Jennifer August (21 page)

He lifted her hand, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth and brushed his lips against her soft flesh. Her fingers clenched around his and she inhaled sharply, but did not pull away. He stepped closer, crowding her until their bodies touched lightly. “Watch him with care, my lady. I will return with haste.”

She nodded. “As you wish, Lord Quinn.”

Pleased by the sound of his name on her lips, he pressed a swift kiss to her mouth, then left the room.

Stirling
did not know what her husband hoped to prove by his display, but she admitted his actions warmed her. And she vowed not to fail him. She pressed the back of her hand to Marcus’ forehead, pleased at the coolness she found. He’d not taken the fever yet, and likely would not now. She patted Snow’s head when she lifted up, blue eyes glowing in the firelight.

“Do not worry friend, no harm will come to him.” The dog panted, rolled to her side, stuck her nose beneath Marcus’ leg and promptly returned to the sleep she’d disturbed.

Stirling
wandered the confines of the room. Traditionally held for clerical guests, the chamber was sparse, containing only the broken marble table, the bed and a pair of chairs. She noticed a wooden chest now occupied a corner of the small room with Marcus’ sword laid out straightly upon its top. She picked up the blade, surprised by its balanced weight, and smoothed her fingers over the hilt. She tilted the weapon to the light, and read the words engraved in Latin on the side.
Loyalty above all else.

She glanced at her unconscious patient, knowing how deep his loyalty to Quinn went, but wondering how far he would go to protect his king. Though she did not often agree with him, Marcus’ dedication to Quinn was real. She hoped one day he would believe in her as much.

The door opened with a creak and
Stirling
whirled, Marcus’ heavy sword clutched in both hands. Millane gasped and dropped the mug she carried, her hand pressed against her mouth, eyes wide with fright. Snow bounded from the bed in one lithe movement, stalking toward the maid with bared teeth.
Stirling
lowered the blade.

“Oh Lucifer’s toenails, I do apologize, Millane.” The maid stood rooted at the threshold of the chamber. “Snow, leave her be.”

The dog looked over her shoulder, blue eyes gleaming brightly, but did not move.
Stirling
pointed toward the door. “Outside, you beast.”

The hound stood stock still for a long moment, then finally lumbered back across the room. She flopped upon the bed next to Marcus, muzzle and eyes fixed on the maid.
Stirling
wondered at the dog’s odd behavior, but was glad for the company.

“Millane, shut the door and come in.”
Stirling
returned the sword to the chest top.

Millane closed the wooden door, then knelt and picked up the pieces of shattered crockery. “I came to look in on Marcus, my lady,” she explained as she stood with the shards cupped in her hands.

“Toss them into the fire, ‘twill heat the room a bit.”
Stirling
suggested. “Both of them have slept the entire day, I believe.” She gestured to the man and the dog, both still slumbering on the bed.

“Will he wake soon?” Millane questioned almost tearfully.

Stirling
wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Soon, Millane. Anytime now.”

“‘Twill be a blessed day when his eyes open.”

“Aye, and we shall feast until the sun sets when he does,”
Stirling
affirmed. “Come sit with me. ‘Tis frightfully boring with no one to talk to. I’ve prowled every inch of this room, corner to corner, but that provided little amusement.”
Stirling
leaned forward, lowering her voice and smiling. “If you had not come in, I would have resorted to peeking into Marcus’ chest, yon.”

Millane giggled, the stiffness easing from her body.
Stirling
relaxed as well, though she wondered at the maid’s tension. It had been nearly palpable. “My lady, ‘tis not right to go through another person’s things.” She chuckled again as she sprang to her feet. “Shall we?”

Stirling
shook her head. “Nay, Millane, I did but fun you.”

The girl knelt in front of the chest, moved the sword and yanked at the latch. “Nonsense, my lady. I’ve been with him many times with the lid ajar. He will not mind. Really.”

Stirling
shrugged. “‘Tis not right.” But she was intrigued by the secrets held within the man’s coffers. She was certain ‘twould offer little more than clothing and boots. She stood. “Very well, but you shall do the looking.” Her smile faded when she saw Millane’s white face. “What is wrong?”

The girl slammed the lid back down and jumped up. “Naught, my lady. Really. I, that is, the other reason I came, was to fetch you.”

“Me?”

“Aye, Lord Quinn requires your immediate presence in the war room.”

Stirling
narrowed her eyes and strode closer. “Nay, ‘tis not that. What do you hide?”

Pushing the girl aside gently,
Stirling
flipped open the lid and stilled, her heart frozen in her throat. Staring up at her from Marcus’ chest was her missing bridal sheet, the one stained with the blood of her virginity. She pulled the white linen from the box, quickly finding the monogram stitched into all her bedclothes. She crushed the material against her, biting a corner to hold her enraged outburst at bay.

She now knew just how far Marcus would go to protect Quinn.

Chapter Fourteen

“Stay with him, Millane,”
Stirling
ordered when words would come again. “I must talk to Quinn.”

“Do you think it wise, my lady?” the maid questioned hesitantly.

Stirling
frowned. “Wise or not, I will have my say.”

“But what if he does not believe you?”

Stirling
paused, brought up short by the realization that Quinn may indeed doubt her word. She sank to the chair, still clutching the white sheet. “I don’t know.”

Millane stepped forward and clasped her shoulder. “Give me the linen, my lady, and I shall guard it until you can make him—”

Stirling
surged to her feet. “Nay. He must take my word about this discovery.”

“Perhaps Marcus had a sound and logical reason for stealing it away,” the maid insisted tearfully.

Stirling
looked at Millane’s ashen features, knowing the girl feared for her lover, but caring not. He brought these consequences on himself.

“Remain here, Millane.”

The girl nodded, crying softly and knelt by Marcus’ bed as
Stirling
left.

Snow jumped from her slumbering perch and followed her down the steps.
Stirling
knew she would be glad for the hound’s company when she faced Quinn.

She found him ensconced with
Temple
and John in the war room. Rolling the sheet into a tight ball, she hid the lump in the folds of her skirt the best she could, then pushed the door open wider. “My lord, I must speak with you now, ‘tis urgent.”

Quinn’s head snapped up. “Marcus?”

The worry in his voice ate at her resolve. How could she hurt him by accusing his wounded friend of such a heinous act as betrayal? She shook her head, she could not. “Nay, my apologies, my lord, he is well, though not yet awake.” She licked her lips, her eyes touching on the other two men in the room. “I will return when you are free.”

Temple
stood. “Nonsense, lass. His lordship doesna require us further. We’ve a wee bit o’ work to be done and best be gettin’ tae it.” He winked as he passed her. “Take your time and soothe his temper, lassie. Ye’ve a magic touch with him like none I’ve seen.” His whispered advice brought a flush to her cheeks, but she forced a smile, watching them go. Snow eased around the door and headed for Quinn. Balancing on her back paws, she pitted her massive weight fully against her now-standing master.

Stirling
looked at the pair of them with surprise, realizing Snow’s head reached only the middle of Quinn’s chest. She’d always thought the animal to be much larger. The concealed bundle weighed heavily in her hand and desperately she sought a quick excuse to flee without raising his suspicions. Not an easy feat, to be certain.

Quinn ruffled the white fur of Snow’s shoulder, neatly avoiding the avid licks the dog tried to bestow on him. “Enough, you hound.” Quinn laughed as he pushed the dog away and propped his hands on hips, staring quizzically at his lady-wife. Her eyes, wide and rounded, were indiscernible bits of glittering gold and sweeps of pink highlighted her silken cheeks. He wondered what
Temple
had said to cause the look and knew an uncomfortable jolt of jealousy.

“Now, then, what is so urgent if ‘tis not Marcus?” He smiled to lessen her obvious discomfort, but the tactic failed and she backed away a step.

“‘Tis silly, really.” She bit her lip and looked behind her, then at him again. Her light laugh sounded forced. “I can not remember. Isn’t that silly? I really must see to Dustin, my lord, though I will certainly seek you out should I remember what ‘twas I sought to ask you.” Her words tumbled pell-mell over one another until ending in a breathless jumble. He narrowed his eyes, what did she hide?

He reached out, grabbing her wrist as she turned to flee. Her gasp rang loudly in his ears as an ivory ball of material thudded against his boot. Slowly he reached down and lifted the linen, shaking it out fully. When he saw the dark red splotches in the center, his heart constricted. His gaze flew first to her pale face, then to the small crowd of curious servants gathered in the corridor. He jerked her into the room and forced the door shut.

“Explain this,” he rasped, slamming a fist into the wood near her ear. She jumped and closed her eyes briefly, her black lashes fanning her cheeks like dark circles of coal. When she opened them, he read her uncertain anguish as plainly as he would a scrawled message from William. “Tell me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I cannot, my lord.” Her reply, though softened by unshed tears, held stiff resolve.

“
Stirling
,” he cupped her chin tenderly, tilting her face up. “You must trust me. I will allow no harm to come to you.”

“None shall come to me in the telling, Quinn, but mayhap to you.” Her voice broke slightly, but she remained firm.

He frowned, her words making little sense. “Why can you not answer a simple question, lady-wife?” He waved the sheet in his hand, then tossed it to the floor.

“Because ‘tis not as simple as you believe,” she insisted, ducking under his arm and slipping to the hearth. Hands clasped behind her back, she stared into the fire. He followed, spinning her around to face him again.

“Aye, ‘tis indeed an easy query. I ask, where did you find this and you say, why, my lord, ‘twas in the wherever ‘twas.” He clenched his teeth and inhaled sharply, corralling the flaring rein of his temper.

“Nay, lord,” she said snippily. “I shall not tell you. Suffice it to say, I believe the situation to now be under control, and I will take the steps necessary to protect --”

“Protect?” he roared, his control flying with the wind. “You may pretend to be a knight, play at being the guardian of this keep, but ‘tis my sword which shall save Falcon Fire.” He glared at her affronted gasp, then gentled his tone. “And I shall save you, as well, if you would but trust in me.”

“How do you imagine I came by the sheet, my lord?” Her brow puckered with her frown and her eyes shot heat at him.

“You found it in the pantry, or one of the serving girls discovered it, I do not know. And I do not care.” He could tell she was not convinced by his firm response and he groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. He regarded her sternly, formulating a plan.

“My lord, really, ‘tis not so grievous a matter that we should dwell so heavily upon it.” Her suddenly cheery manner roused suspicion, but he held his tongue, curious to hear her out. “Do you not think we should concentrate on getting Marcus well? There will be plenty of time for investigating this when he is able to --” she trailed off, her gaze slipping away from his.

“To what, lady-wife? To help us defend ourselves from more assassins? To battle whoever seeks to take Falcon Fire? I fear ‘twill be much too late then. But I shall make you a bargain.” Though confident she protected a disgruntled servant, he would have confirmation.

“What sort of bargain?” she asked warily.

“My word is my bond, my honor. ‘Tis a fact well-known throughout William’s courts, here and in
Normandy
.”

“Aye, I am well aware of the value you place on your oath.”

“Then I make this vow to you.” He knelt before her, clasping her cold hands. “I vow that should I discover the identity of the thief ere you tell me, I shall kill him or her immediately.”

She gasped and jerked away from him, the back of her hand covering her lips. Good, he thought, perchance the shock of his bold pronouncement would prompt her to tell him what he sought to know.

She shook her head. “You would not be so cruel.”

Quinn frowned, ‘twas not the answer he expected. “‘Tis not cruelty, my lady, but necessity. ‘Tis possible, even probable, that the person who stole the sheet is in league with those who seek to overthrow William.”

“Nay.”

“Aye.” Quinn, sensing she neared the breaking point, stepped closer. “Perhaps you are right not to tell me. ‘Twill be a mercy that I end their life rather than have them face the wrath of William’s justice.”

Stirling
’s breath came in short, jerky gasps. Spots swam before her eyes and she reached out a hand to Quinn. This could not be possible. Marcus held no affection for her, ‘twas true, but would he betray his king? She willed herself to calm. Think rationally, she admonished. She let go of Quinn’s arm. She had no choice, he must hear the truth from her.

“Then I would have your word you shall not harm this person, should I tell you.”

“Impossible,” Quinn ground out, crossing his arms.

Stirling
imitated his stance, seeking only a fraction of the intimidation he projected. She fared miserably and well she knew it. “Aye, then. I will trust in you, and your heart, to do what you see is best.” She bent and retrieved the now-repulsive sheet. “‘Twas in Marcus’ chambers.”

Quinn smiled broadly and
Stirling
’s mouth fell open. “Did you not hear me, my lord? I discovered the bedclothes in Marcus’ wardrobe,” she ended on a near-screech.

“Aye, lady-wife, you spoke plain as day.”

“Then why do you grin like a buffoon? He is your second-in-command, your trusted friend and he has betrayed you. Betrayed us.”
Stirling
feared the shock of the information may have addled Quinn’s brain. Why else would he react thus?

Quinn chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Stirling
leaned away from him, looking into his eyes, searching for the tell-tale signs of insanity she was sure to find. “I am pleased by your honesty, lady-wife, ‘tis all.”

She frowned, even more confused. “Please, my lord, explain your jovial acceptance of this.”

“Aye, you do not know Marcus as I do. Come.” He sat down and eased her onto his lap, his arm draped heavily across her legs. “When we were young pups, he and I, we often found much trouble together. Or, to be entirely truthful, I discovered the trouble and he the solution. Marcus has always protected me, always looked out for me. We are brothers in all ways that matter.”

Stirling
relaxed slightly, pondering this new information. “So you believe that he found the sheet and hid it away to protect you?”

“Aye.”

“But why did he not come forward sooner? How much time elapsed between his discovery, our meeting in the dungeon and the attack on him?”

Quinn shrugged. “I do not know, but finding those bedclothes may be the reason he was assaulted.”

Stirling
knew a moment of relief, as though a tremendous burden had flown from her heart. If Quinn were correct, then Marcus did not betray his liege lord. “But Quinn,” she straightened with a start. “We still do not know who took the linen.”

Quinn’s visage turned hard. “Aye, and when Marcus wakens, we will discover the truth.”

“Let us go up and check on him, my lord, though he may well sleep through the night.”

Quinn nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear and she shivered. “Mayhap we should view our chambers beforehand.”

Stirling
peered over her shoulder at him, pleased at the desire smoldering in his gray gaze. “That would take the remainder of the evening, my lord, and I’ve not yet supped,” she reprimanded breathlessly, silently urging him to take her anyway.

“Aye, regretfully, I agree. There is much I must see to before we retire.” He stood, setting her gently on the floor and kissed her lightly. He studied her intently, his serious regard making her nervous.