Claire Delacroix (27 page)

“Greetings, Lady Ysabella!” Calum cried with a heartiness of manner that I was coming to associate with him. “How do you fare in this place thus far?”

“Quite well since yesterday,” I said. I offered my hand and he bowed low to kiss its back. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you twice in so many days.” Though I found his attentiveness slightly extreme, his was a pleasant presence.

He certainly was garbed both richly and with flamboyant flair. He gestured broadly to the hall. “And what progress you have already made in bringing change to this desolate hall.” He winked, including Mavella in his camaraderie. “My suggestions cannot have been all bad.”

I did not tell him that this presentation of the meal was Ada’s doing, and that for the benefit of his second appearance here. Had he not arrived, we might have had to fetch the meat from the kitchens ourselves. “Of course they were not. Come and join us at the board.”

Calum beckoned to his entourage. “Then perhaps you will not take offense at my providing another suggestion, even a more forward one.”

He gestured to the girl and I guessed his intention before he voiced it.

“This is Berthe, the daughter of my seneschal and his wife.” Berthe bobbed her head and dropped her gaze when she came to a half before me. She then smiled, clearly seeking a sign that she was welcome. She was a pretty girl, plump-cheeked with sparkling brown eyes, her tangle of dark curls tamed into a braid with only moderate success.

Calum continued, all a-bluster with his own generosity. “You have no maid in this place and with two fine ladies such as yourselves, a chamber maid would be most useful to you. As there are no ladies in my manor, Berthe’s skills with feminine fripperies have no opportunity to be used.”

“Then where did she learn such skills?” Mavella asked. Intriguingly, Berthe’s smile disappeared and the girl began to look agitated.

Calum reddened. “There is no shame in admitting that Berthe and her family were at Dunkilber when I took possession of the holding...”

“You served the lady previously in residence?” I asked the girl, assuming that the former residents had died. It is not uncommon for an estate to revert to an overlord, who might grant it to a loyal knight like Calum. I assumed he had earned his land with years of diligent service to the earl.

But Berthe’s eyes flashed. “She was murdered,” she said tightly, and fixed Calum with an accusing look. “In the siege of Dunkilber.”

Calum’s smile turned chilly as he held the girl’s gaze. “Such is the nature of warfare and the reason why responsible men dispatch their womenfolk elsewhere when they decline terms of surrender.”

I was momentarily taken back by Calum’s icy tone.

But then, men claimed property by force all the time and I knew I should not put too much weight upon this fact. Calum’s expression unsettled me, despite my own argument for it, and Mavella stepped away.

The girl shut her mouth mutinously and looked across the hall. Calum shrugged and rolled his eyes as if the girl’s manner was worthy only of a jest, but he was irked. There might be another reason for Calum seeking a new home for Berthe. Perhaps it was not entirely comfortable having her at Dunkilber if she could not hide her animosity toward its new lord.

“If Berthe would like to remain here at Ravensmuir, we should be delighted to have her,” I said and the girl bestowed a smile of gratitude upon me. “I am certain that you can find a great deal of labor to do in this keep. We are woefully without servants.”

“Yes, my lady. I should welcome the opportunity, my lady.”

I smiled for Calum. “And I must thank you for your thoughtfulness, though I know not how it can be repaid.”

Calum smiled. “A kiss, my lady fair, would suffice.”

I offered him my hand and knew I did not imagine that he hesitated. No doubt he had expected a more intimate kiss than the one I let him place upon my knuckles. His gaze flicked to both my watchful sister and the wide-eyed maid, then he smiled and bent low over my fingertips.

His tongue slid boldly betwixt my fingers. When I caught my breath at his audacity, his eyes shone with mischief and he winked.

I straightened and forced a smile. “Perhaps we should eat, before Ada’s fine meal becomes cold. Tell me, Calum, do you know where I might find a seneschal of my own?”

I suspected that Berthe’s parents might be similarly disenchanted with their new overlord, though Calum proved to be less inclined to be rid of them. We discussed the matter as we took our seats and one of the squires began to cut the meat from the bone for all of us.

It was when the boy artfully laid out a piece of meat before me that I glanced down. The plate set before me, and graced with venison, was identical to the plate I had found in the chapel. A similar bird with outstretched wings filled the middle of the plate.

I looked quickly to one side and the other and saw that only three such plates had been laid upon the board for the nobles, while the servants had been granted trenchers cut of bread instead.

From that point, I had difficulty concentrating upon the conversation at hand.

* * *

I stopped in the kitchens after Calum’s departure, purportedly to introduce Berthe to Ada but hoping to discover what she knew of the plates. Ada stood stiffly as I said my piece, and her wary gaze flicked between Berthe and myself.

“I have rules in my kitchen,” she said to Berthe. “And you will abide by them if you do not wish a beating. You will do what you are told to do, immediately and without question; you will not have any discussions with my brother; you will eat and drink what you are given to eat and drink and not filch from the platters going to the hall; and you will never touch the plates.”

Berthe’s gaze danced over the kitchen shelves as she tried to make sense of this last dictate. “There were plates on the board...”

“Yes, there were and there were three of them. You will not touch them today and indeed you will never touch them.”

“But...”

“But nothing you can say will change the truth. It is careless handling that costs a lord his treasures, of that you can be certain.” Ada became annoyed. “Here is the evidence of it: twenty-four plates there were originally, purchased on commission by Avery, the first Lammergeier Laird of Ravensmuir and the father of our recently lost lord Merlyn. He ordered them made in Italy as a gift for his bride, then shipped them here upon his own ships. Twenty-four there were and now there are but half of them remaining - half! - the others lost through the careless handling of serving girls.”

I refrained from commenting that the broken twelve must have been lost while the kitchen was beneath Ada’s jurisdiction.

“They are secured in the pantry, placed high on a shelf, secured against clumsy fingers and still such care is not enough. Just recently, we have lost another, for there were thirteen when last I used them and only twelve were there on this morning.”

“You have broken another?” I asked, unable to resist.

Ada’s eyes snapped, guessing the wrong reason for my interest. “Thirteen is a wicked number, the realm of witchery. Nothing good comes of thirteen. There are but two possible explanations for the disappearance of that place. The first is that some fool had seen fit to take it and probably broken it.”

“But who?”

“Rhys Fitzwilliam is one to help himself to what is not his to take,” Ada fumed. “And if ever he is fool enough to cross this threshold again, I shall demand to know whether he broke one of those plates then did not confess to it.”

“But the second possibility?”

Ada glared at me. “Some sorcery summoned the plate from beneath my very eye, tempted by the wickedness of the number thirteen.”

“That seems unlikely,” I said calmly, for Berthe looked alarmed. “In my experience, the most sensible and most mundane explanation is usually the truth. Perhaps you or Arnulf broke it.”

“I did not! And Arnulf touches nothing in this kitchen, as he has been bidden!”

“Are you certain they are adequately secured? Perhaps one fell?”

Ada threw open the door of a storage room and gestured to a high shelf. “Look there, my lady! Nine plates stacked high and beyond the reach of most. There they are and there they will remain with their clean brethren until I see fit to remove them.”

Berthe’s brows drew together in confusion, and she bit her lip. “But there are ten plates here,” she said, looking to Ada. “You see?” She carefully counted them aloud.

Ada pushed past her and counted the plates herself. She whirled and returned to the kitchen, inhaling fit to pinch her nostrils shut. Three plates sat upon the kitchen table, their surface stained with gravy. Ten plates, plus the three, brought the total to thirteen once again.

Wicked thirteen.

I had to fight to keep my lips from twitching, because I had a very good idea how that missing plate had joined the others. Yes, there was a wooden wall in that storage room, as well as several in the kitchen itself, walls not unlike those that slid back in other parts of the keep to grant access to the labyrinth.

Every one of us had been in the hall when the meat was served. I could not help but think that a certain man courted my approval.

The prospect coaxed my smile.

“How very strange, Ada. Wicked thirteen haunts you again.”

Ada huffed and glared. “There is evil afoot at Ravensmuir, of that there can be no doubt.” She turned upon Berthe. “I expect both care and accountability of those serving in this hall. Do you understand me?”

Berthe nodded and bobbed her head. “Yes, indeed. I have never broken any crockery or vessel, madam. And I know nothing of sorcery, nothing at all.”

“Then see that you do not begin either here.” Ada’s words turned acidic. “Is there any other matter that concerns you, my lady, or do you linger for the delights of our companionship?”

“No, Ada. That is all. Could you find sufficient labor for Berthe? I shall not have need of her aid until the evening.”

Berthe lifted her chin. “I but await your instruction, Ada.” There was a spark in her eyes that told me she was determined to prove Ada’s expectations wrong.

I left them together and strolled back toward the solar. I should give some gift to Calum in return beyond my knuckles to kiss. Perhaps I would visit him at Dunkilber.

Perhaps I would send Mavella to visit him. I spun lovely futures for my sister and I even, to my own surprise, hummed a tune beneath my breath.

* * *

My humming halted on the threshold of the solar, so certain was I that Merlyn was within and that he would demand a reward for his jest with the plate. I shivered in anticipation. I eased open the door and slipped over the threshold, wanting to grant a surprise to him for a change.

No one was there. I crept soundlessly up the stairs to the solar itself, alert to the slightest creak of the wooden floors.

Nothing.

Nothing but the increasingly familiar and eerie sense that I was being watched. I halted at the top of the stairs and I stood there for a long moment. My gaze lifted to the vicious expression of the carved bird over the bed, my pulse hammered in my ears. I could hear the sounds of activity in the great hall, if distantly, and the even fainter rhythm of the sea crashing upon the shore.

The chamber seemed to breathe, it seemed to watch me, though I could not detect anything amiss at all. My burn itched in a most irksome way. The sun had moved onward, past the angle where it shone directly through the windows. The room seemed secretive, dark.

But all appeared as I had left it. I crossed the room and tapped upon the panel that Merlyn had opened, then tried to budge it without success.

How typical of Merlyn to be absent when his presence was desired!

Disappointed and disgruntled, I shed my girdle and kirtle, and laid aside my stockings and shoes. I unbraided my hair and shook it out, then stretched leisurely across the bed. There were aches settling into my muscles from the morning’s exertions and I closed my eyes for just a moment’s respite.

* * *

I must have slept. I awakened to a darkened chamber, my belly growling with an expectation it had recently learned. I dressed and descended to the hall. Although I was late for the evening meal, Mavella did not comment upon it.

Ours was hardly a court burdened with formalities.

I retired early. Perhaps because I had slept earlier, perhaps because I still thought Merlyn would come, I was restless. I barred the door, and fell upon Merlyn’s box, for I had yet to thoroughly study its contents.

I lay on my belly across the mattress, lanterns perched all around the great bed, and turned the key in the lock. The contents were as magical and marvelous as I had expected them to be.

Here must be the deed that Fitz had spoken of. Writ on thick golden parchment, affixed with ribbons and red wax seals, it could be nothing other than the deed to Ravensmuir. And here was a seal, presumably for Ravensmuir, a keep with a bird perched upon it carved into its face.

There were three or four other deeds, none so splendid as the Ravensmuir’s deed nor so tattered as my own hidden contribution. I set them aside, their contents a mystery until some trusted soul could read them to me.

There were perhaps fifty coins scattered in the bottom, a fairly meager treasury but one of interest. The coins were all different, some gold and some silver. I knew silver pennies of this type, though most that passed through my hands had been cheated of silver by nips around the rim. These were intact, perfect circles, and so barely worn that faces pressed into the metal could yet be discerned.

I laid them out on the indigo coverlet in rows, holding a lantern close to study each in turn. The writing was different on them, some more cursive and some more angular, all equally mysterious. The rulers all looked noble and somber. The coins were all cool in my hand, a balm to the flesh.

It is perhaps a legacy of poverty that I find the caress of coin in my palm reassuring.

There was a small velvet sack there, as well, and I caught my breath when I scattered the contents across the bed. Gems they were, rounded and gleaming; ruby and sapphire and emerald; glistening pearls of silver and black; amethyst and amber; opal and onyx.