Jennifer August (19 page)

He leaned against the wide oak table, crossed his arms and pinned her with a cool stare. “Lady Stirling has informed me that the intruder we sought the night we arrived was none other than the renegade knight Tristan.”

“What?” John asked incredulously. His glare stung her. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I tried,” she said defensively. “He escaped before I could find you.”

“Who is this Tristan?”
Temple
asked.

“A former knight in Lord Robert’s army. When they had a dispute, Lord Robert ordered him away,” John answered, shaking his head. “I wondered what became of him.”

“I should like to know how Lady Stirling discovered his identity.” Marcus’ softly spoken question brought all eyes to her. She looked at Quinn.

“It matters not, Marcus.” Quinn pushed away from the table. “My wife has also given over information regarding a series of hidden tunnels running through the keep.” He opened the door to the passage fully, kicking aside the fallen tapestry that once concealed it.

She felt John’s eyes burn into her, but
Stirling
kept her gaze firmly on Quinn’s broad back. Her captain’s recriminations would wait.

“There are six entrances into the keep,” she said quietly to
Temple
and Marcus. “And two from the outside in. One in the stables, the other near the kitchens. Tristan knows these tunnels as well as I. We often played in them together, so they must be sealed.”

“I’ve doubled the guards, and ordered round-the-clock repairs on the outer walls. The tunnels have already been checked and the exits sealed.” Quinn returned to the desk. “I am certain Tristan is behind all that has happened in the past fortnight.”

“What? But surely, my lord--”
Stirling
protested.

“We must discover where he and his men are hiding.” Quinn cut her off. “
Temple
, you and John lead a party in the morning. You’re my best tracker and he knows the land.”

“Aye, sir,” John and
Temple
agreed.

“Retire then, dawn will come quickly.”

“My lord, really, don’t you think we should discuss this?”
Stirling
sputtered. His assumptions must be wrong. What purpose, what possible reason, would Tristan have for sabotaging their marriage?

“Nay. Marcus, how are Falcon Fire’s men coming with the training?”

“Well enough, my lord, though a few could use more instruction. Do you need them?”

“Soon.” Quinn nodded. “Rest, Marcus, and begin again at daylight.”

Marcus hesitated before responding, looking at her. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I would speak with Quinn in private before I retire.”

She nodded coolly. “Of course. I bid you good evening.” She walked to Quinn and, standing on tiptoe, pressed her lips to his cheek. He grabbed her and slanted his mouth across hers, his kiss filled with seductive promise. When at last he released her, her breath came in short, quirky gasps and her mouth tingled deliciously.

“I will join you shortly, lady-wife.”

Neither man spoke until the door closed behind her and the sounds of her slippers on the stone floor faded away.

Quinn scowled at Marcus. “I’ll hear no more accusations against my wife, Marcus. All is not what it seems at Falcon Fire.”

Marcus rocked on his heels. “What is so different this time, my lord, that you’ll ignore my warnings?”

Quinn shrugged, irritated at himself for not having a firm answer. “Why did you wish to speak with me?”

“I’ve learned something from her ladyship’s maid, Millane.”

Quinn froze. Did the maid know of
Stirling
’s charade? Had she spoken of it to Marcus? He struggled to appear calm. “Aye?”

“Did you know that Stirlng’s mother was often accused of being unnatural?”

Quinn blinked, relaxing slightly, although he’d not expected this. “In what manner? By who?”

“In that she often saved those nearly taken by death when no physician could.”

“How?” Quinn growled, his unease growing, slithering like a snake along his spine. Was this more evidence of his wife’s involvement in the deceptions afoot in the keep?

“Potions she would force them to imbibe. Ones she created from herbs grown in a secluded plot.”

“Your point, Marcus?” Quinn demanded.

“Only she and Lady Stirling were allowed to tend the herbs, and only they permitted to grind and administer them.”

“Aye, ‘twas with those medicines she tended Snow.” Quinn reminded him.

Marcus nodded. “And mayhap murdered your assailant, as well.”

“Enough, Marcus,” Quinn warned. “I do not understand this antagonism you have toward my wife, but it must end here. Now.”

“I serve you, my lord, and our king. ‘Tis my sworn duty to protect you from harm,” Marcus stubbornly insisted.

“Nay, ‘tis more than that. You are not one to jump to conclusions based on circumstance. Something else has swayed you, and I would know what.”

“The maid, Millane--”

“Aye?” Quinn prompted when his second said no more.

“Naught, my lord. ‘Tis naught. I will keep my suspicions in check until there is more proof.” Marcus turned and headed for the door.

“Marcus,” Quinn said sharply before he left. “Any oath you’ve sworn to me extends to
Stirling
as well.”

“Aye, lord, she’ll come to no harm through me.” Marcus bowed and disappeared into the darkness of the great hall.

Quinn slowly ascended the winding staircase, nodding to each guard he passed. He wondered what
Stirling
’s maid had said to Marcus that roused such mistrust in his normally cool-headed second. He was certain if Marcus knew of
Stirling
’s charade he would have already called for her imprisonment. Though often cavalier, Marcus upheld the law to the letter. He saw his duty to his king and liege as sacred and unshakable.

Raking a hand over his face, Quinn stared at the dim embers in the hearth. What else did his wife hide? How many more secrets would she reveal before all was exposed? Quinn shrugged the annoying thoughts away, determined that nothing could take her from him. With his loyal service to William he’d gained the lands and titles his bastardy denied him in
France
and with his marriage to
Stirling
, he would have legitimate heirs. As soon as he put to rest this final rebellion he could concentrate on his future. Their future.

Quinn walked between the two guards flanking his chambers and closed the door behind him, ramming the bolt home. The solar, dimly lit by a fading fire, was empty.

“
Stirling
?” he called, moving into the bedchambers. Hands on hips, he shook his head at her slight figure, clad only in a thin chemise, curled atop the bedcovers. There would be no more loving this night. He lifted her gently and slipped her light form beneath the fur pelt, disrobed and joined her. Pulling her unresisting body against him, he breathed in the lavender scent of her hair.

“Rest easy, little warrior,” he murmured into the golden strands. “I’ll allow no one, friend, rebel or king, to part us now.”

Chapter Twelve

“I wish to view the body,”
Stirling
announced firmly, stroking her hair with a brush, eyeing Quinn’s reflection behind her. Though the morning sun had not yet broken, the household stirred already. Much needed to be done and no one knew how much time they had.

“For what purpose?” Quinn asked, lacing his blue breeches.

“I should like to determine what manner of poison killed him, if indeed ‘twas any.” She turned on the stool to look him full in the face. “By law, ‘tis my right to refute any claims made with what evidence I may find.”

“No claim has been set forth, my lady, thus no evidence is required.” He shrugged into his tunic, smoothing his strong hand over the silver eagle emblazoned on the shirt front. The deep blue of the shirt reflected in his eyes, giving them the look of a shimmering pool of water.

“Our opinions differ greatly, then. Lord Marcus has accused me of murdering your prisoner.”

“Words spoken in hasty angry, nothing more. He has recanted his accusations.”

Stirling
raised a surprised brow. “I did not know. When did he do this?”

“Last evening. Come lady, break the morning fast with me so I can be about my duties.”

“Have you yet discovered the identity of the traitor?” She laid her hand upon his proffered forearm as they left their chamber.

He chuckled, though the hollow sound contained little humor. “Which one, my lady?”

“How many do you seek?” She gripped the stone banister as they descended the torch-lit stairs.

“That remains to be seen.”

Stirling
stopped at the foot of the staircase and glared at him. “You avoid my questions, sirrah. Why?”

He studied her intently for a moment, his gray eyes probing every corner of her soul. “I’ve never known a woman such as you, lady-wife. Most women in your position do not have your interminable curiosity nor make outrageous demands for information.”

“Is that your way of telling me ‘tis not of my concern?”

He shrugged. “It means I am considering the matter.”

Stirling
rolled her eyes. She still had much to teach her husband of herself, ‘twas obvious. “I am not other women, and ‘tis well past time you knew it.” She strode into the nearly empty dining hall, tossing over her shoulder, “I’ll discover the answers on my own. Mayhap then, we can discuss our situation.” She nodded to the few soldiers occupying a table at the back of the dining hall and made her way to the family table where trenchers of cold meats, porridge and bread were laid out. Settling into her chair, she sipped a mug of cool water, trying to douse her irritation.

Quinn sat down hard in the lord’s chair gripping her hand as she reached for a trencher. “You’ll not investigate this matter, ‘tis too dangerous,
Stirling
. I’ll not allow it.”

She held still, contemplating the correct response. She too, had much to learn of her new husband, but already she knew he demanded his orders be obeyed. And certainly not questioned. But neither would she be so commanded.

She tugged her hand free and broke a loaf of bread between them, seeking a different tack. “You are a stranger here, regardless of your new position in
England
. Landed, aye. Titled, aye. But the people, my men, our neighbors, do not yet know, nor trust, you. I would wager ‘tis why you’ve gained little in your own hunt for answers.”

He tore away a chunk of the bread with strong, white teeth, leaned back and stared at her. “And I should gain this trust by confiding in you, then?”

“Mayhap. Mayhap not.”

“Not a compelling argument, my lady.”

“I only mean to say that should we present a united front in this matter, then perchance more information would be forthcoming.”

“And which matter do you speak of?”

She realized he quite neatly turned her own earlier question back on her. And still she had no answer. “What duties do you have this day, my lord?”

“What duties have you?” he asked instead.

She gritted her teeth against the frustration threatening to spill out. “I act as chamberlain this day, of course. I must see to the menus and which rooms are to be cleaned. There are several people in the village I must visit and then there’s Argyle.”

“Argyle, the brewmaster?”

She hid a smile at his slight shudder. “Aye, he’s got a bit of gout, and I’ve fixed him an herbal.”

“Fine then, you may go about your duties as planned.”

“My eternal gratitude, sirrah, not that I was asking your permission.” She scraped back her chair and stood.

“
Stirling
.” He grabbed her arm, halting her flight. “One day, the sting of your tongue shall cause more problems than you can handle. ‘Tis fortunate for you, that I am well preoccupied at the moment.”

“Aye, and ‘tis more fortunate for you, that I possess a patient nature.”

She stalked from the hall, leaving him to his laughter and wine. Not a whit of guilt that she’d so brazenly lied to him assailed her, she realized as she passed through the smoky kitchens and down to the cramped dungeon of Falcon Fire.

No guard barred her way, and the iron door hung ajar. Their attacker’s bloated body lay stretched out on the floor, sightless eyes open and rolled back, mouth slack, fingers curled.
Stirling
gagged at the stench of death hovering in the air, but nonetheless, pulled a torch free of an iron sconce and entered the small prison.

Here the putrid scent of already decaying flesh and rotted straw became stronger, nearly overpowering her. From her sleeve, she pulled a square of linen drenched in rosemary and pressed it to her nose and mouth, blocking out the horrid smells.

She moved around the man, studying him from all angles, even nudging his stiff body with her foot. His lips, rimmed in blue, were cracked and dry and the whites of his eyes were tinted a ghostly gray. The overall cast of his skin was dark and his fingernails blackened at the beds.

Stirling
backed away from the man and out of the stall, pulling blessed clean air into her lungs. “You were right, Lord Marcus,” she murmured, “‘Twas definitely poison.”

“I’m happy you concur, my lady.” Marcus’ harsh voice cut sharply through her thoughts and she whirled. He stalked forward, face hard and ungiving. “‘Tis been my observance most criminals revisit their deeds.”

Stirling
drew herself up. “My husband assured me you rescinded your accusations against me.”

His smile held no warmth. “No more than a temporary concession until I gather proof, my lady.”

“You speak my title as if ‘twas an oath.”

He remained silent.

“Why did you come down here?” she asked. “Mayhap, you murdered him yourself?”

His jaw muscle pulsed and his face flared red. “You insult me, madame.”

She moved closer, until they stood toe to toe, and stared up at him stonily. “And you insult me. My honor is no less than yours.”

“Women hold no honor,” he spat, face contorted angrily.

“Should you seek only myself as your murderer, then the true one shall go free, perchance to slay again.” She whipped her skirts away and brushed past him. “May it be on your conscience, sir.”

She was nearly at the top of the stairs when he replied. “Your maid Millane has told me of your secrets.”

Stirling
froze, then turned and walked back down the stairs. She fought to conceal her inner turmoil. What had Millane told him? “Secrets?” she asked coolly, lifting a skeptical brow.

His sly, arrogant grin grated on her. “Aye, my lady. And I immediately sent a runner to his majesty on behalf of Lord Quinn.”

Stirling
inhaled sharply. “Nay. What have you done, Marcus?”

“I have sealed your fate.”

# # #

“He’s done what?” Quinn yelled. Furious disbelief, wrapped in the pain of Marcus’ betrayal, assailed him. Snow howled and jumped to her feet, though she remained in front of the hearth.

“Sent a runner to
London
. I expect a regiment of William’s army should arrive to arrest me soon.”
Stirling
’s soft voice held no inflection.

Pain throbbed in his left temple and he massaged the flesh lightly. “I should have thrown him out when I had the opportunity.” He glared at her. “‘Tis your fault I did not.”

She shrugged. “Aye, ‘twould appear you are correct. What happens now, my lord?” She stroked Snow’s white fur, but did not look at him.

He caught the slight hitch in her almost calm voice, noticed the fine tremor running through her hands. Circling the oak table of the war room, he pulled her to him. She resisted for a moment, then wrapped her arms about his waist, clutching him tightly.

“I do not know,
Stirling
. Even I may not be able to persuade William into leniency when he discovers your secret. Tradition and honor are very important to him. As is the law.”

She nodded, the tip of her nose rubbing his chest. He tightened his embrace, desperately trying to find a solution. Damn Marcus anyway. He looked down at the golden bundle shielded in his arms. The thought of her death tore him apart. He would not allow it. Even if doing so meant going against his king.

“I will fight this,
Stirling
, do not fear.”

She smiled sadly up at him. “Fear has long been part of our lives, my lord. There is little you can do.” She pulled away. “I believe I will retire to the solar for a time.”

“Of course.”

She quit the room, leaving him and Snow to stare helplessly after her.

The dog butted his leg, quietly yowling. Quinn scratched between Snow’s ears. “Aye, friend, we must move quickly.”

# # #

Stirling
looked out over the training grounds from the solar window. Most of the combined forces of Quinn’s warriors and the army of Falcon Fire diligently practiced and honed their craft. The quintains, six in all, saw regular hits and the duels on the attack field were executed with precise detail. Grudgingly she admitted, Marcus and Sir John seemed to have melded the armies smoothly.

“My lady, may I speak with you?” Millane’s anxious voice cracked on the last word as she stood in the doorway.

With reluctance,
Stirling
motioned her inside. “What do you require, Millane?”

“I would tell you of Lord Marcus.”

Stirling
shook her head. “What is there to say?”

Millane joined her at the window, standing shoulder to shoulder. “I do not offer excuses, my lady, only an explanation.”

“Proceed.”
Stirling
could not infuse any warmth into her voice. Her entire body was numb and cold from the events of the day. Were she truthful, naught had been right in her life since the
Norman
’s arrival. But neither had she known the warmth of his smile and the pleasure of his body before then.

“In all my years of men and rendezvous, I’ve never met anyone like him,” the maid said.

Stirling
nodded, able at least, to empathize with that.