CHAPTER SEVEN

Reeve was still puzzling over Maven more than an hour later – a long, boring hour spent at the shoulder of Lorimer, stifling yawn after yawn as the steward took him, in excruciating detail, through everything Reeve already knew about serving at table. But Reeve had uttered not one word of complaint.

If the household steward wanted to make Reeve stand on his head beside the Airl’s chair for an hour every night, then that’s what Reeve would do. His goal was to become a knight, and not just any knight, but a knight who might one day fill the Knight Protector role, just as Sir Garrick did.

A knight like that would never have to leave the shores of Cartreff. He would never be sent away by his own father, across the ocean, far from everything he knew.

Reeve liked what he knew. He knew how to negotiate the world in which he’d been brought up.

With Sir Garrick Sharp’s help Reeve would get even better at it. Which meant putting up with as many silverware placement sessions as Lorimer required.

And spying on Sir Garrick?

It was this thorny question, and Maven’s potential role in it, that preoccupied Reeve as he walked back through the kitchen, swiping another honey cake on the way, and out into the sunshine in the castle courtyard as the chapel bells pealed for morning service.

Munching through the crispy outer layer of the cake to the light, fluffy interior, Reeve suppressed a moan of pleasure. Aside from becoming a knight, he would do all he could to stay at Rennart Castle for the cakes . . .

A small wagon rumbled past, its wooden wheels clattering on the courtyard stones, and Reeve noticed a fine layer of steam rising from the horse’s back. It was chilly enough to raise a crop of goosebumps on his own arms, despite the long sleeves of his tunic.

The ringing clang of steel upon steel caught his ears, drawing his attention to the far corner of the wide courtyard where two men, stripped bare to the waist, were practising swordplay with lightweight weapons. Making his way towards them, Reeve took great care to avoid the mounds of horse manure that dotted his path.

Still chewing on the last of his cake, Reeve arrived at the wooden fence that surrounded the practice yard, and leaned over the top rail to watch. The two men were evenly matched, trading stroke for stroke, shouting playful insults at each other to the gathering crowd’s delight.

‘Is that all you’ve got?’ shouted the taller of the two men, pushing his dark hair from his eyes with a dramatic flourish. ‘I’ve seen limp rhubarb with more spine.’

‘Ha!’ the other man, a thickset redhead, responded, blocking a potentially lethal thrust as though batting a fly. ‘You clearly ate too much jelly at the feast last night, given the wobbliness of your wrist this morning. I should see the wyld woman in the woods for a salve if I were you.’

As he spoke, the redhead pirouetted, taking the dark-haired man by surprise as he brought the sword up and across and struck a glancing blow on his opponent’s upper arm.

‘Ah!’ the dark-haired swordsman yelled, dropping his own weapon to clap a hand over the thin cut. ‘I am hit!’

Reeve gulped as the man removed his hand, holding it up for the crowd to see – a hand now covered in blood.

Reeve dropped the last vestige of his honey cake onto the stones as he pushed himself away from the fence, trying to focus on the ground, the sky . . . anywhere.

But it was no good. A tide of wooziness began to rise within him as the rushing in his ears took over. Clutching his head, Reeve edged from the practice ring, hoping that no one had noticed him, desperate to reach a secluded spot by the castle wall to sit down for a few minutes until this wretched feeling passed.

Reeve felt a hand take his arm. ‘There, young sir, it’s all right. Breathe in and out,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘Lean on me, sir, it’s all right. This way.’

Concentrating on staying upright, Reeve did as the melodious voice told him, leaning against the woman and going where she led. Moments later, he was pushed onto the ground in the shade of one of the great walls.

He leaned back against the rough stone, eyes closed, knowing that the light-headedness would soon pass, but inwardly cursing it.

‘Well now, young sir,’ came the woman’s voice again, and Reeve squinted up at his saviour, a tall shadow between him and the bright morning sun. ‘And just how long have you been affected by the sight of blood like this?’

Reeve groaned. ‘All of my life. Less now than when I was younger, but . . .’

She laughed. ‘Judging by your colours there, young sir, I’d say you were Sir Garrick’s new squire, is that right?’

Reeve froze. This woman knew Sir Garrick? The wooziness in his head was joined by a rising feeling of sickness in his stomach. Sir Garrick was already questioning Airl Buckthorn’s choice of Reeve as squire – if this woman told the knight that his new squire fainted at the sight of blood . . .

‘Rest easy, young sir,’ the woman continued, seeming to read his mind. ‘I’ll not tell. But it seems to me that you might have a small problem here, given that knights tend to trade in bloodletting.’

‘I –’

‘Don’t speak, your secret is safe with me,’ the woman continued, and now she moved slightly, allowing Reeve to make out her features. Her skin was burned brown by the sun and carried the wrinkles of one who smiled a lot. Her long curly hair was streaked with grey and untroubled by a comb, but she exuded calm. Reeve couldn’t help but smile back at her.

‘Come and see me,’ she said, turning to leave. ‘I have a tincture that might help you.’

‘I – but –’ Reeve spluttered at her retreating back. ‘Who are you?’

She grinned over her shoulder at him, and laughed – the wonderful, youthful sound enough to brighten Reeve’s spirits. ‘Why, you heard them mention the wyld woman in the woods, did you not? That’s me. Myra. I’m easy to find – ask anyone.’

She laughed again before adding: ‘Just don’t tell the Airl about it. He doesn’t trust the powers of plants.’

By the time Reeve opened his mouth to thank her, Myra had pushed her way into the throng of people that made up everyday life in the busy castle, and was gone. Reeve leaned back against the wall once more and swallowed, looking around the courtyard as he tried to catch his breath.

Two young boys dressed in little more than rags ran past, bright red apples in their hands, glee and anticipation in every step. Reeve wondered briefly if they’d stolen the apples, but no one else seemed to pay them any mind. The woebegone maid with the bucket under her arm; the skinny, elfin stablehand leading the prancing pony; and the stocky, blond man methodically sweeping the far corner of the courtyard all ignored the laughing boys.

Reeve decided he would ignore them, too, but he needed to get up. Sir Garrick would soon be ready for his breakfast and would not appreciate the fact that his squire was crumpled in a heap on the cobblestones. As he pushed his way slowly to his feet, Reeve sighed.

Lady Rhoswen had always told him that he’d grow out of his ‘little problem’, and the pair of them had gone to great pains to hide it from the rest of the Harding Manor household. Lady Rhoswen had first discovered it when Reeve had dropped to the floor in her parlour one morning when she’d pierced her finger with an embroidery needle.

He was lucky, Reeve knew, that Lady Rhoswen was willing to help him, so firmly did she believe in his potential. It was one of the reasons she’d kept him in her household as long as she had, rather than sending him out, as was her right, to squire for anyone who would have him the day he’d turned fourteen.

And now it had almost all come undone on his first full day at Rennart Castle . . .

A shrill, horrified scream pierced Reeve’s thoughts, and he froze. As those around him also stilled, Reeve surveyed the courtyard to try to identify where the scream had come from.

As another ear-splitting shriek rent the air, Reeve realised the sound was coming from one of the high windows of the castle keep – the inner sanctum and residence that rose above the central courtyard. A restless murmur filled the air around him, though nobody moved.

‘Help!’ howled the voice. ‘It’s gone! It’s gone! Stolen! Help!’

To Reeve’s horror, the Lady Cassandra, hair in disarray, appeared at the window, wildly waving her bare arms and apparently wearing just her shift, though the casement hid most of her body.

‘It’s gone!’ she wailed again, across the courtyard, and the people standing near Reeve gasped as one. ‘The Fire Star! It’s been stolen!’

‘Tell us again, my dear. Exactly as you remember it.’

The Lady Cassandra sniffed. ‘Uncle, I have been over it and over it.’

‘Once more,’ the Airl said, and Reeve couldn’t have said if his tone was cajoling or commanding.

Lady Cassandra sighed. ‘I awoke this morning, Maven brought me tea in my bed, as always, then assisted me to the dressing table to begin our morning routine. The Fire Star had been placed in its own pouch last night and tucked into my jewellery case, as always – I saw it. When we opened the case this morning to extract the green earbobs that Maven had decided would best complement today’s gown, we discovered that the pouch containing the Fire Star was missing.’

Airl Buckthorn said nothing, tapping his quill on the vellum in front of him. He had called Sir Garrick to his solar as soon as word of the Fire Star’s disappearance had reached him. Reeve, who had rushed straight to Sir Garrick’s rooms from the courtyard, had managed only to blurt out to the bleary-eyed knight that the Fire Star was gone when Lorimer had arrived at the door with the Airl’s summons.

Of Neale there had still been no sign.

Once Lorimer had left to oversee a search for the stone, Reeve had assisted Sir Garrick to dress and offered to follow him to the Airl’s solar with breakfast – an arrangement with which Sir Garrick had gratefully acquiesced.

And so it was that Reeve, who had delivered to Sir Garrick a trencher of poached fruits and had positioned himself as inconspicuously as possible near the door, was now able to witness firsthand the Lady Cassandra’s story. Maven, he noticed, was also here, though she hadn’t acknowledged Reeve’s presence with so much as a blink. In her maid’s dress of brown, she almost blended in to the walls.

Appalled as he was by the disappearance of the Fire Star, Reeve was also intrigued. That such a magnificent stone had been stolen not only from under the noses of the Lady Cassandra and her maid, but within the walls of one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, was a major puzzle – and, potentially, a scandal from which the House of Buckthorn would find it difficult to recover.

‘Right now, the castle is being turned upside down,’ said the Airl. ‘If that stone is hidden within these walls, Lorimer will find it.’

‘And if it’s not?’ demanded Lady Cassandra. ‘What then, my lord? I had thought that my family’s greatest asset would be safe within my uncle’s home.’

‘We will find it,’ the Airl reiterated, and Reeve shuddered at the steel in his tone. Woe betide anyone found to be holding that stone. ‘But for now, we must continue with the wedding plans.’

‘Bah!’ said Lady Cassandra, and Reeve’s eyes widened at her most unladylike expression. ‘As if I can focus on trussing myself up like a turkey when this has happened. If you cannot return the stone to me, I will not walk down the aisle.’

Airl Buckthorn glowered at his niece. ‘You will do as your father expressly bids you to do. Else you will bear the consequences.’

‘Bah!’ Lady Cassandra said again, her shoulders heaving. Reeve could not see her face clearly, but he could see her hands clenching and the straightness of her spine. ‘The nunnery? You would send me there? You would do that to your own flesh and blood?’

‘Your father and I have a contract,’ Airl Buckthorn said, standing up to thump on his desk.

Sir Garrick was impassive beside the Airl, but Reeve thought he detected the knight wincing at the Airl’s words. Reeve had not seen Airl Buckthorn on the battlefield, but he had a fearsome reputation as a ruthless man. He was regarded as a man who would do everything within his power to uphold the laws of the kingdom and protect what he thought was right – but also protect what was his.

Reeve decided he would not wish to have the Airl’s fearsome power directed at him.

The Lady Cassandra, however, appeared to have no such qualms. ‘That contract specifically mentions the Fire Star,’ she said, trying, but not quite succeeding, in sounding bored. ‘But it seems that someone in this household wants that stone even more than you do, Uncle.’

‘That stone is mine,’ Airl Buckthorn bellowed, thumping a fist on his desk. ‘I will have it for Anice.’

‘The Fire Star is not yours yet,’ the Lady Cassandra countered, hands on hips. ‘It will not be in your keeping until my husband decrees that I must present it to your daughter. And it seems that fate has decided it will not be yours at all.’

‘Indeed, it seems that greedy hands conspire to divert the course of true love,’ said Airl Buckthorn, his jaw tight, as Reeve puzzled over Lady Cassandra’s other words. ‘And for this reason I will place the search for the Fire Star into the hands of the one who has the most to lose should it not be returned.’

He turned to Sir Garrick, standing by his side. ‘Garrick, I charge you with unearthing the culprit of this terrible crime and returning the stone to its rightful owner.’

Sir Garrick nodded.

‘And,’ said Airl Buckthorn, ‘I should begin with those who are most recently resident in this castle.’

Reeve quailed as the Airl’s gaze fell upon him. ‘You,’ said Airl Buckthorn, pointing a finger at Reeve. ‘Where were you last night and this morning?’

‘I, er, I put Sir Garrick to bed after dinner and then I –’ Reeve paused, remembering his long walk through the darkened hallways of the castle – and the shadowy figure that had rushed headlong into him.

‘Then?’ asked Airl Buckthorn, leaning forward on his desk.

‘I went to my own rooms,’ said Reeve, trying to untangle his thoughts. ‘This morning, I went to the kitchens and saw Lorimer and –’

‘And?’ Airl Buckthorn prompted. ‘Stop dithering, boy. All of this pausing and groping for words is making you look more and more guilty.’

‘Well, I went out to the courtyard to watch the sword practice . . .’ The very thought of it made his head swim all over again and, for a moment, Reeve worried he might faint right here. ‘Then –’

A picture of the woman, Myra, appeared before him. What was the wyld woman from the woods doing in the courtyard that morning, anyway? And where had she disappeared to so abruptly? Yet she’d been so friendly to him . . .

Airl Buckthorn’s brows were knitted together. ‘Then?’

‘Then, the Lady Cassandra started screaming and, well, here I am.’

‘Plenty of opportunity for him to have had something to do with this!’ the Lady Cassandra shrieked, and Reeve swallowed again. It was true that there were times when he’d been on his own, but surely she couldn’t think that he would have taken her gemstone?

Reeve risked a glance at Maven, but she was looking only at Lady Cassandra.

‘Now, now,’ said Sir Garrick, holding his hands up as he stepped forward. ‘Reeve is the newest member of our household, and the timing of his arrival is inopportune, but the Lady Rhoswen holds him in high esteem. I cannot believe . . .’

He turned back to Reeve. ‘Do you swear that you had nothing to do with this crime?’

Reeve swallowed. ‘On everything I hold dear.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Airl Buckthorn, one eyebrow raised at his Knight Protector. ‘While the Lady Rhoswen has told me she believes the boy to be clever and observant – and on that we shall see – at this time we have no suspects for the robbery. Therefore, as the newest resident of the castle, the weight of suspicion is upon him.’

Airl Buckthorn paused, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, deep in thought, before turning back to Reeve. ‘I charge you, then, to prove us wrong. You will assist Sir Garrick in his inquiries. You have only a few days to find that gemstone and unmask the true culprit. If you cannot do this, I’m afraid that you must bear the brunt of failure and will be sent home to your parents in disgrace.’

Reeve could barely think. Airl Buckthorn was more or less admitting that he knew it wasn’t Reeve who had stolen the stone, but was also letting him know that someone was going to have to take the blame – and that someone would be Reeve if he could not assist Sir Garrick in finding the true thief!

Failure meant the end of his dream to become a knight, for no one would take him on as a squire ever again.

Failure meant the end of ever proving to his father that Reeve was not a poor copy of Larien.

Failure would mean certain passage for Reeve on a ship bound for parts unknown.

There was a deep silence in the room as Reeve tried to formulate an answer. He glanced again at Maven, who had not moved during the entire exchange, but she continued to ignore him. Reeve could feel Airl Buckthorn’s attention upon him like a yoke, and hear his own breathing in his ears.

In desperation, Reeve risked a look at Sir Garrick.

To his surprise, the knight directed a very tiny, barely discernible nod at him.

Heartened by the knight’s support, Reeve lifted his chin. With right on his side, and Sir Garrick to help him, surely he would be able to bring the true perpetrator of the crime to light.

‘I accept your terms, your excellency,’ Reeve said, knowing that, really, he had no choice in the matter. ‘I did not do this thing, and welcome the opportunity to help bring the thief to justice.’

Airl Buckthorn inclined his head. ‘Very well,’ he said, as though accepting a generous offer of assistance rather than the answer to a threat. ‘You may start immediately. Garrick, where will you begin?’

‘In the lady’s rooms, my lord, if she is willing to allow us access,’ Sir Garrick said.

Lady Cassandra did not hesitate. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Though what you expect to find there, I have no idea. It is what is not there that is important. Maven, take them.’

Maven sketched a small curtsey to Sir Garrick before walking towards the door. ‘This way, sire.’

Following the knight from the room, Reeve felt the honey cake he’d eaten that morning churning inside him. He could scarcely believe how quickly his life had changed. In the past day, he’d gone from a home he’d known and loved at Harding Manor into the turmoil of life at Rennart Castle. In the process, he’d gone from petted page of Lady Rhoswen into the second squire of a man who didn’t even seem to want his services.

And now to this.

If he could not help Sir Garrick to track down the Fire Star and its thief, Airl Buckthorn would lay the blame solely at Reeve’s feet, and send him back to his parents and the banishment that would result.