Claire Delacroix (37 page)

But Luc shook his head. “Nay, my lady, ’twill arouse suspicion if you and I ascend there together. Tell me of this place and I will seek your sire’s treasure for you.”

Brianna knew full well that she could trust Luc with the telling. Without hesitation, she bent and whispered to Luc of the hiding place in the crucifix.

Luc nodded, stood, then gave her shoulders a minute shake. “And you will not be alone in the keep,” he reminded her with a stern glance. “Pledge it to me.”

“Aye,” Brianna said with a smile. “I pledge it to you, Luc Fitzgavin.”

“Good.” Luc’s eyes flashed brilliant blue as he leaned forward to touch his lips to Brianna’s. Her heart skipped a beat at his fleeting touch and he smiled, as though he discerned
even the pulse of her heart. “Now, we must hasten back to the keep before you are missed.”

There was a surprising amount of activity in the kitchens for so early in the day. Cook was busy shaping loaves of bread, dozens of scullery boys and maids were scampering to do his bidding. Brother Thomas was nestled in a nook beside the ovens, partaking of a morning mug of ale. Brianna thought a quick glance flashed between the monk and Luc, but could not be certain.

And Ruarke was in the kitchens, much to Brianna’s surprise, his golden brows drawing together in disapproval when he spied her.

“Where have you been this morn?” he demanded, his voice loud enough to draw the eye of every soul within the kitchens. Ruarke glared at Luc, as though he longed to do serious damage to him. “What have you done to the princess? Do you dally where you have no right?”

“Nay,” Luc said mildly. “The lady merely had need of an escort from the garden.”

Ruarke turned his condemning glare upon Brianna. The anger lurking in that knight’s usually complacent gaze gave Brianna a start.

She forced a smile. “I wished to pray by my mother’s grave,” she lied weakly, then passed a hand over her brow in a bid to distract him. “Perhaps I consumed too much mulled wine yesterday, Ruarke, for my head aches this morn.”

The knight swept protectively to Brianna’s side and captured her elbow in his broad palm. He drew Brianna to his side, even as he glowered at Luc.

“Aye, I knew it well,” he declared coldly. “A noblewoman is too fine a creature to drown her sorrows like an alewife.” Ruarke arched a fair brow. “Doubtless there are those among us who do not understand the difference.”

“I do not doubt that there are those among us who do not know how to treat a lady,” Luc retorted coolly. He bowed slightly to Brianna, then strolled toward the hall. Brother Thomas rose and trailed behind him.

Brianna knew as well as any other that it had been Luc’s advice to grant her mulled wine, and indeed, the beverage
had
dulled the ache of her sire’s loss.

As had Luc’s beguiling touch.

Cook shrugged and cast Ruarke a glance. “There is little enough harm done in a fortifying sip from time to time,” Cook declared, his girth revealing that he often considered himself due for a consoling sip or a nibble.

Ruarke’s expression softened slightly. “Perhaps ’tis harmless enough,” he conceded genially. “I was but worried for our princess.” Ruarke then granted all a sample of his winning grin, a marked sign that his mood had improved.

Brianna suspected ’twas Luc’s departure alone that improved the knight’s spirits. Indeed, Ruarke was not nearly so interested in remaining beside Brianna as he had been just a moment before.

“My lady, I must thank you,” Cook declared suddenly. “ ’Twas a fine treat indeed to have Fenella among us once again yesterday.” Cook began to stir some stock and shook his head. “Aye, that girl has a taste for news like no other and we have missed her.”

“Missed her?” Brianna halted midway to the portal “But Fenella is
always
in the kitchens.”

Cook glanced up. “Aye, once she was. But not of late.” He looked at his staff. “We have seen precious little of her this past week.”

“ ’Tis true enough, my lady,” confirmed one lad, glancing up from the potatoes he peeled. To Brianna’s astonishment, all the others nodded in vigorous agreement.

But if Fenella had not been in the kitchens all those times she had been absent from Brianna’s side, then where had she been?

Brianna had a feeling she would not like the answer. ’Twas time enough that she knew the truth. Brianna marched with purpose toward the hall.

“But, Brianna, I thought your head ached this morn!” Ruarke called after her. Brianna disregarded him, her pace increasing as she crossed the near vacant hall and made for the stairs.

Moments later, she threw open the door to the lady’s chamber and was confronted by dozens of slumbering and awakening noblewomen in various states of dress and undress.

But Fenella was quite absent.

Brianna cast off her cloak and rummaged for a clean chemise, hauling on a different kirtle and stockings with purpose, her annoyance growing with every passing moment. Fenella had been sent to Tullymullagh to be educated for her eventual role of lady of her family estate. And in Connor’s absence, the responsibility for ensuring that naught ill befell that maid landed squarely on Brianna’s shoulders.

’Twas not an obligation she would ignore.

Luc watched Brianna depart in a noisy assembly of maids and nearly smiled. She had taken his advice with a vengeance—and that could only ensure her safety.

At least for the moment. Luc frowned, fearing anew that Connor’s assailants might decide Brianna herself held the key to her father’s treasure. ’Twas not so unreasonable that she would know her sire’s secrets. Indeed, that was why Luc had asked her counsel.

That thought was far from reassuring. But without knowing who had been responsible, Luc could only strive to ensure
Brianna remained unharmed. He hoped fervently that this day would shed some light upon the mystery before them all.

“As I said,” Brother Thomas murmured into his mug of ale. “Our quarry was much more squeamish than ever I might have expected.”

Luc pushed his errant thoughts aside and turned his attention to the monk without appearing to do so. Although the two sat at the same trestle table, they both strove to appear absorbed in breaking their fast alone.

Brother Thomas was evidently speaking of Dermot, a man Luc had already noted was conspicuously absent from hall or kitchens this morn. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Brother Thomas accepted a proffered chunk of bread with a smile to the servant. Luc took one as well. When the boy stepped away, the monk dropped his voice anew. “He was most unsettled by tales that had even the smallest measure of bloodshed. I cannot believe that he could have done a deed of such violence.”

Luc considered this as he drank of his own ale. “His response to your words could be due to his own surprise at what he had done. Perhaps he feels guilty.”

“Perhaps.” Brother Thomas frowned at his bread, as though surprised to find it devoid of honey. “But I think he does not have the fortitude within him to strike such a blow.”

“He is reputed to be a knight.”

“By his own word alone. He has never ridden to battle, and indeed, was said to have been particularly futile in the assault against Claremont.” Brother Thomas waggled his brows. “I gathered that his ineffectiveness was at the root of Lady Ismay’s complaints with him. She did not take well to the loss of her holding.”

“All the same, he could have panicked and struck a telling blow to Connor.”

“Seven times?”

“Seven?” Luc looked up in surprise, but the monk held his gaze steadily, then nodded once before glancing away.

Seven times Connor had been stabbed. Luc swallowed and stared at his ale, no longer having the thirst for it. Brother Thomas had dressed the body—he would know the truth.

Aye, none could strike so viciously without intending that Connor should die, and die without uttering another word that might reveal his assailants. The very prospect sickened Luc.

“Boy!” the monk called. “Have you any honey?”

“The liquid or the comb?”

Brother Thomas rolled his eyes with delight. “A sliver of comb, boy, and you should make me a happy man.”

’Twas time Luc checked what Brianna had told him. This matter could not be resolved quickly enough for his taste.

Luc pushed to his feet, murmuring some excuse about meeting his sire, and slipped toward the stairs. No one noted his departure. As near as Luc could discern, most of the hall’s occupants were still asleep. And many had gone with Brianna, after all.

The second floor was quiet, its landing vacant. Luc opened the portal to the solar and listened. There was not a sound. He slipped silently through the door and stealthily climbed the stairs, halting at the sound of breathing.

Luc peeked over the lip of the stairs. Gavin slumbered in the pillared bed on the far side of the solar, his hand flung out across the mattress. The braziers had burned down to glowing coals and the room was chill.

There was no one else present but Gavin.

And Luc did not want even that man to know what he did. He crept up the last of the stairs, and Gavin slept on undisturbed.
Luc crossed the floor carefully, wincing when a board betrayed his step with a squeak. He stood in frozen posture and eyed his father, certain an explanation would be demanded with a bellow loud enough to wake the dead.

But Gavin rolled over, snorted, and began to steadily snore.

’Twas ironic that the one man Luc knew was capable of such violence was the same one he knew to be innocent. And his sire might well have wanted Connor—the old king to whom Tullymullagh was yet so loyal—safely out of influence’s way.

Could Gavin have bidden two of his men to do the deed? Luc could not believe his sire could have feigned such surprise and shock. Gavin was not a subtle man, by any means. And Connor would not likely have recognized two of Gavin’s men.

’Twas not reassuring to consider that the killers had been among Connor’s own household. Uther? For what reason? He might well have known about the Rose; he might have wanted to protect the gem from Gavin’s greed. But could he have killed Connor? Luc could not believe it. The steward’s loyalty was unswerving and, no doubt, self-sacrificing.

Could Dermot have wanted the prize of the Rose enough to kill his old neighbor? Was Brother Thomas right about that man’s inability to strike a blow?

Had Ismay been killed? And if so, by whom? Luc could not help but recall her certainty that she knew something of the Rose that all others had forgotten. Had that been the claim that ensured her demise? And who else in that crowded hall that eve might have heard her words? Indeed, how often had she proclaimed it?

Luc did not know. He darted for the chapel stairs. They creaked softly as he climbed, but Gavin remained sound asleep.

Then, Luc was finally in the vandalized chapel. ’Twas tragic to see what a shambles had been made of this sacred space, but he dared not linger to look upon it. Quickly, Luc crossed the floor and bent over the crucifix that had been hauled from the wall.

The massive cross lay propped against the exterior wall, the long arm of it splintered and broken. But at the juncture of the arms was the gem that Brianna had told him about. ’Twas a half-sphere of polished quartz so smooth that Luc had never seen the like.

Brianna had said it opened on a hinge. Luc ran his fingertips across the stone and around its setting, but could feel naught even remotely like a hinge.

Much less a clasp. He had best look well, for this might be his only chance alone here. Luc lifted his lantern and leaned closer. To the right, he thought he could see a tiny shadow that should not be cast there. He reached for the shadow and felt a thrill of victory when it clicked.

And the stone moved toward him with a creak. Marvelling at the craftsmanship, Luc eased the little doorway open and touched the secreted hinges. A space the height and width of his fist extended into darkness there. Luc held his breath and reached in to the shadows, but his fingers closed upon naught at all.

Connor’s hiding place was empty.

The stairs groaned behind Luc and he knew that someone came. Had his sire awakened? Luc cast a glance over his shoulder, pushed the secret doorway closed, shoved to his feet, and turned.