Sorcerer of the North (27 page)

"They said you were here with her." He gestured with a thumb toward Alyss.

"Lady Gwendolyn," Keren corrected him. "The lady is a guest in this castle, the fiancé of Lord Farrell of Gort."

There was an underlying warning tone in his voice.
Don't say too much in front of her.
Alyss sensed it. She assumed a vacuous smile and held out one languid hand to Buttle, palm down.

"I don't believe we've met, sir," she said. Buttle stared at the hand, then shrugged. He grunted again. It seemed to be his favorite method of communication, Alyss thought.

"Lady Gwendolyn, this is John Buttle, one of my new retainers" Keren said, smoothing over Buttle's coarse behavior.

Buttle shrugged and scratched under his armpit. Alyss withdrew her hand.

"So, Mr. Buttle, you were pursuing the traitors? How brave of you!" She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Buttle frowned for a moment. "Traitors?" he said and hesitated. He glanced uncertainly at Keren. "They weren't tr—"

"I've just been telling Lady Gwendolyn," Keren interrupted quickly, "how Lord Orman and the jongleur were planning to hand the castle over to the Scotti."

Buttle's frown deepened. He paused for a moment, then, just a little too late, comprehension dawned on his face.

"Eh? Oh ... yeah. Yeah, that's right. Traitors sure enough. Lucky we got onto 'em in time, I say. Why, if we hadn't, they were all set to make ..."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure Lady Gwendolyn doesn't want hear all the sordid details," Keren said quickly. He had little faith in Buttle's ability to improvise a story without making a hash of it. Best to keep it all simple. Once again, Alyss noticed the hasty intervention and guessed the reason for it. She felt a vast sense of relief that she hadn't taken Keren into her confidence. Apparently, a lot of things about Macindaw Castle were not as they seemed.

"Oh dear, Mr. Buttle, you seem to be injured!" she said now. "You're in danger of dripping blood on the rug here!"

Buttle glanced down at the blood seeping through the rough bandage on his thigh. He cursed, reaching to tighten the binding, swore again as the increased pressure sent a shaft of pain through the wound.

Alyss was breathing a little easier now. After all, she realized, it had been weeks since he saw her and then she had worn her hair down. Today, it was caught up in a tight swirl around her head, and surmounted by a high, pointed hat with a veil attached. It was the latest fashion, Alyss knew, although personally, she found it absurd. But she had been taught the value of a different hairstyle when it came to disguise. In addition, her clothes were vastly different as well. She was wearing a rather ornate gown, festooned with adornments and light lacy attachments, with ridiculously wide, trailing sleeves and pinned with jewelry wherever a space could be found. As a Courier, she had worn a simple white dress.

To complete the effect, she was keeping her naturally deep voice in a higher register, mimicking the slightly querulous upper-class tones that would have come naturally to someone like Lady Gwendolyn.

As a result, Alyss began to feel increasingly confident. But she could see a chance to gather information here.

"Did the traitor Orman strike you with his sword?" she asked, pretending concern for the man. He snorted derisively.

"That gutless bookworm! He couldn't lift a sword to save his miserable life. No, it was that blasted jongleur who did the damage, damn his stinking hide!"

"Language, Buttle," Keren said warningly. Buttle looked at him, uncomprehending, and Keren nodded toward Alyss.

"Eh? Oh .. . yeah. Anyway, the cowardly little swine shot me. Wouldn't face me like a man. Skulked off three or four hundred meters and put an arrow through my leg."

Must have missed what he was aiming at, Alyss thought. What a pity.

"Three hundred meters?" Keren said with a note of disbelief "That's some kind of shot."

Buttle shrugged. He was the sort of man who would always exaggerate.

"Well, maybe not three hundred. But long enough. He's no jongleur, mark my words. Never saw a jongleur who could shoot like that."

Alyss felt a small thrill of alarm.

"He seemed like an excellent jongleur to me," she said, hoping to head the discussion away from dangerous ground. "After all, he had a most pleasing voice, did he not, Sir Keren?"

Keren nodded thoughtfully. It hadn't occurred to him to doubt Barton's identity or profession. From what he'd seen, the man was a quite adequate jongleur.

"He certainly seemed professional enough," he agreed. "And the dog was definitely well-trained to perform too."

Oh God, Alyss thought. Buttle looked up with mild interest.

"Dog? What dog was that?"

Keren made a disclaiming gesture with one hand. The subject wasn't really important, it seemed to say.

"Oh, he had a black-and-white border shepherd with him. Used to join in the act."

Oh God, Alyss thought again. She had to work to keep her expression from revealing her mounting panic. Buttle's eyebrows had contracted into a deep frown of concentration as he put facts together. An expert bowman, in fact, far more than expert. And a black-and-white border shepherd. Suddenly, he took a pace toward Alyss and his hand shot out, finger pointing at her. He'd known there was something familiar about her!

"Stand up, you!" he demanded. Keren looked at him in something close to alarm. The man seemed to have taken leave of his senses.

Alyss regarded him with a disdainful smile, as befitting a noble lady who has been ordered around by a commoner.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Buttle?" she said with great dignity. She turned to Keren. "Really, Sir Keren, my fiancé will hear of th—"

"Stand up, I said!" Buttle demanded, shouting at her now. Keren stood and took a pace toward him, laying a hand on his arm.

"Buttle, what in God's name is wrong with you?"

"I thought I recognized her. I thought there was something about her!" he said. Alyss remained seated, outwardly calm, a look a mild amusement and disdain on her face. She knew all too well why Buttle wanted her to stand. Her height was the one thing she couldn't disguise.

"Sir Keren, would you mind removing this man from my rooms?"

The door to the anteroom opened and Max, alarmed by Buttle's shouting, looked in.

"My lady?" he said. "Is everything all right?"

His hand was hovering close by his dagger. Alyss waved him away. The last thing she wanted was a physical confrontation. Her best chance was to bluff it out.

"Leave us. Sir Keren will deal with this coarse man," she said. Max looked around the room doubtfully. She made eye contact with him and nodded, almost imperceptibly. He shrugged and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Now Keren stepped between Buttle and Alyss. He was furious with his henchman for this ridiculous confrontation. Lady Gwendolyn was due to move on in a week or so. But if he were forced to detain her, her fiancé might come looking for her—probably with a party of armed men. That was the last thing Keren wanted at the moment, with his plan so close to success.

"Buttle," he said, very quietly, "I'm warning you. Shut up and get out of here. Now!"

But the tall, bearded man was shaking his head before Keren finished his order.

"She's no noblewoman!" he said. "I've seen her before, I know it. Now make her stand!"

Keren turned apologetically to Alyss and shrugged.

"Perhaps if you'll humor the man, Lady Gwendolyn ..." he began, but she shook her head indignantly.

"I'll do no such thing!" she said angrily. Keren hesitated, a sudden doubt in his eyes. Buttle seized on it as he made the final connection in his mind.

"She's a Courier!" he said triumphantly. "I saw her down south! And she was with a Ranger!"

Now Keren's expression was one of alarm. "A Ranger?" he asked, and Buttle nodded several times.

"Make her stand. You'll see. She's near as tall as I am!"

Keren turned to Alyss. "You are rather tall," he said thoughtfully. "Please do as Buttle asks. Stand up."

Alyss sighed inwardly, knowing she had lost. She could bluff for a few more minutes, but Keren's suspicions were alerted now. Gracefully, she stood, hearing Buttle's quick gasp of triumph.

"That's her!" he said. "I knew it. Knew I'd seen her. Now that she's standing, there's no mistake. And I'll wager that jongleur Barton is no more a jongleur than I am. I'll bet he's her Ranger friend!" he searched his memory again, trying to recall the scraps of conversation he'd overheard outside the cabin. "What did you call him? Will! That was it!"

"Will?" Keren was definitely interested in this piece of news. "And isn't that the jongleur's name too? What a coincidence! I think you have a little explaining to do, Lady Gwendolyn."

He smiled at her. But the smile never reached his eyes. They ere cold and full of suspicion.

Orman had stirred briefly, calling out in his sleep, and Malcolm went inside to tend to him. Xander, of course, hovered at his heels, peering anxiously around the healer's small frame to watch his master.

When Malcolm emerged, he found Will tightening the girth straps on Tug's saddle. He'd unsaddled the other horses and placed them in Malcolm's small barn. Malcolm sensed the air of urgency about the young man.

"He's fine now," he said, nodding back toward the room where Orman lay quietly. "Were you planning on leaving us?" he added mildly.

Will tightened one last buckle and put his foot in the stirrup.

"I'm going to get Alyss," he said grimly. Malcolm raised his eyebrows.

"Just like that?" he asked.

"Just like that," Will repeated. Malcolm glanced around, looking at the position of the sun in the sky. There were still four or five hours of daylight left.

"You're going to ride in there in broad daylight and rescue her, is that it?"

Will hesitated awkwardly. He was off balance with his foot in the stirrup, so he removed it and stood beside Tug. Now that Malcolm put it like that, he realized that he could hardly go barging into the castle looking for Alyss. He didn't even know where she might be. If her identity had been discovered, she'd be locked up somewhere—and he had no idea where. But he was seething with anxiety for her, desperate to get her away from the danger that menaced her. He'd done what duty required and helped Orman escape. Now his duty lay to his old friend. And it didn't help to have Malcolm calmly pointing out that he was riding off with no idea as to what he was going to do.

"I'll probably wait till dark," he admitted. Malcolm nodded as if this was a wise idea.

"In that case, you might as well wait here in comfort," he pointed out.

Will shifted his feet irritably. Malcolm was right of course, but he was desperate to do something. Anything. To get moving. Every minute that passed put Alyss in greater danger, as the likelihood grew that Buttle would recognize her. He couldn't bear to just sit here waiting.

"Perhaps we could think it through a little, rather than just go charging off without any plan of action," the healer suggested. Reluctantly, Will acknowledged that the little man was making sense. He patted Tug's neck absentmindedly, then stepped up onto the narrow verandah to join Malcolm.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's driving me crazy knowing that she's still in there. Knowing I left her there."

"As I understand it, you had no other choice," Malcolm said and Will sighed as he sat down.

"That doesn't make it any easier to bear. I've been racking my brains trying to figure out where Buttle sprang from," he added.

"He's the one you saw in the castle—just before Orman sent for you?"

Will nodded. "Yes. But by all rights, he should be hundreds of kilometers away from here. I gave him to a boatload of Skandians as a slave."

Malcolm's eyebrows went up slightly. "You
gave
him?" he said, and Will nodded seriously.

"It would have been against the law to sell him," he replied. Malcom nodded sagely, several times.

"Of course. Far more law-abiding to give him, I suppose." He paused to see if there was any reaction, but there was none. This boy does have a lot on his mind, he thought. Then he added: "Perhaps these Skandians of yours came ashore again. I'll ask if there's been any sign of Skandians in the area. My friends here range far and wide through the forest and there's little that escapes their attention. They've become very good at seeing without being seen."

"We're a long way from the sea here," Will said doubtfully. Malcolm nodded agreement.

"Perhaps eighty kilometers. But the River Oosel runs inland from the coast and it's a lot closer. At this time of year, if you were to come ashore, you'd want to get well away from the storms that hit the east coast. Of course," he went on, changing the subject slightly, "the question isn't really
how
he got here, but what he's planning to do."

"It'll be no good, whatever it is," Will said. "What's killing me is the uncertainty of it all. I don't know if she's been recognized. And if she has, I've no idea where they might be holding her."

He turned, hearing the door beside them close gently as Xander returned from checking his lord.

"I take it Lord Orman is comfortable?" Malcolm asked, and Xander nodded.

"He's resting comfortably," he said. Then he had the grace to look a little apologetic. "Thank you for what you've done." Malcolm gave a little self-deprecating shrug. Xander turned his attention to Will.

"If you're planning to go back into the castle," he said, "you might be able to use a little inside information." Will looked at him quickly. The little secretary felt somewhat guilty that he hadn't been able to pass Will's warning on to Alyss.

"I'm assuming that if they've discovered her identity, she'll be in the dungeons," Will said. "There
are
dungeons at Macindaw, I take it?"

"There are," Xander agreed. "But at this time of year, they're often flooded. My bet is that if she's imprisoned, it'll be in the tower cell. It's right at the top of the keep tower—and a lot harder to reach than the dungeons. There's only one staircase leading up to it, so it's easy to guard. And once you're up there, it's easy to keep you up there as well."