by Julia Latham
Alone, Diana descended into the great hall. Three men were standing before the hearth warming themselves, already holding steaming tankards of mulled wine to fight the winter’s cold. They kept their cloaks wrapped around them, and she saw the occasional shiver even as she approached.
When they noticed her, one man, tall and ferocious-looking with a bushy beard and matching eyebrows, stepped forward. To her shock, he gave her a pleasant smile.
“Good day, mistress.”
She blinked in surprise at his refined speech. “Good day, sir. I am Mistress Diana, sister of Baron Winslow.”
“I am Talbot, the captain of Lord Bannaster’s men-at-arms. Has he by chance arrived?”
“He has not, sir.” She used the tightness in her stomach as the motivation for the concern she projected. “But he was supposed to. He did not travel with you?”
Talbot’s smile faded, replaced by a look of determination. “He did, mistress, but we stopped at a tavern in Richmond two nights ago, and he disappeared from his chamber. His horse and belongings were gone as well, so we hoped he had come here early. But to be certain, we searched the town yesterday and could find no word of him.”
Before Diana could respond, they all heard girlish laughter from the top of the stairs. Every gaze looked up as Cicely appeared with her pretty lady’s maid. Both wore light-colored gowns of the most delicate fabric, which moved about them as if they stirred on a spring breeze. Cicely’s blond hair was in ringlets partially caught back, but leaving some scattered on her shoulders. Even Diana thought the two women brightened the dreary winter day. Talbot’s mouth slowly gaped.
“My sister, Mistress Cicely,” Diana said dryly.
Cicely came down the stairs, each step so gently placed it was as if she floated. Her smile showed off gleaming white teeth, and her blue eyes searched the roughly dressed newcomers. Her pleasant expression gradually faded.
“There is a problem, Cicely,” Diana said. “Lord Bannaster has disappeared.”
Cicely came to Talbot on a wave of the sweetest perfume. “Sir, I do not understand.”
Talbot glanced at Diana for help, but she only shrugged, for the story was his to tell.
“We hoped he had traveled ahead of us in anticipation of meeting you, mistress,” Talbot said gently, reverently. Then he shook his head, as if freeing himself of Cicely’s spell. “But since he is not here, it means he met with foul play.” He looked at his two fellow soldiers, who returned his frown, then back at Diana. “We would like to question the nearby villagers, your tenants and soldiers. Do we have your permission?”
Cicely stepped forward, sliding her shoulder in front of Diana as if to upstage her. “Of course you do, sir. If there is anything we can do to help, please let us know. Oh, poor Lord Bannaster. I fear for him in this winter weather.”
Diana stepped back, allowing Cicely to pretend that she was in command of Kirkby Keep. Bannaster’s men could question anyone they wanted, but they would find no news. Her conscience tweaked her about the effort they would have to expend—and their worry—but it could not be helped.
“Mistress,” Talbot said to Cicely, “might we use the keep as our command base while we search the surrounding countryside?”
“Of course,” Cicely said.
Diana winced inside. She knew it had been too much to hope that they would base their search in Richmond.
While Talbot and his men began to speak to the servants, Diana tried to escape the hall. She was to train this morn on the tiltyard with her men, and she was looking forward to the chance to concentrate on something other than Bannaster.
Cicely flew to her side and caught her elbow before she could ascend the stairs. “Oh, Diana, this is terrible!”
“It is,” she answered solemnly.
“He must be grievously injured to not come to meet me.”
Diana arched a brow. “All of his belongings were gone from the inn. Might he not have willingly departed?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not! He was coming here to see me, was he not?”
“So we were told.”
Cicely frowned. “That is not amusing. I hope you are not so petty as to feel satisfied.”
“I do not understand.”
“I know how jealous you are of the suitors who come for me but ignore you.”
“All three of them?” Diana raised a hand when a shocked Cicely opened her mouth. “Nay, that was cruel of me. And I am not jealous, nor do I feel satisfied that a man might be lost in the snow.”
Gritting her teeth, Cicely said, “I will see that Cook has a lovely dinner for our guests.” She whirled away.
Before Diana ascended the stairs to change, she looked over her shoulder at Bannaster’s men-at-arms. She would have to be very careful whenever she visited her prisoner.
When Diana returned from the tiltyard several hours later, she was hot and exhausted and satisfied with the day’s training, ready to finish her letter to the League. She would never have the strength to best a gifted swordsman, but she could hold her own. And with a dagger, she was unmatched in accuracy.
She wore breeches and a sleeveless leather jerkin over her shirt, leaving her arms free to move. Her garments stuck to her damp body as she began to remove them. She had the shirt unlaced and was beginning to pull it over her head when a prickling sensation swept over the back of her neck. Her body went still as her gaze thoroughly swept her bedchamber. Something seemed…wrong.
She sensed no movement, not even air leaving an intruder’s lungs. But someone had been here, someone who didn’t belong.
Her eyes darted to her weapons coffer, the only thing of value she possessed. She quickly unlocked it with the key she always carried with her. Her breath caught when she saw a rolled piece of parchment sitting on top of the crossbow.
Someone from the League had been here this day.
She tensed, her first instinct to run below and stare at Bannaster’s men-at-arms, looking for clues. Could one of them be a Bladesman? If so, surely she could not have easily kidnapped Bannaster from the tavern.
Her breathing shallow and nervous, Diana unrolled the parchment. It was a cheerful letter written to her as if by a lady she’d once met in her brother’s home. With clumsy fingers she pulled out her wax tablet and began to decipher it, transferring each word into proper order. She was concentrating so hard on the task that she didn’t even think about the meaning until the whole message was before her.
The League was giving her her first assignment in six years, and it concerned Bannaster. Her stomach knotted. Through the king, the League had deliberately sent Bannaster to look over Cicely, so that Diana could spend time with him. She gave a low groan, rubbing a tired hand over her face. What had she done?
She forced herself to read more. The League wrote that Bannaster had made errors in judgment, and they needed to know that a man so close to the king could be trusted. Or would he be the kind to get caught up in the treasonous plots surrounding the new king? She was to evaluate Bannaster and report back to the League.
She had feared that Bannaster had discovered her connection to his brother’s death; instead it was the League who’d brought Diana and him together. Was this also a way for the League to evaluate her, to see how she would react with the brother of the man she’d killed?
Diana carefully set the wax tablet down and stared at it blankly. They’d given her a way back into their good graces, and through her impulsiveness, she’d already ruined her first mission in six years. She had spent so long practicing her control—and with a sister like Cicely, she’d had plenty to work with. The League was her only chance at escape from her brother’s guardianship, and now it might be permanently out of her reach.
But Diana was not a woman to give in to despair. She had much to prove. She would complete this mission, even evaluate Bannaster while he was in her dungeon. Surely his reaction to such stress would say much about him.
And she had to admit, so far his behavior had been understan
dable. He had tried angry coercion to make her talk, and now he was using more subtle persuasion, appealing to her woman’s nature. It would be interesting to see what he would do next.
Then she would have to find a way to free him—in time for Christmas?—and to make sure he didn’t marry Cicely. It wouldn’t make for good family relations if he found out his new sister by marriage had killed his brother.
Chapter 4
For Tom, it had been a long, long day. He’d spent much of it getting filthy, searching every inch of every wall he could reach. He found a bit of loose stone behind his pallet, and dug at it for several hours with his spoon, making little headway. But if there was a chance that there was another cell next to his, one with an open door, it might offer him an avenue of escape.
But only if he escaped his chain. He spent more hours hammering away at the shackle about his ankle until he was bleeding, but he ignored it, having suffered much worse. He even made an attempt to dig where the chain was attached to the wall, but it was imbedded in solid stone.
Very far away, he could hear the church bells tolling every four hours. It was well past supper when the maidservant came back to visit him. She was alone again, which was making him more and more suspicious. Why did her master continue to hold him without giving a reason?
When she unlocked the cell door and came in, she stopped abruptly and stared at him. He knew how filthy he must look, and that she would know the reason why. He grinned at her with a cockiness that no longer came easily. He wanted to give his anger free rein, but it was not yet time.
She only shook her head, her expression faintly amused, and began to set down all the items she’d brought. He saw more coal and torches, clean linens, water in a bucket, and even a tray of food. How she’d carried it all he didn’t know, but she was a tall, sturdy woman.
He imagined how sturdy she’d be in bed, and then shook his head at himself. He was determined not to let himself be distracted, but she was making it very difficult. Why was he so attracted to this quiet, strong woman, when he usually liked his women feminine and dependent on him? He wanted to stay angry with her, to focus on escape, not lust.
Mastering his emotions, he said quietly, “Good evening, mistress.”
She straightened from her tasks and stared at him. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Your master has not chosen to visit.”
She said nothing, her intelligent face impassive.
He smiled. “I’m beginning to wonder if there really is a ‘master.’”
She cocked her head, but made no other response to his statement. There were plenty of women he’d offended in his past, considering how little he’d understood what pleased them. But he could not see the women he’d known lowering themselves to such a tactic as kidnapping.
“You have been busy today, my lord.”
“I have to find something to do with the hours in the day.”
“Many would find solace in God.”
He snorted. “I am not one of them. I alone am responsible for my actions—and for saving myself. Will God free me? I think not.”
She studied him in obvious surprise as she set his supper tray on the floor. “You betray bitterness, my lord.”
“And I am allowed to, after spending my entire childhood and youth studying for the priesthood against my will.”
She stilled, her hand on the linen cloth she’d been about to remove.
“Did not your master tell you that?” he continued. “Anyone who knows of me, knows of my past.”
“I have heard nothing of you, my lord, here in my corner of Yorkshire. And yet I must say, it was not God who caused your problems, forcing you to study for the priesthood, but men. Should not your bitterness be directed at them?”
She removed the cloth and made to stand up, as if she would leave him. He didn’t want her to go.
“It is difficult to direct my ire against dead men,” he said. “I inherited the viscountcy from my brother, who died under mysterious circumstances.”
She bowed her head. “That is tragic, my lord.”
“Yet I escaped the priesthood, so in one sense, it was not tragic for me.”
He sat down as he always did for the meals, opposite her, the tray between them. She was watching him again, her eyes the color of the stone that surrounded them, and just as impenetrable. There was a stillness, a serenity about her that he respected, as if she were able to accept anything that happened to her. Did that come from faith? he wondered. Or simply long practice accepting what one had to?
“Did you…regret your brother’s death?” she asked hesitantly.
Her face was open with curiosity, and he knew he had to feed it, looking for a weakness.
“You mean am I a heartless bastard who welcomed his death?” He reached for the loaf of bread, broke it in half, then tossed a piece to her. She caught it with excellent reflexes. “I can truthfully say that I mourned him—or I mourned the man I once thought he was. He was not a good man at the end, and there were many who could have killed him.” He did not tell her of his guilty feeling of relief.
He saw her stiffen.
“Aye, it was murder, and the villain was never discovered.” A necessary lie. But something in him still wanted to protect that poor, unknown woman after all these years.
She slowly spread butter on her bread. “That must be…difficult to bear.”
“I have grown accustomed to it. There is a part of me that burns for the truth, and another part full of resignation that I might never have my answers. But I have not given up.” It was what he told everybody.
She nodded, her eyes concentrating on the task of eating, as if she could not meet his gaze. He imagined that she was unused to men speaking freely to her, especially if she was the maidservant she claimed. He didn’t like discussing his past with a stranger, but if it would help him sway her to his cause, he would bare his sins.
Diana felt strangely trapped, knowing she should listen to everything he willingly said. She was surprised that she actually felt guilty for having to report what he said to the League. But she would put aside her feelings to serve justice. If Bannaster could gain the League’s approval, then perhaps she would not feel so guilty for leaving him the main suspect in his brother’s death. Somehow she had to find a way to lead him to speak more of himself.
She reached forward and speared a bite of boiled mutton to eat and noticed that only then did he take a bite of the same. After chewing, she said, “Even though you didn’t want to be a priest, was it difficult to leave that life behind?”
He studied her with narrowed eyes, his jaw moving slowly. She felt uncomfortable, knowing that he was an intelligent man. Her questions certainly weren’t what a normal maidservant would ask.
He sipped from the wineskin, before finally saying, “I cannot tell you how much I wanted to forget about being a priest, and be like normal men. But normal men had spent much of their lives on the tiltyard, and I had been punished for picking up a sword.”
She said nothing, just watched him with wide eyes as if she were delicately shocked.
“I knew I could not command my people if I didn’t have their respect, so I threw myself into training. Although I was eighteen, I had to begin as the lowest squires, who were usually boys, barely away from their mother’s skirts.”
“But you were now the viscount,” she said breathlessly, as if she admired him. She did admire his determination.
“And I had to become a knight. I trained harder than anyone else, all hours of the day until it was too dark to see. But I began to earn their respect.”
Yet you didn’t earn the respect of other peers, she thought, knowing that that was partially her fault. Had the suspicion she’d cast on him led him to make desperate choices?
“And you were dubbed a knight?” she asked.
“It is what I set my mind to do.” He looked up at her and smiled. “And now I have a most important goal, and you and your master are keeping me from it.”
“You already know it. Somehow your master knew that I came north to court a noblewoman.”
She should not have revealed that to him, but it was too late for regrets. “According to my master, it was not difficult to decipher. The clothes you brought, the gift, how far away from home you’ve traveled so late in the year.”
“So he knows where I’m from.” Bannaster nodded, as if that confirmed something for him.
Perhaps it did, but he already knew that this kidnapping had a personal motive, so exploring that could not make things worse.
“I am only telling you what was said,” Diana murmured in a low, shaky voice, as if she feared that she might be punished.
Bannaster used that charming grin on her, the one that had surely helped earn him forgiveness for his many transgressions. “Aye, ’tis a woman that brings me into this godforsaken northern clime.”
She tried to duck her head as if embarrassed. “Forgive my boldness, but I am surprised that you are not married.”
Something in his eyes turned dark and blank. “It was not for lack of trying,” he said lightly. “But it always came to naught.”
Much of it through his own mistakes, she thought with sarcasm.
“So as every man must, I’m trying again,” he added.
“Who is she?”
His smile spread wider. “I think that is not information I wish to give to your master. But understand that I need to reach her, that you need to release me.”
Diana rose to her feet, leaving him the tray. “My lord—”
Frustration evident in his face, he too vaulted to his feet. She could hear the chain rattle as it stretched taut, saw his hands tighten into fists, but his face showed only concern.
“I will not let him hurt you, if you release me,” Bannaster said in a low, urgent voice. “I will take you away from here, if you want to go, even give you a better way to support yourself. I could find you a husband.”
She lifted her chin. “And how do you know that I do not already have one?”
