When Mirielle was gone Alda descended the
steps to stand before Baron Udo’s tomb. Again she was perfectly
still, as if she were listening for a sound that did not come.
Finally, she spoke.
“What was that man doing here?” Alda
whispered. “What could he hope to discover? There is nothing in
this crypt but darkness and cold stone. So cold. So dark and empty.
Why did Sir Giles challenge me that way? And the other, Hugh, I can
feel him, searching, seeking. I am certain he has wrapped himself
in a disguise I cannot penetrate. Who are these men?” She fell
silent again, listening to the quiet crypt.
“Well, then,” she said after a while, “I must
discover if both are mages, or only the one. Only then can I
understand what they have come to do. The best way to draw them out
will be to bring down Mirielle. If I handle the matter carefully, I
will destroy all three at once, which will leave Brice for me,
alone.
“Poor, poor Brice,” Alda said with a little,
trilling laugh, “at my mercy without Mirielle’s innocence to
protect him from my hunger. What a delightful thought.”
“My lady.” Giles seemed to materialize out of
the shadows. He put a hand on the door to Mirielle’s bedchamber,
preventing her from closing it.
“You are indeed lost, Sir Giles, to find
yourself in this part of the castle.” Mirielle pushed on the door,
trying to force it closed. Giles pushed harder, keeping it open. He
was the stronger. Within a heartbeat he was inside Mirielle’s room
with his back against the door, blocking her escape.
“I wanted to be sure you were safe,” Giles
said. “I was afraid of what Alda might do to you.”
He must have seen the tears she was trying to
blink away. He left the door to move to her side, to gather her
into his arms and hold her against his chest.
“Mirielle, what’s wrong? What did Alda
say?”
“She accused me of lying with you in the
crypt. And also of lying with Hugh in my workroom.” Mirielle had
not meant to tell him, but she had been keeping too many
conflicting emotions bottled up for much too long. It seemed
altogether right to her that she should reveal her feelings to the
man whose presence most disturbed her.
“No one who knows you would believe such
slander,” he said. “Mirielle, everyone at Wroxley loves and respect
you. Alda is not loved. Nor is she much respected.”
“How can you know that?” she asked, her cheek
still pressed hard against his chest. “You have spent only a few
days in this castle.”
“I do know it,” he murmured. “I have eyes and
ears, Mirielle. And I have a heart.”
“I know. I can hear it.” Mirielle was
beginning to think that, though he was no mage like his friend,
Giles was capable of working a particular kind of magic on her.
When he was present she found him irresistible and in his absence
she thought of him far too often. She knew nothing could come of
it. He would leave Wroxley in a day or two and very likely she
would never see him again. It made no sense for her to be so
strongly attracted to him.
She lifted her head so she could look into
his eyes. If she was caught in a spell, it was a lovely one,
fragile, tender, sweet… Giles’s mouth found hers. Mirielle did not
resist. Women who had spells cast upon them seldom could resist,
perhaps because they knew it was useless to struggle against the
inevitable.
Reality and imagination began to merge.
Giles’s arms tightened, his kiss deepened. Mirielle responded with
her entire heart. Her blood singing, her thoughts spinning, she
opened herself to him.
Giles began to caress her, his hands skimming
over her shoulders and back and hips, up her spine and into her
hair, ending with one palm resting over her left breast. She was
standing close enough to him to understand that his need was
growing, and that he was trying to restrain it. She was not sure
she wanted restraint from him, or from herself. He was the only man
who had ever touched her so intimately, the only man ever to stir
her heart and her hopes. She lifted parted lips to him, offering
yet another kiss. His response was softer than she wanted, tender
when she was just beginning to be aware of her own passion. It was
almost as if Giles was saying goodbye.
“If my life were ordered in another way,” he
whispered, “I would not hesitate to make you my own in this hour,
or to claim you before the world when I am -” He broke off, holding
her a little apart from him.
“I will not do anything to harm you,” he
said. “You are dearer to me than -. For your sake, I could forget
all I am meant to do. When I look into your eyes, even a sacred
trust seems unimportant.”
“Giles,” she asked, “have you taken a holy
vow binding you to chastity? If so, you must leave me at once. I am
not certain I can stand here with you, after the kisses we have
shared, after the way you have touched me, and respect your
vow.”
“The only sacred vow I have taken,” he said,
“is a promise to uncover the truth no matter what the cost to me,
in order that justice may be done. But there are other reasons,
which I cannot tell you, that make it unsafe for me to involve you
in my life. I wish it could be otherwise.”
“I think I am beginning to understand. You
have undertaken a quest,” she said. “A sacred quest.”
“You could call it that.”
“You should have told me so at once. If you
had, I would not have asked so many impertinent questions or made
false assumptions about your actions.” She paused, searching his
face, wishing she could see the skin and bone beneath his thick
beard. “Hugh is acting with you, isn’t he? He implied as much, but
I did not hear the truth behind his words. I thought he was talking
about the Ancient Art. Giles, tell me if there is anything I can do
to help you?”
“It is possible that you are too trusting,
Mirielle,” he cautioned. “You may again be making false assumptions
about me.”
“I do not think so.” She expected him to
smile or provide some other sign of pleasure at her trust in him.
Instead, he looked deeply troubled.
“There will come a day,” he said, “when you
may hate me for this moment.”
“Giles, no.” She touched his face, her hands
lightly ruffling his beard. “I could not hate you. Not ever.”
“And when you do,” he went on as if she had
not spoken, “remember that I valued your virtue and your honesty.
And remember this.” His mouth lingered on hers for the briefest of
moments.
“If I do not leave now,” he said, “I will
forget all my good intentions where you are concerned. But before I
go, a warning. Walk carefully here. Trust no one of whom you are
not absolutely certain.”
“I will take care. I beg you to do the
same.”
He touched her cheek with a quick, light
caress, and then he was gone, leaving Mirielle to deal with an
entirely new point of view regarding him—and with new fears.
As the hour for the evening meal approached,
Alda arrived in the great hall asking the question so often on her
lips.
“Where is Brice?” she demanded of Mirielle.
“I gave you a message for him.”
“Which I delivered promptly,” Mirielle
replied. “Brice has many duties and is not always free to stop when
he might like.”
“I am mistress here! I will tell Brice when
to stop.” Her skirts swirling with the abrupt motion, Alda turned
away from Mirielle. With quick, determined steps she crossed the
hall to where a group of men-at-arms stood talking together. They
broke off as Alda approached.
“Where is Sir Brice?” Alda asked the men.
“When last I saw him, my lady,” said one of
them, “he and Captain Oliver were headed for the stables.”
“Indeed?” Alda thrust out her lower lip.
“What business can he have at the stables that is more important
than my summons?”
“I do not know, my lady,” the man-at-arms
replied, but Alda was already headed for the door, leaving the men
grinning and shaking their heads at the vagaries of their lady.
Thinking to calm the angry woman before she
could reach the stables and take her ire out on Robin, Mirielle was
about to follow Alda. She paused when she caught sight of Donada
and Robin, who had just come into the hall through the screens
passage and the kitchen. At least they were both out of range of
Alda’s tongue. As for Brice, Mirielle decided that when his lover
found him, he would have to take care of himself.
“Lady Mirielle,” said Robin, coming up to
her, “did I hear aright? Has Lady Alda gone to the stables looking
for Sir Brice?”
“I believe so.” Over Robin’s curly head
Mirielle met Donada’s eyes.
“She won’t find him there.”
“What do you mean, Robin?” asked his
mother.
“Sir Brice rode out early this afternoon with
his squire,” Robin answered.
“What, in this rain?” Donada cried. “He’ll
take a chill and be sick for it.”
“He said he needed exercise,” the boy said.
“Why shouldn’t he ride, Mother?”
“Ah, well, who can blame him?” Donada sent
another look toward Mirielle. “We are all weary and irritable after
being indoors so much.”
They separated then, going about their own
chores. In the hall there was relative quiet for half an hour or
so. Mirielle was giving last-minute instructions to a maidservant
about the evening meal when a commotion at the entrance to the keep
drew her attention. Above the calm tones of the captain of the
guard, Alda’s voice could be heard, issuing a series of commands.
Mirielle hurried to the entrance hall.
“He is to stay in the dungeon,” Alda said to
Captain Oliver. “Am I the only one at Wroxley with the wits to see
that the man is dangerous?”
“Alda, surely, you are not talking about
Brice?” Mirielle cried.
“I have not been able to locate your cousin,
but I await with eagerness his reaction to what has happened, since
the fault lies with you.” Alda spoke to Mirielle in the same
vicious tone she had used earlier that day while in the crypt. “You
ordered those thieves admitted to the castle on your
responsibility. This good watchman, who was on duty at the time,
told me so.” She waved a hand toward Mauger, who was standing just
inside the keep door.
“My lady Alda means our two guests,” Captain
Oliver explained to Mirielle.
“Those men are up to no good,” Alda declared,
speaking loudly enough for everyone in entrance and great hall to
hear her. “I misliked their looks from the first moment I saw them.
Earlier today I found Mirielle in secret conversation with the one
who calls himself Sir Giles. Now, not half an hour ago, I found
that same false knight, Giles, prowling around the tower of the
inner gatehouse, where he had no excuse to be, and asking questions
of the men-at-arms. When I accosted him and required him to tell me
why he was there, he dared to laugh at me and claim that he had
lost his way—for the second time in one day, mind you. I have
ordered him imprisoned,” Alda finished with a malicious look in
Mirielle’s direction.
From what she knew of Giles, Mirielle was
sure he had not been lost at all. Whatever he had been doing in the
gatehouse, it was part of his reason for being at Wroxley. She
could not help wondering why Alda had been at the main gate. It was
not a location likely to appeal to the lady of the castle. Perhaps
Alda had been following Giles. Perhaps she knew about Giles’s visit
to Mirielle’s bedchamber that afternoon. Convinced that Alda had a
purpose of her own for ordering Giles confined, feeling as if she
was caught in a net that kept tightening around her, Mirielle made
the decision to trust her instincts and defend Giles.
“For no more than being lost and asking
questions, you ordered a guest cast into the dungeon?” she cried.
“Alda, that was not well done of you.”
“I intend to have his friend, Hugh,
incarcerated with him,” Alda threatened. “Consider yourself
fortunate, Mirielle, if you do not join them. More likely, I’ll
have you sent from Wroxley to walk barefoot to the nearest convent
wearing only your shift, if I discover you have been in league with
those two!”
“‘Twould be a great loss to Wroxley,” Captain
Oliver said beneath his breath.
“Alda, this is a most inhospitable way to
treat guests,” Mirielle insisted. “Nothing you have said offers any
proof of a crime. There is nothing missing in the great hall. All
of the silver is in place. See for yourself.”
“Nor have I any report of weapons or armor
lost.” Captain Oliver added his voice to Mirielle’s. “Not even a
tunic is reported gone. I finished checking the castle’s defenses
less than an hour ago and all is well. My lady Alda, there has been
no theft, and there is no sign of treachery from within or imminent
attack from without our walls. There is no reason to hold Sir
Giles.”
Alda dismissed these protests with a shrug of
her shoulders. Stepping to the doorway into the great hall she
looked around.
“I do not see Hugh in the hall,” Alda said.
“Mirielle, have you hidden him?”
“Certainly not,” Mirielle declared firmly. “I
have not spoken to Hugh for more than a day. And until I met Sir
Giles by accident earlier this afternoon, it was my understanding
that he was ill of the old wound that has kept him here and that
his friend was entirely occupied in nursing him.”
“Ill?” Alda’s voice dripped scorn. “Ill, and
yet well enough to wander about the castle, prying into corners and
counting the men-at-arms we have to defend us? Ill, but neither one
of them sent to you for any of your marvelous herbal medicines? Did
you not wonder at that, Mirielle, when you are so famous at Wroxley
for healing the sick?”
“They did come to me on the second day they
were here, asking for my help,” Mirielle said. “I provided some
liniment then, but no medicines since.”
“They came to you?” Alda took a menacing step
toward Mirielle. “Where? To that secret room of yours? The one you
keep so carefully locked? These strangers to the castle knew the
way to your workroom?”