Chapter 12
M
ary stood on the battlements and looked out over the countryside. She couldn’t say she enjoyed heights, as it had always seemed more sensible to her to be closer to the ground. Today, though, she wasn’t sure she cared.
Zachary had left three days ago.
Worse still, she hadn’t seen him at all for the day that he’d been there. She supposed she should have suspected something when her father had confined her to her mother’s solar, but she’d been discouraged enough to simply comply without thinking to question the order. She’d been discouraged because Geoffrey of Styrr seemed, with each passing day, to grow more convinced he would have what he wanted.
She had finally escaped her mother’s solar on the second day only to realize whom she’d missed. She’d heard tell of the marvelous plans Zachary had done for her sire, then gained her father’s solar to have her own view of them. She’d looked at Zachary’s drawings and had been speechless at their beauty. The kennels looked as if they existed somehow on parchment in truth. The hounds he had drawn inhabiting an opening or two were so well done, she half expected them to leap off the page as well.
And then she had looked at the last page and seen herself pictured there.
He had drawn her sitting in a chair in front of the hearth in her father’s solar. Her hands were folded demurely in her lap, but she was wearing lads’ clothes, as if she’d just come in from the stables. Her hair was hanging loose over her shoulders and she wore a faint smile on her face. He had, by some magic she had no name for, managed to make her look as elegant and beautiful as her mother, in spite of her clothing.
She had looked up at her father to find him watching her with an expression of pity on his face.
He’d straightened immediately and gone to fuss with things on his table, his visage reflecting nothing of what she’d seen on it but the moment before. She hadn’t had to see that former expression to understand it, for the feeling that had no doubt inspired it was one she shared herself.
Regret.
Regret that Zachary the smith wasn’t a nobleman himself with spurs on his heels and a castle at his back. It might have been possible, given the obvious feeling he’d poured into his portrait of her, that he might have even cared for her.
A gust of suddenly bitter wind pulled her from her thoughts as surely as if she’d been struck. Zachary was no doubt well on his way now to wherever it was he planned to go. London, Scotland ; perhaps it didn’t matter the direction. He would go back to his life and she would proceed with hers.
The saints pity her for it.
She rubbed her hands over her face, took a deep breath, then put her shoulders back. Of course Zachary would go back to his life, and good riddance. She certainly hoped she never saw him again. Her life was bound to improve so greatly that he would be the one to regret not having stayed to be a part of it. He had done for her what he’d agreed to do and that was that. Besides, what did she need with a man who had no title and no ability to dance? Better that she concentrate on things she understood, such as horses.
She shivered suddenly. The weather was terrible and looked to worsen very soon. She hoped Zachary had found somewhere comfortable to stay, else he would be very damp indeed.
Not that it was any of her affair, of course. He would either freeze or survive as he traveled and she wouldn’t be the wiser. All she could do was turn her attentions to her future and leave him to his.
She pulled her cloak closer around herself and left the battlements. What she should have done, likely, was seek out a place in front of her mother’s fire, but she was certain she wouldn’t have managed to sit still. Being in her mother’s solar would have also meant passing time with Styrr’s mother, and she couldn’t have borne that.
She couldn’t bear the thought of her father’s solar, either. She would have been tempted to look at what Zachary had left behind, which would only distract her from the task at hand, which was to avoid any entanglements with Geoffrey of Styrr. Nay, best that she go work her horses, then consider what could be done about that.
She made her way down through the keep. The passageways were fairly empty and she managed to skirt the company sitting in front of one of the hearths in the great hall. She put her head down and walked past them and out the hall, hoping no one would call for her to halt.
She saddled Rex quickly, then led him out into the wet. He wasn’t happy with the weather, but at least he didn’t fight her as she walked him across the lists.
Things changed quite abruptly when she started to work him.
A tremendous clap of thunder frightened her so badly that she lost her concentration for just a moment. Rex bolted, taking her with him until she managed to let go of the line. After she was facedown in the mud, of course.
She pushed herself back up to her knees, then dragged her muddy sleeve across her equally muddy face. That didn’t do much besides clear her eyes. She tucked her face inside the neck of her tunic, which accomplished only a muddying of other parts of her.
She had certainly had better days.
A hand appeared in front of her. She looked up to find Thaddeus standing there, watching her solemnly.
“Aid?” he offered.
“Thank you,” she said, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
“Falling off a horse who won’t allow you to forget it the next time you ride him will do that to a gel, or so I’ve heard.”
She scowled. “Perhaps it escaped your attention, but I hadn’t gotten to the riding part yet.”
“Even worse.”
“Are you helping?”
He only laughed a little. She glared at him, then went to chase down her horse. By the time she managed it, she was limping badly, her hair was plastered to her face, and she was absolutely overcome by vile humors.
She put Rex away, cursing under her breath as she did so, then banged her way out of the stall and stomped down the aisle.
Right into Geoffrey of Styrr.
She realized with a start that she was alone. Her cousins she had sent scurrying half an hour before with her foul tongue. Rolf and his lads had done all their work and were no doubt comfortably ensconced in front of the fire in the garrison hall, happily downing cups of ale and relishing the fact that none of the garrison was fool enough to call for a horse in the current storm.
She was alone and the howling wind would make it so no one would hear her scream.
She swallowed her unease and took hold of more sensible emotions, such as disdain. She folded her arms over her chest in her father’s favorite pose of intimidation and looked down her nose at Styrr.
“Aye?”
He brushed off the front of himself whilst wearing a look of extreme distaste. “You’re filthy.”
“That, my lord, tends to happen when you do more than simply stare at the lists. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business inside.”
“I’ll escort you there. After we’re finished here.”
She wondered how it was that someone who was that handsome, with such perfectly formed features and very nice teeth, could be so profoundly unpleasant. Unpleasant in a way that was so subtle that no one seemed to mark it save her.
Well, and Zachary Smith, who thought Styrr’s eyes were crossed.
They weren’t, she saw, but Zachary had likely been looking for something to make her laugh. She couldn’t imagine that Styrr would ever have bothered with that himself.
She didn’t move when Styrr took a step closer to her, still smiling pleasantly, though she was terribly tempted. She supposed he would have simply complimented her on the quality of her screams as he slipped a knife between her ribs, then complained about the mess she might have made of his hands.
“I think we’re finished now,” she said, starting to walk past him.
He stepped in front of her. “I don’t think we are.”
She opened her mouth to call him a fool, then wrinkled her nose. If his vile self wasn’t offensive enough, there was that faint hint of scent that seemed to always cling to him. It wasn’t something she marked often—having always had the good fortune to be far away from him—but now the wet had augmented it far past its usual cloying sweetness. By the saints, did the man douse himself in scented water like a woman? What next? Dainty dishes at table, especially fashioned wines, soft and delicate sheets and coverings at night to protect his equally soft and delicate self?
’Twas no wonder her cousins mocked him relentlessly behind his back.
“Let us come to an understanding,” he said softly, “just you and me.”
“I think I understand you very well already—”
“And I daresay you don’t,” he said. He stretched out his first fingers and pushed into her shoulders with them.
Mary suspected he did so with equal parts a desire not to muddy himself and the intention to cause her as much pain as possible with as little effort as possible on his part.
She backed up, because she had no choice.
“Stop that,” she said sharply.
He pushed her again, not so hard that she would have fallen, but hard enough that she was forced to take another step backward.
“I have no intention of stopping,” he said curtly. “You, however, will accustom yourself to stopping when I tell you to. Riding, speaking your mind, dressing as a lad. All these unpleasant behaviors will be things you will stop when I tell you to.”
“When hell freezes over—”
“And that, too,” he said, with another push. “You will not talk to me in that manner. I am the lord of Styrr Hall and you will accord me the respect due me.”
Mary rubbed her shoulders, but she couldn’t get away from his very painful pokes or his continued and very relentless march forward. She shoved him suddenly, but he was, despite his unwillingness to engage in any sort of activities that her cousins would have considered manly, a very solid sort of lad. All she managed to do was dirty the front of his tunic.
His anger was truly terrifying to behold. She turned suddenly and bolted—
Into a wall.
Only it wasn’t a wall. Hands pulled her out of the way and behind a very solid form that she had no trouble recognizing.
’Twas Zachary.
She let out the shakiest breath of her life. She took hold of his dripping cloak and rested her head against his back. It was literally the only thing that kept her on her feet.
“My lord Styrr,” Zachary said politely.
“You have no business here, smith,” Geoffrey snarled.
Zachary didn’t move. “Actually, I do, my lord. Something to do with removing refuse from the stalls. Shall I start with you? And before you answer, perhaps I should point out that you seem to have acquired a bit of an audience. They’ve no doubt come to watch your tender care of the woman you hope to wed.”
Mary looked around Zachary’s shoulder to see Thaddeus and Connor standing at the entrance to the stables, wearing expressions of such coldness that even her father might have been impressed. Thaddeus made Styrr a very low bow.
“The smith has it aright,” he said, straightening. “We missed my cousin at supper and were sent to see where she had gotten to.”
“Then you’ve just arrived,” Styrr said firmly, as if he hoped by saying it, it would make it so.
“Recently,” Connor conceded. He stepped back and gestured toward the courtyard. “Allow me to be your guard back to the hall, my lord. Lord Thaddeus will make certain that my cousin arrives in an equally safe and timely manner.”
Mary had to admit that Styrr had more courage than she’d given him credit for. She wouldn’t have walked within arm’s reach of either of her cousins for any amount of gold if she’d seen them in that mood. Connor followed Styrr, with his hands clasped behind his back—likely so he wasn’t tempted to put one of them on his sword and use the hilt of that sword to carve Styrr’s heart out of his chest.
Thaddeus only nodded to her, then went to stand at the opening of the stable with his back to her. Mary took a deep breath, then looked up at Zachary. He watched the stable entrance for a moment or two, then turned to her.
“Aren’t you supposed to be inside?” he asked.
“I had to see to my horse.” She frowned up at him. “It wasn’t as though I expected to see him here.” She frowned a bit more. “I didn’t expect to see you here, either. Why are you?”
His expression was more strained than she’d ever seen it.
“I realized as I was traveling that I shouldn’t have left your father with unbuilt kennels,” he said quietly. “It seemed a poor precedent to set.”
“You came back for dog kennels,” she said in disbelief.
He pursed his lips. “Perhaps I came back to help you.”
“Help me what?” she asked tartly. “Find my way to the chapel?”
“I imagine a bit of time there might serve us both,” he conceded, “but I think you should have a bath first.”
“Rex bolted,” she said pointedly.
“Taking you with him, apparently.”
She smiled in spite of herself, but she felt her smile fade all too quickly. “Did you see what Styrr did?”
“Aye.”
“My father won’t believe it.”
“I’ll tell him of it.” He reached up and rubbed gently at her cheeks with the hem of his sleeve, then he looked suddenly over her head. “Here he comes. I’ll tell him now, if he’ll listen.”
Mary turned and found her father standing twenty paces behind her. He had assumed his pose of ultimate intimidation with his arms folded over his chest and his expression one of intense disapproval. Zachary only made him a very low bow.
“My lord Artane.”
“Smith,” Robin said shortly. “You returned.”
“Your kennels are unbuilt. And I was thinking that I should spend a bit more time with Master Godric and perfect my dagger fashioning. And, if you’re willing, perhaps work off the price of a sword.”
Her father seemed to unbend a little at that. He let out a deep breath, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Have a brush with unsavouries, did you?”
“Briefly,” Zachary agreed.
“’Tis a dodgy world out there, lad.”
“’Tis a dodgy world in here,” Mary muttered.
Zachary smiled briefly at her, then looked at her father. “It is, my lord.”
Robin studied him for a moment or two. “I’m beginning to think I should just give you a permanent bed here in the stables.”
Zachary smiled, but Mary could see the worry in his eyes. She had no idea why he couldn’t seem to get himself home, or why he thought it was so important that he return to build something to house her father’s hounds, or work for Godric in the forge, or procure a sword that he most certainly didn’t need to have to protect himself.
It couldn’t have been that he had missed her.
“I appreciate the concession,” Zachary said gravely, “but I’ll be happy enough to bed down wherever there’s space. If you wouldn’t mind allowing me to finish what I started for you and rest a bit, then I’ll be on my way again.”
Her father looked at him for another moment or two in silence, then nodded. “Come inside and eat, then you can begin to work at your leisure. Actually, I think I’ll eat in the kitchens with you. ‘Twill be the least unappetizing meal I’ve had in a se’nnight, I daresay. Mary, go inside and go upstairs.”
“I might want to eat,” she said pointedly.
“I might have something sent up.”
“I must tend my other horse first.”
Her father shot her a sharp look. “I think, missy, that you’ve had enough adventure in the stables today.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Thaddeus said, appearing at his uncle’s elbow.
Robin pursed his lips. “Leaving the lady Anne with the en-viable task of seeing to both Styrr and his mother. I have a feeling I’ll be repaying this debt for quite some time to come.”
Mary wanted to ask her father why, if he couldn’t bear the thought of supper with Styrr, he thought she could bear the thought of life with the man, but Zachary sent her a quick look that had her biting back what she intended to say. Perhaps he had a plan.
She wanted to go along with him and see what it might be, but she supposed that wouldn’t be the way to learn what she wanted to know.
Fortunately for her, she knew what would be.
Two hours later, she was lying in the hayloft with Theo discussing various things, but nothing that could possibly aid her in her current straits. She elbowed Theo when she thought she heard the sound of voices. If it was her father come to fetch her, she didn’t particularly want to be found. If it was Styrr, she most definitely didn’t want him to know where to find her. If it was anyone else, she wanted to hear their confidences.
“But the question is, would it matter? Your uncle wouldn’t give her to anyone but a man equal to her in station, would he?”
“Of course not.”
Mary turned her head to find Theo watching her with very bright eyes.
“This will be a spectacular bit of eavesdropping,” he predicted.
“Then be silent and use your ears to their best advantage,” she suggested.
He nodded carefully, then closed his eyes, presumably to listen more fully. Mary didn’t have to. She could hear Zachary and Parsival well enough without resorting to that.
“But why not look for a man who loves her for what she is?” Zachary asked.
“Because, my naive friend, most men are looking for a bride of ten-and-two whom they can fashion into a woman who won’t argue, or speak her mind, or meddle with their horseflesh. And the reason Mary doesn’t gainsay her father is because she loves him and wouldn’t think to bring dishonor on him by making a fool of him.”
“Even if that means she’ll have a life of unhappiness.”
Parsival was silent for a moment or two. “Duty, Zachary.”
“I don’t mind duty when it applies to what I need to do, but I find myself much less enthusiastic about the word when it applies to a beautiful woman who deserves better.”
Parsival laughed. “You’re a romantic. A pity you aren’t a romantic with a title lurking behind your tender heart.”
“A pity it matters.” Zachary paused. “Parsival, what would you say to a little journey?”
“I imagine it depends on the destination and what mischief might be combined there. Tantalize me with salacious possibilities and I’ll see.”
“I want to go north.”
“North,” Parsival repeated. “That is a very large destination, no?”
“I’m interested in a particular part of the north.”
“To what end?”
“To solve a mystery.”
Mary suppressed the urge to either weep or shout with relief. It wasn’t possible that Zachary intended to go to Styrr Hall and investigate things she couldn’t.
“Do you have time for such a thing?” Parsival asked. “I thought you were eager to return home.”
“I am finding that my roads don’t seem to lead there,” he said, finally. “They seem to lead me back to Artane.”
“Perhaps to solve our little puzzle?”
“I’m beginning to think so.”
“Let us return to the hall and find Connor,” Parsival said. “He is always ready to embark on a quest that might result in bloodshed.”
“Heaven help us,” Zachary said with half a laugh. “I’m hoping we might avoid that.”
“We will see.”
Mary continued to listen but only heard sounds receding. She sighed and rolled to her left only to squeak at the sight of Samuel looking at her from where he lay within an enormous pile of hay, between her and Theo.
“It would serve you right,” she said evenly, “if someone stabbed you by mistake with a pitchfork.”
He only smiled. “I don’t hide here in the daylight.”
“Wise.”
“Aye,” he agreed. He propped his head up on his hand, shaking his head briefly to remove things from his ear. “Eavesdropping,” he said wisely. “It always yields interesting things.”
She looked at both her cousins. “I think it yields nothing but heartache.”
“I think Zachary’s fond of you,” Theo offered.
“Fond enough to engage in a few inquiries,” Samuel agreed. “North, if memory serves.”
Mary said nothing. She considered for quite some time in silence before she looked at her cousins again.
“I might need aid in the morning.”
They both nodded solemnly.
“I’d best at least look as if I’m off to bed early tonight.”
Theo smiled. Samuel rose to his feet and reached down to pull her to hers.
“We’ll see to it,” he promised.
If only all her problems could be solved so easily. She thanked the lads kindly, then made her way down to the floor. Thaddeus was waiting for her just outside the stables. He said nothing, only put his arm around her shoulders and walked with her to the hall. She thanked him very kindly for the escort once he left her in front of her bedchamber.
Aye, she would go with Zachary in the morning, simply because of the smell she’d noticed clinging to Geoffrey earlier.
She had smelled that particular scent before. It reminded her sharply of something lingering in Roger’s cup of wine she’d only had a sip of the night he had died.
She went inside her chamber and began to gather up gear for a brief journey north.