shadow and lace (40 page)

"I suppose he was trying to kill you, too. Mayhaps he is in the throes of a murdering frenzy and is going to massacre us all." Rowena laid a lopsided kiss on Gareth's ear, daring the men to tear him away from her.

Blaine knelt in front of her. "Of course he wasn't going to kill Sir Boris. I know Gareth. He was going to escape and take his battle away from Ardendonne. I promise you, Rowena, if Gareth gets outside those gates, someone will die. And it very well might be him." The harshness of his words was tempered by the palm that gently cupped her cheek. "Let me protect him. From himself."

Rowena's arms fell to her sides. None of the three men met her eyes as they gently took Gareth from her and carried him down the dimly lit corridor.

A swish of Rowena's kirtle and a tremulous smile was all it took to convince Sir Boris's son that she must see Gareth immediately. The young knight watched her traverse the dim hall, admiration for her courage in the face of such trials written plainly in his besotted eyes. Perhaps he should examine his feelings about Sir Gareth. Any man who could inspire such devotion in so enchanting a creature could surely not be as wicked as they said. The memory of her eyes blazing brightly up at him over Gareth's prostrate form lent itself to daydreams where it was his own head cradled in her soft lap. He slipped around the corner to give her the privacy he had promised.

The best Ardendonne could offer for a dungeon was an isolated cell off the corridor from the kitchen wing. It was one of the few chambers in the castle with an iron lock placed to protect the salt and other precious spices. A grate of iron bars was set in the thick oaken door.

Rowena stood on tiptoe and peered through the bars. A tallow candle burned within the cell. It took a long moment for her eyes to adjust enough to make out the shadow of a man sitting on a barrel.

"Gareth?"

"Could you not wait to gloat at my hanging?" Gareth swung his long legs around. The candle threw his features into sharp relief as the shadow of a wince crossed his face. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Damned pup nearly killed me."

Rowena stuck her nose through the bars. Hulking crates and kegs were stacked along the walls. The pungent scent of ginger and cloves tickled her nostrils. "Folio came back."

"Was your papa's corpse draped across his saddle?"

"I fear not. He came back quite alone, stepping in high spirits and tossing his head in shameless pride at his independent jaunt." She peered around the shadowy cell. "Is it terribly unpleasant in there?"

"Not terribly. I've yet to find any skulls of former occupants, and Blaine has spared me the rack. You must find that a pity."

Rowena's fingers curled around the cold iron. "And you must think me a vindictive wench."

Gareth slipped off the barrel and laced his fingers around the chill bars, laying them lightly against her own. The soft heat of her skin seamed to be the only thing of substance in a world gone awry. He waited for her to recoil from his touch. She did not.

"Why shouldn't you be vindictive? I earned my reputation last night, did I not?"

Rowena knew he wasn't speaking of the murder so she couldn't offer him the comfort of denial. "Will you answer a question for me?"

"I owe you that much."

"When my moth—" Rowena could not bring herself to say the word. "When Elayne died, why did you defend yourself to no one? There had to be those who would have believed you. Sir Blaine's father? The priest?"

He bowed his head until they stood forehead to forehead. His nose gently brushed hers. "My father raised me to be the best. I was to be the strongest, the wisest, the kindest knight England had ever known. All of his dreams of honor died in the breath of Elayne's kiss. The same night I lay with her, my father died choking in his own blood. I felt as guilty of murder as they claimed me."

She gave his fingers a quick, hard squeeze, then stepped away from the door. "All will be well, Gareth."

Gareth straightened. "Of course it will be. They are going to hang me and you are going to be free."

She shook her head, shooting a wild glance at the end of the corridor. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They won't hang you. When I prove you did not kill Elayne, everyone will know Mortimer knocked his own silly self off the drawbridge."

Gareth went white in the sickly light. "Have you gone mad?"

She smiled happily. "Nay. I am quite sane."

Gareth lifted his head. The full import of her words penetrated the blackness of his heart in a ray of light that cut as mercilessly as it warmed. "You mean last night you did not belive me a murderer? You let me believe… why I could have…"

"What? Murdered me? Pshaw! You'd be hard pressed to give me a sound spanking!"

Gareth tried to thrust his hands through the bars but got no farther than his fingers. They flexed threateningly. "Don't count on it. If I could reach you right now, I would wring your pretty little neck."

Rowena wagged a finger at him. "Temper, temper."

He rattled the bars with a growl, then spun around to pace the narrow confines of the cell. "Who, Rowena? Who do you believe killed her?"

"Not now. There will be time enough for that later."

Gareth flung himself at the door, realizing her voice was a mere echo of what it had been. She was already fading like a wraith down the shadowy corridor.

"Rowena!" he bellowed. "Get me out of here. You little idiot. Don't you dare put yourself in danger."

Her voice floated back to him, its notes as melodic as a song. "No danger, milord. Only truth."

The pitter-patter of her slippers died away. Gareth threw himself at the door, kicking and beating until the stubborn oak gouged craters in his knuckles. His curses swelled to a roar. He battered himself against the door until his throat closed. His voice died to a hoarse croak. It was not until he lapsed into complete silence that his hapless young guard went to fetch Sir Blaine, fearing his prisoner had driven himself into an apoplexy.

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The sun broke through the clouds as Rowena strode across the bailey, paying no heed to the muddy goop sucking at her pattens. The clouds split asunder, revealing snatches of cerulean so brilliant they put a spring into Rowena's step, despite her grim mission. The sun painted streaks of silver and gold on the clouds' black underbellies.

Upon hearing of Gareth's imprisonment, the mob had dispersed, murmuring their satisfaction. The gates of Ardendonne had been thrown open. A swath of lush green lawn rolled down to the lake. Raindrops sparkled like diamonds on every blade of grass and minty bud. Rowena was still blinded by their brilliance when she ducked into the tiny chapel and closed the door behind her.

A cobweb trailed its gauzy fingers across her face. She swiped it away, fearful of a bloated, vengeful occupant dropping on her head. The stone chapel clung stubbornly to the winter chill. Her eyes adjusted slowly to a darkness broken only by fragile sunbeams pushing their way through the dusty stained-glass window set high above the altar. Her nostrils twitched at the rank smell of mold and disuse.

Mahogany kneeling benches were heaped carelessly against the wall. Rowena fought an irreverent desire to giggle, wondering if Blaine had shoved them aside for dancing. The archangel Michael, flaming sword raised high, scowled down at her from the window. A low growl came out of the shadows in front of the altar.

Rowena froze at the unholy sound, the hair on her nape bristling. She had heard a sound like that only once before, when rising out of a stream, she had come face to face with a rabid badger, spewing bloody foam from his nostrils and wounded beyond recognition. Pity had swallowed her terror as, with a deft flip of her wrist, she had dispatched it with her hunting knife. She cursed the soft kirtle she wore for having no pocket in which to hide knives.

The growl came again, followed by a terrible, heaving groan.

"God be damned!" A hoarse voice exploded into venom.

Rowena wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and walked slowly toward the altar.

"God's nightgown!" A dark garbed figure sprang up from the floor. The dark shape writhed and heaved, sucking in a breath to let out an agonizing moan. Rowena ducked behind a pew. Another curse was followed by a ringing crash.

She peeped over the back of the bench. In the arc of sunbeams crossing the dust-sparkled air, an avenging harridan in black and silver railed at God and ravaged the dusty chapel. The creature shuddered, shielded by a mat of tangled hair. It emanated a musky scent deeper than that of fear. Rowena crept nearer. She flinched as the figure tossed the altar cloth on the stones and stomped it with both feet. A gauntleted hand shredded the thick webs that draped the altar.

Clawlike hands reached for the golden cross.

Rowena straightened as her clear voice rang from the rafters. "You may surrender the relic. The undead do not walk at Ardendonne."

Marlys spun around, cross in hand, her eyes as wide as if she expected to find God himself, waiting thunderbolt in hand to rebuke her for her blasphemy. The defiant set of her chin did not relax.

" 'Tis what you think," she snarled.

Rowena slowly moved forward. "If you were expecting the Almighty, I fear to disappoint you."

Marlys's shoulders slumped as Rowena gently plucked the cross from her hands and returned it to its burnished base. What she had mistook for growls were only sobs, sobs so deep and wracking it was as if Marlys's heart was being torn out by each one of them.

Rowena reached for one bucking shoulder, half afraid Marlys might turn on her like the wild creature she seemed and snap her hand off. Marlys froze at the touch, then flung her head back. Between dark strands of hair, Rowena caught a glimpse of eyes swollen to slits from weeping. She had to grit her teeth to keep from flinching before the malice within those eyes.

"What in the hell do you want? Have you come to tell me they've hanged him?"

Rowena took a slow, measured breath. "I should hate to think you were here cowering in the chapel if they had."

Marlys brushed dust off her tunic in a crisp motion that reminded Rowena painfully of Gareth. "Would you prefer I don a white kirtle and weep prettily on Blaine's shoulder while my brother swings from the gallows?"

"Impossible. You do not own a white kirtle. And you do not weep prettily."

"I haven't had as much practice as you have." Marlys leaned one hip against the altar as a mantle of insolence seemed to fall across her shoulders. "What do you want?"

"I want to help Gareth."

Marlys snorted. "Want to help get him hanged most likely. Were it not for your pathetic little performance in the hall last night, the wrath of the people might not be stirred against him." Marlys bit a crescent of dirt from beneath her fingernail.

Rowena toyed with the dust on the altar, absently tracing circles with her finger. "I kriow who killed Elayne."

A muscle in Marlys's cheek twitched. She shrugged. "According to the mob out there this morning, so does everyone else."

Rowena gave Marlys a maddening smile. "But we know they're wrong, do we not?" She locked her hands behind her back and paced a few steps away.

Marlys's low-pitched laugh sent a chill down Rowena's spine. "So who do you think slew the bitch?"

Rowena arched an eyebrow in mild curiosity. "Why do you call her 'bitch'? Gareth told me you worshiped her."

"Gareth was wrong." Rowena was silent until Marlys grudgingly continued. "When there was no one else around to toy with, the pretty lady would call me into her chambers. She would braid my hair with her long, beautiful fingers until she got bored with it, then send me away when some new diversion presented itself."

"Like Gareth?"

"Like Gareth." Marlys smiled slowly. "But sometimes I did not go away. She thought I did, but I did not."

Rowena bowed her head. "The hiding place in the cupboard."

Marlys nodded. "I would watch them. I watched her weave her web of pretty poison around him, teaching him courtly manners and music. He struggled at first, like any fly caught in the sticky syrup of a spider's trap. But he stopped struggling soon enough. Who could resist such sweetness?" Rowena closed her eyes briefly, not wanting to hear more but unable to stop listening. "As a student of lovemaking, my brother was an apt pupil, quick to learn and attentive to a fault. But I do not have to tell you that, do I?" Marlys turned her back on Rowena. Her hands clutched at the edge of the altar in some hidden emotion.

Rowena crept nearer. "Were you in the cupboard the night Elayne was murdered? Did you see Gareth come?"

Marlys's shoulders hunched. She gave a bitter laugh. "I saw everybody come. I saw your father sneak through the window and fly back out as if winged when Gareth stormed in. I saw Gareth raise his sword to Elayne only to drop it at her feet. I saw Elayne throw herself on the bed, weeping as if her black heart were broken."

Rowena caught Marlys's elbows in a tight grip. "And then?"

Marlys jerked out of Rowena's grasp. Her gaze fell on the tracings in the dust which had somehow twisted themselves into an awkward and misspelled scrawl of her own name. She wiped them away.