Temptress

by Lisa Jackson

  Huntsmen who had been out at dawn were returning with a gutted stag, several squirrels, and two rabbits hung on poles. Jason, the man who had discovered the beaten stranger, was among the group. He glanced up and found Payne staring at him. He looked quickly away, almost as if he were guilty of some unknown crime. The sheriff made a mental note to question the man again as Alexander finally answered him about notifying Wybren that Carrick had been located.

  “Rumors travel quickly and it is only a day’s ride to Wybren. No doubt Lord Graydynn has already heard of Carrick’s capture.”

  “And his ambush.” Payne scratched at his beard. There was something here he didn’t trust.

  “Aye. The assault.”

  They stepped to one side of the path as the kennel master, with six shaggy dogs straining upon their leashes, passed.

  “Slow down, ye miserable curs,” the kennel master growled before nodding to the sheriff. “Anxious they are, this morn.”

  Once the man and dogs were out of earshot, Payne asked Alexander, “Have you spoken to Lady Morwenna about contacting Lord Graydynn?”

  “Not recently.”

  “So you want me in agreement with you first, is that it?”

  “I thought it would be best if we both approached her.”

  Payne understood that the two of them would be more persuasive together. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he headed past laundresses kneeling near huge wooden tubs. The women were up to their elbows in steaming sudsy water and filthy clothes swirling together. “A two-pronged attack, then.”

  “Not an attack,” Sir Alexander said quickly, his face hardening. “A suggestion.”

  “From the both of us.”

  The bigger man nodded, squinting as a gaggle of geese, honking noisily, flew in formation overhead beneath the high, filmy clouds. The sheriff slid Alexander a look. “Do not tell me you are afraid of the lady?”

  “Afraid?” Sir Alexander snorted in disgust and then spat, as if the idea were absurd. Nonetheless his cheeks darkened to crimson and the lines in his face seemed to crease a little deeper. “Of course I do not fear her. I’m here to protect her and all who reside within this keep. That is what I have in mind. If Lord Graydynn hears that Lady Morwenna is harboring a criminal, that, indeed, we have detained Sir Carrick here, Graydynn will be furious.”

  “Aye.”

  “And he’ll be angry that he wasn’t informed. Sir Carrick is a wanted man. There is no telling what Graydynn will do.”

  “You are assuming that the wounded man is indeed Carrick of Wybren.”

  “Aye.”

  “And you also assume that he massacred his family, then fled Wybren.”

  “Aye.” Alexander nodded sharply, without so much as a second’s hesitation. “So many people are dead because of Carrick. The murdering bastard killed not only his parents, but his sister, brothers, and sister-in-law as they slept. ’Tis a wonder no servants or peasants were killed as well.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  They had reached the great hall, and Alexander took in a long breath and then squared his shoulders as they climbed the steps and passed by the guard at the door.

  “Because the assault was planned. Whoever did it wanted only the lord’s family killed.”

  “You said ‘whoever,’ yet you’re certain the culprit was Carrick.”

  “He was seen fleeing the castle.”

  “By one stableboy,” Payne reminded him, feeling the warmth of the interior of the keep reach his skin as he yanked off his gloves. Boys were stoking the fire and replacing the candles and rushlights in the sconces on the walls while girls washed down the long oaken tables, all the while chatting and giggling as they worked. By the fire one of the castle dogs stood and stretched, its black lips pulling back in a yawn as it eyed the newcomers and then settled into its spot near the grate.

  “The man we’ve got locked upstairs was wearing the ring of Wybren,” Alexander said as he reached the base of the stone steps and then paused to skewer the sheriff with his intense gaze.

  “Agreed,” Payne said slowly, still thinking.

  “So what you’re saying, Payne, is that you don’t believe our captive is Carrick? Or you don’t believe that Carrick is the criminal?”

  “I know not who he is or what he’s done . . . but I think we should tread carefully.”

  “ ’Tis best if the news of what has happened here reaches Graydynn through our own messenger and not idle gossip. That way we are assured that he learns the truth.”

  Payne couldn’t disagree with this line of reasoning and yet he felt as if alerting Graydynn could be the same as waking a sleeping dragon. The current Lord of Wybren wasn’t known for his patience.

  Alexander started up the stairs and his steps quickened. “Let us speak to the lady. ’Tis her decision.”

  That it is, Payne silently agreed. Payne was not one to suffer fools, but in this case he pitied Alexander, for it was obvious he was in love with the lady and that love was futile. Stupid. A ridiculous notion. Not only was Lady Morwenna promised to Lord Ryden of Heath, the pompous ass, but even if she were not, she was of a station far above that of the captain of the guard.

  He shook his head and followed. He only hoped Alexander’s unrequited love for Morwenna had not clouded the captain of the guard’s judgment. If that was the case, then everyone in the keep was in jeopardy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “But, m’lady,” Alfrydd said, “you need to attend to matters beside the prisoner, er, guest. Aside from the band of thieves that has been bothering the farmers and merchants as they travel—”

  “The sheriff and captain of the guard are dealing with them,” Morwenna cut in, angry that the steward suggested she was ignoring her duties.

  “Aye, ’tis true. But there are other issues,” he persisted. “The taxes must not be ignored. They have to be collected in order that we run this keep. Jack Farmer is only one of the men who owes two years of bodel silver. His house, as well as those of others—and I have a list of their names—is on your land and therefore taxed by bodel silver—”

  “I understand,” she cut in.

  But the steward wasn’t finished. “Then there’s the agistment tax. We haven’t collected as much as we should have because some of the farmers have let their animals graze in the woods but have as yet refused to pay you.”

  Alfrydd was standing in front of Morwenna at her desk in the solar. With a long, skeletal finger, he pointed to the ledgers where a scribe had entered the records of all the taxes, tithes, and fees collected for the past three years. Families who were in arrears were listed on another sheet of parchment. “There are also several people, including Gregory the tinsmith, who owe chiminage as they’ve carted their goods through the woods and not paid! And . . . and . . . see here.” He tapped the ledger page. “No heriot collected from five families this past year. That’s five horses we don’t have in the castle’s stable.”

  Morwenna scowled. Heriot was one of the taxes she didn’t like. One, she thought, designed by men for men. “I find it hard to take the best animals from a family who is grieving for the loss of their husband and father, especially when those horses could provide the wife some income.”

  “I know, m’lady. But you must make the collection and pass on the king’s share to him.” Alfrydd smiled kindly. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but it is expensive to run this keep, and everyone you collect from receives the benefit of your protection. ’Tis a privilege to pay these paltry fees.”

  “Tell that to Mavis, the wheelwright’s wife, and her five children. Explain to them why I must take their strongest mule as they have no horse. That mule is probably used to till the land on their small plot. And tell them that not only will I take the mule, but I’ll be expecting fodder corn as well.”

  “Everyone must help feed the horses for our army.”

  “And that of the king, I know, I know!” She tossed up her hands in disgust and stood abruptly. “But Mavis Wheel-wright
has six mouths to feed including her own and no husband to provide for her. What’s she to do? Look to another man to help sustain her and her children?”

  “The oldest boy can help—”

  “Aye, a lad barely eight years old.” She let out a long sigh.

  “And a strong boy who could help the woodcutter or the mason or—”

  “We’ll not take Mavis Wheelwright’s mule,” she argued, feeling her cheeks warm with color and knowing her eyes were blazing. “Nor will she have to pay fodder corn this year or next. After that, we’ll see.”

  If Alfrydd intended to argue any further, he thought better of it and held his tongue. “As you wish,” he muttered dourly and scooped up the ledgers.

  “Yes. As I wish,” Morwenna bit out and then, seeing his lips fold in upon themselves, felt immediate remorse. The man was only doing his job and he was doing it thoughtfully. She suddenly felt as if a huge weight had settled heavy upon her shoulders. In all the years of clamoring to be treated as an equal to her brothers, in her prayers for a keep of her own, never had she considered some of the tasks and responsibilities thrust upon her, nor thought of the hard decisions she would be forced to make.

  “Thank you, Alfrydd. I do know that you are only looking out for the good of Calon,” she said more softly. He nodded at her as he left the room. As she settled into her chair, the captain of the guard and the sheriff were announced. A bare moment later the two men were striding into the solar.

  “M’lady,” Alexander said, “if we might have a word.”

  “Certainly.” She braced herself.

  The two men’s expressions were hard and set, their demeanors stiff, as if they were about to impart bad news. Carrick, she thought and her stupid heart clutched.

  “It’s about the patient,” Alexander stated.

  Of course. Her fingers curled over the arms of her chair. “What about him?”

  “I think, mayhap, it’s time to tell Lord Graydynn of him.”

  Dear God, not yet. Not until I know for certain! “Do you?” she asked, forcing herself to remain calm. “Why?”

  After only a second’s hesitation, Alexander spoke first, explaining his reasoning, specifically his concerns about Baron Graydynn’s reaction should the Lord of Wybren be told by others that she was harboring a traitor and criminal.

  Morwenna wanted to argue, and a rising sense of panic started deep inside at the thought of sending Carrick to his uncle. Tamping down her fears, she listened, quietly biding her time, attempting to remain neutral and unbiased until she’d heard the two men out, trying silently to quell an anxiety she couldn’t name should she have to give up the patient.

  Were the two men standing before her in agreement? She couldn’t tell. As Alexander stated his case, the sheriff remained quiet, almost studious, while the captain of the guard listed off his reasons for sending a messenger to Wybren.

  Once Alexander paused, Morwenna trained her eyes upon the sheriff. “Am I to assume you are in agreement—that a messenger must be sent to Wybren?”

  Payne hedged. “I’m not sure. ’Tis possible the man is not Carrick, and there seems to be no reason to inform Baron Graydynn unless we are sure of the patient’s identity. However, Sir Alexander makes a good point that it would be much better if you were to send word of the situation rather than have gossip, rumor, and who knows what kind of lies seep through the gates of Wybren.”

  So that was it. She would have to make a decision regarding Carrick’s fate. “I was hoping we could wait until we were certain of who the man is.”

  “Aye, that would be best.” Payne rubbed the back of his neck.

  “But, after this much time, impossible,” Alexander said, his big face earnest. “Perhaps a note to Graydynn, carefully worded so as not to anger him or let him leap to any assumptions, would do for now.” A muscle worked beneath his beard. “I fear the gossip has already reached him as it is.”

  Morwenna leaned back in her chair and rested her chin on her clasped hands. Alexander was right. She knew it. The sheriff knew it. Yet she was reluctant to send the missive.

  “What if Lord Graydynn sends his army, or even comes himself, to retrieve Carrick and take him to be hanged for treason? What if the man isn’t Carrick?”

  “Then who is he? A common thief who stole the ring from a dead man?”

  “He could be anyone,” Morwenna said, though in her heart she felt the man lying in Tadd’s chamber was indeed Carrick of Wybren. “He could have stolen the ring, yes, or found it. Or perhaps won it in a game of dice. It may even have been given to him.”

  Alexander snorted his disbelief, but the sheriff was slowly nodding. “There are many reasons the man across the hallway might have had the ring, but until he awakens and tells his story, we won’t know what they are.”

  “Even then, he might lie,” Alexander stated.

  Payne’s eyebrows rose and he nodded his head. “Possibly.”

  “ ’Tis not a chance we should take. M’lady, I think it best to let Graydynn of Wybren know that you’ve taken in a stranger, a wounded man, possibly a soldier, and that he was found wearing a ring bearing the crest of Wybren. You could tell him that you are waiting until the man regains consciousness to decide who he is and what you will do with him, if anything. Doing so, you’ll avoid risking Graydynn’s ire and, possibly, his retribution.”

  She turned her gaze to the sheriff. “You agree?”

  The sheriff nodded slowly. “For the most part.”

  “But you have reservations.”

  He smiled. “Of course, m’lady. I always have reservations.”

  She trusted these two. Alexander was always concerned about Calon’s safety and Payne was interested in justice. Though she’d known each man less than a year, she felt that they were true hearts.

  Or so you think. What do you really know of them? Only what they want you to see; only what you’ve heard from the servants and peasants within the castle, people who are more loyal to them than they are to you. What had Isa said?

  “Trust no one, Morwenna. No one.”

  Both men were staring at her, waiting, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they had conspired to confront her, each acting out his predesigned role.

  “M’lady?” Sir Alexander nudged.

  Morwenna bit her lip and weighed each alternative. She didn’t want to risk alienating Wybren, nor did she want to act in haste.

  “I’ll think on this tonight, and if I decide to inform Lord Graydynn, I’ll send a messenger tomorrow.”

  “By then it may be too late,” Alexander pointed out. “Graydynn may hear the rumors.”

  “He may have already,” Morwenna said. “Wybren is but a day’s ride.”

  “Or less.” Payne was frowning thoughtfully and scratching at his chin.

  “Then a few more hours won’t change things,” she said, dismissing them. “On the morrow I’ll make my decision.”

  She only hoped it would be the right one.

  “Why is it you hate Carrick so much?” Bryanna asked as she pretended to embroider. She tugged impatiently upon the thread. It was evening, the fires burning bright, and Isa felt it then, the evil that lurked within this castle.

  ’Twas as if the walls themselves had eyes.

  “He broke your sister’s heart.” They were seated in Bryanna’s room. Isa warmed her old back against the blaze of the logs in the grate. It seemed that with each winter the aches in her joints worsened. She rubbed her hands together and noticed how her knuckles had grown over the past few years.

  Bryanna lifted a shoulder and, frowning at her work, pulled at the knotted thread, then muttered something unkind under her breath. “It happens often, does it not, a heart being broken?”

  “Aye, but not with Morwenna.” Isa knew of Morwenna’s unborn babe, of course, though Isa had never revealed it to anyone, including Morwenna. For the loss of that little one, Isa would never forgive Carrick. Nor would she ever reveal that he’d left Morwenna for Alena of Heath, the woman who
had married his brother Theron; Alena, the sister to Lord Ryden, to whom Morwenna was now promised. Oh, ’twas an impossible knot. As bad as Bryanna’s pathetic attempts at embroidery. On top of all this mess, there were the ever-present rumors that Carrick had murdered his family as they’d slept.

  “You know more than you’re willing to say.”

  “About a lot of things,” Isa admitted. “We all have our secrets.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  Bryanna snorted but didn’t disagree. “There’s talk of sending him back to Wybren.”

  Isa nodded; she’d heard the same rumor. In Isa’s opinion, returning Carrick to Wybren was too good for the beast. “Your sister told you this?”

  “Nay, it was Fyrnne. Oh!” Bryanna looked up sharply, her round eyes pleading. “Please do not rebuke her. I overheard her speaking with Gladdys as they carried the laundry downstairs, and they said Sir Alexander wants Morwenna to send a messenger to Graydynn of Wybren about Carrick,” Bryanna explained, her words coming out in a rush, tumbling over each other. “Of course Lord Graydynn will demand that the traitor be returned.”

  “Of course,” Isa agreed. She’d already thought the same. Good. The sooner that Carrick was out of the keep, the better for everyone. Especially Morwenna. “Still, the serving girls shouldn’t gossip.”

  Bryanna nodded but grinned, one dark eyebrow arching sagely. “No one should, Isa. But we all do; that’s the fun of it. ’Tis a woman’s nature and, I suppose, a man’s as well.” She glanced down at her embroidery hoop and sighed at her limited progress. “This is hopeless.” Angrily she clipped the thread with her teeth, then tossed the hoop onto her bed, where she ignored it. Leaning forward, her eyes reflecting the firelight, she asked, “How did Carrick kill his family?”

  “I’m not sure. ’Tis only conjecture that he set the blaze, remember.”

  Bryanna stared at Isa. “But you believe it.”

  Isa picked her words carefully. “I believe that he is capable of many things, even murdering his family, though I don’t understand why. It makes no sense.” She rubbed the thick bumps of her knuckles. “But it’s said that while the baron and his family were all sleeping, Carrick sneaked through the hallway and set the fires. Some people, perhaps the constable, think that he even poured on the floor oil or something that would ignite the rushes even more quickly and cause smoke to seep and spread under the doors into each of the chambers. The lord and lady, Baron Dafydd and Lady Myrnna, were in one room; their children Alyce, Byron, and Owen as well as Theron and his wife, Alena, were asleep in their chambers.” She frowned. ’Twas a tragedy.