The More I See You (37 page)

He’d be damned if he was going to lose the other.

Hugh de Galtres stood at the side of the road, looked after the company riding away into the distance, and wondered what he could do now. His hands were empty, the pouch on his belt just as empty, and his brother’s heart full of faery spells.

By the saints, ’twas a catastrophe.

He wished mightily for a bit of salt to cast over his shoulder. Having none, he used a goodly amount of spittle and hoped it would suffice.

His brother was far worse off than Hugh had feared.

He looked at Richard’s distant form, then looked back at the keep. He hadn’t looked carefully at Richard’s company, so ’twas impossible to tell who remained in the keep. If it was just Warren, then Hugh would have an easy time of devouring a goodly portion of Richard’s larder. But what if others had remained behind? Hugh had no desire to tangle with Sir Godwin. Even Sir Hamlet, that bowing idiot, was powerfully skilled with a sword.

Perhaps Burwyck-on-the-Sea was not the place for him. That left only one other choice. He would have to follow Richard to Artane. Perhaps he would have himself an audience with Lord Robin. ’Twas rumored that the man
was full of good sense and properly immune to the charms of any foul beast. After all, Christopher of Blackmour had fostered with the man and he was rumored to be possessed of a most evil demon. Yet still Robin had prevailed over him.

Hugh nodded to himself, pleased with his decision. He would travel to Artane and fall upon Lord Robin’s mercy.

He would, however, give Blackmour a very wide berth.

He frowned. There was also the abbey at Seakirk to avoid. ’Twas rumored to be inhabited by witches as well.

Hugh sighed. So many places to fear.

With another handful of signs for luck, he turned his face northward and began to walk.

Jessica had never been so glad for the sight of anything as she was for the sight of Artane in the distance. The trip had been endless. She didn’t consider herself a bad rider but there was a difference between riding for an afternoon of recreation and riding for over a week as if all the hosts of Hell were behind you. None of the men seemed to think anything of it, and that made her feel very sorry for them. Hamlet had even gone so far as to say that Richard seemed to be taking his bloody time about it all.

What she wanted now was nothing more than to sit down on something that wasn’t galloping. The only thing that would have been more welcome than the sight of a medieval keep was a medieval keep with a Mini Mart next to it, but she wasn’t quibbling. If Richard’s descriptions were accurate, Artane was almost as modern as Burwyck-on-the-Sea. The most notable difference was, however, the fact that Artane was finished. She was just certain that could only be a good thing.

By the time they reached the gates, Jessica was clinging to her horse by sheer willpower alone. One more good jar and she would have been facedown in the mud. Not that she would have reached the ground. There were enough
people running around that she likely would have landed on them instead. If the number of men milling about was any indication, Kendrick’s family was gearing up for a war.

Jessica looked next to her to see how Richard was holding up. He didn’t look good, but he didn’t look quite as shell-shocked as he had. His expression was grim but determined. She had the feeling Kendrick’s attackers wouldn’t live very long to regret their actions.

They came to a halt in the courtyard and Jessica watched as more people poured from the great hall. It was then she wished she had taken Richard up on his offer to have an extra gown or two fashioned for her. She felt like a slug in her tunic and hose—and a poorly dressed slug at that.

Richard swung down. “Stay,” he commanded, sparing her a glance before he walked away.

“Arf,” she muttered. She watched him walk over to a tall man who sported only a bit of gray in his black hair. The man looked so much like an older version of Kendrick that she suspected he must be Lord Robin, Kendrick’s father. If his looks had said as much, the grief in his face would have.

Robin put his arms around Richard and hugged him. Jessica was surprised to see Richard allowing the familiarity. Then again, this man had taken him in. She knew little past that, besides a couple of minor stories Kendrick had told, but surely Richard had to have some affection for his foster father. As Jessica watched them, she decided that one way or another, she would have a few details out of Richard after all this mess was sorted through. Maybe they both needed some time to sit down and tell stories of their past. She had the feeling, though, that she would be the one doing most of the talking.

The men spoke together for several minutes, then Richard returned and held up his arms. Jessica let him help her down and was grateful for his hands on her waist while her legs reaccustomed themselves to
terra firma.
Richard put his arm around her and led her over to Robin.

“Jessica, Robin of Artane. My lord Robin, may I present my lady, Jessica of Edmonds, lately of Burwyck-on-the-Sea.”

Jessica wasn’t sure if Robin would want to shake hands or not, so she just smiled gravely.

“A pleasure, my lord.”

Robin returned her nod seemingly automatically, then he shook his head as if he’d just heard Richard’s words. “How was that?” he asked.

“She is my betrothed wife,” Richard said.

A hint of a smile crossed Robin’s features and he took Jessica’s hand. “Well met, then, lady. I vow I despaired of this one ever finding a woman strong enough to face him. You must be accustomed to holding your ground.”

“The tales I could tell you,” Richard muttered. “But I won’t,” he added at Robin’s pursed lips. “Trust me, my lord, she holds her own very well. I’m sure the lady Anne will find her much to her liking.”

Jessica gave Robin’s hand a squeeze. “My only regret is that we aren’t meeting under easier circumstances.” She took a deep breath. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.” It was hopelessly inadequate, but she didn’t know what else to say.

Robin accepted her words with a short nod, then released her and turned to Richard. “We’ve few chambers empty with so many here. Anne will see to the settling of your lady. I have need of you in my solar.”

“Of course.”

Robin nodded to them both, then turned and walked away. Richard took her hand.

“I’ll find you later,” he said grimly. “I imagine ’twill be very late and we will leave for Seakirk very early. You’ll be perfectly safe here, but I’ll leave someone behind with you. Likely Hamlet or Godwin.”

“Take Godwin,” she said promptly. “You might need his particular talents.” She’d heard a few of his torturing stories. They were not pretty. “I’m sure I can make do with Hamlet. I’ll keep him under control.”

Richard nodded, then fumbled around in the purse at
his belt. He took her hand and slid a ring onto her finger.

“I meant to give you this,” he said. “Before, ah, the tidings came . . .”

“Oh,” she said, looking down, “Richard, it’s beautiful—”

“Aye, and so are you.”

And with that and a firm brush of his lips across hers, he was gone. Jessica stood in the inner bailey of Robin of Artane’s courtyard and stared down at what she assumed was her wedding ring.

“Ah,” said a well-worn voice at her side, “Edric did fine work on that. A right proper gift.”

It was. The stone was a pale green set in a band of gold. The pattern etched into the band reminded her of waves and she could have sworn that the prongs holding the stone were actually griffin’s claws. It was disturbing and beautiful and Jessica couldn’t have been more pleased with it. Richard had to have designed it; the ring could have come from no one else’s imagination.

Jessica looked up at Sir Hamlet. “I have one for him. I just didn’t think to bring it.”

“We won’t be here forever, my lady. I’ll think on a felicitous way to present him with your favor once we return to Burwyck-on-the-Sea.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Leave it to me.”

As she hoped that might be enough to keep him from working his magic on Robin’s garrison, she was more than willing to agree.

Richard’s guardsmen moved off to take care of their guardly business and she found herself left to herself, to stand in the middle of the courtyard and wonder where it was she was supposed to go. She dithered for a few minutes, but at the precise moment when the discomfort was at its peak, a servant of some sort curtsied in front of her.

“If you’ll follow me, my lady?”

“Gladly,” Jessica said, and meant it. Maybe it would be possible to have a face wash and something to drink.

She followed the young girl into the hall, up a set of
stairs, and through various passageways until she found herself ushered into what she assumed was a solar of some kind. Several women sat on chairs, children sat on stools, and gloom sat heavily on everyone regardless of age.

An older woman with long silvery-blond hair rose and beckoned to Jessica.

“I am Anne,” she said simply. “Kendrick’s mother.”

Jessica would have known that from the color of Anne’s eyes. They were Kendrick’s eyes, only there was no twinkle of humor in them at the moment. Jessica wasn’t sure if she should bow or curtsy or just stand there and wait for instructions. She tried a smile, but she had the feeling it hadn’t come out all that well.

“You are doubtless weary,” Anne said, “but if it wouldn’t trouble you overmuch, would you not sit for a moment and tell me of my son? I understand you saw him recently.”

“Of course, my lady,” Jessica said without hesitation. It was the least she could do. She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a child, but she thought she might have heard a little of it in Anne’s voice.

And that made her realize also in part what her own mother must have been going through.

She prayed she had made the right decision in staying. It made her wish there was some way to get word home to let her mother know she was all right.

And so began one of the longest afternoons of her life. She sat next to Anne and recounted in minute detail every moment she could remember of her time in Kendrick’s company. She retold his jokes, described how he had looked, tried to remember the sound of his laugh.

And she hoped it was enough.

By the time she was offered something to drink, she had exhausted not only her supply of stories but also her voice. She was perfectly happy to sit back and take a deep breath. Lady Anne was momentarily distracted by a messenger of some sort and that gave Jessica a chance to look around and see who else had been listening to her stories.

The room was filled with what Jessica assumed were
either relatives or friends and she had no way of even beginning to identify who was who. It was the first time she’d been with any medieval women of rank and she was faintly surprised to find herself in their company. But like it or not, that’s what she had become by her relationship with Richard. She wished she’d asked him for a little comportment advice on their way north. Not that he would have been any help, though. What she should have done was ask Hamlet for lessons for both of them.

It was in mid-contemplation of the unlikelihood of Richard’s attending any of those classes that Jessica realized that she had overlooked someone in the room. There was a woman across from her who currently stared at her as if she’d just seen a ghost.

Jessica returned her stare, half assuming the woman would be embarrassed enough to be caught staring and look away. But she apparently wasn’t and so she didn’t. Jessica had never seen her before, so she couldn’t credit that for the other’s interest. The woman looked to be pushing fifty, still very pretty—or at least she would have been if she hadn’t been so pale.

“Lady Jessica?”

Jessica blinked in surprise at hearing her name, then turned to Anne and put on a smile, trying to ignore the disconcerting stare still coming her way from the other corner of the room.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Forgive me that I made no introductions,” Anne said. “My wits are not at their best today.” She gestured to a dark-haired woman on her left. “This is my husband’s sister, Amanda. There across the chamber is Robin’s other sister, Isabelle.” She was a slightly younger version of Amanda and Jessica wondered if they resembled their mother as much as they did each other.

“And that,” Anne continued, with a wave toward the woman who had been staring hard enough to peer into Jessica’s head, “is Abigail, Miles’s wife. Miles is one of Robin’s younger brothers. Abby was good enough to wed him and rescue him from a lifetime of bad temper.”

The woman named Abigail smiled only briefly. “I’m sorry, Lady Jessica,” she said, “but I fear I didn’t hear you mention where you were from.”

“Ah,” Jessica said, stalling until her brain could catch up with her mouth, “I’m from a little town called Edmonds. It’s on the coast.”

Abigail looked, if possible, paler than before.

“France, I assume,” Anne supplied.

“Right,” Jessica said, wondering if she could get to Abigail before she pitched forward onto the floor.

“Abby,” Anne said softly, “I would imagine Jessica wishes for nothing more than a place to lay her head for a bit. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind showing her the north-tower chamber? She’ll find there a fine view and a soft bed.”

Abigail nodded and rose soundlessly. Jessica said her good-byes, thanked Anne for her hospitality, and followed Abigail from the room, wondering if she was about to get stabbed in the hallway.

Abigail looked about that unbalanced.

Jessica followed her in silence, going down passageways and climbing stairs until she found herself on a landing in front of a door. Abigail opened it, then came inside with Jessica. It was only after she’d brought a torch inside, lit a candle, and shut the door that she said anything. She leaned back against the door and looked at Jessica.

“Edmonds?” she asked.

Jessica was leaning against the stone on the opposite side of the small room. There was no way out and she hoped that a nod in the affirmative wouldn’t get her murdered.

“Edmonds, Washington State?” Abigail asked, her voice barely above a whisper.