One Enchanted Evening (51 page)

She would just trust that Montgomery’s family would know what to do and pray they would get there in time.

She couldn’t do anything else.

M
ontgomery
stood in the middle of his great hall, waiting. He had thought about his plans on his way south, during a brief pause for a decent meal and to collect his household at his grandmother’s, and as he continued along the well-made road to Sedgwick. Phillip had seemed eager to help as much as he could, though Montgomery still worried about the advisability of what he had decided to do. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see any other alternative. He had to find out which of his cousins hated him enough to actually slip a blade through his ribs.

Or Pippa’s.

Unless it wasn’t one of his cousins. He had considered that as well, but he couldn’t, in all honesty, say which of his personal household he would have suspected of wishing him harm. His own men he had trusted repeatedly with his life and would continue to do so. Petter and his lads were equally trustworthy. He supposed Fitzpiers might have been one to watch, but betrayal seemed out of character for that man.

He drew his hand over his eyes. The one person he did trust without reservation was hundreds of years away from him with no fail-safe way to come back to him—even if she had wanted to. He had discussed the gates with Jake for several hours, and though the conversation had been interesting, it had yielded nothing particularly useful.

Jake suspected that if the gate near Robin’s house was to ever work again, it would work in a capricious, faerylike fashion. Robin had, during that conversation, remained blessedly silent. Montgomery had accepted Jake’s assessment of the gate near Artane, taken his brother-in-law out to the lists to discuss the locations of other gates, then decided that it was as Jake had said at first: he would do well to attend to the problems in his own hall before inviting a bride there.

He could only hope she would want to be invited once he had solved those problems.

He jumped a little when he saw Fitzpiers come striding across the hall. He waited until his steward was standing close enough for a quiet conversation before he spoke.

“I can’t imagine the tidings are good,” he said grimly.

Fitzpiers shook his head. “Your cousins have accepted your challenge for a battle to determine control of the hall and gone to the garrison hall to gather their wee army,” he said in disgust. “I imagine they’ll be here soon.”

Montgomery looked at his steward. “I’m pleased to see you didn’t join them.”

Fitzpiers only returned Montgomery’s look steadily. “I cannot blame you in the slightest, my lord Montgomery, for questioning the loyalty of the souls about you. I certainly would in your place. You should know, however, that I take my oaths of fealty quite seriously and relish the opportunity to use my sword in my lord’s defense whenever possible.”

“Did you make me an oath of fealty?” Montgomery asked, just as mildly.

“Not to you in particular, but I gave my word to your father when you were a boy that I would serve him. When Lord Denys took the keep, I continued to honor that oath, despite the difficulties.” He looked at Montgomery seriously. “I will honor that oath still, until I can offer you one personally.”

Montgomery let out his breath slowly. “I will accept it, gladly.”

“I will also offer my sword,” Fitzpiers said, looking as if the thought didn’t displease him in the least. “And if you’ll know one last thing, I should tell you that there are peasants standing in the courtyard, looking terrified.”

Montgomery looked at him in surprise. “Are they here to aid us?”

“I daresay not, my lord. They seem to have taken Lord Everard of Chevington as their leader. As you know, he went about the countryside spreading rumors about the lady Persephone.” He paused. “I suppose you can imagine what those rumors might be.”

“Ridiculous,” Montgomery scoffed. “I can personally guarantee she is not from Faery, should such a place actually exist.”

“I agree, of course, my lord,” Fitzpiers said with not a trace of inflection in his voice. “I was grieved to hear she had become lost in the forest. Did you find her?”

“I did,” Montgomery said, “but she is now attending to business of her own. I hope she will join us soon enough.”

Fitzpiers inclined his head. “I hope so as well, my lord. And I will be happy to aid you in correcting any of these terrible lies that have been circulated.” He paused again. “I understand our young lord Phillip will be impersonating her this night that you might discover who bore her ill will?”

“I hope it isn’t a mistake,” Montgomery said with a sigh.

“I’ll keep an especially close eye on him,” Fitzpiers promised. “And for Lord Everard. I don’t trust him, my lord. He seems to stir up mischief and superstitions both wherever he goes.”

Montgomery agreed, but he supposed there was no point in saying as much. He nodded to his steward, agreed with him that perhaps a last check of the men was in order, then looked back at the front door. Unfortunately, Fitzpiers would be using that sword sooner than he hoped, apparently.

Gunnild stood at the head of her little army, as Fitzpiers had called it, fighting for that place with Boydin, who seemed determined to have his mother out of the way. They were followed by eight of Montgomery’s twelve remaining guardsmen. Montgomery glanced over to the passageway that led down to the kitchens to find the remaining four being prodded into the hall by Petter and his masons with François and the rest of the kitchen staff bringing up the rear. He looked to his left to find his captain and personal guardsmen standing there, their swords bare in their hands. Ranulf glanced at him, smiled briefly, then turned back to the spectacle.

Montgomery would have joined him in that interesting activity, but he was distracted by a noise behind him. From down the stairs came flying suddenly a figure dressed in a gown and swathed in a wimple that covered all but the lass’s eyes. Montgomery supposed he was going to need to dig very deep indeed into his purse to recompense his squire properly for his willingness to portray himself as any sort of woman.

“Oh, my lord Montgomery,” Phillip said in a high, squeaky voice, coming to stand very close to him, “what will befall us here? I see many very frightening lads with very sharp swords!”

“Aye,” Montgomery said shortly.

“I am not accustomed to this sort of thing in Faery!”

He elbowed Phillip in the ribs, but agreed loudly with the terrible danger they both seemed to face.

“This is
my
hall,” Gunnild said loudly. “Rid me of that usurper and his demon lover!”

Montgomery drew his sword, then rested it against his shoulder as he watched Boydin and Martin begin to argue with Gunnild about just who was in charge. Montgomery looked at Ranulf, who only shook his head. If he hadn’t still had quite a battle in front of him, he might have smiled. It was no wonder the keep was in the sorry state it was. Denys had likely spent all his time trying to keep his children—or his wife—from killing him so they might have what they seemed to want so much.

“Glory and riches,” Gunnild said, raising a sword that was obviously too heavy for her. “To me, men!”

“Food and wine,” bellowed Martin. “And wenches! Many wenches!”

The men looked torn. Montgomery would have gone to sit down and wait out the arguing that now ensued as Gunnild and her second son attempted to out-do each other’s promises, but out of the corner of his eye he’d caught Boydin slithering along the back wall as if he wanted to attempt an attack from where it wouldn’t be expected.

“Stay near me,” Montgomery said quietly to Phillip.

“Oh, my lord, I’m so frightened!” Phillip screeched.

Montgomery looked at him only to find the hafts of two wicked-looking knives poking out from his belt and the hilt of a sword gleaming in the depths of his cloak.

“You are your father’s son,” Montgomery murmured.

“Aye—my lord, to your left,” Phillip said sharply.

Montgomery turned and found himself engaging Boydin thanks to a rush against his men by lads who had obviously been unimpressed with Gunnild and Martin’s offerings. He fought off a very poor attack, then slapped his cousin’s sword out of his hands and glared at him. “I don’t particularly want to kill you,” he said shortly, “but I will.”

“You will not, you woman,” Boydin spat, diving for his sword. He staggered back to his feet with a curse. “All that talk of fierceness is nothing but talk. You haven’t the spine to run me through—”

He gasped.

Montgomery saw the bloody point of a sword protruding from Boydin’s chest, then watched him fall. Fitzpiers cleaned his sword on the back of Boydin’s tunic, then looked at Montgomery.

“One sent to Hell. Who next?”

“I don’t think you need to be choosey,” Montgomery said grimly. “Behind you!”

Fitzpiers spun around and engaged a garrison knight who apparently was interested in glory and wenches both. Montgomery shook his head. He didn’t want to, particularly, but he suspected he was going to need to start afresh with an entirely new set of guardsmen.

He took a deep breath, then threw himself into something that had evolved into a fierce fray. He wondered if the current pattern of absurdity was going to color the rest of his life. Gunnild and Martin were standing on the edge of the hall shouting at each other, his squire was making an enormous production of preparing to swoon from fear, and his steward was in danger of being relieved of his tasks as steward and taking on the one of garrison captain. François was guarding the four previously captured guardsmen and Petter and his lads were gingerly herding peasants bearing makeshift weapons into a group as well.

That left him and his trio of personal guardsmen to see to the rest of the garrison, a task he didn’t relish but could easily see the necessity of. He went about his work with his own lads for perhaps a quarter hour before he took a moment to reassess the situation. Peasants were standing in a large group in a corner, Phillip had pinned Martin in a corner with his sword, and someone else had taken over the swooning in the middle of the hall—Fitzpiers’s son Maurice, no doubt, who would also need a hefty infusion of gold in his purse to repay him for the humiliation—

He frowned.

That wasn’t Maurice in the midst of the hall, weeping loudly, that was Phillip. Maurice was taking on Gunnild under the watchful eye of his father, who stood there with his sword resting on his shoulder and a forbidding scowl on his face.

Then who was now fighting off Martin?

Montgomery finished the lad he’d been fighting, then ran over to the corner of the hall and jerked Phillip away.

Only it wasn’t Phillip.

By the very saints in heaven, ’twas Pippa.

Pippa gasped, then shoved him aside just before Martin’s blade would have gone through his belly. Martin pulled back for another thrust, then there was the sound of a slap. Montgomery looked and saw the haft of a knife sticking out of Martin’s chest. ’Twas a very nice knife, golden handled and adorned with all manner of important-looking engravings. Montgomery looked over his shoulder in surprise. His brother was leaning back against the lord’s table looking utterly bored. Robin de Piaget, at his most dangerous.

Robin waggled his fingers negligently.

Montgomery vowed to thank Robin and Pippa later but he had too much to do at present to attempt it. He looked back at Pippa, then felt terror slam into him. Pippa had stepped away from the wall—only to have someone creep up behind her.

He reached out and pulled her behind him, then raised his sword against her attacker only to find that soul suddenly impaled on his sword. The lad’s hood fell back from his face to reveal not a lad, but Ada herself. Montgomery pulled his sword free of her body, feeling slightly ill at the sight, only to find Everard of Chevington standing there with a smirk on his face.

“I didn’t think you slew women,” he drawled.

Montgomery pushed Pippa behind him, then looked quickly for aid. Phillip was standing at his elbow with his sword in one hand and a knife in the other. Robin was, as it happened, now standing but a handful of paces away from his son. Montgomery exchanged a look with his brother, then turned to his own business. He threw himself at Everard furiously, forcing him back to the hall door where he rid him of his sword. He put the tip of his sword against Everard’s throat.

“Go in peace,” he said in a low voice, “or stay and meet your end in my hall.”

Everard jerked his head back, then stepped away from death. “You’ll regret this.”

Montgomery suspected he might, but he said nothing; he only watched as Everard backed away, then picked up his sword and ran across the courtyard. Montgomery supposed he might regret not having killed him, but something had stopped him.

He supposed that sort of mercy might catch him up one day.

He watched two other lads slip through the shadows as if they had something particular to accomplish. They weren’t his men, but he couldn’t have said whose they were. He turned back to the hall only to run bodily into his brother who was also watching those lads.

“Yours?” Montgomery asked.

Robin only lifted an eyebrow briefly. “You’d best go protect your lady, considering she kept that bloody Martin from sticking a sword into your back. You can thank me for her exceptional swordplay, you know.”

“Indeed?” Montgomery asked in surprise.

“Indeed. She wanted a special little something for Martin. I do believe she suspected he meant you harm.”

“How did she know that?”

Robin leaned close. “A ghost told her.”

Montgomery felt his mouth fall open.

Robin laughed and walked back into the hall. “Who’s left for me?” he bellowed. “By the saints, this has been a tedious battle with a depressing lack of skill shown!”