Chapter 3 #3
“A man recently passed away in Redesdale, a former captain of the guard at Kirkland Park, I believe,” he said. “He served Lady Elena’s father. It seems the widow of that man has come across an old letter . . .”
Her expression was one of horror.
“Would you care to read the letter my men were given by the disgruntled wife of that recently deceased guard?”
The woman’s next breath brought tears to her eyes. “I do not doubt that woman would trade her soul to the devil for a handful of silver.”
“But you will not.”
Ruark stood. His own anger, normally subdued, but now barely contained as he leaned his palms against the table and bent toward her. “Then you know something of what happened to Lady Elena’s daughter. Is she alive?”
“Nay, I do not know. Her ship perished during a storm seventeen—”
“I have heard the stories. Even those that claim Hereford is keeping his daughter locked away some place on the continent. Is any of it true?”
She began to twist her hands. “Friar Tucker . . . he would know. Please . . . I do not know anything. He swore me to secrecy. I gave my word . . .”
Ruark froze. “Why would he need to do such a thing?”
“Please . . . I know nothing.”
Ruark had not come here to frighten old women. But neither would he grant her quarter. He needed answers. “Why would he swear you to secrecy? Tell me, Mrs. Fortier. Far more than your life rests on your next words.”
“Oh, please . . .” The woman dropped to her knees.
“I was supposed to go with my mistress the night she boarded the ship, but there was a storm. After the departure was delayed, she was terrified that Lord Hereford would find her. She gave little Roselyn into my safekeeping and told me to take the child to Friar Tucker. Her ladyship and Friar Tucker grew up together. They were always close and she trusted him with her daughter’s life until she could return. ”
For a moment, Ruark did not think he heard correctly. “What did you say was the daughter’s name?”
“Roselyn, my lord. Lady Roselyn Elena Lancaster. She was three years old the last time I saw her. I swear I don’t know if she is still alive.”
Roselyn. Rose. . .
I have been at this abbey since I was three. I have witnessed much in seventeen years.
“The plaid you are wearing, Mrs. Fortier. Where is it from?”
Ruark now knew what was so familiar about her. He had seen that plaid or one like it in the abbey’s stable, wrapped around tomes about Arthurian legends, metallurgy and electricity—
“It belonged to my lady,” Mrs. Fortier said in near hysterics as Ruark walked around the table. She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Please . . .”
He knelt beside her. “Why was the countess running away?”
Again, the woman shook her head. “She and Lord Hereford argued something terribly. ’Twas over the child’s inheritance.
Lord Hereford thought that by marrying Lady Elena everything would be his upon the grandfather’s death.
Kirkland Park belongs to my lady’s family, my lord.
Not Lord Hereford. He was furious when he learned that Lady Elena’s grandfather put everything in something called a trust to keep it out of Hereford’s hands.
The estate will come to the daughter when she reaches the age of majority.
If she should die . . . if something were to happen to the child, then the trust . . . everything goes to the church.”
“Then if the daughter is dead, Hereford would have no claim on Kirkland Park. If he believes his daughter dead . . . why is he still at Kirkland Park?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I swear I know nothing more.”
“Should we believe her?” Angus asked. No one could be sure that Hereford would exchange Jamie, much less for a daughter most thought dead.
“Bluidy damned Sassenach,” someone murmured. “Tucker is as English as Hereford. If the girl is alive, all he has to do is claim she was a foundling left on his doorstep. Who would believe us?”
“Where is Tucker now?” Ruark asked Mrs. Fortier.
“I saw him five days ago. He came to my cottage to tell me that ’twas no longer safe to remain in England. That he had arranged for me to leave . . .”
“Then he must know about the letter,” Angus said.
“Do you have anywhere to go, Mrs. Fortier?” Ruark asked.
She shook her head. He looked at the man standing behind the woman. “See that Mary gives her a place to stay here at Stonehaven if she chooses to stay. I do not know how safe it is for her to return to Carlisle.”
After the woman was taken from the room, no one spoke. Reality momentarily subdued the initial excitement of those sitting around the table.
Duncan sat on a bench with his elbows on his knees and his head down, and spoke first. “I say, if Tucker does no’ cooperate, then his fate should be the same as Hereford’s.”
“Tucker is no coward,” Ruark said. “I have no want to murder a priest when he decides not to cooperate. I will take six men. No more. Give me a week to return with the girl.”
“A week,” Duncan said. “If you do no’ return?”
“Then you ride.”
“Miss Rose?”
Startling at the small sound of Jack’s voice, Rose straightened and stretched to loosen the muscles at her back. She turned her head to see him leaning against the paddock fence looking over the rail at her. Loki stirred beneath her hand. She had been checking for heat and swelling.
The torchlight on the wall of the stable cast Jack’s face in an otherworldly orange glow. He could have passed for one of the ghosts that allegedly haunted the crypts. She warmed at the sight of him. “Whatever are you doing awake so late?”
He shrugged, unusually quiet. She had not seen him at supper.
She stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. “What is it?”
He picked up the sorcerer’s box she had set on the workbench while waiting for the moon to make an appearance. For five days she had been awaiting the skies to clear. “Is this the magic puzzle box, Miss Rose?”
She latched the stall and approached. “Aye.”
And something pulled inside her. Something that pulled constantly at her thoughts waking her up in the night. So powerful that even now, she could feel the low hum in her veins. “This box is part of an Arthurian legend connected in some way to Excalibur. Have you ever heard of Merlin?”
Jack shook his head.
“He was a sorcerer.” Edging her thumb along a row of symbols, she held the box out to Jack. “Do you see these markings? The ring inside this box grants its wearer a wish. I intend to find the secret that opens this box. If the moon would ever make an appearance.”
“Then what will ye do, Miss Rose?”
She brushed a lock of his stringy blond hair behind one ear. “Then I will close my eyes and make my wish.”
“Do ye want to be a king like Arthur?”
She laughed. “Maybe.”
“Don’t ye want to be rich?”
Who did not wish to be rich? “Sometimes the greatest wealth is not found in your purse, Jack,” she said quietly. “I want the freedom to make my own choices. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Ye can marry me, and I will give ye freedom to . . . to cook whatever you choose for dinner every night. And I would not complain if ye burned the bread.”
Jack was indeed her knight protector. “If you were ten years older, I would marry you, Jack Lowell, and we would travel and see the world. Did you know there are distant lands with trees as large as mountains and skies like warm sapphires? Marco Polo discovered such worlds—”
“Lord Roxburghe has seen distant lands, too,” Jack said.
Her dreamy thoughts collapsed like a house of sticks. “Yes, I imagine he has seen much.”
The boy suddenly grew quiet. He traced a gauge in the workbench at his hip. “Will Lord Roxburghe be back to the abbey soon, Miss Rose?”
“Why?” She nudged him playfully when he looked dejected. “Have you had enough of mucking Loki’s stall?”
Jack shrugged. “He gave me a coin, Miss Rose. In the stables the morning he left. He let me help saddle the horses and told me I was to watch his horse for him.”
“You never told me you saw Lord Roxburghe.”
Again, Jack shrugged. “He asked if you were a nun.”
He did? “Oh.”
“But I told him the church would no’ have you even if ye wanted to be like Sister Nessa.”
“Jack!”
“But that’s what you’re always sayin’, Miss Rose. Then Lord Roxburghe gave me a coin and said since ye were so wicked, I was to watch his horse and make sure ye don’t sell him afore he returns.”
“He said that?”
“Aye.” Jack nodded vigorously. “But I told him ye’d never sell what wasn’t yers ’less the person owed ye a debt. That you once threatened Geddes Graham with a sword because he stole a cart full of oats from the abbey.”
She inwardly groaned. “What did Lord Roxburghe say?”
“He laughed and said it was just like a woman to stab a man in the heart for any reason. What does that mean?”
“It means your affection for him should not be measured by the weight of his gifts, Jack. Your allegiance is yours alone to give and should never be traded for a meager coin.”
Jack lowered his chin, and Rose pursed her lips, chastising herself for being so insensitive.
A coin was probably everything to a boy like Jack who had nothing—not even family.
But the longer she looked at his face, the more he seemed to find interest in the deep gouges at his fingertips, and something else that bothered him.
“A coin must seem like a lot,” she said, realizing now why he’d ventured into the stable to find her.
Something must have happened. “What did you do with all that wealth?”
He studied the scuffed toe of one shoe. “I gave it to the old mountebank what comes past Farmer Herring’s every Tuesday. I wanted ye to have a bonnet, seein’ as how ye don’t have one. Then Rolf, he sees the coin and says I stole it.”
Rose slid the lamp nearer to his face. “Look at me, Jack.”