Chapter 30
Ash
‘Please, join us, let me fetch you a drink—’
Ash’s world was crumbling around him.
Francis gestured to a serving girl then sat back down, face smug. His unwelcome guest took the seat beside him without being bidden to sit.
Ash stared at Hugh across the table. His uncle smiled at him, expression sharp.
‘Francis said he would be in the keep,’ he said, taking the mug from the serving girl. ‘I happened to be in Skeldale and thought I should like to pay you all a visit.’
‘Indeed,’ Ash growled, teeth clenched. ‘I had not expected to see you again so soon. How is Simon?’
The last time Ash had seen Simon his face had been dripping with blood. He wondered if he had broken his nose.
‘Simon is doing very well,’ Hugh said. ‘He is courting a lovely girl from the west. We are very pleased for him.’
Ash struggled with a smile. ‘You must send him my best wishes.’
The only solace was the mug in front of him. He saw off the wine and refilled it with haste. Olly tensed beside him, but nothing was said.
Behave.
Was that Olly’s voice, in his head? Was it Agnes’s? Was it his father’s? He could not tell. He did not care; he drowned it with wine.
By the time the meal was over, Ash’s head was gently spinning. He was aware of Agnes and Olly sharing a look around him. It was Agnes who grabbed his arm, pulling him up.
‘Ash,’ she said, ‘I think I need some air. Will you walk with me?’
Something his fogged brain could recognise – Agnes was unwell. She had joined them for the meal, despite how tired she looked. He stood, refusing to let her down.
‘Thank you, love,’ she said. ‘Oliver, would you … ?’
Olly stood at his other side, and together they headed out into the open air.
They only released him after they had crossed beneath the portcullis and away from the castle, their only companions the spring breeze and the determined little birds swooping above them.
Ash leaned against the outer wall, watching them.
He felt as if his bones would meld into the cold, hard stone.
‘I cannot believe Hugh is here,’ he muttered. ‘This is no coincidence.’
‘I agree.’ Olly sighed. ‘Francis must have sent word to him to come.’
‘That must have been why he has spent so much time in Skeldale,’ Agnes said. ‘No doubt they have been meeting since he arrived.’
Ash shook his head. ‘He seeks to undermine me,’ he said. ‘And he will, I know he will. Whenever he speaks to me I am reminded of what I am. A mad, angry, violent—’
‘You are none of those things,’ Olly snapped. ‘Ash, do not allow him to make you think like that. Hugh is a bastard. He is a bitter, twisted little man. He has fed Francis a pack of lies through spite alone.’
‘And through that spite encouraged somebody to attempt to kill me,’ Ash said.
‘You think they worked together?’ Agnes asked.
‘I cannot say,’ Ash admitted. ‘If Hugh wanted the title, he would need both me and Raff to be gone. I cannot imagine him trying anything so horrible.’
‘Let us hope you’re correct.’ Olly reached out, gripping his arm. ‘Do not let him win. Do not let him get under your skin, Ash. You are better than him.’
Ash did not believe that. The darkness was creeping back in. ‘Olly—’
‘You are. Please, Ashel. Do not let him make you believe otherwise.’
Ash gave him a weak smile, saying nothing.
There was a leaden ball of dread in his stomach. A rock that had solidified as he walked, turning his insides hard. Spring sunlight brushed his cheek, but it felt cool, despite the brightness.
It was too much. Hugh would be waiting for him when he returned, Francis at his side, both men aware of what he really was, in his core, in the horrid dark centre of his soul.
If only Francis’s plan had played out how he had intended. If only Olly had pressed the knife deeper. Ash stared ahead at nothing at all.
The familiar feeling was like greeting an old friend. He looked at his companions – his wife and his lover, the two he had vowed his life to – and buried it down.