The only positive thing to come of his journey so far was that he hadn’t found the king at a monastery, as was often his custom. Jason knew he’d have trouble enough with the king’s courtiers and whatever clergy he found himself surrounded by without scores of monks trying to exorcise the demons from him as well.
He dismounted in front of the stables and found a cringing stableboy at his side. He handed the lad his reins, knowing that no one would dare abuse his horse or pilfer his saddlebags. He would likely find them in the usual place—well away from any living soul.
Jason looked about him but found no sign of his brother in amongst the horseflesh. Perhaps Kendrick was romping out in the fields with some fair wench, crushing flowers and hearts beneath his heel with equal abandon.
The thought of flowers made his nose begin to twitch, so he decided to leave the fields for a later time and concentrate his search first on the castle itself. He crossed the courtyard and climbed the steps into the great hall.
He made himself known to the highest ranking of Henry’s aides present there. The man was a foreigner of indeterminate origin, so Jason tried first French, then Latin. After receiving baffled, unhelpful shrugs in response to both, he gave up and excused himself with a bow. Obviously, he would have to search on his own.
He looked about him but saw no sign of his unruly brother. That meant nothing. Kendrick could have been anywhere, in any guise, stirring up any kind of trouble. That he was even rumored to be at court came as something of a surprise. Kendrick made no secret of his loathing of the king’s flaws. Henry had an inordinate fondness for anything or anyone who had not sprung from English soil, and he seemed determined to beggar the country entertaining his entourage and building his monuments in London. Jason could only assume Kendrick was here to flatter the king into giving him, or selling him at a reduced price, some bit of land Kendrick had taken a fancy to.
Either that or Kendrick had been instructed by their father to lead Jason on a merry chase for as long as possible—likely in hopes that Jason would regain his good sense before he rushed off to do something foolish in France.
Damn them both.
Jason considered investigating bedchambers but thought better of it. Interrupting his brother whilst at his favorite labors was more than even he could stomach at present. But a solar might not be so perilous. After all, what havoc could possibly be wreaked in a woman’s solar?
Jason climbed the stairs and started down the passageway, looking for a likely door. He hadn’t taken a handful of paces before he saw a woman standing outside a door with her head bowed. Her hand was pressed against the wood, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to push the door open. She wasn’t a servant; that much he could see by her clothing. Then why did she wait without?
He approached, heralding the like with a mighty sneeze stifled in the crook of his elbow. He dragged his sleeve across his face, immediately relinquishing the idea of making any kind of agreeable impression. He looked at the woman but could not see her very well. The place where she stood was filled with the deepest shadows in the passageway.
“My lady?” he said politely.
She did not lift her bowed head to look at him. She was silent for a moment, then acknowledged him with a soft “my lord.”
“Do you require aid?”
“Aid?” she asked. “Nay, my lord, but I thank you for the offer.”
Jason approached, then realized that the door was not closed, but rather slightly ajar. He could hear voices inside, and they were passing unpleasant in their tone.
“I could not believe my eyes.”
“Nor could I! And the saints only know how long he’d been talking to her yesterday.”
“Why would he pass time with her? Nothing could make up for the ugliness of her visage.”
“Aye, and not that she had time to lift her skirts—”
“And not that he would have accepted that offer, even if he’d kept his eyes closed—”
Another voice spoke, a voice that sent chills down Jason’s spine though he had never in his life been frightened by the sound of a woman speaking.
“She must be stopped.”
Jason looked at the woman standing next to him. Did they speak of her? All he could see was the top of her head, so he couldn’t judge by her expression if that were the case. But he could well imagine her not wanting to go inside and listen to any more of that rot—even if it had naught to do with her.
“Do you require something inside there?” he whispered.
She did not look up, even at that. “I thought to fetch my stitchery, but I daresay there isn’t a need for that now.”
“No doubt your gear will keep,” Jason agreed, fully intending to wish her good fortune, bid her farewell, and then continue his search.
But two things stopped him.
One was that he’d heard his brother’s name begin to be bandied about inside the solar. And the second was the woman who stood before him, cloaked in shadows, listening to the drivel being spewed inside that solar as if she needed to hear it. He stood not two paces from her but suddenly felt as if they two stood alone in the world. It was all he could do to breathe normally.
Who was this woman?
She stepped back from the door and pulled the hood of her cloak up around her face. And the moment was gone.
“I thank you for your kindness, my lord,” she said. “I’m sure my things will be safe enough.”
Jason had his doubts about that, but he also had no desire to enter the solar to find out. He was also beginning to wonder if he might need to break his fast soon. Obviously, he was faint from hunger and from the sneezes that threatened to overwhelm him at every turn. He had no ties to the woman before him. There was no good reason to feel as though the last thing he should do was walk away from her. By the saints, he had no idea what she even looked like! He shook his head to clear it. The sanest thing he could do was turn tail and flee.
Aye, that was wise. But he could not leave her where she was, not with the talk that was going on inside that solar.
“Might I es ... ah—ahchoo—” he said with a mighty sneeze. He dragged his sleeve across his face and tried to regain his dignity. “Might I escort you to wherever you’re going?” he said again. Perhaps the sunshine would bum his illness—and his sudden madness—from him before it overcame him completely.
“There’s no need,” the woman protested.
“My mother would be disappointed in me if I showed such a lack of courtesy,” he said. “And who am I to disappoint her?”
“Very well,” the woman said with a soft sigh. “But it won’t be far. I’m only to go to the barbican gates.”
Jason bowed to her, then followed her down the passageway.
“Whom go you to meet?” he asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“No one of consequence,” she said, her quiet voice almost lost in the bustle of the hall.
“A handsome knight come to woo you?” he asked lightly.
“I should think not,” she said with half a laugh. “Nay, ’tis but a friend I made yesterday in the most unlikely of ways who offered to rescue me from a day passed inside the walls.”
And given that her alternative would have been sitting in a solar with a handful of poisonous serpents, he could well understand her desire to accept the deliverance.
They left the great hall and crossed the bailey. Jason tried to steal looks at the woman beside him, but her cloak too thoroughly shadowed her face. He wondered why she chose to go about thusly, especially in the heat of the sun. Perhaps she met a lover for a secret tryst and wanted no one to recognize her. But surely there were few enough people at Henry’s temporary court here that she would instantly be known by her clothing and bearing alone.
He shrugged aside his questions, for they weren’t vital ones. If she wanted to hide herself, ’twas her affair and not his. What he needed to do was discharge his obligation to her so he could be about his business.
Which was, he thought with a scowl, much like what he was doing with his damned brother he couldn’t seem to find.
They walked through the barbican gate. The woman stopped and looked about her. Jason saw her shoulders sag, and immediately sympathy surged through him. Obviously, the invitation hadn’t been a trustworthy one. And then he caught sight of a tall figure loitering under a tree some distance down the road.
There was something unsettlingly familiar about that shape, dressed as it was in nun’s gear.
“Perhaps there?” Jason said, pointing toward the beginning of an orchard.
The woman paused, then made a sound that Jason could have almost mistaken for a laugh.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, and started down the path.
Jason followed, scowling fiercely and cursing under his breath.
The nun straightened as they approached, then walked toward them with a slow and solemn gait.
“My lady,” the nun said in a high, hoarse voice. “You came as you said you would.”
“Aye,” the woman said, sounding amused.
“And I see you’ve brought your fool with you,” the nun said, hiding hairy arms by tucking them into opposite sleeves. “Off with you, dolt. We’ve a walk to accomplish today.”
The woman next to Jason stiffened. Perhaps she thought him offended by the other’s words. He wasn’t. It wasn’t the first time he’d been insulted by the soul before him.
Nor was he surprised to find a nun with a voice that was better suited to bellowing battle cries than chanting prayers. He folded his arms over his chest and glared at the object of his search.
Which was, of course, his brother.
In skirts.
Not that such was all that unusual. Kendrick wasn’t the first man in their long and illustrious line to disguise himself as a sister of the cloth. Jason had never in the past—and he prayed fervently that he would never be compelled to in the future—lowered himself to dress as a woman.
Dire circumstances called for momentous actions, he supposed. He wondered what sorts of straits Kendrick found himself in at present to necessitate such a disguise.
Then he found himself distracted by a movement at his side. The woman turned to look at him, and her hood caught on a low branch. It was pulled away to reveal dark hair coiled around her head and a visage that Jason could not look away from.
She was beautiful.
Or at least she had been before the pox.
He smothered his surprise, then gave her his most gentle smile.
“My lady,” he said, making her a little bow, “surely you don’t intend to pass your afternoon with this oaf here. His mere presence will put you off your food, cause you great pains in the head, and give you horrible dreams. Better that you allow me to save you from this unsavory invitation.”
He found himself quite suddenly sprawled on his backside and ’twas a certainty only Kendrick could have put him there.
“Come, Lianna,” Kendrick said, offering her his arm. “Let us leave the refuse along the side of the road and be on our way.”
“But, my lord—”
“It isn’t ‘my lord.’ It’s simply Kendrick. And that unwholesome bit of offal is my younger brother, Jason. He’s likely come to torment me with some business I’ve no stomach for hearing today. See you how the sun shines and the birds sing. We should enjoy it, don’t you think?”
Jason thought many things, first and foremost of which was that he really should kill his brother at his earliest opportunity. Perhaps he would invite Kendrick to a war where he could commit fratricide with more ease.
Contemplating that happy possibility was almost enough to get him to his feet with a smile. He rose just the same, brushed off his abused backside, and stared at the ridiculous pair walking away from him. The lady, Lianna, was a mystery he wished he had time to solve. Why did she find herself at court? And what, the saints pity the poor girl, was she doing befriending his randy brother, who could have had any and all of the most beautiful women in England or France tumbling into his bed at the mere hint of an invitation?
He paused, tempted to solve those mysteries.
But nay, he couldn’t. He had business to accomplish. The mystery of his brother’s whereabouts was solved. Jason had little doubt he could find Kendrick again easily. Only his brother would clothe himself as a nun and stride about with his hairy legs clearly showing under skirts that hit him just below the knee and a cloak that didn’t fall to the middle of his forearm—and believe that such a disguise would deceive any but the most foolish of men.
Or women, if that was his purpose, which Jason suspected it might be.
He was momentarily tempted to follow them and force Kendrick to speak with him immediately, but he could already see himself using his fists on his brother, and it would be just his luck to have someone see him brawling with a nun. His reputation was black enough without that.
Nay, he would but wait for supper, then see to delivering his message.
Then he would be on his way to France.
Three
Lianna sat in the shadows and stared at the fire in the midst of the great hall. The smoke burned her eyes if she didn’t blink often enough, but such was the price one paid for a roof over one’s head, she supposed. In her sire’s hall, the fires had been set into the wall, with flues to carry the smoke outside. Her father’s people had thought him mad to do such a thing, but he had been convinced of the wisdom of it. And Lianna, her eyes now burning in the midst of the king’s appropriated hall, heartily agreed with her sire’s thinking.
But at least the smoke gave her a reason to let her eyes water, which they wanted to do just the same from the kindnesses she’d been shown that day.
She peered through the smoke at the king’s table and tried to discern the goings-on there. Normally, she would have been sitting there as well, but tonight all the places had been given to lords of either importance or wealth—such as Kendrick of Artane.
Or of dark reputation, given who sat next to Kendrick.
She picked absently at her supper and contemplated the very unlikely turn her life had taken over the past two days. Apparently, giving her tongue free rein in the presence of—and, unfortunately, in the most unflattering ways about—one of the most sought-after men in the realm had amused him enough to turn him into something of a comrade-in-arms. She had passed a delightful day in his company, finding him to be nothing that his critics said he was and everything they said he was not. In Artane’s second son, she had found a brother and a friend.
Now, his brother was a different tale entirely.
From the very moment she had heard Lord Jason’s voice in her ear, she’d been unsettled. She’d tried not to show that, to walk as other women did, speak with levity, and carry herself as if she hadn’t a care in her heart. She’d certainly had no intention of letting him know what his brief kindness, or the mere sound of his voice in the passageway, had wrought in her. And she’d done her best to forget him as she walked with his brother in the sunlight and heard that brother tell stories of Jason as if he’d been a harmless pup—which Lianna couldn’t believe he was.
Not if the rumors were true.
But none of those rumors was foul enough to dissuade her from searching for him through the smoke in the hall and wondering if his visage was as beautiful as she remembered, or if perhaps the spell he’d cast on her had been completely undone by an afternoon passed in his brother’s sparkling company. Indeed, she began to suspect that Kendrick had wrought a goodly work on her wits, for she could scarce remember what Jason looked like.
Or so she told herself.
Odd how it had never occurred to her that Kendrick’s brother might be even more handsome than he.
But nay, she couldn’t say that, for she was just certain she couldn’t remember Jason’s visage, or the deep whisper of his voice, or the way chills went through her just standing next to him.
She sighed and rested her chin on her fist. Perhaps she was more int
erested than she cared to admit. And since the hall was smokey enough that he would never see her gaping at him, why shouldn’t she? She decided to allow herself that luxury as she peered at him and thought back on what Kendrick had told her.
Jason had been a pleasant, cheerful lad at one time: Kendrick had assured her of such as he’d told her stories of his family. And according to Kendrick, Jason was still cheerful, though Lianna could scarce believe it. Shadows hung about him like shrouds. The current grimness of his visage—what she could see of it from where she sat—warned any and all he would not be amenable to light-hearted conversation. She certainly had no intention of daring the like. Besides, she had just learned to speak freely and comfortably to his brother—and Kendrick was as open as a flower that begged you to come pluck it and savour its fragrance.
Jason of Artane was nightshade, deadly to those who dared partake.
And so beautiful she could scarce convince herself she shouldn’t.
She stared at him thoughtfully and began to suspect that perhaps they might have more in common than she wanted to believe. He seemed to have no more stomach for the pleasantries of court than she. She squinted and marked Kendrick laughing with, flattering, and charming the king and his courtiers. She knew that he spoke several languages, for she had heard for herself as he imitated each of the king’s foreigners in their own tongues in turn as they walked through the orchard. Those same souls might not have hung on his every word so fully had they but known what amusement Kendrick had had at their expense not a handful of hours before. Even so, there was not a man there at that high table who didn’t laugh with Kendrick or find himself being drawn into the talk.
Except Jason, who put his head down and plowed through his supper with the concentration of a body that hadn’t had a decent meal in a fortnight.
And when he did lift his head, he looked bored to tears.
She couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with him in that regard.