An Honorable Rogue (26 page)

Rose rapped at the curved wall with her knuckle. More wood. The north tower was not, as she had assumed, made of stone, it was made entirely of wood! Quicker and cheaper to build in wood, of course. Perhaps Josselin's lord was not as rich and powerful as he pretended, but he wanted his castle to appear unassailable. Like Countess Muriel's wall-hanging, this castle was as much a statement of its lord's ambition, as it was of his actual power. Bluff and bluster: a dog raising its hackles to drive off other dogs. In a word, trickery. But then, if Rozenn were lord of this place in these fractious times, perhaps she too would resort to trickery.

A draught from a window slit had her candle guttering and, as Rose shielded it, she realised that this was why the north tower was so ill-lit--torches in wall-sconces would be a considerable fire risk.

Gaining the landing outside the storeroom, she heard a scuffling and shuddered. There must be rats here; it was easy to imagine them gnawing through the panels to get at whatever William Steward had stored here.

Another draught threatened to snuff her candle out. Jealously guarding the flame. Rose hoped there were other candles in the storeroom. Plenty of light would scare off the rats. Making a point of stamping loudly on the landing to drive them away, she pushed open the door.

The storeroom was hung with shadows, save for a tiny glow in a corner where someone had left a lantern burning. Rozenn did not think it had been left for her. No, it must have been forgotten. Dangerous!

Just then, the darkness took on form and rushed at her from the corner where Ben had left his pack. A man! In a dark, hooded cloak.

Time seemed to slow. Rozenn heard herself gasp. Her candle wavered as the man came at her, growing ever larger till he--she was certain it was a man though the hood and the shadows hid his features--towered over her.

Hot wax spilled on her fingers. 'Wh-who are you?'

A pretty silver arc cut through the gloom even as a fist thudded into her chest.

Rose flung out a hand and staggered backwards. Her head cracked against limewash; her candle flew through the air and winked out.

The figure loomed over her. There was another silver flash and her right hand burned. The cloak swirled, the room went dark, and she was alone, breathless and shaking in every limb. The intruder pounded down the stairs.

The palm of Rose's right hand was stinging, but with both her candle and the lantern out it was impossible to see the damage. She lifted it to her lips. Wet. A metallic taste.

Blood!

The intruder, whoever he was, had been going through Ben's pack. A shiver ran down her spine. This had happened before! At the inn at Hennebont, when she had found Ben's belongings in a tangle--Ben hadn't been in a hurry as she had assumed, someone had been going through his things. The same someone who had just run off?

She sucked the blood from her palm. Had Ben left the Great Hall? Where was he? She was sitting alone in the dark in a strange castle and someone had slashed her palm. No matter that there were secrets between them, no matter that he was unreliable, she needed Ben.

'Ben,' she muttered. 'Where
are
you?"

Ben was perched on a stool in a gallery above the Great Hall, waiting for Gurth to join him. He had had proof that Gurth, the red-haired man he had seen at Quimperle, was another of Duke Hoel's envoys. Gurth would deliver the Abbot's messages to the Duke. Thank God. Ben trusted that once he had handed the messages over, he and Rose could continue to England, unmolested. To Ben's knowledge, only three people knew of his other commission: the Duke. Adam and himself. It was vital it stayed that way. As far as the world was concerned, he was simply a minstrel, escorting an old friend to her brother in England.

Lute in his lap, and with a new set of lute strings to hand. Ben was turning the pegs to loosen the strings when the curtain rings rattled and Gurth ducked under the curtain and took a seat beside him. At this late hour, the Duke's envoys had the gallery to themselves, though voices could be heard murmuring in the Hall where people were dragging out bedding and arguing over spaces.

Glancing up from his lute, Ben nodded at Gurth. 'It might have helped if I had known you were Duke Hoel's man back in Quimperle,' he said, softly, so his voice would not carry. He was remembering the abortive attack on Gien and later on himself at their camp outside the town. T had marked you down as Duke William's.'

'My apologies.' Gurth spoke equally quietly. 'But Duke Hoel charged me with watching your back. If you had known...'

Ben stiffened. Gurth did not need to expand. If Ben had known Gurth was in the pay of Duke Hoel, he might have inadvertently revealed it to those whose interests lay elsewhere. 'The Duke should know he may trust me not to make clumsy mistakes.'

'He does, man. Don't take it personally, this is politics. Duke Hoel was looking out for you. He's a cautious man."

Unwinding the last of his lute strings from the soundboard. Ben nodded. It occurred to him that Gurth might have been told about Ben's other, more important commission, but he thought not. When the Duke had charged Ben with establishing regular contact with his supporters in England, he had stressed the need for discretion. King William would not take kindly to a furthering of Breton interests in his new kingdom.

'You have Abbot Benoit's letter?" Gurth asked.

'Of course.' Glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were not being overseen, Ben reached into the soundboard, feeling for the manuscript. His love of his lute and of music was not the only reason the instrument never left his side. This was not the first time he had hidden messages in the soundbox. 'Here.' The vellum was dry and, once he had it loose, it crackled as he drew it out.

'My thanks.' Gurth glanced at Abbot Benoit's seal, saw that it was unbroken, and the letter vanished into his tunic.

'I suspect Duke William's men are after it. You had best be wary."

'Oh?' Gurth's voice was casual, but Ben was not fooled. The man was as tight with tension as the new lute strings would be when Ben had set them in place.

Briefly, while he wound on and tightened the new set of strings. Ben told Gurth that someone had been through his belongings; he also mentioned the attack on Gien in the stables and the fact that Gien's tunic was an exact colour match to one of his; and finally, he mentioned what had happened at dawn at their campsite in the woods outside Josselin. 'As I said, my suspicions were first aroused when we were staying in Hennebont.'

'We?'

'Rose and I."

'So, that pretty wench is your mistress?'

'Rose is not my mistress. Rose is...' Ben was hit by an unexpected wave of longing.
If only Rose
were
my mistress.
'My relationship with Mistress Kerber is not a matter for discussion.'

Gurth shrugged. 'Have it your own way. But, back to business--the lad who was attacked in Hennebont--are you sure he was mistaken for you?'

'Build and colouring similar, tunics same colour. In the poor light of the stables, it's easy to imagine how we might have been confused. And then I was clobbered at our campsite." Ben lowered himself on to the stool and. rubbing the back of his head, gave Gurth a rueful smile, 'I could have done with your help then, my friend. A word of warning wouldn't have gone amiss--what if they had hurt Rose?'

Ben slid the final string through its peg and began tightening it. Gurth was fiercely loyal to Duke Hoel just as he was--he caught his breath--no, that was not strictly true, not any more. With Rose in his company he had to admit his loyalty to the Duke was being put to the test as it never had been.

Saints. He should
not
have involved her. he should have realised it would be like this.

He glanced across at Gurth. 'Do you go direct to Rennes from here?'

'Aye. Will you follow?'

Ben shook his head. 'Rose needs me to escort her to England, but after that..." He lifted his shoulders.

Opening his purse, Gurth counted out some gold coins and thrust them into Ben's hand. 'The Duke bade me give you these."

'My thanks.'

'I wish you well." Gurth made to rise, but checked. 'See you at the Christmas court."

'And I you." Ben gave the expected answer, though in truth he had no idea where he would be at Christmas. If the Duke's interests called for him to be at his Christmas court, he would be there, but he could just as easily be in England...

The curtain at the western end of the gallery wafted in the breeze. Ben tilted his head. 'Someone's coming, and they are in a hurry."

Gurth rose and, silent as a cat, moved to the other side of the gallery. 'Farewell, then. Good luck."

'Good luck to you too.' Ben murmured.

A quick bow. a rattle of curtain rings, and Gurth was gone.

'Ben!'
Rose burst into the gallery and practically tripped over him in her haste. 'I've been searching for you everywhere!'

One look at her face and Ben was on his feet, tossing the lute aside. Rose's eyes were wide, her cheeks were chalk-white and her veil, instead of being on her head, was wrapped round her fist like a bandage. A bandage?

'Rose!'
She stumbled into his arms, hugging him to her, trembling from top to toe. Ice in his guts, Ben drew back to look at her. 'What happened?'

'A man...someone...in our room! He... It was dark, but he... My hand..."

'It'll be fine. Let me see.' Quickly. Ben stroked her hair, then took her wrist and carefully unwound the veil. Someone had taken a slice out of her. His gut tightened. 'Bastard'.' The cut was not deep, but it was bad enough. 'Christ. Rose, who was it?'

'It was too dark to see. He... he had been going through your things. It was horrible. I thought there were rats, but..."

While Rose babbled, Ben led her towards a pair of candles on a stand and held out her palm to examine it. 'It looks clean, but I want this looked at lest it becomes inflamed. Come on.'

He steered her towards the curtain, mind racing. Rose's assailant had to be one of Duke William's men. Hell and damnation. Ben had seen warriors hurt in combat, some of them seriously, but Rose was bleeding and
he
was to blame. He towed her to the curtain, cursing himself for dragging her into this. He should never have put her at risk.
Never.

Rose halted, forcing him to stop. 'Ben?'

He turned and her eyes, those huge brown eyes, fixed on his. She reached up and drew his head down so their foreheads touched. She was still trembling.

'He did not kill me, Ben,' she said, softly stroking the back of his neck, as though she understood that he was racked with guilt and yet she forgave him. Her smile was gut-wrenchingly sweet.

Ben swallowed and he found himself having to quell the desire to tell her...everything. 'Rose...'

'It's only a scratch really.'

Reminding himself of the need to keep his head. Ben dragged on a smile. 'Nevertheless, you will not be sewing for some time.' He brought his body closer, appalled to realise that
he
needed the contact. Mirroring her, he caressed her head. She flinched and his blood chilled. 'Rose?'

'He...' she evaded his gaze '...pushed me and I hit my head. Fine pair we are--I too have a lump.'

Ben reached for the curtain. 'Rose, we are going to have this looked at. I know an apothecary...'

'Ben, I am fine. Yes, I was frightened for a moment, but that has passed, I just needed to find you. Anyway lips curving, she nodded her head in the direction of the abandoned lute '...haven't you forgotten something?"