by Speer, Flora
The grownups sat on stools at a trestle table, eating a meat pie, cheese and bread, and a large apple tart, all washed down with wine. Meanwhile, Lan’s nurse attempted to feed him at the other side of the room. But Lan wasn’t inclined to stay put, or to eat the usual child’s supper of bread and milk. From his parents’ reactions whenever he ventured toward the adult table, it was clear to Jenia that the boy was dearly loved by both and was overindulged, at least by his mother.
Jenia observed Marjorie offering first a few pieces of her meat pie, and then bits of the apple tart to her son when Oliver wasn’t looking. Jenia gave Lan a taste of her own portion of the meat pie when he paused beside her with an expression on his little face that reminded her of a hungry puppy. Oliver didn’t notice what Lan was doing because he was trying to make conversation with a mostly silent Roarke. And Roarke was spending entirely too much time staring at Jenia. He was beginning to make her nervous.
“I have spoken to Garit,” Oliver said to Roarke. “He told me what he intends. The man is bent upon making someone pay for Lady Chantal’s death.”
“He loved Chantal. Can you blame him for wanting justice?” Jenia demanded when Roarke did not respond, but only kept on looking at her.
Oliver sent a repressive glance in her direction, then turned back to Roarke. His next words finally caught Roarke’s full attention.
“I want to help. When you and Garit ride out in search of Walderon, I shall ride with you,” Oliver announced.
“No,” Roarke said with a cold glare, “you will not. This is not your affair.”
“Nevertheless,” Oliver began, sounding in a mood to argue the point.
“Please, sir,” Jenia interrupted in an effort to halt any chance of a new quarrel erupting between the two men. “You will help us best by remaining here at Calean. From what Marjorie has told me, you are neither a close friend to Walderon, nor an enemy of his. Such a neutral position on your part means that, if Walderon arrives at court while Roarke and his party are gone, you will be perfectly placed to assist King Henryk in preventing him from doing any more mischief. And who better than you to send a message to Roarke and Garit, to inform them of what is happening here, and perhaps bring them back at the very moment when they are most needed?” She stopped, aware that Roarke was watching her again.
“My lady,” Oliver told her, “this is not a matter for a woman to worry herself about.”
“But, my lord Oliver,” Jenia persisted, trying not to let him know how irritated she was by his smug and patronizing attitude toward her, “I envision you as standing shoulder to shoulder with King Henryk at the very center of the plan to bring Chantal’s murderer to justice.”
“We don’t know for certain that Walderon is the villain,” Oliver declared. “Garit’s charge against him has yet to be proven. No, Lan, you may not have a taste of my apple tart. Put it down this instant! Nurse, take this child away.”
While Oliver looked around for the nursemaid, Lan gaped at his father as if he had never heard Oliver raise his voice before. His eyes grew huge and moist and his small lower lip began to tremble.
“Oliver, my dear,” Marjorie said in a patient voice that was obviously meant to soothe her husband, “Lan’s nurse isn’t here. She has gone to get another pitcher of milk from the kitchen.”
“Then you take the boy,” Oliver ordered. “Or, better yet, give Lan to the other nurse. She’s not doing anything but holding little Alaine.”
Jenia considered Oliver’s testiness to be a symptom of the strain of meeting his older son under such intimate conditions. Roarke wasn’t helping the situation by glowering at his parent. Jenia cast a beseeching look at Marjorie, who surreptitiously tucked yet another piece of apple tart into Lan’s hand before coming to the rescue.
“Oh, Oliver,” Marjorie said, “you are far too modest, but Jenia has taken your true measure. What other nobleman has your stature with King Henryk? He considers you a friend and he always pays attention to your advice. You’ve told me so many times. What’s more, Henryk trusts you. If Walderon does come to court and you can learn what his intentions are, Henryk will listen to you as he listens to few other men.”
“Do you really think so, my love?” Oliver turned to his young wife with a doting expression on his face.
“I am certain of it, my dearest lord,” Marjorie responded with an enticing smile that had her husband leaning closer to her as if he had forgotten they were entertaining guests.
While Lan’s parents were engrossed in each other, Jenia noticed him sidling up to Roarke, who was sitting next to her. She saw Roarke sneak a piece of his own wedge of apple tart to the boy. Lan accepted the sweet with a shy smile of thanks and ducked under the table to eat it.
Roarke glanced at Oliver and Marjorie, who were gazing into each others’ eyes with unconcealed desire. His mouth tightened. When he looked at Jenia again, his eyes blazed with an emotion that warmed her, yet made her uneasy.
“I do believe Garit will have finished his work by now,” he said.
“Very well.” Jenia rose, taking care not to step on Lan’s outstretched foot beneath the table. “Marjorie, Lord Oliver, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance today, or for this delightful meal.”
“Jenia, are you leaving, then?” Marjorie tore her adoring gaze from her husband’s face. “Where will you sleep tonight?”
“I have found a place for her, and I’ve ordered her belongings taken there,” Roarke said before Jenia could answer. He added with almost painful politeness, “I do thank you for the meal, my lord. Lady Marjorie.”
Jenia noted that while Roarke bowed to his father and stepmother, he made no move to take Marjorie’s hand. Then they were in the corridor and Jenia was covering her mouth with both hands to smother her laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Roarke declared with a scowl. “Those two have been married for six years. They ought to know better than to act like new lovers in front of others.”
“I was laughing at Lan’s antics,” Jenia said. “Were you that clever, or that greedy, when you were small?”
“I don’t remember.” Roarke caught her elbow to pull her away from Oliver’s apartment. “That little imp scavenged some apple tart from each of us. Now, while Oliver and Marjorie disport themselves in the next room, Lan’s poor nurse will be up all night dealing with his stomach ache.”
“Do you mind so much?” Jenia asked.
“That Lan will be sick? Serves him right. Perhaps he’ll learn not to be such a little glutton.” Roarke’s lips twisted as if he was trying not to laugh at his half-brother’s actions.
“I meant, do you mind that your father loves Marjorie and she loves him?” Jenia asked, heading directly into the center of the issue that weighed on her mind.
“No,” Roarke answered in a strange and wondering voice. A trace of laughter lingered in his dark eyes. “I don’t mind. There was a time when their betrayal was all I could think of. Since seeing them this morning in the audience chamber, and again this evening, I realize that what happened six years ago scarcely matters any longer. It’s all in the past. I prefer to leave it there.”
“I am glad of that,” she murmured.
“Are you?” Dropping her elbow, he caught her face between his hands. Once more that warm and unsettling look flared in his gaze.
Jenia leaned toward him, hoping he’d kiss her again. But at the sound of voices from around the next corner of the corridor, Roarke drew away from her. He offered his arm instead of his lips, and Jenia placed her fingers on the smooth wool of his tunic and let him lead her to Garit’s chamber.
Chapter 12
Anders opened the door for them. He looked worried, though when he saw Roarke, the squire’s expression eased a bit. Stepping aside to let them enter, he tilted his head to indicate where his master was.
Garit stood at the far side of the room with his back to the door, apparently gazing out at the night. The trestle table that served as his desk was littered with leaves of par
chment, a few rolled-up scrolls, sealing wax, two inkwells, several quill pens, and a sand shaker to dry the ink. The width of the table and the chaos atop it effectively separated him from his visitors.
Knowing he could see nothing but empty sky from any window on that side of the castle and immediately aware of the tension in Garit’s stance, Jenia turned to Roarke.
“Would you mind leaving me alone with him for a few moments?” she asked in a low voice.
“Alone?” Roarke looked at Garit, who had not stirred at their entrance, and then back to Jenia. He frowned at her. “Why?” he demanded.
“I have a private message from Chantal to relay to him. It’s something I could not say earlier in the king’s audience chamber. Afterward, he may want to speak to me with no one else around.”
“Very well. Anders and I will retire to the corridor to discuss our traveling arrangements for tomorrow.” Roarke motioned to the squire and they left, closing the door softly behind them. Garit still had not moved or acknowledged their presence.
“Garit?” Jenia crossed the room to him, pausing along the way to pick up a crumpled sheet of parchment from the floor.
Garit turned at last and in the candlelight Jenia saw how pale and weary he was. His eyes were reddened, as if he’d been weeping, and the lines that ran from his nose to his mouth were etched deep and hard.
“What has happened?” Jenia asked. She held out the parchment. “Did you throw this document away? Have you received news of some dreadful trouble in Kantia?”
“Not in Kantia,” he said, and motioned to the parchment she held. “Smooth it out and read it, as I did an hour ago.”
“It’s not of a confidential nature?” She didn’t care if it was a secret document from the king of Kantia, or not. The contents had obviously distressed Garit, and if she was going to help him, she needed to know what it said. He was already contending with more than enough sorrow. She pushed aside the clutter on his desk to lay the parchment down on the wood and smooth it with both hands.
“Not confidential,” Garit said behind her, “and totally irrelevant now.”
“Oh, Garit.” Jenia blinked back sudden tears. The words on the parchment wavered before her eyes, but the careful script set down by the royal scribe was not difficult to decipher. She read aloud. “King Audemer has granted permission for his emissary, Garit of Kinath, to wed Lady Chantal of Thury, so long as her liege lord, King Henryk, also agrees to the marriage. King Audemer and Queen Laisren both wish you well, and they look forward to meeting Lady Chantal when next you travel to Kantia.”
“It’s all I ever wanted,” Garit said. “The dearest wish of my heart has been granted, and in the kindest manner possible. But it’s too late. Chantal is gone. Our happiness was snatched away before it could be realized.”
“I am so sorry,” Jenia whispered, “and even more sorry that you learned of her death the way you did, in public. Please try to understand why I couldn’t tell you before today. When I first came ashore, I didn’t know who I dared trust. I had set my mind on one goal, and I could not let myself be diverted from it. I was certain King Henryk was to blame for everything that happened to Chantal and me. I was wrong. So very wrong.”
Jenia could say no more. Sorrow for Garit’s sake, and for Chantal’s, overwhelmed her. All she could do was open her arms to Garit, to hold him and let him weep with her, to let his tears mingle with hers as they grieved for the sweet girl they both loved. They remained in that sorrowful embrace for a long time.
“I am going to find Walderon and kill him,” Garit said at last, straightening and stepping away from her.
“Garit, do be careful. You don’t want to make the same mistake I did,” Jenia cautioned. She realized he did not know Walderon could work magic – and dark magic, at that, for Walderon had long ago corrupted his own Power. She needed to speak with Lord Giles before revealing the fact to either Roarke or Garit. In the meantime, she issued a warning. “Uncle Walderon can be extremely dangerous. Before you accuse him, you must be certain he is the guilty person.”
“I am certain. I have been certain for months, though I’ve not been able to prove it. Where is Roarke?” Garit started for the door.
“Wait a moment, please,” Jenia cried. “I have a message for you from Chantal.”
“What did you say?” Garit halted with one hand on the door latch.
“I did not tell King Henryk and the others what Chantal’s final words were, because I consider them private. I believe they were meant for you, and you alone, and that she trusted me to tell only you what she said. I think she knew somehow that I would live, and that I’d find you.”
“Dear heaven above.” Garit stared at her, and Jenia thought she could see his soul weeping in his eyes. “Tell me,” he whispered.
“I was on my knees, trying to shelter her from the man who had stabbed her,” Jenia said, attempting to keep her voice level and not give way again to tears. “He was a vicious man, and I was afraid he’d strike her a third time. As I’ve already told you and the king, Chantal asked me to remember her. Then she looked at me and murmured, ‘Tell Garit...love...dear love.’ That was all. She sighed and closed her eyes and she was gone. Her last thought was of you.”
Garit turned his back. He bent his head and his broad shoulders shook. Out of respect for his sorrow, Jenia did not move or speak until he took a long, ragged breath and straightened.
“I failed her,” he said, still not facing Jenia. “Here I stand, feeling sorry for myself because she is gone and I am left alone, when the truth is, I should have moved heaven and earth to find her while she was still alive. I should have rescued her from that foul dungeon.”
“From what Roarke has told me, you did your best to find her and you drove him far beyond what his orders from King Henryk were,” Jenia said. “Please, don’t blame yourself because you couldn’t find her. I was with Chantal and I still don’t know where we were held. All the guards would ever tell us was that we were in a royal stronghold, brought there on King Henryk’s orders. That information was a lie, so it’ll be no help in finding the dungeon.
“I know I’ve had longer than you to accept Chantal’s death,” Jenia added. “For you the grief is still fresh and very bitter. Garit, I will never forget her, any more than you will. She was my best friend as well as my cousin, and closer to me than some sisters are. Now, it seems to me that you and I have one last duty to her. We owe her justice – and something more, if it’s possible. If we can locate her body, we owe her a decent burial, with a stone to mark her grave and a mage to offer the necessary prayers.”
“Yes,” Garit said after a moment during which Jenia could see how he struggled to regain his self-control. “Yes, you are right. It’s the only way to put a decent end to this nightmare.”
“Finding her will be difficult,” Jenia said, “because the men who killed her thought she was a servant whose body was unimportant. Who knows what they did with her? I am sorry to say that, Garit, but it’s true. They thought I was the important noble lady. I believe that’s why they took me out to sea to kill me. They thought my body would never be found, or wouldn’t be identifiable if it were found. Chantal had disappeared and they intended to make certain she’d never be seen again, dead or alive.” She paused to swallow new tears before continuing.
“First, we have to find Uncle Walderon and force him to tell us the truth. Even if he’s not the guilty person, he may know something helpful. Then we’ll find the dungeon and Chantal’s body. I do swear it, Garit.”
“I should have seen the difference between you at once,” Garit said. “Chantal was always lighthearted. You are far more serious.”
“Imprisonment and constant danger do have a sobering effect on a lady’s nature,” she responded with dry humor.
“Earlier today,” Garit said, “you declared before King Henryk that you believe Chantal’s spirit buoyed you up in the stormy sea and then carried you ashore to the beach where Roarke and I found you.”
“I do believe it. And now, I would very much like to hear how you arrived there at the same time when I was seeking help.”
“You know how thorough our search was, even beyond the border of Sapaudia into Morenia and to the western edge of the Dominion, on the slim chance that Chantal had fled there.” Garit paused, frowning in thought. “Roarke and I stopped at the inn where you stayed with us. We had just agreed to depart for Nozay in the morning and ask Lord Giles if he had any suggestions to make, when I suddenly felt a compelling need to ride to the sand dunes and have a look at the beach and the water. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how much Chantal loved the ocean. I imagined I’d find some trace of her in the waves and the sunshine. Then I followed Roarke over the last sand dune and there you were.”
“There I was,” she repeated, “in the exact spot where you and Roarke would find me. I do believe I was brought to that particular beach by Chantal’s loving spirit, with her last words whispering in my mind as I crawled out of the water.” She deliberately did not mention the significance she saw in the fact that Roarke had found her first.
“It’s comforting to think she brought the three of us together,” Garit said softly. “She chose the very three souls who care enough and are determined enough to solve the mystery of who arranged for her disappearance and her murder, and the further mystery of why she was killed. She hasn’t left us yet, has she?”
“Not yet. And that,” Jenia said, smiling at last, “means she will lead us to the villain.”
Chapter 13
“Where is the room you found for me?” Jenia asked when she and Roarke were in the corridor outside Garit’s chamber.
To her surprise, Roarke hadn’t remained there for very long. He’d looked hard at Garit, apparently taking note of the exhaustion written so clearly on his friend’s face, then had contented himself with a comradely clasp of Garit’s shoulder and a promise to be at his side during the meeting with King Henryk early the next morning.
