Shana Abe (26 page)

“And then someone, perhaps more than one someone, hit you on the back of the head,” Marla continued matter-of-factly.
“I would suppose they used one of the old planks littering the beach there, which would mean they had picked it up only moments before. Perhaps they hadn’t planned to hit you but the opportunity presented itself. Who knows?”

She locked her hands around one raised knee and leaned back, continuing in that calm voice. “The blow would have knocked you forward into the water, where you floated for not more than a few minutes, I would think. Any longer than that and even I”—she gave a self-deprecating smile—“would not have been able to revive you.”

The tea, almost finished, sat in the mug forgotten as Kyla listened. Marla leaned forward and lifted it back up to Kyla’s lips before continuing.

“During that time, while you were unconscious in the water, several things could have happened. For some reason your assailant, or assailants, left you alone. Mayhap they thought you were already dead, or were about to be. Or mayhap they heard the watch approaching. He would have been calling out a warning, that is our way. If they heard him, they would have run away in order not to be seen near you.

“The watch had found your mount, you see, and although he didn’t know it was yours, he did know there was no reason for any horse but his own to be there. So he came down to the beach, saw you, plucked you from the water and—this is the part that actually saved you—placed you facedown across his horse to bring you back here. That got rid of the water in your lungs.” She paused. “Perhaps we should employ this method for the next drowning,” she added reflectively.

Kyla said nothing. She was watching Roland’s hand again, curved in her lap.

“It was Roland who took you from the watch,” Marla continued. “He carried you up here, he tended to you. He fed you and helped me bandage you. He has stayed with you from the moment you were brought back.”

“He has?” His forearm was sprinkled with golden hairs, crisp and light against his tan. She blinked down at them; they were growing hazy, blurred in the warm candlelight.

Marla was moving around the room; everywhere she went
a cloak of soft darkness trailed her, absorbing the light. She extinguished the candles one by one, saving the dripping one for last. It had burned down to almost a nub. Deft fingers pinched out the last glow from it, a sizzle followed by a swan song of smoke.

Marla touched her fingers to her lips, then blew on them lightly. “There was henbell in the tea as well, to help you rest. Sleep now, Countess. Sleep well.”

She smiled at Kyla in the gathering gloom, then walked out through the connecting door.

Kyla slid back down the headboard until she was flat in the bed once more. She turned onto her side to face Roland, so that the last thing she saw before falling asleep was the strong beauty of his face.

D
uncan was visibly upset.

“I don’t understand it, my lord,” he kept saying, scowling at the horizon of hills and thatched rooftops, a line of fishermen mending nets next to the ruined pier by the castle wall. “I don’t understand.”

“How many new men?” Roland asked again patiently.

Duncan, who had fought beside him in countless campaigns, an invaluable strategist and armsman, now gnawed at his beard, still staring into the distance, not meeting Roland’s gaze.

Roland sighed slightly, more like a sustained exhalation. He didn’t wish to push his captain. It was plain to see he was taking the attack on Kyla as a personal affront to his station. He knew as well as Roland that he had been the one to screen the new men in Roland’s ranks.

“Two dozen, no more than that. One fellow dropped out in London. Fleming, I think it was. So, two dozen.”

“Two dozen men,” Roland repeated, turning the number over in his mind. Twenty-four new men added to his army, men picked up here and there from their campaigns for
Henry, men without outstanding prospects from their families, no lands to speak of.

Lorlreau was short of men, it was a sad fact. The main island stood well enough in population—he had ensured that several years ago—but both Taldon and especially Forswall had acres and acres of empty fields with not enough manpower to go around. So when a recruit expressed an interest in staying, Roland had always liked to consider it. He had passed that duty on to his captain as the years had wound on, fully trusting Duncan’s decisions.

There was no reason not to trust them still. He needed his captain’s cooperation now, not his sticky pride.

“Talk to your lieutenants,” Roland said. “Ask them if they’ve noticed anything odd about the new men. Anything. Be discreet.”

Duncan nodded, his green eyes faded and shuttered. The fishermen mended on, repairing the endless holes in their nets, a timeless occupation done with gruff talk, pipes, and a few hours of relaxation under the sun.

It was so normal, exactly what he would expect to see this morning, the bent shapes of the old men hooking and knotting, dark spots against the sparkling water. No intrigue there, he would think. The same old men he had known all his life, friendly faces, nut-brown and seamed with wisdom.

His people, Roland thought, and then felt the hardness in his throat at the thought of a betrayal festering among them. It would not come from his people, it would not. He had two dozen chances to prove that.

Duncan nodded again, looked down at the ground. “How is she?”

“Better. She’ll live.”

“Quick thinking from the watch. Bright lad. Might go have a talk with him.”

Roland already had. “Good luck.”

Duncan straightened with a resolute look, then headed off for the soldiers’ quarters, his burly form mingling and then disappearing with the usual crowd in the bailey.

The watch was a young man by the name of Lassen, and he was indeed bright. It was one of the reasons he had been chosen as watch, which—although the tower was lonely, although the work grew dull—was seen as one of the most coveted positions in the earldom. Roland had made it very, very clear that he expected the tower watch to be the linchpin in the security of the islands. The tower itself had been built tall enough to see almost three-quarters of all the islands, and most especially the strait. Most especially that.

Lassen had come to the castle without complaint at dawn this morning, summoned by the lord. He had kept his eyes pinned manfully somewhere in the vicinity of Roland’s left shoulder throughout almost the entire interview, respectful, thoughtful.

Now that the shock of seeing Kyla unconscious in his arms had faded, Roland recognized him immediately. Younger son of McDermott, a solid man, a horseman with sharp skills in battle. He had his father’s look completely, even down to the sunburned bridge of his nose. Roland racked his thoughts for other clues.

“And how is your wife … Isabel?” he asked, snatching a name from the mists of his memory.

Lassen relaxed slightly. “Very well, my lord. Asked to send her regards to you and your lady, my lord.”

“Yes, well, and thanks to you, I shall be able to do that,” replied Roland mildly.

Lassen looked down, reddened with pride or chagrin, Roland couldn’t tell. He stood up from behind his father’s desk and walked over to the window. “Where was the other watch, the man you were to relieve? Where was Dedrick Farrow?”

The young man cleared his throat but said nothing. Roland waited, unmoving, his back to him. Outside a yellow dog ran across the outer field, two boys right behind him. He heard Lassen shift in his seat.

A group of adolescent girls carrying baskets of something sauntered by, throwing giggles at a cluster of young soldiers pretending not to watch them.

Roland waited.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Lassen burst out.

Roland turned his head slightly. “Oh?”

Again, the uncomfortable silence.

“You do realize the punishment for missing duty, don’t you?” Roland asked idly. “Of course you do. And since you were not the one to miss your duty, it need not concern you at this time.” He turned around, allowing the full force of his gaze to fall upon the troubled soldier. “But where was the man you were relieving?”

“It wasn’t his fault, my lord.” Lassen wiped a hand across his brow, then caught himself, snatching the hand back.

Roland let the silence drift free again.

“Dedrick’s horse threw a shoe, my lord, and came up lame not two miles from the castle. He had to walk her back, my lord. His horse.”

Roland turned back to the window, considering this.

“As soon as he arrived he asked me to cover for him. Found me straight out, and I went. That was all.”

“How much time, do you think, did the tower go unguarded?”

“No more than twenty minutes, my lord.”

Now Roland turned and looked him in the eye.

“Thirty,” Lassen amended, looking down again. “No more than that, I am sure.”

He was telling the truth, Roland thought. Thirty minutes. And somehow Kyla managed to slip right through that window of opportunity for someone, slipped right past all his guards and defenses to the most dangerous spot on the island. And she had paid the price for it. Before he was through, someone else would be paying much more dearly.

He had dismissed the watch without reproof, knowing that whatever the young man felt had to be agony enough. And he had, after all, saved the life of his wife. For that Roland was almost willing to promote him.

Careful questioning had revealed nothing of real help. Lassen had arrived at the tower and found a great black stallion wandering free. He had immediately drawn his sword and called out a warning, but heard nothing in response.
Investigation showed him a set of footprints running down the path that led down to the beach. No, he couldn’t tell how many. It was windy, and the prints had already blurred together in the fine golden sand.

He had seen the countess immediately, of course, a splash of bright green and yellow from her gown billowing in the waves. He had not seen anyone else. He seemed to recall other footprints in the sand, but then again, he had his attention on the countess by then so he could not be certain. He had been concentrating on attending to her, and Roland could not fault him for this.

Perhaps he would give Lassen a promotion, after all.

Duncan would take care of the other watch, no doubt, after he had talked to Lassen McDermott. He would find out the details of the horse with the lost shoe, the amount of time it had taken Dedrick Farrow to walk her back to the castle, anything else that might be of interest.

So Roland was left with a multitude of unanswered questions, a seething dark suspicion, and a tight, unpleasant band around his chest that seemed to smother his breathing.

Before him now the fishermen nodded and talked, their hands busy, their pipes glowing.

Betrayal. Kyla in danger. And he would do anything to protect her.

S
he was sitting up in the bed now with the peevish expression of someone who wanted very much to get her own way, and was encountering resistance at every turn.

“I feel fine. I want to walk around.”

Marla, measuring sprinkles of something into a cup as she stood beside the bed, tapped her foot. “Later.”

“But—”

“Later.”

“That’s what you said before.” Roland smiled at the sulky tone of her voice, then made his face as bland as possible as he came into the room. Kyla frowned at him.

“My lord, I greatly desire to walk about the room. I fail to see what possible harm might befall me. Lest some stone drop down from the ceiling upon my head, or one of your swords on the wall come suddenly flying off to impale me.”

“A grave possibility,” he allowed as he crossed to her. “I’m afraid I cannot permit you to take such a risk at this time.”

Before she could retort he had bent over and brushed her forehead with his lips, causing her eyes to widen and her mouth to snap shut.

“No fever,” he noted.

“Plenty of spirit,” Marla added wryly. She had finished mixing her mysterious brew and handed it to Kyla, who, Roland supposed, at least knew better than to argue with that. She wrinkled her nose and began to drink.