Chapter Five
Joanie hunched over a little, keeping her shoulders up around her ears as she hastened through the castle corridors.
She needed to find the servant’s entrance to the kitchens, but upon arriving at the king’s palace more than six months before, she had not once stepped foot from Diana’s room.
She knew not the hour but having yet to pass anyone other than a few of the upstairs maids in the hallway, she hoped it was still morning.
One of the maids she passed, who stood on a ladder, removing candle stubs from a candelabra, flashed her a quizzical look.
But a moment later, she turned her attention back to scrapping at the remains of dried wax, which ran down the dangling silver in thin, meandering rivulets.
To Joanie’s relief, although not to her surprise, the maid had clearly dismissed her from her thoughts.
Joanie knew that in the forefront of the maid’s mind was the task she had been given and what would happen if she took too long to accomplish it.
If other servants she might encounter were as equally occupied, they, too, would likely dismiss her just as quickly, which bolstered Joanie’s courage.
She now had reason to hope that word of her journey through the keep would not reach her master’s ears.
A cold chill shot up her spine at the mere thought of him finding out she had left Diana’s room.
She dared not even imagine the measure of his fury.
He would beat her — this much she knew for certain, but would he stop?
She doubted he would stop until she was dead.
Doubtless, her actions put her life in jeopardy, but for Diana, she would traverse the very fires of hell.
Diana was more than her mistress. She was her dearest friend, her sister.
Joanie stopped short suddenly unable to breathe, feeling as if something had grabbed her heart and squeezed until it could beat no more.
“Diana is dying,” she whispered out loud.
Tears stung her eyes as she choked down a sob struggling to leave her throat. Shaking her head, she swallowed her sorrow. Diana was not dead yet. And Joanie was going to bring her every relief she could.
She turned the corner and stopped short again.
A man, as straight and tall as a tower, strode down the corridor from the opposite direction.
His fine tunic of rich, red velvet shimmered in the candlelight.
Joanie looked away before her gaze reached his face.
Her shoulders framed her ears, and she turned into the wall as she walked, trying to make herself as small and insignificant as she could.
When the man walked by without uttering a word, she expelled a quiet breath.
Still, encountering one of the nobles had rattled her to her core.
She fisted her hands to stop them from shaking. Then her heart nigh burst with relief.
Up ahead, a young man carrying a tray of dirty mugs and bowls passed through a door.
Rushing behind him came a serving maid, also bearing a tray of stacked wooden bowls.
Joanie surged forward, forgetting her diminished posture in her excitement.
At last, she had found the servants entrance to the kitchens.
Cautious again, she slowed her pace and curved her spine to reduce her height.
She paused in the doorway entrance, her eyes darting left, then right.
Long stone corridors stretched on either side of her, empty but for dancing shadows made by flickering candlelight.
Looking straight ahead, she peered down narrow stone steps.
Din from the kitchens reached her ears. Several different voices shouted orders, followed by the scurry of rushing feet. With a deep breath, she descended.
The narrow passage opened to a wide, bustling room.
Several large cuts of meat were roasting in preparation for dinner.
Two massive iron cauldrons bubbled with stew.
She hurried past a young boy dumping a bucket of water into a deep, stone sink.
Weaving through rows of tables, lined with servants chopping vegetables and plucking fowl, she kept her head low, but her eyes darted around the room. Then she saw it, the herb cupboard.
On the far side of the room, a tall woman with a slim build had flung wide two slatted doors, revealing shelves of pots in varying sizes.
The kitchen maid ran her finger along the top shelf, gently grazing each vessel until she reached a round, red-clay pot.
Taking it down, she set it on the table behind her and scooped a large handful of what Joanie recognized as rosemary into a bowl.
Then she returned the pot and shut the cupboard doors before hastening over to one of the large, steaming cauldrons.
Wanting to be certain the maid did not plan on returning to the cupboard, Joanie held her breath and watched while she deftly stirred the rosemary into the stew.
When she set down her spoon and joined another table where several servants stood kneading bread, Joanie shifted her gaze back to the cupboard.
She counted to three in her head to find her courage, then set off across the busy room, dodging servants with teeming trays.
Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she eased open the cupboard doors, fully expecting at any moment for someone to bark at her from behind ... What do you think you’re doing? You don’t belong here!
Each pot had a label fixed on with wax, but she could not read.
Her heart threatened to break free from her chest, it pounded so hard.
Still, she pushed on, grabbing one of the many pots and looked inside, returning it to the shelf a moment later.
Eleven pots later, she suppressed a desperate squeal of triumph that came unbidden to her lips and scooped two handfuls of Coltsfoot, filling the pouch she had brought in her satchel before she returned the pot and closed the doors.
Turning on her heel, she dropped her head low and took another deep breath before she set out across the bustling kitchen.
The doorway loomed before her. She skirted around another boy with a bucket of water and took her first step up the stairs when a voice she knew boomed throughout the kitchen. Silence followed in its wake as everyone froze, including Joanie.
“My master did not enjoy his meal. Nothing was salted properly,” the man growled.
Joanie’s heart sank. It was Simon. She did not mean to glance his way.
In fact, she was certain she had told her feet to run, but instead they locked eyes.
His nostrils flared and his face grew red as he narrowed his eyes on her and crossed the room.
Joanie stood her ground, knowing it was pointless to run.
She fought to keep her fear at bay as she watched his approach.
After all, Simon was not a cruel man. He had always shown Diana true compassion and Joanie gentle indifference, which was the next closest thing to kindness she had ever experienced.
When he reached her side, he grabbed her arm and pulled her halfway up the stairs.
“Speak quickly. And by all the saints, please have a good reason for being here.”
“Diana—” she began quietly.
He grabbed her shoulders. “What about Diana?” he hissed.
“She ... she is worse than ever. She suffers. I needed Coltsfoot to ease her pain, but my stores were out.”
Simon raked his hand through his thinning hair. “Were you able to the find it?”
She nodded, her heart still racing.
“The master has already finished eating. He could be heading back to the wing as we speak. If you value your life at all, you will race back to the room.”
Eyes wide with fear, Joanie nodded her head.
Then she turned and sprinted up the stairs.
Blindly, she raced down the corridor, fear tightening her chest. She turned the wrong way and found a wing with a garderobe but no further stairs.
A sob escaped her lips when she realized her mistake.
Turning on her heel, she charged back the way she’d come.
Tears blurred the path. Panting, she turned the corner and raced down a long corridor with a tapestry that looked familiar.
Her master occupied the rooms of the southern wing, and she felt in her heart she was almost there.
But just then a hand grabbed her arm. It didn’t pinch or hurt, but it brought her race to a halt.
She gasped. Craning her neck back, she met the coldest, blackest eyes she had ever seen. Long, ebony hair hung past his shoulders, and his face was smooth, stark white and expressionless. She cried out, turning her eyes away while she frantically struggled to yank her arm free.
ALEC COULD NOT BELIEVE his eyes, although he guarded his surprise behind his usual facade of indifference.
Still, it was she, the lass from his vision.
He held her in his grasp. Her wide eyes filled her small, pale face like bright amber moons.
Fear raged through her like wildfire, hotter even than the stone suddenly scorching his skin.
It was her fear, in fact, that had drawn him to her.
He had felt it in the hallway before he had even glimpsed her from a distance.
He followed, not suspecting she was his mystery lass, but to ensure the girl did not face real danger.
It was not until the very moment he looked into her familiar eyes and the stone around his neck nigh erupted into flame that he realized who she was.
“’Tis ye,” he said aloud.
The very fear that had led him to her, only grew the longer he held her arm. Her eyes widened further, and her heartbeat pounded harder until he thought his head might split.
“I will not hurt ye,” he whispered.
“Let go of me,” she cried. Her body began to tremble. Panic threatened to claim her, which he knew would put all reason out of reach. He had no choice but to let her go.
The moment he released her hand, she darted away toward the southern wing.
He stared after her, his mind still reeling with the might of her fear and the reality that the lass from his vision was, at that very moment, in the king’s palace.
When he had touched her, he saw the flash of an old woman’s face with kind, faded blue eyes, but that was all.
Usually, he experienced an assault of feelings and images when he touched someone.
Now, she was gone from sight. Still, he could feel her fear.
Who was she? Why did the stone respond to her presence?
She was an English servant — how could she be important to the cause? And why was her soul seeking his?
He pressed his hand over the shard, feeling the heat through his tunic.
He needed answers. For a moment, he considered questioning some of the servants, but then he thought better of it.
Most of the palaces’ servants feared him.
What’s more, he could not trust their tongues not to wag.
He stretched his neck to the right, then the left, realizing there was only one way to find the answers he sought.
He would have to attend supper that night in the great hall.