Through The Leaded Glass (23 page)

But today was a new day. Her last day to find
that window and make it back in time, so she couldn’t spend it in
bed, much as she’d like to.

By the time she’d gotten dressed for her
“countess” duties and made it down to the kitchens, passing a group
of boys playing with the dogs in the courtyard, fires were blazing
in the ovens with succulent juices of roasting meats sizzling into
the flames. Cook was managing her army of helpers with barked
orders and a couple of sharp nods.

“
Is there somethin’ I can be
gettin’ for ye, m’ lady?” Cook asked while she chopped vegetables
into small enough pieces to assure they’d become boiled mash for
dinner.

Kate had tried to convince her to steam them,
but Cook had looked at her with the same look Alex had when she’d
told him she was from the future. “I’d like to watch and learn if
you don’t mind. They, um, that is, only certain members of my…
order… worked in the kitchens and I thought perhaps it was time I
learned your ways.”

“
Well, my lady, if ye don’ mind me
sayin’ so, ye’ve got some peculiar ideas on how t’prepare
meals.”

If the woman only knew… Kate decided to hold
off any sushi discussion, and let her rattle on, describing the
different dishes she was preparing for the evening meal, how and
where she’d procured the ingredients, what was a favorite dish for
which holiday and other things a countess was probably supposed to
know.

“
An’ this here, m’ lady.” She
pointed to a large fish. “I’ll be servin’ it fer yer weddin’.
Always looks festive when the lord’s men carry it in. Ye’ll taste
it this evenin’ and see if ye don’ like it.”

“
My… wedding?”

Cook’s craggy face lit up with a smile. She
stood a little taller and, if Kate wasn’t mistaken, stuck out her
chest a little more. “Now don’ ye worry ‘bout yer weddin’ feast, m’
lady. You and his lordship deserve nothin’ but the finest. And ye
shall have it.” She waddled over to the stove and arranged her pots
as if organizing an army. “Matilda! Mind the bread. We don’ want
t’burn it.”

She looked back at Kate as poor Matilda rushed
across the room to the oven and dragged several loaves out. “My
pardon, m’ lady. What was I sayin’?”

She patted her hair and Kate cringed when her
hands went back to the vegetables. At least the food was going into
boiling water, but what Kate wouldn’t give to be able to teach them
a few sanitary kitchen practices.

“
Ah, yes.” Cook whacked a poor
carrot to smithereens. “Yer weddin’ feast. Why, if I could give our
lord Frederick, the scoundrel, a feast to remember, I can certainly
manage a better show for one as deservin’ as our lord Alexander.”
She crossed herself and pointed the knife to a young woman who was
plucking a chicken.

“
Enough, Carol. We’ve no need for
more birds. Off with ye.” She waved the knife. “And don’t ye be
listenin’ to Viscount Hambledon, mind. Ye don’t need no fancy
thoughts in that head o’ yours. Nor wot thoughts be in his
either.”

“
Yes, Mother.” The young woman
wiped her hands on her apron and dropped a quick curtsy. “M’ lady,”
she said as she left.

Cook settled herself on a stool and resumed
vegetable chopping. “Yes, our lord Alexander is loved by all, not
like his brother who was always thinkin’ things were his for the
takin’. But I did m’best for him, I did. Truth though, no one
mourned his passin’. Why, you should have seen the first feast I
prepared for our new lord. As if he were king, it was.”

Alex hadn’t spoken a lot about his brother,
but Kate had gotten the feeling there was no love lost between
them. And something Cook said made her wonder why.

“
He thought every
what
was
his for the taking?”

Cook looked up as if she’d been caught with
her hands in the sweetmeats jar. “I… I’m not one t’ go spreadin’
tales m’ lady, but…” Cook glanced around.

The other women suddenly became very
busy.

Cook lowered her voice. “Let’s just say that
more ‘n one of them boys out there—”she nodded toward the
courtyard— “they be his get.” Her mouth thinned and she leaned in
closer. “And the gettin’ was not always willin’.”

Kate followed the nod and spied Beatrice’s
son. “Duncan is Frederick’s?”

“
Aye, mum.” Cook shook her head. “
‘Twas a sad time with that one. Beatrice was so young an’ pretty,
and the lord, he was always eyein’ her. When her father said ‘twas
time to marry her off, well, our lord, he didn’ like it.” She
stabbed the knife into the chopping board. “After that, it was not
possible to marry her to anyone. But our lord? He went on t’another
girl. And another after her. ‘Twas a sad time.”

Sad didn’t begin to describe it. It did,
however, give her an idea as to the motive behind the thief’s
actions: what if whatever was happening here was due to something
Frederick had done? An enemy he’d made who wanted to exact his
revenge, if not on Frederick, on the next in line?

All she and Alex would have to do was make a
list of people who would’ve liked to see Frederick dead, then check
their alibis.

Of course, if Cook’s story was just a taste of
Frederick’s nastiness, that list could be longer than she’d like.
But at least it’d give them a starting point.

***

How dare they! That cow of a cook. How dare
she blaspheme the good name of Frederick Traverse, Earl of
Shelton.

She’d be the first to suffer.

The man stretched his back and sank against
the sacks of flour behind the kitchen wall, seething.

And the lady Katherine. So high and mighty.
‘Twould serve her right to be bearing her own bastard, or at least
a seven month babe. That’d take her down a peg or two. Why, that
shame could be growing in her belly right now.

And it would completely disrupt his
plans.

He drummed his crooked fingers against his
thigh and cursed the irregular rhythm. He’d removed Alex from the
keep today. Now to go about doing the same with
Kate—permanently.

There could be no more legitimate
heirs.

Chapter
Nineteen

“
Nicholas? What are you doing? You
shouldn’t be here.” Isobel ran into the corridor behind her great
hall, hands fluttering, a sure sign she was up to
something.

Nick tossed back his cloak and grasped her
arm. “We have to talk, Issy.”

“
We’ve said all we have to say. You
really must leave.” She tried to pull her hands away, but he wasn’t
about to let her go. Not when he had her where he wanted
her.

Well, not
exactly
where he wanted her,
but ‘twas a start.

“
Expecting company?” He’d seen the
direction her steward Dalfour had ridden: straight to Shelton. The
woman had no shame, and while that worked for him in the bedroom,
it wouldn’t do to have her throwing herself at Alex. Not
now.

“
Have you no pride, Issy, to beg in
the face of his denial? Alex won’t marry you.”

“
I don’t know what you mean,
Nicholas.”

Any other time he’d enjoy removing her
insolence, but now he just wanted to strangle her. They could have
so much together if the foolish woman would only get her eyes off
Alex’s purse. “I mean that I have a plan, so you can forget your
scheming where Alex is concerned. He has Kate, and unless you want
to end up with Wexham, I suggest you hear me out.”

Isobel bit her lip and uncertainty clouded her
eyes, along with desperation. “I don’t have time for this,
Nicholas. You speak of plans and possibilities when my only option
other than Alexander is Wexham. I can’t marry him, Nicholas. I
can’t. I’ll do anything to ensure I don’t. Alexander must marry
me.” She raised her chin, her eyes like stone.

He knew that look, knew the stubborn streak
which had served her well in her mourning period when many men had
sought to press their suit and breach her defenses.

Only he’d succeeded. Yet, now she threw away
their chance.

He’d ridden here early, to tell her of his
plan. Oh, not the money he would borrow, a man did have his pride,
but the possibility that Henry wouldn’t deny his
request.

Her lack of faith burned into his
soul.

“
Damn you, Issy.” He dropped her
hands. “You would throw away our chance over fear and cowardice? I
expected better of you.”

“
This is all I am, Nicholas.” Her
voice was small and shattered. “Not such a prize after all. Just a
landed widow with enough money to go to the highest bidder for the
king’s purposes. And that won’t be you, Nicholas. I know it and you
know it and, most assuredly the king knows it.”

She touched his hand and it was all he could
do not to pull her into his arms and take her away, the king, Alex,
Wexham, be dammed.

“
Stop this pain, Nicholas. End it
now, while we still care for each other. I can face anything if you
don’t hate me, but I can’t go willingly to Wexham. I have to do
what I can and you can’t help me.”

She ought to just put a dagger in his heart
and end it for both of them. She was giving up. On him, on them.
“You’re right, Issy. I can’t help you. Not if you don’t want it. Or
me.”

God’s breath, he hated begging. But he would
do anything for Issy. Any damn thing he could to prevent her from
making this mistake.

Isobel closed her eyes. “Please leave,
Nicholas. There’s nothing for you here anymore.”

Nick choked back the bile threatening at the
top of his throat. Gathering the remnants of what little pride he
had left around him like a shield, Nick left, never once looking
back.

Let her suffer the humiliation, then, when
Alex arrived. It’d be her turn to come crawling to him when Alex
rejected her once more.

***

Alex reined in Herald, scanning the road ahead
of him. No one. They’d been riding for hours. How far could the
tradesman have gotten with a full cart?

Herald’s sides heaved with exertion and Alex
let him rest while Matthew and Thomas caught up to them. Their
horses were no match for his and though they were slowing him down,
to come alone would have been madness.

He just hoped Lawrence hadn’t said he’d seen
the window merely to get back in his good graces, or this would all
be for naught.

Crows circled overhead in the autumn air,
their raucous caws disturbing the peace. A pheasant rustled through
a roadside thicket, its orange and brown plumage matching the oak
leaves on the ground.

The afternoon was quiet. Pleasant. Yet
something nagged at him. Why hadn’t the tradesman stopped at
Shelton? The large reward he offered should be enticement enough.
That the man had passed by was curious. That he was nowhere on the
horizon, worrisome.

“
How much farther, do you think?”
Thomas asked, wiping a hand across his brow. The air might be cool,
but the sun beat down. “The tradesman must have a quick team to
make such good time with a full cart.”

Thomas was right. They should have caught up
with him by now.
Had
Lawrence sent him on a merry chase out
of spite?

Alex turned Herald to return to the keep, when
he saw a small wagon approaching from the rear. “There. That must
be him.”

The three men pulled alongside the cart. It
looked like a crofter’s cottage, but was painted in the colors of
the hillside.

“
Good day to ye, m’ lords,” said
the driver, tipping an odd sort of hat, revealing a bald head
surrounded by a ring of graying hair. “Ye have an interest in
m’wares, do ye?” The man didn’t wait for an answer but climbed from
the driver’s seat and worked his way to the door on the side of the
cart. “Won’t ye come in?” He pushed his spectacles up on his nose
and bowed as he held open the door.

He was a small man, perhaps the size of a
young squire, and wore a strange tunic slit down the front with the
collar stitched back. His hose hung on his legs, almost covering
footwear that resembled Kate’s, and there was a knowing look in his
eye that told Alex that Lawrence had had nothing to do with
this.

“
Matthew, Thomas, remain outside
with the horses.” Alex swung off Herald and in two strides was
through the door and climbing two short steps into the man’s…
shop.

He’d never seen anything like it. Wooden boxes
were stacked along the one side, tufts of hay peeking from the
rims. A small pallet rested in the back corner, woven blankets laid
out in precision across it. Kettles, jugs, and an assortment of
cutlery fit into the space beneath the pallet. Clothes hung on pegs
on the opposite wall, some brightly colored tunics, others in a
manner similar to what the man currently wore, and some Alex didn’t
recognize.

An earthenware pitcher rested in a hole cut
into the small table attached to the wall. Alex wasn’t familiar
with the smell of the steam rising from it.

“
Have a seat, m’ lord. Then ye won’
be havin’ t’ bend yer back so.” The man picked up the pitcher.
“Would ye like some tea—oh, better not.” He set it back down, a
crooked smile on his face. “We don’t need any more
anachronisms.”