Claire Delacroix (22 page)

“Me?” I was tempted, sorely tempted, to break my vow to Merlyn and tell Mavella all I knew. But he had crippled me with only part of his own tale and I had heard enough this day to know that matters could be entirely different than I believed. I did not know what havoc I might wreak with such a confession.

I could not guess what price Tynan might be compelled to pay if I broke my pledge to Merlyn.

Mavella tsk-tsk’d, oblivious to the chaos of my thoughts. “Your lip is cut and your knee is bleeding.”

“I fell,” I lied. “Upon those very stairs.” I feigned dizziness, feeling somewhat weak in the knees in truth. “I must have hit my head.”

Mavella rushed to my side, taking my hand in hers, her eyes widening. “But you are filthy, as well!”

“I suppose Ada has not cleaned the corners of late.”

She seized my elbow as if I were an invalid. “Come, sit on the bed. Let me tend to you...”

And so my sister was easily distracted from the evidence that did not entirely mesh with my hastily concocted tale. I was sickened, not only by my failure to retrieve Tynan but the fact that I told my sister a new lie.

It was Merlyn Lammergeier who made a liar of me, as always it had been, Merlyn whose deeds trapped me in a web of falsehoods that grew ever tighter around me.

* * *

We were in the hall, much later, before Mavella noticed Tynan’s absence. The boy never missed a meal, even at home, and Ravensmuir’s board tempted him to something akin to gluttony.

“Rhys Fitzwilliam has taken him with him on a journey to a neighboring keep,” Ada informed my sister sourly. I had only a moment to wonder whether the tale was her own concoction or the one told to her before my sister touched my arm.

“But how? But why?” Mavella’s grip tightened when I dropped my gaze, damning myself by my inability to hold her eye. “You knew of this!”

Yet again Merlyn’s choices made a liar of me. I could not tell the truth without potentially endangering Tynan.

I shrugged, sickened by my part in this. “Tynan wished to learn to ride.” It was the best explanation I could concoct so quickly as that.

My sister was incredulous. “But alone, with Fitz, a man we have not seen in years? How do we know that he will heed Fitz’s instructions - and that Fitz knows much of boys? And riding? Ysabella, he could be sorely injured.” She seized my hand, her gaze searching mine. “We have never been parted since Tynan’s birth. What compelled you to this choice?”

I had to look away. “Your tale of bleeding the horses made me realize it was time he lingered with men, instead of solely in the company of women.” I spoke as calmly as I could manage. “He is becoming a man himself, Mavella, and must know of things we cannot teach him.”

She folded her hands together tightly at that, her expression prim. She did not approve, I knew this, just as I knew that the greater part of her disapproval was caused by what she saw as my failure to include her in my decision.

But she did not know that it had not been my decision.

As I picked at my meal, I wished with all my heart and soul that I truly was a witch. That way, I might raise my hand in the old hex and know that I would have restitution from my husband’s sorry hide.

* * *

I ate little that night and slept less. The food was as sawdust in my mouth and I could not have even told you then what it was. There was no chatter between Mavella and I, though she turned the occasional weighty glance of accusation upon me.

I was heartsick, and my sense of ill only increased once I returned to my chamber alone. My confidence eroded badly when Merlyn did not appear, for it was evidence that he had left Ravensmuir in truth, and thus I fretted the night away. Where had they gone?

What would Merlyn do to Tynan?

I had my answer in the early hours of the morning, as unwelcome as it was. My restlessness had brought me to the great hall. I looked across the sea beyond the courtyard, seeking answers in the dance of the moonlight upon the waves.

The sea sparkled, silvered by the caress of the moon’s light, and rolled as the tide retreated. My gaze rested repeatedly upon the dark silhouette of the ship anchored offshore, the ship that Ada claimed had brought Merlyn to Ravensmuir. I had an inkling of an idea then, but there was no time for a plan to form in my addled thoughts.

The sails began to unfurl. I did not believe my eyes. I blinked and stared, but I made no mistake. It was as if a shadowy crew stole the ship by the night, but I knew that Merlyn would never permit such a deed.

As I watched, transfixed and powerless, the sails billowed and swelled. Slowly, silently, as if snared in a dream, the ship began to sail to the east. I watched the ship depart upon the tide, powerless to halt its course.

With startling clarity, I understood. Merlyn had ensured that I could neither retrieve Tynan or argue further with him. My husband had stolen my brother and sailed away.

I cried out as I clutched the sill. I knew then that I might never see Tynan again. The sea, after all, is a perilous mistress, one that could seize an unexpected toll even if Merlyn had chosen to let the boy live. And I had no faith that my husband would make such a choice.

I had failed Tynan utterly, failed to protect him, failed to ensure his safety, failed to keep him fast by my side. I had failed in the only responsibility of consequence that I had ever been granted.

Worse, there was nothing I could do to repair the matter. It was my darkest fear brought to life.

A cold resolve settled within me as the ship faded out of sight. I took a deep breath and straightened with newfound purpose. There was one thing I could do. I would solve the riddle Merlyn had set before me.

I was not consoled that my decision was precisely as Merlyn had intended it to be. I could have hated him anew, but instead, Merlyn’s tale of his father came unbidden to me. Indeed, my spouse had learned early that the only way to ensure that someone did your bidding was to leave that person no other alternatives.

It was bittersweet to see that I could have shown Merlyn otherwise and averted the hardship Tynan would be forced to bear.

It was bitter to realize that I had probably been my spouse’s sole chance of reform only as Merlyn left my side, perhaps forever.

* * *

December 28

The Feast of Holy Innocents

“Childermas Day”

* * *

VIII

There must be a rule, writ somewhere, that once one makes an enemy of another soul, one will eventually require that very person’s aid in some critical undertaking. As the sun turned morning’s skies to brilliant blue, I realized that the key in solving Merlyn’s riddle might be held by Ada Gowan.

I would have to solicit her assistance.

I grit my teeth and donned my old blue kirtle, hoping that Ada might be more inclined to confide in me if I dressed as if I had just come from the village. It was a slender hope, as we had never been confidants, but my wearing the elegant garb of my new station was fairly certain to raise her ire.

I could not guess how Merlyn would know when I completed the task he set before me, but he was not a man who left loose ends. Perhaps Fitz lurked in the shadows with some means of sending word to his master. Perhaps Merlyn meant to return after some specified time. It mattered little - I would complete this task in haste to ensure that Tynan was returned as quickly as possible.

I combed and braided my hair, then made my way to the kitchens. If I did not hasten, it was because I was undecided how best to approach the matter.

Ada charted my course.

She straightened, her eyes flicking fire, then turned her back upon me. “If you have come for your pledge of fealty, then it will have to wait until the bread is baking and the meat is upon the spit,” she said by way of greeting. “Or the fine nobles of this abode will find the board bare at midday, my lady.” The title she spat, though I expected little else.

I seated myself beside the table smoothed by years of use and arranged my skirts as if untroubled. “I can wait for your attentiveness, though I have come for another matter altogether.”

She spared me a suspicious glance, though it was clear that her curiosity was awakened. “And what might that be?”

I smiled serenely. “I should not wish to disturb you from your tasks, Ada. Tell me, is there any aid I might offer to you?”

She was in the midst of cutting fat from a hind of venison but fairly slammed the knife onto the board at my offer. “Oh, I see how your plan unfolds, you need have no fear of that! You sweetly offer aid, then will find fault with me for not managing this household myself. You will not send me from the gates, but will humiliate me first, laying too many burdens upon my shoulders then blaming me for my own inability to complete them all. I see the workings of your mind, Ysabella, and you do not fool me.”

She snatched up the knife and waved it under my nose, her malice washing over me in waves. “But I shall thwart you, this you shall see. I shall fulfill every one of my responsibilities and you will have no cause for complaint, no charge to make against my services. You will not have the best of me!”

It was on my lips to ask why she cared to prove herself instead of simply leaving, but I realized that Ada might have as much need of me as I had need of her.

Perhaps she had no other place to go. Certainly if she had directed her venom at others as she had with my small family, the hills might be rife with her enemies.

I chose not to pursue that matter, just as I did not comment upon the sudden appearance of a full hind. No doubt she intended this meat for Merlyn’s return - and now, it would only spoil if not cooked. I guessed that she granted me the leavings, and only prepared such a roast because she had no choice.

“Surely Merlyn would have allowed you to have a village lass or two to aid you?”

“I have no need of prying eyes and loose tongues around my kitchen, of that you may be certain.”

Her brother shouldered his way through the door to the bailey, burdened with firewood. Ada hastened to his side to direct him. At her command, Arnulf set to stacking the wood beside the hearth, his gaze straying repeatedly to me. I ignored him, though it was uncomfortably silent until he completed his task and left. I plucked a dried fig from the bowl there and made much of eating the luxurious treat.

Ada’s lip curled as she watched me. “Savor your pleasures while you can, Ysabella.”

“What is that to mean?”

“You are no more a noblewoman than I, indeed even less so. This will not endure.”

“I am not the first to elevate my circumstance by marriage, and the fact remains that Ravensmuir’s seal and deed both rest in my care.”

Too late I recalled that I had left Merlyn’s box in the solar, though I had locked the door behind myself and I wore the cord with the key. As Ada’s eyes gleamed, I wondered how many keys to that chamber there might be.

Perhaps Merlyn’s warning had not been a vain one.

Ada grimly stirred up the coals and hefted the meat onto the spit, then placed the spit over the fire. She turned the spit, watching as the flames seared the outside of the roast. The meat sputtered and sizzled, the fat hissed as it fell.

I forced myself to be conciliatory. “You can have aid in the kitchens, Ada, if you desire it.”

“And you will enjoy that you can accuse me of becoming old and feeble and incompetent.”

“I will enjoy that those beneath my hand are not overly burdened.”

“Perhaps I like the burden,” she retorted. “Perhaps it is not so much more work to have you and your sister here than my lord Merlyn and his manservant.” She spared me another knowing glance. “Perhaps you will not remain here any longer than they ever did.”

I bent my attention upon the figs though I was intrigued by her inference. If I showed too much interest, Ada would confide nothing simply to vex me. “I thought Merlyn had not been here in five years.”

Ada laughed, and it was a harsh sound. “You think he cannot have been here, because he did not seek you out! He was here, though it will not do your pride any favor to know of it.”

“I could hardly be insulted if he came but once and for so short duration that he could not make his way to Kinfairlie village.” My heart was pounding as I said this so very idly.

Ada turned, eyes flashing. “He came more than once!” she cried, triumphant. “And each time, he remained for a fortnight, if not more. That was more than ample time to get himself to Kinfairlie village, if he had so desired.”

She leaned over me and I felt the heat of her breath. “You had best face the truth of it, Ysabella - if you had not left Merlyn, he would have discarded you. He knew that you were not a worthy bride for a man of his rank and wealth. No doubt your departure saved him an unpleasant task.”

I managed to look disappointed, if perplexed.

Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Is it not true, Ysabella, that he left you cold in your nuptial bed all those years ago? Is it not true that he tired of you even in that fortnight? One might ask who had abandoned who.”

I met her gaze steadily, refusing to rise to her bait and doubly glad Merlyn had confided the tale of his father to me. I spoke with a sweetness I did not feel. “But Ada, if he had no regard for me, then why did he leave Ravensmuir to my hand?”

“Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“Do you call Fitz a liar?”

“Perhaps my lord Merlyn did not mean to die.” She turned back to the meat and said nothing more. I could fairly hear her thinking, - without doubt, she knew more than what she had already revealed.

I rose, feigning interest in the kitchen’s contents. I touched this and that, sniffed the bread appreciatively, picked up one utensil after another. She watched me covertly, her expression oddly reminiscent of that of her brother, and feigned fascination with the hind. Her back was straight and stiff, her disapproval of my presence more than clear.

What had Merlyn done here on his visits? Why had he come?