Never Kiss A Stranger (30 page)

Sybilla drew a quick breath. She was very rarely ever surprised, but this piece of information shook her. She looked around her to the soldiers and the crowd of villagers. “Do what you can to put out the flames, all of you—go!” she shouted. Then she looked back to Ira. “You’ll be coming with me, Ira.”

“You’re no mistress here, woman, and I am not your subject to be ordered about,” the old man sneered.

Sybilla simply waited.

He fidgeted for a moment, crossed and then uncrossed his arms. “I’ll get me bag.”

The guards had admitted him into the palace.

Up until the instant he’d received the approving nod, Piers had doubted they would. His entire scalp was covered in perspiration beneath the weak glow of the late afternoon sun, his stomach knotted, the muscles of his legs shook. He was certain it was the suit of clothes that Alys had gifted him with that had swayed the guards—they’d looked him up and down and obviously believed his claim to be the Lord of Gillwick Manor, and for the brief instant their eyes had inspected him, Piers prayed they would not notice his old, worn boots that would clearly mark him as common. Even with the costly signet ring on his smallest finger—perhaps even because of—had he worn his old clothes, they would have likely turned him away, or had him seized for a thief.

But now he strode down the receiving hall, trying to stymie his sense of curiosity and his sense of overwhelming at being in the king’s very home, but his eyes glanced around furtively at the lavish residence, the milling nobles preening before each other. He hoped to seek audience with the king immediately—as unlikely as that notion
was, else he did not know where he would pass the night. He certainly was no royal guest, and he had not one single coin to spend. He’d given his leather pack and all of its remaining contents to a beggar just inside the city walls, so now Piers had naught but the clothes upon his back and the signet ring on his finger.

Perhaps he could feign his way around the stables, if his audience was delayed.

Every time a man let out a shout of laughter, or a door slammed, Piers had to fight his urge to jump and swing around with his fists readied. His nerves were like a rope being rubbed over a sharp rock.

He spotted a man near a set of ornate double doors, who received people in turn, spoke with them briefly before scribbling on a sheet of parchment with a quill and sending them away. He was a large man, taller than Piers, and looked more to be a soldier than a court servant. His hair was longer than was fashionable, and fell away from his face like a tawny lion’s mane. Piers guessed that he was looking upon Edward’s own gatekeeper, and it was that man he would have to first convince.

Piers turned away for a moment, pretending to admire a tapestry on the wall, and he summoned Alys to his mind. His eyes closed as her sparkling brown eyes and impish grin flooded his consciousness, and his heart kicked petulantly. He was a fool for sending her away from him—he needed her brazenness now, her fire and fearlessness. She had always had faith in his dreams and abilities, even when Piers had not, and now he was determined to live up to her high opinion of him.

He wrapped the image of her in his soul, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Turning with his head up and eyes forward, he marched toward the lion at the gate.

The man looked him up and down with the merest flick
of his eyes before meeting Piers’s gaze directly. “Good day, my lord.”

“Good day,” Piers said firmly. “I am Piers Mallory, lord of Gillwick Manor. I have a request to speak with the king this day. As soon as possible.” Piers cleared his throat. “Now, actually.”

The man’s tawny eyebrows barely rose. He looked down at the parchment before him. “His appointments are filled for the next pair of days, and then there will be no further court until the year is new. Mayhap you could persuade your mother to speak on your behalf—she arrived only this morning with your brother, and will see the king on the morrow.”

Piers shook his head once, little more than a jerk. Judith Angwedd was already here, somewhere, and Bevan with her. He had arrived in time, thank God. But only just, and his nerves sizzled and popped. He had to fight himself not to glance over his shoulder and look for them. “No. Forgive me, but it cannot wait.”

Again, the man’s eyebrows rose, and he seemed to present an expectant expression on his square face.

Piers clenched his teeth together, and he spoke low so that no other could eavesdrop. “The woman you named as my mother is not. She is my father’s widow, and she has come to Edward so that he will bequeath Gillwick Manor to her son, Bevan. But I tell you, Bevan is not my father’s child. Judith Angwedd Mallory is attempting to steal the lands that are rightfully mine, and is prepared to bear false witness to His Majesty in order to do so. I am the only true heir of Gillwick, and I can prove it.” Piers held up his right hand, his mother’s signet ring on his littlest finger flashing briefly in the dull light of the hall.

He let his hand fall back to his side. “If the king hears
Judith Angwedd in his court without my witness, he will be making a grave mistake.”

The man’s eyebrows had slowly descended and then drawn downward as Piers spoke. He seemed to appraise Piers once again before saying, “Wait here.” He turned, rapped three times on the door, and then disappeared between them. Raucous laughter escaped the seam of the doors before they shut once more.

Piers let out a tight breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Even though he knew in his gut that Gillwick was rightfully his, that Judith Angwedd was naught more than a lying, conniving, mad bitch, Piers felt extreme unease with his surroundings and with the task before him. He longed for the humid peace of Gillwick, or the quiet forest he had traveled through and lived in for so many days. He wanted Alys, needed her. God, how he loved her! And with that thought, he realized now that he was not fighting to gain Gillwick for himself any longer, or even to give peace to his long-dead mother. He was doing it for Alys.

Perhaps once she returned to Fallstowe, she would not want the humble life Piers could offer her. But he would offer it any matter. He could not help himself. He needed her and he loved her, and he knew that he would for the rest of his life. If there was any chance that she truly loved him, Piers planned to seize that love with both hands and never let her go. That damned monkey which had nearly killed him could also come, if Alys wished. After all, Piers had invited Ira, so it was only fair that Alys should have her own sort of cross beast at Gillwick.

He felt the faint impression of a smile twitch at his lips at the thought, but the very idea of joviality was killed with the cold words he heard spoken directly behind him.

“Hello, Piers. Stealing clothes now as well as land, I see.”

Piers turned slowly, uncertain at what would happen once he faced the wretched woman who had tried to destroy his life.

She was actually smiling at him, her large, square teeth glistening in the festive gloom of the receiving chamber.

“It’s over,” Piers said, refusing to stoop to ridiculous, barbed banter with the madwoman. “I’ve just spoken to Edward’s man. I will see the king on the morrow.”

“Marvelous!” Judith Angwedd gushed, and clapped her hands together twice, as if in anticipation. “Just as I’d hoped.”

Piers was wary. Although Judith Angwedd had a penchant for the cruelly dramatic, he didn’t think she was being sarcastic.

“I would not be so enthusiastic, were I you,” Piers warned. “I have proof of your treachery, and once the king hears of it you will lose all.”

Judith Angwedd wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No. I think not, really. I’m rather looking forward to you disavowing your claim to Gillwick before the king.”

“There is naught you could say that would sway me,” Piers growled. “You are a liar and a thief, and you will get exactly what you deserve.”

“Oh, I am certain I will,” she parried. “And I don’t have to utter a single word to convince you to make way for Bevan and me. I’m actually going to give you a gift, and then you may decide on your own. You are completely and utterly in control of how this all plays out. I am more than willing to negotiate with you, which is why I brought you”—her teeth sparkled like ivory blades—“a peace offering of sorts.”

“You mean a bribe,” Piers snorted.

Judith Angwedd conceded with a slight tilting nod.

Piers shook his head. “Whatever it is, you can keep it. Nothing you could give me, promise me, will convince me to let you have my father’s home.
My
home.”

Her smile was secret and small now. “Nevertheless, it would be foolish of you not to at least consider it. But before I give it to you, I only ask that you realize that Bevan is not with me at the moment. You will be able to guess his company soon enough though. Only keep that in your thoughts before you would do anything foolish. If you try to cheat the negotiations in any way, my offer will become immediately void, and Bevan will have my blessing to do as he pleases. You know how …
spirited
he can be.”

She held out her arm, her fist clenched palm down.

Piers didn’t want to extend his hand. He looked down at her fist, white with bulging blue veins, cold, like a swirl of milk caught in a block of ice. He looked up into her eyes.

“Take it,” she said softly, teasingly. “It won’t bite you, foolish boy.”

Piers held out his hand, and Judith Angwedd pressed something small and light into his palm. Her smile widened.

“Think well upon it,” she advised. “I shall see you in the morn, when we shall both hear what you will tell Edward. I am simply
alive
with anticipation!” She swept away from him, and Piers watched her go. She gave him not another glance as she waggled her fingers at this person or another while she walked through the hall. No one returned her greeting.

When she was gone, Piers looked down at the object she’d placed in his hand.

It was a bracelet, its wooden beads carved inexpertly into crude renditions of little pomegranates.

Alys’s bracelet.

All the air left Piers’s body and his face raised slowly, looking for Judith Angwedd to be standing across the room, beaming in triumph. But she was truly gone.

“My lord,” a voice behind him called, but it seemed too far away, and Piers was not accustomed to people addressing him by that noble title.

I only ask that you realize that Bevan is not with me at the moment. You will be able to guess his company soon enough though. Only keep that in your thoughts before you would do anything foolish. You know how …
spirited
he can be.

“Lord Mallory,” the voice said again, and Piers turned. He knew his lips were slack, his eyes wild. At the man’s wary look, Piers closed his mouth.

“Sorry. Yes?”

“The king will indeed hear your plea on the morrow, along with your stepmother’s,” the keeper of the doors advised with a frown as he glanced down at the wooden beads dangling over Piers’s fist. “But I am to warn you that if you are playing about with something you are not lawfully entitled to, he is prepared to see you punished straightaway. He does not well tolerate having his time wasted.”

Piers nodded faintly. He barely comprehended what the man was saying to him.

Bevan had Alys. Piers recalled the fleshy boy who had gleefully tormented and tortured Piers after he’d lost his mother, when Piers had been too small and frightened to fight back. And now the drunkard, who had once kicked a dog to death when it had dared to sniff at his boots. Bevan, whom Piers suspected had raped more women
than he’d ever spoken to, and who not even the most heartless lords in the land would accept as a husband for their daughters. Piers knew nothing weaker than Bevan was safe in his presence.

And that man was now holding a delicate and innocent woman such as Alys in his evil and depraved clutches. Piers’s Alys. His wife.

“I understand,” Piers said and nodded again. He understood too well, perhaps. “My thanks.” Piers began to turn away, feeling as though he were lost in a thick fog the color of terror.

“My lord,” the man called Piers’s attention once more.

Piers half turned.

“Have you secured shelter for the night?” he asked in a lowered tone. The lion’s eyebrows were drawn together, and had Piers been in possession of his capacities, he might have seen the concern there.

“Ah … no. No, I’m afraid not. I’ve”—he cleared his throat—“I’ve only just arrived in the city.”

The lion-maned man seemed to think for a moment, debating something behind his golden eyes. “My wife bears our first child even now. I do expect it will be some time before I see my court suite or my own bed.” He reached into a slit in his tunic and withdrew a key on a ribbon. He held it out to Piers.

Piers frowned and took it as if in a dream. If he could only think straight for one moment. “Forgive me, but—”

“Go above. Show the guard this key and tell him you have Lord Julian Griffin’s permission to pass the night in his rooms.”

Piers stared at the man for several moments. “Why are you doing this?”

Julian Griffin looked at Piers, and there was no ulterior motive in his eyes, no trickery. Only truth.

“Because I saw your boots,” he answered low. “And the little strand of beads you now hold was not in your possession only a moment ago. I believe you have a great battle before you.”

Piers nodded faintly. “I will one day repay you for your aid.”

“Good day, Lord Mallory,” Julian Griffin said dismissively and directed his eyes over Piers’s shoulder. “Good day to you, my lady. How can I be of service?”

Piers turned to see the frowning woman behind him, obviously impatient to speak with the keeper of the king’s court. Piers sidestepped out of the way, nearly stumbling. The woman swept past to take his place.

“Is there any time to spare today, Lord Julian? I fear my grandmother is—”

Piers dragged his feet back down the length of the receiving hall toward the wide stairs he’d seen when he’d arrived.

Somewhere, somewhere close, Alys was being held by a madman. And it was all Piers’s fault. Sybilla Foxe had not been the only spy tracking them after leaving Ira’s village, and Piers’s innocent beacon to alert Alys’s rescue had brought hell down upon her instead.