by Jeff Wheeler
Her heart began to hammer wildly. She started to push the door closed, but Sir Thomas resisted and used his greater size and strength to shove it open.
“Ankarette, who is—?” Isybelle’s voice cut off as she turned in the chair. All the color drained from her face, replaced by a chalky pallor.
Ankarette gave Sir Thomas a demanding glare. She was now in a very uncomfortable position. She’d been warned of her duty by the duke, yet how was a woman of her status supposed to tell the king no? And the duke had warned her to tell Sir Thomas if anything untoward happened.
The knight saw her anguished look and pursed his lips into an amused frown. “Be quick, Eredur. You’re frightening the lasses out of their wits.”
“I will, Tom,” the king said.
With that, the knight shut and bolted the door behind them. Now she and Isybelle were alone in a room with two men, something the duke assuredly would not like.
Eredur’s tunic collar was open and he looked more like a knight than a king. He was heavily muscled and gave off an aura of power. He carried a dagger and a sword, which struck Ankarette as inappropriate under the circumstances.
“I have kept my promise, Isybelle,” the king said, giving her a serious, compassionate look. “I keep my promises.” His words conveyed meaning, but Ankarette was ignorant of what that meaning could be.
“W-why are you here, my lord?” Isybelle said, stumbling a little over her words in confusion.
“I need to speak to your maid. To Ankarette.” He turned the brunt of his gaze on her, and though she felt her body weaken, she stiffened her resolve to be firm, unmoved.
“Yes, my lord?” she asked him softly.
“I find that you really do not get to know a person until you’ve looked into their eyes,” he said, stepping toward her. “You did me a great service today, Ankarette Tryneowy. Although I wonder if you know what you did?”
She was abashed. “M-my lord?”
“I’ll be blunt, for I’m a soldier. Tom told me that you spotted someone in the woods today. You told him straightaway and he discovered prints in the dirt. Prints that the intruder didn’t have time to conceal, thanks to you. The Espion tracked those prints back to Dundrennan. There is a poisoner in the castle right now.”
A shadow of fear passed over Ankarette’s heart. Everyone knew the stories about poisoners. They were the secret tools kings and queens used to do away with enemies, to accomplish a mission when diplomacy failed. Each was highly skilled and deadly.
Isybelle gasped. “Truly?”
The king nodded. “That’s why I can’t stay. Your timely warning, lass, has probably saved a life. Mine . . . or someone else’s. I couldn’t thank you in the great hall, now could I?” He gave her a disarming smile.
She still felt the awkwardness of being in her nightdress before the two men. Not knowing what to say, she simply curtsied.
“Tom says you are discreet,” the king continued, stepping forward. Sir Thomas gave her a little nod of encouragement. “Your father was part of the Espion as well. Some of the Espion, like your father—like Tom—were loyal to my father when he ran the service. But now many are loyal to Duke Warrewik.”
Isybelle bristled. “My father is loyal to you, Cousin.”
He looked at her, doubt obvious in his narrowed eyes. “I wish I could believe that, lass. But I think we both know that the interests he serves most are his own.”
Isybelle looked down, her cheeks flaming.
The king addressed Ankarette again. “The duke told me about you. In passing. Said he’s brought on a maid for his daughters, one he intends to groom as a midwife. He always thinks several moves ahead.” He scratched his neck, sighing. “Thomas believes the duke is going to ask me, eventually, to send you to study at Pisan.” He gave her a knowing look. “Has he mentioned this to you?”
Ankarette shook her head no. “Why the kingdom of Pisan?” she asked him, trying not to let any emotion bleed into her voice.
“Because that is where the poisoner school is,” Sir Thomas answered bluntly. “He wants you to be the very best midwife money can buy, which they’ll teach you, and they’ll also teach you other things he would have you know.”
Eredur stepped closer. His eyes were fixed on her face. “I am not going to ask you for your loyalty, Ankarette. One cannot pay money for that. Loyalty must be earned through trust and respect. What I demand of you is something different. Tom thinks you are special. He has been watching you and studying you. I trust his judgment, but I had to meet you in person.
“If you feel you are asked to do anything amiss or untoward by anyone in this kingdom, please send word to me, Ankarette. Some kings train poisoners to murder their rivals and enemies. Some use them to defend their thrones. If I give my uncle permission to send you to Pisan, I want it understood plainly between us that I am asking you to defend my throne. No deceptions.” He gave Isybelle a pleading look. “I’ve trusted him and rewarded my uncle. But he is not the king. He does not bear the burden of the hollow crown.”
There was an urgent knock on the door.
Sir Thomas sighed and gritted his teeth. “That was not supposed to happen,” he grumbled.
Ankarette felt a jolt of panic. What if it was the duchess? Isybelle sank back in her chair, her eyes filling with tears.
“Hide behind the changing screen,” Ankarette whispered, pointing to it. They quickly reacted and slipped behind the concealment. She walked to the door and tried to calm and steady herself. “Who is it?” she whispered.
“Message for Sir Thomas,” came the harsh, hoarse reply. “Dunsdworth just arrived and is coming up the stairs.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The King’s Brother
Moments later, the noise of boots coming up the stairwell hearkened the arrival of the king’s brother. The sound of garbled voices leaked into the room, followed by an insistent rapping noise and the jiggling of the door handle.
Ankarette tried to remain calm despite the current of emotions that had caught her in its grip. Her mind whirled with all the king had just told her, of poisoners and schools and misguided loyalty.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Open the door.” The words were spoken in a commanding tone, by a voice she didn’t recognize.
“Who is it?” Ankarette repeated, eyeing the changing screen. The king and Sir Thomas had ably concealed themselves.
A heavy weight jostled the door.
“Let him in,” Isybelle said anxiously. She was pacing, wringing her hands.
Ankarette slid open the latch bar and then the door. The Duke of Clare, Dunsdworth, looked very much like his elder brother, but his hair was rust-colored and wavy instead of blond and he had eyes as blue as seawater. He was a handsome man and, despite having traveled to Dundrennan in the middle of the night, looked refreshed, eager, and full of energy.
“Hello, Cousin,” Isybelle said, her voice trembling slightly.
Dunsdworth gave Ankarette a sharp look. “Who are you?”
“That is my new maid, Ankarette Tryneowy,” Isybelle said. Her cheeks flushed as she came closer to the new arrival. Her features were animating quickly, full of regard and warmth—none of the posture of guilt she’d demonstrated with Eredur.
“Ankarette,” Dunsdworth said in an offhanded manner. He had a stern look and a natural wariness that made him doubtful of everything, everyone. His gaze shot around the room in an almost violent fashion, going from the various pieces of furniture to the bed that was still tidily made up. It was as if he expected to find someone there in the room.
“This is untoward, coming to my chamber at night,” Isybelle said. “Father is gone.”
“I know he’s gone,” Dunsdworth said, stepping around in a circle. “And I know my brother came here as soon as your father left.” His voice practically vibrated with the tinny sound of jealousy.
“Yes, he came to hunt,” Isybelle said. “He isn’t going to stay long.”
“Yes, but hunt what,�
�� he replied with suspicion. “I came as soon as I heard he was en route. I couldn’t bear the thought . . .” His words trailed off. Ankarette watched him squeeze his hand into a fist.
“Sshhh,” Isybelle soothed. “He’s not interested in me, Dunne. I told you.”
There was a look of dark brooding and anger in his eyes. “I wish I could be sure of that.”
“You can. My father went to Occitania to negotiate a marriage for Eredur with one of their princesses.”
“But none of them are half as rich as your father,” he said tellingly. “You and Nanette stand to inherit all his vast domains. Surely my brother might want them for himself?”
His challenging tone belied his utter distrust of his elder brother. Dunsdworth had the bearing and demeanor of a king, and his ambition was almost brazenly on display. Yes, he cared for the duke’s eldest daughter. He looked at her with an almost hungry anticipation as she stood there in her nightgown. But it was equally clear that he coveted her fortune.
“He is the king,” Isybelle said, casting a nervous glance at the changing screen. Ankarette winced, biting her lip. She had deliberately avoided looking that way. “He can marry whomever he wishes. He doesn’t want me.”
Unspoken words passed between them.
Dunsdworth looked mollified by her statement. “If he ever touches you,” he said with a threatening barb in his voice, his jaw clenched with barely bridled rage.
“He hasn’t,” she said firmly, resolutely.
Dunsdworth breathed in through his nose and then took her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I will go. I shouldn’t be here, but I’d heard rumors . . . I won’t mention them. No lady should hear such talk.”
Isybelle flushed crimson and looked down. “People talk, Dunne. It doesn’t make it true.”
He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “I should go. I just wanted to be sure you were . . . you were safe.” He turned to Ankarette, his pale blue eyes riveting. “You’re a pretty thing,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Where do you hail from?”
“Yuork, my lord,” she answered with a small curtsy.
He gave her an approving nod. “Our father’s duchy. Well and good. You are Lady Isybelle’s new companion, then? I see. Bar the door when I am gone. I don’t care if the king himself comes at midnight. You bar the door. The next time I come, you open it at once.”
“I do as my lady commands me,” Ankarette said, discomfited by the way he was ordering her around.
Dunsdworth eyed Isybelle with a possessive look. “Well, you do that, Ingrid. And don’t try to hide my visit from the duke, her father. You can tell him that I was here. I know one of his little Espion slaves will report it, anyway.” He sneered with disdain. “I did nothing untoward to my cousin.” He gave Isybelle a bow and strode out of the room. Before shutting the door, he looked at Ankarette again. “Don’t forget to lock it.”
She was only too grateful to do as he said.
Her palms were sweating, but she’d managed to keep her calm—or at least appear as if she had—and didn’t feel more than a little dampness on her brow. She exchanged a glance with Isybelle now that the door was shut. It was clear that her friend’s life was more complicated than she had first supposed. A few moments later, there was a small rap on the door and a voice muttered, “He’s gone.”
Sir Thomas and the king emerged from behind the changing screen. Eredur had an amused look on his face as he gazed at the door.
“That was quick thinking, lass,” Sir Thomas told Ankarette. “Thank you.”
She bowed her head and said nothing in reply.
“Your brother is suspicious by nature,” Sir Thomas said to the king, folding his arms. “For a moment, I thought he might search the room.”
The king put his arm around the other man’s shoulder. “No, I didn’t think that likely. Well played, Cousin. Well spoken, Ingrid.” He chuckled at the way her name had been butchered. “I think our nocturnal interview is at an end. Now that my brother is here, I’m in an even greater hurry to leave Dundrennan. We’re like a blacksmith and a pair of burning tongs. There’s always a shower of sparks whenever we meet. Severn’s tongue can slice through steel, but at least I know he’s on my side. I’d trust him with my life. Dunsdworth, I’m afraid, wishes I’d catch the plague and die.”
Isybelle flushed. “He does not mean you ill, my lord.”
Eredur gave her a knowing smile. “You keep thinking that, lass. But let me be clear—I have no intention of letting the two of you marry. He craves power like a drunken man craves his ale. He’s already a duke, but that isn’t enough to sate him. And he’s more loyal to your father than he is to me. I’m not a hard-hearted man. I know you care for him.” His eyes narrowed and his jaw was firm. “But letting the two of you wed would only end in disaster . . . and in heartache for you. I’ve seen the way my brother treats the people around him.” He shook his head. “He’s not a patient man.”
Isybelle looked down. “I could change him, my lord,” she whispered.
Eredur’s lips pressed together. Ankarette could see he didn’t agree, but he was too kind to say so.
Ankarette awoke with a start from a vivid dream, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Something was wrong. The feeling was as strong now as it had been earlier near the river. The room was dark but for a weak glow of light streaming through the window. There was no moon out, only a fleece of stars. Isybelle lay on her side, her head nestled on a pillow. She was fast asleep.
What had awakened Ankarette? Had she heard a noise? She listened, holding her breath, straining to hear a sound. The castle was deathly still, and yet her heart throbbed in warning. As her mind cleared from the fog of her dream, she sensed a presence. There was someone standing outside the door of the bedchamber—and her intuition told her it was not the Espion who was supposed to be standing guard.
The poisoner.
The thought pierced her with knife-sharp certainty. These strange feelings she’d begun to have baffled her, but something told her to trust them. This was the same presence she had sensed by the boulder. The man who had skulked in the woods.
Her throat instantly went dry. Sitting up in bed, she fidgeted with fear, wondering if she should cry out for help.
A small noise rattled the lock, making her jump.
Her mind nearly went blank white with terror. She bit her lip, staring at the door, too young and experienced to know what to do. When Isybelle mumbled in her sleep and turned over, Ankarette nearly screamed.
Despite her fear, there was a queer giddiness inside her, the sensation of water flowing, like the lapping of a fountain.
Then Ankarette felt the presence back away from the door. Had her thoughts repelled the poisoner in some inexplicable way? She sensed the person retreating down the stairs, the presence fading until she could no longer feel it.
What could any of it mean?
The next morning, the family and household visitors gathered in the audience hall for the morning meal. There was plenty of banter, some of it good-natured, some of it revealing a deep rift in the Argentine family. The Duchess of Warrewik tried to steer the boats away from the turbulent waters, but even her commanding presence wasn’t enough to soothe the brothers’ tempers.
“And why won’t you tell me where you plan to hunt next?” Dunsdworth asked Eredur angrily. “What if you decide to go to Clare? Shouldn’t I know so I can be prepared to greet you?”
“Trust me, Brother,” Eredur said, trying to keep his tone civil, “that is the last place I intend to hunt.”
“Then why not tell me?”
“Why should I?” Eredur asked flippantly, his eyes beginning to burn with anger. “What business is it of yours?”
“I could come with you,” Dunsdworth suggested. “We haven’t hunted together in years. Not since Edmund died.”
His words struck a nerve, a powerful one, and Ankarette watched as Eredur’s composure went up in flames. He held his tongue, but raw feelings
surged across his face.
Severn spoke up, forcing himself into the conversation. “I can understand why Eredur doesn’t care to hunt with you, Brother—you talk too much. You’d frighten away the game.”
Dunsdworth glowered with fury and turned his anger on his younger brother. “Who asked for your thoughts, Severn?”
“Who asked you for yours?” came the immediate reply. Severn seemed eager to debate. “Were you even invited to Dundrennan?”
“Was Eredur invited?” Dunsdworth shot back impetuously.
“I spoke to our uncle ere coming,” Eredur said. He’d mastered himself again. “Did you?”
“This is such a jade’s trick,” Dunsdworth snarled, shoving away from the table with a loud squeal of his chair. “You two are constantly flapping about, aiding each other against me.”
He wasn’t altogether wrong. The youngest and eldest Argentine shared a much closer relationship. It reminded Ankarette of a street game she had seen children play with an apple, tossing it back and forth to prevent a third from snatching it. The game usually ended with the apple smashed in the commotion.
“Sit down,” Eredur said, sighing with exasperation. “Don’t ruin the meal. It’s all in jest.”
The stifling atmosphere in the room did not fit his words. Eredur and Severn seemed to share an equal amount of disdain for their brother, but Dunsdworth provoked them both needlessly.
The brother obeyed the king, but she saw resentment in his eyes as he slumped back down into his chair. He grabbed his chalice of wine and brought it to his lips. Finding it empty, he thumped it on the table several times, attracting a servant, who came to refill it.
“Can I come hunting with you instead?” Severn asked. The question was intended for Eredur, but he said it while smiling slyly at Dunsdworth. He enjoyed goading him.
The question had been timed for effect, and Dunsdworth started choking on his drink. Severn chuckled coldly as he spluttered and coughed.
“Severn!” Eredur moaned with only feigned anger.
