The Earl: Order of the Broken Blade: Book 4

by Mecca, Cecelia

  “Then I will strive to ensure your memory of me proves stronger than your brother’s,” Conrad said, his voice thick and deep. The look he gave her then prompted her brother to later proclaim she could not be alone with the Englishman—and it prompted her to seek him out despite Terric’s decree.

  It was that look that had told her, for the first time, that Conrad liked her.

  And Cait very much liked him back.

  Opening her eyes and cleaning memories of the past as her mount slowed to a stop, Cait forced herself not to recall what had happened next. How the sweetness of those first moments had soured so quickly.

  When they reached the stables, Terric stalked toward them, already on foot. So he’d noticed. She’d thought he might. Terric could be strangely perceptive, after all, and he knew both her and Conrad well enough to have sensed the strangeness of the look they’d shared. He offered his hand to her.

  “Cait,” he said.

  “Brother,” she replied evenly. “You may wish to assist your wife in dismounting first.”

  Roysa had already grasped Terric’s outstretched hand, but for the first time since they were married, he barely seemed to notice his wife. His glare was fixed on Cait.

  “Your turn,” he growled.

  Reluctantly, she took his hand, his firm grasp yet another indication that he intended to give her a talking-to.

  “It seems we have much to discuss,” he said for only Cait to hear. Roysa, perhaps sensing the tension between them, had stepped away to speak with her sister.

  “Indeed,” she agreed, although she had no intention for that conversation to happen just yet.

  There was someone else she needed to speak with first. And Cait could wait for it no longer.

  Chapter 3

  She was here.

  Cait was here, on his land.

  If King John himself had greeted him at the gatehouse, Conrad would have been less surprised. Less unsure. He’d convinced himself Cait was part of his past, that he would likely never see her again, and yet, here she was, being helped down from her mount by the very brother who’d demanded answers from him just moments before.

  “Why do you and Cait look at each other so?” Terric had said.

  As if he had any answers to give.

  Conrad watched, mesmerized, as Cait handed her reins to a stableboy and began walking toward him. In the short time it had taken them to enter the castle walls, darkness had begun to fall, the light of day quickly waning. Attempting to distinguish her features anyway, he didn’t move.

  “If Conrad will not properly welcome you to Licheford,” Guy said alongside him, slapping him on the shoulder jovially, “allow me to do so in his stead.”

  Reluctantly, he looked away from Cait, toward his other guests. Lance and Idalia and Terric.

  “Who would have suspected a mercenary might have better manners than an earl?” Guy quipped. “Come, warm yourselves. We’ve been waiting patiently for you. All except for our friend here”—he clapped him on the shoulder again. “No one would call him patient.”

  Conrad forced a laugh, allowing his friends to lure him into the castle, but before he entered the keep, he glanced over his shoulder one last time. He hoped to catch her eye, but she was gone.

  At least, he did not see her among the others.

  “Conrad?”

  It was Guy, no doubt trying to goad him into being a host to his own guests. His friend had a slightly puzzled look.

  “For a mercenary, you do quite well,” he said, although he could hardly focus on anything but Cait. For weeks, he could think of nothing but receiving word from these very men—their brothers—but now, word from the north was only one of his concerns.

  “Come inside,” he said, stepping over the threshold. The entranceway opened directly into the great hall, a rarity for a castle of this size, but they’d already climbed a set of stone stairs outside. Conrad had hardly noticed them.

  His steward greeted the guests as Sabine rushed forward to embrace Idalia. Everyone began speaking at once, and for a moment Conrad thought he could perhaps slip away and find her, but a hand grabbed his arm.

  “Shall we have that talk?” Terric asked, his voice brooking no refusal.

  Conrad had hoped to speak to Cait before being cornered by her brother, but there was no help for it. Leaving the group in Wyot’s capable hands, he shrugged off his friend’s hand and led him down the long corridor to the south solar. Larger than the other solar abovestairs and, unusually, located on the ground floor, it was the chamber in which Conrad spent most of the day.

  A smaller version of the great hall, similar in shape and structure, the chamber received some light in the daytime courtesy of small windows, but not nearly as much as the lord’s solar. The one Conrad still couldn’t bring himself to use.

  “Guy and Lance will be along.”

  Terric glared at him. “Aye, likely they will.”

  “We’ve much to discuss.”

  Terric crossed his arms. “Including the reason my sister risked her life by coming to England now after refusing to do so since . . . then. Since the tourney.”

  “She gave you no explanation?” Conrad asked.

  In answer, Terric merely raised his brow, waiting for him to speak.

  “I am as surprised as you to see her,” he said honestly, though he stumbled on the word surprised. A rarity for him. He spoke three languages, wrote in four, and never had difficulty summoning the right word. His parents had raised him as the sole heir to Licheford, but the best tutors in all of England could not prepare a man for a situation like this one.

  “As surprised as the rest of us to find my sister looking at you as if you were a spirit raised from the dead?”

  “She came with Rory,” he guessed. It was the only explanation for why Terric was here and not at Dromsley, especially given that Cait Kennaugh would have needed someone to escort her across the border. He would not have left his estate with anyone else at such a time.

  “Aye,” Terric confirmed.

  The wooden door scraped open.

  “So kind of you to receive guests by absconding away without us,” Guy said. Since he knew nothing of Cait, Conrad could not blame him for his confusion. After all, he had been an abysmal host—his mother would be ashamed of him.

  Lance followed Guy into the room, not bothering with any preliminaries or pleasantries. “Talk to us.”

  Conrad had to smile at that. Lance was the most direct of all of them, even more so than Guy.

  “Ask him.” Conrad nodded to Terric.

  “Me?” Terric’s eyes narrowed.

  If Cait had not said anything about their . . . connection on the way to Licheford, Conrad would not betray her by speaking out of turn. Terric must have realized it, for he frowned, grumbling something none of them could hear clearly, and sat in a high-backed wooden chair.

  Lance and Guy said nothing.

  “He does not appear to be forthcoming with information.” Guy sat on the chair next to Terric. “Though we are glad you are both here, are we not?”

  The question was directed at Conrad, who forced himself to nod.

  Frustrated and eager and so very tired of waiting, Conrad felt a familiar urge to lash out. Instead, he tended to the fire that was nearly always ablaze in the corner of the room.

  The members of the order had never been at odds before. Not even when he’d suggested they form an order to rebel against their corrupt king. The four of them had an unshakable bond, formed at the Tournament of the North these many years past. Together, they’d saved Cait from being raped. Together, they’d killed the king’s man.

  It was on that day that he and Terric had first met the mercenary and the blacksmith.

  Now he felt as if he were on shaky ground with his friends. His brothers. He should have told Terric the truth about Cait sooner. But he’d feared it would change everything between them.

  That could not happen. Not now. They needed to pull together, not fall apart.
>
  I have to speak to Cait.

  “This is about your sister.” Lance sat, leaving Conrad the only man standing. It was a comment, thankfully, and not a question, and neither he nor Terric seemed eager to respond.

  Guy filled the awkward silence as Conrad leaned against the stone wall, unable to sit still.

  “What happened? Do you have news? We really have been desperate to hear from you.”

  “Dromsley was attacked.” Terric spoke as if such a thing were a regular occurrence. His scowl indicated his mind was still fixed on Cait.

  Guy sat up. “Attacked? By whom?” he asked.

  “Details, brother,” Conrad insisted, the moniker leaving his lips before he remembered Terric was not happy with him at the moment.

  “About my wife, or about the battle?” Terric asked, smiling for the first time. “I’ll bet neither of you ever thought Lance and I would become brothers in truth.”

  Brothers in truth. Something about that phrase bit into Conrad, but he shook it off. Although he was happy for his friends, he thought it a rather inopportune time for them to have decided marital life was agreeable.

  “I’ve offered my congratulations,” he tried again, “but I’d like to hear more about the attack.”

  Patience was not Conrad’s most endearing trait. In fact, he had very little of it.

  “Roysa came to Dromsley just after she was widowed, looking for Idalia. It was through her we learned her brother-in-law, the new lord of Stokesay, conspired to march on Dromsley.”

  Ulster, a notorious king’s man. It did not surprise him. Nor was he surprised to learn there had indeed been an attack. The order had expected that either Dromsley or Licheford would take the brunt of King John’s ire. Given that he and Terric were two of the four men who’d started the revolt, and the others were staying with them as guests, they were natural targets. Luckily, both castles were also well fortified.

  “Bastards, both.” Guy crossed his arms. “We suspected something like this. I’m not surprised to learn John never intended to meet with us. He simply wanted more time to act.”

  “What happened?” he asked of Terric again.

  “’Tis a long story,” Lance said, clearly weary. “We prepared for siege but found ourselves in battle instead.” The blacksmith smiled. “And we won.”

  Guy’s laugh was what all four of them needed. “That you’re sitting here is evidence of it. But more details would be welcome.”

  “And will be forthcoming,” Terric cut in. “Tomorrow. I am hungry. And tired.”

  “And newly married.” Guy winked at his friend. “Lady Roysa is a lovely woman.”

  All three of them glared at the mercenary. His smile slipped slightly. “Is she not? I meant nothing inappropriate. I’m a happily married man myself.”

  Aye, she was lovely, but not so lovely as Cait. Conrad wanted to see her. Needed to see her.

  “Shall we dine, then?” Conrad asked. “I missed the evening meal myself.”

  “You should tell them why,” Guy prodded. “Or perhaps the lovely Lady Jeanette will be lurking in the hall, looking for you.”

  Jeanette.

  If Conrad had possessed the ability to silently murder a man with his gaze, Guy would be the first one to know about it. In his typical fashion, the marked man grinned back at him as if he were the cleverest person in the chamber.

  Indeed, he could be right. But he was a bit of a bastard too.

  Conrad avoided looking at Terric, but he could feel his friend’s eyes on him.

  “We will talk more,” Conrad said, pushing away from the wall. “But first, we eat.”

  Chapter 4

  “You won’t come down?” Roysa asked, dejected.

  “Nay, I’m not hungry,” Cait said, which was true enough.

  “But you’ve not eaten since this morn.” Also true, although her stomach would not hold down any food. She felt quite sure of that.

  Cait played with the ties on her kirtle, avoiding the other woman’s gaze. Roysa had refused to sit, so the two of them stood in the middle of Cait’s chamber, unmoving. What it lacked in light, the small but beautifully decorated room made up for in finery. Everywhere she looked, scarlet and gold dominated. The bed curtains, the tapestries. It was as fine as any lady’s chamber, and Cait could not help but wonder who resided here normally.

  “Well, if you aren’t hungry,” her friend said, “will you at least tell me why you were looking at the Earl of Licheford as if he were the first course in a splendidly delicious meal?”

  They had been installed in separate chambers, but Cait was just two rooms away from Roysa and Terric, in the same tower. Despite its size, the keep at Licheford Castle was fairly easy to navigate. A square with four towers, and they were both guests in the one facing west. Unfortunately, it was also the closest to the outer wall, which meant no large windows, but there was plenty of light from the hearth and the candles spread about the room for her to see Roysa’s very determined expression.

  But Cait was even more so.

  Until she spoke to Conrad, she simply did not wish to discuss her feelings for him.

  “I thought at first you seemed unsettled just to see him, and his scar . . .” Roysa trailed off. The scar along the right side of his face, from cheek to chin, had been the price he’d paid for saving her. “But I can tell there’s more to it. I know you too well to think otherwise, though not as well as I would like.” Roysa paused, then added, “You came back to England for him? For Conrad?”

  So accustomed to avoiding questions, to changing topics, whenever discussion turned to the tournament, Cait’s instinct was to do the same right now. But her sister-in law seemed so eager to help her, to know her better.

  She could give her at least this much.

  “Aye,” she said simply, and instantly regretted it when she saw the pity in Roysa’s eyes.

  “Do not look at me that way. This has naught to do with the attack.”

  And yet she felt weak again. Helpless. She’d felt so brave following Rory to Dromsley. For not allowing herself to be sent back home.

  But now that she was here . . .

  She couldn’t go down to the great hall to join the others. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

  “Come,” Roysa urged, motioning to the door. “It will be a joyous reunion, all four of the men. You can meet Sabine.”

  “We met briefly earlier.”

  “You need to eat.”

  Roysa’s shoulders sagged when Cait shook her head.

  “I am not hungry,” she insisted again. “Go, tell Terric I will speak to him on the morrow.”

  Roysa arched her brow. “And the others?”

  “Do you mean Conrad?”

  Roysa blinked. “Perhaps.”

  There was no message she could offer to explain her actions. She needed to speak with him, but not tonight. Not in front of the others.

  “Nay.”

  Roysa must have sensed she’d say no more. With one final frown, she turned toward the door. “Shall I have someone sent to assist you?”

  Cait glanced down again at the ties on the sides of her kirtle. “Nay,” she repeated. But just before her sister-in-law shut the door, she added, “Thank you.”

  “Good eve,” Roysa murmured, closing the door behind her.

  Roysa’s warm smile reminded Cait of her closest friend back home. She missed Cristane dearly and hoped they would soon be reunited. Cait stared at the closed door for a moment, taking note of the vines that had been etched from the top of the door all around its edges. It took a skilled woodworker to create such a thing. Her chest heaved as Cait imagined those vines coming to life, winding past the door and around the stone walls. Closing in on her.

  Pushing the thought from her mind, Cait removed her kirtle and undertunic and washed using the basin of rosewater that had been set out for her. She pulled her hair back, tying it off with a white satin ribbon, and sat in front of the hearth in her robe. It was warm, aye, but still a shiver ran down her b
ack as she thought of him.

  Just belowstairs.

  It had been foolish of her not to go with Roysa. If her purpose was to avoid Conrad, she could have easily done so by staying in Scotland.

  You would be married by now.

  Closing her eyes, Cait took a deep breath and then another. She willed herself to stand, to make her way to bed, but decided she would sit for just a moment longer, rest her eyes for a bit.

  Cait jumped from her seat, one glance at the fire telling her she’d fallen asleep.

  A knock landed on the door, heavy and sure.

  Chapter 5

  Terric would be furious if he found him standing outside Cait’s bedchamber. Throughout the evening meal, he’d caught his friend watching him, and even though her name had only been spoken once—when Roysa had conveyed that she would not be joining them—Conrad had no doubt she would be the first topic of the order’s conversation in the morning.

  And he was still unsure of what to say.

  And so, he’d made a hasty, and possibly dangerous decision, and had come to her in the night.

  He knocked again, his need to talk to her stronger than his aversion to possibly waking her from sleep. Conrad simply could not wait any longer.

  Cait Kennaugh was here, behind this very door.

  It opened.

  As she came into view, Conrad tried to remember to breathe normally. If he’d thought Cait uncommonly lovely as a young woman, and he had, she was even more so now, though markedly different. Her face was thinner, though still strong. Or was it the look in her deep brown eyes, which rounded at the sight of him?

  Her hair, though pulled back, was much shorter as well.

  But her set jaw was as strong now as it had been then, and there was no mistaking the determination in the shape of her brows . . . Aye, Cait Kennaugh was every bit the woman he remembered.

  “Conrad.”

  Her voice hadn’t changed either. Light and slightly breathy as if every word was pulled from her depths—a land he knew he’d never return from if he dared to visit.