Wild Wood (14 page)

The baron ignored me. “There you are!” An impatient shout.

Lady Idonia Percy hurried out from the door to her husband’s private closet. A pale girl, she had the worried face of a tame rabbit. “I am sorry, husband, but the baby frets with this fever and will not eat, and—”

“The boy will survive. We’re late.” Henry grasped his wife’s hand and strode toward the chapel door, towing his lady as if she were a barge. We had to run to keep up, as did most of Alnwick’s household. They had been waiting in the outer chamber also—knights, their wives, even the steward of the castle with all the upper servants. But none muttered in complaint. We were all used to Henry Percy.

The baron stopped suddenly. “Gossip, you said. From what source?” He stared from Maugris to me, sharp as a jackdaw. Behind, those closest strained to hear.

Maugris lowered his voice. “Our brother’s marriage was, ah, unexpected. That may be the cause.” He shrugged. “Envy, perhaps. The Lady Flore is very beautiful.”

I tried not to stare. This was the first time Maugris had spoken well of our sister-in-law.

“Envy?” Henry Percy yelped a laugh. “Someone said your brother’s wife was a hedge-girl once. But yes, very pretty. Too pretty for him.” He poked Maugris in the chest. “You were looking in the wrong place all this time. The raiders have been in your forests, and among your sheep, driving them away. And that is
not
gossip. This new captain is growing powerful. Hundredfield must not be weakened.” He crossed himself. “You will have to do better.”

We both knew our overlord was right, and he had little tolerance for those who failed.

Maugris murmured, “This winter drives the peasants to find
food where they would not have dared before. I doubt they were reivers.”

A fierce glance. “Oh, you
doubt
what I say?” Henry snorted, started up at a pace again, his wife barely clinging to his arm. “Do not cant to me of hard winters. This new man is a potent threat. That would never have happened in your father’s time.”

Maugris said, “Sir, when we left the keep some months ago, Godefroi had the matter in hand.”

Another snort. “Not well enough.”

At the chapel door, Henry Percy seized my brother’s arm. They spoke in lowered voices, and then, dismissed, we stood together as the household flowed past. I ignored the sideways glances. “Well?”

Maugris sighed. “He is sending us home.”

“Now?” Alnwick blazed with fire and light, and it was well known that pretty women flocked to the Christmas revels. I had been looking forward to that.

“Yes, now.” Maugris was irritated too. And disappointed. No feather beds for us, then, not even straw. “Orders are to go back and right the situation.”

“Clean up Godefroi’s mess, you mean.”

Before we had left Hundredfield the last time, Swinson had been dumped, barely alive, outside the gates of the castle. He was gone the next morning, and it was presumed he had died, his body taken by Alois. If what Henry Percy said was true, the reeve’s son was making this fight personal.

And Margaretta? I wondered what had happened to the girl, and also to Godefroi’s little son. I did not allow myself to think about Flore.

12

J
ESSE, HELLO.”

She feels the hand on her arm. It’s confusing. She’s deep in the sea at Bondi, wading through the waves and not getting wet.

“You slept, but we’re here now.” The Saab is parked in front of a building of weathered gray stone.

Jesse scrambles out and cranes to look up. Hard to take it all in. Four stories under a steep roof rear against the sky—gables and pepper-pot turrets and deep-set casement windows. A building from a fairy tale. She turns. It’s there, that square, brutal tower. Of course it’s there. “It’s real, then.” Has time and damage robbed it of power?
No.

Rory dives into the trunk and pulls out Jesse’s small case. “Don’t be intimidated. It’s just a pile of stone.”

“I’m not. I’m just . . .”
What?

He slams the lid. “Come on. You must be hungry.”

“Rory, I don’t know if—”

A dog barks as light floods from the house. The waitress from the café stands framed in the open door. “Hi, Rory. Good trip?”

“Yes, thanks. Great to see you, Alicia.” Rory hurries forward
as a frantic black Labrador hurtles out to the drive, his whole body wagging. “Good boy, Ollie. Good dog. Get down!” Pandemonium rules as the dog jumps and yips, scrabbling at Rory’s legs.

“Oliver, behave. Sit!” Alicia’s voice registers, and Ollie finally does as he’s told, his tail fanning the gravel at Rory’s feet. Until he sees Jesse and takes off.

Alicia calls out, “He won’t bite. He’s just a baby, really.” She hurries over as the dog, a barking blur, tears around and around. “Oh. Hello there.” The slightest uncertainty flickers across her face.

“I like dogs. Really. Especially friendly ones,” Jesse burbles from embarrassment.

“He really is naughty. No manners at all.” It’s Rory Alicia’s staring at. Her tone is light, but there’s a cool edge.

Rory grabs Ollie’s collar. “It’s all my fault, boy.”

A pleasant smile from Alicia. “But we’re used to that.” She takes the dog from her visitor. “It’s the boot room for you, my lad, before you create any more havoc.” As she tows the reluctant Ollie back to the house, she calls over her shoulder, “I was just going to have a drink. All welcome.”

“Coming.” Rory picks up the bags and starts off in Alicia’s wake.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“Alicia’s a lovely girl. You’ll see.”

“That’s not what I asked, Rory.”

Alicia calls from the front door, “What about that drink?”

He leans closer and murmurs, “It would be rude to refuse.”

Jesse hesitates. Finally she says, “Just one.” But she’s not happy as she stalks past.

Somewhere distant, Ollie’s barking. Alicia’s smile is quite polite. “A delinquent, that animal.” The three are standing just inside a vast hall, with a ceiling three stories above their heads. Alicia points to a door covered in green felt and studded with brass nails. “Kitchen’s through there.”

Jesse stares. “The green baize door. Seriously?”

Alicia’s expression warms a bit. “Yes. It’s the way to the servants’ hall and the kitchens.”

“What, as in
Upstairs, Downstairs
?”

Alicia grins. “We can’t afford the ‘downstairs’ these days. Not even a handyman, or I’d have sent him for the bags.” The face is smiling, the eyes are not, when Alicia turns to Rory. “Shall we?” She holds the door open. “Perhaps you’d show our guest the way, Rory?” The slightest of emphasis on
our.

Rory shepherds Jesse like a cattle dog. “Mind your step. The stairs can be—”

“—dangerous,” Alicia finishes.

Jesse peers at the stone treads winding down and out of sight.

“Second on the left at the bottom. You can’t miss the door.” Rory catches Alicia’s eye. She makes an ironic bow:
After you.

Clattering down the stairs, Jesse opens a door into a vaulted passage. She waits politely for Alicia to precede her.

“Just in here.” Alicia twists an iron ring in a slab of iron-studded oak. “Watch out, the lintel’s quite low.”

Jesse ducks past, but her head just grazes the keystone of the arch. As she stands in the middle of the room on the other side, light from above sculpts Jesse’s face into planes and shadows. Absorbing the size of the kitchen, she turns with contained grace. “Vast, but somehow cozy.” She has a lovely smile. “Did you have short ancestors, by the way?” She points at the door.

“Not often
vast
gets paired with
cozy
, in my experience.” Rory’s trying not to stare at this shining Australian girl.

Alicia sees that. She says briskly, “Not all of them were short. There’s a suit of armor upstairs—the man was huge.” She strides to a big, old fridge lurking in one corner.

“Shall I bring the car around the back?”

“No need. Not expecting anyone this evening. Except you.” Alicia bumps the door closed with her hip.

Jesse stares around the enormous space. If the kitchen’s not
half the size of the hall above, it’s close. “Sixteenth century?” Her tone is hushed.

“Early fourteenth, most likely. The castle was ‘restored’ in Victorian times when my great-great-great-grandfather tried to turn it into Fantasy Gothic. Fortunately, he ran out of money.” Alicia’s tone might be warmer. Or not.

“This room is original? Really?”

“Oh, yes. Much of this wing is. Hundredfield has a way of resisting face-lifts.”

Rory’s propped against a porcelain sink on one wall. He’s watching the exchange with interest.

“Hundredfield,” Jesse echoes the name. A pause and she points at a window above Rory’s head. “Is that ground level?”

“It is. We’re mostly belowground in this range of rooms—which was good for storing food, of course, but pretty cold in winter.” Alicia waves at the fireplace. “Not just for decoration. Would have been warm in here when they roasted an ox. It’s different on the other side of the passage, though. The ground drops away outside, and in daylight you can see all the way down to the river and beyond.”

“Oh. The river.” It all comes back with a crash like a saucepan hitting the floor. This is the place in the drawing. “The buildings here—were they”—Jesse swallows—“were they bigger once?”

“Hope this is okay.” Alicia’s pulled a bottle out of the fridge and goes to a cupboard for glasses. “Yes. This was once one of the largest castles in the borders; state-of-the-art in terms of defenses too. Mind you, they needed that and more. The reivers were trouble.”

“Reivers?”

Alicia inserts a corkscrew with professional ease. “Bandits, basically. Moss-troopers, raiders—they had lots of names; the border between England and Scotland was porous depending on who was winning. Not good news if you were caught in the middle. So we fought the Scots and the Scots fought us, but the reivers fought
for themselves because the ordinary border families on both sides were treated badly by the English
and
the Scots.”

The cork pops and Jesse jumps.

“Prosecco?” Alicia holds up a glass.

“Just one. Truly.” A glance at Rory. “It sounds desperate.”

Alicia hands a full glass to her guest. “The only loyalty the reivers had was to their own, and even that wore thin. Betrayal, blackmail, blood feuds that went on for hundreds and hundreds of years—and that was just the good times.” A grim smile. “The Mafia has nothing on the reivers, believe me. Rory?”

Rory ambles over, but as he’s given a glass, conversation dries up.

Jesse makes an effort. “So, this?” She points at the central point of the ceiling from which stone ribs spring out.

“You mean the Boss.” Alicia sits at the kitchen table.

Jesse’s intimidated. In this place, the compassionate waitress from the café is a different kind of being—sure of herself, detached. That initial hunch had been right—Alicia’s posh. Definitely. And doesn’t like being taken advantage of. “I suppose I do.” Jesse cranes to look. “Is that a mermaid? She’s very cheery.” Long hair doesn’t quite cover the mermaid’s breasts, but a perky tail and a wide smile lend a certain charm to the naive little figure sitting above the lantern.

“Ah. Well. That’s controversial. One school of thought has it that a mermaid is actually a symbol for a prostitute. Or it was in the fourteenth century.”

“You never told me.” Rory’s surprised. “What’s it doing in the kitchen?”

“Part A, you never asked. Part B, I don’t know.” Alicia leans forward to pour. “More? I’ll put dinner on shortly.”

Jesse says hastily, “Oh, Rory’s taking me to the village. I’m staying the night,” she improvises, “at the pub, and he booked me in for dinner as well.” She stares at Rory, daring him to contradict.

Alicia inspects him too. “Oh? Which one?”

Rory eyes their hostess, as if lining up a shot. “Which village, or which pub?” A lob.

She returns it over the net. “Either. In both cases.”

Jesse picks up her glass and says too loudly, “So, I’ll just finish this and then we’ll be off like a dirty shirt.” Her smile concentrates on Rory.

He says carefully, “You know, I’ve been looking forward to this. Dinner with you, in Hundredfield’s kitchen, is a lovely idea, Alicia. Jesse’s just being polite. I’ve observed she has very good manners.”

“I do agree. So much better than—” There’s a crash, and a frenzy of barks. Alicia sighs. “Sorry about this. Ollie hates missing out.” Alicia hurries from the room.

“There. You see? All fixed. Just one more?” Rory holds up the bottle.

Jesse stares at him balefully. “I hate playing games where I don’t know the rules. Take me to the pub, Rory.”

“Which one?”

Jesse clenches her jaw. “Don’t start.”

Rory surrenders. “Look, I tried, but I couldn’t get hold of Alicia last night to tell her I was bringing you with me, and there’s no time to talk now. What about in the morning, we—”

“I am not sleeping here! It’s an imposition. You’re her friend. I’m not.”

The other girl returns with Ollie at her heels. “Basket!” Alicia points, and Ollie slinks to a battered old dog bed.

Rory stares at the Labrador. “What did you do, Oliver?”

The dog sinks his head on his paws.

“Chewed my new boots, that’s what.” Ollie closes his eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re invisible. I can see you, Ollie!”

A look from Jesse to Rory. “I suppose he does look rather guilty.” She’s trying not to smile.

“Written on his face, I’d say.” Alicia’s not letting anyone—dog or
man—off the hook. “But really, there’s no reason not to stay here. Plenty of room at Hundredfield. That’s one thing we do have.”

Jesse is trapped. “That’s very kind, but—”

Rory chimes in, “So, how many bedrooms are there?” His expression is mischievous.

Alicia replies with dignity, “I’ve never been entirely sure. It seems to change. Come with me, Jesse. We’ll take the back stairs.”

“ ‘Back stairs.’ Isn’t that another way of saying ‘servants only’?”

“I suppose so. But I use them as a shortcut.” On a landing partway up the tight spiral, Alicia opens a door. “Here we are.” The pair step out into a stone-walled passage. “There are bedrooms on the floor above this one, and the one above that too; you’re welcome to have a look. Mine’s just down there.” She points to the end of the corridor. “Place this size, it’s nice to know someone else is sleeping close by, I always think.”