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Authors: Nicole Margot Spencer

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BOOK: Exile’s Bane
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“And I represent Prince Rupert’s wishes,” Duncan called out. “This house and the heiress, among other people, remain under his protection.”

“That has been made abundantly clear to me,” Gorgon rasped. He cringed in hatred and fury. To gain entry, he needed to get around us. Yet now, when he expected capitulation, he was forced to use persuasion, where normally he would simply gut any man who challenged him. I had seen him do it. His hand moved to his sword hilt, and his face curled into in an intense sneer. “However, I do not conduct talks with subordinates. Your prince and I will discuss this matter . . . upon his return. Move aside.”

“Take no liberties, Gorgon,” Duncan said, his words tense with threat. He reined back, leaving the way clear.

The steward signaled his men with a violent swing of his arm, and they clattered onto the drawbridge. Gorgon’s steed broke into a canter, but his forward momentum was cut short with a brutal wrench of the reins, directly in front of me.

“You attack the earl and dare return here?” I asked, giving him no quarter. The ripple of Kalimir’s tense muscles under my knees heightened the sense of danger that emanated from this man, and I reined him in hard.

“He lives. That between us was of no import.” He looked me over once more with an intense smile. “My dear beloved, why are you here at the gate astride that horse? I am impressed at your ardor, but don’t ladies generally greet their loved ones at the house steps?”

“I have no need or desire for you, Edward Gorgon. I reject your suit. And, by the by, I follow no one’s rules, maybe especially yours.”

“A worthy bride.” His smile widened. A thin tongue licked at dried, barely visible lips within his beard, bushier than when I had seen him last.

Disgusted, I touched my spurs to Kalimir’s flanks and he leapt away, carrying me through the inner gates. There, Thomas stood conveniently positioned at the entry steps beside the countess. The two of them eyed one another in choked distress, then gawked in unison as I flew by.

Peg had left Annie in our rooms dressed suitably in one of my old serge gowns that buttoned to the neck. Rosemunde must have done her hair, for the girl’s straight blond tresses were pulled into a neat knot at the base of her skull. Her welcoming smirk and duly lowered eyes greeted me when I entered our rooms.

“A lady we have here now,” I said in a kindly fashion, still struggling to befriend the girl. “Where has Peg gone?”

“She didna say,” she said with a glare at me. Her gaze followed me around the room. She lowered her eyes when I turned toward her. “And Duncan? I ha’ not seen him for days.”

“He is below with a guest. I shall have him look in on you. I think he will be pleased with your appearance.”

In answer, she threw her chin up in defiance, but could not quell the pleased blush that crept into her cheeks.

I stripped off my riding habit and changed into a simple black housedress. The girl remained standing, awaiting something. Her tenacious eyes followed me intently.

“If I take you to the mid-day meal, will you behave?” I had a secondary motive in this offer, but Annie desperately needed to get out and practice her new-found skills, though her language would take considerably more work. She had been at Tor House for almost two weeks now. Despite her initial pouting ways, she was actually quite intelligent. She had shown a clear aptitude for and interest in learning, though she had remained sequestered in our rooms, her meals brought to her, allowed out only on short forays with myself or Peg. This was the case, not to confine her, but to protect her in her early learning stages from Marie Louise’s acid tongue.

Her face brightened. “Will Duncan be there?” she asked.

“Possibly. But you must keep silent and act the part of a lady, as Peg and I have taught you. No swinging hips and no fingers in the food.”

“I promise, Lady Elena,” she said fervently, though distrust of me remained in her strange hazel eyes.

“Let me see your curtsy. Good. Just a little wobbly. Let us go to the gallery and practice, shall we?”

As it turned out, Duncan was not present in the gallery. It was not uncommon for him to take his food throughout the day straight from the kitchen, as Wallace did on a regular basis. Beyond that, though it would be our guard captain’s responsibility to find quarters for Gorgon’s troops or to declare that they must camp outside the walls, Duncan was assuredly overseeing their disposition. Or some problem had arisen. Duncan had always insisted that house security came before all else, which I agreed with, though his presence at this time might have helped relieve my sense of looming disaster. As it was, Annie was my witness and thereby a deterrent.

I was not surprised to find Gorgon there. He lounged in the larger of the two fireplace chairs, a goblet in his hand, still in his dusty travel tunic. His helmet, breast and back plates had been thrown down beside the chair. Thomas resided in the second, smaller chair, self-congratulation written all over his face. The heavy-set countess sat, white-faced, at the family table farther down the long gallery, beyond the fireplace, and opposite the screens.

After a quick curtsy of my own, and her elbow solidly within my grasp, I presented Annie to Gorgon.

“This is Annie McGuire, a guest in this house.” I had been surprised at Annie’s surname, but accepted it without question. She was his father’s sister’s child, Duncan had informed me. “Annie, this is Steward Gorgon, of the Isle of Man.”

I released her and Annie dropped into a tight little curtsy. She arose with a flush of success and, after a similar introduction to Thomas, I urged her toward the long sideboard, which was crammed with sliced veal, pulled pork, a small wheel of cheese, a huge meat pie, loaves of hot bread, a tray of comfits, and several beakers of wine. Despite her disappointment at not finding Duncan present in the gallery, she stepped forward sedately, took a plate, served herself a portion of the meat pie with the appropriate utensil, then took a seat at the table, looking lost and hungry.

I lingered at the sideboard, where I carefully sliced myself a piece of bread, and with a pointed table knife politely stabbed a few slices of the thin-sliced, succulent veal and took a wedge of cheese, after which I joined Annie and the countess at the table, where tall, pewter tumblers of water were set at each place setting.

The countess sat at the head of the table. She ate her meal, ignoring our presence, though the white face I had seen on our entry into the room was now a brilliant pink.

“I understand from the steward,” the countess said with a sudden explosion of breath, her small eyes gleaming. She indicated Gorgon with an adjustment of her gaze in his direction. “. . . that Captain Comrie was deprecatory and overbearing at the gate.”

I leaned across the table into her line of sight. “The captain was doing his duty, Aunt.”

“Duty, you say?”

The clank of Marie Louise’s spoon thrust down onto the table startled Annie, who jumped, her glowing skin suddenly pale.

“Things have changed, my dear,” the countess prated on.

“Not at all,” Gorgon interrupted in an amiable manner. “Let the good captain run his ship.”

“This ship is my home,” I stated flatly in answer to Gorgon, though my gaze remained relentlessly on Annie across the table from me.

“Of course,” he said, in pompous irritation. “But I have received intelligence on my ride from the coast that Prince Rupert holds Liverpool. Once the prince returns—”

“I shall report the captain and his abominable treatment of myself, and of you, Steward, directly to my cousin.” Marie Louise threw a condescending nod toward Gorgon.

It amazed me that she dared interrupt him, no matter how covert her true intent. How could she not know of his brutal nature?

“And then we shall see who controls the house and the entry of guests,” the countess finished, with a flat-lipped frown directed at Annie, whose gaze remained locked on her food.

Gorgon glared at the countess in silent menace, his mouth clamped shut, his chapped right hand twitching.

“I feel certain,” she continued blithely, “from your detailed description of the event that prompted your recent departure from this place that the earl will in fact completely agree with you, enforce the terms of the betrothal, and you shall finally be married.”

Astonished at her words, I twisted my head at her with a frown of disbelief.

Gorgon sat up in his chair and bowed his head toward my obese aunt, who returned his bow with a look of flushed victory.

“Thank you, Countess. You describe my thoughts exactly.” His gaze floated beyond the countess to me, where he raised his eyebrows knowingly, and then went on to survey Annie, who discreetly lowered her eyes, struggling to retain her ladylike conduct, yet unsure how to react.

“I was deeply hurt that Captain Comrie suspected me of attempting, of all things, to attack this fortress,” he continued in a heavy, grating voice, though his complete lack of sincerity amazed me. “I could not so much as scratch the walls, if you, Countess, chose to prevent me. Your understanding and deeply felt respect warm me.” His manner changed abruptly to angry invective. “You see, I will take what I want in my own good time. I am destined to rule and I find it hard to accept restraint forced upon me by such lowly creatures as that heathen captain.” A loud laugh lightened his intensity. “He is no more than a cowardly underling attempting to usurp your authority, Countess.”

“Yes, dear Steward, how right you are,” Marie Louise crooned in an appreciative gush of relief. She pushed her plate imperiously aside and left the table to join Gorgon in the nest of chairs around the cold hearth.

I stared back and forth between the two of them, at their insane presumption that I, whose house this was, was not even present.

But Gorgon hauled his big frame out of the chair where he had remained up to this time. He put his empty goblet on the table, went to the sideboard, and took a large helping of meat pie, the remainder of the cheese, and cut himself three thick slices of bread.

“Come, Thomas, eat.”

It was unlike Thomas to refrain from eating any food available, wherever he found it. Now that Gorgon had invited him, he jumped up, took a plate, and joined the steward at the sideboard.

A loud “humph” issued from the countess, left alone and awkward in her chair before the fireplace.

Plates full, Gorgon and Thomas came to the table and sat on each side of me in the high-backed chairs. Gorgon’s dusty sleeve rubbed against my arm.

Little Paul Simpson appeared with fresh wine and filled their waiting wine goblets. I smiled at him, for I had not seen him in some time, but he never looked up. He finished his duty and left quickly and quietly.

Annie sat opposite us. She seemed intimidated, yet entranced by Gorgon. Her cheeks plumped up now as she smiled coyly at Thomas, who reciprocated with his old arm-stretching self-appreciation.

“Hello there,” he said to Annie.

Gorgon’s hand hit the table in anger, rocking everything on it, and creating small waves in the wine goblets and water tumblers. “I did not give you permission to speak, Mr. Reedy. I must have silence while I eat.”

“Forgive me, my lord.”

Mollified by Thomas’ response, Gorgon fastidiously cut the chunk of cheese into thin slices, which he put into his meat pastry, then proceeded to take a mouthful of the pie, carefully including a cheese tidbit in each bite. Each portion was precisely followed by a small chunk of bread and chased by a measured gulp of wine. He eyed me solemnly as he ate, undoubtedly planning his next avenue of attack.

BOOK: Exile’s Bane
11.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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