Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (32 page)

The Borderlands Book 3

The first step was to be rid of Fergus's
apprentice. She must send him off at once, and in such a manner that he would
not return.

He sat down at the table, his dark head
bent as he wrote something on his parchment.

"You are Irish?" she asked.

"I am."

"My uncle was in Ireland some years
ago," she ventured. "With Prince Lionel." The words lay between
them like a lure upon fast water. She held her breath, waiting to see if he
would take the bait.

"I remember when the prince
visited."

His voice was expressionless, but his
brows contracted in an almost invisible frown as he continued writing.

"Uncle Robert used to say the
peasants were thick as fleas upon the road whenever the prince rode out,
gawping at his finery," Maude went on smoothly. "Were you among
them?"

He looked up at her then, a flash of
emerald between dark lashes. "There was no need for that. The prince came
to
us
."

Us?  And who might that be? Maude
wondered. She did not doubt he spoke the truth; his voice and bearing were
unmistakably those of a nobleman, and the Fitzgeralds were a family of some
consequence. Was he some noble's by-blow, then, or the younger son of a minor
branch?  Even if he could hardly pluck out a tune upon that harp, his looks
alone would assure him a place at any court. Whatever was he doing here in the
very back of beyond?

Well, whatever he was doing, he wouldn't
be doing it at Ayslford for much longer. She would make sure of that.

"That must have been quite an honor
for
you
."

"An honor?"  An amused,
slightly scornful expression passed across his face.

"Prince Lionel was a great
man," she said, though actually she'd always thought King Edward's second
son was a bit of a fool. "He was the queen's favorite," she added
more truthfully. "Her Majesty never got over mourning him when he
died."

"Well, I'm thinking Her Majesty
never saw him kick an old man in the face who'd done no worse than present
himself as ordered. But there, I mustn't be too hard upon the prince. Wasn't he
too drunk to know what he was doing half the time?"

Most likely true, Maude thought, but
hardly relevant just now. She sniffed. "Nobles cannot be not held to the
same standards as other men."

"How convenient for them. Now, were
you born here at Aylsford Keep? What day was that?"

She plucked a date and time from the
air, watching with satisfaction as he noted them in his flowing hand.

"If you had ever been to a real
court–" she began.

"What do you consider real?"
He put down the pen and leaned back in his seat. "Spain, Portugal, England,
France?"

"Don't tell me you've seen any of
them!"

"And a few more, besides. A good
harper always finds a welcome."

"I suppose you are that good."

"There was none better."

He spoke calmly; not boasting, simply
stating a fact, with a smugness that set her teeth on edge.

"I think you lie," she said,
switching rapidly to French. "You've never been to any of those places and
you have no idea what I'm saying, do you?"

"I do not lie and I know exactly
what you are saying," he shot back swiftly in the same tongue. "Though
your accent is abominable."

"You
are
clever, aren't
you?  Impertinent, as well."

"Right on both counts," he
answered evenly. "I think I've finished here."

"Good. You've wasted enough of my
time, Master–what was it?–Rommel?"

He stood abruptly. "The name is
Ronan Fitzgerald."

There was no graceful bow or "at
your service" this time. He wanted only to escape. But Maude was used to
people leaving her presence in a hurry. My one talent, she thought, a rush of
laughter–or was it tears?–catching at her throat.

"So you've traded your place at
court for a cave up in the hills?" she said, her mocking tone hiding the
tremor in her voice. "Bit of a comedown for you."

"I consider it a step up. Good day,
my lady."

He turned with a swirl of his patched
green cloak. Maude stood stiffly, hands clenched at her sides, not daring to
relax until the door slammed shut behind him.