The Herald's Heart (4 page)

Her screams became muted grunts, and she stilled. He eased back the pressure on her mouth and suckled on the plush lower lip, urging her to open for him.

She did, but only to bite him.

He whipped away from her, put a hand to his bleeding mouth, and stared at her. “I apologize. ’Twas the only way I could think to make you stop without doing you violence.”

Her lip curled, and he heard a snarl start low in her throat. “You would say anything to try to excuse your lust. You’re a man, so of course the situation is all my fault.”

“Nay.”

“Aye.”

“I only sought comfort. Then you seemed to want me.”

“The day I want you in any manner is the day the dead will walk.” She sidled as far from him as possible. “What sort of dunce are you to think a woman who kicks you wants you?”

“I thought that before you kicked me,” he mumbled. He pressed hard on his lip, trying to stop the bleeding.

She stared at him with disbelief and frustration and no little fear in the quiet trembling of her mouth.

This had to stop. She did not wish to lie with him. Fine. He did not require it. But if he could not have comfort, he would have peace with her. He would not permit anger, distrust, or fear to get in the way of that.

He pushed himself up. Then grasping her by the arms, he lifted her into a sitting position.

Her mouth dropped open. The muscles in her throat worked, but she remained silent.

“Yes?” he invited, setting her on the bed. Now that she no longer fought him, he would not mind hearing what she had to say. If her words bothered him, he could always gag her, since kissing proved dangerous.

She swallowed again. “I am hungry.”

Whatever Talon had imagined she might say, it had not been this bald statement of personal need. He stepped to his saddlebags and rummaged for some food, coming up with two strips of dried meat. He held it out to her. “’Tis all I have for now.”

She glared back at him.

“Ah. If I remove the rope, will you vow not to try to escape now or in the future?” He waited, the dried meat held in his palm like a promise.

She nodded.

“Very well.” He set the meat beside her and untied the knots. The rope dropped away, and she fell upon the food as one starved. Talon coiled the ropes and placed them in a sack.

“When will you let me go?” she asked between chomps on the hard meat.

“’Tis not in my best interests to let you go.”

“Why? There is no call to keep me. You must release me.”

“You are a trespasser, a liar, and possibly a thief. You claim to be my father’s wife. An extremely foolish claim to make, even were it true, which it is not. What I should do is hold you in the dungeon until the earl returns.”

The color drained from her face. “You can’t be his son. The earl has no children.” She swallowed and squared her shoulders. “Obviously, I am not the only person given to ridiculous claims.”

“Think you so?” he challenged. “I am the child of the earl’s first wife. He repudiated me on the day she died and tossed me from the keep. Nonetheless, I am his son and, as far as I know, his only child.”

“I would not believe you were you the king of England.” Her voice shook on the brave words.

“Verily, I am Sir Talon Quereste.”

He paused, pondering his choices. He wanted her off-balance and scared enough to cooperate but not trembling with fear. Mention of the dungeons had frightened her before. He would toss that dart again and see where it landed. “’Twould save myself and the earl much trouble if I locked you in the dungeon and left you there. I’m sure he will think it a fitting punishment when he hears that you search his keep in disguise, frighten his people from their work, and lie outright about your identity.”

She gasped at his threat but did not cower. Instead, she defied him. “I do not lie. And were you to lock me away, ’twould only be to prevent the earl from fathering a legitimate child on me.”

That she misread his motives should not have troubled him. “Since you are not his wife, neither you, nor your potential children, bear me any threat.”

“I say I am Lady Larkin Rosham, Countess of Hawksedge by proxy.”

“Were your claim true, you would not need to sneak and frighten.”

She remained stonily silent.

“Tell me who you are and why you search Hawksedge Keep.”

She bit her lip again. “I already told you who I am. I search for ... for a box that belonged to my mother.”

Talon gave a huff, rocking back on his heels. The woman was a constant source of surprise. All of Edward’s court knew the fate of the Roshams of Rosewood. Talon had heard the story direct from Amis Du Grace, his friend and fellow herald.

“You can’t possibly be Lady Larkin Rosham. The lady is dead.”

“I am not dead!”

“She and all her family were killed by Scots.”

“Nay, ’twas the Earl of Hawksedge who ordered my family murdered.”

“Cease your lies. They do not help you.”

“I knew you would not believe me.” Her shoulders slumped, and she rubbed her hands against her skirts.

“Such a tale is too idiotic to believe.” Talon stood.

“Not if I am Lady Larkin.” She leapt to her feet, hands fisted at her sides.

“Well, you aren’t.”

“Prove I am not.” She angled her shoulders forward.

“Prove that you are.” He thrust his face within a thumb’s length of hers.

“Without my family’s marriage box, I cannot.”

“I thought so.” He turned away.

“You don’t understand.” She grabbed his hand.

Talon looked over his shoulder at her, his brows raised in question.

“The box contains the proof I need. I must find it.”

Talon shook free of her grip to pick up his shirt and pull it over his head. “If there even is such a box, why would it be here at Hawksedge Keep and not at Rosewood?”

Larkin opened her mouth, but raised voices from the bailey forestalled her reply.

Talon stepped up to into the window niche. “It seems the villagers are anxious to know if I found their ghost. Come.”

He gripped her wrist and pulled her along behind him. Eventually, she would have to admit her lies. For now, he would use her as proof that Hawksedge Keep was not haunted.

• • •

Larkin was compelled to follow or be dragged. She’d had enough manhandling, thank you very much; walking was the better choice. Perhaps if she cooperated she might gain her freedom, and she wanted, nay needed, that above all else.

His long strides forced her into an awkward skip-trot in order to keep up without tripping over her torn gown. Trying not to fall occupied her so much that she slammed into the giant’s back when he stopped abruptly. He twisted around and lifted her bodily to plunk her down in front of him without ever letting go of her.

“Watch where you step,” he grumbled in her ear, as if it were her fault that she bumped into him.

She looked up, about to let him know what she thought of him, and saw the villagers crowded into the bailey below. What were they doing here, and what would they say of her if he asked them?

“’Tis Larkin,” called the captain of the keep’s guard, Cleve, who stood with three other men near the main gate.

Other calls echoed his, filling the air like the chitter of flocking birds.

“Larkin the carter.”

“Liar Larkin.”

“Well, Sir Talon.” Cleve stepped forward to the front of the crowd. “Did ye see the ghost?”

“Nay, I saw no ghost.”

Cleve puffed out his chest and smirked. “I thought not. No man would survive a night spent in the keep with the devil’s kin about.”

Talon smiled and surveyed the crowd. “However, I did encounter the spirit that frightened you all.”

The smirk fled Cleve’s face. Murmurs rippled through the crowd behind him. His expression turned crafty.

“If ye saw no ghost, what proof is there that ye met the spirit?”

A woman swaggered to stand beside the guard. “Aye, give us proof, Sir Talon.”

Larkin recognized her as Alice, the earl’s cook. While many of the others kept their distance, afraid reprisals might come from the earl, Alice had always been friendly.

Talon pushed Larkin toward the edge of the steps. “Your ghost stands before you.”

Stunned quiet met his announcement.

Larkin tried not to tremble. In the earl’s absence, how would the villagers react? Perhaps a few of the men whose attentions she’d rebuffed would try to see her punished. But most of the villagers put up with her, if for no other reason than the love they bore the abbess. Mother Clement had ensured their tolerance by giving Larkin the pony and cart along with a small hovel on the border of the abbey lands. She carted the villagers’ wares and ran errands for the folk, saving them time and extra steps. When the earl was absent, as he often was, the villagers supplied her food and other necessaries that she could not provide for herself.

Would they be angered at her deception? They had every right to be. She had certainly belied any trust they might have in her. Silently she begged understanding from those nearest to her.

From the back of the crowd a voice arose. “That is no ghost. ‘Tis Liar Larkin, the foundling.”

“Aye, she’s na one of us,” echoed Wat the miller.

“She’s an orphan, forced on us by the abbess,” shouted another voice.

“She gives herself airs with that Norman speech,” said the voice at the back of the crowd.

Behind her, she felt the big man tense. She peered at him over her shoulder. A frown of concentration decorated his face, as if he tried to solve a puzzle.

Shouts of “throw the lying wench in the dungeon,” merged with yells of “fetch tar and feathers.” Cries of “stone her” echoed among the more general rumble of confusion and outrage.

The knight pushed her behind him. “There will be no talk of stones or tar,” he commanded, “until the truth is told. There will be no judgment until the earl returns. You all know I carry the king’s writ and hold authority, even over the earl. Hence, I hold authority here. This woman will wait his judgment under my protection. As long as she remains so, none shall do her harm or insult. Is that understood?” The chaos reduced itself to small murmurs and shifting bodies.

“I saw the writ he speaks of wi’ me own eyes at the alehouse. We’ve no choice but to listen to him,” Alice’s shout sounded over the general hubbub.

“She should be punished for frightin’ us all like she has,” said Wat, who looked eager to see Larkin powerless.

“I’ve done no wrong.” Stepping out from behind the knight, she said, “Who was it who fetched the abbess when your son fell and broke his leg this Sunday past, Wat?”

“The liar’s made fools of us all,” protested a woman. Wat’s wife, Larkin realized from the high-pitched screech.

“Was it foolery when I brought you to your dying mother?” She stared pointedly at the miller’s wife. “Or the midwife to your sister, Alice Cook?”

Alice blushed and bent her head.

“Nay,” shouted Mistress Miller. “The help ye’ve given us was good and valuable, but we helped you in turn. We accepted ye, despite yer lies of noble birth, and forgave ye because the abbess spoke for ye. We treated ye with kindness, and look how ye’ve returned that kindness. Ye’ve no excuse for scarin’ folk like ye done.”

That voice from the far edge of the crowd yelled, “Defend your actions Liar Larkin, if you can.”

The crowd pushed in on the stairs that led to where she stood.

“Halt!” Her captor’s order held them back. He turned her to face him. “Say now what is the truth of this ghostly business, or I might not be able to stop them,” he demanded.

She turned away to look at the crowd in the bailey. “I am sorry I frightened you. I did not mean to. I only meant to scare off the earl so I could search the keep for proof that I am who I claim to be. That I am Lady Larkin Rosham.”

“Those lies again, wench.” The guard, Cleve, spoke. The crowd’s silence showed their support of him. “All have heard how Lady Larkin was murdered by the Scots. Were you truly that lady, none would believe you, so have done. Ye’re naught but an orphan what lived on the charity o’ the abbess and ne’re will be anything else.”

“I want justice for the fright she’s caused us all and the work lost because of her,” Wat Miller shouted.

“Cease, Wat. Ye only want revenge ’cause the wench would not let you under her skirts,” Alice said.

The crowd laughed as Wat ran from the rain of blows his wife showered upon him. The villagers followed to watch the fun. Larkin sighed and turned to find the giant talking with Cleve and Alice.

“Come,” he said to the guard and the cook. Then he clasped Larkin’s wrist and tugged her after him. “I’ve decisions to make.”

How could a nearly empty keep smell so much like a charnel house? From a carved chair in the great hall, Talon surveyed the three people who stood in front of the hearth. He wished all of them at the devil, especially the red-haired female, Larkin. He’d been at Hawksedge Keep less than a full day, and the woman had caused him more trouble than he’d found in a twelvemonth living at court.

And where was the earl? ’Twas he who should attend to Hawksedge Keep and its problems. The Earl of Hawksedge might be Talon’s father, but Talon was definitely not the earl’s heir. Although that might change if the earl did not swear fealty to Edward Plantagenet in person. Regardless of the earl’s fate, until he returned, someone had to take charge, for not one of the Hawksedge knights remained to carry out his earl’s orders. Though Cleve might be a captain of the guard, he clearly wasn’t up to the task of restoring and maintaining order.

The only solution was for Talon to take over himself. He’d wanted nothing more than a place at Hawksedge Keep since the day his mother’s death and a few cruel words—“Whoreson, you are not my get.”—had snatched his home and heritage from him. Now the king’s writ gave him nominal authority and every right—even a duty—to act in the earl’s stead.

Talon drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and took a deep breath. He wished he had not. He leaned forward and pinched his nose to lessen the effect of the smell. Only on the battlefield had he scented such foulness. However, no dead bodies littered Hawksedge Keep’s great hall, only moldy straw.