Vow of Deception (23 page)

“There is one other possibility you have not considered. It makes more sense that one of Golan's servants gained access to the buttery and slipped something in the drink with none the wiser. Have you questioned the servants to see if anyone other than Ayleston folk were in the kitchen areas?”

“Nay. Not yet. I wanted to speak to Geoffrey first. He is the main link between the kitchen and William. Afterward, I intend to question every retainer if necessary to find the bastard who did this. But I have not seen Geoffrey.”

“I refuse to believe Geoffrey is the guilty party. And I intend to prove it. But first I need to see Owain Fychan properly prepared for burial.”

“What exactly do you intend to do to prove he is innocent?”

“I'll simply question all the kitchen servants and see if one of Sir Golan's party gained access to the kitchens during his stay.”

“Absolutely not,” he said with a fierce frown. “I forbid you to question the servants. If you are wrong and someone from Ayleston is culpable, there is no telling what lengths they may go to keep their involvement secret.”

She jerked back in disbelief. “You forbid me?”

He crossed his arms, his stance adamant. “I do not wish to resort to such tactics, but it is for your own safety.”

She bowed her head. Whenever Bertram had forbidden her from doing anything, he'd used the excuse that he was doing it for her protection. But what his commands were truly meant to do was to keep her under his overbearing control.

He tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “Rose, you understand I'm doing this for your own protection, don't you?” His warm breath a shivery caress upon her lips, she stared deeply into his green eyes. The cold receded and a tingling heat suffused her.

Aye. Rand was not Bertram. She understood he wished to protect her, but that did not mean she was happy to have her activities curtailed. Or that she intended to docilely abide by his dictates. “Of course, Rand.”

 

In the scullery, Rose stood over a long table sewing the last stitches on the shroud that enclosed Owain Fychan. The lad held a plain, unadorned silver cross in his folded hands. He appeared surprisingly peaceful, as if he'd simply fallen asleep and never woken again.

“My lady,” Edith called out, stomping the snow from the bottom of her wooden pattens as she entered the back entrance to the scullery.

“Edith,” Rose said, glancing up at her, “Praise God you are back.” Then she inserted the needle in the linen shroud, pausing in her chore. “I'm anxious to hear what you have discovered. Were you able to discreetly question all the kitchen servants?”

“I did, my lady, but I am afraid I don't have much to report. No one saw Sir Golan or any of his men in the kitchens during their brief stay.”

Rose's shoulders slumped with disappointment. She had been so sure Edith would find someone who had witnessed a henchman of Golan's skulking around where he did not belong on the day in question. “That leaves then the likelihood that Sir Golan paid one of the castle servants to dose William's ale. I do not want to believe Geoffrey capable of such deceit.”

“There is another possibility,” Edith said hesitantly.

“Go on, Edith. I am listening.”

“'Tis possible someone saw something but denied it because they are afraid they shall be punished.”

Rose cocked her head. “Hmmm…I never thought of that. Was there a particular servant you questioned whom you suspect was lying?”

“When I questioned Lisbeth, she said she did not see anyone, but her cheeks turned bright red. Initially, I thought it odd but not suspicious, until later when I remembered seeing Sir Golan's squire flirting with her last night in the Great Hall. Now I wonder if he could have slipped into the buttery feigning interest in her and dosed the ale without her knowing.”

Rose braced her hands on the board. “If it were anyone other than Sir Golan, I might believe the plot far-fetched. But Sir Golan has no scruples. 'Tis exactly the kind of underhanded scheme he'd perpetrate in order to achieve his ends.”

“Lisbeth may now suspect she was used but may be too afraid to admit it because she does not want to get in trouble.”

She exhaled deeply. “We have no proof, merely speculation. I need to speak to Lisbeth to discover the truth. Bring her here so I can interview her in private.”

Edith rubbed the bump on her forearm. “Is that wise, my lady? Sir Rand forbade you to question the servants. Since I was the one who questioned them, you have yet to defy him. What if he discovers you spoke to Lisbeth?”

Rose smiled with assuredness to ease her trusted servant's fears. “Sir Rand shall not find out. Ask Lisbeth to come to the scullery through the back entrance. I will speak with her alone and make her understand our conversation is to remain between us. If she did neglect her duties to rendezvous with the squire, she will surely not wish to tell anyone of our discussion.”

“What if the maid is innocent? She will have no cause to keep quiet.”

“And what reason would she have to discuss it? As her mistress, 'tis not unusual for me to instruct her. Now go, Edith. I am almost finished here.” Rose picked up the needle and continued to sew the last stitches. “I don't want anyone to come looking for me before I can speak with Lisbeth.”

 

“You may go now, Lisbeth,” Rose ordered. “And remember, this is just between you and me. I am pleased you told me the truth when confronted. But I cannot predict what Sir Rand would do if he found out you met Sir Golan's squire in the buttery for a tryst.”

“Thank you,” the maid said, her voice suffused with gratitude.

Rose felt a stab of guilt, but firmly ignored it.

“You are very kind, my lady. Especially when I tried…” She cast her eyes down and bit her lip, while a delicate flush painted her cheeks. “I promise it shall never happen again.”

“You tried? You mean you and Sir Rand never—”

“Nay, my lady,” Lisbeth hurriedly supplied. Her face grew brighter. “He could not…well, you know, do it. And since your marriage, he has shown no interest in me.”

Pleasure suffused her at the knowledge Rand had not bedded Lisbeth. Rose watched the tail end of the maid's blue woolen tunic swish behind her as she left through the back entrance.

Edith came back in, her eyes raised in question.

The smile slipped from Rose's face. “'Tis as we suspected. Lisbeth confessed the squire was persistent in his pursuit of her, and she even consorted with him when he followed her into the buttery. It was she who gave Geoffrey the ale intended for William.”

Edith wrung her hands, a nervous tic when she was agitated. “That is a relief to know. But soon enough Sir Rand will interrogate the servants. What if somebody mentions I already questioned them? And Sir Rand suspects your hand in the inquiry?”

“I have already considered the possibility and have devised a plan that shall guarantee he never knows of our inquiries.”

“Oh no. I am afraid I am not going to like this.”

“You worry too much, Edith. My plan shall work. I will have Lady Alison tell Rand that one of the servants confessed to her that they saw Golan's squire in the buttery, but that she cannot tell him who because she promised to keep their identity secret.”

“I don't know, my lady. What if—”

Rose clutched her former maidservant's hands in hers. “Do you not see, Edith? 'Tis perfect. Rand need never question the servants, and hence learn of my involvement, and at the same time he will be convinced of Geoffrey's innocence and of Golan's perfidy.”

“But what if he does not believe Lady Alison and insists on questioning the servants himself?”

“Sir Rand is too chivalrous to believe a woman of Lady Alison's character would lie to him. It would not occur to him to question the verity of Lady Alison's confession. Besides, she is not going to lie about how Sir William was drugged, merely about how she learned the information.”

Brow wrinkling, Edith said in surprise, “I believe it just may work, my lady. But are you not concerned that you are going behind his lordship's back and defying his orders?”

“Like my first husband, Sir Rand has left me no choice,” she said stubbornly.

When she was a young girl, she had been innocently dutiful. She would
never
have thought of defying an express order from someone who had authority over her. Then she'd married Bertram. On their wedding night, Rose learned he expected complete obedience to his dictatorial rule. And he had no compunction about beating her if she defied him.

So she became the dutiful, abject wife he wanted—despite how helpless and inept and unworthy she felt at her easy acquiescence. Then Bertram forbade her to heal the castle and village inhabitants. He thought it was undignified for his wife to associate so closely with the dirty peasants.

It was after that moment that she secretly began to defy him. She could no more stop healing people than she could take a knife and stab it through her heart. Healing people was her lifeblood. Nor could she watch the sick, injured, and dying suffer needlessly when it was in her power to use her gift to ease their pain.

Hence a deception was born. Edith would do the hands-on care of the people—at Rose's direct instruction. And Bertram never discovered the truth.

Now it was ingrained in Rose to use every manipulative and devious weapon at her disposal to achieve her ends. This trait was not something she was proud of, but if she was ever to have any sort of control over her life, she knew of no other way to act.

Edith interrupted her thoughts. “But surely you do not believe Sir Rand is like your dead husband. I have found the new master to be quite fair, honorable, and just in his dealings at Ayleston.”

“Have you forgotten his unfair dismissal of David?”

“Perhaps it was harsh, but the steward's feelings for you were inappropriate. I believe it was past time he found a new position elsewhere.”

Rose would never admit it, but she was relieved David was gone. Still, she wished Rand had consulted her. She would have liked to provide David with a letter recommending him for a position at one of her father's or brother's estates. His loyalty to her over the years had been invaluable and anyone would be extremely lucky to have such a talented steward working for him.

“If you have no more need of me, my lady, I shall relieve Lady Alison of her care of the little lord. Shall I tell her of your plan and have her seek out Sir Rand now?”

“Nay. I do not wish to involve you any more than I must. Now that I have properly prepared Owain Fychan for burial, I shall inform Lady Alison—”

The rear door burst open. Rose jerked back, startled, afraid she'd been caught conspiring. A chill wind brought in a blast of snow, the white flakes swirling in the air like a whirlpool before floating back down and settling on the brick floor.

When Lady Alison stepped into the scullery Rose exhaled in relief.

They spoke simultaneously.

“Lady Alison, I was about to come find you.”

“My lady, praise God I found you.”

Alison's frantic voice sent a shiver down Rose's spine. She looked behind her attendant expecting to see Jason's small blond head peep out from behind Alison's tunic skirts.

When Rose did not see him, her breath hitched and panic fluttered in her chest.

“Where is Jason, Alison?” she asked, her voice trebled.

Rose raced across the bailey to the castle gatehouse. Her lungs burned from exertion. Alison's condemning words kept replaying inside her head.

“I was praying in the chapel, waiting for Lord Ayleston to finish his lessons with Brother Michael. Somehow, after his lessons, Jason was able to slip out of the chapel unbeknownst to me. I was not worried initially. You know how he is forever sneaking away to play with the other children. But I looked everywhere for him on the castle grounds, and he is nowhere to be found.”

When Rose reached the imposing castle gatehouse, she stopped before the door leading to the guardroom on the upper floor and pressed her hand to the pain in her side. Bent over, she tried to catch her breath to give her strength to climb up the tower stairs.

On the wall walk above, the castle porter called down to her. “My lady, is aught amiss?”

Between gasped breaths, she called out, “Sir Rand. I was told…I could…find him here. 'Tis imperative…I speak with him. Now!”

“Of course. I'll get him right away.” He entered the gatehouse through a small arched door nearby.

Alison, panting heavily, pulled up beside Rose. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. “I am sorry, my lady. I should have been more attentive. 'Tis all my fault Jason is missing.”

Nay. Rose knew exactly who was at fault. She was Jason's mother. She should have protected him. Especially after everything she knew about Sir Golan, she should have been more vigilant watching over her son. But once Sir Golan had vacated the premises she'd thought Jason was safe.

Was it a fatal mistake she'd live to regret?

The aged oak door swung open quietly on well-oiled hinges but slammed against the stone castle wall with great force. Rand exited the gatehouse and stood before her.

They spoke simultaneously.

“Rose, what is wrong?”

“Rand, Jason is missing.”

Rand's chest constricted at the terror written on Rose's face.

“What do you mean Jason is missing?”

Rose clasped his hands and squeezed so hard he winced. “He is gone. Vanished. We have to find him. I have to find him. He is all I have. I cannot lose him. I cannot. Don't you understand, he is your—”

Rand wrapped his arm around the back of her shoulders and pulled her to his side to will his strength into her. “Calm yourself, Rose. And tell me exactly what happened. Slowly.”

The sensation in his chest squeezed tighter and tighter as she explained that she and Alison had searched all over the castle grounds and could not find Jason anywhere.

Rand chastised himself for not being more cautious in guarding the boy. He'd vowed he would protect Rose and her son, and he'd failed miserably.

Rose stared up at him, her eyes wide and trusting. “My lord, what are we going to do?”

Nay. He would not give in to his fear. Rose had come to him for help and he would not disappoint her.

“We are going to find your son, Rose. That is what we are going to do.”

 

Rose was relieved when Rand quickly took charge. He rounded up every castle retainer who was in the outer bailey and organized a large search party. He broke them up into three groups, sending the third, the largest group to search the village. The other two parties began their search within the castle walls. Those folk who joined her and Rand began scouring the castle grounds to the rear of the Keep, while the others began working their way from the castle gate toward the Keep, where the two groups would meet.

“What is beyond the orchard, Rose?”

“The fish pond. It froze over two days ago and the—”

“Hush,” Rand said as he raised a hand and halted. “Did you hear that?”

A gust of wind buffeted Rose. She pulled her fur collar around her neck and cocked her ear to listen. Boyish, enthusiastic shouts punctured the air. It sounded like it came from the pond. But the gusting wind could be carrying the sound from any direction.

Rose shot her gaze to Rand. “I think it is coming from the fish pond.”

He nodded, his eyes bright. “Come. Let's go check. It sounds like some boys are playing. I imagine the ice on the pond was quite a temptation.”

Clutching her arm, he led her through the rows of apple and quince trees. A denuded tree branch caught on her veil and yanked her head back.

“Ouch,” she cried out.

Rand released her arm and stood face-to-face with her. “Are you all right?” His hands gently pried the branch loose and then dropped the end of her veil.

Rose rubbed her scalp where a pin was yanked from her head. “'Tis naught but a small scratch.”

But Rand did not back away. He stood staring down at her. Their breaths intermingled. He rubbed his thumb over her cool cheek, the tender gesture suffusing her face with tingling warmth.

His hands dropped to her shoulders. “I promise you we are going to find Jason, Rose. He is probably just hiding from us. When I was his age, I was forever eluding my nurse so I could play with the peasant children. I know we will find him shortly. I shall not rest until we do.”

She nodded, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Come,” he said and grabbed her hand.

Warmth seeped into her palm. His strength flowed into her, giving her the courage and hope she needed to keep from wilting in despair.

Together, they turned and hurried to reach the pond. They emerged into the clearing where the pond, covered with a layer of ice, spread out before them along the southeast wall of the castle.

Golden shoots of dead grasses lined the far side of the pond. On the frozen white surface a group of castle pages were hitting a ball back and forth with sticks, purposely avoiding an area not far from the grasses where the ice was thinner.

Rose dug her fingernails into the back of Rand's hand.

“Aye, love, I see him, too.”

Jason stood on the other side of the pond near the grasses silently observing the older boys who were yelling exuberantly in their play. A blond-haired older boy, roughly elbowing Geoffrey aside, shouted and smacked the ball with his stick. He hit the ball with such force it careened across the entire surface of the pond and disappeared into the grasses. The boys chased after it, then slid to a stop, realizing they'd have to walk on the thin ice.

The next events happened so fast Rose would swear they occurred in the blink of an eye.

Jason crashed into the grasses and hollered, “I've got it!”

Rose's heart crawled up into her throat. “Jason, stop! 'Tis too dangerous!”

Jason stopped. “Don't be afraid, Mama! The ball is right here! I can see it near my foot!”

He bent down and scrabbled in the grass. The movement propelled the ball out of the rushes and it rolled to a stop onto the thin ice. With nary a thought to his safety, Jason went after the ball. He leaned down, reaching for the leather toy. His fingers closed over it.

Beside her, Rand hollered, “Jason! You will obey your mother! Get off the ice,
now!
”

Startled at Rand's firm tone, Jason dropped the ball and it slid several feet away.

A loud crack shattered the hushed silence. A jagged line formed and spread out from beneath Jason's feet. The boy, his eyes wide, froze in fright.

Rose ran toward Jason, waving her hand for him to move. “Jason, get off the ice! 'Tis cracking!”

Another loud crack rent the air, and Rose watched in horror as Jason plummeted into the water.

A scream from a great distance echoed in her ears. Then Rose realized it was her own. Arms pumping, her booted feet crunched on the hard-packed snow on the ground. Rand shot past her, his longer strides chewing up the distance with amazing speed. But they'd never reach Jason in time. Jason's head bobbed above the water, his arms churning, but he did not know how to swim.

Jason slipped below the water. Moments passed, but he did not resurface.

Her heart slammed to her toes. “Naaay!” she screamed.

Then one of the boys, Geoffrey she thought, crawled out to the edge of the ice, and dropping to his stomach, he reached his arm down into the pond.

Soon, Jason's wet, matted head cleared the surface. He clutched the edge of the ice with his free hand and sputtered, coughing and choking up water. Geoffrey held on to Jason but was too weak to pull him out.

Finally, Rand reached Geoffrey. “Are you holding on tight to Jason's hand, Geoffrey?”

Rose did not hear his reply, but Rand grabbed the castle page's ankles and pulled him backward.

Jason was freed quickly from the water's dangerous clutches. Had Rand moved to pull Jason from the water, his weight would have cracked the ice and put them all in danger.

Rand grabbed Jason and lifted him up into his arms. Rose slowed to a stop, but the leather soles of her boots slipped on the ice. She lurched, then clutched Rand's arm, preventing herself from falling.

She stared down at Jason. His breathing was quick and shallow.

“Jason, can you hear me?” She asked as she brushed back the wet curls from his face.

His beautiful blue-green eyes opened. He blinked, eyelids drooping from exhaustion and the cold water. “I am sorry, Mama. Can you forgive me…for disobeying you?”

Emotion clogged the back of her throat. Tears pricked her eyes. “Of course, darling. I forgive you.”

He smiled such a beatific smile—the left side of his mouth quirked up, revealing his dimple, reminding her of his father's engaging grin—that Rose realized she'd done Jason a grave disservice denying him knowledge of his real father. His eyes fluttered closed and his head drooped to the side.

“We need to get him inside, warmed and dried. Quickly!”

The danger was not over yet. He could still succumb to the elements.

 

Rand cradled Jason in his arms with gentle care as he entered the bedchamber behind Rose. He kicked the door closed with the sole of his booted foot. Rose moved to her bed and pulled the bedclothes down.

Rand hurriedly laid Jason down on top of the bed and began stripping off the boy's cold, dripping garments. “Rose, I can undress Jason. Go ahead and get out of those clothes.”

Turning back to Jason, he gently tugged the boy's arm free of the clinging wet garment. When Rand did not hear the rustling of Rose's clothes, he looked at her over his shoulder. She stared at him, paralyzed, her hand clutching her throat.

“Rose,” he snapped. “What are you waiting for? Remove your clothes so you can warm up Jason as you did me last night.”

She jumped and her blank stare disappeared. She dropped her hand to the brooch that attached her cloak and unpinned it. Jerkily, she removed the heavy wool and tossed it onto the floor.

Rand removed the remainder of the boy's clothes, lifted Jason into his arms, slid him onto the clean dry sheets, and pulled the fur coverlet over him. He heard the clunk of Rose's boots dropping onto the floorboards one by one.

Edith entered the chamber, wringing her hands. “My lady.” Her anxious gaze settled on Jason in the bed. “I heard the little lord slipped through the ice on the pond and nearly drowned. Is there aught I can get you?”

“Bring some honeyed mead and warm blankets for Jason,” Rose said.

“Right away, milady.”

Rand added before she left, “When you've done that, send Will to me.”

Nodding, she spun away and closed the door behind her.

Rand moved past Rose to the fire and crouched down. He tossed more logs onto the glowing embers then stoked the flames with the poker. The soft swish of Rose's garments—heard over the crackling pop of the fire—taunted him. He shook his head at the wayward clamoring of his thoughts when all his energies should be directed toward the welfare of Rose's son. With that thought in mind, he got up to go to the chamber door.

Rose tugged her under tunic off over her head. Her surcoate, and wimple and veil headdress lay on top of her cloak. The tunic drifted to the floor. She stood wearing naught but a sheer chemise. Her long red-gold hair hung to her waist, shimmering in the soft glow of the fire. Blushing, Rose reached down and grabbed the hem of her chemise. Quickly, she pulled the undergarment up and flung it off over her head.

He caught an inadvertent peek of her naked, ivory skin, and flame-colored curls between her thighs, before she lurched to the bed and climbed in with Jason. He swallowed the lump in his throat and flung open the door. “Will! Blankets!” he shouted.

A few moments later, Will burst up the stairwell and loped toward him. “Coming, milord,” he said, a harried flush on his face and brown hair flopping in his eyes. The blankets and furs tottered dangerously in his arms.

Rand grabbed the stack of blankets. His voice harsh with worry and fear, he barked, “Drink!”

“Aye, milord. Edith is not far behind me with drink.”

Rand nodded, spun back inside the room, and slammed the door shut on Will's face.

Coming around the left side of the canopied bed, he shot his gaze to Rose. She lay buried beneath the bedclothes, cradling Jason tenderly in her arms.

Rand layered the rest of the blankets on top of Rose and Jason. “How does the boy fare?” He asked, keeping his voice calm for Rose's sake.

She looked up, biting her lip and shaking her head. “I don't know yet.” Fear lurked within her eyes, turning them a murky shade of blue. “Jason has not responded to my overtures. But he's not getting any colder either.”

She gazed back down at Jason and gently stroked his damp hair at the back of his forehead. “At least now, because of you, and Geoffrey, he has a fighting chance.” Her voice trebled.

A giant hand seized his heart and squeezed. Jason was alive, but Rand certainly could not claim credit for rescuing the boy. He clenched his fists at his sides as helpless rage rose up to choke him. He felt useless, inept, reminding him of his dismal ineffectualness to save his mother and sister.

Blowing out a harsh breath, he seized his surcoate then tugged it off his head. He refused to continue standing there staring like a lifeless stone statue.