Chapter Eight
She was supposed to be asleep, but she couldn’t seem to manage it.
The stars were bright tonight, so bright that they formed an iridescent blanket across the night sky.
Annaleigh was watching them from the window of her bower, feeling the gentle night breeze caress her face, remembering that her mother had told her, once, that each star was the soul of a dead warrior.
Over the centuries, there had been thousands. Perhaps even millions.
It was a sky awash with the dead.
She didn’t know why she should think of that other than the fact that War Herringthorpe could have very easily been among those stars had she not helped him in his moment of need.
He’d thanked her for it, which was surprising.
That wasn’t something she had expected out of his mouth. And the way he had looked at her…
Her stomach still trembled to think of it.
But she’d run from him like a fool. Overwhelmed with seeing him again, overwhelmed with the secret they shared, she’d spouted off at the mouth and then she’d run from him. She’d run straight up to her chamber, which was where she was now.
She didn’t even attend the feast that night, though she could hear it from her bedchamber.
The noise from the great hall carried. She hoped – and assumed – that Jordan and Jemma were too busy with the guests to worry over her, perhaps each assuming the other one knew where she was or what she was doing.
But no one knew.
She didn’t even know.
Annaleigh sat in the built-in window seat of the large window overlooking the entry, four stories below, pondering this particular moment in her life.
The great hall was a separate structure, built into the wall of the inner ward, and she had been hearing voices and singing all night.
Smoke from the two enormous hearths drifted into her window.
But still, she sat, thinking on War Herringthorpe’s unexpected appearance and how she had reacted.
How he had reacted.
He seemed as surprised as she had been.
A knock on the door startled her from her sleepless thoughts. She was dressed in a sleeping shift, a white woolen garment that tied around the neck with long sleeves. Climbing off the window seat, she quickly collected her shawl, pulling it around her shoulders for modesty as she went to the door.
“Who comes?” she whispered loudly.
“Open the door, Annie.”
It was Jordan. Annaleigh threw the bolt and yanked the sticky door open to reveal Jordan dressed in a fine blue garment, her hair artfully arranged and a proper veil woven into her hair that defined her as a wealthy noblewoman.
She had dressed well for the feast that night, but her expression was one of concern as she fixed on her young cousin.
“What’s amiss, lass?” Jordan said, pushing into the chamber. “No one has seen ye all night. Are ye ill?”
Annaleigh didn’t want to tell her the truth. “Aye,” she said, her hand first to her head, then quickly on her belly. “I… I’ve had a bellyache since earlier in the day. I dinna want tae trouble ye with it.”
Jordan put a hand on her forehead, feeling for a fever. “Ye’re not warm,” she said. “Did ye eat something that dinna agree with ye?”
Annaleigh nodded. “I must have,” she said. “I’m very sorry tae have disappointed ye today. I wanted tae keep tae my duties, but I… couldna.”
Jordan put her arm around her shoulders and shepherded her back over to the bed. “Ye must sleep,” she said. “Get intae bed and try tae sleep. If yer belly still hurts by morning, I’ll send for the physic.”
“Nay,” Annaleigh said quickly. “’Tis not necessary. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“We’ll see.”
“Did William’s guests settle in?”
“Aye,” Jordan said, forcing her into bed and pulling up the coverlet. “Those who are not in the hall are already in bed.”
“Did ye put Sir Warwick in the keep?”
Jordan nodded, tucking her in tightly. “He’s in the young men’s wing.”
The young men’s wing was a section of the east wing, the ground level, where unmarried, visiting men were housed if they were anything more than a knight.
The door leading into the keep could be bolted from the outside, meaning no unmarried young man could wander into the keep where there were unmarried young ladies.
Usually, knights were kept to the aptly named knights’ quarters in the outer ward, but Herringthorpe had warranted enough respect and honor that Jordan had put him in the house.
Exactly three stories below Annaleigh’s bed.
She rolled onto her side as Jordan fussed with the coverlet at the bottom of the mattress, watching the flicker of the taper next to her bed and thinking on War.
Truthfully, she couldn’t stop thinking of him and she wasn’t quite sure why.
Something about the man had her attention, but it was more than that.
She felt an odd kinship with him because she shared something with him that she’d never shared with anyone – an event in battle, a moment where she helped save his life.
Until today, she’d put that moment out of her mind because she’d been certain the knight she’d helped in the thicket had not survived.
But he had.
Oddly, she felt responsible for him in some fashion.
“Did ye meet Herringthorpe?” she asked.
Jordan grunted as she tugged on an uncooperative coverlet corner. “Aye,” she said. “A very big man.”
“Did ye speak with him?”
Jordan tucked the corner in. “Aye,” she said. Then, she looked up at Annaleigh. “Did ye?”
“Aye,” Annaleigh said. “I’m not ashamed tae admit that I find the man handsome. Do ye?”
Up until this moment, the chatter from Annaleigh had been meaningless. But now, Jordan was starting to pay attention to it. The lass found War Herringthorpe handsome, did she?
That was a good sign.
“I suppose,” Jordan said, trying not to display her joy that Annaleigh was actually showing interest in a man. “Did ye have a proper conversation with him, then?”
Annaleigh shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “William introduced us and he needed direction tae the garderobe, so we spoke a little when I showed him where it was. But nothing much beyond that.”
It was true, most of it. She had the intention of showing him where the garderobe was and they did speak, but there was much more to it.
Much more that she couldn’t tell her cousin.
While she was keeping secrets, she had no idea that Jordan had planned for her to meet War, hoping there might be some kind of attraction.
It seemed they both had secrets from each other.
“He’s an important man,” Jordan said, going to the head of the bed and laying her hand on Annaleigh’s forehead in a maternal gesture.
“William says that he’s a Blackchurch-trained knight who is the king’s favored warrior right now.
That means wealth and prestige. It means he has a bright future ahead of him. ”
Annaleigh didn’t need any help when it came to her interest in War because she had quite enough of it without Jordan telling her how great the man was.
“What’s a Blackchurch?” she asked.
Jordan smiled faintly. “It’s where the best knights in the world train,” she said. “William says the Lords of Exmoor are in charge and they only take the best warriors tae train them. They teach them things that normal knights never learn.”
“Like what?”
“Ye’ll have tae ask Sir Warwick.”
With that, she winked at her and blew the taper out, leaving the chamber and quietly shutting the door. Annaleigh lay there, watching the low flames flickering in the hearth, thinking on Blackchurch now where it pertained to War. Was the man so great that he went to a special training guild?
That only served to feed her increasing interest.
Sounds of the great hall were still floating upon the night air. She could hear the laughter and buzz of distant conversation.
Perhaps War was still there.
Like a siren’s call, the mere thought propelled her out of bed.
*
“I thought you’d gone to bed.”
War heard the voice behind him, turning to see Alexei walking up behind him with a cup of something steaming in his hand.
They were in a garden that was built into the side of the keep, with high walls but a gate that faced the south wall of the great hall.
The distance was about twelve feet between the gate and the wall, but the entry doors to the hall were facing into the bailey, so one had to actually walk around to the south side of the hall to see the garden gate.
And that’s what Alexei had done.
War smiled wearily.
“That was my intention,” he said. “I wandered out of the hall and saw the gate. One thing led to another and here I am, in this magnificent garden.”
It was dark, with a sliver moon, but there were enough torches in and around Castle Questing to light up half of London.
There were even torches in a garden that wasn’t being used in the dead of night.
It was enough light to look around and see the foxgloves and rosemary, lavender and roses, among others. There was even a fishpond.
It was quite the cultivated garden.
“Very nice,” Alexei said, looking around. “But I’ve never known you to be an admirer of flowers.”
War snorted softly. “I am not,” he said. “But it is peaceful here. I am indeed an admirer of peace.”
“For a man that fights as if blood and gore is the very air he breathes, some might find that statement shocking.”
War continued to chuckle. “I realize that,” he said. “But at the moment, I found I needed the tranquility. It helps me think.”
Alexei wasn’t stupid. He knew why. “De Wolfe?” he ventured.
War nodded. “Aye,” he said. “He’s a great man, Alexei. A man to be admired. He has built this spectacular empire all by himself and I keep going back to something my father said.”
“What was that?”
“Essentially, he told me not to ruin anything for de Wolfe.”
“And you feel as if by telling him the truth, it might ruin things?”