Dance of Desire (35 page)

She would find the missive that named her brother a traitor — and she would destroy it.

As Fane strode into the great hall, Kester looked up from a trestle table near the hearth. He set down his ale mug, stood, and bowed. "Milord."

"I trust you were successful?"

Kester grinned. "Very."

Fane slid onto the wooden bench opposite Kester before glancing at the wax tablets laid out on the scarred oak. He accepted a mug of ale from the servant hovering nearby, then dismissed her.

He studied the tablets' marked surfaces. The scent of ale, musky and bitter like unwelcome secrets, rose from the mug. The earthenware warmed to his touch, as heady anticipation fired within him. A wealth of information lay before him.
Kester's
men had done well.

Fane sipped his drink. He willed himself to be patient and let Kester tell of the day's success. "What did you learn?"

Kester's
eyes lit with pride. "We visited four taverns. Several of the owners recalled seeing Villeaux over the past months. He came after dark with a group of men. Not always the same men, mind you. They usually sat in a quiet part of the room, ordered several rounds, and seemed like any other lads out for a night of drinking."

Fane scratched his chin. Meeting his friends did not prove Villeaux guilty of treason. He stifled an impatient sigh. "Did the tavern owners overhear the conversations? See aught happen during their meetings?"

"One told of a near fight a few sennights ago. There was a disagreement over who was to pay for the ale. One lord drew a sword. Looked eager to draw blood." Kester shrugged. "Apparently Villeaux intervened to stop the argument."

Fane blew a breath. He had not expected to hear of Rudd's heroics. He shoved aside an unwelcome prick of conscience.

Kester picked up a scored tablet. "This account is from Master Jones, of the Cock and Hen. He witnessed Villeaux and his friends passing a small, rolled parchment between them."

A triumphant growl rumbled in Fane's throat. At last, what he wanted to hear. "What of this parchment?"

" 'Twas clearly important, for there were serious discussions."

"The missive?"

Kester smiled. "Mayhap, though the traitors likely drafted other documents. Letters to fellow lords to join their cause, for example."

Fane nodded his agreement.

"Jones said it appeared each man was to sign. Some were hesitant, but in the end did. Once they had all done their part, the parchment vanished."

Fane sipped his drink. An image of Rexana, her eyes glowing with love for her brother, flashed through Fane's mind. How would she react when he showed her evidence that proved her brother was not innocent, as she insisted, but guilty? How could he tell her the truth without hurting her? He could not.

Shrugging tightness from between his shoulder blades, Fane said, "We must know what missives are circulating, and find them. Unfortunately, Villeaux still refuses to cooperate."

"As you know, he has revealed naught to my men who have interrogated him twice a day."
Kester's
mouth tilted in a grin. "Though that may soon change."

Satisfaction rang in
Kester's
voice. Almost gloating. He sounded like an ambitious servant who knew he had well exceeded his lord's expectations.

"Indeed?" Fane sipped another mouthful of ale. The cool liquid flowed over his tongue and down his throat, as Kester slid near several tablets.

"Here, I have accounts from the cotters. Most knew of Villeaux because they had heard of his parents' deaths. Many recounted seeing him and his sister in the village on market day, or him in the taverns." With a lazy half shrug, Kester said, "there is much here that may not be of interest—personal statements of his character, past sightings, and such — but one of the villagers, in particular, knows Villeaux well."

Fane wiped his bottom lip. "His name?"

"Thomas Newland. He is a farmer. He lives with his wife and five children not far from the river that runs between Tangston and Ickleton. Not long ago, Villeaux visited Newland's home. Villeaux asked to use his barn for a meeting."

Fane struggled to keep from lunging to his feet and whooping with elation. "Meeting?"

"Villeaux paid Newland a bag of silver in advance, and said he would arrange the exact day later. Newland did not suspect
Villeaux's
intentions, for he had no reason to. He also was glad of the money, for he has a game leg from a bad wound he got last winter. Since he cannot work, he needed the coin to feed his family." Kester shook his head. "He had heard of Rudd's arrest for treason. He hated to speak ill of the lad — he wept as he talked — but his conscience plagued him."

Fane's eyes narrowed. "Newland's account can be trusted?"

Kester nodded. "His family is highly respected. His brother is a talented goldsmith. You may have seen his work for sale in Tangston's market."

Goldsmith!

Fane's mind spun, but not from the ale. He thought again of Rexana. Of her cherished brooch, pinned above her heart. The detailed little arrow was not the work of an amateur, but a talented artisan. His hands squeezed tight around his mug. Could the links in the treacherous chain be so simple?

"Does this craftsman design brooches?"

"Aye, milord, as well as jewel boxes, rings, crucifixes, and other ornaments."

Enlightenment pulsed through Fane in a slow, stunning throb. With care, he set down his ale. He could scarce think past the hammering at his temple. "Tell me more of Newland and his goldsmith brother."

Humming under her breath, Tansy finished fastening Rexana's midnight blue silk gown. "There now, milady. Come sit near the fire, so I can dry your hair."

Rexana walked around the bathing tub, through the orange-red sunlight pooling on the floorboards, and bit back a groan. True to his word, Fane had summoned Tansy. The woman had arrived at the solar moments after Rexana. With a bright smile and endless chatter, Tansy had ordered a hot bath, a soothing mint and chamomile tonic, plus a bowl of sweetmeats for Rexana to nibble.

Irritation crackled in Rexana's veins. While she appreciated the luxurious bath, and the extraordinary time Tansy had spent lathering, scrubbing, and rinsing, Rexana had to wonder if her wicked husband had ordered the pampering to keep her occupied. To keep her from getting in the way as he completed his "duties."

Blowing a sigh, she dropped onto the stool near the hearth tiles. She clasped her hands in her lap and, as Tansy smoothed a towel down her hair, did her best to sit still. Rexana's fingers twitched. What was Fane doing at this moment? What had Kester discovered? Had they found information that implicated Rudd?

She had to find the missive.

Thoughts whirled around and around in her brain. She shut her eyes. Forced her mind to calm. She would accomplish naught by working herself into a tizzy. She must focus. Concentrate. Plan.

Beside her, the fire snapped. She inhaled the smoky odor of burning wood along with the tang of hot pitch. As Tansy set to work with a wide-toothed ivory comb, a yawn warmed Rexana's throat. She resisted the fatigue. Resisted the temptation to relax into Tansy's care. Resisted the urge to set aside all worrying and searching until the morrow.

If the missive were hidden in this room, she would find it.

"Thank you, Tansy. That will be all."

The maidservant clucked her tongue. "
Yer
hair is not quite dry. Just a little more —"

Rexana trapped a yawn with her hand.

Tansy chuckled. "Ye must keep awake
fer
the eve-
nin
' meal, milady." The comb whispered through Rexana's hair again. "There. '
Tis
the best I can do
fer
now." Tansy shuffled around to face Rexana, and said, "Will ye come
ta
the hall, then?"

Ignoring the woman's coaxing, toothy smile, Rexana rose and ran her hands over her wind-chapped cheeks. "After today's long ride, and the fresh air, I am weary. I think I will go to bed."

Tansy winked like a cheeky child. "Forgive me if I speak plainly, but I was a newlywed
meself
a few times. I know 'is lusty lordship kept ye up late last eve."

Despite her determination not to, Rexana blushed. Fane had indeed kept her awake until the wee hours, though not with coupling. She glanced at the bed, for her skin tingled with the memory of lying beside him, her blood sluggish and hot, her body yearning in a manner she had never felt before.

Rexana cleared a knot from her throat. "How did you guess?"

The giggling maidservant waved her plump hand in the air. "I will tell 'is lordship ye retired early, and that ye are warm and snug in the blankets.
Restin
' up," she added, "for the next time 'e desires ye."

"Ah . . . thank you."

Tansy plodded to the solar doors. She yanked them open, leaned into the hallway, then clapped her hands. Young lads hurried in to drag the sloshing tub out into the passage. Tansy quickly dried the floorboards and collected the towels and soap. "I will ask the lads
ta
leave the empty tub outside, so they do not disturb ye." She dropped into a wobbly curtsey. "May ye slumber well, milady."