Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles) (8 page)

“Very well, yer ladyship.” The cook gave orders for the tray to be assembled. “Would ye like some tea while ye wait, milady? I recall how you liked visitin’ th’ kitchens when you and Master Brice—beggin’ yer pardon, th’ earl—were courtin’. Though some may think differently, ’tis a right shame what happened, and glad I am that our clans will be at peace again. I’ll be able to visit my cousin who married a MacKai and lives in Dungarob Harbor.”

Clearly the woman wanted Sorcha to accept the invitation, so she settled onto a bench near the hearth. “Yes, I would like tea, thank you very much. Would you join me, please?”

The cook blinked. “If ye wish. I got some o’ them honey oatcakes ye loved when ye was last here.’”

“Those would be wonderful. I must visit the kitchens more often, since you know my preferences so well.”

“Happy I’d be t’ have ye, Lady Strathnaver. Yer maither-in-law never visits the kitchens.”

“Not even when her husband lived?”

The cook shook her head as she set out the cakes and plates, got mugs and prepared the tea. “Even now she sends orders through the chamberlain or summons me to the solar and only discusses meals and other kitchen work. Says she wishes to save you the trouble while th’ earl is ill.”

Sorcha pressed her lips together. She didna imagine for a moment that Lady Agnes gave orders to save Sorcha trouble and worry. The dowager would hold tight any authority she could grasp. The woman presumed much to order any of the staff in the stronghold. She was no longer countess and should have deferred decisions to Sorcha. The chamberlain was equally to blame. With his status and position, he should have known who his mistress was and acted accordingly.

“’Tis kind of my mother-in-law to want to ease my burdens. However, my husband is now beginning to recover, and I would have you and the other servants bring all stronghold concerns to me. Do you understand?”

The cook sipped her brew before replying with a smile. “Aye, that I do. Th’ dowager willna be happy t’ have her orders ignored and th’ chamberlain may interfere.”

Sorcha smiled back. “I will deal with the chamberlain, and the servants must, of course, comply with any orders Lady Agnes gives regarding her own needs but only those needs. Any other orders she gives must be directed to me for approval.” She blew on the heated tea then swallowed several sips.

“Of course, Lady Strathnaver. Would ye like me to share yer instructions wi’ the other servants?”

“That would be very kind of you, yes. After we finish our tea, I would like to inspect the larder and keeping rooms.”

Cook nodded her approval, but her expression was troubled. “’Tis right glad I am t’ have ye do so.”

Sorcha tilted her head to the side. “Is something the matter?”

“Th’ chamberlain and I each take a count of supplies every week, and our counts haven’t been the same for close on a month. We’ve used this method well for many years, so to have different results is causing awkwardness that makes working together difficult.”

Four weeks. The same length of time she and Brice had been in residence. “Did this start before the earl and I arrived here? Are all supplies showing shortages or just some, and if so, which ones?”

Cook wrinkled her brow in thought. “Nae, ’tis mostly th’ herbs, some salt, and flour. As to how long this had gone on, I can’t rightly say, milady. ’Tis certain it wasna much before ye came here. Th’ chamberlain keeps the written records, seein’ as how I canna read or write.”

“Then how can you be certain the two counts are different?”

“Well, I’ve a right good memory, but even so, I keep my counts in the old way by notching sticks.”

Sorcha had to agree about the cook’s memory. Ten years was a long time to recall one woman’s favorite foods. “I see, and for several weeks your notched sticks have not matched the chamberlain’s written records.”

“That’s right, yer ladyship.”

Sorcha set aside her empty cup. “Let us go and take a count of supplies now while I inspect the larder and keeping rooms. Then I will take your sticks and compare them with the chamberlain’s accounts when next he visits with the earl.”

What she found, or rather didna find, during her inspection of the kitchen supplies disturbed Sorcha greatly. Most of the supplies that were low were those that, in sufficient concentrations, could be used as poisons or the means to mask poison. Even more disturbing, a small mortar and pestle had disappeared. Any number of reasons could explain the use of poisons. But if the use was innocent, why take the items without asking for them or at least mentioning it to the cook or chamberlain?

It would not surprise me if you are trying to poison your husband
.

Nae. Lady Agnes’ words couldna be true. Brice had died from fever and a bloody flux, nae poison. Her mother in law’s accusation had been flung as an insult and couldna be taken seriously.

Sorcha’s head began to ache. She rubbed her temples as she and the cook returned to the kitchen. Spies, theft, and murder? Colin’s suspicions made her jump at shadows, and he was the last person she should trust.

Yet she had done as he asked and not told anyone Brice was dead. She even let everyone believe Colin was his brother. She resolved to be stronger in the future. ’Twas time to let him know she wouldna be his pawn.

To the cook, Sorcha promised to look into the matter of the missing supplies, and declining an offer of help, picked up the loaded tray then set off for the earl’s chamber.

• • •

Colin waited until the door closed on Sorcha and Sir Broc then loosened the blankets she’d tucked about him. When he was able to move easily he leaned forward and inhaled the aroma of the first decent meal he would have in many a day.

“You seem much better, my lord,” Henry said.

The boy looked nothing like the old earl and resembled Lady Agnes in only the most obvious things like his thin, yellow hair and a tendency to portliness balanced by a frame much taller than most lads of eight or nine. Did he get outside to play with other boys or practice knightly skills with a wooden sword and buckler? At Henry’s age, Colin and Brice had already mastered most of the riding skills they would need as future knights and began training with blunted metal blades. Did Henry do that? Or was he too much under the thumb of his mother? As soon as time and circumstance permitted, Colin decided, he would take over the boy’s training. For the present at least, he was Colin’s heir and should be treated as such.

The boy sat unusually still for a lad scarcely nine years old, though his hands trembled as he shifted dishes and trenchers about the table.

“’Tis difficult to judge how ill you’ve been,” the younger Marr continued. “Until my mother forced her way in, your wife has allowed few visits since the priest gave the last rites.”

Colin was glad to hear it. With so few visitors, creating the impression that he was Brice would be easy.

“Could you cut me some sausage?” He watched as with trembling hands the youth divided the meat into bites. Was he inexperienced at carving, palsied, or nervous? The boy was too old to lack experience cutting meat. A glance at Henry’s carefully bland and ruddily healthy face plus the absence of any other symptoms of palsey made Colin settle on the latter explanation. Why would the lad be nervous? ’Twas not his first meeting with Brice, surely, so uncertainty about his status with the new earl shouldn’t be the cause. Anger at being replaced as the heir?

“Are you disappointed that I have recovered?” Colin asked.

The knife slipped, and Henry looked up, eyes wide. “N-no. Of course not.” The lad straightened and set down the carving utensils. “I am overjoyed at your improved health and pray you are soon returned to your full strength and ability. Why would you ask such a question? Do you think I want to be earl and own Strathnaver?”

Colin repressed a frown. That very atypical young lad pronouncement had been delivered as if memorized. “It would nae have been odd for you to feel upset at being denied the earldom.” In his role as a severely ill man, Colin allowed his voice to shake a bit. “However, I ask only because you seem to have something on your mind.”

Henry looked away as he responded. “If I seem so, ’tis only because, as you know, life with my mother is not always easy or calm.”

“Ah. If you wish to unburden yourself, I’ll be happy to be your confidant. Naught that you say will leave this room.”

Henry cast him an upward glance. “Truly?”

“Aye.” Colin reached for some of the sausage. “You talk. I’ll eat.”

He chewed while he waited for his half-brother to come to the point. ’Twas nae hardship to wait. He’d nae had food this good since leaving Northumbria.

“I … ah … I hardly know where to start.”

Colin made a comforting noise but continued with his meal.

“The dowager is a verra demanding woman.”

Colin snorted.
The boy has much to learn. All women are demanding in one way or another
.

“She constantly nags at me about my posture, my manners, my clothing, my speech…”

Colin finished eating then leaned back in his chair. His brother’s list of complaints about his mother was lengthy, but naught was different than any son might complain of in even the best of mothers. What intrigued Colin was that throughout the recital, Henry’s nervous tics and twitches increased. Instead of relaxing by sharing his troubles, he became more agitated.

“Oh, good,” the lad interrupted his monologue. “You’ve finished. I’ll have Sir Broc remove the tray then help you back to bed.”

Obviously the boy had decided nae to confide his deepest troubles.

“That would be satisfactory, but wait a moment or two before you summon him. I’ve something I wish to ask you.”

Henry nodded. “What is it you wish to know?”

“What do you know of my wife and how she came to have that limp?”

“You dinna know?”

“Nae, it happened after I left home.”

The boy’s gaze shuttered. “Promise you’ll no hit me if you don’t like the answer?”

“I dinna hit people for answering questions truthfully.” Why would this boy think he would receive violence as a reward for doing as asked? Colin’s father could have inspired such a fear, but from what Colin knew, the boy had been little more than a babe when the old earl died.

“Then I’ll tell you what I know. I was very little when it happened, but I’ve heard about it all my life. She’s been like that since. . . ”

“Henry, ’tis time to let my husband rest.” Sorcha’s voice came from the small alcove near the door.

Colin hadna heard the door open. How long had Sorcha been in the room? Fixing his gaze with Henry’s, Colin put a finger in front of his lips and shook his head slowly.

Henry nodded and smiled. “Are you sure?” he whined convincingly. “We’ve been having such a good chat.”

Sorcha came into view.

“You may come back later, after the earl has rested.” She spoke to the boy but glared at Colin.

Henry gave in graciously, bowed, and left with Sir Broc behind bearing the tray. That conversation had been promising. Too bad Sorcha had returned before the confidences so carefully cultivated bore fruit. He raised his gaze to her face and nearly quailed at the anger burning in her eyes.

He supposed he deserved her ire. She had specifically asked him to drop the subject of her injury. But he could nae respect that request. Nae if the answers impacted his mission. She would have to learn that where his home and Scotland were concerned, she had no secrets.

“You expect me to trust you to act the part of my husband without molesting me. You expect me to lie and deceive simply to catch some imaginary spies. Yet, you’ll nae respect my privacy. ’Tis exactly like you. Why I’m surprised, shocked, and deeply offended, I dinna know.”

She dropped a loaded tray near him on the table where the remains of his breakfast had been moments ago.

Yes, she’s angry
. Colin took in her clipped tone, her high color, and the tightness in her posture. “You’ve every right to be upset,
muirnean
.”

“I’m much more than upset, you
bleigeard
.” She took the poker from the fireside and lifted it as she approached him.

He swallowed.
I should move
.

Before he could put thought to deed, the poker descended, missed his head by a hair, and landed in the bowl of cider, causing it to boil and spit. A fiery rain landed on his bare arm, and the scent of spiced apples filled the room. He sucked in air then hissed away the small pain as he watched her replace the poker beside the hearth—an innocent smile fixed on her face.

His eyelids narrowed. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” She spoke in a low and soothing tone while dipping a ladle into the hot cider and filling a cup then presenting it to him. “Cider, my lord. ’Tis very healthful.”

He took the cup, sniffed the aromatic liquid, gave her a suspicious glance then downed the drink in one gulp.

When he looked at her again, she was still smiling, and her hands were folded before her. She was the very picture of maidenly serenity—something the Sorcha he’d grown up with had never been.

“You’re up to something.”

She raised a brow then swept up her sewing and took her usual seat by the hearth.

“Tell me what you are plotting,” he demanded.

She cast him a glance and shrugged, then bent to her stitches. “Nothing more than to teach you that trust works in both directions. As things stand, I canna trust you, and you dare nae trust me.”

“I trust you.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Nae, you dinna. You believed I would harm you with that poker. I saw the fear in your eyes.”

“No man with any brains would fail to fear an angry woman with a weapon. Because I have sense doesna mean I dinna trust you.”

She returned her gaze to her work. “True, I suppose, but you’ll nae be so confident of me in the future. And mayhap you’ll treat me with the respect I deserve.”

“What makes you think I lack respect for you?” He still believed he could manage her through her passions if naught else. But she was well armored with that odd mix of suspicion and serenity spiced with a dash of defiance. By causing him that moment’s doubt, she’d shown herself, for the second time, to be much more formidable than he thought, and oddly enough, he found his desire for her increasing. But want and trust were very different things.