Lady Trent (14 page)

“Where to?”

“The Isles.”

“Ah, yes, the Isles. I had nearly forgotten.
You are at the disposal of Duke Norton.”

“Lord Fleming has been at odds with him,
stationing guards along the borders as if to provoke him.”

“Nothing you can’t remedy, I’m sure.”

“I’m confident I’ve accomplished it already,
and also that I will be paying the emperor a visit in the near
future.”

“Soon?”

“The next month or so, perhaps.”

“I should like for you to tell me before you
go. I have scrolls to be delivered to him.”

“Anything of importance, I could—“

“No, no, just standard records of the
goings-on in the city.”

“I see.”

“When will you return from the Isles?”

“So soon as the feat is over, however long it
takes. I also have matters to settle between Earl Hemway and Lord
Madison. But if these documents are of importance, I may deliver
them now.”

“Yes, yes, but it can be put off.”

Hearing him, Marcus stood and took a step
back. “Be well, my friend. I must be on my way now.”

“I’ve yet a man to oversee the Guard while
Sir Edward is away. He suddenly departed for some domestic
concerns. I had hoped you would appoint someone in my stead.”

“I’ve already made such an appointment,” he
told him. “Sir Miles has agreed to take his place for a time. I
trust him with the job.”

“Then I shall trust him as well.”

“As you should also trust Winston with the
transporting of prisoners into the West Isles. Not only that, but
the delivery of any private messages in the stead of Pearce for the
time being.”

“Pearce?” He frowned heavily upon this. “I
trust nobody other than you or he in regards to those things. You
know this. For what cause has he withdrawn himself?”

“Reasonable ones,” he told him. “I would not
want to say in the presence of you wife.” He cast Rachel a charmed
glance which she returned with a harsh one of her own. She did not
like being kept in the dark: something she hadn’t noticed prior
coming to the Great City. Perhaps since nothing had ever been
withheld from her in Westerly. But she was fast learning that she
wanted to know everything going on around her…both inside the
palace and without.

Her eyes narrowed upon him, but not
vengefully. “You may speak, Sir Marcus. I assure you, my ears have
not been hidden from certain truths...especially those concerning
the manly kind.”

“I would rather resist the defamation of his
character which could very well suffer slack. Pearce is an innocent
man.”

This Jacob seemed to understand. “I see,” he
said, staring forward as if to think a situation through. “A few
hours of sickness and every damnation transpires.”

“I am confident the guilty man will come
forth. For the time being, Pearce must be in hiding.”

“He needn’t hide,” Jacob calmly argued. “Not
under my protection.”

“It will be a short spell,” Marcus assured,
and then taking a step back assured, “I will send word before my
return if able,” and then bowed before turning. He nodded,
“Milady,” and then swept by her and from the room. At the same
time, Edison entered to give Jacob a dose of medicine. Rachel
dropped a kiss on his forehead, assuring him she would return and
saying, “I will hand these over to the cooks,” in reference to the
herbs.

She departed the chamber and found herself
searching for Marcus. She found him in the quarters he was known to
keep in the latter process of getting his things together.

She tapped on the door, which was slightly
opened to begin with. Although discovering her, he said nothing,
which she took as permission to enter.

“Will you leave now?” She asked. “At the
moment?”

He cast her an uncertain glance before
saying, “If there’s something you must speak to me about…” He
proceeded to tie a bag closed. “I can afford a short delay.”

She fell silent, her gaze to the floor. “What
is it?” He urged, his brows coming together, and then his
expression relaxed as he guessed. “His health?”

She simply shook her head. “I’m certain he
will be well.”

Marcus proceeded to tighten the knot he’d
made in his satchel. “Yes, he will get well,” he confirmed. “This
illness has plagued him for many, many years. It passes, and he
springs up like a new man. During the time he is well he makes up
for that lost.”

“One must wonder if it will one day defeat
him altogether.”

To this he said nothing, simply occupied
himself with the satchel and then a parchment of some sort which he
began to roll up.

“I have a request,” she finally said.

He raised a curious brow. “Of me?”

“Yes, I…” she hesitated, studying the floor a
moment before proceeding. “The Isles. I wonder the direction you
must take to get there.”

“The Eastern Isles lie off the Eastern
border.”

“Are they a great distance from
Westerly?”

“A few days journey. Two, three at the most.
Ironic, isn’t it?” He commented. “A community in the east called
Westerly.”

“You must not know its history.”

“I was not a worthy pupil in my youth. Even
so, I doubt the founding of Westerly would’ve been discussed.”

“In any case, it was founded by a Sir West
Lee.”

“Sir?” He almost grinned. “Also ironic.”

“People began to pronounce it Westerly. See,
it makes perfect sense.”

“Why do you ask about the distance between
those places?”

“The money that was given to me for
them.”

“I would’ve assumed you’d had it delivered by
now.”

“By whose hand? Not to say Jacob’s messengers
are not trustworthy. But the fewer who know about it, the better.
Besides, greed can take hold of even the most authentic man.”

“I cannot argue that, milady.”

“I wonder if perhaps…I mean, since you will
be so near if-if you could just take a few days and—“

“—of course,” he quickly interrupted. “I
would be honored, although for whose sake I cannot say.”

“The sake of the poor,” she decided for him,
smiling at the arrangement. Coming closer she bent and reached
beneath her gown, eventually raising up and bringing into view a
rather large sack of coins. She did this a second time, untying the
item from her lower left leg.

Marcus raised a brow at this. “You have been
carrying these about?” He asked, taking the second bag of coins,
examining its weight with the rise and fall of the hand.

“Since it was placed into my care.”

“I imagine it would have been safe in some
other place…but now it’s a surety.” He raised his free hand,
caressed her chin, and then turned to find a suitable place to
stash the gift. “And when I reach Westerly,” he wondered, “who
should I seek out?”

“A lady by the name of Agatha: Sister Agatha.
You will find her easily, either at the chapel or the orphanage or
the home for the widows…depending upon the time of day.”

“Is there a message also that I should pass
along?”

“Only that I am well.”

“Is that all?”

Feeling a bit guilty for keeping this change
of events to herself, she avoided his gaze. But then she remembered
his comment about her being ashamed to tell them. Her chin went in
the air. “I suppose you could explain what has happened.”

“Word travels, milady. I am sure they have
heard it by now.”

“Not necessarily so. Westerly is—“

“—I know,” he interrupted, “a different sort
of place.”

She agreed with silence, and after having
quickly studied the situation said, “If you have the time I could
write a message now explaining it.”

“I don’t really, no. Duke Norton is a very
impatient man. I am already in arrears. The sooner I reach the
Isles the better. I must leave now; which works in your favor. It
doesn’t seem you want to tell them at all.”

“You must understand. The people of Westerly
know me by this title.”

“
That
title,” he corrected, standing
erect so as to stare her in the face.

“Yes,” she agreed, in some sort of daze.
“That title.” She thought on it a moment before saying, “I am
cautious, I admit. But not because of shame as you once insinuated.
But it must be revealed one way or another. You may tell them I
will remain here longer, and if they harass you with questions,
then you can tell them the truth. No matter the case, I will begin
writing a letter within the next few days explaining my new
position.”

“This Agatha,” he aloud recalled, “do you
trust her? This is quite a large donation. Will she be honest with
it?”

“I trust her completely, even with my
life.”

“Then I will also trust her,” he said, and
reached to pull a satchel from its place.

As it seemed there was nothing left to say,
she started toward the door, only stopping a moment to say over her
shoulder, “Be safe, Sir Marcus.” And with that she was gone.

******

Safe, he mused, watching her leave, noting
the way she closed the door, leaving it just as she’d found it. He
considered the duty she had placed upon him…the coins she’d
obviously guarded with all her life. It would arrive safely to its
destination. He would see to it. In fact, the task became equally
as important to him as the original…if not perhaps more.

With fluent motions he began tying the
satchel in which he’d stashed the coins around his waist. He
recalled the past two days; the wedding, how happy he was for
Jacob. The man was in love, and rightfully. Rachel was perfect for
him.

Indeed, as accused so many weeks before, he
had scrutinized her, just as he would’ve any lady in her shoes,
purposely looking for some fault…mainly to avoid not seeing one if,
in fact, there was a fault—one purposely being concealed in order
to be overlooked.

Jacob was a very wealthy man. The Great City
was the greatest…large, wealthy. To be the lord of the city was an
honor in itself, and the lady of it as well…which Rachel did not
seem to acknowledge, no, not to any great extent. Any other in her
shoes would’ve by now noted the significance of the position, but
she could not have seemed to care less. The emperor himself would
acknowledge and esteem her above any other lady because of the
title.

Whether aware of it or not, she was already
to a degree prevalent. People were familiar with Westerly. The town
had been requested on several occasions, but the emperor
consistently denied any direct ownership of it. For now the land on
which Westerly sat simply was. It belonged to the emperor, although
he didn’t pay it much mind. Had she known this, perhaps she would
have requested monetary support from him. To the best of his
knowledge she hadn’t done so.

No, it had not been the first time the
emperor had heard of Rachel the Elder when Jacob sent word to him
of the engagement. According to those he’d sent to witness the
wedding, he’d been intrigued by the prospect of these two marrying.
Absolutely intrigued…and pleased, for he’d heard so many good
things about Rachel the Elder over the years.

It was also rumored that the emperor blamed
the union upon fate…something Marcus had very little confidence in.
Fate, in his mind, was one of those things that seemed to exist in
the forms of blessings, and then end with some form of a curse. He
couldn’t dare put fate on any pedestal in the situation, for fate,
in his opinion, was merely the beginning of a crucial end. He did
not want to think of Jacob suffering any more than he already
had.

But the emperor was already satisfied with
Rachel…that is Rachel the Elder. Whatever would become of her with
this new position was yet to be known.

Likewise, he was extremely fond of Jacob,
thought higher of him than any man upon the face of the earth so
far as Marcus could tell; understandable since Jacob had been with
him through thick and through thin—since the passing of his father
left him guardian of the Great City, which was right around the
time the emperor had been crowned in his great uncle’s stead. He’d
stuck by his side through some critical disturbances amongst the
nobles because of his reign, which was quickly abolished, and
hatred from oversea rulers, such as the king of Roark—also quickly
abolished. No matter the case, whomever Jacob chose as wife would
be equally accepted and placed higher than the wife of any other
noble. It seemed Rachel had already gained his approval, simply by
way rumor of her overall dedication to Westerly and its people.

Westerly had also been left alone for other
reasons. Actually, mainly for the simple cause that it proved a
location for the outcasts. There they were accepted, which was
better than to have them roaming about, relying upon criminal
activity as a means of support.

It was evident that she hadn’t a clue; in
certain cases nobles were known to rid their domiciles of unwanted
people by somehow instilling word of Westerly’s being into
them…this they did subtly so that it would not be openly known.
When a man became hated no matter the place or cause, and suffered
because of that hatred, news of Westerly would send him fast on his
way. The emperor had sent a few men there, himself, when it seemed
there was no hope for them anyplace else. Not directly lest it be
rumored about that he condoned the resentment of any man for no
actual cause, especially one who could not help physical
abnormalities. What was a man in his position to do?

Keep Westerly as it was and use it as it
was…a community for the outcast that operated simply under the Laws
of the Sacred Orders, to which Rachel had been clearly and dearly
committed.

Marcus recalled Jacob’s former wives. The
emperor had accepted them although he had not exactly favored the
overall behavior of either of them. The first had acted as superior
as a queen, and the second as lowly as a servant…that is until
she’d born Jacob’s first child. Then she’d discovered her
confidence. Marcus sighed to himself. How could one woman be so
well-rounded…proud, but not prideful, beautiful but not conceited,
meager, but strong? Modest, but not obsessed with that modesty in
an arrogant and prideful sense. How could she be so damned
perfect?