Jennifer August (25 page)

Quinn nearly lost his balance and his bundle when the woman threw herself at him, engulfing them in a bear hug. He stepped back, but she followed, her face buried in
Stirling
’s lap.
Stirling
stroked her gray head and murmured soft, comforting words he could not quite make out. He stifled a sigh.

“Release me, my lord. Please,”
Stirling
added at his scowl.

“You should be abed,” he muttered, but slid her to the floor, nonetheless. She pecked him on the jaw, squelching a groan at the pain raising up on tiptoe caused.

“They worry about me, my lord. I am all they have left.” She patted Cook’s hand and led the woman to a chair, kneeling beside her.

“I am well, Cook, and home. Cease this nonsense, ‘twill only make your eyes red and your nose run.” She tipped the woman’s wobbly chins up, smiling into her teary eyes.

“Of course, my lady, ‘tis just so glad I am to have you home safely.” She drew in a deep, wavering breath, then brushed her hands along her well-stained apron. “You are right, ‘tis not crying I should be doing, but baking, and cooking.” She struggled to her feet, hugged
Stirling
one more time and ambled down the hall to the kitchens.

Stirling
remained kneeling, afraid to rise, the pain in her feet more intense and nearly unbearable. She looked down and gasped. Long bloody gouges streaked them, bits of dirt and pine needles clinging to the bottoms. She counted at least three wicked brambles in her left foot alone. How could she walk to her chambers like this? She peered over her shoulder at Quinn, biting the inside of her lip.

He raised a smug brow and she narrowed her eyes, pride surfacing quickly. She inhaled sharply and gripped the edges of the seat, mentally preparing herself for the pain about to assault her.

“Little idiot.” Quinn tugged her into his arms. “‘Tis not a weakness to ask for help,
Stirling
.”

She cut him a glare. “Aye, but ‘tis a sin to be so arrogant, I’m certain.”

“You may ask Father Tiburon, he will probably agree with you.”

He carried her up the stairs, brooking no more interruptions, staving off the staff who would speak with her with only a glare or a curt word.

He gained the second landing and immediately she looked toward Marcus’ chambers. No one stood guard outside his room. What did it mean? Had she succeeded or failed?

Quinn set her on the bed gently, then moved to the wash stand in the corner of the room. Her gaze followed him and was caught by the gaping hole in the wall where they had come for her. The door stood open and she wanted to close it, to seal forever the passages that had nearly killed both of them. She shivered, the cold creeping back into her soul.

Quinn sat next to her, drawing her bruised and injured legs over his lap. She watched, fascinated at the tenderness he displayed while he washed each cut, sluicing water along her feet, until no dirt remained. With exquisite care he dug the thorns from her flesh, pulling each out with barely a sting.

“You’ve a gentle side to you, my lord.” She stroked his arm.

He shrugged. “‘Twill need some of your handiwork, I’m afraid. A potion or healing oil perhaps.”

She nodded. “There is a bottle of liniment in my wardrobe that would suffice.”

He retrieved the lotion, applied it liberally and wrapped her feet in a clean, linen square, rubbing them lightly. The soft pressure soothed more than just her pain, nearly sending her back to sleep. Drowsily, she met his gaze, then hid a yawn behind her hand.

“I apologize, my lord. I fear I am quite exhausted.”

“As well you should be, lady-wife.” He stood and slid her under the cover of the pelt, running his hand over her hair. “Rest, Stirlng. We will talk soon.”

She fought against the slumber calling her, she must tell him of Marcus. Wanted to ask about his parents. Warn him of Calvin.
Stirling
forced open her eyes, but he was already gone.

Instead Millane stood above her, watching her closely. When their eyes met, the maid’s face brightened, chasing away her dour expression. “I am happy for your safe return, my lady.”

“As am I, Millane. Thanks to my husband. And Snow.” She yawned again, the girl’s image blurring.

Millane’s gentle hand stroked over her cheek. “Sleep, my lady, I will watch over you.”

Chapter Eighteen

“
Stirling
? Wake up, love.” Quinn’s soft endearment pulled her from her deep, disturbed sleep. More images of death and betrayal wove their evil threads through her dreams.

“Good morn, my lord,” she mumbled, stretching the demons of her fitful rest away, wondering if she’d heard him correctly, afraid to ask.

Quinn chuckled. “More like good afternoon, lady-wife. You’ve spent the entire day lazing abed.”

“Lord Quinn,”
Temple
reproved.

Stirling
screeched and yanked the blanket to her neck, glaring at the Scot. “You did not tell me we had a visitor, my lord.”

“You did not ask.” Quinn dropped a kiss on her forehead, searching her eyes. “Are you well enough to speak of it,
Stirling
?”

She hesitated for the barest of moments. “Aye, I believe so.” Again her glance found
Temple
. “But I would rather dress and meet with you belowstairs.”

“Ach, of course you would, lassie,”
Temple
concurred, backing away. “‘Tis a trial you’ve been through and here we stand, gaping at you like three day old fish. ‘Tis enough to make me poor mum roll in her grave.”

“Fie on you,
Temple
, I will tell her you said such when next we travel the
Highlands
,” Quinn countered.

Stirling giggled when
Temple
glared at his lord. “‘Tis trying to put the lass at ease, I am, laddie, and your blabbing does not help a’tall.”

The Scot smiled down at her. “We’ll wait for you down the stairs, my lady, while you dress and the do the things that women do. Will an hour suffice?”

She laughed again. “Just so,
Temple
, but only if you promise to excuse my appearance.”

“Done.”
Temple
strode from the room, leaving them alone.

“Did I truly sleep away both night and day?”
Stirling
asked Quinn, tentatively placing her feet on the floor. They were not as sore as the previous day and she gingerly walked to the wardrobe. Indeed, the liniment Quinn applied had taken the pain entirely.

“Aye, and soundly as well. You did not move each time I looked in.”

Warmed by his concern, she smiled as she pulled a yellow daydress from the wardrobe, then sought a chemise. At the rate they were being destroyed, she must soon purchase linen for more or risk wearing naught but air beneath her gowns. She inhaled at the intriguing thought. ‘Twould make certain things much easier, she realized, and peeked over her shoulder at Quinn.

“What is that impish look for, lady-wife?” He strode to her side, crowding her against the open wooden door.

“Idle thoughts, sirrah, nothing more.”

“Hmm, such idleness brings a delightful blush to your cheeks.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “I shall endeavor to unearth those thoughts later.”

“We shall see, my lord. For now, you may help me into my dress as Millane is not here.”

“I would rather help you from it,” he murmured, brushing his warm lips across her bare shoulder.

“My lord,
Temple
waits for us,” she reproved lightly, handing him the yellow dress. She slid the chemise over her head, smoothing the fabric when it bunched at her hips. His teasing banter helped put her at ease, but so many questions and concerns swirled through her, ‘twas difficult not to fidget. “We’ve much to discuss, you and I.”

Quinn raised an inquiring brow. “Aye, I’m most anxious to hear your tale. Best hurry
Stirling
, your hour diminishes quickly.”

Stepping into her gown, she waited impatiently for him to tie the stays. She contemplated her toes and wondered if she should risk even a soft pair of kid slippers. Deciding ‘twould be most improper otherwise, she quickly slid on a pair of cotton stockings and the softest shoes she could find, then allowed Quinn to escort her from the room and down the stairs.

Temple
bowed low over her hand when they entered the war room. “Enchanting, my lady, to be sure ye take my breath from me.”

Stirling
forced a smile, her nerves once more taut with the memories of her harrowing night and the perplexing questions poised on her tongue. She looked around.

“Where is John?”

“On the walls,” Quinn said, escorting her to a chair and sitting next to her.
Temple
pulled a third from near the hearth and settled into it, closing the circle.

Stirling
stared at them, then swallowed hard. “‘Twas Tristan,” she finally blurted.

Quinn nodded. “Aye, such was my thought. What happened,
Stirling
? I must hear of it all.”

She sucked in a deep calming breath, fighting the panic and the coldness threatening to return. Safe, she reminded herself, you are safe.

She focused on Quinn’s iron eyes, seeking his strength and told them of her arduous night, omitting only the conversation about his illegitimacy. ‘Twas a subject for only the two of them to discuss.

“Calvin?” Quinn muttered. “I would not have thought the cowardly bastard possible of such a well-organized assault on the throne.”

“The other man Jax made an odd comment, Quinn. He said while Calvin would be king, Tristan would rule Calvin.”

“Ah.” Quinn leaned back, steepling his fingers as the pieces of this damnable puzzle finally fell into place. For the most part. “With Tristan guiding Calvin’s hand, and his armies, ‘twould have been easier for him to gain control and remain unobtrusive.”

“Aye, most people thought he’d flown these lands after Father’s imprisonment,”
Stirling
offered.

“Your pardon, lassie.”
Temple
cleared his throat. “But are you telling me you killed Tristan a’purpose and with his own blade?”

Quinn straightened, he did not want her ability public knowledge just yet.

“Aye,
Temple
, ‘tis just what I’m saying,”
Stirling
retorted.

Quinn scoured
Temple
’s doubting face, saw his acceptance, then his pride and relaxed. Damn Scot would probably encourage her further. “No one is to know,
Temple
.”

“Aye lord, you’ll not be hearing it from my lips.”

“I believe I shall call on our neighbor and discuss his unfortunate alliance,” Quinn said, relishing the idea of the fat man’s squealing surprise when a contingent of armed men descended on him.

“You mean lay siege to his keep, do you not, my lord?”
Stirling
said pertly.

“Indeed I do, lady-wife. Calvin will pay for his attack on you.”

“What proof have you, Quinn? ‘Twill not be an easy task to convince William of his guilt without solid evidence.”

“I am the king’s justice,
Stirling
, my word is all he requires.”

“‘Tis not a very good law, that.” She scowled. “‘Tis why my father rotted in Harold’s cold dungeons.”

“I’ll not argue politics with you now,
Stirling
, you may take that up with William.”

“Indeed I shall.” She nodded sharply and he hid a smile. Her impertinent words pleased him, the return of her usual manners easing his mind greatly. She would fare well when he left to confront Calvin.

“Gather your men,
Temple
, and inform John to prepare his as well. A small garrison will remain here at Falcon Fire, the rest shall ride to Thornhatch. The sight of your band of rogue Scots alone should be enough to convince Calvin to surrender.” He shared a look with the grinning Scot. “But we can always hope otherwise.”

“Ach lord, you’ve the bloodlust, ‘tis a grand thing to see.”
Temple
chuckled on his way out the door.

Quinn stood as well, helping
Stirling
to her feet.

“Will you speak with him first?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“I think you shan’t, my lord. ‘Twould be better if I ride with you.”

“Nay, absolutely not.” Quinn reigned in his roar when she tipped her proud chin and crossed her arms.

He gritted his teeth, cursing her stubbornness, and tried to reason with her. “
Stirling
, ‘tis my duty as both your husband and William’s justice that I alone see to the traitor.”

“And ‘tis my right to confront him. I am the one he took, the one he sought to have.”

“I am your champion, lady-wife and claim my husbandly right of defense.”

She frowned. “You do not fight fair, sirrah,” she finally muttered.

He hid his smug smile as he raised her hand, stroking the softness with his lips. “Nay, I do not. Snow will remain here with you.” He tipped her head side to side. “I would that you return to your rest when we depart, you are still too pale for my liking.”

She sketched a brief curtsy. “As you wish, my lord, but after I have seen to Lord Marcus.”

Quinn stiffened. He’d not yet told her of his friend’s death for fear the news would hinder her recovery. But he knew she would not let the matter rest until his return. He pulled her close, feeling the surprise stiffening her spine. She leaned back in his arms, her golden eyes narrowed.

“What is amiss, my lord?”

“Marcus is dead,
Stirling
.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Oh nay, ‘tis not so Quinn --”

“Aye, ‘tis true.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, seeking to comfort her and, he admitted, take the solace her nearness offered. She struggled against him, pushing at his chest and tearing her mouth from his.

“Nay, lord, listen to me. I know why he was attacked.”

Temple
’s battle horn wailed from the courtyard and Quinn cursed. “We will discuss this when I return, lady-wife. I’ve ordered Cook to lock and bar his door, allowing no one entrance until the morrow. See to it.”

“But, Quinn--”

“I must go,
Stirling
. We will speak of Marcus later.” He pulled her through the great hall, out the door and down the stairs. Giving her no chance to catch her breath or speak, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “Think of me, lady-wife.”

She glared at him. “Curse you is what I shall do, arrogant cur.” But her tremulous smile softened the harsh words and he grinned at the tears pooling in her eyes. She could not hide her concern from him.

“‘Twill not be long,
Stirling
, I promise.” Charon stamped his foot and snorted. Quinn mounted the black steed, turning him to the head of the assembled knights. “We ride.”

Stirling
waited only until Quinn’s daunting figure disappeared before racing up the stairs to her old chambers. Slamming the door shut, she was brought up short by the sight of Snow lounging on her bed, eyeing her with almost a knowing glance.

“I wondered where you had gotten to, old friend.” She rubbed her ears quickly, then made her way to the wardrobe, pulling her hidden chest forward. She thought the dog’s growl held disapproval, then banished the foolish idea. ‘Twas her own guilt producing such thoughts, but she could do nothing else. Quinn and their men may need her. “I can not sit idly by while he rides into battle for me, Snow.” She shed her gown, hastily strapping on her padding and armor, until at last she stood before the looking glass, helm clutched in the crook of her arm. “The Knight of the Mist is called forth,” she whispered and settled the helm over her head. Snow jumped from the bed and circled her, sniffing the armor, low grumbles issuing from her throat. “I’ve no time to debate this, Snow. The men of Falcon Fire need me now. The sight of the legend come to life will aid them should they falter.”