The Angel of Blythe Hall

by Darci Hannah

  He raised a copper brow at this. “Oh, aye, it’s a trout.”

  “It’s not fresh then. You couldn’t possibly have caught that today. It’s likely been rotting in your saddlebag since we left Edinburgh.”

  “It was not,” he insisted softly, scrunching up his nose and looking highly offended. “I just caught it! You’re only confused by the herbs and whatnot I used to season it with.”

  “Herbs and whatnot? Please tell me you didn’t cook it yourself as well.”

  “Of course I did! And ye’d do well tae not mock me, for the herbs I used are the ones what ward off evil.” This last little tidbit, and one that from the smell of it seemed entirely true, was punctuated by a nod that shook the disheveled auburn curls.

  “Evil?” I repeated, propping myself a little higher on the bed to get a better look at said fish. A dead eye peered at me from the confines of the slightly charred head. It was the only part of the fish visible, for the rest was covered in what appeared to be a stinky plaster of mud, moss, weeds, chopped cabbage leaves, chunks of onion, garlic, and, I believed, coarsely ground pepper. The poor fish looked as disgusted as I was. “The only thing evil within these castle walls, Tam, is—I’m sorry to say—this fish.” I offered a polite smile before pushing the platter away. Tam was, at heart, a dear lad, but frightfully misguided. He had a reverence for pagan superstitions that bordered on irksome. Yet he was harmless enough, and even at times highly entertaining. And he did have a way of seeming to anticipate my needs even before I understood what they were, for he was a gangly, nimble sort of lad who possessed exceptional hearing and always seemed to know what was afoot. However, in the wee hours of the morning I knew for a certainty that I did not need a dubiously seasoned, highly suspect fish.

  Tam, however, was also tenacious, and now set the platter on my lap. I held up a hand to stop him. “Sorry, Tam. The fish was a kind gesture on your part, and I thank you for thinking of me. But I’m not particularly hungry just now. If you’ll please set the platter over there, I’ll be sure to see that it doesn’t go to waste.” This was not a lie. Although I had no intention of eating it myself, I was certain a dog could be found that would. I smiled.

  “I’m no’ daft or simple, in spite of what ye may think. Ye really need tae eat this, m’lady.”

  “Really?” I said. I was not used to my groom ordering me around. “And why would that be?”

  “You need tae eat this because it’ll give ye the strength ye need tae deal with that man.”

  “Ah, I see.” And I believed that I did, for evil was a word not bandied about lightly by Tam. “And by that man I assume you are referring to Master Julius.”

  “No.” He gave a grave shake of his head. I frowned. “Sir George Douglas, m’lady. I’m referring tae Sir George. The ingrate’s gone into the tower.”

  “Ingrate?” I repeated, frowning slightly. “Tam, please, he’s a nobleman. Wait. Do you mean to tell me he’s … he’s not sleeping outside my door?”

  “M’lady,” he said softly, soothingly. No one could deny that his voice was particularly calming. “But for yourself and Mistress Marion, the entire castle’s been up and about for hours. Ye can hardly expect a man like Sir George tae sit at your feet and grovel all day like a besotted hound.”

  I reached beyond his shoulder and threw back the curtain. Sure enough, sunlight streamed in from the tall arched windows, bringing with it a mild midmorning breeze. “I expected no such thing,” I replied, unable to hide the mild irritation in my voice. “And what do you mean he’s in the tower?”

  “Not just the tower. I’ve been watching him. He’s been wandering the corridors and climbing the stairways since well before dawn.”

  “I don’t wonder. He couldn’t have been comfortable on the floor. He was just looking for a better place to sleep, Tam.”

  “Sleep? Och, he dinnae look like he was in the mood for sleep. No, he’s searching for something.”

  I gave the boyish face a mildly reproving glance. “What could he possibly be searching for in this old castle?” Yet the words had no sooner left my lips than a disturbing thought struck me.

  “Indeed,” said Tam, reading the look on my face. “But he’s no’ searching any longer. He’s found it. And he’s bound and determined tae break down the door and see it for himself.”

  Never was a fish so unpalatable, but I ate the required few bites in order to leave my bed. Once Tam was satisfied, I hastily dressed and followed him down the stairs and out the main doorway opening onto the upper bailey. It was definitely midmorning, for the courtyard was alive with the bustle of servants going about their daily business, weaving their way around our boisterous, armored visitors, who were engaging in lively pursuits of their own. Dice, cards, even a chess set had made its appearance under the gentle morning sun. And much to my chagrin, a group appearing to be made up entirely of Sir George’s men had gotten a hold of two roosters and were in the process of baiting the old birds, riling them up into a cacophony of flapping wings and sinister crows. Nothing good could come of that, I knew, and doubted very much that Hendrick would want to lose a perfectly good bird in the name of amusement.

  “Put those birds down!” I cried, marching toward the tower in the wake of my very determined groom. At the sound of my voice, the men did throw the birds down, and then they closed up the circle so that all I could see was their broad backs. My jaw dropped. Glowering, I was about to change direction until Tam pulled me forward.

  “Best let my lord Kilwylie handle that.”

  “Right,” I said, seeing the soundness of his advice. A group of Sir Matthew’s men waved at us. I waved back. At least they were employed in honest work, polishing their boots and sharpening their swords.

  Tam had not been lying. Sir George was already standing inside my father’s chapel when we found him. The full colored light from the vast windows reflected off his highly polished cuirass and dazzled the hilt of his sword. The heavy door that had been locked these many years was hanging off its hinges, the wood of the casement in splinters.

  “What … have you done?” I gasped, bringing my hand over my mouth. I was unwilling to step beyond the threshold, for my heart was beating with an unnatural fury. It had been years since I had laid eyes on this room, and many more since I dared step on the floor. It was, in a sense, the lodestone of my youth—a room so intricately tangled with my personal history that it still cast a perverse and frightful hold over me, not the least because it was the legacy of my father. Seeing it so, violated by this brash and obtrusive visitor, caused my heart to ache and my whole body to tremble with another uncharacteristic surge of rage. I feared I was becoming an angry person, so familiar had the heady rush of irritation begun to feel. But Blythe Hall was mine to protect now, and Sir George had just pierced the very heart of it.

  At the sound of my voice the huge knight turned, and the full force of his magnificent green gaze settled on me. My sudden outburst had startled him, for although his eyes were wide and penetrating, his face still held that look of wonder that the room—this remarkable and strange little chapel—never failed to evoke. For it was literally (as it had been designed to be) like crossing over from earth into the realm of heaven—a small, wondrous portal where man could dwell and converse for a few moments with God’s own angels. I could see that Sir George, a man who had been on the hunt for something, had not been expecting this. Seeing him gazing at me in speechless awe, seeming utterly humbled by the sheer magnitude of the creation that surrounded him, I felt the anger that had been coursing inside me fizzle away, and a small, begrudging smile surface.

  It took a moment for this change to register on the face of Lord Kilwylie, for the room had such a hold on him. But then, seeing that I was not about to charge him with fists flailing, however insignificant they might be, his face changed too, and the charmer’s smile appeared.

  “Isabeau … forgive me,” he uttered, his brazen gaze containing for the first time a look of contrition. It was unsettling,
and I was sorry it didn’t last more than a moment, for as quickly as it came, it passed, and was replaced with a more familiar gaze. His beautiful dark head tilted as his hand, slightly unsteady, beckoned me to join him. “Come, my gentle Lady of Blythe; come stand beside me and let us marvel upon this heavenly masterpiece together.”

  The sound of my name, whispered in such a way, had a disquieting effect, and I found myself drawn to him, and the room, regardless of the trepidation that warned me against it.

  And then Tam laid a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  It was this touch, calming and crystallizing, from the young man who cared for my horses—who accompanied me on all my outings and who was so good to Mme. Seraphina—that finally brought me back to my senses. I ignored Sir George’s compelling invitation while consciously reviving my anger. “This … this,” I began, shaking slightly, “is a sacred place, Sir George, and one that is off limits to all but family. You must come out at once!”

  “Again, I beg your forgiveness,” he said, and his smile faded as his hand dropped to his side. He turned his back on the room and walked toward us, but stopped well short of the threshold. “Isabeau,” he said, his face suffused with contrition. “It was never my wish for you to be angry with me. ’Tis just that I’ve heard rumors of this place for so long. I wanted to see it for myself.”

  “You should have asked first instead of breaking down the door.”

  He smiled then, kindly yet condescendingly, as the hint of a stifled chuckle escaped his lips. “And would you, my dear, have opened it for me if I had?”

  He knew the answer to this, as he had always known it, yet it didn’t justify the fact that he had kicked in the door. “Sir George,” I said at last, fighting the frustration and helplessness that crept into my voice. “There are things here you should not meddle with. This room, sir, is one of those things.”

  “But there, my sweet, I believe you are wrong. Do you not know that there is a sculpture here by Donatello, a painting by Bellini, and three from Botticelli, not to mention the spectacular triptych by the Fleming Van der Goes? Such treasures should not be tucked away at the top of an old keep, hidden behind a locked door.”

  “They were my father’s treasures, sir, and they remain hidden behind a locked door because that was his wish. And I intend to honor his memory by keeping it that way.”

  “So you do know about them?” he questioned, and saw that I did. “Isabeau, what a mysterious creature you are. Come. Please, my dear? I want nothing more than for you to come and tell me about this room.”

  Sir George, standing to his full towering height and looking splendid surrounded by the glory of the room, did not move, did not take a step in my direction, but stood very still as he extended once again his large and capable hand. Inexplicably I felt a welling desire to join him, to take his hand and gaze once again upon all that was left of the memory of my father. In my mind’s eye I recalled each and every exquisite piece hanging on the walls, placed on pedestals, or gracing the unique altarpiece. It was a room charged with emotion, for these were my father’s treasures, these works were how he measured his days. It had been from the start his objective to transform the very place that had transformed him, and each work reflected the secret in his heart that drove him. For me each painting, brilliant with its pigmented oils and cleverly placed brushstrokes, the gilded and bejeweled icons looking on from above, the playful cherubs in the clouds, or the marble statues that had been chipped and coaxed to reveal the divine being within, were little more than blasphemy, for this room with its mesmerizing décor was the glittering harlot that had finally and inexorably lured my family away.

  And yet the attraction of the room, and the madness that spawned it, was hard to ignore.

  There flashed before my eyes for the briefest moment that image again: the golden man of my vision. My heart came alive, beating with something stronger than anger. I was quite unsettled by it, until I looked once more at Sir George. Unlike Julius, he was not a man who hid his feelings or toyed with the feelings of others, nor was he pure like the man from my vision. But he was a man, and he made no secret as to what he wanted. His hand was still extended, his eyes beckoning. Why not join him? I thought. For God’s sake, why not? What harm could it do? It was just a room; he was just a man. My foot stirred and I took a step. That’s when Tam’s voice whispered in my ear: “Dinnae forget about the sheep.”

  The sheep? It was an odd thing for the young man to whisper, and it caught me off guard. What sheep? Whose sheep? And then it registered exactly what he was talking about. My sheep!

  I looked at my groom with mouth agape. “Dear heavens,” I uttered, and took a small step backward. “Sir George,” I said, suddenly turning to the dashing Lord Kilwylie. “I’m very sorry, but I don’t have time to tell you about this room, and even if I did, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell you much. This was my father’s collection; it has little, if anything, to do with me. However, what does matter to me is finding my livestock. The men are still loitering about the castle.” I motioned feebly beyond the chapel room to the far window, where, below in the vast courtyards, both upper and lower, the men were entertaining themselves. “There’s a cockfight,” I said, recalling the shameful display. He grinned. “My point is, sir, that it’s late morning and no one has yet stirred. I have less than two days to find my sheep. Tam,” I said, turning to the young man, “please ready our horses, and while you’re at it, find Hendrick and tell him to send the carpenter up here to repair this door. Sir George, feel free to stay as long as you like. You’ll have to excuse me, but I have an estate to run.” I made a curtsey and turned to go; the sound of laughter stopped me.

  Sir George Douglas, Lord Kilwylie, was laughing at me.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, a smile lighting his strong, handsome face, “but I do intend to stay. However, not before I find and return your precious sheep. The reason I am here now, if truth be told, is because I wanted to see you before we left, and to lay before you once again my intentions.” In three great strides of the powerful legs, tightly encased in fine blue hose, he was beside me, sweeping me up in his arms. “I beg that you will forgive me; for this place has a way of altering the senses, just as does the mistress who owns it. And I intend, Isabeau, to win you both.” He then employed his lips to convince me, and I found myself very willing to accept them. But to my great surprise he stopped short. “Dear God!” he exclaimed and drew back ungallantly. “I’m sorry, but what the devil have you been eating? Your breath smells like a Sicilian cesspool festering under the hot Mediterranean sun.”

  My jaw dropped. Sir George gently, and very politely after such an ignoble slight, released me. He tried to smile, but his face was comically contorted. And then I looked beyond him to Tam. My groom was still there, pressed near the wall of the landing and peering at me with a smugly satisfied look affixed to his freckle-dusted face.

  Damn him and his stinky little fish! There had never been any evil to ward off but for poor, dear, unsuspecting Sir George. Wisely, Tam turned and vanished down the stairs with a speed and lightness of foot that even the best of the king’s spies would have killed to possess. Luckily for Tam, I was not nearly so quick.

  Chapter 6

  DISTURBING REVELATIONS

  AFTER ASSURING A SLIGHTLY PUT-OUT SIR GEORGE that I would indeed have my teeth shining and my mouth smelling of cloves by the time of his return, and after promising myself to have a word with my meddlesome groom, who had providently made himself scarce, I was still disquieted to find that the sight of Sir George standing in the center of my father’s whimsical chapel, illuminated by the parti-colored light and with a look of sublime wonder transforming his strong, confident features, had affected me more than I liked to admit. To see such a holy place entered with violence, and then to view the transgressor in the midst of his transformation while he struggled to understand just what he had stumbled upon, moved me beyond words. And it caused me to wonder for the first time if the odd visions I�
��d been having ever since my arrival—the visions of the pure and breathtaking man—were somehow connected with this bold and unsettling knight.

  Maybe I had been meant to see him, witnessing for myself this small but vulnerable chink in the steely armor of his pride, where the masterful image of an angel could render him speechless—and Sir George, to my knowledge, had never been speechless. Perhaps, just as the redemption of Blythe Hall was my destiny, maybe Sir George was too, and I was only now realizing it. Had he not always been there in the shadows waiting for me? Was not his past already intricately tangled with my brother’s? I knew I had always judged him a little harshly as a result of the fate of Julius, and I was, admittedly, frightened of his raw, sensual masculinity. My only excuse for this was that for me, coming fresh from the convent as I had, a man like Lord Kilwylie was a shock to the senses—especially so because his spectacular and unapologetic gaze was artfully pitched to awaken deeply suppressed urges. He had a dark nature indeed; but I had been given a glimpse that suggested there was more to this brash, physical, hard-living man than he allowed the world to see. Perhaps he really did need something as simple as honest love to draw from him that perfect and pure being of my vision. He had asked me for it himself—a loving and gentle hand to guide him the rest of the way, he had said. There was never any doubt that Sir George Douglas knew very well the kind of man he was, just as he had some inkling of how I saw him. Perhaps it was time I grew up and threw aside my childish fears. Here was a fine man, from a noble family, who was willing to cast his fate with a family touched by madness, and even to protect me from it. Yet there was one more reason that perhaps surpassed all others, and that, quite simply, was that Sir George Douglas of Kilwylie, to my knowledge, was the only man in Scotland that Julius had reason to fear.

  Within minutes of his departure from the tower room all the knights loitering in the courtyards—all the men-at-arms filling their idle time with cajolery and aimless pursuits—had packed up their belongings, strapped on their helmets, cuirasses, and sword belts, and ridden out of the castle gates in near silence contemplating their new objectives. For Sir George’s men this meant tracking down and recapturing the sizable herd of livestock that had been missing for more than four days. It was a hard, physical task they were on. There were only two days left before the window of justice would close and our prized flock of sheep would be lost for good. Weigh this against the fact that if, by some miracle, they did succeed, they would not personally stand to gain anything for their efforts. No, the onus lay strictly on Lord Kilwylie, who was certain that the return of the Blythe flock meant the acceptance of the marriage proposal so publicly laid at my feet. A marriage proposal that, when viewed in the full light of day, seemed reasonable. I would accept Sir George’s offer upon his successful return. If, however, he failed his mission, I would still likely accept him; after all, the people of Blythemuir deserved a strong leader, one who would protect them from the vicious cycle of retaliation, robbery, and murder that plagued our land. No one could doubt young Lord Kilwylie’s ability as a military leader. But I would not think of that now, just as I would not entertain the thought that Sir George might fail.