Fire Raven (25 page)

“Gervase! Terence!” shrieked an outraged female voice from upstairs. “You come back here at once and clean up this frightful mess.”

Moments later, a flustered young woman appeared on the upper landing, with the obvious intent of chastising the lads further. Noticing the guests below, she gave a soft cry and rushed down the stairs instead.

“Cousin Merry. Is’t really you?”

The two lads seized the opportunity to escape. Dashing past Kat and Merry, they disappeared through a door leading to the kitchens. Kat glimpsed them running past a window round the back of the house. Neither of the redheads appeared to notice or care.

“Maggie!” Merry exclaimed, with equal delight. She rushed forward to greet the other young woman. The pair of them looked remarkably alike for cousins. Maggie Tanner’s auburn hair was several shades lighter than Merry’s, but her face was so similar as to be startling.
These two might be the twins, not Merry and I,
Kat mused as she studied the other two standing side by side.

“Oh, Maggie, how good to see you again. You’ll never believe who I have here with me. D’you remember your own cousin, Katherine?”

“Dearest Kat!” Maggie hugged the startled Kat in the same impulsive manner Merry always did. “I cannot believe it! We had word you and … that there had been … some sort of a terrible accident. Oh, dear.” Maggie pressed a hand to her lips and looked helplessly to Merry.

“’Twas but a grievous rumor,” Merry put in quickly. “As you can see, our Kat is very much alive. The queen is in progress to Hampton Court. So I brought Kat here for the weekend to visit you all. Uncle Kit said Anne is home, too. How is she?”

“Mayhap, you’ll see her later,” Maggie said wryly. “She is presently resting. Anne rests only when she is not busy being an absolute terror. She’s breeding again, y’see, and poor James sent her here for the weekend to get some relief for himself and the girls.”

Merry chuckled. “I know she vowed not to have another babe so soon after the first three.”

“Aye, but James wants a boy, as all men do. Despite Anne’s determination not to become
enceinte
again so soon, I fear her husband won the duel. I reminded the little goose that once is enough. Methinks she’s learned the truth of it, by now.”

How worldly Maggie Tanner seems for her young age!
Kat thought, amazed. She mused a moment upon what her cousin had said. Once is enough … once is enough … unconsciously, Kat’s hand moved to touch her velvet stomacher. She shuddered. Was it possible she carried Morgan’s child beneath her heart? Surely not. Yet her insides knotted anyway when a maid servant approached them with a tray of sweetmeats and goblets of watered wine.

Kat shook her head at the proffered refreshments and welcomed the distraction of her uncle’s return.

“Are you weary, girls?” he inquired. “Y’are welcome to retire early, if you wish. ’Twill not hurt our feelings one bit, will it, Maggie? The country air always tires me out at first, too.”

Merry shook her head, nibbling at a sweetmeat. “I couldn’t sleep a wink, Uncle Kit,” she declared. Obviously remembering Kat then, she added kindly, “Perhaps you are tired, dear.”

Three gazes shifted to Kat. Truth to tell, she was weary, having stayed up so late the previous evening and rising to travel at dawn’s first light. Often, courtly revelries themselves continued till dawn. Kat realized she would disappoint them all by retiring so early, though.

“I would much prefer seeing Ambergate than taking a nap,” she said. “Merry has told me much about your beautiful house, Uncle Kit.”

He smiled when she used his nickname. Kat saw that Ambergate was her uncle’s pride and joy when he led them on the tour. The mansion ranked only a small step beneath his precious daughters, as was obvious when Uncle Kit took Maggie’s arm and placed it upon his with an affectionate pat.

“Come along, m’dears. I’ll show you all the latest renovations. Mayhap someday this estate shall belong to your son’s son, Maggie, and if my prayers come true, our family will be just as close in future as now.”

Trailing a pace or two behind, Kat cast her sister a puzzled look. Merry obligingly explained in a whisper.

“Thus far, Anne has produced only girls. Of course Grace shall not bear any children now, whilst she is on a ridiculous mission to become a nun. Maggie is betrothed to a baron, one she has not met, but who is doubtless virile enough to see to the task God and Uncle Kit intend for him.”

“Merry!” Kat protested, with a shocked giggle.

Merry shrugged. “If Maggie does her proper duty by the family and has sons, Ambergate will most assuredly be hers. Kit’s boys by Isobel have other prospects. The eldest, Nathan, is away at Oxford. He intends to work for our Uncle Phillip when he finishes his studies. Gervase and Terence are too young yet to manage any properties, but Uncle Kit has seen to their futures and purchased other lands nearby.

“Cousin Maggie is the lucky one. How pleasant to live out one’s days here in the country, yet still be close enough to Court for frequent amusement.”

“The house is beautiful,” Kat agreed, pausing to admire the gallery where their uncle had led them. Portraits of Tanners down through the ages — most of them sporting distinctive red hair — lined both walls in either direction. Kat studied them one by one until she came upon a painting whose subject looked startlingly familiar.

“Merry, I didn’t know you’d already had your portrait done.”

Merry laughed. Uncle Kit and Maggie returned to look at the portrait. The painting Kat had indicated depicted a lovely, auburn-haired young lady garbed in Court regalia, her gray-green eyes twinkling as she gazed loftily upon a smitten admirer kneeling at her feet

“This is the original Meredith Tanner,” their uncle explained. “Your paternal grandmother on the Tanner side. A strong resemblance, isn’t there?”

“’Tis unbelievable,” Kat gasped, turning to stare a moment at her sister, then back at the portrait. “Why, it gives one shivers. Even their expressions are the same.”

Merry chuckled again. “La, I’ll admit it gave me a start the first time I saw it, too. ’Twas like peering into a looking glass. Now you see why the queen calls me Merry, instead of Erin. I have always been dubbed thus by Her Majesty and must remain so.”

Kat tore her curious gaze away from the portrait. She felt her superstitious Irish blood rebel against the strange coincidence of identical women living in different times. It didn’t seem natural. It was troubling. As Merry hurried ahead to catch up with her favorite cousin, Kat hesitated beside her uncle.

“How did Grandmother Tanner die?” she asked Kit quietly so the chattering redheads wouldn’t overhear.

He didn’t seem to sense her unease and answered matter-of-factly enough, “There was an unfortunate accident. Though Meredith was married and the mother of four sons, she was still ardently pursued by several swains at Court. Father was powerless to put a stop to it, I fear, and since the queen demanded Merry’s presence at every Court function, Mother had no choice but to go.”

“What happened?” Kat persisted.

Her uncle hesitated, his eyes shadowed. “Two of Mother’s love-struck courtiers got into a violent quarrel over the favor of a dance with her. Words shortly turned to weapons in the yard. Mother tried to stop them, I was told, but to no avail. In all the confusion, she hurled herself between the men just as they lunged for each other.” Uncle Kit shook his head, obviously reliving his role as a terrified young boy who had seen his beautiful mother’s broken, bleeding body brought back to Ambergate.

“Of course, Bess Tudor was appalled and sent both of the guilty fellows promptly to the block. Yet even our mighty queen could not restore a mother to her sons.”

Kat vigorously rubbed her arms up and down to banish a sudden chill in the gallery. “I’ve not heard such a tale before. I’m sure I wouldn’t have forgotten it.”

“Your father, Slade, was the youngest of us boys. He was only four or so when it happened. I’m sure he doesn’t remember it himself. There was no reason for him to repeat such a sad tale to his own offspring. In fact, I confess I’m guilty myself of distorting the truth at times. I’d rather remember Mother enjoying her old age here at Ambergate, as she deserved. I’ll wager, Slade’s stories about your grandmother are more my invention than reality.”

Kat didn’t reply. She couldn’t. While Uncle Kit had told her of the unfortunate tragedy, she thought not of her grandmother. Instead, she remembered Merry’s innocent laughter as she flirted with a mysterious man calling himself Count Saville.

Chapter Thirteen

I
T WAS A BLESSING
, Winnie realized, whenever Lord Trelane left Falcon’s Lair for a time. Never had she dreamed to rue the day when the Master was home, yet in the last three months, she found herself hoping he would be delayed somewhere whenever he rode away to attend to his demesne.

Ever since Mistress Kat had departed, the Master had been in a mood blacker than the hell the good Father painted for sinners. He was short and curt with all the staff nowadays — including the Careys — and downright merciless with those who truly earned his wrath.

The former steward, Renfrew, who had terrorized the villagers and burned the Widow Sayer’s cottage, was recently located in Tregaron, where he was discovered gleefully drinking down the last of the Lord Trelane’s pilfered coins. Renfrew was seized, publicly whipped in the city street, and driven from Wales without so much as a shirt on his back or a crust for his supper. Those who lived in the village were forbidden to aid the man or shelter him in any way, on pain of death.

Lord Trelane bought another stallion to replace Idris; unlike the noble black he had once ridden through the hills, this ugly roan was so evil-tempered that Winnie’s husband, Lloyd, was unable to handle the beast. Bit by bit, the Master had cleansed Falcon’s Lair of each and every trace of Kat, from the gowns she had worn to the poor faithful Patches, whom he sold to a gypsy tinker wanting a nag to pull his cart.

The Devil Baron, in truth, is what himself is now, Winnie thought with a shudder. Nothing more, nothing less. At first she had no idea the Master’s angst went so far as to succumb to the nightly ease Gwynneth offered him. Winnie only noticed the serving girl getting too full of herself. When she sought to bring Gwynneth up short one day, she was shocked.

“Mind your place, nosy old cow,” Gwynneth retorted in a tone of pure insolence. “The Master’s got no complaint with me, you can be sure. He’ll not take kindly to your nasty remarks. You and the others best take heed; you will all be sent packing before me.”

At last Winnie understood. Old and slow she might be; blind she was not. She did not understand the Master’s choice, though. He was hurting, that obvious to everyone. Yet Winnie knew there were better ways to fill the void Kat had left in his heart than with common trash like Gwynneth.

One day Winnie could not bear the maid servant’s insolence any longer. She dared speak her piece to Morgan himself, risking his wrath.

“What you need is a wife, milord,” she said. By this time, she had had quite enough of his ill temper and Gwynneth’s blatant disrespect. “You need a lady wife of proper breeding; one who’ll give you a league of sons to fill Falcon’s Lair’s empty cradle.”

She spoke out of place and out of turn. To her surprise Morgan looked thoughtful, as if seriously considering her advice.

“I believe you are right Mrs. Carey,” he said at last, albeit in a somewhat ominous tone. “I shall make some inquiries.”

To Winnie’s considerable shock, he had. Lord Trelane had simply and nonchalantly informed her and the rest of the staff that he would be gone to London for a time. The unspoken inference was that he sought a wife.

As she watched the Master ride away on a fine summer day, with Jimson acting escort, Winnie shook her head. She prayed the Master would return in better spirits, preferably with a bride as sweet-natured as he was sour. She wiped her hands on the apron protecting her skirts, sighed, and returned to the keep. She was confronted at the door by Gwynneth. The girl’s furious, tear-splotched face told a tale of its own. Judging by Gwynneth’s violent reaction, Winnie knew it was true: Trelane had decided to take a wife.

“You gave him the idea, you old witch!” Gwynneth shrieked, raising her callused hand as if to strike Winnie. Winnie was tired of the girl’s hysterics. Grabbing Gwynneth’s wrist with her strongest hand, she wrenched the girl’s arm down and held it fast at her side.

“I’d best be avoiding any talk of witchcraft, if I was you, wench,” Winnie retorted. “I hear tell of your love potions and binding spells, missy, and wonder if there’s not far more brewing up on Madoc’s Craig than thunderstorms.”

Gwynneth paled. Her mouth turned down in an ugly sneer. “I’ve more power here than you’ll ever dream of having, you old cow,” she hissed, yanking her arm free and fleeing from the keep.

Winnie let the girl go. Her gaze narrowed after Gwynneth.
Something must be done about that one
, she mused, before the Master returned with his new bride.