Boadicea's Legacy (4 page)

If the saints were kind, then the Lady Deirdre would have the fabled spear and give it to Os on the Earl of Norfolk's behalf without a fuss.

He rode Bartholomew through the side gate and around the path to the front of the manor. Made of stone and painted in the popular green and white block pattern, it was a welcoming sight. The oak double doors were wide open, and a bailiff in green and white livery stood at the top of the stairs, shouting orders. This was a home. Envy snapped him like a ferocious dog bite.

More than anything, Osbert, knight of God and man of business, wanted a home of his own.

He slowed, ignoring the longing that drove him when others might rest, and gave his reins to a young lad of about eight, if the gapped teeth in his wide smile were any indication of age. “Is your lord in?”

“Aye. Just finished his morning bread and soon off to the stables. Hunting this morn. With Lord Thomas de Havel.”

Chatty young lad. Why couldn't he have been in the inn last night swilling beer?
“I need to speak to him, right away. It is”—Osbert fairly decided that while he wanted to be done with the quest charged to him, the matter wasn't life-threatening—”important.”

The boy nodded, dropped the reins, and ran to the bailiff at the top of the stairs. Os dismounted and ordered Bartholomew to stay and followed the boy. The bailiff could hardly turn him away once he was off his horse, with his introductory letter in hand.

“Good day, sir,” the bailiff said, eyeing him from toe to scalp. Osbert became acutely aware that his small dip in the stream had done little more than get the bloody chunks off. He took a discreet sniff and found he wore a clinging odor of bad meat. He looked down to see a hole in the side of his boot; his leggings were ripped and his tunic wrinkled and slightly damp. Os raked a hand through his hair and pulled out a twig.

He clenched his jaw. Situations like these tested a man's mettle. He would prove he was made of stern stuff. “I am here to see Lord and Lady Montehue, on behalf of the Earl of Norfolk.” He stopped there, despite the interest in the bailiff's expression.

Os made a point to
never
overexplain. He held out the letter.

Accepting the papers, the bailiff had no choice but to announce Osbert to the Montehues. “Wait here, sir.”

“Certainly.” Os flipped a coin to the lad. “My horse's name is Bartholomew. See that he gets some water, aye?”

The lad spirited the money away, his eyes wide. “Yea, sir.”

Os sincerely wished the boy well. What would his life have been like if he'd grown up in such a fine place as this?

The bailiff returned, his gaze neutral. “You may follow me to the solar.” He turned on his heel and walked briskly
down the hall, to the left, and up a small set of stairs. They were moving too fast for Os to do more than glimpse his surroundings.

Fine tapestries hung on the walls from ornate wooden hangers. Dried flowers filled vases of colored glass on tables in the long hall. Sweet rushes lightly perfumed the air, but not enough to dispel the lingering scent of fresh-baked bread.

His stomach rumbled loud enough to cause the bailiff to look back over his shoulder with disapproval.

Os didn't so much as raise an eyebrow.

They came to the end of the hall, and the bailiff paused. “Sir, would you care to … clean up? Before you go in to see Lord Montehue?”

Realizing that the bailiff was doing him a kindness stung his pride. Os shrugged as if he didn't know he stunk to the heavens. “Nay. I've been traveling over a year to find answers. I'll not wait a moment more.”

“Very well, sir.” The bailiff opened the door on a scene Osbert had written in his head on many different cold and lonely nights. The lord and lady lounged on a chaise before the fire while a young woman held a needle and a cloth, embroidering something—a pillow, possibly. Seated nearby was a young man in fine clothes—not handsome, for certes, but rich and educated, if the book in his grasp was anything to go by.

Family.

All of whom were staring at him. He should have taken the extra moments and washed his face, and perhaps
changed into his less filthy tunic that was rolled in his pack. Regret served nobody, so he raised his chin and barged gracelessly to the point. “I am Osbert Edyvean. I am here on behalf of the Earl of Norfolk.”

The tall, blond giant of a man who Os had mistakenly thought of as
lounging
on the chaise rose to his feet and boomed, “So your letter of introduction said. What, pray tell, can the earl want of us?”

“Lord Montehue?” Os took a step forward to clasp his hand—but the man avoided the greeting and shook Os's introductory letter beneath his nose in a manner that bordered on rude. Outbursts of emotion caused mistakes, so Os deliberated on what could make the lord of the manor so angry. A man wouldn't be offended by the dirt or smell of travel. Was Lord Montehue always a blustering ogre, or did he hold a past grudge against the earl?

He'd made his fortune being able to read mannerisms, and in some of his assignments from the earl, he'd had to dig into people's pasts. Jousting was more honorable than the sneaky revealing of secrets. It seemed that everybody had something they wanted to stay buried.

Whether it was the man of the house hiding the fact that he was tupping the alehouse maid, or the wife lying about how much she spent on food while using the extra to pay for beauty spells from the local wisewoman, Os had uncovered plenty.

A straightforward sword slice was a cleaner injury than some he'd caused in the name of the earl.
For a price
.
Dropping his hand to his side, he said, “I just have a few questions, my lord. Regarding the Lady Deirdre's knowledge of Boadicea.”

The woman sitting on the chaise stood. She was very tall. Red hair peeped from beneath a veil of green silk. She clasped her ivory hands in front of her waist. “Boadicea? I'm curious as to what you know, sir. Mayhap I have a few questions as well.”

She sounded wary. Then Os remembered the scared look that had crossed the villager's face last night before he'd dashed out into the rain. The peasant had chosen to run rather than give away his lord's secrets.
Intriguing
.

Lord Montehue took a protective step in front of his wife. “We were told this morn that a stranger had come to the village, asking questions that should be of no concern to anybody but our family. What business is Boadicea of yours?”

The lord was a large, muscular man. Os calculated his age to be well over forty, and yet he didn't show an ounce of fat.
I should have tackled the peasant before he ever left the inn. Mayhap the lord is not angry at the earl, but at me
. “Not mine, my lord. I am here on behalf of—”

“The Earl of Norfolk. Aye, I read the letter. And heard ye say it. But what, pray tell, does it mean? I've never met the man, and from what I've heard, ‘tis just as well. Promises made and broken, that's what rumor says of
him.”

“Father.” A low-toned female voice sighed, and Os turned in her direction. “You said you'd speak softly.”

The richly dressed, rabbit-faced man next to her
scratched his chin and narrowed his beady eyes. “Now, see here, my Lord Montehue. The Earl of Norfolk, Roger Bigod, is a friend of …
the family
. I'll not hear one word spoken against him.”

The family?
Who was this man to the Montehues? Os bridled at the disrespectful way the younger man addressed Lord Montehue. And the girl had called the blond giant father. He'd heard in his travels that the Montehue daughters were all married and moved away. Who could this be?

As if she sensed his questions, she turned her face toward him, and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

She was flawless. At least he thought so. Court beauties were as pale as milk, and yet this woman had skin the color of a golden peach with a flush of rose at her cheeks. Her jaw was too strong, perhaps, for traditional beauty, and her height—she had to be taller than her mother—made her almost as tall as her father.

Os knew that if he held her close, her head would rest just beneath his chin.
Perfect
.

Her eyes were almond shaped, tipped up like a cat's at the ends—and bright as any emeralds found in the Holy City. Her lashes were dark auburn, her unshaved eyebrows the same deep shade of red. Her mouth was rose-petal pink and looked as soft and inviting as frosting on a cake.

She personified everything he'd dreamed about but knew he could never have.

No family, no heritage, he was an orphan who'd barely survived the ports of Yardsmoth. He'd yearned for death.
Until Sir Percy found him. He clenched his jaw.

The rugged old knight had given him a reason to live. Osbert had pledged his new life to God and to Sir Percy. They'd traveled from one town to the next, earning coin in market fairs, until the day Sir Percy could no longer place in the tournaments. Os, big for his age, had donned the knight's armor. The first two years, Os had lost more than he'd won, but they hadn't starved. Soon he'd been winning and rarely losing at all.

“Are you deaf?” Lord Montehue's face turned a mottled red.

“I beg your pardon?” Os returned from the memories and shook his head until he recalled the thread of conversation. “I—the earl, to my knowledge, is an honest man. Mayhap it was his father you're thinking of?” Hugh Bigod changed his mind as often as the tide, and
everybody
knew that.

“Sirs!” The ugly—Os searched and realized that the man had no attribute to save his face from downright homely—younger man flushed purple, which didn't help his sallow skin. “Need I remind you who I am?”

The daughter—angel—went to the man and put her hand on his sleeve. “Thomas, please, you know my father's temper … he means nothing by it. May I get you more wine before the hunt?”

Thomas jutted out his lower lip like a pouting child, and Os felt his lip curl in disgust. “I suppose, Ela, that a drop or two more will make the day pass faster. ‘Tis inferior drink, but don't be stingy.”

Lord Robert growled at the back of his throat and glared
at his daughter in warning. “Ela, think this through—you are making a mistake.”

“Father.”
Ela's eyes widened, and the lines around her lips paled—as if she were afraid.
Of what?

“I agree with your father. You will never be happy, darling, if you—”

“Mother, please. You promised. Thomas, come to the balcony with me for some fresh air. Here”—she poured the wine with shaking hands into a silver goblet—”let us speak of more pleasant things. You've just returned from court. How fares the king?”

“We can stay,” Thomas said, even as Ela urged him toward the balcony. He sent each of them a glare of implied retribution. Os kept his expression impassive.

“I feel faint. Fresh air will be just the thing.” Ela put her arm through Thomas's and led him out the doors and out of sight. What was going on? Confused, he looked to Lady Deirdre, who merely shrugged helplessly.

Lord Robert grumbled and sank down to the chaise. “What is she thinking—choosing that sallow-faced dog? She needn't marry but for love—and you can't tell me, Deirdre, that she loves that sop!”

Os felt like a voyeur, witnessing a private moment of grief. “I should go—”

Lady Deirdre sat down next to her husband, putting her arm around his defeated shoulders. “She is a headstrong girl.”

“Girl? She's twenty years old—hardly a child.”

“True.” Lady Deirdre patted his back. “Like you, she
values her family above all else.”

“What are you trying to say? Speak plainly, so I can understand, woman.”

Yes
, Os thought with a small twinge of shame,
speak plainly so that I can understand too
. Why would a beautiful woman marry a man such as
that?
The Montehues were not in obvious need of money.

Lady Deirdre sat back and fanned her face with Osbert's letter of introduction. “Well, let us think on why she picked such a man—for certes, Robert, you are right and she doesn't love him. Mayhap she thinks to bring us land, joining ours to his? Or to save us … But from what? Or rather …
who?”
As if suddenly remembering they weren't alone, Lady Deirdre jerked her chin up and skewered Osbert with her gaze. “I'll thank you to not repeat what you've just heard.”

“I wouldn't dream of it, my lady.” Those green eyes promised to skin him alive if he broke his vow.

“Good.” She smiled, and her face was beautiful and serene again. “Now, tell us why you are really here? Young Jonny from the village insisted that you are going to arrest us all on witchcraft charges and throw us in the river with stones tied to our feet.”

“What?” Os furrowed his brow. “I never said any such thing.”

“But you
were
asking about us in the village.” Lord Robert had returned to his blunt self.

“Aye.” Os kept his voice even and calm in response to Lord Robert's accusation. “I arrived late, grateful that I'd
found a place to rest for myself and my horse before the gates closed. You see, I've been traveling all over Wales and England to find you. Mayhap I pushed too hard with my questions.” His impatience had scared the peasants, which was his own fault. “The villagers are loyal to you, my lord, and once they grew suspicious, they spoke nary another word.”

“Jonny said that you asked about Boadicea—then spell-craft and curses.” Lady Deirdre's lips curved pleasantly, as if the word “witch” wasn't hanging about in the solar with them, yet her body was tight as a string on a lute. The family was surely protecting—or hiding—something. His work for the earl had taught him to recognize the signs.

Os splayed his hands palms up to show he was not a threat to them. “My lady, I was tired, and perhaps I should have been more cautious in the words I used. I beg your pardon.”