Chapter Twenty Five
Stephen sat at a long trestle table in the common room of the Bunkford Inn, just south of Mathas, alongside Jarrett, Aldwin and the rest of the Ravensworth knights.
When they had first entered, Rupert banished the other peasant travelers from the room with a few biting remarks.
Now, the once bustling table was dead quiet with the exception the occasional scraping of knives or the gentle tap of a goblet of beer being set down.
Glancing sidelong at Rupert, Stephen reached inside his bread bowl and pinched a hunk of roasted venison from the thick gravy.
Rupert sat in a large, high-backed chair, staring into the wide hearth.
The bread bowl on the side table near his arm remained untouched; however, the same could not be said for his drink.
Stephen cringed when yet again Rupert impatiently motioned to a lad holding a large jug in the corner.
The boy hastened to Rupert’s side and filled his goblet, which Rupert proceeded to down.
When the boy started to move away, Rupert clamped his hand on his forearm, causing the boy to wince.
“I did not dismiss you,” Rupert snapped.
The boy’s face twisted with pain. “Forgive me, my lord.”
Rupert held out his goblet to be filled once more. Then with a careless flick of his fingers, he dismissed the boy who scurried back to stand on the opposite side of the room.
Stephen clutched his hands into tight fists as he continued to watch Rupert from the corner of his eye.
He simply could not believe the change in his brother.
Dark circles shadowed Rupert’s eyes. His hand shook each time he brought his goblet to his lips.
He did not engage the men. He only sat, staring at the dancing flames, his lips moving as if he spoke, but to whom, Stephen could not even guess.
With his own muttered curse, Stephen pushed away his half-eaten supper, having now lost his own appetite.
He dipped his fingers in the wash bowl and was soon joined by the other knights.
Then before Stephen knew what was happening, Jarrett stood up and piled their bread bowls together and started toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Rupert said coldly.
Jarrett froze and slowly turned around. “To the stables, my lord.”
“I did not ask you.”
Jarrett dipped his head in apology. “I was taking Jasper and the dogs the bread bowls, my lord.”
“To feed their failure?” Rupert snapped, his face turning red. “I think not.”
Stephen prayed Jarrett had the sense to sit down.
He had already planned on ensuring Jasper and the dogs were fed, but not until after Rupert had retired to his room.
Stephen’s shoulders seized as he watched Jarrett open his mouth to speak, but in the end, he remained quiet.
The tension eased from Stephen’s body. Of course the men wished to protest against Rupert’s cruelty, but Edgar’s death had rattled them all and rightly so.
As much as the men wanted to champion Jasper, they would not do so if the penalty was death.
Rupert leaned forward in his seat with his face contorted with rage. “Burn the bread, all of it. I do not feed laziness. When they find me the girl that is when they will eat.”
Jarrett did as he was bidden and tossed the hollowed bread into the fire.
Then he turned away from Rupert and locked eyes with Stephen.
Stephen could see the fury, brimming behind his friend’s eyes.
His own hands clenched tighter. Rupert was out of control—but the reason for his aggression and folly remained a mystery.
Without question, Stephen wanted to find Catarina and Nicholas, but he would not kill innocent men to do so.
He watched as Rupert’s head dropped, his chin resting on his chest. Then it bobbed back up again.
It was clear he fought sleep. Stephen pressed his lips together in disapproval.
More than anything, Rupert needed sleep.
The night before Stephen had once again listened to Rupert pacing the floor, and what little sleep he had found had been riddled by night terrors.
Stephen could still hear Rupert’s screams echoing in his mind.
It was his brother’s ceaseless nightly torture that kept sympathy firmly rooted in Stephen’s heart.
Rupert suffered. Stephen knew not why, but he did not doubt that his brother’s pain was very real.
Having made up his mind to advise Rupert to retire for the night, Stephen stood, but then a knock sounded at the door and in sauntered a comely serving maid with chestnut hair and pretty, green eyes.
She smiled and curtsied to Rupert. “My lord, a man has just arrived at the inn. He wishes to speak to ye. He says he has information ye’re sure to welcome. ”
Rupert turned, and Stephen glimpsed the glint that suddenly brightened his brother’s dull gaze. His lips twisted in a cruel, greedy smile. “Show him in, damn it. What are you waiting for?”
The maid’s eyes grew wide, and, in a frenzy, she turned and opened the door. “Come in. Come in,” she blustered.
To Stephen’s surprise an old codger shuffled into the room.
He wore a tattered tunic, hose littered with holes, and a pair of old brogues that a strong gust of wind could blow apart.
But what caught Stephen’s eye was his hat.
It had a wide brim with tall feathers of all colors poking out from the top and a ring of heather around the crown.
Beneath the hat was a wizened face with droopy eyelids.
As he shuffled farther into the room, his lips slowly upturned in a gummy smile.
Stephen waited for the man or Rupert to speak, but they simply stared at one another for several moments.
Finally, Rupert’s fist came down on the arm of his chair. “Speak,” he snapped.
The old man did not flinch nor did he hurry to answer. He scanned the room, looking all the men in the eye. When he locked eyes with Stephen, Stephen saw he truly was unafraid. Mayhap, at his age he was too close to death to fear it.
Very slowly, the old man turned back around, giving Rupert his full attention. “I ken something ye’ll pay coin to hear.”
Rupert shrugged. “That depends on the information. Out with in. I am not in a patient mood.”
That gummy smile appeared again before the old man said, “If ‘tis all the same to ye, my lord, I dare not speak until I feel the cold coin in my hand.”
Rupert slid to the edge of his seat, his eyes flashing with anger. “You are lucky I do not break every bone in your ancient body.”
The old man chuckled. “Ah, but then ye wouldn’t know where the lady is that ye’ve been hunting all over the Highlands for, now would ye?”
Rupert’s hands clawed the arms of his chair. Stephen stepped closer, ready to throw his sword up in the old man’s defense if need be. But Rupert sat back as a slow smile parted his lips.
“Pay the man,” he said, gesturing to Stephen. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
Stephen pressed several silver pieces into the man’s gnarled hand.
Bony fingers tucked the coins away before the old man looked Rupert square in the eye.
“This morning I drove my wagon to Mathas. I saw a man on the side of the road. He held a woman in his arms. He, himself, looked ready to fall over and die, but she looked all the worse.”
Rupert jumped to his feet. “Was it her? Was it Lady Catarina?”
“Even with her sickly pallor, I knew her straightaway from yer description. Dark skin, black hair. Even my old eyes saw her beauty.”
Stephen came forward then. “She is sick?”
The old man turned stiffly to meet Stephen’s gaze.
“Aye, riddled with fever, she was. I took them to the village to Miss Abigail’s cottage.
She’s a healer and a good one at that, though I don’t think it’ll matter much.
Judging by how sick she was, they will not be leaving anytime soon, unless she departs from this world to go to another. ”
“What brought the fever on?” Stephen asked.
“A nasty gash on the sole of her foot had begun to fester. I didn’t see the wound itself, but her fever was bad. I doubt she’ll live to see the dawn.”
Rupert stood up. His face shone with glee.
Stephen dreaded to hear the answer to the question he could not avoid asking. “What do ye wish to do, my lord?”
Rupert smiled. “Nothing for now. God is punishing her. This is His will—He does this on our behalf. We will wait the night and ride out in the morning to see if she lives or not.”
“Suit yerself,” the old man said. He scuffed his heels as he slowly turned around and started to make his way toward the door.
Stephen looked away from the old man to Rupert who was sitting once more, staring at the flames dancing in the hearth. But an instant later, his head jerked around. He called out to the old man. “Do me a service?”
Slowly the codger turned back, flashing his gummy smile. “Only for a price.”