"You will be fine," said Hadran, stepping forward to wrap the luxurious sable cloak around her shoulders. He gave a wry smile at the two long hair pins stuck into her elaborate coiffure. "Remember what I taught you."
She took a deep breath and forced the worry lines on her brow to smooth.
She gave Hadran a brilliant smile despite the knots in her stomach. Gundy had never touched her in the past, but that was thanks to Hadran’s efforts to keep them apart. Wearing this dress, she felt as safe as a chicken in a wolf’s den.
"Gundy is still cloistered with his neighbors," said Owen once the last of the servants departed. "That is why he chose you instead of Hadran to attend him. There is nothing suspicious about a new whore following her lord to war. Make note of the tent’s layout and any other useful data. When the time is right, we shall need it."
Soon Owen would assassinate Gundy. Strangely, that knowledge no longer terrified her. Did it really matter who became her new master? She would still be a slave. It was Gundy’s nature to use his servants as he saw fit. Owen wanted to become just like him.
She desperately wished she hadn’t followed Hadran out of the dungeon. Perhaps with a little more time, Cairn would have forgiven her. When she was with him she began to think dangerous thoughts of what life would be like if she wasn’t a spy. She wanted to be that innocent and brave lass Cairn met during his flight from Langthorne.
Years of working for Lord Gundy had taught her to be practical. Wishing for Cairn wouldn’t change anything. Lifting her skirts free of the muddy road, she allowed Owen to escort her to Gundy’s tent.
Chapter 46
They stopped outside the largest tent in camp. Owen bent down to remove the tall wooden chopines that protected her delicately embroidered slippers from the road’s mud and filth. The gesture was for the benefit of the curious onlookers staring with unabashed awe at the mysterious lady. Owen’s reverence silently told them better than the fabulous cloak, that she was an honored guest and worthy of respect. She wondered what curious role she was supposed to play this time.
Before she was ready, Owen whisked the cloak from her shoulders and pressed a fragile decanter of wine into her hands. Like her flimsy dress, it was entirely unsuitable for a war camp.
"Relax," he whispered into her ear.
Verena gave a curt nod and stepped into the tent. If her arrangements were grand, Lord Gundy’s were nothing short of opulent. The colorfully draped hangings gave the space an oriental look. It was probably Gundy’s intent to remind his associates of the foreign crusades, though the lords would be foolish to mistake themselves for crusaders.
Fabric in every shade hung from the canvas walls. Everywhere she looked there were gilded ornaments and furniture more suited for a palace than a war tent. Thick imported rugs hid the mud beneath her feet.
Six lords sat in a circle debating battle scenarios and venting their unease. Gundy looked like he would like nothing better than to banish them all from his sight, but he knew he needed their support to win.
"S’wounds!" came an appreciative exclamation when she stepped into the room. She dipped low into a respectful curtsey, giving them all a generous view of her bosom.
"Ah, Verena!" exclaimed Gundy happily. "It is so good of you to join us. And you brought wine. You were always such a dutiful child.
"Milords, allow me to introduce Lady Verena, my ward from France. She is a distant relation of my late wife. Do be kind. This is her first trip away from the continent."
His ward? What game was Gundy playing today? Putting Verena on display like this guaranteed she could never again work in any of these lords’ households. Like Cairn, he was giving them the impression of nobility, but Gundy always had an ulterior motive. Did he seek to use Verena’s beauty against these lords in some way?
"It is a pleasure," gushed a florid man who introduced himself as Lord Oswald.
Verena remembered his lands bordered Gundy’s and he had been anxious to form a more permanent alliance for years. He kissed her fingers as if she were the grandest lady.
"I’m sure your … er … ward shall find England most diverting."
That was said by Lord Reginald, a man surprisingly cunning to be in Gundy’s camp. Verena had once played a servant in his household when the king had come to visit. Gundy must not trust him if he felt the lord needed to be watched. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had his own ideas for the outcome of this expedition.
They reminded her of Owen’s gambling partners. The lords were the most casual allies, united only in purpose. They came together for supposed friendship, but each greedily sought to benefit from the other’s downfall.
"Come and sit by me," crooned Gundy in the gentlest voice. He placed an elaborately embroidered pillow on the carpet next to his chair. Verena gracefully sank into it and just barely kept herself from flinching as Gundy began idly playing in her hair.
"We should push on," demanded Lord Oswald. He was the most impatient of the bunch and ignored his chair to pace the room in agitation. "The McPherson must have seen our army by now. He is probably preparing for a siege as we speak."
"There will be no siege," insisted Gundy. "Our battle shall be quick and decisive."
"How do we know that? You are so bloody secretive. I have a mind to withdraw my men until I get some answers."
The finger that was gently playing in her curls suddenly jerked. Gundy wasn’t always so powerful. He had built his small empire through conquest in war and intrigue. Though he had vastly expanded his lands and purse, Gundy continued to push Hadran’s agents. He still felt the need to prove his dominance over England and Scotland. Gundy would never allow one of his allies to withdraw and leave him vulnerable.
The hand in her hair lowered to caress her cheek and then gently squeeze her shoulder. Taking the hint, she rose to her feet and approached Oswald.
"Your wine glass is empty," she observed sympathetically, allowing her voice to thicken with a sultry French accent. "Allow me."
One drop of wine spilled down the side of his glass. Verena caught the drop on her finger and seductively sucked the digit into her mouth.
"An excellent selection. My lord is most generous."
The room lay in shocked silence after that brazen display, only disturbed by Oswald’s audible gulp. When she was reseated next to Gundy, he once again placed a proprietary hand on her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze to show he approved. She wanted to vomit.
"It would be a shame if you decided to leave us," said Gundy with affected nonchalance. Oswald was quick to recant his threat.
The meeting continued and no more was said about withdrawing. When the lords began to grumble about Gundy’s demands, he would skillfully use her to distract them. He presented a platter of succulent delicacies for her to nibble on. When Lord Reginald complained that his troops would be on the front lines, Gundy allowed one sleeve to innocently fall from Verena’s shoulder. The men were enthralled.
When they finally left, Gundy was ecstatic from his success.
"That was the most fun I have had in ages! If I knew you were so effective, I would have brought you in from the field long ago."
"Milord is too kind."
The inner flap dividing the large tent into smaller rooms was pushed aside to reveal Ivone’s grim-faced assassin. She glared at Verena as if she longed to carve her in two. Ivone lay beyond, posed provocatively on a massive rope bed, wearing only a blanket and a smile.
"That sounded productive," she purred as Gundy came forward to stroke the inside curve of her thigh. Ivone stretched contentedly on the bed, drawing Gundy’s hand up under the blanket. She giggled like a young girl, and then moaned. She quickly looked away.
"It has been too long."
"Indeed, my love," replied Gundy, leaning down to kiss her puckered lips. After a moment, he forced himself to straighten. "Unfortunately now is not the time to dally. There is much to be done. Verena, tell us about Scotland."
"I have found the treasure." Her attention was focused on
the bump on Gundy’s nose, pointedly ignoring the naked woman and assassin. Gundy whistled low as she produced a small pouch of silver coins. "Owen, Hadran and I brought most of it with us. We were able to fill eight sacks, each weighing about fifty pounds. The McPherson is still alive."
"What?" Gundy slapped her hard, but his heart was not in the punishment. He was too distracted watching the candlelight skim over the surface of the coins. "That was not the plan."
"I know, milord. The fault was mine."
"Why couldn’t you murder him?" interrupted Ivone.
"I became pregnant and needed to be removed from the assignment."
"Pregnant?"
Gundy cocked his head to one side, astounded that the woman he thought of solely as a tool could be a mother. From the corner of her eye she saw a slight jerk of the assassin’s blank visage. It passed as quickly as a blink of an eye, but she was certain. Something in the assassin had reacted to news of the child. Perhaps it triggered a memory of her past.
They were like two sides of the same coin. She was soft where the other woman was hard. She was trained to infiltrate, preying upon people’s emotions and expectations. Verena was like water where the assassin was stone.
There was no softness in the assassin. She skulked through the shadows until coming close enough to strike. The hard life she must have faced was clearly evident in her blank eyes, completely devoid of emotion. She knew that look well and often feared the day she would wear a similar expression. Hers were eyes that had seen too much.
"Your female problem could have cost me the entire war!" Gundy exclaimed, clenching his fists in indignation. "Get rid of it. I still have need of you."
She dutifully bowed but didn’t answer. Of course she would do no such thing. She would never let someone take her child away.
"I’m sure you noticed my esteemed neighbors’ reaction to your beauty. Those vipers would cheerfully plant a knife between my ribs. I will need you to make sure that doesn’t happen."
"I am ready to serve, milord."
"When this is over I may give you to one of them. Wouldn’t that be nice? Imagine marrying a penniless spy to a lord! Mind you don’t get a brat inside you next time. That is all."
With a short nod she turned and left the tent before the ever-watchful assassin noticed her shaking limbs. He meant to get rid of her child and pass Verena off to another lord. The thought of one of the geriatric English lords touching her made her gag. She never thought to have children but suddenly couldn’t imagine living without the tiny person inside her. She had to escape, but how? Ivone’s assassin was silent and deadly as a ghost. If she came after her, she wouldn’t get far.
Owen was waiting for her outside the tent, holding her muddy chopines like a faithful servant, but his lips were twisted in a grimace of distaste.
"Did you enjoy playing a lady? It took you long enough to leave," he whispered as soon as they were a safe distance from the tent. Did he think she enjoyed being used by Gundy? Owen wasn’t concerned for her safety. When did he become so self-centered?
"Ivone was there with her assassin."
"A woman. Jon told me about her. No doubt she is a pitiful creature fallen on hard times. She probably knows nothing about her art besides poisons and whoring."
"I fought her," she pointed out, startled that she felt the need to defend the woman that tried to kill her. "Do not underestimate her skill."
Owen’s only response was a dismissive snort.
"I told Gundy about the child. I needed some reason to explain why Cairn is still alive. He told me to get rid of it so he can send me to spy on one of his neighbors."
"That explains the dress. This was merely a test to see how captivating you can be. Too bad Gundy won’t live long enough to enjoy your success."
Chapter 47
"Verena! What on earth are you wearing?"
As soon as Owen lifted the tent flap, Jon scrambled off his stool and barreled into her arms. She barely managed to brace herself for the impact. With those familiar scrawny arms tightly circling her waist, she felt some of her anxiety melt away.
"That’s enough!" Hadran said, coming forward to pry them apart. "You’ll ruin Gundy’s dress and I’m not helping you repair it."
"The dress is fine," Verena said with an exasperated sigh. She wished she could burn the infernal thing instead of gently dabbing the mud stains left by Jon’s grubby hands.
Hadran demanded to know what transpired in Gundy’s tent, so she recited the events almost word for word. They waited patiently until the end and then picked apart her story by asking dozens of pertinent questions. Where did the assassin stand during the interview? Were any of the lords carrying weapons? Were there other servants present? How far away were the guards? Had Gundy actually used the word "love" when addressing Ivone?
She patiently answered each question, familiar with this type of interview. One of the first lessons of being a spy was to know what type of information to look for. Gundy’s report was fairly straightforward. He was only interested in the results of her endeavor. Hadran wanted to know every detail so that he could accurately assess Gundy’s mood, desires and his next actions.
"It appears I arrived just in time," said Jon, sucking the marrow out of a chicken bone. "Things are starting to get exciting."
"How did you find us?"
"That was easy. Those nags I told you about were being moved just as I approached. I had to wait hours before they were left alone and by then, you had already left.
"At first I thought you would take the treasure back to Langthorne castle. Then I remembered Gundy borrowed a goodly sum to finance this invasion. He needs the silver fast to keep the other lords quiet. So he must have ordered you to bring the treasure to him. The three of you received quite a bit of attention entering the noble’s area dressed as you were in rags."
"I always knew you were sharp," praised Hadran, ruffling the lad’s unkempt curls. "Anyone else would have wasted hours searching in all the wrong places, but you knew just where to go."
"I learned from the best."
"What of Roselyn? Do you know if Cairn found her?"
"Nay. The cottage was undisturbed when I left."
Was there a brief hesitation in his words? Perhaps Jon wasn’t as unaffected by their actions as he tried to appear. The knot in her stomach curled tighter, rising up to form a lump in the back of her throat. More than a full day had passed while Roselyn and the others lay tied and gagged in Thomas’ basement. The candle she left burning would be extinguished by now leaving them in a cold, dark pit. Eventually someone would arrive to check on Thomas, but what if they didn’t find the hidden prisoners?
Owen poked at his soggy garments drying on a rope strung across the tent. The others had not been provided with a change of clothes and huddled around the brazier in blankets while they waited for their clothes to dry. The smell of sweaty men, wet wool and leather permeated the large tent. Ever the exhibitionist, Owen threw off his blanket, giving them a good view of his broadly muscled back, generously covered with thick hair.
"I need to rest if I am to be of any use tomorrow. Jon, will you help me?" She abruptly stood and walked toward the room she had appropriated as her own. She was a good spy, but it was difficult to pretend around her family.
Jon’s deft fingers made short work of her laces. She remembered watching him as he picked the locked door in the Old Lord’s tunnel. Any woman would envy such slender hands, shaped for grace and precision. There was a slight tremble in them now as he helped her undress, though his voice was firm when he spoke.
"Did he hurt you?"
Her eyes filled with tears at the young lad’s earnest question. Perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she thought. Though he would never win a fight against Owen, Jon would do what he could to help her.
An image of Roselyn’s terrified face suddenly appeared in Verena’s mind. She hadn’t wanted to hurt the girl, but she had done precisely that. How many others would suffer because of this treasu
re? Would Jon be the next victim or her unborn child?
"I have endured worse."
Owen knew the value of Verena’s face and wouldn’t damage her while she could still be of use. Though she tried to make her voice sound flippant, Jon could hear the sarcasm in her tone.
"Not from him," Jon pointed out.
"Nay, I don’t know what to do."
Jon led Verena to the large rope bed and lay down beside her. For a moment she forgot she was the elder and allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace. The smell of clean, damp linen and wind clung to his shirt.
"First, you will allow yourself to cry. Then you will sleep. Then we shall figure a way out of this mess."
His voice was so confident, she had to chuckle. No matter how dire things became, Jon could always put a smile on her face, but he wasn’t laughing now. The young man’s eyes were deadly serious as he stared unfocused at the tent walls.
Though she tried to resist, she felt the tears pour out at this sudden and unexpected tenderness. She clung to Jon, burying her face in his shoulder to muffle the sound of her tears.
"That’s it," he murmured, knowing Owen was probably listening on the other side of the fabric wall. "Cry until there is nothing left and you will feel much stronger after."
"How did you become so wise?"
"I know a thing or two about hopeless situations."
His tone was light, but she heard the underlying strength. His easy manner made her assume Jon was much younger, but she realized she didn’t know his true age. What had this man-child experienced before finding Hadran? Before she could ask he tucked her face back into his shoulder and she let out a fresh stream of sobs.
She cried until she was completely spent and more exhausted than she could remember, and like magic her mood began to lighten. For this one moment she didn’t have to repress her emotions or pretend to be in control. As her eyes finally drifted shut, her mind began to lift with hope.
She had cried, she would sleep, and then she would find a way out of this mess. She didn’t know how the last part would happen, but she was immensely grateful to have such a wise and mature friend by her side.
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