Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (46 page)

‘You have no idea how much trouble I’ll be in,’ John rushed the words out. ‘No matter what you say, I’ll be blamed.’

Godfrey pushed some books aside and perched on the table. ‘You’re a priest, John. How did you deal with the theological conflict?’

John took in a deep breath and felt his hands gradually stop shaking. He reached back and pulled a chair forward, sat down and prepared an answer. ‘I’m not sure I have dealt with it. I still have days when I wonder what I’m doing.’

‘As do we all,’ Godfrey nodded. ‘I just thought you might be able to offer me some suggestions. You see, I can’t, at this moment, find it in me to condemn you – or Robert, for that matter. And since I can’t, I must find another reason.’

‘You’re going after McCauly, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you want me to help?’

‘Yes.’

John sat back and studied his hands for a moment. Long ago, just after McCauly had been imprisoned, John had sent a request to the Enclave for help to get McCauly away. His request had been refused. What would the council say now if he agreed to help?

‘Will anyone else know of my involvement?’

‘That’s up to you and how you conduct yourself. Of course, I’d rather this remain our secret. I don’t particularly want to lose you.’

John looked up at this. Godfrey was watching him with thinly veiled concern.

‘Very well, I’d be glad to help.’

Godfrey smiled and got to his feet. ‘I was right after all, Father. We are fighting on the same side. After supper tonight, go and see Earl Payne. Tell him I sent you.’

The north-east coast of Lusara was perhaps the only place in the country where the natural beauty of the land faded a little. The delta valley of the Vitala river spread out over many leagues, leaving swampy groves of knotted trees and foul-smelling bogs in its wake. Only by the sea did the land rise to crumbling cliffs and dunes of reddish sand and stumpy grasses on either side of the delta. Clonnet Castle, home of the Duke of Ayr, sat high upon one of these cliffs, with a view in the distance of the cold green sea and the trading port of Jardye. Like an old and stubborn man, this place kept its own counsel and remained bleak no matter the gentleness of the weather.

Nash had been here only once before, many years ago. It had been vile back then, too, but now Clonnet had taken on another dimension, pushing into the background its unfavoured temper: it was the home of Jennifer Ross, Duchess of
Ayr, and now it would become a place Nash would visit many times in order to see her.

The welcome was cordial, but Nash was still forced to wait almost an hour before Eachern returned from a morning of hawking. He cooled his heels sipping an indifferent wine and speculating on the superb cover an invading armada would receive from this coastline. When Eachern did arrive, he made no pretence of being pleased to see his fellow councillor.

‘I thought you were still in the west, chasing after my cousin’s brat.’ Eachern threw off his cloak and tossed it across the table, downing a full glass of wine in one swallow.

Nash climbed to his feet. ‘I do have other duties to perform as well.’

‘Yes, a very busy man. How do you like your new badges of office? Sit well on you, do they?’

Already tired from his journey, Nash couldn’t be bothered responding to the jibe. Instead, he lifted his leather pouch on to the table and undid the laces. ‘The King has papers for you to sign – but please refrain from attributing to me the role of messenger-boy. You may regret it next time you sit at a council meeting.’

Eachern was not clever enough to take the threat too seriously. Instead, he merely grunted and dragged the papers towards him. Nash brought ink and pens from the desk by the fireplace and watched the Duke as he laboriously read each document.

There was a very small resemblance between Eachern and Selar. Related on their mothers’ side, both men had been brought up in the same court, subjected to the same ruthless education. But whereas Selar had a mind open to ideas and reason, Eachern had never been able to think further than the point of his sword. Fortunate, really, that it was Selar and not Tiege Eachern who had been the son of the King.

And fortunate too that Eachern was none too bright. It was all the easier to place subtle suggestions in his mind. Suggestions in place of outright Bonding. The Ally would notice such a change in her husband.

‘How was the hawking?’ Nash murmured conversationally, keeping a keen eye on Eachern.

‘Mmm? Oh, fine, fine. Just some fun between patrols.’ Eachern laid the pile of papers down and began to scratch his name across the bottom of each one, dipping his pen into the ink after almost every letter. He sanded the script, blew on it and handed the completed pile to Nash, glancing up as he did so. ‘Is that all?’

‘Not quite.’ Nash caught Eachern’s gaze and didn’t let go. He’d had some practice at this now – ever since Eachern had first married Jennifer. Whenever Nash and Eachern had met at court or on patrol, he had reinforced the same message.

Keep tight control on your wife.

Aloud he said, ‘I wonder how your young Duchess is? The whole court is curious about her and why you keep her locked up at Clonnet. She is well, I hope?’

Eachern struggled to tear his gaze away and Nash let him go.

‘Of course she’s well. Why wouldn’t she be? And I don’t give a damn how curious the court is. She’s my wife and she will live where I tell her to live.’

Nash had to stifle a smile. ‘I wonder if it would be possible to see her. She and I share some acquaintance from her trip to Marsay last year.’

Eachern’s mouth opened and, for a moment, no sound came out. He appeared to be struggling against some other purpose, looking for some excuse. However, in the end, all he could do was nod. ‘I’ll take you to her.’

A walk through Clonnet Castle gave no indication that Eachern suffered a secret love of fine art. The furnishings were adequate, practical and looked to have been tooled by an apprentice. Only on the second floor of the main keep were there any things of actual beauty. Fine tables and tapestries, carpets and silver.

She would have brought those from Elita.

Eachern stomped along the gallery until he reached a door at the end. For a second, his hand hovered as though he would knock first, but then his thick fist came down on the
latch and he swung the door open. ‘My lady, I have a visitor for you.’

The room was light, much lighter than the rest of the castle. Only one tapestry graced the red sandstone walls, a landscape of greens and golds in the finest silk. Four tall windows faced south and east, shedding sunlight across a long table covered in cloth and thread. A serving girl started up from her seat, her face late to hide her surprise at their sudden entry. And seated at the far end of the table, dressed in a gown of deep ocean green was the woman Nash had waited centuries for.

She was breathtaking. Her long shining hair was unbound and fell around her shoulders as though she were still a maiden, rather than a married woman. Her eyes, of the richest cobalt blue, gazed across the room and drove a knife through his soul.

It didn’t matter. He had always been fated to love her.

Eachern led him into the room, furtively glancing into each of the corners as though he expected to find robbers. Then he turned back to his wife. ‘Come, my lady. I believe you are already acquainted with Alderman Nash – newly made Governor of the Guilde.’

As Nash stepped forward, Jenn drew a smile on her face which barely reached her eyes. Then she stood and came around the table, holding out her hand for him to kiss . . .

By the blood and heart of Broleoch!
She was . . .

‘Good day, Governor,’ Jenn murmured.

‘And now perhaps you understand why my wife has not yet been seen at court.’ Eachern completed his search of the room and came back to stand beside Nash. ‘She is disinclined to travel in this condition, nor has any wish to be in company.’

Nash scrambled to regain his composure, covering his discomfort with a deliberately foolish laugh. ‘Please do forgive me for staring, Your Grace. But I had no idea. No one said a word to me about this. Otherwise I would not have . . .’

Eachern waved a hand. ‘My wife is uncommonly superstitious, Nash. She would have no announcement made of the coming birth of my heir. Only her family and those
within these walls know. I trust you will help to keep it that way.’

Still recovering, Nash nodded. ‘Of course – but surely you are well, Your Grace? To my eyes your beauty has indeed been enhanced. I hope there is nothing wrong?’

Jennifer shook her head slightly and her smile grew more genuine. ‘No, I’m quite well. As you can see, the baby grows with what I hope is an unquenchable lust for life.’ She refrained from placing proud hands about her swollen abdomen as most women in her condition did and instead picked up some of the white cloth lying across the table.

‘And may I ask when the event is expected?’ Nash held his breath, trying very hard not to betray the tension he felt in every bone of his body. If it should be less than a month . . .

‘In four weeks, Governor,’ Jennifer replied lightly.

‘My wife plans the child to be born at her home. She leaves in two days – against my advice – to travel to Elita.’ Eachern was obviously nonplussed by this decision and appealed to Nash for support. However, Nash had another agenda – and it had nothing to do with appeasing the Duke.

‘I’m sure Her Grace will travel slowly and carefully, taking no risks at all. After so much care and attention, I doubt she will endanger the baby so close to its time. Besides, the child will probably be heir to the lands of Elita as well and it would do well for it to be born within those borders.’

Eachern just grunted, but Jennifer smiled warmly.

‘Do you stay with us long, Governor? My lord can show you some good hawking along the dunes. This countryside affords us little else in the way of hunting.’

‘Unfortunately I must return to court this afternoon, Your Grace. However, with your permission, I’ll return again, when you are more fit to ride, and see what your dunes have to offer.’

Again the warm smile. ‘I look forward to it.’

He left her there, with the memory of her face burning into his eyes.

A child . . . but the child could only be Eachern’s. It had to be. Finnlay Douglas had been halfway across the country and bleeding to death when the child had been conceived.

No danger there. And perhaps . . . perhaps the child would not survive anyway, despite her cautions. Perhaps the journey to Elita would cause some irreparable harm.

It didn’t matter. There was no way the child could be the Enemy’s, and therefore would be no threat to Nash.

As he rode away from Clonnet Castle, Nash had another comforting thought: she would be incapable of running far from him for the next few months. Plenty of time.

Yes, plenty of time, indeed. After all, just as he was fated to love her, she was fated to love him in return.

*

He’d been lucky. Very lucky. If Eachern and the Guildesman had come through the gallery a moment later, Micah would have been caught outright. But as it was, he was becoming extremely adept at avoiding the Duke, a skill which had come to the fore today more than ever.

As the sound of booted feet faded down the gallery, Micah pushed the stairwell door open a crack and peered through. They were gone and his charges were still safe behind him. Waving them to follow, he pushed the door open and led them to the solar. With only a brief knock as warning, he entered.

‘My lady,’ he murmured, hurrying across the room. ‘You have some visitors.’

Jenn turned at his voice – then froze. A moment later, she cried in delight, ‘Sir Owen! Lady Margaret!’

For a few minutes, mayhem ruled the bright little solar as surprised greetings were exchanged on both sides. Then Jenn had them all sitting down while Addie was sent for food and drink.

‘We can’t stay for long, my dear,’ Margaret began. ‘Deverin will have kittens if I am not back home by the appointed day. Still, I had to come.’

‘I’m so glad to see you,’ Jenn murmured, gazing at her.

Margaret smiled again and patted her hand. ‘And I you. May I congratulate you? I had not heard about your condition. Have you been well? You look well.’

‘Oh yes, so well, in fact, that I sometimes forget all about it. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve woken in the
morning to plan a day out riding.’ Margaret smiled at this. ‘And I still keep trying to run around the place, forgetting that I’ve got this great lump slowing me down. How are things at Dunlorn?’

‘Very well. Spring has been good to us this year, nowhere near as cold as last year. I hear there has been snow in the mountains, though.’ Margaret paused and laced her hands together. ‘Have you had any recent word from Finnlay?’

‘None since the last I wrote to you about. Is Patric still with you?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘No. He’s gone . . . wherever he had to go. I assume to Finnlay?’

Jenn nodded.

Margaret frowned. ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to all this secrecy. Things I can’t say when I want to and words I’m sure I know but never remember when I need to. I don’t know how you manage.’

‘There are worse things in life than sorcery.’

‘Indeed there are.’ Margaret’s gaze dropped to where their hands were joined on her lap. ‘You must know why I came – under such disguise. If your husband knew I was here . . .’

Her voice trailed off, but she didn’t look up. ‘Have you truly had no word from my son? Have you absolutely no idea of where Robert might be? Where he has been all this time?’

Jenn’s face betrayed nothing but concern. ‘No. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you any news at all, but I . . . we’ve heard nothing.’

Margaret looked first at Jenn and then at Micah. ‘But he’s been gone so long now. When he left Lusara last time, he at least sent word. We knew where he’d gone and some reason why. Now we’re left with nothing. I know his treatment from Selar would have hurt him like no other, but can that be enough for Robert to just leave us like this? Are you sure there was nothing else that could have driven him away?’