Suzanne Robinson (20 page)

They looked at each other. Galen said, “He must have been on his way to Castle Stafford before Aymer died.”

Honor’s eyes grew round, and she nodded slowly. “So he was in the vicinity?”

“Aye, my love. It seems you may have been right to suspect Isidore. What? Why do you gawk at me like that?”

“Say it again.”

“You may have been right.”

“No. Say, ‘my love’ again. I can’t seem to believe
you’re really saying it, no matter how many times I hear it.”

To his surprise, Galen felt himself flush. He lowered his eyes.

“By my faith, you’re blushing!”

He heard Honor giggle, and set his jaw.

“Who would have believed it?” she said in a wondering tone. “My gallant, mysterious, and dangerous Lord Galen de Marlowe is shy.”

“No, Honor, it’s not that.”

A raucous din suddenly began in the ward and reached them through the window. Hearing his name bellowed, Galen set his jaw, went to the window and found his brothers, horses in tow, standing in the ward. He stuck his head out the window.

“Cease your caterwauling. What do you want?”

Fabron put his hands on his hips and affected surprise. “Oh, are you up there, brother? We’ve been looking for you. You promised to show us Durance Guarde today.”

“Go away. I’m not ready yet.”

Simon walked over to stand beneath the window and gave him a look of such suppressed rage that Galen was taken aback. “Not feeling well today, dear brother?
Eat too many vegetables last night?
”

Galen felt as if he would explode with wrath. He searched the ward and snarled, “Where’s Fulk?”

“He’s not feeling well either,” Simon growled. “Won’t come out of his chamber.”

Pointing at Simon, Galen said, “You stay right there. I’ll show you Durance Guarde. By God’s teeth, I will.”

He whirled around to find Honor staring at him with frightened indigo eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Naught that should concern you, my little sunset.” Galen managed a stiff smile. “I fear my brothers have a nasty habit of interfering in my personal life, and it’s time to make them stop. Such a task may prove difficult and … shall I say, rough—but it must be done. It’s better managed away from here. I’ll talk to them at Durance Guarde, which is far enough away that our shouting won’t disturb you.”

He left the storeroom with Honor trailing behind him.

“Now, Galen,” she said. “Don’t be too harsh. Your brothers worship you. They have since they were children, and they worry about you.”

“The time for worry is long past. I’m quite capable of leading my own life.” Galen stopped as they reached the door where Jacoba stood guard and took Honor by the shoulders. “I have to make them understand this, Honor. Do you want them interfering between us after we’re married?”

“Oh, no.” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Do what you must, and I’ll finish here.”

“Don’t stay long,” he said. “Remember, we don’t want to attract attention with our inquiries. And don’t do anything else until I return.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, taking his hand and bringing it up to her cheek.

The touch of her skin brought last night back as if it were happening all over again. Galen sucked in air and squeezed her hand. Her eyes were burning into his. He took her hands and kissed them.

“By the Trinity, what have you done to me?”

He turned and left before he made a fool of himself. Each step away from her was difficult, but he knew better than to allow his brothers to corner him with Honor present. There was going to be an affray, a nasty little battle of wills, and he was going to win it. He jerked the reins of his horse from Simon’s grasp, mounted and burst into motion, cantering over the drawbridge. In moments he’d left his brothers scrambling to catch up with him.

The chase continued until he reached Durance Guarde. By the time he walked his horse over the rickety bridge and under the vine-covered arches of the ruin, his anger had turned cold and vitriolic. He dismounted before the old keep and waited until his brothers straggled into the castle ward.

When they’d all dismounted, breathless and sweating, he walked over to Simon and said lightly, “Now, sweet Simon, before you say anything, allow me to tell you that should any of you thrust yourselves between me and Lady Honor again in such a manner, I will issue a challenge and see to it that none of you leaves the field except on a stretcher.”

“You’re mistaken, Galen,” Simon replied, unfazed by the threat. “We care nothing for what you do with—for your attentions to Lady Honor. That’s your own affair, but you’re rooting around for Aymer Jennings’ murderer without us,” Simon said.

“I can’t have you great louts blundering around. This is a matter of delicacy.”

“It’s dangerous,” Fabron said. “Five are stronger than one.”

“If I need you, I shall call upon you.”

Macaire shook his head. “Simon, you never succeeded in forcing Galen to do anything he didn’t want to do. You shouldn’t have used Fulk.”

Galen eyed Simon, who looked away.

“You made him use his gift to find out about me.”

“I was worried.”

Fabron shrugged. “Admit it, Simon. You’re afraid for Galen and don’t want to say so.”

“Well.” Simon dug the heel of his boot into the dirt. He darted a quick look at Galen. “Did you tell her yet?”

Galen pressed his lips together, unwilling to let go of his anger, but Simon’s face bore such anxiety for him that he had to relent.

“No, you great lummox. She’s too caught up with finding out what happened to Aymer. And too busy planning.” His voice lowered so that they could barely hear him. “Too happy. She chatters a lot when she’s happy.”

Unsmiling for once, Macaire shook his head. “Dear God, she’s not just attached to you. She’s in love with you.”

“God help me,” Galen said. “What am I going to do?”

S
EVENTEEN
 

H
onor watched galen and his brothers leave and stood contemplating the busy ward from the treasury tower window. The falconer walked from the dovecote to the mews. She could hear clanging from the smithy. Across from the stables Sir Renard was teaching Dagobert a few elementary moves in swordplay. The boy swiped at the knight with his wooden sword with more vigor than precision.

She smiled at the boy. She smiled all the time now, which irritated Jacoba. Honor wished she could share her secret, but the waiting woman would be upset that her vigilance on Honor’s behalf had failed.

This morning in the chapel she had withdrawn from the order of vowesses, and tomorrow morning
she would sign more official papers having to do with property and wealth. Galen had brought several chests with him, the contents of which he refused to reveal until tomorrow, and Honor’s curiosity was aroused. But he couldn’t give her a gift more precious than himself, and that he’d already done.

What was she doing staring out the window like a half-wit? Honor returned to the table to peruse the castle records once more, but all she saw were mundane lists of supplies. Every servant and dependent at the castle got a new gown each year, so there was plenty of red and black fabric in store. Master Baldwin saw to it that no roof leaked, that the cistern was always in good repair, and that the fireplaces in the kitchen and brewhouse were in good order. The year Aymer died had been an especially busy time for repairs and refurbishing.

Someone was stomping up the stairs. It was Jacoba deliberately making a great noise. Honor closed the account book and shoved it among several on a shelf. She flew to the window and was standing there gazing out at the haystacks when Jacoba hurried in, out of breath.

“Me lady, Master Baldwin and others follow me directly.”

Honor nodded, shooed Jacoba farther inside, and raised her voice. “You see, Jacoba, the view from this window is quite good. I think Father would refurbish this tower for my lord and myself.”

Baldwin appeared in the doorway with Theodoric and Perkin behind him. “My lady?”

“Ah, greetings, Master Baldwin.” Honor sailed over to him and nodded at the others. “I was just thinking that the treasury tower would make excellent quarters once I’m married.”

“Oh, my lady,” said Baldwin, “this old place isn’t worthy. Besides, to make it comfortable, we would have to put in new chimneys.”

“But you’re so good at remodeling,” Honor said. “I remember how you put in that fireplace in the brewery, and it works excellent well.” Honor turned and walked around the chamber, pretending to glance for the first time at the records on the shelves. “That was the same year my husband had his accident. A terrible time. May God rest his soul.”

Baldwin gave her a confused look, and then all emotion seemed to leave his face. Honor glanced at the other two, who wore the impassive looks of servants who didn’t wish to reveal their low opinion of a nobleman. It was a peculiar expression that reminded Honor of a constipated cow. Aymer had seldom thought about any of these men, not because he disliked them, but because he viewed servants as he did furniture or livestock.

Once Theodoric had begged Aymer to intercede on behalf of a poor peasant who had lost his crop and animals. Aymer had refused and the family had died during the harsh winter. Perkin simply hated
Aymer because, when hunting, Aymer rode over crops, through orchards and trampled gardens in pursuit of game. To Perkin, his plants and trees were his children. His sister’s family lived on Jennings’ land and had been the victims of Aymer’s ruthless riding habits. Honor knew that Aymer had been oblivious to the hatred he provoked. And had he known, he wouldn’t have cared.

Honor looked into Baldwin’s concerned eyes. This man had been steward here since before she was born. His opinion would count for much.

“Baldwin, I would like you to think back to that time, the day my husband died. Was there anything amiss? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“It had been snowing hard for a long time, my lady. Is there anything wrong? You seem to be troubled.”

She sighed and decided she’d gone as far as she could. Galen wouldn’t want her to stir up suspicions among the castle folk.

“No. I suppose my betrothal has brought back memories of that unhappy time. I do wish we had been able to recover Lord Jennings’ body. He had no proper burial, and …” Her voice faded. “Ah, well.”

“A most tragic circumstance, my lady. And now, if you’ve no need of me, I have alms to disburse for Theodoric, and Perkin must pay the undergardeners.”

“Of course, you may go.”

Baldwin bowed and left, followed by the other two men. Jacoba trailed after them, having a chat with Perkin about apples for cider. Honor could hear the great iron key turn in the treasury lock, and the barred gate swing open. She wandered back to the table, where she picked up the scrap of parchment that had been left out of the account book she’d replaced on its shelf. Her finger traced an item, payment for bricks used in the brewhouse wall and fireplace. Her finger moved on, then strayed back and stayed on the bricks.

“Bricks,” she murmured. “Poor Baldwin deals with such tedious work.”

It was a good thing she’d rescued Dagobert from following in his grandfather’s footsteps. The boy would have hated dealing with numbers and petty details of shillings and pence. Perkin was lucky that Aymer had died before Castle Stafford came to him, or the gardens would have been reduced by half.

Honor picked up the parchment and searched the shelves for the account book to which it belonged. She walked along, then stopped. She tapped the parchment against the bookbindings. Then the tapping stopped.

“By my faith,” she said aloud. She tapped her forefinger against her temple and squeezed her eyes shut. “What did Galen say? What did he say? He said: hay—no, hoes—tack and bricks. What else?” She pounded her fist in her palm. “Beshrew my
pitiful memory. He said hoes, tack, bricks … spices! Yes, spices and falcons and ale. That was it. What have all these in common?” She went silent as she followed a path of reasoning.

“Oh, no.” Her hand crumpled the parchment. “No. It can’t be.”

Picking up her skirts, Honor hurried out of the storeroom. Downstairs she passed Jacoba and Perkin.

“Jacoba, I’m going riding.”

“I’ll come immediately.”

“There’s no need,” Honor said as she left the tower. “I’ve something urgent I wish to tell Lord Galen. I’ll join him and his brothers, and they’re certainly more than enough of an escort.”

For once Jacoba didn’t argue. “Aye, me lady. With all them young brutes, I’ve no fear for your safety.”

It didn’t take long for Honor to ride to Durance Guarde. She hadn’t bothered to change clothes, and soon she was dismounting and tethering her horse alongside Galen’s in the makeshift stable. She hadn’t seen the de Marlowe brothers on her way in, or in the bailey. They had to be inside the keep, because Galen’s servant Ralph was sitting on the wooden stairs before the tower. He had been munching on a meat pie when Honor rode up, and was busy stuffing the last of it in his mouth when she mounted the stairs. He packed pastry into his mouth and scrambled to his feet before the door.

“Gree-ings, m’la-y.”

She inclined her head. “Good day to you, Ralph. I see you enjoy cook’s mutton as much as the rest of us.”