“Rock, tell the guard in the dungeon to set Josef free,” Martin commanded.
“My lord, you know the guards will only listen to you,” said Rock. “Especially when a command like that is given.”
“Then take the blacksmith to see his son now. I’ll go down to the dungeon and release him myself later.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Wallace, sounding as if he were about to grovel at Martin’s feet. “Will we then be free to leave Castle Heaton, once the sword is constructed?”
“Aye, will they?” asked Winter.
Martin’s eyes interlocked with Winter’s. The reflection of hope on her face almost melted his heart. He wanted to stay angry with her, but couldn’t. After the stunt he’d pulled last night, he figured this would be an excellent way to make it up to her.
“Aye, Wallace and Josef are free to go - without waiting for the sword to be completed.”
“Really?” asked the blacksmith excitedly. “What about Winnie? Will she be able to leave with us to go back to Ravenscar as well?”
Martin thought about it for a minute. He’d come there to tell her he was going to marry her – that he was going to make things right. But Winter seemed to have a mind of her own. What if she didn’t want to marry him? Would she fight him and escape back to Ravenscar when he had his back turned? He didn’t want that to happen because then he’d have to go after her and punish her when all he really wanted to do was hold her in his arms and kiss her.
“What do you want . . . Lady Winter?” he asked, stressing her name to remind them he knew the truth and that Wallace could stop calling her Winne now. The room became silent as he waited for her answer. Never did a lord ask a lady her wishes or her thoughts. He had just taken a risk and he only hoped it wasn’t another mistake on his part. However, he wanted to know how she felt about him after all that happened between them.
Winter ran a hand over the smooth steel of the Damascus sword in thought, looking very sad. “I – I don’t know,” she said, her eyes downcast instead of looking at him. He almost preferred it that way so she wouldn’t see his disappointment if she decided to leave. “If Wallace and Josef are leaving, then I suppose I will go with them.”
Martin’s heart stilled. He hadn’t expected her to want to leave. Not after the passion they’d shared in each other’s arms. Her desire for him that he’d witnessed the other night was missing now. Mayhap she didn’t want him after all.
“Then go,” he said in a low voice. “Pack your things and I’ll release the blacksmith’s son. My men will see that you get safe passage back to the docks where my ship will return you all to Ravenscar. It’ll set sail first thing in the morning.”
“What about your sword?” asked Winter, holding up the partially forged steel. “Who will finish making your sword for you?”
“I’ll find someone with the skills required. I’m sure you are not the only one who can do it.”
“My lord, what about your brother?” asked Rock. “Do you think you’ll be able to save him without the Sword of Damascus?”
“Your brother?” asked Winter, sounding concerned as well as curious. “Is he in danger?”
He didn’t want to tell her his troubles so he ignored her altogether and continued talking to his squire instead. “I’ve fought many a battle without it and won, Squire. I should have never waited so long to go after Jamesson in the first place. I will make plans immediately for his rescue.”
He turned and walked out of the smithy, heading to the dungeon to release the blacksmith’s son.
“Wait,” Winter called out from behind him. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
He wouldn’t beg her to stay. If she didn’t want him, then she was free to go. “That, my lady, no longer matters.”
Chapter 11
Martin headed down to the dungeon with Wallace and Rock right on his heels.
“Wait up, I want to come, too,” shouted Winter, hurrying after them. Martin had no patience for this right now. He wanted to release the boy and then get as far away from Winter as possible. Being near her was only going to make him wonder what it would have been like to marry her. It didn’t matter, he supposed, because he’d never find out now.
“Lady Winter, turn around,” he told her. “The dungeon is no place for a lady.”
“Neither is the smithy, and yet I’m there all the time,” she answered.
“You will neither enter the dungeon nor work at the forge any longer. You are a lady, now start acting like one.” He turned to the guard at the dungeon door. “Don’t let her in.”
“Aye, my lord,” said the guard, stepping aside so Martin and the men could enter, blocking Winter from following them. Martin led the way. Winter turned around and left.
“Rock, stay by Lady Winter to make sure she doesn’t find a way to get inside. She’s very cunning.”
“I will, my lord,” said Rock, going back out into the courtyard.
Most dungeons were meant for torture and were dark, dirty, smelly, and filled with rats. The dungeon of Castle Heaton, however, was different. Martin had seen to it himself that the cells holding the prisoners were comfortable with beds instead of just wooden benches. Each also had a chamber pot that was emptied each day by servants. He provided his prisoners with the same food the commoners ate in the great hall, as well as gave them wine and ale instead of foul water and stale bread.
He’d even gone as far as to have the walls and floors of the dungeon whitewashed to make it brighter and cleaner. Brass holders were fastened to the walls providing light from well-burning torches.
“Josef, you’ve got a visitor,” Martin called out, walking through the underground tunnel that was large enough to fit dozens of horses inside. It had been set up this way to be able to house people as well as animals should the castle ever be under siege.
“Josef,” called out Wallace, stretching his neck trying to see, heading for the first cell, reaching through the bars for his son.
“Ye old fool, I’m no’ Josef,” called out Martin’s second prisoner, the son of Laird Gregor Dunbar.
“Father, I’m over here,” called out Josef from the next cell. Wallace ran over to greet him as Martin unlocked the door. Wallace stepped into the cell, hugging his son.
“How have they been treating you?” asked Wallace. “It’s been such a long time.”
“I’ve been treated more like a guest than a prisoner,” Josef admitted.
“Hrmph,” scoffed Aidar from the next cell. “Dinna fool yerself. As long as we’re behind lock and key, we are naught but prisoners of that bluidy Sassenach.” Aidar glared through the bars at Martin.
“Keep that up and I’ll put you in the oubliette,” warned Martin.
“Lord de Grey is setting you free,” Wallace told Josef.
“Is this true?” asked Josef.
“Aye, it is,” said Martin.
“Then the sword is completed? How did you do it without my help, Father?” asked Josef.
“He’s had help from a lady blacksmith with true talent,” Martin told him. “But the sword is far from done.”
“And still I’m being set free?” asked Josef in surprise. “Why?”
“If I were you, I’d stop asking questions and get moving before I change my mind.” Martin nodded with a jerk of his head, motioning the man to exit the cell.
“Aye, my lord. Thank you,” said Josef, taking hold of his father’s arm and hurrying from the dungeon.
Martin slammed the cell door and started away.
“What about me?” asked Aidar, shaking the bars of the cell. “Will ye set me free as well?”
“Nay,” answered Martin.
“Why no’?” asked Aidar. “Ye did it for the blacksmith’s son.”
“Would your father set my brother free without first securing you?” asked Martin.
“My faither will have yer hide as well as yer castle and yer lassie, too,” said Aidar with a growl.
“My point, exactly,” sai
d Martin. He took a few more steps.
“He’ll come save me and, when he does, he’ll take Lady Winter as his mistress.”
Martin realized the prisoner had heard him talking to Winter. He turned back, angrier than all hell. “What do you know about Lady Winter?”
“I ken she’s the daughter of Laird Ross Douglas, and also the sister of King Edward’s bastard triplets.”
“That’s impossible to be both,” spat Martin.
“It’s true, my lord,” said the Scot. “The bastards are referred to as her brothers, but they’re only cousins. Just dinna remind them of that because they are very protective of their sisters.”
Just what he needed to hear. Martin left the dungeon with visions in his head now of having half of Scotland breaking down his door.
* * *
“Nairnie, pack your things, we’re leaving in the morning,” said Winter, entering the bedchamber that they shared.
“What are ye sayin’?” asked Nairnie, sitting in a chair, looking like she’d been dozing off.
“Martin set Josef free, and we’re allowed to leave.”
“Martin, eh?” Nairnie stretched and yawned.
“I mean – Lord de Grey.”
“That’s nice.” She crossed her arms and didn’t move off the chair.
“Nairnie, didn’t you hear me? We can go back to Ravenscar now.”
“What about the sword?” asked Nairnie.
“He said we don’t have to finish it.”
“How do ye feel about that, lassie?”
Winter had been wondering the same thing ever since Martin told her she was free to go. She should be rejoicing, but she wasn’t. Instead, she felt slighted and unwanted.
“I’m not sure,” she told Nairnie, opening a trunk and starting to toss things inside. “I’m happy for Wallace and Josef, but I was looking forward to the challenge of finishing the sword.”
“What made Lord de Grey change his mind?”
“I – I’m not sure.” She folded a gown slowly, thinking the whole thing over. “I suppose it was because he was so angry with me when he discovered I was not who I said I was.”
“I told ye to tell him the truth to begin with.” Nairnie stood up and brushed lint from her gown. “Ye are stubborn, Lady Winter, and because of it have gotten yerself into a mess.”
“No, I haven’t. Why would you say that?”
“He’s taken ye to his bed, hasna he? No nobleman will have ye now. Where do ye think ye’re goin’ to go?”
“I’ll go back to Ravenscar,” she said. “I’ll continue to work in the smithy.”
“Wallace has his son to help him now. He doesna need ye. Besides, ye ken that yer family, as well as Lord Ravenscar, willna let ye act that way for long. Ye are a noblewoman, Lady Winter. But now, because of yer poor decisions, ye dinna fit in anywhere. Ye’ll be lucky no’ to spend the rest of yer life in a convent.”
“A convent?” The thought terrified her. Her mother had been raised in a convent. Being the second-born twin was thought to be ill luck and her mother had been sent away by her own father to live with the nuns. If the bastard triplets’ mother hadn’t died birthing them and Winter’s mother hadn’t raised the boys as her own, she might be in a convent yet. Nay. That is not at all what Winter wanted.
“Dinna like the idea, do ye?” asked Nairnie, heading for the door.
“Nairnie, you’ve got to help me.” She ran after the old woman and cut her off at the pass. “You’re right. I can’t go back to living the life of a noblewoman and neither can I live as a commoner either. My family is going to be so angry with me. What have I done? What should I do?”
“If half the castle didna already ken about yer personal business with Lord de Grey, ye might have been able to hide it. But he’s made sure everyone kens just what the two of ye did together.”
“He did this to ruin me,” she said, staring at the ground.
“Dinna blame Lord de Grey when ye were just as much at fault,” said Nairnie. “Now, it’s time to eat, so let’s get to the great hall before we’re late.”
“But what about packing?” asked Winter.
Nairnie looked at her and raised a brow. “I’ve had a vision, lassie. Ye are no’ goin’ anywhere, so dinna bother to pack yer things.”
“Are you saying Lord de Grey will make me stay here? Or do you mean I’ll stay of my own choice?”
“I just have the visions. I dinna ken the details. But I suppose that will be up to ye and yer lover.”
* * *
Martin didn’t think Winter was going to show for the meal but, to his surprise, she came walking into the great hall with the old healer. Everyone in the room became quiet when they saw her. Wallace and Josef sat below the salt where they belonged. They waved Winter over to squeeze in on the bench between the commoners and servants.
“Nay,” Martin said, standing and making his way down the dais. “Lady Winter, you are a noble and will sit at the dais with me.” He held out his arm, waiting for her to take it.
Winter glanced over to Nairnie for advice. The old woman nodded. Reluctantly, Winter reached out and lightly rested her hand on Martin’s arm.
“It was starting to look as if you weren’t going to show,” he said, parading her through the hall and up the stairs to the trestle table that seated the nobles.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.
“I thought you’d feel too humiliated. I know how hard this must be for you. That is, with everyone knowing what we did and now watching your every move.”
Her eyes swept the room and a shadow darkened her face. “Thank you for pointing that out. I didn’t feel that way until now.”
“Have a seat, Lady Winter,” he said, pulling her chair out for her.
Winter sat at the dais, feeling like a fake because of the ordinary clothes she wore. Martin had washed and dressed for the meal, always looking respectable – and not smelling bad either. The scent of bayberry and pine wafted up from his body, making her wonder if it was an essence he’d brought back from a foreign land as well. Whatever it was, it was causing her to desire him once again.
“We’ll share a trencher and cup,” he said, pushing his goblet between them.
“Nay, you are lord of the castle. You shouldn’t have to share.”
“I want to, Winter,” he said. “It will be the last time I spend time with you before you leave for Ravenscar in the morning.”
“That’s right.” She cleared her throat, feeling choked. When she reached for the wine, so did he. Their hands brushed against each other, causing a sweeping feeling of sensation to travel through her body. She pulled her hand back with a jerk.
“Where will you go?” he asked her, placing whiting on the trencher and then taking the bowl of a lemony sauce from a serving wench, drizzling it over the fish.
“I suppose I’ll go to Ravenscar. I haven’t really thought about it that much.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
She looked up at him in surprise, wondering what he meant. Was he trying to get her to say she wanted to stay here with him? Or was this just another of his little games? She wouldn’t fall for his ploys again.
“Yes, I suppose it is.” She reached for the trencher. Using her spoon, she took a bite of food. The sensation of all eyes in the room staring at her could be felt even without looking up over the end of the table.
“I would like you to go for a walk with me after the meal.”
She almost choked on the fish. He handed her the goblet and she drank down some wine. “If you are trying to get me back to your bedchamber, I’m afraid it will not work, Lord de Grey.”
“Please. Call me, Lord Martin.”
“I’m not sure I can do that,” she said, feeling very uncomfortable right now.
“Why not?” he asked, and then chuckled. “Don’t you think we are familiar enough to call each other by our Christian names?”
“Please, Lord de Grey,” she said, feeling her cheeks getting ro
sy. “It is not proper to be speaking so familiar at the table.”
“Since when are you worried about being proper?”
He was right. The thought made her grin. “I suppose I am not the shining example of the proper English noblewoman.”
“Not in that gown, you’re not,” he added. That made them both laugh.
“I’ll go for one last walk with you, Lord de Grey, but it won’t be to your bedchamber.”
“Then let me take you to the garden. It is magical in the moonlight.”
She peeked up from the corners of her eyes and nodded slightly. “I would like that,” she told him, wondering if she’d be lucky enough to experience one last kiss from Martin before she left Castle Heaton forever.
* * *
Once the meal had ended, Martin escorted Winter to his private garden. It was a place he often went to think. This time of year, being so close to the start of winter, most the flowers had already died off. Still, there was greenery and shrubs that kept their vibrancy all year long. Colorful chrysanthemums of gold, burgundy, purple and white lined a walkway that trailed along the east side of the keep and led to a curvy path to the castle’s high retaining wall. There were benches, trellises and even a small lake that lay nestled inside the enclosed space. The perimeter was lined with a wooden fence taller than them making the area private.
His gardeners kept up the appearance all year round, even in the dead of the winter. Martin liked his solitude and would go insane without several places to go that were the only private places in the castle. His bedchamber was one, his garden another, and a third was a secret room he’d built that connected to his wardrobe.
“This is enchanting,” said Winter, drinking in the sight.
He’d made sure his servants lined the walkway ahead of time with candles burning in hollowed-out gourds. His head cook, Eagon, was an old Irishman who also had skills that had to do with carving. Martin believed that everyone should have a chance to explore their creative nature. That’s why he kept Eagon busy carving things for him all year long.
Winter's Flame (Seasons of Fortitude Series Book 4) Page 10
