Chapter Four

T he castle kitchen was filled with steam from the big pot on the stove. Red-faced and perspiring, Kitty leaned over and stirred the thick vegetable broth, closing her eyes and relishing the delicious smell that rose up to meet her.

"Keep on until it boils," shouted Cook, who was rolling pastry on a big stone table at the other end of the room. She was a small woman with a sharp face, but her nut-brown eyes revealed a kind nature and Kitty had taken to her instantly. "Then you can go on up and tidy his lordship's bedchamber while Thomas is in the armoury."

Kitty nodded her assent, keeping her head down so no one would notice the excitement in her eyes. This was her third day of service in Rossfarne Castle. She'd been hired as a housemaid with barely a second look from the marshal. But with only the earl himself in attendance at the castle, her duties had been confined to the kitchen so far and she was unlikely to discover her family jewels amidst the roasting spits and food barrels. On her first day, she'd been thrilled to be summoned to the solar, wildly imagining that she might lay her hands on Rosalind's inheritance within the hour. But a dark temper had hung around his lordship, and he'd curtly dismissed her just as soon as she placed her heavy tray on a polished walnut table. She hadn't even had the chance to so much as raise her gaze and glance around the room.

She straightened up and wiped her hands on her stiff apron. "Are there specific instructions?" she asked.

Agnes, a tall, stooped servant some years older than Kitty snorted in derision. "Make sure he's not still in there. You don't want to be left alone with him." She nodded emphatically before returning her attention to a brown sack of muddy potatoes.

Kitty's eyes opened wide. The man she'd met on the causeway had given her little cause for concern, but she still had much to learn about life in Rossfarne Castle.

Cook flapped her floury hands. "Don't listen to her," she told Kitty impatiently. "She's remembering the old earl. His lordship isn't like that." She turned her disapproving face towards Agnes. "And I won't have smutty tales told in my kitchen."

Agnes rolled her eyes before plunging the potatoes into a bowl of water. "It never hurts to be careful."

"I'll be careful," Kitty reassured her, remembering the dark carriage and the deep, commanding voice which had sent shivers down her spine.

"And don't be caught with your back turned," Agnes quipped.

Cook held out her large knife threateningly, and Kitty quickly looked away from both of them. She didn't want a ruckus caused on her behalf. It would be better by far if they hardly noticed her. Then they wouldn't miss her when she'd gone. And more importantly, no one would ever trace her back to Shoreston Manor. She'd already broken her promise to give a false name, but the incident on the causeway had left her shaken and disorientated. All she could think of was the tall, brooding man on the powerful charger. The way his muscles had rippled under his shirt and how his dark eyes had bored into hers. When the marshal asked for her name, she found herself reciting the pet name she'd been known by since birth.

Kitty. It was a good name for a servant. Simple, sensible, no frills. It suited her.

"Go on now," Cook urged, wiping her hands on her apron and bustling over to take the wooden spoon from Kitty. "Make haste or else his lordship will be back from his morning ride and looking to change."

Kitty didn't need further encouragement. With steady hands, she removed the heavy pot from the stove and settled it on the scrubbed wooden table to cool.

"You'll need a broom for the rushes," prompted Agnes, perhaps regretting her earlier, unhelpful words. "Sprinkle them with dried lavender."

Kitty tucked her errant curls more securely under her cap and found all she needed. The kitchen took up most of the lower ground floor. To leave it, she had to ascend a spiral stone staircase which led directly into the vast, echoing great hall. It was a room meant for feasting and gathering, but with so few people in attendance at the castle, the long trestle tables had been pushed up against the bare stone walls and the dais was bare. Four circular pillars reared up towards the vaulted ceiling, and in the far corner stood the raised lip of a deep well, situated inside in case the castle was ever held under siege. Kitty pressed her lips together at the thought. Rossfarne had known peace in her lifetime, but the troubled borderlands were not far away, and the earl had no army to protect them against marauding raids.

Shaking the thought away, she glanced around her to get her bearings. The earl's solar was situated in an alcove on this floor and the grand bedchambers were above. She walked past the cavernous fireplace, balanced her broom against her shoulder and opened a creaking door to the tower stairs. She had not yet been higher than the ground floor of Rossfarne Castle. The steps in front of her were narrow and slippery and her heart began to beat loudly beneath her apron as she climbed. She paused beside a window to catch her breath as the turbulent sea crashed repeatedly against the mighty castle walls. Out there, gulls cried and fishermen from the village plied their trade, but the forceful, elemental waves had power over them all.

How could she, a mere girl from the village, hope to better the formidable Earl of Rossfarne?

Kitty swallowed down her fears and turned resolutely from the cheerless view. So much wilderness all around only served to underline her own physical weakness. But she was so close. She must hold her nerve for just a little longer.

She reached a tapestried gallery with a door set into the stone wall beside another narrow window. This must be the earl's bedchamber. Squaring her shoulders, Kitty hesitantly knocked on the door. The last thing she wanted was to walk in unannounced and discover he had returned unexpectedly. Worse, to find him waiting for her, his fierce eyes flashing, his powerful body coiled like a spring.

She closed her eyes to banish the image and listened hard, but no sound came from the thick-set doorway. Pulse-pounding, she turned the handle and pushed. The door refused to yield.

It was locked.

Kitty darted backwards as if she had been burned. Was it the wrong door? She looked left and right, but all she could see were more steps going higher.

Heart quaking, she began to climb again. These steps were even narrower than the last and she feared her large, ungainly feet may slip at any moment. If only she had Rosalind's dainty limbs. But then Rosalind would not make a convincing servant. She'd never been taught to light a fire or turn a joint of meat.

Kitty clasped her hands tightly in a bid to control her spiralling thoughts. All she had to do was find the earl's bedchamber. She wasn't trespassing. She had every right to be here. But it was as if her true intentions were writ large across her face. And despite Cook's reassurances, she couldn't help remembering the stark warning Agnes had delivered.

Don't be left alone with him.

The servant's words mingled with Alfred's awful pronouncement and made Kitty's courage flail.

You belong to the Earl of Rossfarne.

She hadn't been recognised, and she had no reason to fear that might change. But still, she was keenly aware that one false step on her part could lead to disaster. Kitty would no longer be a respectable serving girl, stirring broth in the kitchen. She'd be like the long-ago women lured here by the old earl, never to be seen again.

The narrow steps ended at another arched wooden doorway. This one set right against the head of the stairway so there was nowhere else to turn. Kitty rapped on the wood, louder this time, but she didn't need to turn the brass handle to know that this door was also locked. It had the look of a door that had not been opened for some time. A door hiding dark secrets. One that should remain closed.

Her broom clattered to the floor as her hands flew to her face. Was this the locked tower room in the Castle of Rossfarne? Had she stumbled on that den of iniquity without meaning to? Kitty's heart beat so loudly it rivalled the crashing of the mighty waves. Images flashed through her mind, half spun from hushed gossip in the village. Women flushed and disrobed. A man edging closer, his hands outstretched towards pearly flesh.

Cheeks burning, she spun on the spot and flung herself back down the stairway, uncaring now of the narrow stone steps and her large, ungainly feet. She wanted only to be back in human company, watching Cook wave her wooden spoon and hearing Agnes sniff with displeasure. The winding stairs circled on relentlessly and the stone walls seemed to close in around her, mocking her fears.

All at once she stumbled out into the light and barrelled into something tall, solid and unmoving. Her senses flooded with a masculine scent—leather and salt from the sea. Her eyes travelled upwards fearfully, already knowing what they would rest upon.

The chiselled jawline and imperious stare of the earl. Her head came to just below his broad shoulders. He was clad in riding breeches and a soft shirt which clung to the rigid walls of muscle in his chest.

"Kitty, I believe?" He arched his dark eyebrows.

"Forgive me, my lord." She immediately dipped her head, making an obeisance with grace as she had once been taught, and realising too late that servants only bobbed their heads. She righted herself as heat flooded her face and neck.

He must step aside. Dismiss her. She couldn't walk around him. His looming frame took up all the space in the small gallery. It felt as if all the available air was taken up, drawn into him.

His scorching gaze flickered past her. "What were you doing up there?" His tone was mild, but his masterful voice still resonated around the tapestried walls.

Her heart beat even faster. "I was in search of your bedchamber."

His eyebrows arched again, and a quiver of amusement flashed over his handsome face. "I see."

"To clean it," she added, lifting her chin defensively.

"The room at the top of the tower is out of bounds," he stated. "As is my bedchamber, to all but Thomas, my manservant."

His shock of dark hair was dishevelled from exercise and the salty air. Spray still clung to loose curls around his stubble-coated jaw. She forced herself to look away, but he was too close. He was all she could see. A warm wall of hard muscle. His lips twitched upwards as if he was sensing her discomfort. All at once the implicit superiority in his face ignited something deep inside her.

"Thomas is busy in the armoury. I was sent in his place."

He folded his arms and a painful wave of embarrassment all but felled her. What was she thinking? She should scurry away, but the new heat of his gaze compelled her to stay.

"I see. And so I deprive you of your purpose."

He was mocking her.

Her heart thudded like the beating of a drum. She should excuse herself and leave. Return to the safety of the kitchen. But her jewels could be secreted just beyond that locked door and she may never again get such an opportunity to establish their whereabouts.

"I will not disturb anything, my lord. I will merely put your chamber in order."

She wrenched her gaze away from his finely-carved face and rested her eyes demurely on the handle of the locked door, as if an air of calm expectation might bend the situation to her will.

A beat passed. She could almost imagine him unlocking the door and stepping back to allow her inside. Unbidden, her eyes flickered upwards to take in his impassive expression, his faint stubble, his dark, dangerous eyes. A shiver travelled through her, not of fear, but of something primal that tugged at her insides.

He watched her steadily. A wolf, confident of its prey.

"Are you so keen then, to see inside my bedchamber?"

Her courage drained away. She was a captive of his magnetic gaze. All at once the airless gallery was far too small. She heard Alfred's words, "You belong to the Earl of Rossfarne."

And here she was, demanding entrance to his private room. Alone with him, beside a locked door.

"Forgive me, my lord. I will leave you at once."

She darted forwards, uncaring of the contact she was forcing between them, but he shot out an iron grip and stopped her in her tracks. She felt his solid height and warm breath against the top of her cap.

"Why the sudden haste? I begin to see the benefits of such an eager serving girl."

His hand on her wrist was warm. The heat of his flesh travelled along her arm. She focused on the stone-flagged floor and bade her legs to stay strong and hold her up. She couldn't hope for notions of propriety to moderate his behaviour. This was the Earl of Rossfarne. Fear burgeoned, swamping all thoughts of her family's jewels and Rosalind's inheritance. A sob escaped her, and she ducked her head further down so he wouldn't see fright in her eyes.

Her terror would only inflame him, as it always had with her father.

But no sooner had this thought sprung into her mind than he dropped her wrist like a burning ember from the fire.

"If you are so keen to serve me, I bid you to attend to my solar. It has not been cleaned for several days now."

He shifted around her so his back was to the locked chamber door. She could see the winding staircase and the light from the great hall below.

He was going to let her go.

Relief swelled up inside her although her wrist still tingled from the warmth of his fingers. She dared not look up and expose her flaming cheeks to his scrutiny. Instead, she gave him a small, deferential nod, one worthy of a castle servant, and tripped clumsily down the stairs without another word.

Once she reached the relative safety of the great hall, she pressed her back against the cold, jutting stones and covered her hot face with her hands. She had escaped, unscathed, but the encounter had left her reeling, as if all her strength had left her limbs. All feeling and certainty had abandoned her, leaving her with nothing but a swirling fear deep inside her stomach. It was a fear which leapt into a feverish kind of excitement when she remembered the pressure of the Earl's fingers around her slender wrist. Her determination to recover the jewels had led her to lift the lid of a forbidden chest, to push herself into a place she would never usually inhabit. Now she was safely on the other side, but it was no thanks to her foolishness.

Foolishness which must never be repeated. She would tread more carefully from now on.

She forced herself to breathe more slowly, to unclench her shoulders and lift her head. Cautiously she moved away from the security of the wall, grateful to find that her legs still supported her. Her body was recovering from the shock and fright, though her mind still raced. She must calm her demeanour. If anyone was to come across her like this, they would think the worst. The rumours would begin, baseless as they would be. Rumours that could ruin her reputation.

He had let her go.

He had toyed with her. Touched her. Barred her path. And then lost all interest. Was it her plain features and servant's garb that had put him off? Or was the new Earl of Rossfarne a man of some honour after all?

No. The answer came to her with sudden ferocity. A man of honour would not have robbed a family of its rightful inheritance. Or played a game of dice for the rights to a fisherman's daughter.

Anger sliced through her body like a sword. The strangeness of the last few days had affected her mind. She must keep her thoughts clear and focused on finding the jewels. Nothing else mattered.

The solar. She had the earl's permission to enter his private chamber. The room where he spent most of his day. Mayhap the jewels were secreted somewhere there? Her instincts told her otherwise, but it was worth a look.

The broom. Her heart sank as she realised her mistake. Her sweeping brush was still at the top of the tower, beside the locked door. Her pulse pounded anew. She couldn't bear the thought of retracing her steps to recover it.

So be it. She hadn't come to the castle to clean.

Kitty walked purposefully across the stone floor and continued into the solar without hesitating. The earl himself had ordered her to tidy his personal chambers. She kept her back straight and banished her fears. She was a housemaid about her daily chores.

But the beauty of the empty room brought her up short. She hadn't expected such welcoming cheer to exist in the otherwise austere castle. It was as if she'd entered another homestead entirely. A fire crackled in the grate, laid by Thomas no doubt, and above it hung a brightly patterned tapestry. She stepped closer, intrigued. Elsewhere she'd seen drab and faded depictions of hunting or battles, scenes which did nothing to pique her interest. But this tapestry showed wildflowers blooming in a meadow beneath luminous rays of the rising sun. It was beautiful. Her breath caught in her throat as she traced the delicate outline of a bunch of cow parsley. Such care and attention had gone into the work.

The earl's walnut desk was positioned by the high windows, with rose-coloured drapes gathered behind it. The desk was tidy, the rushes on the floor were clean and two high-backed chairs were neatly arranged by the fire. Kitty pursed her lips. What would a real housemaid do in here?

Her hand went to her apron pocket and pulled out a polishing cloth. She could buff up the candlesticks if nothing else. It would give her a reason to stay in the solar and to search for any places where the earl may have hidden her jewels. The candlesticks were heavy and elaborately carved. She rubbed the silver carefully as her eyes roamed about the room, increasingly curious about the new Earl of Rossfarne. Was he a cruel, base man, like his predecessor? The charm and colour of his personal chamber said not. But he had entered into a wager against a daughter's life. What sort of a man would do that?

She replaced the candlesticks on the mantel and rubbed her temples, where a faint throbbing indicated a headache that threatened to erupt. There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers, but the only question which should concern her was the whereabouts of the jewels. Her pulse quickened as her eye alighted on the edge of a wooden chest which had been pushed into the corner by the window.

Glancing behind her to ensure no one was watching, Kitty crossed the room and held her breath while she tugged at the lid. She half expected it to be locked, but it swung open with an audible creak. She bit down on her lip and leaned over, her heart beating wildly against her ribs. A mass of folded fabric met her gaze. Puzzled, she ran her hands over the rippling silk. The material was soft, luxurious. She pulled it out and gasped as a beautiful blue gown, embroidered with gold thread and pearl buttons, unfolded before her.

It was the gown of a lady, in every way except the cut. Kitty blushed as she beheld the immodestly shaped bodice. Was this some fashion of old? She couldn't imagine her gracious mother ever displaying so much of her own creamy flesh. She reached for the next gown, this one trimmed with fur, and shook her head in confusion as the same revealing neckline sprang into view.

She carefully laid the gowns beside her and plunged her hands back into the chest, her fingers searching beneath the fabrics for the familiar cloth bag. Nothing. She sat back on her heels, disappointed but not surprised.

The jewels were in the earl's bedchamber. She knew it in her bones.

She must fold the gowns and place them back exactly as she had found them. Although why the unmarried Earl of Rossfarne had a chest filled with ladies' gowns in his solar, she simply couldn't imagine. Especially ones cut just so. Kitty ran her fingers along the neckline. Her own generous bosom would surely spill over the top of such a dress.

All at once she realised what she was holding in her hands. Sickened, she pushed the slippery fabric into the chest and closed the lid, not sparing any time to fold the gowns neatly.

Kitty was too nauseated to fold.

How had it taken her so long to work it out?

Those were not gowns for ladies. Not real ladies, like her titled relatives who had occasionally come to Shoreston to dine with her mother. Those were gowns for ladies of a different persuasion altogether. Gowns for ladies who wanted to display their flesh for the perusal of men.

For the perusal of the earl.

She winced as if she had been slapped. To think she had questioned his reputation. The man was every bit as base as the uncle who had gone before him. Unless, of course, the gowns were from the era of the old earl. Mayhap they had nothing to do with the man upstairs? It was a tempting thought, but she had no way of knowing for sure.

She straightened up, her legs trembling anew. She should leave this dreadful place at once. To stay was to become as much a gambler as her father. But what then would become of Rosalind?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the heavy wooden door to the solar swinging open. She didn't see the tall, brooding man standing in the doorway, watching her.

It was only when he spoke up that she jumped in surprise.

"What the devil are you doing in here? I should take you out to be flogged."