The Herald's Heart (9 page)

She shifted to look at him.

“Once those animals are gone, if I find you alone in that bed or in this chamber, I will take it as an invitation. Be sure you understand me.”

Larkin swallowed and nodded. She understood him perfectly. So well that the image of her naked body entwined with his burned within her mind’s eye. She shivered. To think of Talon thus was sinful. She was his father’s wife. The church forbade passion between a wife and her husband’s son. If she acted on that desire, she would condemn both of them to eternal damnation. Was the pleasure he promised worth her soul? She would not risk her hope of heaven, so she would never know.

More than a week later, Larkin stepped out into the sunshine from the stable where she’d placed Cat and her kittens in the loft. Talon stood in the bailey, his back to her, facing a large group of men. She walked nearer to discover what was going on.

“Search in pairs. Begin at the keep walls. Separate yourselves by twenty paces. Broaden that distance as you search further from the keep, but always maintain contact with the man next to you, by sight or by calling out. I want the entire area from the keep to three leagues distant searched before today’s end. Is that understood?”

The men nodded and murmured.

“Good. If you find the earl or a sign of him, send a man back for me immediately.”

“Aye, sir.” Cleve bowed, then set about assigning the men in pairs to sections of the wall.

As Talon watched the men carry out his orders, Aedwin, the head laundress’s four-year-old son approached the knight. The boy reached up and gripped Talon’s large hand in his small one.

Talon stiffened and looked down.

Larkin held her breath.

He knelt and spoke to the child.

The boy nodded.

Talon lifted the lad up on his shoulders, holding the boy securely.

Aedwin laughed and bent to whisper in Talon’s ear.

The knight shook his head and smiled. His deep voice lifted in a silly song about cats and mice in London town. He loped toward the laundry at a jog trot.

Larkin stared. Impossible. No nobleman would take the time to talk to a youngling peasant, let alone play or sing with one. Most would have cuffed the child for presuming so personal a touch. What a strange man Sir Talon Quereste was. Perhaps there was more to him than lechery and bossy disbelief.

She shook her head. She had much to do this day. Still, as she returned to the stable and harnessed the pony to the cart, she wondered how she might discover more about Talon. ’Twas always wise to know an opponent well.

Hours later, she wished she had Sir Talon’s strength. She’d made a number of deliveries and was taking her usual route through the woods to the abbey. After delivering supplies to the anchoress, Larkin would stop to visit the abbess and have her injured wrist examined. She was plotting how to learn more about a certain knight in order to rid herself of him, when the cart tilted to one side and came to a halt.

“What in blazes?” She leapt from the seat to the ground and walked around to where one front corner of the cart sat at a low angle in a morass of thick mud, stuck to the axle. She scratched behind her ear. Where had the mud come from? The days since Talon Quereste had imprisoned her had been dry. Even on the wettest days, this path remained mostly solid. ’Twas the reason she traveled this route to and from the abbey. She could ill afford the damage to her cart or time lost to this kind of accident.

She sighed. She would get nowhere by staring at the problem. Her best bet was to find a sturdy enough stick to pry the wheel loose, and locate appropriate enough flat pieces of wood to place between the wheel and the mud so the pony would be able to pull the cart onto solid ground once more.

Finding the right pieces to do the job took far too much time. The sun had begun to lower, and if she could not get the cart moving soon, full dark would fall before she reached the abbey. She lined up the flatter wood between the cart’s two axles, then wedged the long branch into the mud beneath the wheel. With a shout to start the pony pulling, she put all her strength into prying the wheel upward and onto the makeshift wooden road.

She’d almost succeeded when an arrow struck the side of the cart nearest her shoulder. She released the branch and dropped to the muddy ground just as the pony gave a great heave. She watched her best hope of escape from attack spring free and rattle away down the dry part of the path. Heaven save me.

Once it realized no one held the reins, the pony would stop to graze. Ordinarily, Larkin would simply stand and walk until she caught up with the cart. However, someone was shooting at her, and standing was a sure way to give the bowman a large target. At least the mud where she lay between calf-high scrub bushes provided some small protection. Her attacker would have to get much closer if he truly wished to kill her now.

Slowly she crawled into the brush on the side of the track opposite from the direction of the attack. She carried a small knife at her waist, but that would be little help against arrows.

Her best hope was to creep into the trees, do her best to hide there until full dark would cloak her movements, and then make her way to the abbey. Predators might threaten or kill the pony. While she would regret that, she could do nothing to rescue the steed before morning. First she must survive long enough get help. Once she was safe at the abbey, she could worry about who might want to kill her and why, then plan how to retrieve the pony and cart.

• • •

“You did what? She awaits the earl’s judgment as a trespasser and a possible thief. How could you let her leave the keep?” Talon grabbed his hair and pulled it rather than throttle Cleve. Pulling hair, throttling, or, better yet, hitting something was vastly better than giving any importance to the irrational anger he felt at learning that Larkin had left the keep alone.

“But, Sir Talon, most of the men are still out searching for the earl. Was I to stop her by myself, I’d have had to lay hands on her, and ye said none should offer her insult whilst she stayed under yer protection.”

The man was a dolt. Larkin had been traveling the area alone for at least a year, so he ground his teeth on the hard words that frustration urged him to utter. He needed the guardsman’s aid, not his resentment. “Did it not occur to you that once she leaves the keep, she is no longer under my protection?”

Cleve swallowed nervously. “Nay, sir. I thought only of the villagers who have needed her services as carter these many days that you have kept her here.”

Talon thought his brain might split. “Mean you that she left here in the cart?”

“Aye. She said she had deliveries to make and supplies to get for the keep.”

“A likely tale.” Talon growled, determined not to feel any anxiety. “You, boy,” he yelled at a nearby stable lad. “Saddle my horse and fetch it here.”

The youth nodded and sped off.

Talon paced.

Cleve hurried to match his shorter strides to Talon’s long ones. “D’ye think she lied, sir?”

“A woman who deceives an entire village into thinking she is a ghost and is widely known as Liar Larkin? What do you think?” That’s right. Focus on her history as a deceiver. She was not a woman who affected him in any way other than to inspire lust and a great deal of frustration.

The soldier nodded. “I’ve been a fool. I’m sorry, sir.”

Feeling some small sympathy for the man now that he’d seen the error of his ways, Talon clapped him on the back. “Never mind. We’ll get her back. Tell me, how long has she been gone?”

“Since just after the men left this morning.”

“More than half the day. The village does not have that great a need for carting. If she was telling the truth, would she not have returned by now?”

“Happen not, sir. She also carts for the abbey, and the anchoress who lives outside the abbey walls and blesses all who ask.”

“I met that anchoress.” He’d never forget the invective and dire warnings she gave when he asked for directions that foggy night weeks past. “What need would a holy woman, walled away from the world, have for a carter?”

“Even an anchoress must provide for her supper. Dame Margery makes the purest, sweetest smelling soaps and candles anywhere.” Cleve puffed out his chest as if he made the candles himself. “She brings the abbey a pretty penny, and they take right good care ’o her for it.”

“Fascinating, but how will this help me find Mistress Larkin?”

“’Tis she collects all the things what the anchoress needs to make her candles. Liar Larkin also gathers wild herbs and such for the abbey so they can make medicaments. ’Tis a healing order the nuns are.”

The stable lad approached with Talon’s destrier.

“So our Lady Liar could be leagues away in any direction. Order another search party, Cleve. Make sure the men know she is not to be harmed when she’s found, but I want her returned to the keep with all possible speed.” Now that he had some idea where to look, Talon knew he’d find her. The only question was how long it would take. Once she was found, he might just follow through with his threat to lock her in the dungeon. She would learn what it meant to break a vow made to him.

“Aye, Sir Talon.”

“I’ll start by asking in the village, then search the wood between here and the abbey. Have some men search the cliff side caves as well. Send word to the abbey if you find her.”

“’Tis no need to search the caves, Sir Talon. She be dead if she went there. High tide floods the place, and today’s noontide was high enough for that.”

Obviously, Cleve did not know of the secret passage. Larkin might survive there, if the carpenter placed the new door closer to the keep than the sea. Nearer the keep, the sea might not fill the tunnel to drowning height. Talon rejected the guilt at the thought of Larkin dead. He had no cause for guilt. She was not Lady Rosham as she claimed. But if she did not lie, as the wife of the Earl of Hawksedge, her claim to the lands could be seen as stronger than that of a disavowed son. “Search anyway.” He mounted as he gave his orders, then sent his horse galloping from the keep without waiting for Cleve to reply.

• • •

She was nowhere to be found. Asking in the village had taken longer than Talon expected. Folk left their labor in droves to tell him that they’d seen Larkin on the road to Rosewood, or heading in the opposite direction to the woods and the abbey beyond, or splitting the difference to say she’d gone to the cliffs.

She’d taken tallow and lard from the butcher to the goodwives making soap near the brook. The women at the brook had sent their soap with her to Wat the miller to barter for flour.

That news increased Talon’s anxious irritation. The miller had a grudge against Larkin and would no doubt take advantage, especially if his wife was not nearby. Talon arrived at the mill to find the miller nursing a bloodied nose and cursing the day he’d met Liar Larkin.

“She cheated me, she did. Struck me blind and took more flour than we bargained for. She’s a thief.”

Talon nearly laughed aloud at the thought that Larkin could incapacitate the hefty miller to the point where she could steal his wares in front of him. Nor was the wench so stupid that she would commit such a crime where she could be seen. Certainly she had no need to steal flour. The earl’s keep was well provisioned. “Should I find your flour, it will be returned to you. But you will have to make a thorough accounting first.”

“Do you call me liar, sir?”

“Nay, but you have cause to wish harm to the carter. I would have justice for each of you. Now tell me which way she went.”

“Toward the abbey,” the miller grumped.

“My thanks for that information.”

“Wat!” Screeching from the man’s wife rose. “Have you been wenching again? I’ll box your ears, you good for nothing ...”

Thank the stars he would never wed such a shrew. The wife Talon had in mind, when the time came, would be a highborn, gently bred damsel. A lady who would bring him both wealthy lands and an honorable name, like his mother. Not a wild, deceiving peasant who played tricks or bloodied a man’s nose.

The shortest track to the abbey led through the woods. Dusk had fallen. If he tried to find her in among the trees at night, she could be an arm’s length away and he’d never see her. Better to take the longer, more visible route to the abbey. Hopefully she was there. If not, he could send for more men, and they would backtrack through the woods by torchlight.

Had she made fools of them all again? His fury at her disappearance had hardened like ice on a river in deepest winter. But beneath that ice ran a hot trickle of fear, not for the woman who faced up to a bully like Wat, but for the woman who could cuddle a mother cat and laugh at her own mistakes. For the woman who labored for the comfort of others, even if she thought some of that labor unjustly assigned. That woman was vulnerable, and not all dangers lumbered like the miller.

Talon was much too familiar with dangers of the other sort. Those were the ones that took advantage of the smallest weakness, like a yearning for a father or a place to belong. Like being offered the world, only to have it snatched away once the trap was sprung. The Earl of Hawksedge was capable of such treachery. His accusations of adultery had killed Talon’s helpless mother as much as any beating or the babe that died with her. The earl’s denial of Talon as a son had nearly crushed his spirit. Only Edward I’s faith in an angry young squire had allowed Talon to regain some manner of respect from himself and from the court. His own skill and dedication gained him the support of his fellow heralds. Of all the things he’d longed for as a child, only his heritage escaped him. But he would find a way to make sure he gained that as well. For now, he must find his wayward liar and complete the tasks his king had set him.

He studied the path as he rode, looking for signs of a pony pulling a cart. Though he doubted it, she might have come this way instead of taking the forest track. But the ground was dry, and he saw no trace of wheels or hooves. He had little choice but to hope he would find her at the abbey.

Pray heaven she was well. She would need all her resources when he found her. After he shook some sense into her, he would keep her so busy she would have no time or energy to frighten him again with escape. Nor would she seek to make ridiculous claims about being Lady Rosham. ’Twas time she understood just what her place was at Hawksedge Keep.