Chapter 11 A Masked Deception
The next day, Celise woke up to a loud banging on her bedroom door.
“Lady Celise! My lady, are you awake?”
Celise groaned. She had a throbbing headache. She was terribly dehydrated. Her back was sore, and her thighs ached from her furious escape on Tempest the night before.
She gasped and sat up in bed. Tempest.
She had tethered the bold black Hellion to a pine tree just outside the castle gate, confident that the Mad Dog would find him.
She clutched her quilt to her chest. Last night . . . did I really . . . ?
Her aching muscles were proof enough that her panicked flight through the forest hadn’t been a nightmare. Even after making it back to the tower, the tall, dark figure of the Mad Dog had chased her through the corridors of her mind. No matter how far she fled, he was always right behind her.
Celise pressed a hand to her fluttering heart.
He was brash, domineering, arrogant . . . .
Heroic. Brave. Skilled.
Infuriating.
She barely remembered getting back to her bedroom.
Somehow, she had found her way across Gravenmere grounds to the Moongazer Tower just as gray light began to fill the sky.
She had climbed up the clematis-covered trellis to the curtain wall, ignoring the splinters that cut into her palms. Then she dragged herself through the window into the tower.
Entering her bedroom, she pulled off Elias’s heavy coat—by dust and moon, did I really steal this from the Mad Dog duke?
—and her ruined shift. She shoved them both behind the wardrobe.
Then she used a towel to wipe off the dirt from her arms and legs.
Finally, she had climbed into bed and thrown the covers over her, waiting for the sound of boots on the tower stairs as soldiers approached her door.
But now it was daylight, and no one had come.
Had she really escaped the Mad Dog?
Why did she feel ever so slightly disappointed?
Glancing in the mirror that faced the bed, she winced at the sight of a dark bruise on her cheek.
Her hair was a rat’s nest of tangled raspberry tresses.
Twigs and leaves clung to the unruly strands.
Considering her gaunt appearance, she looked like a homeless vagrant.
Vivid noon light blazed through the tower window, heating the small attic room like a furnace.
Celise rolled over in the lumpy bed, her muscles sore, her throat parched.
The hammering on the door came again, and Dasha’s voice called out, a bit higher pitched, “Please answer me, Celise! Are you decent? I’m going to unlock the door and come in now.”
“No! No, I’m not!” Celise cried, but her words came out in a croak.
She wrapped herself up in a quilt as an iron key jingled in the lock. The bolt turned and clicked. Then Dasha pushed her way inside the room. The look of relief on the maid’s face was almost comical.
“Oh good, you’re here!” Dasha gasped. Then, in a lowered voice, “The trellis along the side of the tower is all crooked and hanging. Katrina pointed it out this morning. I had the worst thought that you might have . . . well, I won’t even speak the words out loud. Marcella is in a mood.”
Celise sighed. When was her stepmother not in a mood?
Dasha shut the door behind her, locked it, then leaned up against it with a bemused smile on her face. The dark-haired maid was only a few years older than Celise and one of her closest friends. In an informal tone, Dasha said, “You look like you’ve had quite a night.”
Celise couldn’t hide the bits of leaves and pine needles stuck in her hair. A self-conscious hand went to her ragged braid. “Uh . . .” she muttered.
With a mischievous smile, Dasha lowered her voice and said, “There’s a man downstairs in the parlor visiting Lord Dhastel. He’s asking a lot of questions about our ranch, especially the Hellions. He wanted to meet Katrina and Heather.”
Celise’s eyes widened. "What man? When was this?”
“Just now. I came to check on you because Marcella doesn’t want you to leave your room. She doesn’t want the man to know there’s a third Dhastel daughter.”
Celise pulled in a slow breath. Her stomach twisted.
“Oh yes. The rot-queen strikes again,” Dasha said, misreading Celise’s nervous look. She folded her arms across her chest and arched a black eyebrow. “That witch is trying to erase you out of the family; she’s shameless about it, too. If Mordwen were here, she would be livid!”
“But the man . . . what about him? Why did he want to meet Katrina and Heather?”
“Oh, that. He had a hairpin. He wanted to know if Heather or Katrina recognized it.”
Stunned, Celise inspected her messy braid again. “A . . . a hairpin?” she squeaked.
“Yes. Marcella didn’t recognize it, but I did.
It’s part of a set that Mordwen gifted you on your birthday last year.
Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to get you into worse trouble with the rot-queen.
I recognized the pin because I fixed it in your hair before we left Windhaven on the train!
That was days ago. How long has it been since you brushed it out? ”
“About that, yes . . . .”
“My goodness, how she neglects you! That woman has no conscience.”
“The soldier, Dasha, what did he want?”
Dasha shrugged. “He wanted to find the owner of the hairpin. But how did he get his hands on it? Did you lose it somewhere on the grounds yesterday? Or . . . maybe last night?” Dasha gave her a coy smile, like a playful cat.
“I’m surprised by you, Celise! I thought you’d sworn off romance.
Your heart was always for the horses. But perhaps I was mistaken. . . .”
“The soldier, Dasha—was he—did he wear a mask—”
“No mask. His name is Kiran Kinren . . . no, Kindale, I believe. Does that sound familiar? Kiran Kindale? Handsome fellow from Illysea, if I had to guess. He looks a lot more well-off than an average soldier. Perhaps a baronette of some kind?”
Celise’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I don’t recognize the name. I wouldn’t know him.”
“How mysterious! It struck me as odd that he’s asking after the hairpin, like you’re in trouble of some kind.” Dasha looked over her again. “What did you get up to last night?”
“I was here . . . sleeping,” Celise lied.
“Right. And I own a townhome in Astravelle near the waterfalls.” Dasha rolled her eyes. “If you want to get a good look at him, he’s leaving now.” She nodded to the window.
Celise wrapped the blanket securely around her, scrambled to her feet, and crossed the room in three steps.
She winced—her muscles were sore and stiff.
She leaned out the window, peering down at the courtyard below, just in time to see a man with blond curly hair wearing a white officer’s uniform disappear down the garden path.
She didn’t recognize him from Elias’s squadron the night before.
But she had no doubt he was connected to the Mad Dog somehow.
“I don’t recognize him,” she repeated.
Dasha looked amused, but she pretended to believe Celise’s story. “Alright, well, thankfully that’s over with. Let’s get you ready for the day before Marcella assigns me a million more chores. I’ll pour you a bath . . . .”
Celise gazed out the window for a moment longer, admiring the view of the castle grounds. Gravenmere Castle was beautiful during the day—but even more lovely under the moonlight. She wondered why Officer Kindale was trying to find her. Was he connected to the Mad Dog duke?
Were they looking for a spy?
She hunched a bit, chilled by the thought.
Elias had threatened to arrest her last night.
She was very fortunate that only Dasha recognized the hairpin.
What have I gotten myself into?
A bit of movement down below caught her attention.
She watched her father exit the tower with Marcella on his arm.
They shut the door behind them and strolled across the flagstone pavilion in the same direction as Officer Kindale.
Her father walked with a cane in hand and a top hat on his head, very distinguished.
They wore matching powder blue outfits, the color of the Dhastel house.
“I don’t think Marcella will be back for a little while,” Celise said in relief. “It looks like they’re going on a walk.”
“Good,” Dasha grunted as she prepared the tub for Celise’s bath.
The pipes screeched and squealed, spouting hot water into the copper basin in angry bursts.
“I’ll get you something from the pantry in a moment.
You must be starving. But let’s start your bath first. I’m sure Heather and Katrina will want me to help with their dresses as soon as they finish gossiping about the officer.
The banquet is only a few hours away—we don’t have that much time to get ready.
Now let me find that dress Steffie altered for you . . .”
Celise couldn’t keep the disappointment off her face. She didn’t want to attend the ball. Dasha noticed her frown and tried to brighten her mood. “Don’t look so dour! At the very least, you’ll be able to watch Katrina make a fool of herself. She thinks the duke is going to propose to her.”
“That's a terrible idea,” Celise scoffed, surprising herself. When Dasha glanced at her curiously, she explained, “A man like Elias Blackwood won’t cater to someone as entitled as Katrina—she can’t tolerate the word ‘no.’ It would be a disaster.”
Dasha gave her a bemused look. “Oh? You sound like you’ve met the man.”
Celise blushed.
“So, who would you pick for the duke?”
Celise caught herself before answering. She shouldn’t care about any of this. Her little sister could have the duke if she wanted!
“I wouldn’t pick anyone for the duke,” she backtracked. “But why does Katrina think Elias would propose to her? Is it because she won the Teacup Tournament?”