Peg had left Annie in our rooms dressed suitably in one of my old serge gowns that buttoned to the neck. Rosemunde must have done her hair, for the girl’s straight blond tresses were pulled into a neat knot at the base of her skull. Her welcoming smirk and duly lowered eyes greeted me when I entered our rooms.
“A lady we have here now,” I said in a kindly fashion, still struggling to befriend the girl. “Where has Peg gone?”
“She didna say,” she said with a glare at me. Her gaze followed me around the room. She lowered her eyes when I turned toward her. “And Duncan? I ha’ not seen him for days.”
“He is below with a guest. I shall have him look in on you. I think he will be pleased with your appearance.”
In answer, she threw her chin up in defiance, but could not quell the pleased blush that crept into her cheeks.
I stripped off my riding habit and changed into a simple black housedress. The girl remained standing, awaiting something. Her tenacious eyes followed me intently.
“If I take you to the mid-day meal, will you behave?” I had a secondary motive in this offer, but Annie desperately needed to get out and practice her new-found skills, though her language would take considerably more work. She had been at Tor House for almost two weeks now. Despite her initial pouting ways, she was actually quite intelligent. She had shown a clear aptitude for and interest in learning, though she had remained sequestered in our rooms, her meals brought to her, allowed out only on short forays with myself or Peg. This was the case, not to confine her, but to protect her in her early learning stages from Marie Louise’s acid tongue.
Her face brightened. “Will Duncan be there?” she asked.
“Possibly. But you must keep silent and act the part of a lady, as Peg and I have taught you. No swinging hips and no fingers in the food.”
“I promise, Lady Elena,” she said fervently, though distrust of me remained in her strange hazel eyes.
“Let me see your curtsy. Good. Just a little wobbly. Let us go to the gallery and practice, shall we?”
As it turned out, Duncan was not present in the gallery. It was not uncommon for him to take his food throughout the day straight from the kitchen, as Wallace did on a regular basis. Beyond that, though it would be our guard captain’s responsibility to find quarters for Gorgon’s troops or to declare that they must camp outside the walls, Duncan was assuredly overseeing their disposition. Or some problem had arisen. Duncan had always insisted that house security came before all else, which I agreed with, though his presence at this time might have helped relieve my sense of looming disaster. As it was, Annie was my witness and thereby a deterrent.
I was not surprised to find Gorgon there. He lounged in the larger of the two fireplace chairs, a goblet in his hand, still in his dusty travel tunic. His helmet, breast and back plates had been thrown down beside the chair. Thomas resided in the second, smaller chair, self-congratulation written all over his face. The heavy-set countess sat, white-faced, at the family table farther down the long gallery, beyond the fireplace, and opposite the screens.
After a quick curtsy of my own, and her elbow solidly within my grasp, I presented Annie to Gorgon.
“This is Annie McGuire, a guest in this house.” I had been surprised at Annie’s surname, but accepted it without question. She was his father’s sister’s child, Duncan had informed me. “Annie, this is Steward Gorgon, of the Isle of Man.”
I released her and Annie dropped into a tight little curtsy. She arose with a flush of success and, after a similar introduction to Thomas, I urged her toward the long sideboard, which was crammed with sliced veal, pulled pork, a small wheel of cheese, a huge meat pie, loaves of hot bread, a tray of comfits, and several beakers of wine. Despite her disappointment at not finding Duncan present in the gallery, she stepped forward sedately, took a plate, served herself a portion of the meat pie with the appropriate utensil, then took a seat at the table, looking lost and hungry.
I lingered at the sideboard, where I carefully sliced myself a piece of bread, and with a pointed table knife politely stabbed a few slices of the thin-sliced, succulent veal and took a wedge of cheese, after which I joined Annie and the countess at the table, where tall, pewter tumblers of water were set at each place setting.
The countess sat at the head of the table. She ate her meal, ignoring our presence, though the white face I had seen on our entry into the room was now a brilliant pink.
“I understand from the steward,” the countess said with a sudden explosion of breath, her small eyes gleaming. She indicated Gorgon with an adjustment of her gaze in his direction. “. . . that Captain Comrie was deprecatory and overbearing at the gate.”
I leaned across the table into her line of sight. “The captain was doing his duty, Aunt.”
“Duty, you say?”
The clank of Marie Louise’s spoon thrust down onto the table startled Annie, who jumped, her glowing skin suddenly pale.
“Things have changed, my dear,” the countess prated on.
“Not at all,” Gorgon interrupted in an amiable manner. “Let the good captain run his ship.”
“This ship is my home,” I stated flatly in answer to Gorgon, though my gaze remained relentlessly on Annie across the table from me.
“Of course,” he said, in pompous irritation. “But I have received intelligence on my ride from the coast that Prince Rupert holds Liverpool. Once the prince returns—”
“I shall report the captain and his abominable treatment of myself, and of you, Steward, directly to my cousin.” Marie Louise threw a condescending nod toward Gorgon.
It amazed me that she dared interrupt him, no matter how covert her true intent. How could she not know of his brutal nature?
“And then we shall see who controls the house and the entry of guests,” the countess finished, with a flat-lipped frown directed at Annie, whose gaze remained locked on her food.
Gorgon glared at the countess in silent menace, his mouth clamped shut, his chapped right hand twitching.
“I feel certain,” she continued blithely, “from your detailed description of the event that prompted your recent departure from this place that the earl will in fact completely agree with you, enforce the terms of the betrothal, and you shall finally be married.”
Astonished at her words, I twisted my head at her with a frown of disbelief.
Gorgon sat up in his chair and bowed his head toward my obese aunt, who returned his bow with a look of flushed victory.
“Thank you, Countess. You describe my thoughts exactly.” His gaze floated beyond the countess to me, where he raised his eyebrows knowingly, and then went on to survey Annie, who discreetly lowered her eyes, struggling to retain her ladylike conduct, yet unsure how to react.
“I was deeply hurt that Captain Comrie suspected me of attempting, of all things, to attack this fortress,” he continued in a heavy, grating voice, though his complete lack of sincerity amazed me. “I could not so much as scratch the walls, if you, Countess, chose to prevent me. Your understanding and deeply felt respect warm me.” His manner changed abruptly to angry invective. “You see, I will take what I want in my own good time. I am destined to rule and I find it hard to accept restraint forced upon me by such lowly creatures as that heathen captain.” A loud laugh lightened his intensity. “He is no more than a cowardly underling attempting to usurp your authority, Countess.”
“Yes, dear Steward, how right you are,” Marie Louise crooned in an appreciative gush of relief. She pushed her plate imperiously aside and left the table to join Gorgon in the nest of chairs around the cold hearth.
I stared back and forth between the two of them, at their insane presumption that I, whose house this was, was not even present.
But Gorgon hauled his big frame out of the chair where he had remained up to this time. He put his empty goblet on the table, went to the sideboard, and took a large helping of meat pie, the remainder of the cheese, and cut himself three thick slices of bread.
&
nbsp; “Come, Thomas, eat.”
It was unlike Thomas to refrain from eating any food available, wherever he found it. Now that Gorgon had invited him, he jumped up, took a plate, and joined the steward at the sideboard.
A loud “humph” issued from the countess, left alone and awkward in her chair before the fireplace.
Plates full, Gorgon and Thomas came to the table and sat on each side of me in the high-backed chairs. Gorgon’s dusty sleeve rubbed against my arm.
Little Paul Simpson appeared with fresh wine and filled their waiting wine goblets. I smiled at him, for I had not seen him in some time, but he never looked up. He finished his duty and left quickly and quietly.
Annie sat opposite us. She seemed intimidated, yet entranced by Gorgon. Her cheeks plumped up now as she smiled coyly at Thomas, who reciprocated with his old arm-stretching self-appreciation.
“Hello there,” he said to Annie.
Gorgon’s hand hit the table in anger, rocking everything on it, and creating small waves in the wine goblets and water tumblers. “I did not give you permission to speak, Mr. Reedy. I must have silence while I eat.”
“Forgive me, my lord.”
Mollified by Thomas’ response, Gorgon fastidiously cut the chunk of cheese into thin slices, which he put into his meat pastry, then proceeded to take a mouthful of the pie, carefully including a cheese tidbit in each bite. Each portion was precisely followed by a small chunk of bread and chased by a measured gulp of wine. He eyed me solemnly as he ate, undoubtedly planning his next avenue of attack.
My discomfort around him left me desperately unsure.
“Excellent meal, Countess,” Gorgon finally said. He wiped off his spoon with his napkin and placed it beside his bowl with a gust of satiated appreciation. “I was starved. Please forgive me for attending without changing out of my riding apparel.” He slapped a sleeve and dust spewed around the room.
Though the countess appeared prepared to respond, she closed her mouth and apparently thought better of it when Gorgon let out an arrogant laugh, as though he had told a hilarious joke.
“You are very sweet and appreciative,” Gorgon said to Annie. He poked his forefinger into the dimple in her cheek.
Annie put her hand to her face, uncertain and shaky at his compliment. Her gaze tracked to my face. “Than’ ee, kine sir,” she responded, against all advice.
Gorgon’s eyes opened in subdued amazement.
“A little more work there, eh?” the countess said with sour disdain.
Under Gorgon’s stark, disturbing stare, Annie and I finished our food, no fingers, no further conversation, and quickly returned to the safety of our rooms.
Chapter Fifteen
Too anxious to remain cloistered in my room, I took Kalimir out for an extended ride, avoided more than one desperate looking character, and evaded what appeared to be a Roundhead scouting party. The land truly was not safe. By the time I returned to the house late in the evening, I was sore and starving.
The stable boy took my horse and I limped, aching in every muscle, to the door that led into the back hall. It was warped and difficult to get through at the best of times. A shove with my shoulder pushed it open, but only halfway. From within, Duncan jerked the door open and offered his hand to me. Under his gentle guidance, I entered and we stepped back into the shadow of the corner leading into the lower south corridor.
All day I had yearned for his touch, his voice, his presence. I extended my arms to embrace him, but he held me in place with an outstretched hand.
“I have something to tell you while there is time. These men with Gorgon were told they would be taking over for the house guard.”
“Have you warned Wallace?” Hand at my throat, I stepped away in distress.
“Of course. The guard has been doubled and is on high alert. Our advantage is that we know their intent.”
“How did you find this out?”
“We helped one of their soldiers to a bottle or two of good wine, and he cracked like a ripe melon.”
“And that bastard is treating Marie Louise like a long lost sister,” I said in disgust.
“He’s waiting. He changes his tactics to match the landscape.”
I remembered the prince’s comment—My most trusted officer, a brilliant tactical strategist—and felt a surety in Duncan’s words that went far beyond simple trust.
“You are his way into this place. You must be very careful. Keep people around you. I will be close by, though you may not see me. I dare not challenge him directly. That is for the prince to do, if he so chooses.” He looked suddenly, desperately unsure. “Though you must understand that the prince’s priorities are elsewhere.”
With a furtive reach, he took my hand, and caressed the palm with his thumb. The passion between us leapt and flared. His longing gaze held mine. I reached for him, needing to hold him and to be held safe in his strong arms.
Footsteps rang out along the corridor. I looked that way, felt an emotional wrench, a separation, and in that moment Duncan was gone.
I urgently needed a bath, but did not have the privacy in my rooms to indulge in a barrel bath and so washed at length from the basin, Rosemunde having to refill the ewer numerous times. A knock came at our door and Annie came in to the dressing room, all afluster.
“Thomas is here to see you,” she said, excited.
I studied her in bland irritation. Then it struck me that perhaps Thomas had something important to tell me. It was not like him to seek me out. Maybe, after all, he had decided to abandon Gorgon’s patronage. With a thrill of expectation, I decided to take the chance, ready to do anything I could to avoid Gorgon and his intentions.
“Ask him if we could meet in an hour,” I told Annie. Should I steal away or even subvert Gorgon’s spy, my position would be all the stronger.
“He will meet you in the gallery,” Annie relayed moments later.
Finally clean and clothed in a fresh gown and wearing my good black mules, I fluttered about the room like a trapped bird. Anxious to see what Thomas wanted, I left Peg and a newly confident Annie working on proper social conversation, their pulled-down beds awaiting them.
My rooms were on the upper southeast corner of the stronghold, beside Amilie’s tower. To avoid the private tower entry on the east corridor, where Gorgon was likely to be, I moved quietly down the long south hallway until I came to the west passage, which connected to a short expanse of the watch-tower stair and thereby to the gallery.
I opened the doors on an empty room. Dinner had gone on without me, it seemed, for the picked-over sideboard had not yet been cleared away. With an available table knife, I stabbed a slice of ham off the tray, and munched contentedly. I quickly grew tired of waiting in the oppressive humidity, and finally descended the great stair, my wooden heels clicking on the steps. When I reached the bottom, the loud scrape of a footstep sounded atop the stair. It was Gorgon, not Thomas, who grinned down at me with obsessive pleasure.
“Come to me, woman,” he commanded as he moved quickly down the stair behind me.
I fled down the main hallway.
Another figure began to walk toward me from the far end of the hall. It was Thomas, his wavy brown hair tousled, as though he had been running. With a rueful grin, he spread his arms to collect me. That action confirmed my sudden suspicion that Gorgon had used him to deceive me.
At the next intersecting passage, I raced up the left corridor that led to the library on the lower level of the private tower. I took a quick look back down the hall, where the two men met. Gorgon waved Thomas away and ran toward me. His bulk in no way impeded his ability to run, and he quickly closed the gap between us.
The library was, of course, locked. I did not even try it, but rushed up the tight, dark stair toward the second floor guest room.
Behind me, footsteps stumped heavily onto the stairs. If the second floor entry was clear, I should be able to outrun him. The dry, slightly acrid smell of the walls closed around me like a tomb. To ov
ercome this disabling sensation, I concentrated on my feet, forcing them quickly up the narrow, unlighted stairway.
I topped the stair and turned left into the open archway, where a single sconce illuminated the entry. A heavy step sounded behind me, and a muscular arm collected me like so much bagged chaff.
“Put me down,” I demanded.
He lowered me to my feet. His hand still on my arm, I turned into Gorgon’s despicable, bearded face.
“You want to see me so badly you come flying into my arms, eh?” This comment I assumed pertained to my coincidental presence at the lower entrance to his quarters. His strong hand tightened on my upper arm.
“Get away from me.”
“You want to keep your home, do you not?”
“You have broken any faith you might have had with my uncle.” I struggled to break his hold on my arm.
“Not at all, my dear.” A deep, resonant chuckle bubbled out of him. “Our betrothal is not so easily broken. But we can hurry things along by consummating our union. Come, let us finish what we started before the earl interrupted us.” His gaze probed mine, the heat of his desire clear and malicious. “I need your seer’s mind, your sensual, lavender-scented skin. Engulf me, Elena.”
“You only want Tor House.”
“As do you. Come with me.” He released my arm and attempted to embrace me within his bulk, but stopped and cocked his head, listening.
At that moment, a sword slid artfully between us, its flat edge slipping past my face. With a truncated gasp, I froze.
Gorgon took an instantaneous leap backwards, dropping his hold on me. The blade followed him and pinned him against the curve of the archway, pressing hard into his chest.
Footsteps rushed upward. The countess puffed onto the landing behind a grim-faced Duncan, who stood at the other end of that long sword, his arm extended in knotted solidarity, an incongruous love lock hanging loose beside his face.
Exile’s Bane Page 18
