The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) (10 page)

Very strange. However, I was not given the chance to analyze the situation, for almost at once he began to move forward, saying he wished to descend one floor so we might visit the portrait gallery. I had to admit that sounded very grand, for I had never seen an actual painting in my entire life. One of the village boys, Alyk Lesiter, could sketch quite beautifully with discarded pieces of charcoal, but that was not quite the same as creating an entire picture with oil paints, which I had heard were very expensive. And to have an entire gallery of them?

We went to the staircase and went down to the floor beneath mine. Here, too, were corridors filled with closed doors, and I wondered why the place had been built on such an extravagant scale when so few people actually lived here. But perhaps matters had been different in the time of Lord Greymount’s father, or his father’s father.

The hall opened into a long chamber that seemed almost as if it ran the entire length of the building. One wall was comprised of windows only an arm’s breadth apart, letting in a grey, wintry light. The other wall, however, had been hung with a series of paintings, carefully positioned so they did not directly face a window, and perhaps reflect its glare, or become faded by the sunlight.

Here, Lord Greymount let go of my arm so he might make an expansive gesture that encompassed all the room’s contents. “Behold! Fifteen generations of Greymounts!”

His tone was slightly mocking, and so I had the impression that I was not supposed to be amazed. Perhaps he simply did not know that I had never seen a single painting before, let alone at least two or three score in a single space.

The portraits were of both men and women and, more rarely, a family grouping. Although my eye was unschooled at best, I thought I detected subtle differences as my gaze moved along the collection, since some appeared to be flat in nature and almost stylized, whereas the paintings at the far end of the gallery seemed to be more natural in their composition. Indeed, the last one, of a man who bore such a strong resemblance to Phelan Greymount that I thought he must be his lordship’s father, looked so real that I wouldn’t have been terribly surprised if he had winked at me.

“This is all your family?” I inquired.

“Yes, grandsires and great-grandsires, and — well, you get the picture. In a manner of speaking.”

The pun was so poor that I couldn’t help sending him a sideways glance, complete with lifted eyebrows. He grinned at me, and made a little bow.

“My pardon, my lady. Sometimes these things simply…slip out.”

I decided it was best to give him a lift of my shoulders as I continued toward the far end of the chamber. Beyond the portrait of Lord Greymount’s father — if he was truly the subject of the painting — I saw a blank spot. Turning, I sent his lordship an inquiring look.

“Yes, that one is for my portrait.”

“You haven’t had one painted yet?”

“It is not something I found particularly important.” This time, he was the one who shrugged, although I noted something almost carelessly brittle about the movement, as if that portrait mattered to him more than he wanted me to know.

Somehow I knew it was better that I not pursue the subject. “I suppose it can be rather difficult to get portrait painters to journey all the way out here.”

“Not as difficult as you might think. The Greymount family is known for paying well.”

His frankness surprised me. For some reason, I had not thought that those of great birth, such as Phelan Greymount, would be open about discussing their finances. It was a topic we didn’t bother to avoid in Kerolton, since everyone knew everyone else’s business. But that was hardly the case here in Harrow Hall.

I attempted to sidestep the topic by saying, “Well, it seems clear enough to me that your family did hire very talented artists, whatever they might have been paid.”

He laughed then, and shook his head. “How very politic of you, Mistress Sendris.”

“Was it politic? I was only being truthful.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, only stood there and studied me. I found I did not much like being the subject of such a steady regard, and tried my best to look unconcerned, although within I worried if the cold light falling through those numerous windows revealed some of the strain from the previous evening’s nightmares. At length he spoke, his tone musing. “I wonder that you have not had your portrait painted. Surely there are many artists in this land who would have leapt at the chance to have such a lovely subject for their work.”

He had to be teasing me. Why else would he have made such a comment?

“I fear that we do not have many artists in Kerolton, my lord. And if we did, then I think they would devise more useful occupations than painting someone who spends her days working with dyes and herbs. In the summer, my hands are rather badly stained by the pigments, which I doubt is a detail that an artist would wish to reproduce.”

His gaze fell to my hands, and before I could react, he had reached out for those hands and taken them in his. My heart began to thud painfully as he turned them over, then swept a thumb over my right palm.

“That’s a pity,” he said in low tones. “For they are very lovely hands, and suited for far more delicate occupations.”

I swallowed. Once again, a strange warmth seemed to fill my body, and even though I knew I should come up with good excuse to pull my hands away, I found I could not. All I wanted was to stand there, so close I could smell the faint clove-like scent which drifted from his garments, and which must have come from the sachets he used to keep his wardrobe sweet-smelling. Unlike mine, his fingers were quite warm, even though our breath showed in faint white clouds every time we spoke.

Somehow I managed to speak. “It is honest work, my lord. I find nothing wrong with it. Indeed, it is quite enjoyable to wander the woods on a mild summer day while collecting my supplies. I would that it were midsummer now.”

Still he kept hold of my hands, now twining his fingers with mine. Somehow I managed to keep myself from trembling, even though his touch sent a delicious thrill all through me. “Yes, I am sure you must be even lovelier in midsummer. Do you wear a crown of wildflowers on your head while you go to gather your leaves and bark…Bettany?”

His use of my given name was not lost on me. Up until this moment, we had always been quite formal. But there was certainly nothing formal about the way he stood so close, or the way he was gazing down into my eyes. I found I could not look away. Once more I saw that odd golden flicker in the depths of those dark irises, a gleaming glint which awakened a strange longing in me. I could not even say what it was that I longed for, only that its sole answer seemed to lie in the man who stood before me now.

A moment passed, and perhaps another. I could not say for sure, because time had no meaning for me when I was lost in his gaze in such a way. Everything about him seemed so very real, from the way a lock of black hair fell forward over his forehead, to the faint shadow of stubble that dusted his chin and cheeks. Unlike many of the men in Kerolton, he was clean-shaven.

Then his fingers tightened on mine, and he pulled me toward him. Surely he intended to kiss me. There was no other reason for us to be so close to one another, so close I fancied I could hear his heart beating within his breast, his blood pounding in his veins. Surely my own heart beat loudly enough that he should be able to detect it.

We were so very close, I could feel the warmth of his breath against my face. I stood still as a statue, knowing that I should pull away, and yet knowing I would do no such thing, that I would let him kiss me, no matter what happened next.

But in the next moment, I heard a rather ostentatious throat-clearing, and immediately Lord Greymount pulled away from me, a fierce frown tugging at his brows. Standing at the doorway to the portrait gallery was Master Merryk, whose attention seemed to be fixed on a point somewhere past the both of us. However, I knew he must have seen how close his lordship and I had been standing, how he had bent toward me, even if he was trying very hard not to show it now.

“My apologies, my lord,” the steward said. “But the roof in the east tower has now also given way, and I thought you should come to survey the damage.”

Lord Greymount muttered an oath under his breath. “If I must,” he replied, irritation clear in his voice.

“Thank you, my lord. One of the men standing guard there was injured slightly, and I know it will do him good to see that his master has come to check on him.”

Because Master Merryk had phrased it that way, I knew Lord Greymount had no choice now but to go and see to his wounded man-at-arms, and also to see how badly the tower might have been damaged.

Even so, he paused for a second, his gaze fixed on my face. Something in his eyes seemed to say,
We are not finished here.

But then he gave me a swift but graceful bow, and said, “It seems I must take my leave of you, Mistress Sendris. You will be able to find your way back to your room?”

I nodded, as I was not sure I was capable of sounding entirely calm.

Master Merryk put in, “I brought you more firewood and tended your hearth, so I think you will find things quite comfortable there for you.”

His unspoken meaning seemed to be clear enough — that it was not comfortable at all here in this unheated gallery, and I should get myself back to my room like a good, biddable girl. Right then, I was not feeling biddable at all, but I also knew this was not the time or place to argue with Master Merryk.

This time, I did reply, for I could tell the steward was expecting me to speak. “Thank you very much, Master Merryk,” I said. “That was very kind of you. I am looking forward to warming myself by the fire.” I paused so I could gather myself before adding, “And thank you, Lord Greymount, for showing me the portrait gallery. It was quite…educational.”

And with those as my last words, I gathered my borrowed mantle around myself and went out into the corridor, past an amused Lord Greymount and also Master Merryk, who right then looked as if he desperately wanted to scowl at me but didn’t quite dare to reveal his displeasure while in his master’s presence.

Whatever happened next, I very much doubted that I wanted to get caught up in any of their battles.

A
s promised
, my chamber was quite comfortable, a newly laid fire crackling in the hearth. Master Merryk had even left behind a small plate with a fresh-baked roll and some butter, both of which seemed very welcome to me in that moment. After I sat down and had a few bites of the roll, washed down with some water, I began to feel a bit more like myself.

Not entirely, however. I could never forget the look in Lord Greymount’s eyes as he bent toward me. I had seen need there, and something else, something I couldn’t begin to describe, although whether my overall inexperience at men was at fault here, or only the quite obvious fact that I did not know his lordship very well, I couldn’t be sure.

Now that I was away from his intoxicating presence, I needed to calm myself and take stock. What did he intend? That is, although I was yet unaware of all the particulars of the act, I did have some idea of what was supposed to happen when a man wanted a woman. If he was an honorable man, he offered her marriage first. But certainly I was not so overcome by Phelan Greymount’s charms that I could not think logically, that I could ever begin to believe he would ask me to be his wife.

Which meant he only wanted to bed me. Whether that desire sprang merely from the dullness of being cooped up here with no other company, and the realization that he had a rather pretty young woman near at hand, I did not know. Or rather, I didn’t want to admit that most indisputable of conclusions to myself, although an impartial outside observer would have stated the obvious, that of course his wish to be with me stemmed only from my proximity, and not very much else.

However, I didn’t want to believe that his attraction had such mundane roots. Perhaps my stubbornness to acknowledge the most likely scenario came from a need to believe myself more special than I truly was. But there had been that deep, golden glow in his eyes, a heat which seemed to stem from something more than merely casual lust. Then again, how much did I know about lust, casual or otherwise? Yes, I had been on the receiving end of some very unwelcome attention back in Kerolton, but the rude advances I’d suffered from Ilan Martis were very different from the way Lord Greymount had taken my hands and looked down into my face. I’d wanted him to kiss me.

Oh, how I had wanted that.

Before now, I had scorned my mother for her weakness in succumbing to the man who fathered me. I had always thought she should have pushed him away, should have told him she would not surrender her virtue to any man who wasn’t her husband. In my mind, such moral fortitude had seemed like a simple thing, one hardly worthy of a second thought. But now that I knew a little of what it was like to be flushed with desire — even though Lord Greymount and I had yet to share a single kiss — I began to understand my mother somewhat better.

Would I be able to resist Phelan Greymount, if he were to approach me in my chambers tonight?

I told myself that he would do no such thing, that he had treated me honorably so far…but I couldn’t be completely sure. Our acquaintance comprised barely a week, and during that time, we had not spent all that much time in company. In fact, it was only during the last few days that he’d purposely sought me out. Something in his attitude toward me must have changed, but I couldn’t think what.

Surely not a good word from Master Merryk. I had seen his face when he came upon us, and I certainly did not have to be a user of magic from days long gone to know what had passed through his mind in that moment. He had been pleasant enough when I wasn’t a threat, but now that his lordship had shown an interest in me, the steward seemed eager enough to make sure I spent as little time in Lord Greymount’s company as possible. I doubted very much that his happening upon us in the portrait gallery had been mere circumstance. Indeed, Master Merryk was probably chiding himself for not coming there with his manufactured emergency a few minutes earlier, before his lordship and I had even held hands.

Thinking of it again only made another shiver pass through me. I did want more. I wanted Phelan Greymount to kiss me, to warm me as he put his arms around me. Perhaps if we were able to spend more time together, to taste one another’s kisses, he would come to see me as a woman he might marry, despite my low birth.

No, that was a foolish notion. I needed to hold on to what remained of my common sense and do what I could to retain what little reputation I had.

To what purpose?
I thought then.
No man in Kerolton wants you for honorable reasons because of the taint of your birth. So what precisely are you saving yourself for?

What, indeed.

I broke off another piece of bread and chewed it slowly as I considered my options. I could be cool and aloof the next time we met, and let him know that just because I was a woman alone here in his castle, that did not give Lord Greymount the right to treat me as he wished. Or I could be pleasant, but chatty and lighthearted, pretending that what had passed between us in the portrait gallery held no special importance for me.

Or….

Or I could abandon my caution and my fears, and see what developed between us. What was the worst that could happen?

The same thing that happened to many incautious women, I supposed. Would Lord Greymount acknowledge a bastard child, if matters should come to such a pass? I didn’t have to imagine what the reaction would be in Kerolton. “Like mother, like daughter,” they would say. And oh, what a disappointment I would be to my grandmother, even if I told her that the father of my child was none other than Lord Phelan Greymount.

I shook my head. I could not believe I was sitting here and calmly contemplating whether or not I should allow myself to become intimate with Phelan Greymount.
Phelan
. I rolled the name over in my mind, wondering if our small moment of rapport this morning was even enough for me to be presuming so much. He had taken my hands in his, true, and gazed down at me as no other man ever had, but I daresay there were many who would think that a rather flimsy basis for believing anything more significant might develop between us.

Restless, I went to the window, even though I knew I would see nothing else besides the snow falling, endlessly falling. I stared out into the pale grey light, thinking of what I would give to see even a single patch of blue sky, just one lone tree. Perhaps there was a wood of some sort on the other side of Harrow Hall, but here there was nothing except those endlessly rolling hills, their contours muffled beyond all recognition by the thick coat of snow they now wore.

The cold was palpable, although I could tell that the window was sealed well enough. Against a chill such as this, however, even the sturdiest of buildings must be challenged. Again I thought of my grandmother, and prayed that she’d gone into town as soon as she was able to see this was no ordinary storm. I couldn’t know for sure, though. Common-sensical as she was, she might have thought she could ride it out, not knowing what was in store for her, and indeed all of the northland.

I pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut, since they did provide an extra bit of protection against stray drafts. And then I went and poked at the fire, stirring it up so it would send some more heat into the room.

If only Phelan Greymount were here to put his arms around me, to take away the cold that seemed to have seeped into my bones. I thought I could suffer this storm gladly, as long as I could do so in his company.

B
ut he did not come
to see me. The afternoon passed with agonizing slowness, and at length Master Merryk brought me my supper. We exchanged a few pleasantries, but I could tell from the set of his mouth that he was still not happy with me. For myself, I tried to act as serene and unconcerned as I could. That is not to say that I did not let out a sigh of relief once he had left my room, for I found it more difficult than I had thought to maintain such a façade. At least, though, he was gone, and I was able to eat my meal of venison stew in peace, although I wondered the whole time whether Phelan was eating the same thing, whether he was alone in his room, or whether he had gone down to share his supper with his men, so he might help to buoy their spirits during this difficult time.

I did not know, for I did not know him well enough to judge whether he would do such a thing or not.

That night I was not terribly eager to close my eyes and go to sleep, for I did not know if I would be visited by another terrible dream such as the one I had suffered the night before. For the most part, though, my slumber was deep and dreamless, the only vision entering my mind not really a dream at all, but rather a wisp of a remembrance, something about walking in a summer wood with the sunlight slanting through the leaves and a warm wind pulling at my loose hair. That dream did not seem terribly surprising; I was sure we all longed for the return of summer after suffering through so many days of storm. Nevertheless, when I awoke, I could feel myself craving that warmth, much the same way I’d craved Phelan Greymount’s touch the day before.

A bath was brought up for me that morning, and although I was glad of it, I couldn’t help experiencing a few pangs of guilt at all the work it must have taken to heat that water, let alone bring it and the heavy cast-iron tub up all those flights of stairs. The two young men who brought it were clearly among the household staff, and not the men-at-arms; they would not quite meet my eyes as they deposited the tub on the stone floor immediately in front of the hearth, then fled.

But since they had gone to all that trouble, I thought I should enjoy the bath, and indeed it did feel good to scrub myself clean, then sit by the fire and comb my hair to make it dry more quickly. Afterward, I selected a gown I had not worn yet, one in deep crimson with golden embroidery around the neckline and hanging sleeves. Even though I had been given leave to use these garments, it still felt strange to put them on every day and realize that they had once been worn by Lady Greymount, a woman who had never lived to see her son grown.

I knew it was foolish to hope that Phelan would come to see me today. No doubt Master Merryk would devise some other reason why his lordship’s attention was urgently needed, even if the latest collapse of a tower roof had been more or less managed.

After that thought passed through my mind, I did feel somewhat ashamed of myself. For a man had been injured, even if the injuries he’d suffered were not life-threatening. And surely there were many factors involved in keeping the castle running, some of which must require its lord’s input. I could not think only of myself when so many other people had far more important claims on his time.

So I picked up a book and began to read, although I found myself distracted, my gaze lifting far too often from the pages before me and wandering to the door. I had resolved not to look outside any longer, for the sight of the snow falling and the trackless white expanses that surrounded the castle were quite enough to send me into a fit of melancholy. I had begun to believe that this storm would never end, that I would be trapped here forever.

Ah, but at least you would be trapped with Phelan Greymount,
I thought then, and I wanted to shake my head at myself. If it were only the two of us confined here, then perhaps I would be cheered by such a notion. But with Master Merryk keeping a watchful eye on us, I rather doubted we would be allowed very many intimacies.

Someone knocked on the door, and I was out of my chair in a flash, even as I laid my book down on the seat. I could not hope that it was Phelan, but at least an interruption by the two manservants to fetch back the bathtub would break up something of the monotony.

But indeed, it was the master of the castle who stood there, light dancing in his dark eyes and a smile pulling at his mouth. He wasted no time on a greeting, but said only, “Have you seen?”

“Seen what?” I asked, mystified, although of course I was thrilled beyond measure that he was here at all.

He pushed past me and went straight to the window, where he pulled aside the draperies. At once a beam of bright light flowed in, and my mouth dropped open. Recovering myself somewhat, I said, “Is that — ?”

“Sunlight,” he replied. “Come look, Bettany.”

My heart was almost as warmed by his use of my given name as it was by the prospect of seeing the sun again. I hurried over to the window and stood next to Phelan. Sure enough, directly above the castle was a patch of bright blue sky, with a cheerful yellow sun shining through. Its reflection off all the acres of pure, unmarked snow was almost blinding.

I hardly dared to breathe for fear it would all disappear, like a dream fading just before waking. Or perhaps that was merely the effect of having Phelan that close to me once again. “Is the storm over?”

The smile he’d been wearing disappeared. “I fear not. This is a small break. You cannot see it from this window, but some fearsome clouds are gathering once again to the north.”

“Oh,” I said, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice. I should have known this beautiful burst of sunlight could not last.

“Do not despair,” Phelan told me then, as his fingers wrapped themselves around mine. At once I could feel one of those welcome waves of warmth, even with the icy air slipping in past the casement. “We should enjoy it while we can. Come down to the courtyard with me, so we can at least feel some sunshine on our faces before it disappears again.”

As much as that idea appealed to me, I couldn’t help but think of some of the more practical disadvantages to his plan. “I believe you said the courtyard was piled high with snow, that not even the dogs could easily venture forth there.”

“True. But did I not also say that dogs are unable to wear snowshoes, while we humans have been granted that ability?”

“‘Snowshoes’?” I repeated.

The twinkle reappeared in his eyes. “Yes. Did you not tell me that you knew how to use them?”

“Well, yes. But those times I was dressed a bit more” — I hesitated, as I did not want him to think me ungrateful for the beautiful clothes he had allowed me to borrow — “a bit more plainly.”