shadow and lace (3 page)

"Sweet Christ. I didn't know there was such a godawful lot of you." He rubbed his eyes as if to make some of them disappear.

"There are nine of us, Uncle Lindsey, counting Rowena," said Irwin, ever eager to please.

He peered around the hall again. "Where is Ro? I do not see her."

Little Freddie stepped away from the hearth. "Gone to fetch apples, Papa."

" 'Tis just as well." Papa dragged his right leg as he crossed the hall, his faint limp painfully pronounced. He sat heavily in an ancient chair. The wood creaked beneath his weight. "Water, Freddie," he croaked.

Papa leaned back and closed his eyes, missing the struggle that ensued as Big Freddie and Little Freddie tugged at the stoneware flagon, sloshing tepid water over their bare feet. With a choked mutter, Big Freddie jerked the flagon out of his brother's hands and poured the water into a rusty goblet. He allowed Little Freddie the honor of presenting it to their father with a flourish.

Papa's hands shook as he took the goblet. He drained it as if it contained something far more tasty than dirty water and an errant gnat.

"Gather around, sons. I have glad tidings," he announced.

Spreading his arms wide as if to embrace them to his bosom, he grinned. His sons took a hesitant step forward, and Irwin took a step backward.

"Join us, Irwin. I would not choose to cheat you of a chance for adventure simply because you had the misfortune to spring from another man's loins."

Irwin blushed and sidled closer. "Adventure, Uncle Lindsey?"

The boys exchanged blank glances, unable to comprehend the idea of any existence or experience beyond their own. Surely farming turnips in rocky fields that were never meant to be farmed was adventure enough.

Papa leaned forward with a conspirator's wink. "You see, my boys, I truly found my elusive fortune in the course of this expedition. I was on my way home to share the prosperity with my precious offspring." He clucked sadly. "But my purse was weighted down by so many gold coins that the old gelding could hardly bear it."

Little Freddie crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in blatant skepticism.

"So I stopped for a night's rest at the castle of a friend."

Irwin wondered what it was like to have a friend. He had never met anyone he was not related to.

"And they had a jolly game of hazard going at the castle, did they not, Papa?" Little Freddie interrupted.

Papa rumpled his son's silver-blond hair. "Roddy, you never cease to amaze me."

"It's Freddie." Ducking away, Freddie returned to the hearth, busying himself once again with the kettle.

"So," Papa continued briskly, "seeking to rid myself of some of this cumbersome load—for the dear gelding's sake, of course—I entered into a game of hazard with an old acquaintance of mine, the son of an earl whose fief I held long ago. The lad once bore me a great fondness and is now grown into a great and noble knight."

Something about the way Papa spoke the last two words sent a chill down Little Freddie's spine. He straightened, the turnips forgotten.

"First I wagered what I had. Then I wagered what I didn't have. Mayhaps I had imbibed a tad too much ale." He held his thumb and finger apart in illustration.

Little Freddie's arms spread as wide as they could go, adjusting the inaccurate measure. Irwin smothered a giggle behind his plump hand. Little Freddie pretended to stretch as his father's gaze fell upon him.

Papa shrugged. "So I lost my fortune. When my old friend discovered my penniless straits, I fear he lost his temper. With the unfortunate memory of a winner, he recalled my boasts of the eight strapping lads who tended my castle while I sought my fortune. So the gist of the matter is that one of you lucky lads is going to serve an earl for the period of one year." He beamed at them, his bright pig-eyes awaiting their congratulations.

Only silence greeted him.

"You wagered one of your children?" Little Freddie pushed through the forest of shoulders to face his father.

Lindsey Fordyce's smile faded. He rubbed his head, peeling back the hair to reveal the bald spot he usually struggled to hide.

"Not precisely. The choice was not mine to make." He surveyed them glumly, dropping all pretense of happiness. "He said he would journey to Revelwood to choose one of my lads for service, or he would journey to Revelwood bearing my head on a pikestaff."

"Oh, Uncle," breathed Irwin, paling to an unpleasant shade of green.

" Tis your good fortune he was not your enemy. Does this virtuous knight have a name?" Little Freddie's eyes narrowed to slits.

Fordyce mopped his brow with his sleeve, the heat from the small fire suddenly oppressive. He froze as the thunder of hooves echoed in the courtyard. Silence followed. Then the door flew open with a mighty crash that nearly shook it from its hinges.

Rowena came bursting in like a ray of sunshine cutting through the stale layer of smoke that hung over the hall. The wild, sweet scent of the moor clung to her hair, her skin, the handwoven tunic she wore. Her cheeks were touched with the flushed rose of exertion; her eyes were alight with exuberance.

She ran straight to her father, her words tumbling out faster than the apples dumped from the sack she clutched upside down.

"Oh, Papa, I am ever so happy you've come home! Where did you have the stallion hidden? He is the most beautiful animal I ever saw. Did you truly find your elusive fortune this journey?"

Falling to her knees beside his chair, she pulled a crumpled bunch of heather from her pocket and dumped it in his lap without giving him time to reply.

"I brought your favorite flowers and Little Freddie has promised to cook apples on the coals. They will be hot and sweet and juicy, just as you like them. 'Twill be a hundred times better than any nasty old roasted hare. Oh, Papa, you're home! We thought you were never coming back."

She threw her arms around his waist. The uninhibited gesture knocked the cap from her head to unleash a cascade of wheaten curls.

Fordyce's arms did not move to encircle her. He sat stiffly in her embrace. She lifted her face, aware of a silence broken only by the thump of a log shifting on the fire. Her father did not meet her eyes, and for one disturbing moment, she thought she saw his lower lip tremble.

She followed his gaze. Her brothers stood lined up before the hearth in the most ordered manner she had ever seen them. Irwin beamed from the middle of the row.

Bathed in the light of the flickering fire, the stranger stepped out of the shadows. Rowena raised her eyes. From where she knelt, it was as if she was peering up from the bottom of a deep well to meet the eyes of the man who towered over her. His level gaze sent a bolt of raw fear through her, riveting her to the floor as if she stared into the face of death itself. A long moment passed before she could pull her eyes away.

"Papa?" she breathed, patting his cool, trembling hand.

He stroked her hair, his eyes distant. "Rowena, I believe 'twould be fitting for you to step outside till we have concluded our dealings."

"You made no mention of a daughter, Fordyce." The stranger's gaze traveled between father and child.

Papa's arm curved around Rowena's shoulders like a shield. The stranger's mocking laughter echoed through the hall. Only Rowena heard Papa's muttered curse as he realized what he had betrayed.

"Your interest is in my sons," Papa hissed, a tiny vein in his temple beginning to throb.

"But
your
interest is not. That much is apparent."

The man advanced and Rowena rose, knowing instinctively that she did not want to be on her knees at this stranger's feet. She stood without flinching to face the wrought links of the silver chain mail that crossed the man's chest. From broad shoulders to booted feet, his garments were as black as the eyes that regarded her with frank scrutiny. She returned his perusal with arms crossed in front of her.

A closer look revealed his eyes were not black, but a deep, velvety brown. Their opacity rendered them inscrutable, but alive with intelligence. Heavy, arched brows added a mocking humor that gave Rowena the impression she was being laughed at, although his expression did not waver. His sable hair was neatly cut, but an errant waviness warned of easy rebellion. His well-formed features were saved from prettiness by an edge of rugged masculinity enhanced by his sheer size. The thought flitted through Rowena's mind that he might be handsome if his face was not set in such ruthless lines.

He reached down and lifted a strand of her hair as if hypnotized by its brightness. The velvety tendril curled around his fingers at the caress.

Rowena's hand slipped underneath her tunic, but before she could bring the knife up to strike, her wrist was twisted in a fearful grip that sent the blade clattering to the stones. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The man loosed her.

"She has more fire than the rest of you combined." The stranger strode back to the hearth. "I'll take her."

The hall exploded in enraged protest. Papa sank back in the chair, his hand over his eyes.

"You cannot have my sister!" Little Freddie's childish tenor cut through his brothers' cries.

Smirking, the man leaned against the hearth. "Take heart, lad. 'Tis not forever. She is only to serve me for a year."

Rowena looked at Papa. His lips moved, but made no sound. Her brothers spewed forth dire and violent threats, although they remained in place as if rooted to the stone. She wondered if they had all taken leave of their senses. The stranger's sparkling eyes offered no comfort. They watched her as if delighting in the chaos he had provoked. The tiny lines around them crinkled as he gave her a wink made all the more threatening by its implied intimacy. A primitive thrill of fear shot through her, freezing her questions before they could leave her lips.

Papa's whine carried just far enough to reach the man's ears. "We said sons, did we not?"

The man's booming voice silenced them all. "Nay, Fordyce. We said children. I was to have the use of one of your children for a year."

Rowena's knees went as slack as her jaw. Only the sheer effort of her will kept her standing.

"You cannot take a man's only daughter," said Papa, unable to keep the pleading note from his voice. "Show me some mercy, won't you?"

The knight snorted. "Mercy? What have you ever known of mercy, Fordyce? I've come to teach you of justice."

Papa mustered his courage and banged with force on the arm of the chair. "I will not allow it."

The stranger's hand went to the hilt of the massive sword sheathed at his waist. The muscles in his arms rippled with the slight gesture. "You choose to fight?" he asked softly.

Lindsey Fordyce hesitated the merest moment. "Rowena, you must accompany this nice man."

Rowena blinked stupidly, thrown off guard by her father's abrupt surrender.

Little Freddie charged forward, an iron pot wielded over his head like a bludgeon. The knight turned with sword drawn. Rowena lunged for his arm, but Papa sailed past both of them and knocked the boy to the ground with a brutal uppercut. Freddie glared at his father, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

"Don't be an idiot," Papa spat. "He will only kill you, and then he will kill me."

Still wielding his sword, the stranger faced the row
of grumbling
boys. "If anyone cares to challenge my
right to
their sister, I would be more than happy to defend it."

The broad blade gleamed in the firelight. Big Freddie returned the man's stare for a long moment, his callused hands clenched into fists before turning away to rest his forehead against the warm stones of the hearth.

The stranger's eyes widened as Irwin stepped forward, trumpet still clutched in hand. Papa took one step toward Irwin, who then plopped his ample bottom on the hearth and studied the trumpet as if seeing it for the first time. The knight sheathed his sword.

"A wager is a wager." Papa ran his thumbs along the worn gilt of his tattered surcoat. "As you well know, I am a baron myself—an honorable man."

He sighed as if the burden of his honor was too much for him
to
bear. The short laugh uttered by the knight was not a pleasant sound.

Papa gently took Rowena's face between his moist palms. "Go with him, Rowena." He swallowed with difficulty. "He will not harm you."

The stranger watched the exchange in cryptic silence, his arms crossed over his chest.

Rowena searched her father's face, blindly hoping for a burst of laughter to explain away the knight's intrusion as a cruel jest. The hope that flickered within her sputtered and died, smothered by the bleakness in the cornflower-blue eyes that were a pale, rheumy echo of her own.

"I shall go with him, Papa, if you say I should."

The man moved forward, unlooping the rope at his waist. Papa stepped back to keep a healthy sword's distance away from the imposing figure.

Rowena shoved her hands behind her back. "There is no need to bind me."

The man retrieved her hands. Rowena tried not to flinch as he bound her wrists in front of her none too gently.