Chapter Eight
Joanie walked down the long corridor of the southern wing on Simon’s arm. Candlelight flickered as they passed. She strained to focus on Simon’s words over the din of her own beating heart.
“Remember to stand up straight. Never rush your movements. Walk slowly, seductively. Charm every man and woman with just the shadow of a smile or the tilt of your head.”
Her stomach twisted. “I have not left that room in months. For years, the only souls I’ve spoken to are you and Diana, and you ask me to be charming.”
He grabbed her arm and stopped her, his gaze desperate.
“The only hope we have of saving Diana is for you to strike wonder in everyone’s heart.
” His grip tightened. “I’ve heard you sing.
You don’t know this, but I have stood outside the door and listened to you with bated breath.
” He shook his head. “There is something indescribable about your voice. It cries and rejoices all at the same time. You have it in you to steal their breath, and if you do, the master will be praised by all. He will be a champion.” Simon’s grip tightened still.
“But if you falter, if you allow fear to be your guide, then the master will be made a fool. God save us all from that.”
For a moment, Joanie sank beneath the pressure of Simon’s words, but then she realized he too risked it all for Diana. “You love her, don’t you?”
Simon closed his eyes and released her arm, gently taking her hand instead. “My every thought, my every breath and prayer are for her.”
Tears stung Joanie’s eyes, but she took a deep breath and squeezed Simon’s hand before she stepped from his side and moved just behind the large screen that separated her from the high dais and beyond that, the great hall.
She gripped her tunic, her mind racing about what could possibly await her on the other side.
Still, no matter what she saw, she had to rise above her fear.
She imagined for a moment that she was someone else.
Someone who was not afraid. Someone who had been adored her whole life.
Someone who knew what it meant to be loved and admired.
Her grandmother’s songs came to her then, filling her with images of the distant Highlands she had only seen in her dreams. She lengthened her spine and lifted her shoulders back and away from her ears.
“For Diana,” she whispered. “For my grandmother.” She almost took her first step, but then she paused. “For me.”
With a deep breath, she stepped from behind the screen onto the high dais, which had been used as a stage since the king had moved to York and the days of revelry had begun.
She opened her lips and let the first note ring out, strong and true.
Pouring her heart and soul into each note, she sang of mountains high and fields of golden wheat bending in the wind.
She didn’t stop when one song ended, but straightaway moved to the next, slowly moving across the dais and onto the floor where full trencher tables stretched out before her.
Her hips swayed to her own music of lovers who grew old together and those who died young, of fierce battles, and a mother holding her baby for the first time.
Images she created in her mind hovered above the heads of the audience, trapping her gaze.
In that moment, she stood alone, singing for herself.
ALEC SAT AT ONE OF the trencher tables, trying his best to ignore the revelers.
The keeper’s special regard for him had warranted other men’s caution and disdain, which suited Alec just fine.
Now, they smiled at him, wanting to flatter someone so highly prized by John, but their smiles were naught but messages of thinly veiled hostility.
For their efforts, Alec simply inclined his head, not encouragement enough for anyone to approach him but also enough to not offend, ensuring he was left alone.
He looked forward to the day when he could leave the king’s palace for good, which would hopefully be soon.
As far as the abbot was concerned, Alec’s work was already done.
He had passed on his report about the monks who had partaken in the keeper’s unholy gatherings.
More than that, he had led many of Scotland’s secret rebels in a heist, stealing the king’s treasure from the abbey’s Chapter House.
The blame of the robbery had fallen on the shoulders of a man named Richard Ash, a greedy, hateful merchant who used to frequent the keeper’s galas in the palace.
It had been Richard’s idea to rob the Chapter House and steal the king’s treasure.
He had confided his plan to Alec. But he also spoke of the wretched things he would do once the fortune was his — the enslavement of prostitutes, the ruination of whole families he blamed for his own failures — treachery Alec could never allow.
In the end, Alec organized Scotland’s agents and together, they pulled off the heist themselves.
Now the royal wealth was being put to good use, feeding those in need and rebuilding Scotland’s army.
Meanwhile the agents had put Richard on a merchant vessel heading to Venice, ensuring it would be months before he returned to England.
Because the treasure and Richard disappeared at the same time, naturally the keeper assumed Richard was the thief.
Alec noticed the keeper enter from the courtyard.
John sat at the head of the trencher table closest to the high dais.
Alec watched as different merchants and nobles rotated in and out of the seat next to him, everyone having their turn with his ear.
As if sensing his watchful eye, the keeper shifted in his seat and locked eyes with Alec, who raised his cup in greeting.
But Alec did not get up and go to the keeper. Instead, the keeper stood for him.
“There is still no sign of Richard Ash?” the keeper asked under his breath when he claimed the seat next to Alec. Alec kept his senses keen, reading the keeper’s true desires over what he was actually saying.
“I’ve heard nothing yet, but if he turns up in London, I will be one of the first to know,” Alec lied, confident it would be many months before anyone spotted Richard Ash.
The keeper shook his head. Alec could sense his anxiety. “I want him found,” he hissed. “When the king’s men arrive, the safety of my neck will only be assured if I have another neck to give them.”
Alec leaned closer. “You’ve already sent a message to the king about the robbery.” This wasn’t a question. Alec knew he had.
The keeper shrugged, feigning indifference, but Alec could feel his pounding heart. “I thought it better if I reveal what has happened, then for it to be discovered by someone else on my watch.” The keeper started to get up. “You will tell me if you hear anything?”
Alec nodded. “You know I will,” he lied.
As soon as he aided the lass from his vision, Alec would leave the palace and England altogether, and he could only hope to never return. He considered asking the keeper about who occupied the southern wing, but he decided to question someone who would be less curious about why he was asking.
Once more, his mind returned to the lass.
He had felt her pain so deeply. It cut a fiery path straight to his heart, bypassing all the shields he had spent years erecting.
But why this girl? Why her fear, and why now?
Everyone he encountered was afraid of something.
He leaned back and looked around. Across from him sat a man nearing his fiftieth year.
His shoulders stooped over his tankard as he eyed the young serving girls.
He feared death. Farther down the table was an older prostitute whose smile hid her fear for the health of her youngest daughter who, at that moment, was lost to fever.
She had wanted nothing more than to remain by her side, but she needed coin to pay for the doctor and medicine.
A young man who raised his cup, making toast after toast, feared being found less than his older brothers.
Illness, betrayal, failure, the wrath of God — everyone was afraid of something.
“Where have you been these last weeks, Randolph?”
Alec looked up at Sir Hugh Godfrey. There was no man vainer and shallower than Sir Hugh, which was why Alec did not offend him like he did the others.
In fact, he seemed to admire Alec’s indifference, thinking it evidence of his discerning taste.
Sir Hugh smoothly sat down. Alec abhorred his type most of all.
He was like a snake, smooth, charming, seemingly polite and chivalric, but every word from his lips was a lie.
“I’ve not felt well,” Alec said.
Sir Hugh’s brows drew together. “I’m glad you’re on the mend.”
Lie.
“Thank you,” Alex said, his voice flat. But then he realized Sir Hugh was the perfect man to question about the Southern wing. He thought of only himself. His discretion was guaranteed, but only because he possessed the depth of a puddle.
Alec kept his eyes trained forward as if he watched the serving maids briskly moving about the room. “Who occupies the last rooms on the southern wing?”
Sir Hugh jerked his head toward a large man at the keeper’s table. “Geoffrey Mercer and his leman, Diana. His manservant also has one of the rooms and so on.”
“Diana,” Alec said her name aloud. He remembered seeing her the night before. He remembered feeling her failing body. “She has a lovely voice,” Alec said absently.
Sir Hugh shrugged. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Lie.
“She isn’t that beautiful,” he continued.
Lie.
A vision of Sir Hugh soliciting Diana in the great hall when Geoffrey was preoccupied in conversation with the keeper flashed in Alec’s mind. Diana had refused him. “Yes, you are, indeed, a man of discerning taste,” Alec said dryly as he stood.