Elizabeth Elliott (12 page)

Claudia forgot her questions when she caught sight of Guy. He stood by his injured warhorse with Evard and Francis. He didn’t acknowledge her in any way, but his gaze never left her as she followed the soldier toward the keep. She didn’t know what to make of the way he stared at her. For a time she stared back, until she nearly ran into her escort when he paused at the stone steps that led to the keep. She felt a
blush warm her cheeks and made a more concerted effort to watch where she placed her feet.

The soldier led her up the steps of the massive keep, then through the great hall. They hurried through the hall so quickly that she caught little more than a glimpse of long silk banners that hung from the ribbed crossbeams and costly stained glass windows. The walls were covered with colorful tapestries, the walls themselves whitewashed, with every arch and colonnade painted in bright colors and intricate patterns to look like Moorish mosaics. Most astonishing of all, the tables were draped with cream-colored linen. Did Guy expect his king to pay a visit?

“This way, Lady Claudia.” The soldier gestured toward a winding staircase, then led the way.

Claudia held one hand against the wall to steady herself so she could crane her neck to gape at the great hall until it disappeared from sight below them. The soldier led her to the end of a long hallway where a door of stout oak stood open. He indicated that she should step inside.

“The baron bids you await him here, my lady. He will join you after you are refreshed from your journey.”

Claudia wondered if the room was a guest chamber or a prison, even as the soldier closed the door behind her. It looked neither. She turned in a half circle to stare at the strange room. The place appeared to be a nest of pillows and curtains. Large blue satin pillows with gold tassels were piled before the fireplace. A large bed dominated the wall next to the fireplace. Its blue brocade bed curtains matched the coverlet, with more brocade pillows stacked near the headboard. Both the headboard and footboard were carved to resemble waves. She had never seen anything like it.

Her gaze moved away from the bed to a window seat padded with blue cushions, to the pillows stacked on top of the pads that were blue and white striped. A table and two chairs with wide arms stood near the window, simple in their design compared to the bed, and several trunks rested along the outer wall. To her left, the room had been partitioned
with dark blue curtains so sheer that they seemed to float with every slight breeze that entered through the window. Somewhere behind those curtains she heard the sound of splashing water. Two ladies made their way around the curtain, a brunette dressed in a gown of pale yellow with a pumpkin-colored bliaut, and a blond who wore a gown the colors of roses and cream. Both carried buckets, and they dropped a quick curtsy to Claudia. She was the only lady she knew who would carry a water bucket. These two did not seem the least offended by the lowly chore.

“Greetings, my lady,” said the blond. “My name is Lenore, and this is Mary.” She gave Claudia an expectant look that met with silence, then she turned to Mary. “Fetch a trencher of hot food from the kitchens. ’Tis certain the lady will want a hearty meal after her journey.”

“You are servants?” Claudia asked, as Mary left the chamber.

“Aye, my lady.” Lenore sounded surprised that Claudia didn’t know this. Her faint blond brows formed a frown. “The baron sent a rider ahead to give our steward instructions about your arrival. The steward said I am to be your tirewoman, if you have no objection.”

Claudia could not believe that Guy went to so much trouble or that Lenore was a tirewoman. “But your clothing.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hands. “Everyone’s clothing. Is the baron so rich that he dresses his servants in clothing fit for lords and ladies?”

“Clothing?” Lenore looked puzzled, then her dark brown eyes traveled over Claudia’s cloaked form. Her face brightened. “Oh, aye, the steward said you would need clothing as well. I have new garments laid out by your bath.”

It seemed obvious that Lenore didn’t understand Claudia’s question. She would have to remember to speak slower.

Lenore gestured toward the filmy blue curtain. “The water should be cooled by now. Would you like to bathe, my lady?”

“Aye.” A bath sounded heavenly. Claudia felt as if someone
had dumped a bucket of dust on her while she slept in the baggage cart. Even her teeth felt gritty. She followed Lenore around the curtain, but came to an abrupt halt at the sight that greeted her. An enormous marble square occupied one corner of the partitioned area, with two marble steps that led to the hollowed-out oval at its top. Steam rose from the water that filled the oval. It looked very much like a Roman bath. In England?

Lenore must have noticed her astonished expression. “The baron had this made last year. Look.” She pointed into the water. “It has a cork stopper at the bottom. When the plug is pulled, a cistern carries the water outside the wall. That saves the trouble of emptying the tub by bucket.”

“Very ingenious,” Claudia mused, unaware that she spoke in Italian.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Lenore twisted her slim hands together, work-roughened hands that could not disguise her station as a servant the way her clothes did. “The steward did not tell us you were Flemish. If you would prefer, I can send for another who can speak your language.”

“I am Italian,” Claudia said, slow enough to be understood. “What made you think me Flemish?”

“I just assumed—” Lenore’s brows drew together in a frown. “All foreigners at Montague are Flemish. The baron brought master weavers and their families from Flanders five years ago to teach us their trade. Many learned their language as they learned their craft.” Lenore looked distraught. “I can do little more than count to ten in their language, and I do not speak any Italian.”

“ ’Tis not a sin,” Claudia chided. The girl acted as if she had just confessed one. The people of Montague were as unique in their thinking as they were in their dress. What an amazing place. “And I would rather speak your language. I am told I need the practice. Tell me when you do not understand what I say. Sometimes I say the words too fast.”

“Aye, my lady.” Lenore smiled again, but the smile faded when Claudia shed her cloak. “Your gown! ’Tis—ruined.”

“I think I can sew it, if you can find me a needle and thread.” Claudia hung her cloak on a row of pegs near the tub, then bent to examine her slashed skirts. The tears looked fairly even.

“You cannot wear that gown again. ’Tis fit for naught but the fabric of a quilt.” Lenore moved forward to help untie the side laces of Claudia’s gown. She nodded toward a dark blue garment that also hung from a peg. “The gown I brought you might be a little large, but now that I have seen your size I will have the seamstresses alter a few others. By tomorrow you will have gowns that fit. The baron would be vexed if we let you wear this rag.”

“Do the Flemish weavers make all the clothing for Montague’s servants?” Claudia asked.

“Oh, nay, my lady. Most of our clothing comes from the apprentice weavers and dyers.” Lenore pointed out an almost unnoticeable section of her skirt where the fabric had drawn into a nub that ran the length of the gown. “We fashion our clothing from the flawed fabric. ’Tis often no more than an uneven weave or a dye that fades. The baron could sell these fabrics as well, but he says Montague must have a reputation for producing only the finest. Baron Montague knows what he is about, for nobles of many countries vie for Montague brocades and patterns. ’Tis said some at court scoff at the baron’s penchant for trade, but all of Montague prospers as a result.”

Lenore had continued at her task while she talked. Now she seemed to wait for Claudia’s opinion of the baron’s trade. Claudia stepped into the tub and sank into the water with a weary sigh. The tub was so large that it felt as if she were afloat in a sun-warmed pond. She took the sponge and scented soap that Lenore offered and began to scrub her tired, bruised body before she lost the ambition. “Those at court must be jealous of your baron. Few live with such luxuries. Do many chambers have baths such as this one?”

Lenore wore a puzzled expression, and hesitantly asked Claudia to repeat herself. She listened very carefully the second
time and a look of comprehension brightened her features. She smiled and shook her head. “Nay, my lady. Only the baron’s chamber has such a tub.”

“The baron’s chamber?” Claudia repeated dumbly, even as comprehension sank in. Of course this was Guy’s chamber. The rich furnishings, the bath … She stood up in a cascade of water but nearly fell down again in the slippery tub. She sank to her knees and gripped the edge. “I must dress, Lenore. Quickly.”

6

G
uy slipped in to his chamber like a thief. It was his own fault that he had dreaded coming here tonight, to the one place at Montague that should offer a welcome respite from his duties and responsibilities.

The room looked welcoming enough. A small fire blazed in the hearth to chase off the evening chill, and a brace of candles cast a golden glow all around the table. The cozy setting turned cool where the ghostly light of a full moon spilled through the window, the figure that stood there a contrast of light and dark. Her gown was the color of the night sky, her face bathed in pale moonlight. Claudia stood so still that she might be a statue, a study of fragile, feminine beauty.

The last two days had proved she was far from fragile. She had displayed a streak of courage that would befit any man. Or courage that would befit any fool. What a puzzle she was. When he mulled over what he knew of her in a calm, logical fashion, there was no question in his mind that she was as devious and plotting as the rest of her family. Whenever he was anywhere near her, he started to recall little things that didn’t make sense, small pieces of the puzzle that would never fit.

Without a doubt, part of his indecision stemmed from the physical attraction he felt toward her. A man would have to be dead to remain unaffected by her beauty. Yet the other part came from her character itself. He had known plenty of scheming women along the course of his travels, and she displayed none of their traits, nor the traits of any treacherous man, for that matter. She all but exuded innocence and honesty,
with an unexpected air of sophistication about her as well, the hard-earned knowledge that the innocent did not often fare well in the world.

“Why did you bring me to your chamber, Baron?” She spoke without looking at him, as if she had known of his presence the entire time he stared at her.

Her calm manner irritated him. Any sensible woman would be crying and near hysterics. An enterprising woman would be trying to seduce her way into his favor. This cool, collected approach was a much more effective spur to his conscience than tears or coy glances. Saint Claudia was the last woman he wanted to face right now. He had hoped for passionate, sensual Claudia, sensible Claudia,
reasonable
Claudia. He did not have the patience to deal with a saint tonight. He should have installed her in another chamber until he had managed a decent night’s sleep. “I thought you might like a measure of privacy for your bath and meal. The bathhouse and great hall offer little.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as she looked him over from head to foot. His hair was still wet from his own bath and he wore a white shirt and tan breeks that he had borrowed from Evard. “I find it hard to believe that you would give up the luxury of your chamber to a prisoner.”

“You see the proof before you,” he said. “And you are not exactly a prisoner here.”

“Then what would you call me?”

“I called you a guest in my missive to the king.” The sudden uncertainty in her eyes brought a surge of satisfaction. Two could play the role of saint. “I also asked him to give my messenger any information that might help locate your brother.”

“You will help me find Dante?”

“Aye, but you need not sound so hopeful.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked beyond her through the window embrasure. Wisps of a lone cloud curled around the moon like bony fingers, a gypsy’s crystal ball where he could read the future. “Mercenaries do not live long lives in the
service of the king. Most are lucky to survive a year, much less four or five. There is every likelihood that my messenger will return with news of your brother’s death.” He waited for some reaction, anything to indicate that she understood her situation. Her silence made him feel churlish for speaking so plainly. “I do not mean to alarm you, but I think it wise to consider all possibilities. Have you given any thought to what you will do if Dante is no longer alive?”

“Dante is fine.” She nodded to emphasize her opinion, but her clenched fists belied the certainty of her words. “He is a brave and valiant knight, and none can best him on the field of honor.”

He was not about to point out that the king’s enemies rarely showed up on the field of honor. “Your brother Roberto was also a mercenary in the service of a king, and you know his fate.”

“ ’Tis not the same,” she insisted. “Dante is nothing like Roberto. He would never do anything so dishonorable.”

“You think the king of England has fewer enemies than the Scottish king? That he sends his mercenaries on assignments any less deadly?”

“He is alive, I tell you.” She gave him a regal look that would befit any queen. “He will return for me.”

He could see it then, the crack of fear in her armor, and the means to open her eyes to the truth. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

Her haughty expression faltered, then she turned her head in a sharp movement to look out the window. An oppressive silence descended over the room. Even the fire ceased to crackle and the candle flames burned lower, as if caught by a sudden lack of air.

Her rigid shoulders began to relax and he sensed a change in her, as if a wall she had tried to build around her had suddenly crumbled. Her voice came to him low and soft, the solemn tone of a confession.

“Dante sent messages every few months with the merchants and minstrels that travel to Lonsdale, but last summer
the messages stopped.” She lifted her chin to gaze up at the moon, speaking more to herself than to Guy. “I told myself that the roads are dangerous and the routes his messengers take are uncertain at best. A lost message or two would not be uncommon. Then I thought he might be in Wales. His last message said the king had granted him the right to crenelate in Wales, that he would depart within a few months to build his fortress. No one travels between Lonsdale and Wales, and there would be none to carry his messages. I clung to that hope, even though I knew in my heart that he would not leave England without telling me. I could not bring myself to consider the possibility that he might be dead. When we were children, Dante was always there when I needed him. He promised to return for me.” She looked up at him, her eyes a reflection of her pain. “I should know by now that promises are nothing but false hopes.”