breakfast. The girl’s smile lit the room when Gavin walked in to take a seat opposite from her. They clasped hands and made cow eyes at each other. Louvaen caught the brief, wary glance Gavin sent her way. Ambrose took the remaining space across from Louvaen. He eyed her first and then his tankard of ale with a suspicious gaze.
Louvaen smirked. “I don’t brew potions, sorcerer. If anyone poisoned your drink, I’m not to blame.” She bared her teeth. “This time.”
A hard swat on her shoulder made her jerk away. Cinnia glared at her, a blush dusting her cheekbones. “Lou, stop being so rude!” She offered a conciliatory smile to Ambrose. “My apologies, Ambrose. She’s always been a scold in the morning.”
He huffed and raised his tankard in mock toast to Louvaen. “You must live a life of eternal morning.”
“Ambrose.” Gavin dipped his bread into his ale. “A truce for now.”
Cinnia flattened a piece of bread between her fingers. “Did you really break his lordship’s nose, Lou?” She asked the question with a cringing look at Gavin.
Louvaen sipped her ale before answering. “Lucky shot.” Ambrose wheezed a splatter of foam across his cheeks. “Magda can tell you more when she returns.” She tore her own bread into strips. “Cinnia, Lord de Sauveterre is very ill. I don’t know what you’ve been told.” She arched a challenging eyebrow at the two men across the table. “But he isn’t sick in the way a man might be with the gout or day fever. It’s much worse. Violent, painful symptoms.” She watched Cinnia pale. “He’s mostly incoherent, very aggressive. An animal in the throes of hound madness. Gavin is wise to chain him.”
She turned to Gavin. “Are you certain this isn’t something else? Symptoms of holy fire?” Her husband had buried a man who’d succumbed to the disease, and his behavior had resembled de Sauveterre’s. His death had been a mercy and too long in coming.
“We’re certain. He’s been struck by the flux many times. The behavior is the same, the sickness the same. Sometimes the madness lasts a day, sometimes a week. Rarely more. He’s his old self afterwards.” Gavin sighed. “As much as he can be. Holy fire doesn’t scar its victims. The flux does.”
She might have argued more for holy fire but recalled the inhuman strength of de Sauveterre’s grip on her leg and the glow of his eyes as the candlelight caught his gaze. Humans didn’t possess eye shine at night, but animals did. She’d seen the bright tapestry in cats, dogs and numerous other creatures. Holy fire also didn’t endow the sick with the physical power she’d felt in those clawed fingers.
Cinnia squeezed Gavin’s hand. “I’m sorry he must suffer like this. I know you love him.” She patted Louvaen’s arm. “He’s been locked up for days before you arrived. I won’t lie. I had quite a fright the first time I heard the screams. Ambrose and Gavin told me of the flux and that his father remains safely locked away until the tide ebbs
. I feel safe here, Lou.”
“And she doesn’t insist on visiting him inside his cell or disregards our warnings,” Ambrose cut in.
Louvaen shot him a black look before returning her attention to Cinnia. “Safe from the father maybe, but what about Gavin?” The young lord stiffed but remained silent.
Cinnia started. “What about him?”
“He’s affected by the flux as well. You said so yourself. Maybe not as bad as his father, but that’s just a matter of time. Did you not notice his eyes, Cinnia?”
“They’re green. So?”
Louvaen’s mouth fell open. Unless Cinnia had gone blind all of a sudden, Gavin’s yellow gaze was hard to miss. She slammed her cup down. “Bastards! You’ve ensorcelled her.”
“Lou!”
The corner of Ambrose’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “We’ve done nothing but offer our welcome to your sister, and to you since you’re so fond of the truth.”
Cinnia hurled a piece of bread at her. “No one is enchanting anyone. What is the matter with you?”
Louvaen dodged the bread. “I’m not the one with yellow eyes!”
“You should be! You sound like a lunatic!”
She stood and grasped Cinnia’s arm. “Get up. We’re leaving.”
Cinnia jerked free. “Stop it! I’m not going anywhere!”
Louvaen’s vision hazed over red. “Yes you are, even if I have to drag you out of this gods-forsaken pit by your hair!”
The younger woman leapt to her feet and bolted for the hall. Louvaen rose to give chase.
Gavin barreled in front of her. “Let her go, mistress.”
She slammed her hands into his chest to shove him away. He was an immovable wall of solid muscle. Louvaen growled, spun back to the table for her pistol and spotted Ambrose smirking triumphantly.
The pistol dangled from his fingers. “I don’t think so, mistress.”
“Mistress Duenda!”
Louvaen turned and glared at Gavin. “What?”
He exhaled and lowered his voice. “Please give me your time. Cinnia has only fled to her room. I want to explain.”
“De Lovet, I doubt there’s anything you can say that will convince me you don’t deserve, at the very least, a sound beating.”
“Give me the chance to change your mind.”
Louvaen peered at him, seeing the earnestness in his handsome face. Even in the yellow eyes with their tinge of sorcerous blue—the tell-tale light of magic. She stared harder. “My gods,” she said. “Cinnia isn’t the one enchanted. You are.”
His shoulders slumped, relief etched in every line of his body. “Yes. I’d never allow someone to bespell her.”
While she still wanted to kill de Lovet for dragging Cinnia to the northern wilds and keeping secrets from her, the knowledge that he hadn’t ordered his magician to enchant her cooled her fury to a slow burn. She resumed her seat at the table and glared at Ambrose. “I want my pistol back when he’s done.”
He sniffed. “We’ll see.”
Gavin sat across from Louvaen. She refused his offer to refill her goblet. He refilled his before speaking. “The night we left, I’d gathered my possessions to return to Ketach Tor. The flux was growing stronger, and I couldn’t ignore its draw any longer. I’d written Cinnia a letter telling her I’d return in a few weeks. When I rode to your house to give it to her, I found her at the door. She told me she was on her way to find me.”
Louvaen growled. “Sneaking out all hours of the night. I suppose I’ll have to sleep on the threshold and nail her window shut.” She didn’t return Gavin’s faint smile. “Go on.”
“She begged me for my help. I knew Jimenin was a nuisance, a persistent suitor who wouldn’t accept her refusal of him. I didn’t realize the seriousness of your circumstances until she told me that night.”
“You had no reason to know. It was Hallis business.” She crossed her arms. “It’s still Hallis business.” Louvaen didn’t know who she wanted to cuff more now—Gavin or Cinnia. Her sister had made a right mess of things by involving de Lovet.
He sighed. “Mistress Duenda, if this is a matter of pride, it’s misplaced. Your family needs our help. We have the means to pay your father’s debt. You won’t have to sell your house or possessions; your father won’t sit in the debtor’s tower. The solution is simple and readily available.”
Louvaen stared at him until the color ran high in his cheeks. Simple had no place in any of this. “Do you understand what you’ve done by acting as Cinnia’s rescuing knight? You’ve compromised her, threatened her reputation. For all that I prefer the truth, I’ve lied myself blue trying to convince the townsfolk of Monteblanco that my sister isn’t a light skirt who ran off with the lad possessing a false nobility. Once we return home it will take all her charm and my good standing to convince our friends and neighbors her visit to a relative was simply an unfortunate coincidence with the disappearance of Gavin de Lovet.”
Gavin traced the rim of his cup with a finger, his eyes gleaming almost amber in the light cast by the morning sun through the windows. “She doesn’t need to return. She’s welcomed here.” His hand slid down to grip the tankard’s handle, and his expression pleaded for understanding. “I love your sister, Mistress Duenda. I wish to protect her, court her, and ultimately wed her. Despite appearances, we are a wealthy household. We could satisfy your father’s debt ten times over and do so happily. Jimenin will be no threat to her or your family.”
Louvaen pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “For all your protestations of love, you’re lying to her this moment with your magician’s sorcery.”
“I had Ambrose enchant me so I wouldn’t scare her. It’s enough for her right now to listen to my father’s agony. I will tell her everything, but I want to give her time to adjust to us, to Ketach Tor.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I mean her no harm. None of us do. Please trust me. Trust us.”
He didn’t know her character or that what he asked of her was something Louvaen didn’t give easily. “How do I know you aren’t just trying to flip a pretty skirt?”
At this, Ambrose broke his silence with a loud guffaw. Gavin and Louvaen scowled at him as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Mistress Duenda, take a good look. Is that a man who must resort to hostage-taking just to tup a woman? Your sister is a beautiful girl but not the only beautiful girl in the world, and Gavin is as comely as she is. Why go through all this trouble for a roll in the hay? He could easily have them lined up outside the barbican if he wanted.”
Gavin’s face flamed even hotter. “Ambrose, please.”
As much as she hated to admit it, the magician had a point. Ever since Cinnia had shown the first hints of womanhood, Louvaen had been fending off what seemed like every breathing male in Monteblanco and beyond. Any man who so much as nodded politely to Cinnia in the market was suspect and viewed by Louvaen with a jaundiced eye. Her zealousness as guardian had made her myopic. Gavin was as stunningly beautiful as the woman he courted. Ambrose was right; Gavin must want more than a quick tupping. Still, she had to ask the one question that haunted her since she’d found Cinnia’s letter in her abandoned room. “My sister came here a maiden. Is she still a maiden?”
He met her gaze with a steady one of his own. “Aye, she is. While I want her as any man would, I won’t dishonor her.”
She wondered if she might faint with relief. Cinnia had said she was still an innocent. She wanted Gavin to confirm it. Such a thing had no real importance were they betrothed, but he had yet to offer for Cinnia’s hand, and the likelihood—no matter how slim—that Cinnia might refuse still existed. “You realize if we accept your aid, it will be trading her to one man over another for money.”
Gavin smacked his hand against the tabletop hard enough to make the cups bounce. “Gods, but that’s becoming a tiresome refrain. There is no trade! It is a gift freely given. I love Cinnia. All I ask is time. Give me the winter to win her hand. If I can’t, she is free to go and nothing owed. She wi
ll be treated as an honored guest of the de Sauveterre household and given all rights of hospitality.”
Louvaen had never considered herself a mercenary sort, but she’d never been faced with a situation such as this. Hospitality included gifts to the guests, and gifts were often money or items of value. She wasn’t at all certain she could salvage Cinnia’s reputation in Monteblanco if Cinnia refused Gavin’s suit and returned home. They’d be forced to leave, find another town far enough away that no one would know about the Hallis sister who flew off with the de Lovet lad and ruined herself with him. Hospitality money would pay their way. They’d flee in shame but not in absolute poverty. Her fingers still tingled with the urge to strangle her sister and her suitor.
Ambrose drummed his fingers on his tankard. “What now, Mistress Duenda? Cinnia has told us enough of your predicament. You’ve sold your husband’s business, his lands and his investments. All that remains is your house and some livestock—not enough to pay even a portion of Jimenin’s markers. Your father stands at the prison gates and your sister at a cleric’s door threatened with marriage to a man rumored to have murdered the two wives he’s already buried. Gavin has offered to pay Jimenin with no expectations in return except for time spent with your sister. It’s a small thing—certainly compared to what Jimenin demands, and Gavin is an honorable man.”
Was there anything Cinnia hadn’t told them about their situation? “I’m guessing your magic only works so far past Ketach Tor, and with those eyes Gavin can’t be the one to make payment.
“How is it you can still see the change in his eyes when others can’t?” Curiosity had replaced the sneer in Ambrose’s voice.
“If you couldn’t already tell by the look of us, Cinnia and I were born to different mothers. Mine was a hedgewitch. She died birthing me so I have no training, only a sensitivity to magic.” She leveled a hard gaze on Ambrose. “And sometimes a resistance to it.”
“Yet you reject it.” He shook his head, brow furrowed. “Why?”
