Linda Needham (17 page)

A quick rap on Talia’s chamber door brought her out of the chair. She opened it to Quigley, shivering, his eyes huge and his face moon pale in the darkness.

“They’re coming, my lady, the first of the king’s wagons.”

She pulled him to the brazier, tossed a blanket over his shoulders. “Where?”

“A half dozen leagues. It’ll be midnight before the first arrives at the cut.”

“Then you know what to do.” Supplies to last this winter and next, when Carrisford was no more.

Quigley clasped his hands together and sank onto the bench. “Please, no, my lady. Reconsider. This is the king.”

“It’s an ordinary train of wagons, full of grain and cheese and dried peas. We need it all, Quig. We’ve never failed and never been caught, and time is wasting.”

“’Tis luck, my lady.”

“Good planning,” she said lightly, turning away to the fire in the brazier.

“Good planning for what, madam?” The voice didn’t belong to Quigley.

She turned and found Quigley as rigid as a statue, as though hoping that Alex wouldn’t notice him standing in the middle of the room.

“For the king’s visit, my lord,” Talia said. “The
sins and neglect of more than two years eradicated in two weeks. Possible only through good planning.”

He lifted that skeptical brow. “Indeed, madam. And just in time, it seems. I’ve just gotten word that Stephen will arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

A stone dropped into Talia’s stomach, heavy and hot with regrets and fear and wishes that would never come true.

“Good. Then thank you, Quigley,” she said to the beleaguered man, “for everything.”

“My pleasure, my lady.” Quigley left her with a deep, pointed frown as he bowed out into the tower stairs and disappeared, hopefully on his way to gather his team to relieve the king of a few extraneous supplies.

Alex must have already been to his chamber; he looked finished for the night, homey in his soft woolen tunic and leather slippers, thoroughly satisfied with himself, as he moved to the worktable where she’d been making another list.

“We’re in fine shape for the king’s visit, Alex.”

“I’ll be riding out of here at noon to meet the king and his escort.”

Mother of Jesu, don’t ask me to go with you, Alex.

“Then I’ll stay behind and show the king’s chamberlain to the royal chambers above the chapel, and make sure the sumptuary wagons are safely stored, and tour the kitchen with his cook, and see that his horses are stabled well.”

Alex took a long time to nod, lighting a second candle with the first. “A good plan, indeed.”

“And just to ease your mind about my participation, Alex, I’ve drawn up the full set of your rules—as I understand them—which I intend to follow.”

He laughed and dropped himself into a chair, thrusting his long, powerful legs toward her. “This I must hear.”

Not that she planned to abide by any of his edicts that might affect her own operations.

“I want to make sure that I understand exactly what you expect of me. It’s not a long list, but inclusive.”

He looked smugly pleased with himself, large and lordly as he gestured for her to continue. “Please proceed.”

Though she’d memorized the list, Talia picked it up off the table. It was better to ignore his smirk than to resort to physical combat.

“First, I will greet the king and the members of his entourage with all due respect.”

“Admirable. Go on.”

“I have instructed my villeins and my staff to cooperate fully with every request made by the king’s guests as well as the royal household.”

“Good of you.”

“Thirdly, I will represent your interests honestly and with a mind to your goals. The big castle and the wealthy heiress and everything.”

He said nothing, hardly needed to, with that arching brow and the skeptical frown.

“And lastly, I’ll do my level best not to send Conrad running from me in fear and loathing.” She dropped the list on the table, wishing for it all to be over. For Carrisford to be in ruins and to have all thoughts of a marriage—to anyone—be in ruins as well.

For this increasingly distracting man and his fathomless dark eyes to be gone from her life and her dreams. “Any comments, my lord?”

He leaned over to the table and snagged the parchment, then idly studied it. “Interesting, Talia, but I don’t believe a word you’ve written here.”

“My promise is every bit as binding as yours. And the sooner this royal visit is over, the better off we’ll all be.”

“I’ll agree with you there, my dear. But I don’t trust you not to speak your mind in the face of…say, a royal temper tantrum.”

Now the blackguard was sparring with her, a sport she’d come to adore. She thunked a stool in front of him and sat down to stare. “Meaning that you think I’m so wild-minded that I haven’t the sense to hold my tongue, should good king Stephen decry my frumenty and throw it against the wall.”

He discarded the list and leaned forward on his
elbows, hovering, matching her stare with those darkly lashed eyes. “Frankly, madam, I doubt that you’d be capable of holding your tongue even in the presence of God Almighty Himself. And that goes doubly for your householders. Not to mention your opinionated little family. Every one of them cut from the same cloth as you.”

“Just because I respect the sensible opinions of those people who—”

“And as for defending my interests, Talia, please don’t.” He took hold of her plait, mock horror etched on his brow.

“But who knows better than I what Carrisford is worth? As well as what you’re looking for.”

“You’ll keep it all to yourself, madam. And I will hold you to your promise not to bait Conrad.”

“Bait him?”

“He’s not used to women like you.”

“Like me? You mean with brains and the ballocks to use them?”

He smiled. He was very close again, very large, spicy, dazzling. “Exactly.”

“Why did you come here tonight?”

He studied her for a long moment. “Because I’m a selfish man.”

“And to provoke me.”

“No, not that.” He gazed at her mouth as though he’d been lost in a desert and she was a cool oasis.

“Then what?”

“Proof that I am the devil you think I am. To beg one last kiss from you.”

“Oh.” A kiss wouldn’t be very wise, even a last one. Not with the way her hands were trembling, the way her heart was pounding, and the stone wall she ought to be building between them.

“Oh, Alex, I wish—”

“I know what you wish.”

No, he didn’t. He couldn’t possibly. Because she was only just beginning to realize that she wanted him completely, wanted him to stay and stay, wanted children with him and to be his lady wife.

To be heiress enough for him.

But his life was warring, and hers was to keep her family safe.

And if she kissed him first, he wouldn’t go tying himself up in guilty knots. And she’d have this last moment to remember him by.

And so she kissed him, took his mouth as he’d done hers, teased and toyed with her teeth and tongue, until he made a sound like her name, and was growling low in his chest, his breath shuddering out of him, brushing past her lips, until he plowed his fingers through her hair, tilted her face to him, and plundered her mouth.

Hot tears gathered in her throat, unshed and aching. His lips were softly searing, his kiss leaving smoldering trails of steam and longing.

Leaving a new emptiness where her heart had been, when he left her a moment later.

The first wagons began arriving in the bailey just after midmorning, wagon after wagon, most of them lighter now. Talia had managed to slip away in the middle of the night to help with the royal looting. Despite a wild storm that dropped buckets of rain through most of the night, Quigley and the rest of her band worked with their usual efficiency, moving the purloined goods from the caravan into the byways of the forest, and finally to the dozens of caves and sheep cotes and tumbled-down, inconspicuous-looking barns tucked away throughout the countryside.

The sumptuary wagons made their way into the bailey as Talia watched Alex ride out through the castle gate, feeling in control for the first time in weeks.

Despite the imminent husband.

And the king.

And Alex’s kiss.

In control, indeed.

“The king should be quite comfortable in his chamber, my lady.”

She turned from her mooning malaise to be the image of cooperation for his chamberlain. “Then I’m so pleased, Sir Tobin.”

“And now I do need you to show me where to put the king’s stores.”

Quigley hobbled into view in the great hall, motioning for her attention, his eyes in a panic.

“Sir Tobin, it seems my steward needs me for a moment. If you’ll pardon me.” The man nodded, and turned away to his own staff.

Talia pulled Quigley aside, fearing to ask “What is it, Quig?”

“Trouble, my lady,” he whispered behind his hand. “Crossing the broad creek.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The wagon bridge, my lady. ’Tis gone, in a heap downstream. Taken in the storm last night.”

“Wonderful.”

“I do hate to ask you to come see what we need, with the king coming and all.”

And Conrad.

And the end of Carrisford.

And Alex.

“Of course, I’ll go, Quig. Just as soon as I can rid myself of the king’s chamberlain.”

“Too soon to set the place ablaze?”

She gave him a kiss on his hoary old cheek. “Just a bit too soon, Quig. Just a bit.”

“A
lex, old man, you’re looking in high spirits!” Stephen shouted as he rode free of his escort, an arm extended in a hearty greeting.

“And you as well, my liege, I’m glad to say.” Alex maneuvered his horse head-on beside the king and shook his hand, truly pleased to see him in excellent health. “Welcome to Carrisford.”

Stephen squinted ahead at the neatly timbered pickets of the castle, just visible on the hill above the bay. “’Tis looking well from this distance.”

“Aye. In spite of Rufus and the rest of his ill-gotten brethren. You didn’t warn me of its sorry condition, my liege.”

Steven eyed him with a wise smile on his weathered face. “Would that have mattered to you, Alex?”

“Not in the least.” Alex smiled back, never surprised at Stephen’s insight. “Come, I’ll show you.”

“Besides, Alex, I knew very little myself.” The king followed Alex along the narrow foot track.

“Utterly undefended, nearly indefensible when I arrived. Bloody hell, as I wrote in my report to you, I merely rode through the front gate. Little bloodshed—”

“And no hostages, as usual. Hostages are a lucrative bounty, Alex.” But Stephen knew the reason that the practice repelled him.

Alex held aside a branch as Stephen led his horse through the track, formed a sober reply. “Hardly a crowd worthy of a ransom anyway.”

“Ah, but what about the Carrisford wardship itself, Alex? I hope it’s been worth your efforts, and not a dark hole in the ground.”

Talia’s remarkable smile came to him, her kiss the night before. “Most definitely worth the effort.”

“Then you ease my mind, boy.” Stephen turned back in his saddle as Alex came forward, with a question that Alex had fully anticipated. “So I suppose you plan to marry the woman yourself.”

However certain he’d been of the question, Alex hadn’t been prepared for the dryness of his mouth as he answered with a shake of his head, “No, my liege.”

Stephen gave an unkingly snort. “Rumors are
that she’s a raging beauty, Alex. Are you sure you won’t take her for yourself?”

“Quite certain.” He couldn’t—not when everything had fallen so perfectly into place. “It was never in my plans to marry my ward.”

Stephen gave him a long, practiced eye. “Is she a shrew then, Alex?”

Alex smiled broadly, aware of a sudden warmth in his chest, the memory of the woman’s power to topple his composure with her maddeningly impeccable logic. With the sweetly heated scent of her as they wrestled with the accounts and the war, over buckets of nails and the weather.

“Lady Talia is independent-minded, Your Grace. Stubborn and spirited and too quick for her own good, but she’s far,
far
from a shrew.”

“Ah, then the rumors are false and the woman is too hard on the eye?”

Soft and sultry and golden-skinned. “On the contrary, my liege. As easy as the dawn.”

“All these sterling attributes and you’ve no plans to marry the girl?”

Alex had been staring up at the castle, at his banner floating freely above the gatehouse tower. “Carrisford is not for me, Stephen.”

Stephen stopped his horse and took a long, assessing look at Alex. “Meaning?”

“You know very well that I’m looking for a
larger holding, Stephen. Carrisford is insignificant. It carries no title. Little power.”

“True.” Stephen rode ahead through a narrow muddy patch of ground. “So you still plan to sell the wardship, as was your original intent?”

“To marry it off to a suitable knight.” Alex caught up with the king. “One loyal to you, of course.”

Fierce and determined and strong and capable of protecting everyone and everything that Talia held dear.

“Have you a particular candidate in mind?”

The thought brought on unwanted images: rushlight and a tousled counterpane and Talia’s sighing laughter. “I assume Conrad is with you.”

“Conrad Fitz Warren?” Stephen sent a glance toward the trailing retinue, then nodded. “A good man, if you mean him, Alex. An excellent choice.”

A chill settled across his shoulders, a foreboding that usually signaled a blindside attack. He whirled in his saddle, before he realized that he was nowhere near a battlefield, that the clanging sound was his heart battering at his ribs.

“So he’s here with you?” Alex finally asked, feeling skittish and a bit dazed.

“Aye, Conrad is here. And doubtless in the market for a worthy bride such as the one you’ve described.”

Alex searched for a measure of relief and found
only a sinking sense of loss, of wrongness that he couldn’t afford to explore.

“I’m glad you approve, my liege, and I think you’ll be pleased with the progress I’ve made restoring Carrisford’s defenses.”

Alex tried to make little of this peculiarly possessive feeling of pride at the neatness of the village, the glitter of helms on the ramparts, at Stephen’s own banner now flying beside his own, but higher.

He searched the incline and the gatehouse and the towers for Talia, certain he would see her watching for the entourage.

She’d promised a welcome befitting a king, and though he knew it galled her to invite the war into her home, he trusted her to keep her word.

Stephen seemed pleased at the turnout of villagers, amused at the proud young man who offered up a leather pouch.

“Lavender, Your Grace. With the compliments of my mother, the herbalist.”

Ever the king, Stephen stopped in front of the young man, opened the pouch and sniffed. “Excellent, young man. My compliments to your dear mother.”

Others crowded around, offering small tokens from the village.

A finely tooled tin cup, a thick beeswax candle, sugared plums.

A fine show of pomp and devotion on Talia’s part, obviously pleasing to the unsuspecting king, but deepening Alex’s own suspicion because he knew the woman would try most anything if she thought she had a chance to succeed, to make all the hurt and horror disappear.

The sky rumbled and quickly clouded over as Alex followed the king as they continued through the parade of celebrating onlookers, finally crossing the drawbridge and riding into the bailey.

Stephen dismounted and looked around him in admiration. “Blazes, Alex! You’ve done a right fine job with this castle, and in damn little time. Takes a bloody good commander to manage it. What is your secret?”

“Loyal and skilled men-at-arms, my liege.” Alex caught the king’s saddlepack as his squire untied it, then hoisted it over his shoulder. “Cooperative tenants.”

“And a devilish mind for politics and negotiation, Alex!” The king clapped him on the back and started through the barbican. “Come show me the rest of your marvel, then we’ll talk about the spring campaign and a certain father who might be persuaded to part with a particular heiress for the right price and a request from a grateful king.”

“Bloody good to see you, Alex!”

Damnation. He’d been avoiding Conrad since
the crowd of Stephen’s knights and his own had begun collecting in the courtyard.

Alex turned sharply, grabbing Conrad’s outstretched hand and shaking it hard. A soldier’s greeting, with a lot of backslapping.

“Conrad, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Nearly as tall as Alex, battle-hardened, slow to anger, God-fearing, gifted with good sense and good humor, wisdom and the bare-assed confidence to use them.

Does he snore?

The question had clung to him like a storm cloud.

Conrad glanced around the courtyard, grinning. “Seems this life of sleeping dry and eating regularly suits you very well, Alex.”

It all suited him far too well. He tried to sound matter-of-fact. “It does, though there are endless details and responsibilities that I’d never realized.”

“But in all, you do recommend it?” It galled Alex to see Conrad studying the pickets and the stables, making an uninvited assessment.

“Aye, Conrad, I recommend it.” Bloody hell, this was to be his interview of Conrad, not the reverse. “Have you ever thought to take up a holding yourself?”

“In keeping a garrison and accounting for swine, Alex? Commanding a castle of my own? Are you mad?”

A flood of relief swept against Alex’s chest. “If you’re not interested in such a life…”

“Oh, but I bloody well am. You look fat and well contented, man. Happier than I’ve seen you for years. I’d gladly take such a chance as you have done.”

Bloody hell. “Would you, then?”

Alex was about to turn the conversation back toward the subject when Stephen came up between them, his eyes full of mischief. “Well, Alex, have you told Conrad of your plans for his purse?”

“What plans?” Conrad waved off the suggestion. “If it’s a horse you’re trying to pawn off on me, Alex, I’ve no need for a new one. I’m quite happy with the destrier I stole out of the earl of Gloucester’s own stables.”

“Great God, Alex. Does the woman truly resemble a horse? Is that why you’ve kept her hidden?”

“What woman?” Conrad asked, glancing between them.

Alex frowned at his nosy king. “I hadn’t had the chance to present Conrad the offer, my liege.”

“Why the hell not? You’re so ready to rid yourself of the woman.”

Both men were staring at him; Stephen with an unrepentant smile of triumph, Conrad with too much interest.

“What His Grace is talking about, Conrad, is
this
”—Alex raised his hands, indicating the court
yard and the battlements and so much more than that—“Carrisford itself, the castle, the village, and its entailing wardship.”

“Ah, yes! I recall now, Alex. You’ve become guardian to…whom?”

A handful of sunlight. “To the lady Talia, heiress to Carrisford.”

“A lady?”

“And not a horse at all,” Stephen said, patting Conrad on the back, “according to Alex.”

“Oh?” Conrad’s gaze sharpened. “And what has my particular purse to do with this lady, Alex?”

Yes, this
was
the right move, despite the bank of coals lodged in his gut, and the lagging of his pulse. It was going well.

“You haven’t married or gotten yourself betrothed since last we saw each other, have you, Conrad?

“Why? Have you taken to matchmaking, Alex? Have you found me a wife?”

The words lodged in his throat; he forced them out. “And a castle, if you’re interested. Carrisford—it has served me well, but I’ve no plans to keep it—”

“—Or the lady Talia,” Stephen said, fixing Alex with a hard gaze.

“However, His Grace has given me leave to arrange a marriage between my ward and a suitable bridegroom.”

Conrad preened. “And you mean to say, Alex, you believe that I am suitable to marry your ward?”

Alex forced himself to ignore the prickling anger at Conrad’s easy reaction, the rocky feeling of the ground falling away. “Indeed, Conrad. For the right price, of course.”

“And that is?”

“I’m a reasonable man, Conrad. Tour the castle while you’re here; the grounds, the defenses, the stores. Examine the accounts—”

“And meet with Lady Talia, of course,” Conrad said with a lift of a brow.

“Of course.” Alex’s heart thunked against his throat. “Then you can make an offer. Or not.”

Conrad eyed him for a long moment. “So where is this marriageable ward of yours?”

Yes, where?
“She’ll be here for tonight’s feast.”

“Is she that shy?”

“That busy, Conrad. Probably releading the chapel roof.” At least she’d bloody well better be, after promising him promptness and grace. With a feast being prepared in the kitchen and a king who’ll be peckish in no time at all.

“Your pardon, my liege,” Alex said, filling Stephen’s wine cup. “Do make yourselves comfortable in your rooms. I’ll go check on the lady’s progress.”

And she damned well better have a spotless ex
cuse for not greeting the king as befitting his ward.

As she’d promised him.

Alex is going to have me drawn and quartered. Right there in front of the king and my maybe-bridegroom.

Talia fought her sopping skirts as she climbed the stairs into her chamber.

Her bath was cold but thankfully waiting for her so she could make quick work of the mud caked into her hair. She threw off her drenched cloak and hung a water kettle over the brazier and raised a larger fire, hoping that Quigley was taking care of Brenna.

And the barley and the cheese and all her hopes to get her family through the coming winter.

“Bloody, bloody hell!” The harder she worked at loosening the knotted leather ties at the bodice of her kirtle, the more her fingers stiffened. Bending as close to the brazier as she dared, Talia cursed the sudden chilling breeze at her back that made her shiver, then heard the door shut quietly.

Alex! She could hear him breathing far too steadily, his temper under tight control.

Better to face the beast full on. She turned, never ready for the dizzying power of his gaze, its staggering darkness when he was angry. Or disappointed.

“Ah, Alex! I assume the king has arrived and is
comfortable. I was just—” She stopped because his anger seemed ready to overtake her, his eyes darkly glittering shards of ice.

“Is this the way you keep your promises, madam?”

She wished he had bellowed instead of leveling his voice as he scanned the length of her, his eyes catching every leaf and clot of mud.

“Well, Alex, I…uhm…” Her brain had emptied, and he was on her in the next instant, his wall of heat overwhelming the fire in the brazier behind her, making it impossible not to look up into his blazing eyes.

His breath puffed at her lashes and he whispered through his teeth, “You promised that you would greet the king with all due respect. For
me
, Talia.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Alex. I was taking—”

“You promised that you would honestly represent my interests—”

“I will.”

“And that you would not send Conrad running in fear and loathing.” His teeth were shiny white as he glared down at her. “Your very words, spoken right here only last evening, if you recall.”

“I do recall, Alex.” She couldn’t look directly into his dark eyes, for fear of losing her will and her reason. “Believe me, I’m doing my best to—”