Claire Delacroix (29 page)

I guessed that my powerful neighbors, both the Earl of March and the Earl of Douglas, sent word of their pending arrival. Their messengers raced to recount their lord’s plans first in my hall.

Had Colin not warned me that Ravensmuir’s wealth made it a coveted prize? I wondered to which man Ravensmuir had been pledged. Did the earls come to secure my pledge of fealty? Did they intend to wrest Ravensmuir from my grip if I did not do their bidding?

And how would I see both men sated with one keep to pledge?

I drummed my fingertips upon the sill. I would need cunning, for I had neither military forces nor the ability to glean whatever secrets lay in Ravensmuir’s deed.

Unless they sought the prized relic and not Ravensmuir at all.

My heart lodged in my throat. I dressed hastily but with care, then gave my ring a rub to ensure that any saintly aid was solicited early. I had no doubt that I would need it.

I paused on the threshold of the hall to consider my course. I was without courtiers, without servants, without allies, but I was not entirely without defenses. I had my wits, I had the contents of Merlyn’s box, I had the ring upon my finger.

And several hundred armed men were undoubtedly on their way to my door. My spirit quailed.

A ring was well and good, but I would have a protector with sharper teeth at my side. I fetched some scraps of meat from the kitchen and went to the stables to befriend Merlyn’s hound.

Let the heralds wait for the Lady of Ravensmuir.

* * *

The dog greeted me at the door of the stables, its tail wagging so hard that it could hardly walk. The meat disappeared in short order and my fingers were licked with great delight. I was delighted myself to be remembered with such favor.

It had been long since any had been so glad to see me as this wolfhound upon this day. I made a fuss over it, which it seemed to welcome, then pushed the wiry silver hair back from its eyes. There was cleverness in its gaze, along with canine devotion, and I hoped it would see fit to protect me, should the need arise. The creature seemed to smile at me, its eyes shining and its tail whipping back and forth. It was lean for all its size, too lean as I could feel its ribs.

No wonder it had welcomed both me and the meat.

It left my side suddenly and cocked a leg, keeping one eye upon me lest I escape while it both relieved itself and made its gender clear. I whistled and stepped into the stables with it fast at my heels, for I meant to seek Merlyn’s portal to the labyrinth.

I froze just over the threshold, for I was not alone. A boy’s dark head bobbed at the far end of the stalls. The hound darted past me and I followed, emboldened by its lack of concern. I recognized Arnulf’s voice when he greeted the dog with some incomprehensible sound. The dog barked at him in delight, then ran back to me, nudging me onward.

Arnulf watched my progress with suspicion in his gaze. It was his task that snared my attention more effectively than his presence. He was brushing down the great black destrier, which had clearly been running. The steed was still in a lather and its coat glistened from its exertions.

I remembered all too well the thunder of hoof beats that had invaded my dreams and now identified the source of the sound. I feared again that Merlyn’s steed was present while he was not. Had he been assaulted again - this time, fatally?

I took a wide path around the stall, aware that Arnulf watched me as warily as I watched him. He grunted and worked steadily, even when I paused beside him.

The dog sat upon my foot and leaned its entire body against me. If I took one sidelong step, the creature would have collapsed in a heap, but the contact was not unwelcome.

“Who ran the horse, Arnulf?” I asked quietly, doubting that Ada’s brother had the skill or the audacity to ride his lord’s prized stallion.

Arnulf shook his head and frowned. He grunted and brushed the sleek steed, as if I were not there. He moved more quickly though, his agitation evident.

The stallion tossed its head, whinnied and flared its nostrils. It was evidently prepared to run yet more, so it could not have travelled far. The dog, oblivious to my concerns, rubbed the back of its head against my leg, begging for a scratch.

For all the cozy domesticity of my surroundings, my wound itched with vigor. I felt unseen eyes again watching my every move, though I told myself it was only because Merlyn had first surprised me in this very place.

All the same, my words fell from my lips in haste. “Have you seen my lord Merlyn this day, Arnulf?”

Arnulf shook his head as if he would force the sound of my voice from his ears. He scowled fiercely and moved around the stallion, putting the steed’s bulk between us. The horse stamped with impatience and fought the bit.

I dreaded that Merlyn lay in a ditch once again, this time without Fitz to retrieve him, with none to guess where he had gone.

But I would have no information from this boy. I folded my arms across my chest and frowned, speaking as much to myself as to Ada’s brother. “Truly, none could choose a safer confidant than you, Arnulf.”

He regarded me balefully over the stallion’s rump, then ducked his head out of sight. I exhaled and tapped my toe with an impatience of my own. What could I do?

I strode to the wall that had opened at Merlyn’s command and ran my hands over its surface. I could find no way to open it, of course, a fact that did little to ease my agitation.

Had Merlyn surrendered so many secrets to me, because he feared that he embarked upon a mission of no return?

Why had he not simply told me as much?

Why did Merlyn persist in such cursed secrecy? It was infuriating that he kept his secrets so secure, leaving none to chance to betray him, but also ensuring that none could aid him. Was he truly witless enough to think himself invincible?

I could have throttled the man from frustration and concern for his wretched hide. I pounded upon the wood, finding where it echoed hollowly and beating there as loudly as I could. “Merlyn!” I shouted. “I demand admittance! Merlyn!”

Arnulf wailed in protest, but I ignored him. The hound snuffled the ground directly at the base of this place, then snorted and stepped back.

I looked down, saw the blood and knew the worst.

I bent and rubbed the fresh blood between my fingers. It was wet, but not warm and there was more of it than I would have preferred. Merlyn was here, but injured.

And alone.

A frenzy seized me then and I flung myself at the barrier between us. I pounded and I kicked and I screamed. “Merlyn! You must let me aid you! Merlyn, you cannot crawl into a hole to die like a hound!”

Arnulf cried out. The dog barked, its eyes bright.

When Merlyn did not reply, I feared that he could not do so.

My voice sharpened in fear. “Merlyn! Open this portal and open it immediately!” I beat upon the door with increasing frustration when it did not open and none replied, my voice rising higher. “Merlyn! Merlyn!”

Arnulf bellowed, I heard him running toward me. I rapped again and would have shouted, but the boy grabbed me with startling strength and flung me against the wall. The breath was stolen from my chest and I saw stars before my eyes.

Arnulf’s fingers locked around my wrist, and he forcibly halted my knocking. When I rallied to fight him, he pulled me bodily away from the wall and cast me across the stable. I fell against the nearest stall, then glanced up with fear. He balanced himself upon the balls of his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching, his gaze fixed upon me.

I forced myself to my feet, bracing myself for another assault. I moved slowly and deliberately, so as not to provoke him though I had no faith the tactic would work.

We stared at each other, breathing raggedly, for a long moment. Then Arnulf was snatching up the stained straw, gathering what was marked with blood and clutching it to his chest. He worked back and forth, muttering to himself in consternation, collecting all evidence of Merlyn’s passing. It seemed sufficient to him that I was away from the hidden portal.

I realized my own stupidity and his cleverness. Arnulf did not wish me to betray his lord’s presence. He had seen Merlyn, of course, watched Merlyn retreat safely into hiding, but I risked all by shouting of Merlyn’s presence.

He had stopped me in the only way he could. I watched him remove the evidence of Merlyn’s presence and knew that no man could expect greater loyalty from another.

Arnulf completed his collection, then fell to his knees before me, shaking his head repeatedly as he held the straw tightly. He knew he had done wrong by touching me, though I could not fault his impulse.

He stretched out one hand in entreaty, begging me incoherently not to condemn him, and I saw that there were tears in his eyes. He made a mournful sound over and over again, a sound that might have been an entreaty.

The hound sat and watched us both.

“I will not hurt you, Arnulf,” I whispered. He rocked, flicking fearful glances at me. He shook his head mournfully and tightened his grip upon the straw.

I lifted one hand over his shoulder, reaching for the wall once more to test my interpretation. He wailed, then snatched at my wrist and forced my hand back toward myself. As soon as I pulled my hand back, he released me. He folded his arms across his chest, clutching the straw, and rocked more agitatedly, flinching when my gaze fell upon him.

He feared I would strike him for touching me.

Yet he feared even more that I would betray Merlyn by revealing the secret labyrinth.

“Merlyn is fortunate to have such a loyal soul in his abode as you, Arnulf,” I said. He looked up at me, as if unable to credit my words. How much did he understand? I smiled at him and he caught his breath, looking away as a dull flush rose on his neck. “Is Merlyn good to you?”

Arnulf glanced tellingly to the stallion then back to me.

“Does he let you ride the beast?”

A shine came into Arnulf’s eyes. Perhaps Merlyn took him into the saddle with him, perhaps he let the boy mount the steed. Whatever the details, it was clear that Arnulf loved the horse and that Merlyn was kind to the boy.

I crouched near him and took his hand.

“I thank you for your warning,” I said softly as he watched me. “I understand your concern. I should not try to open the portal, not with strangers at our gates, and I will not do so. You were right to give me such counsel.” I rose to my feet and offered him my hand. “Come, we shall burn the straw so that none see it.”

He was more than compliant in this, leading me with all the enthusiasm of a pup to the cold smithy at the end of the stables. He piled the straw in the blackened space used for the fire, touched the flint still hanging upon the wall with hesitant fingertips, then turned hopefully to me.

He understood more than I had realized, and he must have been forbidden to deal with fire. Or perhaps he once had burned himself. At any rate, he would not touch the flint.

I struck a flame and touched it to the dry straw. Arnulf hovered beside me, watching and pointing worriedly to snippets of straw that escaped the hungry flames. I pushed them back into the fire with the armorer’s tongs, until the fire extinguished itself for lack of fuel and Arnulf was satisfied.

He grunted and dashed past me, back to the stables and his unfinished labor. I followed more cautiously, still aware of the weight of his gaze. I trusted him, just as the dog trusted him, just as the stallion trusted him, just as Merlyn trusted him. I suspected that Arnulf had not been spared many kind words in his day.

Ada was his guardian, after all.

The stallion nickered when Arnulf stepped back into the stall and Arnulf made some guttural reply. He began to brush the beast once again, his gaze flicking once or twice to me as if he was yet uncertain of my intent.

Already it was less evident that the stallion had recently run. There was no longer any blood upon the straw and I kicked the other straw to hide any path defined by its lack. The hound thought this a repeat of our previous game, and leapt and barked, shaking mouthfuls of straw and pouncing on errant bits.

I was worried about Merlyn. How could I aid him without an entry to the labyrinth? Would he expect to meet me at the chapel? In the solar?

Had the blood come from Merlyn at all?

Or was this a ploy to feign disappearance yet again?

How I wished Arnulf could tell me more! I watched him, discontent. The stallion, perfectly content, nibbled at the boy’s hair, Arnulf made a bellow of protest and tried to duck away. The steed flicked its tail and persisted, its antics making Arnulf grin. Then he glanced at me and made a gruff sound to the horse, even as he flushed to the roots of his hair.

“My lady?” I saw Berthe’s silhouette in the portal before she saw me. I stepped forward and hailed her with a wave. “My lady, there are two heralds in the hall awaiting an audience with you.”

“Thank you.” I whistled and the dog trotted by my side. “I will come to the hall now.”

Berthe looked horrified. “Oh no, my lady, we must dress your hair properly. They are the heralds from the earls and you must appear fitting...”

“Of course.” I glanced back, oblivious to Berthe’s chatter, and saw Arnulf’s head duck behind the stallion. At least I had no fear that he would - or could - tell anyone else what he had witnessed.

It was cold comfort, for I could not guess what he knew of Merlyn’s doings, but it would have to do.

* * *

The heralds, as I had suspected, brought word of the pending arrival of their lords on the next morning. I set Ada and Berthe to work sweeping the hall, dispatched the boys to eat in the kitchen, and retired to my chamber. I hoped desperately to find Merlyn there, awaiting my aid.

I gasped aloud when I found another man lounging in the chamber beneath the solar, his boots upon a trunk. His hair was still of golden hue, his features as handsomely wrought as ever.

I distrusted his presence now, as I should have distrusted it five years before.

“Good morning to you, Gawain,” I said with a smooth smile. “What brings you to Ravensmuir?”