His stomach roiling, his thoughts full, Louve watched the procession out of the corner of his eye. Ian might know who he was, but in the game, the players played. And Louve intended to play the Usher until either he won, or a sword cut through his heart.
That eerie horn sound had stopped, but he swore it reverberated against the stone walls of the fortress, against the plumes of cold air lit by torches. Reynold had never allowed a display of his family crest. He had certainly never wanted the horn signal that heralded his family’s arrival. But one time, he’d whistled it for Louve.
Maybe it had been the storm slashing against the small hut they’d found shelter in, maybe it was the lateness of the evening or the amount of drink. But sitting before that fire, and between sips of the last flagon of ale, Reynold had whistled it over and over as if he couldn’t stop.
Louve had never seen his friend that way before. When the fire dimmed and their cups were emptied, Louve plucked the empty cup out of the warrior’s hand and set it down. He’d left Reynold in the giant chair, knowing he’d provoke him on the morrow. But that night, the song haunted Louve’s sleep and neither of them talked much the next day.
No, Louve hadn’t forgotten that horn’s unique signal and it had saved him and Bied as they left the cellar and rushed along the wall’s edges. The only people he knew to avoid were the Warstones themselves. The guards and servants were too embroiled in their own lives to worry about others.
They had to separate when they reached their quarters. Though he tried to warn her along the way, he hadn’t been certain she listened. No time to worry about it now, he had to prepare.
His room was large, luxurious by any servant’s standards, and the privacy it provided was welcomed right now. Eyes burning, he forced his stomach to empty in a bucket. He went to the basin, poured cold water and splashed it on his face. Fresh clothes would hide most of the night’s events, chewed mint would relieve the foul taste in his mouth, but the distractions in his head were a weakness he could ill afford.
He was tired. There were long days where travel was rough, the weather cruel, then there were days like this. He’d never had a day like this. And it wasn’t entirely caused by the Warstones or the intrigue, or someone trying to kill him.
But Biedeluue. What to do with her, how to protect her without compromising his position? If he ignored her and her situation, she’d be safe, or as safe as Ian allowed. He hadn’t liked that Bied was in this fortress, but had seemed to prefer to keep his mistress. For now, it was questionable whether Warstone knew they were sisters. They weren’t similar unless you scrutinised both. He knew which of them he preferred.
He needed to think of Balthus, of Reynold and the Jewell of Kings. He should ignore the woman who’d come to rescue her sister. Yet he had to help her. In this vast world, what did it mean if one person didn’t help another? Ian wouldn’t let go of Margery without some exchange and she was too heavily guarded to make an escape.
A negotiation was needed. While he still had breath in his body, he wouldn’t allow Bied to face Warstone. It was up to him.
Clothes straightened, he hurried down the hallway to one of the outside passageways. Ian would have heard the horn; he’d want to greet whatever family member deemed it necessary to arrive this early in the morning.
There were enough torches and sunlight peeking on the horizon to flood the courtyard. Enough illumination to cast shadows and count the members, to see the others who flaunted the Warstone golden crest.
Ian wore it. That was one. A thin tall woman, her grey hair plaited in an intricate coil on top of her head was another. Next to Ian’s mother was, undoubtedly, Ian’s father, a stout warrior who rode alongside her.
But the figure right behind them, riding a horse Louve had seen yesterday with the same carelessness that had become all too familiar over the last weeks that he’d ridden beside him—Balthus rode behind his parents as if he’d always belonged. If Ian didn’t kill him, Louve certainly intended to.
Bied hung her head over the nearest garderobe. They hadn’t been cleaned for a day, so the smell that wafted up helped heave her stomach’s contents down the narrow hole. Her body shuddered, but once she knew she could stand, she did. Bracing one hand against a wall, she waited until she didn’t need the facility again.
Warstone’s family. Bied had only had a glimpse, but the wealth was staggering. Maybe thirty or fifty people, mostly guards all dressed in the same garb. Plain, but for a band of red silk on the bottom of tunics.
She’d always been fascinated by that red band. Thought it a useless bit of frippery that served no purpose. If one sat behind a table no one could see it. But she’d thought it was restricted to this strange household.
Louve’s role here was as Usher, but what was his other purpose? He said he was playing a game with Ian...but there was no hint of a friendship and he’d said it was dangerous for her and her sister to be here. If he hadn’t distracted her with his kiss, with his accusations, with his very presence, she would have realised nothing was revealed.
What did she know of him? Nothing. His accent belied his English heritage and he had the look about him, but he didn’t reveal where he came from. Had he a wife, parents or siblings?
As for his motives, he hadn’t discussed those either. No, it’d been her revealing everything. He knew she cared for people and loved her sister. That she learnt reading and writing by sticks and dirt. She’d become vulnerable to him. A stranger. She knew better than to believe men.
Her stomach pained her, but was tolerable. Her head pounded and her legs felt shaky, but she was infinitely stronger than she was a few moments before. Pushing off the wall, reminding herself to report a cleaning before—
‘What are you doing here?’ Tess proclaimed.
Tess! Bied slammed the garderobe door behind her. ‘Do you need to go in there?’
‘No,’ Tess said, ‘I was looking for you. You were in bed last night, but when I woke up to do the bread you were—’
‘Shh.’ Bied looked down the hall. It was empty, but she could hear the household greeting the visitors.
When they left the cellars, Louve had urgently whispered warnings. How she wasn’t to break the role they played, that he was nothing but an usher and Margery a mistress. To try not to speak, to nod and curtsy only. On and on he’d whispered instructions, hastily given protective words. She was wary of the visitors, worried over Margery, had barely heard a word he said, but why hadn’t she demanded answers?
‘Everyone is in the kitchens which is where you needed to be, although you should know...’ Tess stopped, tilted her head. ‘Were you sick again?’
Bied nodded.
‘I know there is something amiss.’ Tess crossed her arms. ‘I took a chance and let you in. The Steward was not pleased, but with Cook... Don’t even begin to say nothing is happening. Are you—’
Bied grabbed Tess’s arm. ‘I’ll tell you, but not here.’
When Tess relented, Bied quickly walked to the servants’ quarters which were empty at this time of the day.
How to begin? Margery’s message was foreboding, but the information Louve voiced was menacing.
Her earlier thoughts still rankled. Since those fateful days when she was much, much younger, when had she ever relied on a man to help her? She knew better. Her father abandoned her family; the village men offered assistance at a price. That man riding through the village, spotting Margery and...taking her away with him, then Lord Warstone trapping her. Men were not to be trusted.
‘You were right, there is something wrong with the ale,’ Bied said.
Tess’s jaw dropped. ‘You tested it by drinking it yourself!’
Bied threw up her arms. ‘Why does everyone keep questioning me on this?’
‘Everyone?’ Tess said. ‘Pray, you are new and we don’t know each other well, but I feel as though we have some understanding.’
Bied did, too, and perhaps it was time to confess. She needed her sister right now, to talk about...rescuing her sister! It was past time to confess to Tess.
Tess cleared her throat. ‘I hope I can tell you what I believe—you’re trying to prove your worth. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You don’t have a husband or children and not two coins to rub together either.’
‘You think I drunk pois—bad ale to prove myself.’
‘You couldn’t have done it for the result or the taste. Or...’ Tess paled. ‘You’re not... You’re not...’
She thought she wanted to be dead. ‘I didn’t intend to get sick. It happened a bit more quickly this time.’ What could she say? She’d been holding off telling Tess anything and, now with Louve hinting at danger, it wasn’t easy.
‘I know what this is,’ Tess said.
Bied started. She did? Perhaps that’s why she felt such an affinity with Tess. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t certain how to begin.’
‘I had an aunt with the same wariness as you,’ Tess said. ‘I know nothing can be done now. Since you’re here, obviously you have some control, but sometimes... I think she needed to tell someone. I want you to know I will listen.’
Bied had nothing under control and she needed far more than mere listening, but it was a beginning. ‘Your aunt had family in trouble, too?’
Tess’s brows eased. ‘Her husband wasn’t kind. The village she lived in allowed it. Of course, under the sanctity of marriage her husband was within his rights to do what he did, but...she lost an eye. It was yet another fight, yet more wounds, but he had a wooden spoon in his hand and when he went to strike...’
Tess shook. ‘When she healed, she left. We all woke up one morning, she wasn’t there any more and we never saw her again.’
Bied could only stare. What Tess described was horrific, yet she’d also said her aunt reminded her of...her.
‘When you arrived requesting work,’ Tess said, ‘well, no one comes here, either because of the Warstone reputation or the knowledge we never open doors for anyone new. I was raised here and as I watched you look around, I remembered my aunt. You seemed fearful, so I let you in. Was it a husband, a father? Who hurt you and do we need to do something about it?’
If Biedeluue could have conjured up a friend, Tess would be it. Mostly because of how much Tess seemed to understand her and wanted to help. But Biedeluue wasn’t here for friendships, as badly as she wanted one. She was here for her sister.
‘There’s a reason I am fearful,’ Bied said. ‘There’s a reason, too, that I’m testing the ale.’
At Tess’s look, Bied continued, ‘I have a sister and she’s here.’
‘Tell me,’ Tess said.
Bied did. When she was done, she only had to ask, ‘Will you help me get Margery out of here today?’
‘I’d be insulted if you didn’t ask.’