by Speer, Flora
But she’d been blessed with a loving grandfather very different in character from her sire, a battered and scarred old knight who had taken her up on his knee when she was little and told her romantic stories of great lords and beautiful ladies, of powerful mages, and the occasional fire-breathing dragon. On clear evenings Grandfather would take her hand and walk around the castle battlements with her as they watched the sun set and the stars come out. Lord Giles reminded her of her grandfather, which was not at all surprising, since he had been a mage, too.
Jenia’s eyes suddenly misted as she fought the impulse to lean toward her host and rest her head on his shoulder while she unburdened her heart to him. The longing to feel his sinewy arm around her was nearly as overpowering as her desire to reveal all of her secrets.
Knowing that giving in to the urge might well cost her life before she even reached Calean City and, therefore, prevent her from completing her quest, she tightened her mouth and drew her lips into a hard line. Then she squared her shoulders and sat straighter on the bench, resisting the gentle Power he was exerting on her. But she could not bring herself to stand up and move away from him.
Before either of them could say anything more Roarke and Garit came into the hall and the oddly intimate moment was gone. But the remarks that Lord Giles had made about Roarke’s recent life having provided good cause for his cold and distant attitude made Jenia look at him with renewed interest. He hadn’t been reserved with her when they’d shared a bed at the inn. She had seen humor in him then, and kindness, and even a brief tenderness. She remembered the way he had listened to her story of near rape and murder, how he had understood her determination to get away from her attackers. She marveled at his patience with her when she knew he suspected her of not telling the entire truth.
Lord Giles offered his arm to escort her to the table and she set aside her ruminations in favor of behaving as politely as an honored guest ought to do.
The entire company – Lord Giles and his guests, his men-at-arms, squires, even the servants at the lower table – all ate well, consuming a dozen or so hot pies filled with several kinds of game birds, followed by a roasted side of beef, fresh bread, cakes, and two large almond custards, all washed down with ale and red wine.
Faced with such a feast, Jenia forgot the caution about eating too much that Roarke had urged upon her on the previous day and gave in to her hunger. Tired though she was after a long day of travel, she felt remarkably well-recovered from her ordeal on shipboard and at sea.
During the meal the conversation was pleasant and general, with no one remarking on the sudden appearance of three unexpected guests and no one asking prying questions. Roarke, who was seated next to Jenia, seemed a bit more relaxed than usual. Perhaps it was an effect of Lord Giles’ presence. Jenia decided to take advantage of Roarke’s good mood.
“I noticed you are acquainted with several of the men-at-arms,” she said. “When you came to the hall, I saw them greeting you as an old friend.”
“I lived at Nozay for seven years and I still stop here whenever I come this way,” he told her. “I know I’ll find a good meal and a clean bed.”
“I can see how fond you are of Lord Giles,” she said, hoping to draw him out to reveal something about his own life. She wanted to know everything about Roarke: his childhood, his parents, his youth and early manhood, and particularly the difficult recent past that Lord Giles had mentioned. She told herself she was so intensely interested because she was going to have to depend on him when they reached Calean City. But she couldn’t fool herself for long. She wanted to know Roarke better because the contradictions she saw in him piqued her curiosity. Even his apparent coldness and frequent sarcasm intrigued her, especially after she’d seen him drop his reserve to embrace his old friend with undisguised warmth.
“Lord Giles is not a great lord as most men reckon such things,” Roarke said, glancing at the white-haired man on Jenia’s other side, who was taking to Garit. “He doesn’t hold a great title or much land. But he’s known as an honest man, and in his day he was a renowned warrior. Now he is famous for the way he trains his squires. A boy who is prepared for knighthood by Lord Giles will be superbly taught in the uses of every available weapon, not just sword and lance. What’s more, the squires whom he trains must also learn to think for themselves, and to read and write.”
“You must be joking,” Jenia exclaimed. “I thought all knights considered scholarly accomplishments unworthy of a fighting man’s attention, subjects fit only for mages and women,” she finished with a bitterness worthy of Roarke at his most sarcastic.
“Most nobles, and many more simple knights than nobles, would agree with you,” Roarke said. “But those who spend their seven years as squires here at Nozay in the care of Lord Giles will have learned how important scholarly pursuits are to their ability to think logically – and how important clear thinking is to fighting skills.”
“I have never considered the question of how a knight thinks, if he thinks at all,” Jenia said, “though now that you speak of it, the idea of thinking before using one’s sword does make good sense.” Nor was she surprised that Lord Giles would make such a demand of his students. Her grandfather had told her more than once that the best teachers were mages.
“Can you read?” Roarke asked. “Can you write? I know the two don’t always go together.”
“Yes, of course. I can do both. I can count, too.” She spoke with pride, before she realized how much the admissions must reveal about her.
“Are you sure?” he persisted, a faint, pleased smile curving his lips. “So, you do remember that much. Where did you learn? From your mother? Or your father’s cleric? Or were you taught by a mage?”
She met his dark gaze squarely and saw triumph blazing in his eyes. He had tricked her into saying more than she should have and now he was continuing his questions, firing them at her as rapidly as a Kantian bowman with a quiver full of arrows. A tart reply rose to her tongue, an instinctive response to his prying that probably would have told him still more about her and the past she claimed not to recall. She was saved from indiscretion by Lord Giles. Having finished the last of his serving of custard tart, he rose from the table, thus ending the meal. When their lord stood, so did everyone else who’d been sitting with him.
“Agnes, I am pleased with the splendid meal you created on such short notice,” Lord Giles said to a plump, pink-faced woman. “As a cook, you are a treasure beyond price.”
Agnes’ face grew even more pink at the praise and she dipped an awkward curtsey toward her master.
Turning to the rest of the company Lord Giles continued, “Now, to your duties, or to your beds, my lads. Just because I have guests tonight, don’t imagine I won’t work you hard tomorrow. Squires, I will expect to see you in the practice yard at dawn.”
A ripple of affectionate laughter and a few youthful grumbles followed Lord Giles as he conducted Jenia up a short flight of steps to the solar, with Roarke and Garit following them.
“Here we can be private and speak freely,” Lord Giles said. A warming fire burned in the upper room and he took a carved armchair that was placed close to it. At his inviting gesture, Jenia sat in an armless chair at the other side of the fireplace. Roarke stood behind Lord Giles, while Garit roamed about the room with the ease of old familiarity.
The only piece of furniture in the solar besides the chairs was a table set beneath two wide windows. Jenia noted the lack of feminine additions, such as a loom or an embroidery frame. Having heard Lord Giles mention his two grown sons to Garit, she assumed that he was a widower.
“Now, Lady Jenia,” Lord Giles said to her, “you may tell me your story, and then Roarke and Garit may explain why they have brought you to me.”
Jenia repeated the same story she had previously told her two companions, of being abducted aboard an unknown ship and of plunging into the sea rather than allowing a band of wicked men to dishonor her. As she had done before, she insisted that she
did not remember who she was.
The look on Lord Giles’ face when she finished plainly said that he doubted her claim of no memory. To avoid having to lie in response to any questions he might ask, she changed the subject. She had told enough lies for three lifetimes and she could not bear the thought of telling more falsehoods or offering evasions to a kindly old man who held the Power to force the truth from her, though he’d never use it without her consent. She knew without asking that the Power Lord Giles possessed was pure and uncorrupted. Unlike the Power of some men she had known.
“Roarke and Garit can explain better than I the plan they’ve concocted in hope of learning where Lady Chantal is,” she said. “I agreed to travel to Calean City in their company for my own reason, which is that I hope someone at court will know who I am.”
“I suppose it is a possibility,” Lord Giles said, “though the idea seems to me unnecessarily dangerous. From what you’ve told me, someone wants you dead and has gone to great lengths to conceal your apparent murder.”
“But we must learn where Chantal is,” Garit insisted with all of the emotion he brought to any discussion of his lost love. “I cannot go on like this, not knowing whether she’s dead or alive, and uncertain whether or not this lady is Chantal,” he said, waving one hand toward Jenia. “Nor can I lay aside my suspicions of Lord Walderon. I am convinced he knows more about Chantal’s disappearance than he will admit.”
“Is Walderon presently at court?” Lord Giles asked. “More important, is Lady Sanal with him? Her reaction to the sudden reappearance of Lady Chantal may prove to be more rewarding than Walderon’s.”
“Lady Sanal will do exactly what her husband tells her to do,” Garit said. “She always does.”
“In a moment of sudden surprise, he won’t have time to instruct her,” Lord Giles pointed out. “I must say, I rather pity Sanal. Any woman married to Walderon cannot be a contented wife. Perhaps you can use her discontent to your own advantage.”
Jenia listened to these remarks with growing interest as she realized that Lord Giles was not as isolated at Nozay from court gossip and intrigue as she had first assumed. She also noticed how he spoke of Lady Sanal without using her title, as if he knew her well.
“Roarke, tell me what you think about all of this.” Lord Giles turned his head to look up at the younger man.
“King Henryk ordered me to learn Lady Chantal’s fate. I intend to do just that,” Roarke said, distilling the last half year into a few clipped statements. “She disappeared as if by magic. Despite my best efforts, I have uncovered no clues at all. Neither has Garit found any evidence of what happened. Jenia is our best hope of reaching the truth.”
“I can easily guess your plan,” Lord Giles said. “Jenia will pose as Chantal.”
“Just so.” Roarke was frowning at Jenia. “Though if the lady would reveal everything she knows, perhaps we wouldn’t have to put her into such danger.”
Jenia stared back at him, not wanting to look at Lord Giles because she found it easier to lie to Roarke than to Lord Giles or Garit.
“I have told you everything,” she said, as she had said too many times by now. “I’ve told you as much as I can remember.”
“What do you plan to do next?” Lord Giles asked Roarke.
“Tomorrow, we ride to Auremont. From there, Garit will go on to Calean City alone, to attend to some duties at court and to make the necessary arrangements for our grand arrival. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we didn’t bring our squires along on this expedition to southern Sapaudia. When Garit reaches Calean, he will locate jewels and clothing suitable for a noblewoman and he’ll send them to Auremont in the care of my squire.”
“And then?” Lord Giles asked.
“Auremont is less than half a day’s ride from Calean,” Garit spoke up. “If Roarke and Lady Jenia leave early on the morning of the day we choose for the confrontation, they can appear without warning in King Henryk’s great hall just before the midday meal. That is the quickest way to show our false Lady Chantal to most of the nobles who are in Calean in attendance on the king.”
“The quickest way,” Lord Giles agreed, “though not the safest way.”
“Nobles don’t wear their swords in the presence of the king,” Garit said.
“The guilty one won’t need a sword,” Jenia said. “A sharp eating knife will be quite sufficient.”
When silence fell in the solar, she knew Roarke and Garit were thinking of her reaction to Roarke’s knife, and of what she had told them a similar knife had done. She took a long breath and let it out slowly as she tried to banish the terrible memory, and the apprehension. That was, after all, what she expected her own end to be. A quick slash with a sharp knife would be most appropriate, all things considered. She had accepted her fate; she just hoped she’d have time to make her accusations before it happened.
“Are you content with this scheme?” Lord Giles said to her.
He was looking directly at her. She had to meet his gaze. She was certain that a man as experienced and wise as he would discern her fear even without employing his Power. Perhaps he’d also detect her cowardly, growing reluctance to die for the justice she sought and for the retribution her dying would invoke, the revenge that she had originally hoped would send her into the Next World in peace.
“Jenia?” Lord Giles prompted. “My dear, are you woolgathering?”
“I have agreed to Roarke’s plan,” she said, “and I won’t change my mind. I need these men to help me.”
“Help you to do what?” Roarke demanded, immediately leaping upon the hint she had offered.
“To prove who I am,” she said.
“‘Prove?’“ he repeated, brows raised in disbelief. “Not, ‘remember?’“
She kept silent then, fearing she’d said too much, afraid to go to Calean, yet more afraid of the shame she’d feel if she stayed away from King Henryk’s court, if she hid and did not carry her quest through to its bloody end.
Long after Jenia and Garit had sought their beds, Roarke and Lord Giles sat together in the solar.
“Well?” Roarke asked, settling himself into the chair where Jenia had been sitting. “I value your opinion. Can she be telling the truth?”
“Only a very foolish woman tells everything she knows to a man who is a stranger to her,” Lord Giles said.
“Yes, well, you and I both know about women who keep their own secrets until it’s too late,” Roarke said. “But do you sense that Jenia can possibly be Chantal? If she is, why doesn’t she make herself known to Garit? She isn’t obligated to tell me, but he is so eager to believe she is his vanished love, returned to him. And he’s half mad with worry that she isn’t Chantal. There have been moments during the last two days when I’ve wanted to strangle the wench for the misery she’s causing him.”
“What about the misery she’s causing you?” Lord Giles rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. Above his callused and scarred hands his lined face was solemn, though his blue eyes danced with an oddly youthful mischief. “You must admit, Jenia is a most interesting and unusual woman. She has set a goal for herself and she will not deviate from it.”
“I am aware of that.” Roarke’s voice dropped to a rough near-whisper. Telling himself that neither Garit nor Jenia was the real cause of his anger, he sternly repressed the rage that threatened to engulf him. “I’ve seen how determined Jenia is, how she will not allow herself to be deflected from what she wants. That’s why she fell in with my arrangements much too easily, with none of the quibbles I’d expect to hear from any ordinary woman. Her determination is also why I cannot trust her. She’s the weakest point of my plan. I cannot begin to guess what she’ll do once she reaches Calean City.”
“As I said, lad, she has her own goal. You will learn what it is when she’s ready, and not before.”
“Just so.” Roarke sighed with exasperation. “Unfortunately, that unspoken goal of hers may well ruin my scheme. What
if, by her actions, she causes Chantal’s death?”
“Then there is Garit to consider,” Lord Giles said, his gaze on Roarke’s face. “He has been your best friend for fifteen years; the same friend who faithfully saw you through a difficult time in your life – a time that was difficult for him, too.”
“It’s not the same thing. Jenia is nothing to me. She’s little more than a stranger.”
“Of course.” Lord Giles did not smile or shake his head at what he must have known was a blatant lie. Nor did he change the subject, though an outsider listening to them would have thought he did. “I see your father occasionally, when I am at court.”
“I have no father,” Roarke said in a voice cold as midwinter.
“Lord Oliver, then.” Lord Giles shrugged as if to say the titles men assumed counted for little with him. Which was true, as Roarke knew well. “He and Lady Marjorie have another son, their second healthy boy in five years of marriage, and a little girl. What is the older boy’s name? I never can remember it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Roarke said in the same icy tone.
“Well, if you don’t care, I suppose it doesn’t matter what your half-brother’s name is. Do you think Garit would like to see his sister again? He and Marjorie were remarkably close when they were younger.”
“You will have to ask Garit about that. I am going to bed.” Roarke stood and headed for the short corridor that led to the guest chambers.
“You can’t run away forever,” Lord Giles said quietly.
“I am not running away. I am merely avoiding a situation that would be – that ought to be – extremely awkward for all parties.”
