Mystique (20 page)

“Aye, what of it?”

“You obviously satisfied your people that you were able to guard the green stone. But how will you go about locating the missing Stones of Scarcliffe? Do you have any notion of where they are?”

“I doubt that they even exist.”

Alice stared at him. “Then how will you find them?”

“I am not concerned with that part of the legend,” Hugh said carelessly. “‘Twas the recovery of the green
stone that was most important. Now that I have brought it back to Scarcliffe, the villagers will assume that eventually I shall fulfill the rest of the prophecy. There is no great rush to do so.”

“Eventually someone will notice that you have not succeeded in finding the stones, my lord.”

“Once this manor is plump and prosperous, no one will care about those damned stones. If I am ever required to produce a small chest of costly baubles, I shall do so.”

“But how?”

Hugh raised his brows at her naivete. “I shall simply purchase them, of course. I can afford to do so if necessary. ‘Twould be no more costly than a few chests of spices.”

“Aye, mayhap, but they will not be the true Stones of Scarcliffe.”

“Think upon it, Alice,” he said patiently. “No one living today has ever seen any of the so-called Stones of Scarcliffe except the green crystal. Who will know the difference between a bunch of gems purchased from a London merchant and the stones of the legend?”

Alice regarded him with an odd expression, a mix of awe and admiration. Hugh discovered to his surprise that he rather liked it. He basked in the warmth of it for a moment.

“My lord, only a man who is himself a legend could be so casually arrogant about fulfilling the terms of one.”

Hugh grinned. “You think me arrogant? Only a woman who is unafraid of the power of legends herself would dare to strike a bargain with a man believed to be one.”

“I told you that I do not have much faith in legends, sir. I am, however, much impressed by a man who is clever enough to invent whatever he needs to fill in the missing bits and pieces of his own.”

“Thank you. Always pleasant to be admired for one’s wits.”

“There is nothing I admire more than keen wits, my lord.” Alice broke off abruptly to stare straight ahead into the mists. Her eyes widened. “By the wounds of the Saints, is that Scarcliffe Keep?”

Hugh steeled himself. He gazed at the great stone edifice that was emerging from the gloom. “Aye. ‘Tis Scarcliffe.” He paused to give weight to his words. “Your new home, madam.”

“For a while,” she said absently.

“One becomes accustomed to it,” he assured her.

“Indeed?” She studied the keep with curious eyes.

Hugh tried to view it objectively. He had been born in Scarcliffe Keep but he had no memories of the place.

After his beloved daughter had swallowed poison, Hugh’s grandfather had taken his infant grandson to live with a widowed aunt in the north. The old man had lost all heart for the task of managing Scarcliffe. His thoughts had been focused only on revenge. Upon his death, Scarcliffe had fallen into other hands. A great many of them.

Scarcliffe had continued to decline under the succession of greedy, negligent lords.

The keep itself was a dark stone fortress that projected outward from the cliffs that loomed over and around it. It was said that the original owner had intended the structure to last until the crack of doom and it showed every possibility of doing just that.

The walled keep had been fashioned of an unusual black stone. No one whom Hugh had questioned had known where the ashlar had been quarried. Some said the great blocks of onyx-colored stone had been hewn from deep inside the maze of caverns that were etched in the cliffs. Some said it had been brought from a distant land.

“Who built this keep?” Alice asked in a voice that was soft with wonder.

“I am told he was called Rondale.”

“An ancestor of yours?”

“Aye. My mother’s grandfather. It was he who is said to have lost the Stones of Scarcliffe. The legend claims that he hid them in the caves and then was unable to find them.”

“What happened to him?”

“According to the tale he went into the caverns many times in search of the treasure.” Hugh shrugged. “On the last such occasion, he never came back out.”

“‘Tis a most unusual keep,” Alice said politely.

Hugh gazed at it proudly. “A fine, stout fortress that can withstand any siege.”

“It reminds me of the magical castles one hears about in the troubadours’ poems. The sort of place that the knights of the great Round Table were always happening upon in the middle of enchanted forests. It certainly has the aspect of a keep that has been under a sorcerer’s spell.”

She hates it
, Hugh thought. The knowledge weighed heavily on him.

T
he following morning Alice dusted off her new desk and seated herself behind it. She gazed around her with a sense of satisfaction.

The chamber she had chosen to use as a study was located on the highest floor of the keep. It was spacious and filled with a surprising amount of light. There was even a certain grace to the proportions of the room. It was a chamber that would lend itself well to investigations of natural philosophy.

Her books and chests of stones, the tray of dead insects, and her alchemical apparatus had been unpacked and carefully arranged on the nearby shelves and work-tables. The astrolabe was on the windowsill. The green crystal sat on the corner of her desk.

Alice felt curiously at home. In all the months she had lived at Lingwood Hall she had never once known this feeling. She could be happy here, she realized. All she had to do was accept Hugh’s offer to make their betrothal genuine.

All she had to do was marry the man they called
Relentless
.

All she had to do was wed a man who clearly valued efficiency and convenience far more than he valued love.

She was not at all certain that Hugh even believed in love.

Memories of her mother drifted through her head in silent warning. Helen had once believed she could teach a man to love, Alice thought sadly. She had been wrong.

Alice knew her mother had once been a warm and vibrant woman, a woman passionately in love with her husband. But Bernard had managed to kill that love by treating it callously and by refusing to return it.

Helen had married a man who had never learned to love her. She had paid a steep price. And so had her children.

Alice glanced at the handbook her mother had written. Sometimes she almost hated the thing. It contained much knowledge and the results of painstaking study and correspondence with learned people all over Europe. But Alice and Benedict had suffered a great deal because of it.

Toward the end of her life the handbook had absorbed more and more of Helen’s devotion and attention. There had been very little left for Alice and her brother.

Alice got to her feet and went to the window. The stony cliffs of Scarcliffe brooded over the keep in what could be perceived as either a threatening or a protective fashion.

Yesterday she had been startled by her first view of the forbidding black fortress. There was a bleak strength in it that certainly offered the promise of protection but there was no evidence of warmth or softness in the stark edifice. It suited its new master well, Alice thought. Hugh and his keep had a great deal in common.

But what of Hugh’s heart? Was it as hard and cold as the stone walls of this great fortress? Or was there some hope that she could find some gentleness in him?

Such insidious, seductive thoughts were dangerous to her peace of mind.

She turned away from the window, aware that her own heart was in grave jeopardy. The fact that she was even contemplating the notion of making the betrothal real should have sent a shaft of grave alarm through her.

Aye, she could be happy here, Alice told herself. But the odds were against it.

Best to maintain a certain distance. Best to hold herself apart. Best to keep her emotions safely locked inside.

She must not make the same mistake her mother had made.

T
hree days later Hugh looked up from his desk to see his new household steward hovering in the doorway. “Aye?”

“Sorry to dis-disturb you, m’lord.” Elbert, a lean, awkward young man possessed of what Hugh perceived to be a very anxious disposition, swallowed several times in an obvious attempt to gather his courage. And to find his tongue. Elbert had an unfortunate tendency to stutter whenever he was in Hugh’s presence.

“What is it, steward?” Hugh put aside his abacus and waited impatiently.

Privately he admitted that he knew little of the qualifications that were desirable in a household steward. But whatever those qualifications were, Hugh was convinced that Elbert lacked them all. The man was clearly terrified of his new master and was inclined to stumble over his own feet whenever Hugh was in the vicinity.

On top of his other faults, Elbert’s skill at managing the household was not impressive. Although he had seen to it that the chambers were cleaned, the midday meals had been harrowing experiences. Food had arrived from the kitchens cold and poorly spiced. There had been an insufficient number of bread trenchers to serve everyone. The crash of falling ale mugs and overloaded platters had created an unpleasant din.

Hugh was not looking forward to his next meal.

Alice, he noted grimly, had been spared the ordeal. She and Benedict had taken their meals in the chambers that she had claimed for their personal use. Special instructions had been given to the cooks. Hugh had a strong suspicion that she was eating far better than he.

The only reason Hugh had not dismissed Elbert from his new post within an hour after he had been appointed
was that Alice had been the one who had chosen the new steward. She had agreed to do so only after Hugh had specifically asked her to assume the task.

He had thought that she would take charge of the entire household. Instead, she had simply selected Elbert, as requested, and then she had returned to her own chambers.

Things were not going according to the stratagem Hugh had so carefully worked out. He was more than willing to give Alice all the responsibility and authority she wished but she did not seem eager to claim it. He was baffled and irritated by the failure of his plan.

“Well?” Hugh prompted when Elbert simply stared at him, openmouthed.

Elbert hastily closed his mouth. “A messenger, m’lord.”

“A messenger?”

“Aye, m’lord.” Elbert straightened his red cap with an awkward gesture. “He arrived a few minutes ago with a letter for you. He says he’s to stay the night.”

“Send him to me, steward.”

“Aye, m’lord.” Elbert backed hurriedly out into the corridor and managed to trip in the process. He caught himself, whirled, and ran down the hall.

Hugh sighed and went back to work on the abacus. A few minutes later Elbert conducted into the chamber a lean, jaunty man who somehow managed to appear fashionable in a travel-stained cloak and muddy boots.

“Greetings, Julian,” Hugh said. “A good journey, I trust?”

“Aye, sir.” Julian swept Hugh an elegant bow and handed him the letter. “A good horse and no rain. A bit of trouble with a pack of robbers on the Windlesea road but I showed them your seal and that was the end of the matter.”

“I am pleased to hear that.” Hugh glanced at the letter.

Julian coughed discreetly. “Your pardon, sir, but I feel obliged to point out that there likely wouldn’t have been any trouble at all if I had been wearing a proper livery. I
think something in blue and yellow trimmed with a bit of gold braid would be nice.”

“Later, Julian.”

“My post requires something quite eye-catching. Robbers would notice it straight off. They would recognize your man and never bother him at all.”

Hugh glanced up warily. “We’ve discussed this matter before, messenger. You are supplied every year with a serviceable robe, cloak, boots, and a new leather pouch.”

“Aye, m’lord, and ‘tis most generous of you,” Julian murmured. “But everything you supply comes in only one color.”

“What of it?”

“Black is not a fashionable color, m’lord,” Julian said with a hint of exasperation. “I look like a wandering monk on the road.”

“Would that you would travel as frugally as one. Your quarterly expenses were outrageous. I meant to speak to you about them.”

“I can explain them all,” Julian said smoothly.

“I trust you can.”

“Sir, about the new livery.”

“What new livery?” Hugh growled. “I just told you there will not be any new livery.”

Julian plucked at his sleeve with an expression of disgust. “Very well, let us assume that we stick with the basic black.”

“An excellent assumption.”

“It would be somewhat more attractive if you would at least allow some gold braid.”

“Gold braid? For a messenger to wear in the mud and snow? Madness. You’d likely be murdered on the highway for the trim on your robe.”

“Not three months past John of Larkenby gave his personal messenger a fine new robe of emerald green,” Julian said persuasively. “Trimmed in orange. And a matching cap. Very nice.”