It was the madness that comes after battle, the result of facing death and surviving. Desmond had experienced the exaltation and relief before, and on those previous occasions he had celebrated his vaulting emotions in the same way, by taking a woman to bed. He lived by his own definition of honor, so he had always confined himself to willing widows or women who sold themselves.
Never before had he taken a virgin noblewoman. It didn’t relieve his conscience a bit to understand that Elaine had been suffering from the same post-battle relief and exhilaration, coupled with an attack of very natural grief at realizing that she, the sweetest and most innocent of women, had been the cause of a man’s death. Never mind that the villain who had attacked her would have taken her life without a second thought. Without losing his latest meal afterward, either.
As a result of what Desmond had done, Elaine was no longer innocent. She might even be carrying his child. He’d been too avid for her embrace to consider the possible consequences. He had lived for years without close ties or a home to call his own, refusing to love any man, including his own brother, or any woman, because he believed keeping his heart untouched was the best way for a spy to survive. He had resisted his growing desire for Elaine for weeks, only to give in at last and take what he so desperately wanted. In the end, Desmond knew in his heart that all of the excuses he made to himself were irrelevant. Nothing that had happened gave him the right to take advantage of Elaine.
The object of his guilt lay curled beside him, relaxed in sleep, her brown hair tousled on her shoulders, with the white bandage showing through the heavy locks. She possessed more courage and far more intelligence than many men. She had given herself to him with a joy that nearly stopped his heart to remember. And he had ruined her by roughly seizing a maiden’s most valuable treasure.
No, not roughly, not entirely. He knew he had been slow and careful, until Elaine’s eager response had driven him beyond the borders of sanity into a realm he had never dreamed existed. The glory of what he had found with her was too much to bear. She deserved a better man than Desmond of Ashendown. He didn’t want to think about all the wicked deeds he had committed during his spying career. Just remembering them soiled Elaine. He wasn’t worthy to touch her little finger, let alone possess her sweet, pure body.
But, God help him, he wanted her again with a hard, aching need that drove him out of the bed they shared to splash cold water on his face while he wished for an icy pond where he could stand up to his neck in freezing water until the fever departed.
“Desmond?”
Elaine sat up, all tumbled brown hair and sleepy eyes. The blanket he’d drawn around her during the night dropped to her waist to reveal her creamy skin, her perfect breasts, and the white bandage at her shoulder, the badge of her valor. Seeing her thus, Desmond knew the fever would never leave him. He would want Elaine until the day he died. The way she looked at him heated his blood until it was all he could do not to return to their bed and have her again.
Reminding himself sternly that nothing about his circumstances had changed, that he possessed nothing in a worldly sense that would give him the right to claim her, he sought refuge in brusqueness.
“It’s almost dawn,” he said. “We have a long, tiring, and possibly dangerous day ahead of us. Dress yourself and let us be gone.”
She didn’t even avail herself of the cover of the bloodstained sheet when she rose to approach him. Desmond tore his horrified gaze from the evidence of how much he had stolen from her.
“Do you regret what we’ve done?” she asked, her eyes solemn and huge in her pale face.
“Regret?” he repeated, buying time while he prepared a harsh remark that would distance him from her. The words never came, for the touch of her hand on his wounded arm reduced him to honesty. “Never. But you must regret what I did to you.”
“You did nothing to me that I did not also do to you,” she said, still serious. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened between us. It was the most beautiful experience of my life, and I thank you for it.”
She left him speechless. All he could do was put his arms around her and hold her close, while he tried to ignore the urgent stirrings of his body. They were skin to skin, as they had been all night long, though he had taken her only once before they both succumbed to sleep. He brushed his lips across her forehead and felt her soft mouth against his chest. He wanted her again – and again.
“We don’t have time for this,” he said at last. “We must be on our way.”
“I know.” She sighed, her breath a warm caress on his skin, then stepped back, out of his embrace. “Shall we take the bread and cheese we didn’t eat? We will want it by midday.”
“That’s a good idea.” He didn’t say what he was thinking, that he would want her by midday, and by evening, and the next morning, and the morning after… He allowed his gaze to linger on her naked beauty for one dangerous heartbeat before he closed his eyes against temptation. “When King Henry is safe and the plot against him is revealed and stopped, we will talk again.”
“You and I know we will never be together so privately once we reach Caen,” she said with quiet finality. Her fingers traced the contours of his mouth and when he opened his eyes, her smile was sad. “One night is all I expected, all I dared hope for. Now, we must forget ourselves and attend to duty.”
Desmond saw with rueful admiration how she squared her slender shoulders and began to dress. He threw another handful of cold water on his face before he pulled on his own clothes. When Elaine came to him to act as his squire and help him with his chainmail tunic, he tried not to look directly at her and he spoke only a hasty word of thanks when she was finished.
They left the room together, saddlebags in hand, and headed for the stable. The sky was still dark and the inn was quiet.
A single lamp burned outside the stable door. By its dim light they found and saddled their horses. Elaine, in the stall next to Desmond, had finished with the saddle and had just begun to secure her saddlebag when she heard a faint, stealthy sound. Desmond was talking softly to his restive horse, calming it while he finished preparing it for the journey ahead. The sound hadn’t come from him; it was farther away, near the stable door. Someone was walking very softly toward them in the darkness.
Elaine peered around the stall entrance. Her eyes were accustomed to the shadows, so she was able to make out a bulky, masculine shape lurking outside the stall where Desmond was working. She saw the faint glint of metal and heard the soft clink of chainmail. The man was wearing armor and carrying an unsheathed sword. It was impossible to see his face.
Elaine believed if she cried out to warn Desmond, the man would flee, leaving them vulnerable to another attack from him. Whoever was skulking in the shadows must be stopped before they left the stable and before he could hurt Desmond.
She reckoned without Desmond’s finely honed senses. The faintest, sliding whisper reached her from the next stall. Over Desmond’s continued murmuring to his horse, she recognized the sound of a weapon being withdrawn from a scabbard. The intruder heard it, too, for he stopped just outside the stall.
“Will you meet me in here?” Desmond asked softly. “Or shall we fight in the stableyard?”
Hoping to divert the attacker, if she could do nothing else to help Desmond, Elaine boldly stepped out of the stall just as their swords clashed. To her ears the sound was thunderous, though likely no one inside the inn could hear it. Neither man looked in her direction.
The oil lamp outside the stable door cast a narrow, concentrated shaft of light into the building, allowing Elaine to see Desmond’s attacker more clearly. He was short and wide, a typical, heavily muscled man-at-arms, encased in chainmail and for all the weight of his armor, he moved with deadly efficiency. She knew the knife she once again wore at her belt would be of little use against such an opponent.
Elaine looked around in desperation, seeking something, any object she could use as a weapon. Perhaps a pitchfork, she thought, or a scythe. Her eyes lit upon a heavy shovel, the utilitarian tool used by the stable boys for mucking out the stalls. She ran to it, grabbed it in both hands, and returned to the stall where Desmond and his attacker were fighting in a silence that terrified her.
Desmond was facing the stall entrance, which was not a desirable position. His horse was becoming disturbed by the unusual action and might lash out at any moment. Into Elaine’s mind flashed the image of the man-at-arms who had been raked by the slashing hooves of her horse during the previous day. She could not let Desmond be hurt in the same way.
She did not try to be quiet. She just lifted the shovel, ran forward, and brought it down hard on the unknown man’s shoulders. With a foul curse on his lips he began to turn, but Elaine raised the shovel again and struck him on the side of his head. He fell to his knees, dropping his sword. She hoisted the shovel once more, ready to hit him a third time.
“Enough.” Desmond caught her wrist, halting the downward swing of her makeshift weapon. “Leave him conscious. I want to talk to him.”
Desmond gave his enemy’s sword a hard kick, sending it out of the stall. Elaine twisted away from Desmond’s grip on her wrist, threw down the shovel, and went to pick up the discarded sword. She rejoined Desmond, standing beside him with the heavy sword in both hands, holding it in much the same manner as she’d held the shovel.
“Who are you?” Desmond demanded of the defeated attacker. “Who sent you to kill us?”
For answer, the man spat, aiming at Desmond’s boots but missing.
“You are remarkably rude,” Elaine said, tucking the tip of the man’s own sword under his chin. “Lift your head and turn your face toward the light. And do not spit at me, fellow, unless you want your throat cut. My temper is short this morning.”
She heard a quiet chuckle from Desmond, though she wasn’t paying much attention to him. She was watching the defeated man as he slowly turned his head.
“I know you,” she said. “I saw you in the great hall at St. Lo when we were there. Did Sir Edmund send you after us?”
“You said it, not me,” the man responded.
“We have the answer we wanted,” Desmond said. “Sir Edmund must be part of the conspiracy against King Henry.”
“Wha’s goin’ on here?” A stableboy, tousled and obviously newly wakened, strolled into the stable.
“This man attacked us while we were saddling our horses,” Elaine said.
“They’re thieves,” the man cried, trying to stand. Elaine’s firm hand with the sword kept him in place. “They stole my horses.”
“Huh?” the stableboy said dully. He rubbed his hand through his hair. “That can’t be right. This here’s a lord and his lady. They paid handsomely to keep their horses overnight and they paid my Dad well for their room. They ain’t no thieves. More likely, you’re the thief.”
“Exactly,” Desmond said with smooth assurance. A few coins appeared in his palm as if by magic. “Young man, my lady and I are in a hurry. We cannot stay to wait for an official to hear the facts in this case, so here’s what I want you to do. You and I will tie this man up and tuck him into the back of the stable, perhaps under a pile of hay, and leave him there until well after noontime. Then, you may summon the local mayor or magistrate to sentence him for attempted murder and robbery. He’s a dangerous thief, so you won’t untie him unless one or two other strong men are nearby. He tried to kill us and he won’t hesitate to attack you.”
“We ain’t never had a murderer at this inn,” the stableboy said, staring at the armored man in open fascination.
“I believe you are the ideal person to take care of this matter,” Desmond said.
“Aye, sir, that I am.”
A short time later, with the would-be murderer securely tied, gagged, and consigned to an unused stall, and with the stableboy in possession of more coins than he had ever seen in his life, or was ever likely to see again, Desmond and Elaine rode away from the inn.
“You are a formidable comrade-in-arms,” Desmond said, grinning at Elaine. “I’ll never attempt to attack you in a stable.”
“Thank you, sir.” She smiled back at him, glad to see his unhappy mood of early morning was gone. “Let us hope we meet no more men who’ve been sent to prevent us from reaching Caen.”
“You and I, together, will make sure no one stops us,” he said. “But, it will be a long day. Can you do it?”
“Certainly. We must do it.” She was a bit sore after his lovemaking, so riding a horse was not what she most wanted to do that morning, but she knew the urgency of their mission. Resolved not to complain, she kicked her horse and set off at a steady gallop.
They reached Caen when the sun was sinking low in the hazy sky of the last day of April. Golden rays illuminated the pale, creamy Caen stone from which William the Conqueror had built his citadel. The royal banners floating above the ramparts showed King Henry was in residence.
The castle sat on the highest point of land for miles around, so it dominated and protected the town and the countryside. Below the stone walls the River Orne meandered peacefully on its way to the Narrow Sea through salt marshes and sand dunes. Because the river provided easy access to the sea, Caen was a busy port. Elaine thought she saw ship masts jutting through the mist. She squinted and strained her eyes, seeking the Daisy.
“I already looked,” Desmond said, noticing the direction of her gaze. “She hasn’t arrived yet. Or, if she has, she’s tied up where we can’t see her.”
At the South Gate they paused while Desmond showed the guards the letter he carried. King Henry’s seal, and that of the baron of Wortham, were instantly recognized and the travelers were waved past a round tower and into the town.
Their progress was slowed by the press of people. Men and women on horseback, or driving carts piled high with wares for the market, parents with children likely to dart into the street, a half dozen men-at-arms marching toward the gatehouse, all seemed meant to keep them from reaching the castle. Finally, Elaine gave up trying to ride next to Desmond and fell back, allowing him to forge a way through the crowd while she followed close behind.
She knew Caen fairly well, having spent time there after her father died, before she and Aglise were sent to Jersey, so she spared only passing glances for the great abbey the Conqueror had founded, or for the Church of St. Etienne, with its twin, octagonal towers. In fact, she paid little attention at all to her surroundings. Desmond, in his eagerness to reach Caen before some new attempt to halt them could occur, had permitted only two brief stops during the day. As a result, Elaine was close to falling out of her saddle from sheer weariness. She pitied the horses, who must be as tired as their riders.
At the main gate of the castle, Desmond again flourished his very useful document, which gained them immediate admission with no questions asked.
Inside the bailey, Desmond handed over their horses to a squire with instructions that they should be rubbed down, fed, and watered, before they were returned to the owners who had left them at St. Lo.
Elaine was swaying on her feet until Desmond put an arm around her waist to steady her. Keeping his arm around her and with their saddlebags slung over his other arm, he guided her to a side entrance some distance from the great, ceremonial door of the keep.
Once they were past the entrance she quickly lost her way as he led her around corners, up a series of staircases, and through several doors, not pausing to greet any of the men and women they passed. She was aware that they were steadily moving to higher levels of the castle, but still she gaped in surprise after Desmond showed his letter one last time and a guard flung open a door admitting them to a large chamber flooded with pink and gold evening light.
Two tall, narrow windows opened to the western sky and a view of distant hills. Two matching windows faced north, overlooking the river and the docks. Elaine could see a blue line across the northern horizon and guessed it was the sea.
The room was sparsely furnished. A large table sat in front of the west windows, with a carved wooden chair drawn up to it. The chair was cleverly placed so the person sitting in it had his back to the light, while anyone facing him at any time after late morning or midday would be forced to look into the sun. A pair of stools were placed in front of the table. A couple of baskets in one corner of the room contained neatly rolled parchments with identifying tags affixed to them. A fine tapestry on an inner wall completed the simple arrangements.
No one was in the room, so Elaine went to the north windows.
“From this height I can see almost the entire harbor, but I don’t see the Daisy,” she said. “Do you suppose they faced trouble at sea, as we did on land?”
“More likely, they faced bad weather,” Desmond responded. “It scarcely matters, since we are here with a night and perhaps part of a day to spare.”
They both turned at the sound of a footstep. The tapestry was drawn back to reveal an archway behind it and a tall man with red-gold hair entered the room. His tunic and hose were deep green, which Elaine recalled was his favorite color. His belt was of gilded leather with a knife fastened to it within easy reach of his right hand, but he wore no sword. A heavy gold chain around his neck was his only adornment.
“Royce,” she cried, sinking into what she hoped was a creditable curtsey despite the stiffness in her hips and knees after a long day on horseback.
“Elaine? What are you doing here? Dear girl, how glad I am to see you!”
Royce opened his arms and Elaine walked into them and rested her head on his broad chest, feeling as if she had come home. They were not related by blood; he was only her father’s childhood friend and her sister’s godfather, yet she loved him as if he were blood kin.
“Well, Desmond?” Royce said.
Elaine was aware that he was looking at Desmond over her head. After a moment, she felt Royce’s arms tighten around her and she knew Desmond had given a sign that she could not see.
“What happened to Aglise?” Royce asked, still speaking to Desmond.
Elaine blinked hard against the tears suddenly threatening to overwhelm her. Fearing if she tried to say anything she’d begin to cry, she held on tight to Royce and let Desmond do the talking.
“Aglise is dead,” Desmond said softly. “What’s more, we have uncovered evidence of a plot to kill King Henry on the first day of May. Unless I’ve counted wrong, that is tomorrow.”
Royce went absolutely still. Then he took Elaine by her shoulders and held her away from him so he could look into her eyes.
“It’s true,” Elaine said, wiping away the recalcitrant tears that flowed in spite of her efforts to control them. She couldn’t break down now. She and Desmond had too much to tell. “We believe King Louis has placed a spy here at court,” she added.
“Louis has more than one spy in Henry’s court,” Royce told her. His long, elegant fingers brushed the teardrops from her cheek.
“This spy uses pigeons to send messages,” she revealed. “He has been corresponding with Lady Benedicta about a scheme for the French to seize Jersey and the other islands in the Narrow Sea. Aglise found out about the plan, so Lady Benedicta killed her.”
“Benedicta? That pious creature committed murder?”
“And then killed herself,” Elaine added.
Desmond took up the story, recounting how he and Cadwallon had at first been misled by Aglise’s liaison with Lord Bertrand, and how Elaine had provided the information they needed to make sense of apparently disconnected details.
“Good God!” Royce exclaimed. “Bertrand seduced Aglise? That villain! Elaine, I swear to you, old friend of mine though Bertrand is, he will pay for what he did to my godchild. But tell me now, how did you discover the information Desmond mentioned?”
“When I was packing Aglise’s clothing, I found a coded message sewn into the hem of her sleeve,” Elaine said. “Desmond was able to decipher it. That’s how we learned of King Louis’s plan for murder and invasion, and of Lady Benedicta’s involvement in the scheme. Lord Bertrand claims he knew nothing about it.”
“Really? I’ll soon learn the truth of his assertion. Where is Cadwallon?” Royce demanded of Desmond.
“He’s aboard the Daisy, guarding Lord Bertrand and our squires, one of whom was stabbed by Lady Benedicta, and the other nearly drowned by French spies,” Desmond said. “I’ll explain about all of that later. We knew we had to warn you and King Henry as quickly as possible. Elaine suggested we split our group into two parties, one to travel by land and the other by sea, in hope that one group would reach you in time to prevent the murder and the French invasion.”
“Good thinking,” Royce said, smiling at Elaine.
“I don’t know how the Daisy is faring. So far as we can tell, she hasn’t tied up at the docks here,” Desmond said. “Elaine and I had to fight off two attempts to stop us. We have concluded that Sir Edmund, the man currently holding the fortress at St. Lo, is a part of the French scheme. Furthermore, I can report to you, my lord, that Elaine is as brave and resourceful as any man.”
“She is her father’s true daughter.” The approval on Royce’s handsome face warmed Elaine’s heart.
“When will you warn King Henry?” she asked.
“I’ll do it at once. I’m sure he will want to speak with both of you later. Elaine, my dear, I am sorry to tell you, your mother is also here at court.”
“Of course, she is.” Elaine put up both hands, holding her suddenly aching head. In fact, there wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t ache. “How I wish I didn’t have to tell her about Aglise.”
“I think it’s best if we don’t immediately reveal your presence to anyone,” Royce said. “Though it’s not entirely proper for an unwed girl, I suggest you stay here in my rooms, where you can be private, and where you may rest until after I see King Henry. Do you have another dress?”
“Yes, in my saddlebag It’s probably in a sadly wrinkled state by now.”
“No matter. Under the circumstances, Henry won’t care if you are slightly untidy. I will order hot water, so you can have a bath. Remain here until I make the arrangements. Desmond, come with me.”
The men left and Elaine, after another glance out the northern window, sat upon one of the stools and leaned her shoulders against the big table. She was almost asleep when Royce returned.
“Come,” he said, picking up the saddlebag Desmond had left behind. “Your bath is ready, and I think you need to sleep.”
“What about King Henry?” she asked.
“Desmond and I have spoken to him. He is warned, Elaine, and that was the purpose of your frantic journey, was it not? Henry wants to see you later tonight. You have time enough to bathe and then sleep.”
He lifted the tapestry and she followed him through the arch and into his adjoining bedchamber. The first thing she noticed was a tub filled with water, a large bowl of soap, and a pile of crisp, linen towels. The second thing she saw was the bed. Draped in deep green wool, large and comfortable looking, it seemed to her to offer sanctuary from all of her recent worries.
“You will be undisturbed here until it’s time for you to attend King Henry,” Royce said.
“Where is Desmond?”
“Paying a call on the barber, after which he will visit the bathhouse. He will join us later.”
Though his tone was mild, Royce’s eyes were sharp, missing no shadow of emotion on her face, nor any trace of concern in her voice. Elaine had the oddest sensation that he knew what had transpired between herself and Desmond. But, Desmond would not talk about that – or would he? If Royce insisted, demanded, issued a direct order, would Desmond admit having made love to her?
Left alone, Elaine stood uncertainly for a moment, too weary to think what to do next. Deciding to follow Royce’s advice to bathe and then sleep, she removed her soiled clothing and stepped into the tub, which was big enough for her to sit down. This time, she had enough water, and enough soap, to wash her hair. While the hot water eased away the day’s aches she scrubbed herself from head to toe. The soap was scented with tangy rosemary and the pleasant fragrance cleared her mind as she washed her body.
When she was finished she pulled from her saddlebag her clean shift and stockings, a pair of soft, indoor shoes, and her extra dress. The blue wool gown was as wrinkled as she expected. She shook it out and draped it over the end of Royce’s bed, smoothing the creases as best she could. Then she pulled on the shift and crawled into bed, feeling lost in its great size…
“Elaine, wake up.” Royce touched her shoulder. “I’ve brought some food for you. It’s almost time for us to go to King Henry, so you ought to dress now.”
“The sky is dark. What time is it?” she asked, stretching and .yawning.
“Nearly midnight.”
“King Henry keeps late hours.”
“Tonight, he does. When you are dressed, collect your belongings and bring them into my office. Servants will be coming in here to clear out the bath water and we don’t want them to know I’ve been hiding a lady,” Royce said with a mischievous grin.
“Think what my mother will say if she learns of it,” Elaine responded with a laugh. “Under these unusual circumstances, I am not at all ashamed to sleep in your bed, but Lady Irmina would doubtless weep and wail and rend her clothing if she knew.”
“She will tear her clothes only if she thinks she can cajole her beloved Sir Lamont into providing her with several new gowns to replace the one she has destroyed,” Royce said dryly. He lifted the tapestry. “Don’t be too long, my dear.”
Still smiling a little, Elaine shook her head as Royce disappeared into the adjoining room. She and Royce had seldom spoken aloud about Lady Irmina’s character flaws, but they both appreciated the foolishness of her mother’s shallow, frivolous way of life.
Gowns, jewels, and a handsome young husband had quickly eased Lady Irmina’s extravagantly displayed grief over the death of her first, much older spouse, who had left her a handsome widow’s portion of land and portable wealth. While Elaine and Aglise had wept for their father, Irmina danced and laughed and flirted, then sent her daughters away from court shortly after her remarriage to Sir Lamont.
Royce’s raised eyebrows and carefully bland expression during the wedding celebrations had told Elaine he believed as she did, that her mother wanted the beautiful Aglise gone so she’d have no competition from a daughter whose youth and freshness could only emphasize the mother’s age.
Privately, Elaine had been glad to go. She had worried about Aglise being at court, where noblemen too often were lusty predators eager to seize upon innocent girls whose parents were too involved with their own pleasures to protect their daughters. Elaine had never imagined her sister would fall prey to an older man’s lust on an isolated island far from court.
Beauty could be a curse, and deadly dangerous, as Aglise’s sad end proved. Elaine was glad to know she was far from being beautiful.
Not wanting to delay Royce, she ate while she dressed, munching on bread and a few pieces of herb-flavored, roasted fowl, finishing with a small bowl of early berries and washing the meal down with a cup of delicious Rhine wine. Royce always ate well, and she regretted not having time to savor every bite, or to linger over the wine.
She said as much to him when she entered his office with her saddlebag in one hand and her muddy boots in the other. The warm smile he bestowed on her almost convinced her that the badly wrinkled blue gown and the hair she had worked into a single, thick braid were the latest in court fashion.
“You look thoroughly rested,” he said.
“Clean, at least,” she corrected, the remark making his green eyes twinkle. “But, hardly suitable to meet a king.”
“The gift you and Desmond have given Henry will far overshadow your simple gown,” Royce said. “Thanks to the two of you, he will not only live to see the sun set tomorrow evening, he will also continue to be duke of Normandy. And that, to him, is a gift beyond price. Normandy is his father’s original holding. If the French were to seize it, the loss might well destroy Henry. He’s not a young man anymore, you know. You and Desmond, together, have prevented great harm to your liege lord.”
“I hope so. But, Royce, we still have to learn who here at court is spying for the French.”
“I have several possibilities in mind,” Royce told her. “My duties involve identifying and watching such people.”
“Why don’t you just arrest all of the people you suspect and put an end to the spying?” Elaine spoke without thinking. After a moment of reflection, aware of Royce looking at her with an interested expression that suggested he was following her train of thought, she added, “If you imprison all the French spies whose identities you know, then King Louis will have to place other spies here. And those new people may do great harm before you can learn who all of them are and set a watch on them.”
“When I retire,” Royce said, “I will suggest you to King Henry as my replacement.”
“Please, don’t. I don’t like being devious and I couldn’t bear sending good men like Desmond and Cadwallon into danger. But I do thank you for sending them to Jersey. Without their help, I’d still be wondering where Aglise is, and King Henry would be in grave danger.”
“I had long suspected there was a French spy planted in Jersey,” Royce said. “Your letter provided the perfect excuse for me to send two of my people there to investigate. That’s how devious I am, my dear; I’m a man who will turn the saddest event into a clever opening for my spies.”
“Nothing you can say will ever convince me you were not deeply concerned about Aglise.”
“True enough. At first, I feared she had gotten herself into trouble with some man, since she was much like her mother – too beautiful for her own safety and too frivolously inclined to be as wise as such beauty demands. I’m sorry to say that. I did love Aglise.”
“I know you did.” A tinge of bitterness crept into Elaine’s voice as she continued. “You loved her as an honest godparent should. Lord Bertrand, on the other hand, was a most dishonest foster parent. By the way, has the Daisy arrived?”
“Not yet. I’m not overly worried, though. Captain Piers is a fine sailor. He’ll see his ship safely to port. After which, I have a few choice words to say to Bertrand.” Royce gestured to the door. “Shall we go?”
“I thought we were waiting for Desmond.”
“I assigned him to see to a minor detail,” Royce said. “Desmond will join us shortly.”
Royce always knew more than he revealed, so as Elaine walked beside him through the darkened castle to the king’s private chambers, she wondered once again if he had learned about the night she had spent with Desmond, and if he was trying to keep the two of them apart.