Twilight Magic (7 page)

But where Earl William could show mercy, Darian knew Gar nearly incapable of compassion. Where William gave rewards to those who served him well, Gar considered the courtesy unnecessary, except when it came to himself.

Naturally, the drawbridge over the deep ditch surrounding the castle—not yet filled with water—had been raised for the night. For a moment Darian considered camping in the woods rather than risk an argument with Gar over lowering the plank bridge and opening the gate.

But then, over the next few days, he and Gar were likely to spar over one thing or another—especially if Gar took it into his head that Darian wasn’t a guest, but a servant.

“Hail on the wall!” he shouted at the guard on the wall walk near the gatehouse. “Darian of Bruges requests entry at the behest of Earl William.”

“Who is that with you?”

“Lady Emma de Leon, who I assure you is no threat.” The guard turned around and shouted down into the bailey below, no doubt sending someone to the keep to seek permission from Gar.

Darian glanced over at Lady Emma, who’d borne the entire journey with admirable stoicism. Not usual for a lady, at least not the ladies of his acquaintance, which he admitted weren’t many. Still, he remembered last summer’s flight from London when William had insisted Queen Matilda flee the city before it was captured by the enemy. Her life had been endangered, and she hadn’t fled this far into Kent, and yet she’d chided William over her discomfort.

Not so Emma. She must surely be stiff and sore from bouncing on the cart’s unyielding seat, and likely hungry from lack of food since nooning. At the moment, she was looking up, inspecting the wall and gate, waiting patiently for someone to lower the drawbridge.

A second man appeared on the wall walk. The light was now so dim Darian couldn’t say for certain who the man was—though from the man’s height and silvery hair, he surmised that Gar had come to see for himself.

“Were it not for the lady I would tell you to come back on the morn,” Gar declared from above.

If not for the lady, Gar might refuse to let him in at all, which would suit Darian fine. But there were William’s orders to consider, so Darian strove to keep his tone amicable. “Were it not for the lady’s sake, I would not request admittance at this late hour.”

Soon chains rattled and winches groaned as the drawbridge began to lower and the iron gate to rise.

“I gather you and Gar are not on the best of terms,” Emma commented.

“We have no great liking for each other. Gar would prefer that all the Flemish in England be sent back to Flanders.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Even Earl William?” “Especially Earl William. The notion of a man of Flanders being named an English earl doesn’t sit well with Gar.”

“Then why does William keep him as his steward?” A question Darian had once asked of William after Gar had ordered a peasant whipped for mixing a batch of mortar too thin.

“As long as Gar continues to efficiently oversee the defense of Hadone and the building projects, William sees no reason to replace him. The man is a reliable steward and William considers that a boon.”

The drawbridge thudded to the ground. He nudged his horse forward and the carter snapped his whip.

Darian led them across the bailey. Here, too, were changes. The pile of rough stone had been moved to near the uncompleted section of wall, where masons and laborers applied chisel and hammer to smooth those stones to be raised on early morn. More shelters, built of timber and roofed with thatch, abutted the new wall. Flickering candlelight seeped from the closed shutters of most of them.

Just as Earl William wanted, people were settling here, a new town forming.

When Darian reached the keep’s stairway, where Gar now stood with a group of servants and stable lads, he dismounted and tossed the reins to one of the lads. Before he could turn around to aid Emma from the cart, Gar rushed by and held up a hand, which Emma courteously accepted.

“I welcome thee to Hadone, Lady Emma.”

Emma descended with as much grace and dignity as was possible when climbing down from a cart. “My thanks, Gar. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”

“ ’Tis not right that a lady should be forced to endure the rigors of the road in such rough company. I hope your journey was not overly harsh.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed as she withdrew her hand from Gar’s. “Darian did all he could to make the journey pleasant. Our English weather, however, did not cooperate with him.”

“Earl William will be pleased to hear of Darian’s diligence. Come, food and drink await. While we eat, you can tell me why the earl sends you to Hadone.”

Emma’s gaze settled on Darian. “I believe the tale best left to my husband.”

Gar looked around for a noble male he might have missed seeing before he reasoned out the identity of Emma’s husband. Distaste twisted Gar’s mouth.

Darian could almost hear the steward’s disapproving thoughts. A noble lady married to a lowly mercenary? Unacceptable. Unforgivable. Unimagainable!

“You?” was all Gar asked.

“Dreadful, is it not?” he responded, for once agreeing with Gar. “I would not feel too outraged on Lady Emma’s behalf, however. The marriage will be short-lived, so she will not suffer unduly.”

Gar arched an eyebrow. “You will seek an annulment?”

“With all due haste. Neither the lady nor I wish to be bound to each other any longer than we must.” He waved a dismissive hand. “However, I have more formidable problems to solve first. I fear we must impose on your hospitality for several days. Pray see Lady Emma made comfortable.”

Servants passed by carrying Emma’s trunks. The carter tugged on the ox’s lead rope and headed for the stable. A stable lad had already led away Darian’s horse. Intending to retrieve his satchel, Darian took several steps before Emma appeared in his path.

Her wide eyes revealed apprehension. “Where are you going?”

Where the devil did she think he was bound at this time of night, and why should it matter to her? He need not answer to her for his whereabouts, so why did he feel it necessary to answer?

“Merely to the stables to retrieve my belongings.” “Oh. Well, then, I will leave you to your errand and await you in the hall.”

Her relief was so apparent Darian had to wonder why she seemed so nervous. Gar might not be one of his favorite people, but the steward would treat Emma with the respect and courtesy due her. But perhaps she didn’t know that. From the rumors he’d heard bandied about at Westminster, she hadn’t been treated with much courtesy of late—not at court, and not from him.

An unwarranted prick of guilt prodded him into giving her the reassurance she seemed to need.

“You have naught to fear here at Hadone. We are safe. You will be treated well. Go eat. I will be in anon.”

She nodded slightly and glanced at where Gar waited for her. “What shall I tell him?”

“Of what happened at court? Might as well tell him the truth. Neither of us has aught to hide.”

She pursed her lips. “Nay, only a regret or two.”

She might, he didn’t. “I learned long ago that regret serves no purpose. One simply deals with what fate tosses one’s way and hopes all comes out right in the end.”

Looking into Emma’s upturned face, still seeing uneasiness, for the first time in a very long time, he hoped the end came out right for another person other than himself as well.

A hope he had no business harboring. What happened to Emma shouldn’t concern him. Their fates weren’t en-twined. He’d do well to save his concern for his own well-being, keep his nose well and clear of other people’s problems.

Only that way would he survive.

Emma tilted her head, watching Darian stalk off toward the stables.

“He has upset you,” Gar stated. “I fear Darian can be difficult. You should not take his lack of manners or hurtful comments to heart.”

She was beginning to understand why Darian disliked Gar, and to her chagrin, she found herself coming to Darian’s defense. “He said nothing hurtful. Why did you assume he did?”

“That is his nature, and your distress is most apparent. Mayhap a cup of wine will ease you somewhat.”

A cup of wine would ease her thirst, but not her worry over whether Darian would still be at Hadone when she awoke on the morn.

He certainly didn’t want to be here, and all during their journey the feeling had strengthened that he came to Hadone only because he’d told William he would see her safely delivered to the castle.

What would she do if he abandoned her to rush off to find de Salis’s murderer? The erroneous charge must be uppermost in his mind, nagging at him, eventually pushing him to take action. How soon? Would he even come in to supper as he’d said?

Perhaps she did need a cup of wine, so she allowed Gar to lead her up the steep stairway to the keep’s second floor and through the large oak doors that opened into the great hall.

A cold, damp hall, despite the fire in the hearth and several lit torches. No rushes softened the floor. Though three magnificent wolf hounds lounged by the fire, no hunting birds perched in the high rafters. No adornments graced the walls.

At Camelen her father had hung weapons and tapestries to tease the eye and arouse the imagination. At Hadone one was greeted with unembellished gray stone. Still, Hadone’s hall was akin in shape and size to Camelen’s, bringing a lump to her throat, which she quickly swallowed.

No dais had been built to support a high table for the lord and his favorites. The men who gathered for supper crowded around two trestle tables in the middle of the room, and silence descended as they began noticing the stranger in their midst.

Master craftsmen, she guessed, from the quality of their garb and other revealing clues. The thin man with sawdust sprinkled in his dark hair was likely the master carpenter. Another bore gray dust on his tunic. The master mason? The hulk of a man at the far end of the table could be none other than the blacksmith. The rest would be of their rank, though she couldn’t be sure of their crafts.

Emma kept her chin up, her expression passive. Darian was convinced she would be treated with consideration, but then, these people hadn’t yet heard why she’d come to Hadone. Once they found out what she’d confessed in court, and that she’d been forced to marry a mercenary because of her imprudence, many wouldn’t be inclined to friendliness.

Not that she would make friends among the craftsmen. Her rank set her above them, and she wouldn’t be here long enough for the barrier to lower.

Of more import to Emma was the only other woman in the room. Young and pretty, she stood near the stairway, obviously giving orders to the servants who bore Emma’s trunks. No veil covered the woman’s raven-black braid. Her brown gown might be simple and devoid of embroidery, but the fit was excellent and the wool of fine weave. When finished with the servants, smiling softly, the woman hurried toward the doorway.

“Lady Emma, my daughter, Maura,” Gar said, the fondness in his voice impossible to mistake.

Maura dipped into a curtsy. “My lady. I bid thee welcome to Hadone. I took the liberty of having your trunks sent up to my bedchamber, and ordered the serving wench to bring two more trenchers from the kitchen. You and Darian will join us at table, of course.”

Maura’s smile was so genuine Emma couldn’t help smiling, too. Perhaps being exiled at Hadone wouldn’t be too bad.

Emma removed her cloak; Maura took it and handed it off to a servant.

“I thank you, Maura. I would be honored to join you, as will Darian, I am sure.”

“Wonderful.” She looked to her father. “So where is he? Not staying away because he argued with you, I hope.”

“Oh, nay,” Gar answered in a casual tone that wasn’t casual at all. “He will be in shortly, I imagine. I should think he would wish to dine with his wife.”

Maura’s smile slipped, and then her eyes widened slightly as she caught Gar’s meaning.

“You and Darian are wed?”

Emma took a steadying breath, having hoped to avoid explanations so soon. And what was keeping Darian? He knew these people and should be here to tell the tale. He’d said to tell the truth, but sweet Jesu, how much of it?

“Aye. We were wed yester morn. I know it is unusual for a lady to wed a mercenary—”

“Outright unheard of,” Gar interrupted.

She contained her irritation for the sake of harmony, not knowing how long she would have to endure the steward’s arrogance. “The tale is rather confusing. If you do not mind, I would prefer Darian relate it.”

Maura fairly beamed. “Oh, this is intriguing. But come, you must be weary and hungry. Sit and eat and we shall await Darian with eager ears.”

As they approached the nearest table, all of the men stood. Gar took his seat at the head, and Maura waved a hand at where Emma should sit, on Gar’s left. A trencher already sat on the table, the gravy having seeped into the almost white bread.

This was Maura’s place and trencher, certainly. Emma bit her lip to keep from declining the seat so Maura could finish her meal in her accustomed seat. But as the steward’s daughter, Maura knew the rules of hospitality, which she’d already followed when giving up her bed. So Emma gingerly sat on the bench, acknowledging the men’s bows with a nod as if she were some important personage, which she wasn’t.

Maura then waved her hands. “Move down, all of you. We have guests.”

The hulk at the end of the table didn’t resume his seat. In a voice so quiet Emma strained to hear, claiming he had finished his meal, he begged leave of Gar.

With permission granted, Maura pouted. “I did not mean to rush you, Master Smith.”

“I rush myself, Maura. I have chisels to sharpen and trowels to straighten before the morning work begins.”

The men on the other side of the table accommodated Maura, who dragged her trencher over to her new seat. The men on Emma’s side slid down, leaving plenty of room for Darian.

As host, Gar felt obligated to make introductions. She’d guessed right about the master mason and carpenter. Then came the forester and bailiff, and, to her surprise, the falconer.

“Do you like the hunt, my lady?” Gar asked.

“I have not hunted in an age.” She again searched the rafters. “Have you hawks?”