Jennifer August (5 page)

“Midnight comes. All is secure,” the guard called from the highwatch tower. The cry repeated along the curtain wall until it reached the keep once more.
Stirling
bit her lip and hurried. Now only two days remained.

Methodically, she searched the stables from top to bottom, even going so far as turning over the hay and manure piled in the corners. The stench curdled her stomach, but her determination pushed her on. Finally, after the last chink of wood, the last bit of straw and the last possible hiding place had been thoroughly investigated, she conceded the papers were not in the stables. Arching her back to ease the pain and tension gathered there, she peeked around the door at the courtyard. No one moved, they were all asleep. “‘Tis a good thing, too. I’m in no mood to face anyone now,” she muttered, stepping into the bailey yard.

“Are you certain of that,
Stirling
?”

She froze at the familiar voice, then turned on him, eyes narrowed in rage at his daring.

“Not even your best friend?” Tristan Langaly, a man she once trusted with her life and her heart, moved from the shadows that concealed him, dressed in much the same black clothing as she. His years of exile appeared to have done no harm to him. His blond hair held no gray, his face still contained youthful vigor. He was as handsome now as the day her father cast him out. But his eyes. His eyes were flat, lifeless, cold.

She shivered, tempering her anger. Rage led to incautious actions which led to death, and she held no doubt he would kill her if necessary. She remembered a time, not so long ago, when she welcomed his touch instead of fearing it. She could easily rouse the
Norman
’s men sleeping only a few feet away, but she would be forced to explain her own attire and actions. Somehow she knew the
Norman
would not find her explanation satisfying. Thought of imprisonment shivered her soul. Willing herself to relax, she edged backward. “How did you get in here without raising the alarm?”

He shrugged, matching her sidesteps, his eyes flitting over her head to the courtyard behind her. “‘Tis easy when you know all the defenses of the keep you once called home.”

“Where are your men?”

He waved at hand at the south wall. “Out there. Waiting.”

Another step and she would reach the passageway. But so would he, and she could not allow him to enter the keep. She stopped. “Waiting for what?”

“I came for you,
Stirling
. We can be together again, like before.” He moved closer, but she stood her ground. The reek of stale sweat, lathered horse, and unwashed body fouled her nose. Bile rose in her throat. She would rather wed the dark invader than endure this traitor’s affections.

“Nay,” she spat harshly.

He stopped, confusion on his face. “Take me inside,
Stirling
. I’ll kill the Norman bastard who’s invaded Falcon Fire and together we can --”

“Nay, Tristan. You must leave. Now, before the alarm is raised.”

He shook his head, a small sad smile on his mouth. “I told him you would not cooperate, but he insisted I try. I’ve tried.”

He leapt and she ducked, throwing herself to the ground. She sprang to her feet, dismayed to find him between the safety of the passage and herself. He grinned evilly.

“Come now, love, did you think you could best me?” He moved forward, a knife clutched in his hand. Frantically, she glanced toward the still slumbering men in the bailey, mouth open to scream. Pride be damned, she would not die at this madman’s hand.

A low, rumbling growl stopped the cry in her throat and halted Tristan in his tracks. From the buttress a white hound, bigger than any she had ever seen before, stalked forward, pinning Tristan with a terrible growl. As the beast prowled past her,
Stirling
caught a glimpse of incredible blue eyes, and somehow, was reassured.

“What is this?” Tristan sneered, raising his weapon. “Girl or hound, makes no difference, you both will die.” He threw the knife at the dog which dodged the twirling blade. With another long, rumbling growl, the beast stood in front of
Stirling
and bared its teeth at Tristan. The man gulped, then reached for the sword belted at his side but the dog attacked first. The force of the huge animal knocked him to the ground and
Stirling
saw Tristan’s head snap against the hard dirt. He groaned and his eyes rolled upward before dropping closed. The dog sniffed at its opponent’s throat, then turned and pinned her with an eerie blue glare.

Stirling
backed away, fear once again her companion as the dog stalked forward. Astonishment replaced her alarm when the massive beast ambled to her side, whining and snuffling. It sat in front of her, huge mouth open, pink tongue lolling to the side and head cocked.
Stirling
smiled weakly and edged around the furry sentry. The animal turned, watching her every movement until she gained the safety of the tunnel. With a hard thrust,
Stirling
slammed the door shut and locked the lever so neither the beast nor Tristan could gain entrance.

Tristan!

She must alert John. Pushing away from the door, she grabbed the torch and ran the length of the corridor until she reached the entryway to her room. With a mighty heave, she forced the lever upward, and waited anxiously for the wardrobe to open, stripping the gloves from her hands. When the welcome sight of her bedchamber appeared, she nearly wept with relief. Stumbling forward, she shoved the portal closed and grabbed the wrap from her bed, pulling the heavy material over her black clothing. She glanced down to ensure the wrap covered her leggings and met the black soft kid of her boots.

“God’s teeth,” she muttered and hurriedly worked to yank them off, anxiety making her fingers fumble with the lacings. Finally, they came free and she tossed them beneath the high bed.

Running to the door of her room, she ripped the bolt away and flung the portal open. The two guards outside whirled to face her, weapons at the ready. She screamed and backed away.

“What’s amiss, my lady?” one asked.

She shook her head. “I must speak with Sir John.”

They looked at each other. “I will ask Lord Quinn.”

“Nay, ‘twill be too late,” she cried out, incensed. Did these idiots think her a blathering twit? “I will speak with him now!” She pushed past them and ran to the stairs, only to crash into Quinn’s hard, broad chest. He grasped her about the shoulders, his hold light, but restraining.

“What has happened?” he asked the guards, ignoring her completely.

Rage, bright and brilliant exploded within her and
Stirling
reacted without thinking, punching him in the stomach, frustration lending her strength. He bent slightly, his breath a whistle in the air above her head. He pinned her with a glare, then spun her around, pushing her toward the Lord’s chamber. His chamber.

“Come, demoiselle.”

She pulled away, whirling to face him. Time ran short. If Tristan was to be captured, she must tell him. Now. “There’s a man in the courtyard.”

He sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “There are several hundred men in the bailey, demoiselle.”

“Nay, nay!” She grabbed a handful of his blue jerkin. “You do not understand. He came over the wall.”

Quinn jerked upright. “What?! Why did you not raise the alarm sooner?”

“I tried --” she began, but the words bounced off his back as he shot down the spiral steps, yelling at his men to begin the search. She darted after him. “My lord Norman, hold a moment.” But his shouts to the guards drowned her out and she gave up, veering to the left at the bottom of the steps. She would reach John and explain what happened before he was roused by the
Norman
’s call.

Suddenly Quinn appeared next to her. “Stay with me,” he ordered, pulling her to his side as one of his men burst into the entryhall. “Did you find him?”

“Nay, my lord. But we discovered how he entered the bailey. There’s a bit of old chinking crumbled out in the south wall just big enough for a man to slip through. If he wore no armor.”

“Post guards along the inside of the wall. Repairs begin on the morrow.” Quinn dismissed the soldier and turned a thoughtful frown on her.

Stirling
paid little heed to his narrow-eyed contemplation as the word echoed in her mind. Gone. How was it possible? Tristan’s head hit the ground hard enough to lay even this massive
Norman
senseless. He would not have had wit enough to rouse, much less escape in the short time before she raised the alarm. Could his men have scaled –

“
Stirling
!” His booming voice and hard shake brought her head about with a snap.

“You needn’t roar.”

“Tell me again what you saw. And where.” He urged her toward the spiral staircase. “We can discuss this in your bedchambers.”

“We will not.” She jerked her arm away.

“God’s teeth woman, do you make everything difficult?” He swung her up and over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Black spots danced before her eyes and she attempted to regain her breath, but each vaulting step he took up the stairs jolted it away again. Infuriated, she clawed at his back and whapped the hard muscles with her fist. He smacked her buttocks and ordered her to cease. Fearing he would drop her, she complied, but vowed to avenge the humiliation at the earliest opportunity.

When they reached the landing, he slid her off his shoulder and down his body. Legs weak from the awkward position she’d endured, she clutched at his arms. He chuckled and the sound vibrated the sensitive skin of her breasts. She wrenched away and stormed into her room, damning what little remained of his soul to everlasting perdition.

“Now, you may tell me,” he ordered, closing the door behind them.

She glared, irritated beyond all reason that his massive size dwarfed her bedchamber. Even the high vaulted ceiling appeared to cave in to him. Disgusted, she shook her head. “As I said before, I saw a man in the bailey.” The words were true enough, thank the Lord. Her skill at lying was minimal and usually caused her more trouble than the truth.

“What time?”

“A little after the midnight call. Shouldn’t you be out there searching for him?”

“Nay. Why were you about so late?”

“Why were you? Tumbling one of the kitchen wenches?” She groaned at the inane accusation and clapped her eyes shut. She did not care. Truly.

He laughed. “Rest easy,
Stirling
. Should I desire a tumble, I should know where to search.” His gray eyes cast her a smoky look.

“You are maddening.”

He shrugged. “Aye, so I’ve heard. Why were you awake?”

“Just restless. Invasion and upheaval always affect me that way.”

“Where did you see him?”

“The southeast side of the keep, near the stables. Where you could have looked yourself, had you ventured outside.”

His iron gray eyes warned her to temper her tongue. “You tread dangerous ground,
Stirling
, especially for one in such a precarious position. The southeast side? Where were you?”

She hesitated, forcing herself to calmness, trying to convince herself it was a lie of necessity. For the good of the keep and the villagers. She would not be able to find the papers and free herself from this dark
Norman
if she were imprisoned in William’s dungeon. She did not think Quinn would find her search, or her, guiltless.

“
Stirling
?” he prompted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Where were you standing?”

“Here, in my chambers, at the window, of course. Do you think I could have been otherwise with those guards outside my door?”

He cocked his head and regarded her steadily. “Are you quite certain?” he asked, walking to the window.