The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7)

by Christine Pope

  And when I closed my eyes, I felt the bite of the wolf’s jaws once again.

  Chapter 7

  I awoke to a pounding on the door and Master Merryk’s voice calling, “Mistress Sendris? Is everything well with you?”

  Opening a bleary eye, I required a moment or two to gather my wits. Falling asleep again had been difficult, but somewhere in the depths of the night, I had finally succumbed, dropping into a black, dreamless slumber. Because I had been so restless before that, I must have slept far later than usual.

  The reason for the steward’s consternation became clear enough as I focused on the door and saw that the chair I had placed there the night before was still firmly lodged under the handle. No wonder he was upset, for he must have tried the handle and realized the door was blocked somehow.

  “One moment!” I scrambled out of bed, pulling the coverlet around me once more. I hurried over and removed the chair, then opened the door. “I am so very sorry.”

  Master Merryk stared down at me, iron-grey brows knitted together, his blue-grey eyes both worried and puzzled. “Did something happen last night?” he asked.

  “N-no,” I managed, stepping out of the way so he might go to the dressing table and set the tray he carried down upon its surface. “That is — oh, it sounds foolish now, but I had a very terrible dream, and when I awoke, I did not feel quite — quite safe. So I put the chair there. I did sleep very well after that, but I am sorry if it gave you a start.”

  He did not answer at first, but went and fetched the chair and put it in its proper place in front of the table. When he turned around, his frown had not yet gone. “Do you not feel safe here, Mistress Sendris?”

  What a question! If he had asked me such a thing even a day earlier, I might not have hesitated. But my dream had not faded, was somehow as strong now in the cold, grey light of a snowy morning as it had been in the depths of the black night before. Which I knew was foolish. Dreams were not real, and no wolf could harm me here in this mighty castle, with its high walls and gates of steel.

  “Of course I feel safe,” I said stoutly, even as I held a private reservation in my heart. “You have all taken very good care of me. It is only that I felt so very unsettled after experiencing that dream, and I suppose I was still half asleep and not thinking clearly.”

  In that moment, his eyes appeared far too keen, too searching. “And what was this dream which terrified you so, Mistress Sendris?”

  “Oh,” I began, then waved a dismissive hand. Something within me was whispering not to tell him of what I had seen in that dream, and so I went on, tone too light, “You know how it is with dreams. They can seem so real, and so terrifying, at the time, and yet when you awake, they are gone as quickly as mist dissolving in sunlight. I cannot say — something about running, being pursued, but I don’t remember anything more than that.”

  “Well, those sorts of dreams can be frightening, to be sure,” the steward said. His gaze flicked toward the rumpled bed, and where the history book still lay discarded within the folds of the blankets. “Perhaps it is better not to be reading such things immediately before you go to sleep.”

  “I suppose you are right about that. Next time I will try something rather more innocuous — a book of herb lore, perhaps.”

  “A very good idea.” He went to move toward the door, then paused. “Enjoy your breakfast, Mistress Sendris.”

  “Thank you, Master Merryk. I will.”

  He left and shut the door. I stood in the middle of the chamber, irresolute, then strode to the doorway and turned the lock. It was possible that he heard it, or perhaps he was already far enough away that he would not be able to detect the slight click as the tumblers fell into place.

  But as I went back toward the table and my neglected breakfast, my eyebrows pulled together in their own frown. Always before Master Merryk had knocked at the door and waited for me to open it, but it seemed clear enough to me that today he had tried lifting the handle and found it locked, and only then began calling out to me. Had he knocked before that? I supposed it was possible I had been so deeply asleep that I hadn’t heard him, although such behavior was very unlike me.

  Still, I couldn’t help but be disturbed that he would attempt to come in while I was still asleep. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for his behavior, although I did not know if I would have the courage to ask him why he had attempted to enter my room without my permission.

  I glanced at the door one last time, then told myself it was daytime and the entire castle awake by now. Whatever Master Merryk’s motivations, I should be perfectly safe now.

  So I sat down and attended to my morning meal, which was not quite as lavish as the previous ones, consisting as it did of porridge and dried currants, and a small pot of tea. But at least it was warm and filling, and made me a little more sanguine about facing the day ahead.

  After I had washed my face and brushed my hair, and attended to other needs before putting on another of those lovely borrowed dresses, I could not help experiencing a pang at the thought of yet another empty day stretching ahead of me. Some might have said that I should be used to my confinement after nearly a week of it, but my small expedition with Lord Greymount had left me craving his company, certain that nothing else but the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, could possibly serve to occupy my time.

  Which I knew was unreasonable, and silly. I had no doubt that his lordship had many things to do, all of which were probably far more important than entertaining his unexpected and unwelcome guest. He had provided books for me to read, and that would have to be enough to fill the hours.

  But still….

  Once again I went to the window and looked outside. What I had expected to see, I did not know, for yet again there were those interminable veils of white, moving in their own lovely and mysterious patterns. The snow was beautiful, true, but its force had begun to frighten me, and not for myself any longer. I was, as I had told Master Merryk, quite safe here in this fortress of stone and steel. But what of my grandmother, in our small cottage with its walls of daub and thatched roof? Yes, we had replaced that roof recently, but even a new roof might not be able to hold up under the weight of so much snow.

  I had to close my eyes against a sudden vision of that roof collapsed, and my grandmother buried beneath it. But no, I would not allow myself to believe she had suffered such a calamity. My grandmother was a wise woman, and if the cottage began to show signs of weakening, she would have taken the cat and gone into Kerolton, where I knew Amery Willar would have offered her shelter. His house was made of stone, and had a stout roof of tin. I had no doubt it would be able to withstand even a storm such as this.

  Besides, the forest itself would have offered some shelter, the trees providing something of a barrier to the relentless wind and driving snow. Kerolton would enjoy far more protection than Harrow Hall, which stood on the edge of a moor, where the winds could come howling directly from the north with no trees or any other structures to provide some protection. Yes, its position offered a commanding view of the countryside around it — or at least it would in clear weather — but sheltered it most definitely was not.

  I went to the stack of books on the little side table where I had left them and began studying their spines. More histories, and one on the trees and plants of North Eredor. Those I felt intimately acquainted with, since I had spent so much time studying their various components, and how they might be used to tint wool brown, or green, or even orange or grey or red. Still, it seemed a safer choice, judging by my reaction to reading the geography and history books the night before.

  After tending the fire, and using up the last of my firewood — I had to hope someone would be by with a fresh bundle — I settled myself down in the chair and picked up the book I had selected. The drawings it contained were quite lovely, intricate and detailed, and yet I found my attention wandering.

  Would the lack of firewood be enough of an excuse to send me out into the ca
stle in search of some more? I had not fared so well when I’d ventured forth alone before, but at least now I knew something of what to expect. It would not be so very difficult to avoid the main hall altogether, but instead stay to the upper floors, in the hope that I might encounter Master Merryk and ask for more firewood.

  Oh, do not fool yourself, I thought then. If you went wandering those corridors, it is not Master Merryk you would wish to meet.

  Very well, that was true enough. I had no idea how much time Lord Greymount spent in his own suite, or whether he had enough business in the castle to keep him occupied elsewhere, but I did know one thing for certain — if I stayed in here like a meek little mouse, then I would certainly have no chance at all of meeting up with him. After he had taken his leave of me the day before, it had seemed clear enough that he had no intention of coming to see me again any time soon.

  I set the book aside and rose from my chair. As I did so, I heard a knock at the door. At first, my heart leapt — but then I realized it must be the steward, returning to bring me some much-needed firewood. And if he did that, I would have no reason at all for venturing forth from my room, at least no reason that didn’t sound very self-serving.

  My grandmother had always made sure I did not curse. Nevertheless, several select words I’d heard the village men utter when they didn’t think any women were around entered my thoughts. I pulled in a breath, however, then squared my shoulders and went to answer the door.

  To my utter astonishment, it was Lord Greymount who stood there. He smiled, but I thought I detected a slight strain in his dark eyes, as if he had something else occupying his thoughts but wished to appear pleasant. “Good morning, Mistress Sendris.”

  “L-lord Greymount,” I stammered, my composure deserting me at this apparition.

  “I realized that our tour of the castle stopped rather abruptly when we came to the library,” he said, apparently affecting not to notice my discomfiture. “I thought perhaps we could continue?”

  “Of course,” I replied at once. At least I had enough wits about me to know how I should answer him.

  “It is quite chilly, however. I believe there is a woolen mantle in amongst the other items of clothing in that wardrobe. You may wish to put it on before you venture forth.”

  To be sure, I had noticed that mantle, but had pushed it aside when in search of a gown to wear, since I had not thought I would require it, confined within the castle’s walls as I was. But I nodded and went to fetch it. For a moment, as I reached into the wardrobe to pull out the garment, I had the oddest fancy that my reaching fingers would instead find a cloak of white fur.

  Of course they did not. I grasped the mantle of heavy dark blue wool and settled it about my shoulders. That did help somewhat, for even with the last of the fire I had lit earlier warming the room, it still seemed chillier today than it yet had during my tenure at the castle. That reminded me of the firewood, which most definitely needed replenishing.

  “I need to let Master Merryk know that I have quite gone through my supply of wood — ”

  “It is no matter,” Lord Greymount said. “When I inquired after you this morning, he told me that he would be bringing up some more very shortly. Now we can be out and away while he manages that task.”

  I was not sure why I did not quite like the idea of Master Merryk going into my room when I was not there. Indeed, it was not even my room, not really. Only a place I was borrowing for a time until I could return to the cottage I shared with my grandmother. And the truth was, I needed someone to bring up that firewood. I could only imagine his lordship’s reaction if I offered to do it myself.

  “That is very kind of both of you,” I said politely as I shut the wardrobe and moved toward the door.

  Master Merryk left my thoughts as I grew closer to Lord Greymount. Today he wore a doublet of warm wine-colored wool, and over that a long black cloak. I had thought him handsome before, but something in that color combination brought out the breadth of his shoulders, the warm undertones to his complexion and hair. My breath caught when he drew near, but then he stepped out of the way so I might move past him and out into the corridor.

  He had been correct about the cold; I saw my breath mist into the air as soon as I left the warmer confines of my room, and I pulled the heavy mantle closer about me. “Does the castle usually get this chilly?”

  “Not like this.” For a second, he glanced upward, as if trying to divine what the weather might do next. “But it is still far better than being outside.”

  Of that I had no doubt. The wind was howling just as loudly this morning as it had been the night before. No human being could survive for long in those kinds of conditions, no matter how warmly they might be dressed.

  “Well, I suppose if we walk briskly enough, we shan’t notice,” I said, hoping I sounded unconcerned by the prospect of taking a tour in the castle’s unheated hallways. After glancing around and seeing that he was completely alone, I asked, “But where are your dogs? I would have thought they would enjoy this sort of exercise.”

  “In general yes, but they were rather wearied from their constitutional this morning in the courtyard, and are sleeping by the fire in my suite. It is not possible to strap snowshoes on a dog, after all.”

  His eyes twinkled as he said this, and I smiled up at him at the notion. Yes, I supposed it would be difficult for the dogs to manage in this weather, even great beasts such as Doxen and Linsi. “Well, then we shall just have to do without them.”

  “That was my plan, yes.” A pause, and then he offered me his arm. “So let us go forth, Mistress Sendris.”

  Once again I found my breath catching, but for an entirely different reason. Had he completely forgotten what had happened the last time we touched? I sent an uncertain glance up toward him, but I could see nothing in his expression save a mild interest.

  Well, if he was willing to take the risk again —

  I looped my arm in his, holding my breath the entire time. But nothing at all happened. Very well, something happened. A small, warm thrill passed through my body at standing so close to him, of having our arms linked, but it was nothing like the shock I had experienced when our bare fingers had touched on that first occasion.

  Very strange. However, I was not given the chance to analyze the situation, for almost at once he began to move forward, saying he wished to descend one floor so we might visit the portrait gallery. I had to admit that sounded very grand, for I had never seen an actual painting in my entire life. One of the village boys, Alyk Lesiter, could sketch quite beautifully with discarded pieces of charcoal, but that was not quite the same as creating an entire picture with oil paints, which I had heard were very expensive. And to have an entire gallery of them?

  We went to the staircase and went down to the floor beneath mine. Here, too, were corridors filled with closed doors, and I wondered why the place had been built on such an extravagant scale when so few people actually lived here. But perhaps matters had been different in the time of Lord Greymount’s father, or his father’s father.

  The hall opened into a long chamber that seemed almost as if it ran the entire length of the building. One wall was comprised of windows only an arm’s breadth apart, letting in a grey, wintry light. The other wall, however, had been hung with a series of paintings, carefully positioned so they did not directly face a window, and perhaps reflect its glare, or become faded by the sunlight.

  Here, Lord Greymount let go of my arm so he might make an expansive gesture that encompassed all the room’s contents. “Behold! Fifteen generations of Greymounts!”

  His tone was slightly mocking, and so I had the impression that I was not supposed to be amazed. Perhaps he simply did not know that I had never seen a single painting before, let alone at least two or three score in a single space.

  The portraits were of both men and women and, more rarely, a family grouping. Although my eye was unschooled at best, I thought I detected subtle differences as my gaze moved along the
collection, since some appeared to be flat in nature and almost stylized, whereas the paintings at the far end of the gallery seemed to be more natural in their composition. Indeed, the last one, of a man who bore such a strong resemblance to Phelan Greymount that I thought he must be his lordship’s father, looked so real that I wouldn’t have been terribly surprised if he had winked at me.

  “This is all your family?” I inquired.

  “Yes, grandsires and great-grandsires, and — well, you get the picture. In a manner of speaking.”

  The pun was so poor that I couldn’t help sending him a sideways glance, complete with lifted eyebrows. He grinned at me, and made a little bow.

  “My pardon, my lady. Sometimes these things simply…slip out.”

  I decided it was best to give him a lift of my shoulders as I continued toward the far end of the chamber. Beyond the portrait of Lord Greymount’s father — if he was truly the subject of the painting — I saw a blank spot. Turning, I sent his lordship an inquiring look.

  “Yes, that one is for my portrait.”

  “You haven’t had one painted yet?”

  “It is not something I found particularly important.” This time, he was the one who shrugged, although I noted something almost carelessly brittle about the movement, as if that portrait mattered to him more than he wanted me to know.

  Somehow I knew it was better that I not pursue the subject. “I suppose it can be rather difficult to get portrait painters to journey all the way out here.”

  “Not as difficult as you might think. The Greymount family is known for paying well.”

  His frankness surprised me. For some reason, I had not thought that those of great birth, such as Phelan Greymount, would be open about discussing their finances. It was a topic we didn’t bother to avoid in Kerolton, since everyone knew everyone else’s business. But that was hardly the case here in Harrow Hall.