Jennifer August (12 page)

“My lord, do you plan to stop it?” John’s voice boomed in his ear.

“In a moment, John. Mayhap they will learn something from this,” Quinn replied, watching as Marcus made his way through the fighting men. When he stood before the lord’s table, he grinned. Laughter gleamed in his blue eyes.

“Was that satisfactory, my lord Avenger?”

“Most, Marcus. You are definitely a useful man to have around when it comes to starting fights.” Quinn swallowed the last of his ale and stood, pulling his broadsword from its sheath. He held it loosely in his right hand, weaving the tip in intricate patterns. The hiss of metal silenced the room in a matter of seconds.

“Gentlemen,” he stressed the word, “I have allowed this display for long enough. I trust that you are well and truly done with it. Beginning on the morrow, you will train, eat, sleep and fight together. There is no room for mistrust here. Those of you who wish to swear fealty to me, and through me, to William, are welcome to stay. Those of you who do not, may leave on the morn.” He re-sheathed his weapon, crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the group of men. Slowly, one by one, Saxon and Norman alike, they knelt, heads bowed. Only two of Falcon Fire’s men refused to kneel. Bodies rigid and eyes blazing, they stalked from the hall. Quinn sighed, but counted himself lucky it had only been two.

“Rise, knights of the Avenger. Know that you serve me and no other. You have my leave to spend the rest of this evening as you will, but be prepared to work come daybreak.” A boisterous yell shook the rafters and the men laughed. They rose and clasped forearms, then quit the hall.

“‘Twill take much work to incorporate your men into mine, Sir John,” Quinn observed.

“Aye.” John nodded, “But they fight with heart and soul, my lord, and their loyalty, once given, is yours to the death. Excellent qualities in any knight.”

“Agreed.”

“I will need your aid with the training, Sir John,” Marcus commented. “Such a large group will require the both of us.”

The older man beamed, straightening in his chair. “Of course, lad, whatever you need.”

Quinn was eager to retire to his chambers, where his new wife, and the pleasures she held, awaited him. But he also longed to hear more of this Knight of the Mist. He had a feeling this legend was more real than he believed.

John cleared his throat, a sly grin on his face. “I suspect, my lord, that Calvin of Thornhatch will not take kindly to what just transpired here. By giving you their fealty, you have robbed him of the best warriors in the region. In fact, I would wager he’ll arrive with his whole army to speak with you about it.” Satisfaction echoed in John’s voice.

“Who is he?” Marcus asked around a mouthful of bread.

“A wealthy and powerful neighboring lord, who believed himself to be Lord Robert’s liege.”

Quinn cocked a brow. “And was he?”

“Nay, sir. Lord Robert would have nothing to do with him. He thought the man insane.”

“Interesting. Why do you think he will come here? He has no rights at Falcon Fire, and certainly none to my men.”

John leaned closer. “He has wooed your Lady Stirling for the last two years, almost since the day her father was dragged away in chains.”

Quinn pinned the man with a cold stare. “And did she return his favor?”

John paled. “Nay sir, absolutely not. She considers him to be a monster, though I’ve no idea why. He offered her sanctuary soon after Lord Robert left, but she declined. As she did every week thereafter.”

“And how do you know she refused?” Quinn’s anger subsided as the man continued.

“She beseeched me to remain at her side whenever he came. They never had a private conversation. She would not allow it.”

“And how did he get through the gates? Why did she allow him entrance?”

John grimaced. “The old king permitted
Stirling
to remain here until her father’s death. He held Robert in high regard and though he could not refute the evidence of his vassal’s treason, he vowed his daughter would not suffer. He also commanded Robert’s knights to remain in service to their mistress wherever she went. ‘Twas recognition of their long-standing friendship.” John drank his mead, brows in a pensive furrow.

“But why was he allowed entrance?” Marcus’ voice took on exasperation. Quinn admitted to the same emotion, but held his tongue. The old warrior would tell them in his own time.

“Harold told
Stirling
he could not guarantee her safety or that of the keep. The other landowners in the region would surely try to take Falcon Fire when they discovered only a woman commanded its defenses.”

“So she decided to allow Calvin his weekly visits to stave off the attacks of the others,” Quinn observed, again intrigued by his wife’s surprisingly strategic maneuvers. She played Calvin and the other barons against each other.

“But how did she control Calvin? Surely he recognized her plan when she would not marry him,” he questioned.

“The thought that she could, or would dare to outwit him never entered his mind. He continued to press his suit and she continued to avoid it.”

“Did he try to take the land by force?” Marcus asked.

“Once, sir, when we learned of Harold’s demise and William’s ascension. I believe he thought to storm the keep and claim it as his own while the palace was in such upheaval.”

“And how did you thwart him?”

John grinned. “Your lady is an excellent strategist, my lord. Her father taught her well. She dictated our defense to me, and I to the men. ‘Twas a great success.”

Quinn nodded, amazed at the information he’d uncovered. His lady wife was indeed a beauty filled with mystery. Unique, intelligent and skilled at warfare, he wondered what other talents she hid.

Quinn’s smile turned feral. “Then should this Calvin seek a war with me, I look forward to it.”

# # #

“Have you gone daft, my lady? Should Lord Quinn grace my bed, I’d not wander the blasted walls of the keep.” Millane muttered even as she helped
Stirling
into a black leather jerkin and matching leggings.

“Hush now,”
Stirling
scolded lightly, though she wondered at this sudden turnabout. Millane had always been mercurial in her moods, but even this was beyond the norm. The question, nay demand to know what bothered her maid, quivered on her tongue, but
Stirling
found herself reluctant to voice it.

Afraid, perhaps that she and the maid shared more than the same dark fears? Aye, Quinn seemed to be more than the autocratic barbarian she’d assumed. But just because she found pleasure in his arms did not mean she was ready to trust him. “Though the Avenger and I are wed, I must still discover the proof of Father’s innocence.”

“But why? You cannot undo this marriage, can you? What purpose would it --”

“Peace of mind,”
Stirling
interrupted, exasperated with the unending questions. “‘Tis true I am regarded as a lady once more, but for the wrong reasons. Marriage alone graced me with the title, not truth. My children
will not
grow to hear false tales of their grandfather’s wrongdoing. I will not allow it.” She pulled on the black gloves and eased a torch from the iron wall sconce. “There is little to worry yourself over, Millane,”
Stirling
tried to reassure her maid. “Their celebration is sure to go on for hours, until they collapse into drunken heaps. Lord Quinn will not even miss me.”

“Your obstinacy will be your downfall,
Stirling
.” The maid clapped her hands to her hips, one brow arched in disapproval.

Stirling
had enough of the older girl’s pessimism. “You may go, Millane. Return below and spend some time with your friends while ‘tis still early. I shall not require you again this evening.”

“As you will, my lady.” Millane closed the door behind her and
Stirling
shot home the bolt, grateful to be alone. Her maid’s increasing moodiness was a wearying puzzle, and one she did not wish to solve right now. First, she must discover why Tristan prowled her lands. Could he be searching for the same papers as she? The thought alone brought interesting questions for which she did not have the answers. ‘Twas certain he must not be allowed to gain entrance to the keep through the hidden corridors. He knew the cavernous walkways nearly as well as she and would use them to his advantage.

Since there was no possible way Quinn could know of the hidden passages, and she held no inclination to enlighten him, the duty of securing the halls fell to her. She tucked a long dagger into her hip sheath and stepped into the black passageway, leaving the wardrobe ajar. She’d not had time to repair the inside lever and feared the thing would stick again, forcing her to exit in a less secure location. With her door bolted shut, no one could gain entrance and discover its existence.

She waited for her eyes to adjust to the murky light, ears tuned to the slightest noise. Plainly she detected the rumble from the dining hall and sniffed. They fought still. She wondered why Quinn allowed it, but shook her head. The Avenger appeared to have his own reasons for everything. A scrape against the stone floor brought her around, knife at the ready, her years of training tamping the initial panic. She lowered her blade as she came face to face with Quinn’s dog.

“How did you get in here?”

The dog whined and looked over her shoulder in the direction of Quinn’s bedchamber.
Stirling
stiffened, she must not be discovered. If he were to find her here ... She stepped into her room once more, the hound trailing her. She whined and butted
Stirling
’s hand with her massive head, jaws opened and pink tongue lolling in a peculiar canine grin.

Stirling
rubbed the furry white patch as the beast yawned widely. “How are you called again? Winter?” The dog snuffled, eased her large body to the floor and rolled over, exposing her pink belly.
Stirling
laughed in delight. “Nay? Mayhap Ice?” A low growl escaped the dog, though she could not tell if it was from pleasure at her touch or disgust at the name. She snapped her fingers. “Ah yes, you are called Snow.” Snow wiggled on the floor, tail thumping it with heavy beats, and groaned several times.
Stirling
sank down beside her and continued to rub. Snow maneuvered her wooly head into her lap, closed her eyes and breathed noisily through her nose.
Stirling
laughed again. “You should be called Shameless, I think. But for now, I will call you friend. Is that a pact?” Snow opened one blue eye, yawned again and rumbled. “Aye, friend it is. With your keen nose, we should be able to rout that spawn of Lucifer with ease.”

Pushing the beast from her lap,
Stirling
again strode to the corridor. ‘Twas obvious Quinn did not accompany his dog. “Which leads me to wonder how you came to be in the tunnels at all,” she murmured to the white hound, noticing again the startling blue eyes. The deep, rich color reminded her of the velvet of her favorite gown.

“And, oddly enough, but just for a moment, my mother’s eyes,” she said softly. Snow barked sharply and sprang to all fours, stiff and staring.
Stirling
laughed. “Aye, ‘tis a foolish notion. Come, let us discover what we can ere your master returns.”

Heart racing, palms damp, she turned away from the lord’s chamber, and headed toward the stable door. Logic dictated Tristan would seek this entrance first, ‘twas the least guarded.

Please do not let me find him
.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered the portal still securely bolted. “I wager he fumed when he could not open this one.” Snow blinked at her, but made no sound.

“Lucifer’s horns, I must be daft to speak so to a dog.” But her words, and the animal’s presence, eased the riotous tensions clenching her muscles.

Snow growled and trotted away from her, disappearing into the darkness. “Well fie, no need to get upset.” She caught her at the next door, the entrance to the armory. No lock held this door, but only the strongest of men could force the lever down. Or the touch of a legendary knight.