Exile’s Bane (12 page)

In its shallow valley, Tor House, my massive, well fortified mansion, with its towers, gates, and double walls two yards thick, loomed before us. The breeze finally rose and cooled my skin. I raised my face in the sun to watch the Roland flag, where it whipped from the top of the watch-tower, that ancient Norman keep at the heart of the house.

Finally, we crossed the scarred draw bridge over the moat and passed through the outer walls between the gate towers. Cool stone walls gave us respite from the heat as we moved through the outer courtyard. The inner gates squealed open, and the many-windowed mansion hulked before us. Dead shrubbery lined our path, a casualty of the winter and the siege. We cantered our horses around the formal circle. Where there had always been sound and the movement of servants and stable boys milling outside the entry, silence greeted us.

A familiar, dread figure, none other than Edward Gorgon himself, stood grandly positioned atop the steps, a provocative smirk on his face. Though he wore a rich velvet doublet with a wide, heavily laced collar, wide pants and soft cordovan riding boots, disgust churned in my stomach at sight of him. My heart bumped heavily in alarm.

Something moved in the inner shadow of the great doors behind Gorgon. To my surprise, it was the heavy-set countess who lingered in hesitation, her face an agony of anxiety.

Gorgon remained a corpulent, muscular man with a neatly trimmed beard. He had not changed since I met him on the Isle of Man before the war. Fourteen years old at the time, I had accompanied my father to meet the Manx steward in the hawking yard, only to come upon him as he drew his sword out of the body of one of his servants. Father had been shaken. Gorgon had wiped his sword on the grass, sheathed it, and only then answered my father’s queries.

“Oh, him. He was too slow,” he said with disinterest.

He then grasped my chin and forced me to look upon him and upon the scar that split his beard up the left side of his jaw.

“You’ve blossomed nicely,” he said. His gaze floated down my body as though I were a prized mare. “The heiress, aye?”

I had never forgotten that moment, for I understood what he wanted.

That same raw desire stood out now on his face, aflame with brooding menace. His gaze picked out Prince Rupert and moved leisurely on to my pale-faced uncle.

The prince drew his rifled pistol, and the earl reached out to prevent him. A growl rose up between them. The prince gestured at Boye, who then sat back on his haunches, panting heavily.

“Your Highness.” Gorgon raised a broad palm, ignoring both the pistol’s threat and the required bow. “I am Steward Edward Gorgon of the Isle of Man, here to treat with Lord Devlin and to visit the heiress.”

How Duncan took that piece of news, I would like to have known, but dared not look aside, for Gorgon sketched a gallant bow in my direction.

Rupert snapped a look at Devlin, who jerked his head in a quick nod that set his hair in motion. The prince holstered his pistol, dismounted, then patted Boye. He handed his reins off to a stable boy who had just appeared.

“Water for the dog, boy.”

Duncan remained at stiff attention beside me.

“Steward Gorgon and Lord Devlin,” The prince’s gaze went from the earl to Gorgon, who prowled the steps. “I advise you both now in the hearing of this company that the Lady Elena and Mistress Carey are under my particular protection. Offend or touch them at your peril.”

Peg reached across from atop her mount and nudged me with her fingertips. A wide smile broke over her mouth. But her excitement washed over me, my terror undiminished.

The earl also dismounted. Not waiting for the stable boy, he dropped the reins and strode to Thomas, who remained on his horse, hands clenched in the horse’s mane.

“And this man?” he sneered. He reached up and curled his fist into Thomas’ torn shirt.

“I have as much right as the next man to be here,” Thomas cried in an upper octave.

“He is a thief,” the prince intoned, as though that explained everything.

So the prince had been aware of Thomas all along. I chanced a look at Duncan, but he was intent on Gorgon and the earl.

“I offer him my protection,” Gorgon bellowed. Agile for his size, he strode quickly down the steps and in among the horses, pushing them and the earl out of his way. “Stay away from him, Devlin. I have use for him.”

The earl glared at Gorgon, but stepped back.

“Thank you, lord,” Thomas said. He bowed his head in a stately manner, his voice returned to him.

Gorgon motioned at him. Thomas scrambled off his horse and fled to Gorgon’s side.

Duncan dismounted and assisted Peg and me off our mounts. He remained close by.

“Why would you condone a thief?” the prince asked.

“A private matter,” Gorgon said. He laughed, a broad, joyful sound out of place in the unnatural silence of the courtyard. “Your cousin awaits you, Prince.” He gestured at the stairs and into the shadows beyond. “See?”

The prince scowled, but moved to the base of the steps. He gestured at Gorgon, though he spoke to the earl. “Teach him some manners, Devlin, or I will do it.”

Two cavaliers brought forward a disheveled collection of standards and banners. The prince directed them up the steps. The countess scurried forward, her small eyes gleaming. With a pronounced huff of importance, she fanned herself dramatically. The cavaliers placed their bundles at her feet, and she nodded her acceptance.

Prince Rupert climbed the wide stone steps of the great hall in imperious formality, Boye at his side. He bowed to the countess.

“These are the captured banners from Bolton. I present them to you, dear cousin, for your bold and staunch defense of this house,” he said so that all could hear. He then kissed her hand and walked away with his dog into the great hall.

The countess beamed, then gushed her appreciation to the prince’s departing back.

“We will talk,” the earl said pleasantly to Gorgon’s buttressed stance, as though he owed Gorgon some precious thing.

“Agreed,” Gorgon said. “Until later, Lady Elena.”

Gorgon bowed to me and kissed my hand, his grip like hot iron.

Chapter Ten

Within the broad entry into the great hall, Countess Marie Louise had not moved from her position of honor among the bloodied and splintered battle standards from Bolton. Peg and I topped the stone steps, and the countess clattered through the strewn banners to intercept us. Her face, wet with perspiration, carried that old look of petulant pleading that I had become so familiar with throughout the months of siege.

“I need your help,” she said, her damp cheeks still highly colored from her recent honors. She put a pudgy hand on my shoulder to restrain me.

“And where will we stay?” I asked, in no mood for her demands in the wilting humidity. With Prince Rupert as my protector, I had no intention of settling for the little tower at the back of the house.

“If you will supervise the banquet preparations for this evening, you may return to your original rooms,” she said, as though she had generously given me something I did not own.

“What about the prince?”

“He is staying in the private tower, of course,” she huffed.

I stared at her in amazement, for the prince’s arrival had been her earlier excuse to rob me of my rooms.

Peg waited submissively beside me, a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

“It takes at least a day to properly prepare for a banquet,” I said to the countess. “It is already mid-afternoon.”

“My lord sent warning and I had the cook start the meat this morning. We shall eat a little later, closer to sunset,” she put in, clearly determined that I would take over the organizational duties, as I had always done. “That should give you enough time to get everything prepared, the hall set up and decorated.” Her dissatisfied gaze traveled down my filthy dress. “And you must be clean and properly attired if you wish to attend.”

A long breath of irritation puffed out of me. “We have no way to provide music or singing,” I reminded her. Daniel, our musician, had died in the first mortar attack in March.

“I will apologize for the lack of entertainment. Hopefully the prince will not be offended. You will do it?”

I nodded. She needed my help and she knew it.

“Good,” she said. She produced the household keys and dropped them into my extended hand.

Now that she had avoided responsibility for the upcoming banquet, she placed her index finger across her lips and wandered through the open doors into the vast hall in the direction of the great stair, mumbling about what dress she should wear.

Peg and I stepped into the shadowed hall. We each sighed in relief at the cool inner air. Stately silence dominated the vast, two story room. Oversized wooden chairs on the dais to our right sulked in the echo-laden gloom. Though a moist draft from the open doors flowed around us, the tapestries clung tightly to the walls, no ripples, no sway.

Dark shadows shifted behind the gallery screens high up the back wall, above the stairs. Someone was there, watching us, which brought to mind my precarious situation. The presence of Edward Gorgon, my betrothed, was a shock that still reverberated throughout my mind and body. How was I going to avoid Gorgon and survive at Tor House? Compared to Gorgon, Uncle Justin looked mightily attractive now, despite Prince Rupert’s and my own concerns.

My legs ached from hours in the saddle, my body weary and stiff. Now that my rooms awaited me, the vision of lounging in my own bed for a time sorely tempted me. But my fortress needed me. The preservation and care of my home was what I was born to do. At least the countess had arranged to start the cooking early. Had she not, I would have been in an unpleasant, impossible situation.

After I sent Peg ahead to our rightful rooms, I rushed toward the kitchens, where I found Captain Wallace’s lanky frame leaning against the arch that led into the kitchen tower.

“It is good to see you, my lady.” His smile contained more teeth than I had ever before seen in his mouth. He bowed, then stepped back in concern and shock at my appearance. He quickly regained his formal stance. “I thought you might come to the kitchens. Congratulations on gaining the prince’s protection. A master stroke.”

“Thank you, Captain, but it was not asked for, and we’ll see how long it endures.” I remembered my last concerned thought of the captain. “Tell me, did you engage a Roundhead troop while pursuing us the other day?”

“No, my lady. Lord Devlin, angry though he was, refused to allow me to go after you. He said you would either return on your own or be captured by Parliamentary troops, in which case he swore he would pay no ransom. He did not care about your welfare, which made me feel I had done the right thing after all.” He bowed solemnly before me. “I remain at your service.”

We talked a few minutes longer. Finally, looking pleased, he patted my hand and returned to his duties.

The steamy hothouse that was the central kitchen engulfed me. The head cook, Mrs. Deane, had large cuts of beef, mutton, lamb, and two small pigs roasting over the fires in the huge hearths. Used to my presence prior to meals, Mrs. Deane handed me an apron, though her eyebrows rose at sight of my dirty dress. I quickly donned the muslin smock, and each piece of roasting meat met with my skewer. It was true; we could indeed eat by sunset.

Mr. Biggs arrived with the Simpson boys, nine-year-old twins, the dark-haired sons of one of the scullery maids. Paul Simpson skipped off with Mrs. Deane’s list and a handful of small burlap sacks to gather fresh herbs out of the garden. Denis remained proudly beside me. I turned to Mr. Biggs, took his rough hand, and thanked him for coming. He had heard I was here and had come to offer his services.

“What are the chances of venison for our feast tonight?” I asked the wiry hostler, who had long been our most dependable hunter.

“If there be a deer to be found in the east wood, I shall take her.” He smiled his lopsided smile, nodded, and went out after a quick, “Milady.”

Mrs. Deane shook her head, unsure if she would have time to cook venison even if Mr. Biggs came straight back with a deer.

The best piece of luck was that this was baking day. There were pastries and breads spread on cooling tins throughout the kitchen, easily enough for our banquet. Mrs. Deane would just have to bake again tomorrow and probably each day thereafter until our guests departed. After he helped me move the baked goods into the staging pantry, Denis remained with Mrs. Deane at my request.

“Keep your fingers out of the food and do Cook’s bidding,” I instructed him.

The boy nodded solemnly. His slanted eyes watched me as though his long-lost love stood before him. He smugly took up his position near Mrs. Deane at the chopping counter.

Within the hour Paul returned with his little sacks full of herbs. Mrs. Deane, a stout, severe woman who worked miracles in the kitchen, took the sacks with a shrug, and put them at the back of her work area.

“You got ‘em all, did you?”

Paul nodded his head.

“Then go ‘way,” Mrs. Deane grumbled, waving him off. “One of you is enough.”

From farther down in the depths of the kitchen, where he was hard at work churning butter, Dennis stuck out his tongue at his brother.

Keeping busy and inconspicuous, I retrieved a wheel of our best cheese from the larder and set it aside for the dessert preparations, sent Paul out to the orchard to see if we had any early apples, and while he was gone, basted the various meats, testing them yet again with a skewer. Mrs. Deane set little Denis to carefully slicing cheese. Paul returned shortly with an apple for me to taste. It was sweet and tangy. He went with me to the wine cellar where we lingered extra moments, absorbing the cool, dry air.

The spice cabinet resided in a nook beside the wine cellar entrance. But my rush back to the kitchen with Paul, who had to run to keep up with me, our arms full of wine bottles, drove it out of my mind.

“Serve the red wine to the high table, ale for the common,” I instructed Mrs. Deane. “Use the early apples with the dessert, any preserves you might have, cheese and a pastry.” Only then did I remember the spices.

On my way back to the cellar, Peg approached me in a lower corridor in a clean, homespun dress. She must have bathed, for her hair was wet and her skin shone, her flushed cheekbones moist and shiny.

“Come and change thy dress, Elena.”

I looked down at my grimy attire. Perspiration dripped off my nose. I wiped my face on the clean underside of my by-now-soiled apron. My body odor had grown offensive as well, for a whiff near curled the tiny hairs in my nose.

“Will you arrange to harvest the early apples out of the orchard and whatever else Mrs. Deane requires?” I asked, ignoring the wafting stink I had no control over at the moment.

Peg agreed with a quick smile and a nod of her head.

“See if you can find the nuts in the root cellar, and deliver the spices to Mrs. Deane. Be certain to take back those she does not need and lock them away again.” I pulled the key from my pocket and handed it to her.

“So it truly is to be a banquet? Are the servants invited?”

“Yes, and yes,” I said. Though the countess had not designated that the banquet was for everyone, it was the only way the prince would be suitably honored.

“If that be the case, may I borrow thy green velvet dress for tonight?” she asked, as though she were asking absolution from Father Theobald.

“Of course. It’s too short on me, but should fit you nicely.” I patted her hand and smiled at her barely suppressed excitement. “Now hurry. Oh, and have Mrs. Lowry bring in the extra trestle tables into the hall and set all the tables with the good linen. She will have to ask the countess for the silver plates, the silver spoons and knives, and the candelabra. The earl has them locked up somewhere. Don’t forget the decorations in the great hall. Tell Mrs. Lowry to use the old pikes and lances down in the back of the armory. I think there is even an ancient mace down there. Tell her to have Dawson do it. He has an artistic touch. She is to have him mount the old weapons on the walls around the hearths where they will be seen.”

“Calm thee down,” Peg said. Her eyebrows had risen higher and higher with each duty I mentioned. Now, she put out a steady hand and clenched my shoulder. “I will see to it. I’ll even help the kitchen staff if I have to. ‘Tis for my prince, ye see.”

“The prince is undoubtedly accustomed to taking women wherever he finds them,” I said. Prince Rupert had left a lasting impression on me as well, though hardly with the depth of Peg’s long-held feeling. After an anxious breath, I gently squeezed her forearm and caught her resulting gaze with a sober look. “You must stay away from him.”

“He would not dishonor me,” she insisted, her face suddenly flushed with color. She lowered her eyes and bit at her lower lip. “Oh, and by the way,” she went on, looking up, my earnest warning ignored. “I just passed Thomas in an alcove off the main hall. Tight and chummy, he was, with that Edward Gorgon whose heart, also by the way, is black as coal. Lord Gorgon—”

“His proper title is
Steward
Gorgon. He is not an English lord”

“Anyway.” A little frown sulked between her brows. “He caught my gaze as I passed, and I could see his heart in his eyes, festering with malice.”

“Malice?”

“Yes. Do not look at me thus. I know the word. It means our Thomas is in great danger with him.”

“Maybe so, but Gorgon protects him from the earl. It is what he wants, Peg.”

“His grasping ways have led him to it.” She shook her head and blew out a resigned sigh.

“Don’t forget the nuts.” I moved away, then turned back. “Oh, and see the beekeeper about honey.”

To avoid being seen by Gorgon, whose presence filled me with loathing, I retraced my steps and took the upper passage the long way around to those rooms I had thought I would never see again.

Since my maidservant and footmen had been dismissed by the countess, I recruited two boys, older and stronger than the Simpson twins, to haul buckets of heated water up from the kitchen fires to fill the oversized wooden wash barrel in the dressing room at the back of my quarters. Made with staves and hoops, it was wide and low. Tub full and steaming, I sent them away, found my last container of lavender soap, an emulsion I made myself, and indulged in a bath. My hair was soaped and rinsed until it squeaked and my body scrubbed mercilessly to remove days worth of imbedded grime.

I lounged in the water until my skin wrinkled and recounted my grim circumstances. My attendance at the banquet, no matter the countess’ comments, was a requirement, though surely that was where my uncle and my betrothed would claim me before the entire population of the house. Prince Rupert and his lifeguard cavaliers would be there as well. Which brought Duncan to mind.