Lord of a Thousand Nights (11 page)

“Aye. Just big enough for one man is plenty,” he said. The enclosure hugged the stairs leading to the battlement, and he had already attached a beam and hook above it.

“Let us see how it works.” He walked up the stairs and hung the bladder from the hook. Adam hauled a bucket of water to him and Ian poured it into the leather holder. Sprays immediately sprung from the holes.

“It will be like being out in the rain,” Adam said. “I wouldn't mind washing if I could do it in the rain.”

“This afternoon you can go first, then. I'll use you to test how much water is needed for one man.”

“I would think a lot. A bath takes many buckets.”

“This will use less. Maybe only half a bucket, if you wash quickly.”

“Have you had one of these before?”

“Nay, I just thought of it.” Necessity had made him think of it. He didn't want to send the men to the river to bathe in great numbers, with trouble from Clivedale expected. Using tubs was out of the question, since they would have to haul nonstop from the river in order to service everyone here. Bodies were getting ripe, and he hoped that he had found a solution. If it worked, he would build a few others.

He jumped down and examined the security of the rough-hewn logs in the ground. While he pushed and tested, he heard the sounds of the laundry women leaving for the river. He wished that there were some device
to solve that problem as well. Reyna's sabotage had created a whole series of irritations.

Thinking of the lady turned his mind to Robert Kelso's death again. The issue of the poison had caused him much thought recently. If she did know a recipe, where would she have found the ingredients, and where did she keep them? For that matter, where did she keep all of her herbs?

He gave the boys some praise and instructions, and walked around the tower to the south yard. It held a garden enclosed by a low wall, and he strolled into the neat plantings of flowers and toward the cool arbor of apple trees. He came here sometimes to think, and found its solitude restful.

Unfortunately, he was not going to find solitude now. Lady Margery sat under one of the trees plying embroidery. She called to him with a delighted smile.

He did not find Margery unattractive or undesirable. She was just the sort of willing woman whom he would normally take up with in these circumstances. But her blatant availability struck him as cloying and irritating for some reason. It didn't help, of course, that she had a husband who would undoubtedly issue a challenge if he learned Ian had bedded his wife, and he would certainly learn it, probably from Margery herself. Ian didn't fear Thomas Armstrong. He just tried to avoid killing men over women whom he didn't want all that much.

Edmund the Hospitaller, on the other hand, he would gladly hack to pieces.

I only want her because I can't have her. Like some green boy.

He sat beside Margery and spoke a few flatteries and admired her embroidery and did all of the things that a chivalrous knight was expected to do. She blushed like a
virgin and kept turning her face up to his as she spoke. He knew she expected him to kiss her. Instead he rose and offered his hand. “Perhaps you will show me the garden. I have never seen all of it.”

Margery flashed a look that suggested this bench and tree were all the garden they needed, but she set her embroidery aside and joined him.

They strolled past some roses and other flowers that he recognized, and a few beds of vegetables. Margery moved relentlessly closer and he moved implacably forward. Finally, up against the back wall, in a patch of sunlight beyond the last of the trees, he found what he sought.

“What is this bed?” he asked.

“Those are Reyna's herbs. Ugly things, aren't they? I hear that she collected some in the hills, but Robert used to bring her seeds and plants sometimes. Herbs and books. What kinds of gifts are those for a lady?”

Gifts that would please her more than silks. King Alfred had known his young wife well. “Do you know what grows here?”

“I know nothing about such things. Only Reyna does.”

“How did she learn, do you think?”

“Probably from that herbal she has. Robert gave it to her.”

“You mean a book about herbs and their properties?”

“Aye. It even has little pictures. It is up with the others in the solar.”

Nay, it was not. Neither he nor David had examined an herbal that day. Nor were there any books in Reyna's chamber. Had someone taken it? Did this herbal include plants with poisonous properties? He would have to find out the answers to those questions.

It was time to have a frank talk with Reyna.

He brought Lady Margery back to the stone bench, and politely but emphatically took his leave of her.

As he climbed the interminable steps, he scowled at their inconvenience once more. Too bad he couldn't hook up a pulley to carry people up here as well as water. The notion struck him as not nearly so outlandish on second thought, and he spent the time reaching the fifth level toying with the idea. Mental pictures were still occupying him when he scratched on Lady Reyna's chamber door.

No response came. Foreboding pricked at him. She might be asleep, of course. He pounded with his fist and the door swung open under its force.

He looked around the chamber, and then turned on his heel and flew down the stairs, level after level, until he landed on the threshold of the kitchen where Alice was cutting some meat.

“Where is she?”

“She?”

“Lady Reyna. She is not in her chamber.”

“Ain't she? Well, she said last night that she was feeling better, so I guess she be up and about.”

“She is not here, though.”

“She doesn't spend all of her time here, Sir Ian. She has other interests. Did you check the solar? She reads there at times. And the garden, aye, she likes the garden. Or perhaps she is with the other ladies, doing needlework and such.”

Fuming, Ian stomped back up to check the other chambers, barging through door after door. The foreboding didn't abate one whit, and by the time he returned to the hall's threshold it had turned into a furious certainty.

The hellcat had bolted. He knew it as surely as he felt bloody anger begin to split his mind apart.

His gaze rested on the gate. In his mind's eye he saw a bevy of women following a laundry cart through the wall.

Damn. She had walked out right under his nose, and he hadn't even been looking because he thought she was abed. Monthly pains, hell.

He shouted down to a groom to saddle a horse, and then went and harassed the man when he didn't work fast enough. Seething with silent threats of the things he would do when he got his hands on her, he kicked his horse to a gallop once he passed through the gate.

He should have let David take her away. Nay, he should have
insisted
that David do so. She was a demon from hell, disrupting peace, deliberately trying to drive him mad. Worse, she had become an invisible presence that he couldn't get out of his head. He spent his days in ridiculous anticipation of her presence, and his nights in tortured dreams of her yielding. And now, after he had been stupid enough to defend her, had assured David of her safety in Black Lyne Keep, she had walked away in a fashion sure to make him look like a fool. How could Morvan trust him to hold onto an entire estate as seneschal if he couldn't even hold onto one puny woman?

He found three guards lounging in the grass a hundred yards from the river's edge. Feminine laughter and chatter drifted in the breeze. “You are supposed to be guarding the women,” he snarled, pulling up his horse. “How can you guard them if you are so far away?”

They shot cautious, confused glances at each other. “If we were any closer, we could see them,” one offered helpfully. “You ordered we weren't to watch. We can hear if there is any trouble.”

She knew that. She had learned the routine by
questioning the women who came. “How do you ensure that no one escapes?”

Another man lifted his hands and gestured to the surrounding moss. “Escape to where? We can see for miles, and there's barely brush to hide behind between here and the farms. Besides, we count them coming and going.”

“How many today?”

“Twelve.”

Ian rode down to the river's edge. The women noticed him and began squealing. He saw a melange of breasts and hips and thighs. He quickly counted the shocked, embarrassed, or inviting faces. Eleven.

He surveyed the surrounding terrain. If she headed toward the farms, she would be easily visible.

Suppose she expected help. Suppose someone waited for her with a horse. Where? His gaze swept the deserted countryside and came to rest on the ancient motte-and-bailey fortification upriver. It was the only landmark in sight, and the growth along the river would hide her.

Searching the water's edge, he began trotting in its direction.

Chapter EIGHT

R
eyna shifted the cloth sack slung over her shoulder and quickly moved through the brush and trees. She had seen Ian ride up to the river and had surmised from his speed that he had discovered her escape.

Damn the man. He shouldn't have suspected for another day or so. Alice had promised to continue bringing food to her chamber to further the deception. She should have been well away before he noticed her absence.

Her plan had gone so well too. So easy to slip out among the other women. Her poor garments didn't surprise them, because she often dressed thus, and her willingness to help with the laundry had not raised eyebrows, since she helped with cooking. Once at the river, it had been simple enough to drift away while the women undressed.

She had walked a good ways upriver before she noticed Ian, but now her progress slowed because she
needed to stay hidden in the growth. Sticking her head out a bit, she looked back and saw that he followed in her direction.

The sound of horse hooves became audible. She looked at the river. It was now or never. She would never get another chance.

She picked her way to the water's edge. She quickly stuck her shoes into her hemp sack and hid it beneath a fallen tree. She removed her kerchief and laid it open on the ground, then slipped off her gown, folded it, and tied it and the kerchief into a little bundle. Dressed only in her shift, she waded into the cold water. She would cross to the other side, and later she could retrieve the other things in the hemp sack.

A few yards from shore the water got much deeper. She took the kerchief bundle between her teeth so both arms would be free. It wasn't a wide river this close to its source, and she began swimming across.

“Damnation, woman, you are going to drown yourself.”

She had reached the middle of the river when the furious voice boomed. She turned to see Ian glaring at her. His horse stood in the water's edge, the flow halfway up its legs.

She took the bundle from her mouth and treaded a moment. Ian stretched, looking in both directions.

“The only bridge is downriver, past the keep,” she called.

“Get back here
now
.”

“I would be a fool to do so, and you know it.”

“I am going to kill you.”

“In that case, let me drown. No blood on your soul, then.”

Ian swung off the horse and walked forward until the water was up to his hips. He went no farther.

Reyna grinned. “You can not swim, can you? I thought
not. Most English can't. You should have read the ancient Romans on warfare, Sir Ian. All of their soldiers could swim.”

His pose and expression were a picture of fury. Reyna laughed and his eyes only grew darker. Grabbing his horse's reins, he swung into his saddle and began sloshing away through the shallow pools near the bank, twisting to keep an eye on her.

She bit her bundle again and swam. It would take him at least half an hour to gallop down to the bridge and back up the other side. Much longer if he stayed alongside the river itself. By then she could make it to the ruins, or find a place to hide along the way.

A strong current grabbed her. She fought hard to escape it. She gasped for breath from the effort, and the bundle slipped from her teeth. The current bore it away.

She noticed to her horror that Ian had found a spot where the water ran shallow. He was already halfway across, pushing his mount through the chest-high flow. Her gown and kerchief floated right to him. He pulled an arrow from a quiver on the saddle, leaned over, and plucked it up.

They faced each other over the expanse of water. She turned to the eastern bank, but swam backward. Ian fell for the ruse. He kicked his horse forward and disappeared up the bank and into its thick growth.

Desperately, Reyna struck out for the side from which she had started. As she dragged herself out of the water, she could hear the loud curses that said Ian had discovered her deception.

Heaving from her exertions, she sought a place to hide. The brush and reeds looked very thin to her all of a sudden. Close to despair, she leaned against a tree. She looked up.

It was not very thick, but it appeared strong enough. Some of its branches were low, and perhaps the leaves would help hide her. Mumbling profanities at Ian of Guilford for forcing her to go to all of this trouble, she managed to lever herself up to the lowest branch. She climbed until the slender arms looked too weak to hold her weight. Straddling a branch where it met the trunk, she tried to get comfortable.