Chapter 26 #2
Thankfully, no one argued with her. When they emerged back into the hall, it was full of servants rushing back and forth, setting out food and drink, overseen by the cook.
She quickly saw to them, then noticed Muriel standing aside from the family.
Taking her chance, Agnes weaved through the bustle of servants, grabbed Muriel by the arm and dragged her into a little alcove in the far wall.
‘What is he doing here?’ Agnes demanded, as soon as they were alone.
‘Did you truly expect one of the oldest friends of the family not to come?’ Muriel said, shaking her head. ‘He said he so wished to see you, and it is only right that he be here to celebrate your marriage. Besides, he has been sick with worry about you. He is our friend, Aggie. He is your friend!’
‘He is nothing to me, and you know that.’
‘You cannot hang on to the past like this—’
‘Girls! What are you gossiping about?’
Agnes snapped her head around to see their mother bustling over. She shot Muriel a final, venomous look.
‘Just marriage matters, Mother,’ she said, putting on her sweetest smile.
She allowed her mother to lead her back to the table.
Before she could stop him, Francis sat beside her.
Agnes prayed silently that Ash would return soon, if only so she did not feel as if she were facing this battle alone.
Thankfully, she only had to endure a few minutes of Francis’s snide chatter before there was an intrusion to their conversation.
‘I see you are faring quite well without me!’
She turned at Ash’s voice. Her heart took a beat out of time.
He stood at the foot of the stairs, expression teasing, with nerves beneath.
But he looked wonderful. Any traces of blood or grime from the hunt had been removed, and his hair had been combed and slicked back away from his face.
He’d dressed impeccably: a dark red velvet doublet finished in swirling embroidery, adorned with jewellery suitable for his station: rings, brooches, even the chain he typically refused to wear along with a short capelet.
His hose were tight and supple, almost indecently so.
Agnes found herself blushing when he looked at her, making his way over.
Quick behind him came Olly. He, too, was dressed in finery: yellows and greens, his hood cut into dagges and edged in contrasting thread. Over Ash’s shoulder, he gave her an enormous grin, and mouthed, ‘You are welcome.’
Agnes gave him a tight-lipped smile, determined to talk to him about this later.
She was thankful too: Ash looked perfect, exactly like the sort of man her family needed to see.
While he was clearly anxious, he did not appear particularly uncomfortable: no doubt Olly had heaped praise upon him before leaving his chambers.
She wondered just what he had whispered into Ash’s ear to make him walk with such a swagger, what sort of promises he had laid out for him.
She remembered Olly’s words at the wedding feast: how the dress she wore would be best put to use crumpled in a heap at the foot of Ash’s bed. She wondered if the doublet and hose were destined for the same fate.
The heat in her face drifted lower, down her chest, tightening through her stomach. No, she reminded herself. Do not think of that.
Not yet, at least.
Shaking the thought, she rose swiftly to her feet and hurried towards Ash, taking his arm.
‘You look wonderful,’ she whispered, so only he and Olly could hear. Louder, she asked: ‘Have you already been introduced to everyone?’
‘Not quite,’ Ash said, squeezing her hand. ‘I have already made Laurence and Alison’s acquaintance—’ He bowed towards her parents with a smile they did not return. ‘But I have yet to meet … Franklin, was it?’
Agnes felt herself settling, her anxiety ebbing even further. Ash looked smug.
‘Francis,’ she corrected. ‘Francis mac Cainnich. He is an old family friend. I believe I told you about him?’
Ash gave her a perfect smile, twisted by his scar, which he turned on Francis. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘I recall. I had not expected you, Francis.’
‘He came with the family,’ Agnes explained. ‘I was quite surprised by his arrival.’
‘It seems that everyone is keen to celebrate,’ Olly said, having appeared at her other side.
‘Indeed. Oliver, might I introduce you to my family?’
This was something they had already discussed.
Given that he was to be a fixture in their lives, neither of them had been keen to hide Olly away.
He was to be introduced as an old friend, recently returned to the area, settling into castle life until Ash could decide upon a role for him.
The family did not need to know that Olly was the man whose death had caused Ash so much pain – nor that he was the one who had been sent to kill him.
They introduced Olly to the group – even Francis, who Olly greeted with such effusive enthusiasm that Agnes had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing – before Olly made his excuses and hurried away with a terribly overacted bow towards Ash.
No doubt he was off to find Penn and Raff to gossip, preparing them for that evening’s banquet.
Finally they sat, Ash on Agnes’s other side. The arrival of good food and drink was a godsend; it was difficult to accuse one’s host of being a monster when he had arranged such hospitality for you.
Agnes watched as Ash spoke to her father across the table. They seemed to be getting along – or playing at civility.
‘Barden’s cook is very good, at least.’
Agnes turned, not bothering to greet Francis with a false smile.
‘She is,’ she said.
Francis refilled his mug. With Ash distracted, there was no wall between them.
‘I am surprised you came,’ Agnes continued, attempting to pack the words with meaning: you do not belong here.
‘Not as surprised as I was to see you,’ he said, bold enough that Agnes knew exactly what he was referring to. ‘But it is good to see you again, regardless of circumstances.’
‘I am sure,’ Agnes responded tightly.
‘I do hope we manage to have some time to speak,’ he drawled. ‘It really has been too long.’
Beneath the table, Ash’s leg bumped against her own.
‘I will be extremely busy.’
‘Too busy to speak to your oldest friend?’
‘I suspect—’
‘And what are we talking about?’
Ash, finally, had been released from conversation, and was now leaning across her, peering at Francis with a forced joviality.
‘We were just discussing how surprised I was to see Francis here,’ Agnes said, settling closer to Ash.
‘The more the merrier,’ Ash said, looping his arm over Agnes’s shoulders. ‘How long have you known each other, Francis?’
Francis regarded him cooly. ‘Since Agnes’s birth,’ he said simply.
‘So long! You truly are entrenched in the family,’ Ash said. ‘And you faced no problems on the road?’
‘None at all.’
‘That is pleasing to hear. I suppose you heard of the encounter we had on our own travels?’
Francis’s expression didn’t change. ‘Laurence and Alison informed me.’
‘Is it not terrible? I had never expected such crime, especially not against myself. But alas …’ Ash gave another smile – this one bordering on smug – and gripped Agnes a little tighter. ‘People cannot be judged for choices they make in desperation.’
‘No,’ Francis nearly growled. ‘They cannot. Did you catch the fellow?’
‘We did, as it were.’
‘And I am sure you will see to it that the criminal gets what is owed to him?’
‘Oh, I have certainly seen to that.’
Agnes couldn’t hold back the laugh. It burst out of her in a coughing splutter.
‘Apologies,’ she said, trying to control herself. ‘I do not know what came over me.’
Francis moved his cup out of her way. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Maybe madness is catching.’
‘What was that?’ Ash’s tone was innocent and light. Agnes stilled.
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Would you not care to repeat yourself?’
‘As I said, it was—’
‘If madness is catching,’ Agnes spat, ‘then I should be glad to catch it. Better than cruelty or greed.’
‘What are you implying?’
Agnes stared at him. Daring him. ‘Nothing at all. Ash, I fear we have much to prepare for this evening’s celebrations if we are to introduce our families. Would you care to join me?’
She rose from the bench. All eyes were upon her, yet she did not care. Ash was at her side in an instant.
‘Of course, my Lady. I have been told my prized hunter caught several marvellous pheasants ready to roast for us.’
Agnes shot a last, poisonous look at Francis. ‘He did.’
By the time the day had finally dragged to a finish, the sun setting with blissful finality, Agnes was utterly spent.
The banquet had been a success, at least, in no small part due to the more outgoing members of their party: Penn and Olly had dominated conversations, keeping her family entertained enough not to start any arguments.
Francis’s desire to be the cleverest person in any room was thwarted at every turn by the unstoppable force of the so-called hostage, and Agnes could not help but enjoy from afar every time Penn corrected him on English court.
Concerned that they would be overheard in the solar, all three of them returned to Ash’s chambers. Agnes felt like a man at war being debriefed after a day in the field. At least the blood still trapped beneath her fingernails was from the hunt and not a battle.
‘How were they on the road when you greeted them?’ Agnes asked, as soon as the door had shut behind them. ‘Did they say anything worrying?’
Ash shook his head. ‘No, although we have Justin to thank for that. I think they realised it would not do to be seen insulting me in front of one of my vassals.’
‘That is something, at least.’
‘What about you? They had you quite trapped when I arrived.’
Agnes groaned. ‘They had,’ she said. ‘They were full of questions, asking why I had taken so long to respond to their letters. Telling me of your poor reputation. And to bring Francis here!’ She let herself fall back onto the bed with a thump.