Chapter Six

"M y lord, riders have been sighted on the causeway. At least twenty men. They will be at the castle within minutes." The marshal had run all the way from the gatehouse to deliver his message. He put a hand to his chest, his ribs visibly heaving beneath his grey tunic.

Guy stood up from his desk as quickly as he dared, instantly on high alert. The morning sun had already risen high in the sky, and he had been sitting in the solar alone in a kind of trance, allowing his thoughts to wander to the beautiful serving maid with an equally beautiful voice. But here was danger, or at least the scent of it, and his knight's instincts came rushing to the fore. "Did they carry a standard of any sort? Or a coat of arms?"

"Aye, sir." The marshal leaned back against the door jamb, still trying to recover his breath. "I saw it clearly. 'Twas a golden lion on a red standard."

Immediately some of the tension left Guy's shoulders. "Those are the colours of Darkmoor," he announced with relief. "The earl is a cousin of mine, and his son Otto is a good friend." He half smiled as he remembered a distant boyhood summer spent roaming the fields of Forbisher with young Otto, a willing accomplice in youthful mischief.

But for the marshal, the name had darker associations, and he visibly blanched. "You don't mean Otto Sarragnac…?" His voice was disbelieving.

Guy waved his hand, half amused by the man's reaction. "Known as the Feared One ?" he finished for him. "Yes, the very same. He'll be delighted to learn that news of his exploits has spread this far east. Though you should not believe everything you hear, my good man. Otto is a skilled warrior, no more, no less." His fearlessness had been apparent at a young age, Guy recalled, when they had faced one another with wooden swords, mounted on willing, if diminutive, ponies.

The marshal crossed his arms, his head on one side, clearly not reassured. "Should I close the gates?"

This was evidently the correct course of action in the man's mind. Guy held his gaze, closing his ears to the plaintive calling of the gulls outside. It was a sound eerily reminiscent of the wailing of a child. "The Darkmoors will have already overcome a great many obstacles to ride all the way here from the western shores." As he spoke the words, one question bubbled at the forefront of his mind. Why did they come? But he kept his voice light and unconcerned. "Do you consider a closed gate to be an effective deterrent against the Feared One ?"

"Then what are your orders, my lord?"

The marshal's unease was rubbing off on Guy, despite his initial reaction to the news. He couldn't help but weigh up his own physical strength, depleted as it was, against that of his infamous cousin. Otto Sarragnac was the mightiest of warriors. His father, Lord Ulric, had a fearsome reputation of his own. And Guy was an injured knight who could not yet ride his horse without debilitating stabs of pain. He could not hope to stand against the Darkmoors, whatever the purpose of their visit. Therefore, his only choice was to make them welcome.

"Throw open the gates and ready the men to receive their horses," he barked. "Tell Cook we shall expect refreshments." He grimaced, unable to stop himself adding more. "But warn the female servants to stay out of sight until I send word." It was the least he could do, to keep them safe. The enigmatic maid, Kitty, amongst them. Though he would wager the Darkmoors had come with peaceful intent, that didn't mean that the female servants were entirely out of danger of a particular sort.

He considered his cheerless great hall and weed-covered courtyard, a far cry from the comfort and style of his childhood home of Forbisher; an even further cry from the elegance of Darkmoor Castle. For the first time, Guy felt a wave of regret for not doing more to brighten up his recently inherited fortress. But it could not be helped now; he had but minutes to spare. Besides, this was his convalescent home, and he had not anticipated receiving visitors.

Burying his unease deep inside, he rang for Thomas and asked him to fetch down a heavily embroidered deep blue tunic which was a more fitting costume for an earl than the plain shirt in which he'd dressed that morning. Once appropriately attired, he strode into the courtyard to welcome his unexpected guests. The clatter of approaching horses' hooves was like a deafening drum roll as the gleaming armour-clad soldiers poured up the causeway and through the arched entrance in the outer castle walls. Guy stood as tall as he could, wishing he had somehow found the coin to hire castle guards for Rossfarne. He could not rely on the tides as a deterrent, he realized. Not against men like Otto Sarragnac. Guy flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. If hostility was shown, he would not go down without a fight.

But his concerns were eased when a heavily armed warrior on a bright chestnut horse cantered through the ranks towards him. The man reached up to remove his helmet, revealing nut-brown curls, and smiled widely in greeting. "Guy," he exclaimed, towering above him on his prancing horse. "So the rumours are true! You are here in Rossfarne."

"The rumours are true," Guy confirmed, reaching up for the reins as his boyhood friend slid off his horse. "It's good to see you, Otto."

He hoped that were true. Otto's relaxed demeanour and the casual stance of the Darkmoor knights gave him no cause for immediate alarm.

"You too, my friend. It has been too long." Otto flung an arm around Guy's shoulders and squeezed him tightly, making him wince with pain, though he didn't let it show.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Guy looked levelly at Otto Sarragnac, the Feared One, only son of the Earl of Darkmoor. Otto was a towering giant of a man, all muscle and brawn, wearing a mail shirt topped with polished plate armour. Guy would hate to face him across a battlefield. But close up, he could still see the warmth in his brown eyes and the sincerity in his smile.

"I apologise for our sudden arrival," Otto said immediately, grimacing in recognition of his lapse in etiquette. "I should not have blamed you if we had met up with armed guards on the causeway." Guy inclined his head, swallowing the urge to confess to Otto that he had no armed guards at his disposal. "We had business with the Duke of Answick, and thought to call on you, being so close to your new home."

Guy pursed his lips. The story was plausible, but something about Otto's strained voice told him it was not the full story.

"You are welcome, of course," he said. "Is your father with you?"

Otto indicated a distant trio of riders picking their way slowly over the final cobbles of the causeway. "That is him coming now." He took Guy's arm and led him a few steps away from the Darkmoor knights, who were dismounting from their horses and stretching weary limbs. "May I speak frankly?"

"I wish you would," said Guy, matching his old friend's bluntness as he looped the horse's reins through a hook affixed to the stable wall.

Otto smiled, giving Guy another glimpse of the boy he had once known. "In truth, my father is tiring. We had hoped to make it as far as the western mountains today, but within an hour of leaving Answick, he was stooped over his horse's neck." A shadow passed over his handsome face. "I tell you this in trust, Guy, in recognition of our kinship and the friendship we once shared, even though it is many years since we last broke bread together. I have come to ask for food and shelter for the night. And I admit, it pains me to ask for anything."

A wave of relief washed over Guy. "I thank you for your honesty," he said. He didn't need Otto to spell out the implications of Lord Ulric's ill health. Darkmoor occupied prime lands, and many an opportunist would be willing to take a chance on ousting the Sarragnacs if word got out that the earl was failing. "Of course, I will say nothing of what you have told me." He put his arm across his heart to demonstrate his faithfulness.

"Least of all to my father." Otto ran a hand through his tousled dark hair. "He grows cantankerous when forced to confront his failing health. I have told him we are here for my pleasure, so that I might catch up with an old friend." He clapped Guy on the shoulder once more, luckily not his injured one.

Guy reached out and clasped Otto's hand. It was many months since he had felt the calloused knuckles of a warrior, and the feel of his skin combined with the smell of horses, leather and clean sweat, made him momentarily weaken with nostalgia for his old life. "Tell your men to make themselves comfortable in the barn," he said. "I will have food and water sent out to them. You and your father will dine with me tonight. I will ensure the best rooms are made ready for you."

Otto laughed. "We are two men, both accustomed to sleeping rough when the occasion demands it. Even my father, ageing as he is. We have no need of luxury, my friend."

"I am glad to hear it," Guy told him wryly.

*

Hours later, Guy sat with Otto beside a roaring fire in the great hall. A long trestle table had been pulled out and positioned in the centre of the stone-flagged room. Guy had dined alone in his solar since taking up residence in Rossfarne Castle, but tonight would be different. Candles had been lit and positioned around the four ornate pillars, casting a flickering light into the distant corners of the bare walls. It was far from cheerful, but for the first time, Guy could begin to see how Rossfarne Castle could be brought back to life. If that was what he wanted.

The two men stretched their legs before the fire, reclining in ornately carved wooden chairs. They were drinking good wine, and the potent liquid was helping to make Guy feel comfortable and relaxed. He should not have regarded his old friend with such suspicion, he mused, as Otto relayed a humorous tale about a recent joust. Fear and distrust of good men could be as dangerous an enemy as weakness or bad judgement.

"Do you joust at all these days?" Otto asked suddenly, his darkly stubbled face half illuminated by the dancing flames.

"I am injured, my friend," Guy answered, surprising both of them with his honesty. "But I hope to return to full health in time."

Otto acknowledged his confession with a nod of sympathy. "And then you shall return to service with the king?" he asked, taking a long swig of wine.

"Of course." Guy gazed into the fire. "I know of no other life." His gaze flickered over to the heavily-muscled warrior by his side. Even in repose, Otto's body hummed with energy. "Have you never considered it?"

"The life of a serving knight?" Otto raised his eyebrows. "You think I am worthy to fight the king's battles? This is praise indeed, coming from Guy de Vray, first son of Forbisher." He spoke lightly, evoking Guy's full name and the title he had abandoned long ago. But his brow clouded quickly when he saw how his words affected his cousin. "Forgive me. I spoke unthinkingly."

Guy waved his hand to dismiss the apology, leaning forward to pour a liberal helping of wine into both of their goblets. "There is nothing to forgive. That is indeed how you once recognised the winner of our many contests." He winked at Otto as he sat back in his chair.

Otto laughed. "You did not win every time." He pursed his lips. "You could beat me for speed, of course. And your skills with a sword were exemplary, even then. But for sheer brute force, I reckon I was usually the winner."

Guy raised his glass to his friend. "For sheer brute force, no man in the land can hope to outclass Otto Sarragnac." He drank deeply, enjoying the moment of camaraderie.

"Except, of course, on those occasions when we both held back to allow Angus to win," Otto said softly.

Guy stilled, his goblet resting on his knees. Images of his younger brother crowded his mind. Angus had been but a small child, barely more than a toddler, during the long summer when Otto and Guy had shared a tutor at Forbisher. He'd trailed after them, desperate to join in with their games, laughing uncontrollably at Otto's clownish antics. Guy swallowed hard, quenching the swell of grief. "Aye, except for then," he forced out. "I try not to remember those times, to be honest."

"It was a terrible thing that happened," Otto murmured, his fingers beating a tattoo on the arm of his chair. This was a man who had faced innumerable horrors on the battlefield, but he still displayed palpable grief at the injustice of a child taken from the world too soon. "Do you never go back to Forbisher?"

"Never," Guy said, more harshly than he intended. "My aunt has taken up residence there. She collects the tithes and considers herself lady of the manor. I say she is welcome to the lot." He shifted in his chair, keen to change the subject. "You have not yet answered my question about joining me as a knight in the king's service."

Otto breathed out heavily, glancing up at the door to ensure they were still alone. Lord Ulric had retired to his room soon after arriving, and Thomas had carried hot water up to him for a bath. The old earl had sent word he would join them for dinner, but he had yet to arrive in the great hall. "In truth, there is nothing I would like more." He inclined his head, looking Guy fully in the eye. "But alas, I fear I am needed at home."

Guy considered this for a moment as a log sizzled in the flames. "Does Darkmoor not know peace?" he asked, keen to keep the conversation far away from the painful topic of his past.

"Aye, it does, for now." Otto scratched his chin, flickering a sideways look at Guy. "Though I fear my father is on the cusp of hostility with our nearest neighbours, for no better reasons than pride and avarice."

A beat fell. Both men were seasoned warriors who well knew these were no reasons to spark bloodshed.

Guy leaned forward, ignoring a stab of pain in his arm. "You know you can always call on me in a moment of need." He laughed to dispel the sudden tension. "Though in truth, I am not much good for anything right now."

Otto took a swig of wine. "Your body will heal," he said emphatically. "Of that, I am sure. But Darkmoor does not lack muscle. We have an army of well-trained knights. What I need, mayhap, is a friend I can trust." His sincerity was evident. Guy's chest swelled with fellow-feeling, but he failed to find the words he needed to express his deeply felt emotions before Otto continued. "I will call on you, Guy, at such time as I need to. Though I hope and pray it will not come to that. My father is still a great and powerful man. Only a fool would rise against him."

A movement to their left made both men startle. The door swung open and Lord Ulric, Earl of Darkmoor, came striding into the great hall. Like his son, he was a man bred for battle. Tall and strong, with a formidable bearing and a sharp glint to his eye, despite his age and ill health. His once dark hair was now liberally streaked with grey, but the muscles on his arms still bulged beneath the heavily embroidered tunic he wore over light-coloured breeches.

"Father." Otto stood up to greet him, the candlelight throwing his body into sharp relief. He was dressed more modestly than his father, in a plain dark tunic that hung from his powerful shoulders. "Are you well-rested?"

"I suppose I am." The Earl of Darkmoor stopped before Guy and inclined his head in greeting. "It is good of you to offer us hospitality with such little notice. I told my son it would not do for an army of men to arrive at your door unannounced, but he was determined to have his evening of wine and reminiscences with an old friend." The man stood tall and proud, no doubt well aware how the reputation of the knights of Darkmoor had preceded them.

"I am pleased to see you both," Guy said, diplomatically. For a moment the three of them stood facing one another as the flames danced and the shadows lengthened. Guy felt a chill of apprehension crawl up his spine, reminiscent of his unease earlier that day when he awaited the warriors, not knowing what brought them to his door. While he had chatted with Otto, it had been like old times, with the strength of their kinship and shared history glowing between them. But now, he was once more aware of the inequality between his poorly guarded household and the well-trained soldiers outside. Lord Ulric could order his men to seize the castle, and Guy would be able to do nothing to stop him. He cleared his throat. "Please take a seat. I will ring for dinner, if we're ready?"

Lord Ulric nodded his assent and sat down at the head of the trestle table, as if this was his right. Guy felt, but did not see, Otto tense beside him. They were both keenly aware of this breach of manners. But Guy would not allow an old man's rudeness to spoil his evening. He waved Otto to a seat on his father's right and made his own way to the other side of the table, further from the warmth of the fire. Lord Ulric sniffed with displeasure over the freshly baked bread and finely carved meats, but his eyes gleamed with interest when Kitty—commandeered to serve at the table due to the shortage of castle servants—carried a tray of sweet figs into the hall.

What was it about this particular maid, Guy wondered. Her hair was pinned under her cap. Her dress and apron were neat. There was nothing to set her apart from the other servants, yet somehow, she stood out, like an eagle amongst pigeons. It was her grace and bearing, he thought afresh. She looked at the world with the measured gaze of a lady.

She was a puzzle he was determined to solve. And she had also attracted the eye of his guests.

"Over here," Lord Ulric commanded, cupping his fingers to beckon her over. Guy watched as Kitty hesitated, then turned to position her tray within easy reach of the Earl of Darkmoor. "What else have you got down there that could please an old man?" he asked.

Kitty's cheeks turned pink, but her balance was steady as she dipped her head politely. "I shall go and enquire, my lord."

"Bring us more wine, if you please," Guy spoke up, hoping to dispel the awkwardness and perchance divert Kitty from the hall for longer.

All three men watched as Kitty walked gracefully out of the hall, and Otto cleared his throat. "I see you have no shortage of beautiful women, here on your wild island." He spoke lightly and Guy swallowed down his instinctive flare of irritation.

"I do not dally with the servants." He wagged a finger at Otto before taking another long drink of wine.

"Of course not." Otto too drank deeply from his goblet.

"So what have you in the way of entertainment?" Lord Ulric demanded belligerently. "Are we to sit here in silence?"

"Is it not pleasant to sit and talk, Father?" Otto put in.

Lord Ulric sniffed loudly. "For you two, maybe. Not for me. Have you no minstrels? Musicians?" He fixed Guy with a questioning stare.

Guy quelled his rising impatience, reminding himself that Lord Ulric was suffering ill health and mayhap even injury as well. "I'm afraid not," he answered calmly. His mind flooded with memories of Kitty's beautiful singing voice, but he would sooner face a cavalry charge than divulge her hidden talents to a vulture like Lord Ulric.

Lord Ulric's displeasure was evident in his furrowed brow and wrinkled nose, but his expression brightened somewhat when Kitty re-entered the room. She kept her eyes cast down as she approached the table.

"Very nice, very nice," Lord Ulric muttered. "Fill me up." He gestured grandly to his goblet.

In a sudden flash of premonition, Guy knew that if Kitty approached the end of the trestle table, Lord Ulric would put his hands upon her. He wouldn't hurt her, but he would touch her in some way. Perchance he would take a hold of her wrist. Mayhap even put his wrinkled hands in the vicinity of her derriere. Guy couldn't allow it. Blood rushed to his head as he searched his mind for a reason to delay her.

"That wine is no good," he announced, startling Kitty as much as the men he was dining with. "Take it away, immediately."

Confusion washed over Kitty's previously composed features, and Guy cursed himself for speaking so abruptly. If he could only explain that he was trying to keep her away from wandering hands.

"This wine, my lord?" She nodded at the earthenware jug clutched in her trembling fingers.

"I want only the best wine for the Earl of Darkmoor." Guy took a breath. "You must ask Thomas to fetch it up."

"Very good, my lord." Kitty bobbed her head and all but ran from the room.

Guy fought an urge to go after her. Otto raised an enquiring eyebrow, but his father seemed to find nothing amiss. "Your wine is good," he allowed. His long fingers tapped on the trestle table. "But I know not how you can spend so many long evenings alone here without taking leave of your senses."

Otto's eyes sent an unspoken apology in Guy's direction. "Mayhap I came here to recover my senses," Guy suggested. "I find the peace restorative." A gust of wind rattled the windows as if to bely his claim.

"I am sure the views are considerable, especially from the tallest tower. Do you go up there?" Otto asked.

It was a decent stab at conversation, but unfortunately Otto had again hit upon the wrong subject. "I do not," Guy replied. "The tower room was the preserve of my uncle. Though mayhap you are right. I should consider making better use of it."

Lord Ulric harrumphed, and the room fell into uncomfortable silence. Guy risked a glance at his companions. Beneath his suntanned face and youthful vigour, Otto looked tired and drawn as he toyed with a cut of meat. He was known throughout the north as a fearless warrior and a wealthy man, with no cares to speak of. But here he sat, clearly beset with worry for the future. And as Lord Ulric twitched with impatience, Guy could see why. The old earl was like a powder keg, likely to explode at any moment.

"We have consumed much wine," Otto observed, gazing into his drained goblet. "I may have a sore head in the morning."

Guy smiled in response. "You have no cause to leave early. Please, stay as long as you wish."

Otto looked serious. "Thank you, but we must ride at dawn. We have been absent from Darkmoor overly long already."

Lord Ulric harrumphed once more, fixing his son with a steely glare. "You should have thought of that earlier, mayhap when you concocted this foolish plan to spend a night in a draughty castle with no way to pass the time easily." He picked up his goblet with an unsteady hand and drank deeply.

Was the man drunk, Guy wondered. A flush in his cheeks and a faint slurring of his words indicated as such.

The outer door opened once more and Guy's heart sank as Kitty reappeared, this time holding a pale earthenware jug. She seemed to keep her gaze deliberately from him as she approached the table, and Guy could think of no good reason to speak up.

"This is more like it." Lord Ulric sat back in his chair and gestured to Kitty. "Come here, young miss. I grow weary of this meal, but you offer me some diversion and perchance the opportunity to pass a more pleasant evening. Come and sit beside me."

Kitty placed the wine down on the table and folded her hands demurely in her apron, clearly at a loss as to what to do. Guy's fingers tightened around the edge of the wooden table as he watched the events unfold, feeling frozen in place.

"Come now," Lord Ulric urged. "Otto, go find the maid a chair," he barked at his son.

"Father, you're embarrassing the girl," Otto said firmly. "She's a servant doing her job. Let her be."

Lord Ulric raised a steely gaze to his son. "If I'm not mistaken, I'm still the Earl of Darkmoor, and you are my son. You will do as I say. The servant will spend the night with me."

His words pierced Guy's stupor, and he jumped to his feet, his chair scraping back against the flagstones. Time slowed down as Kitty raised an anguished face to him in a silent plea for help. A plea he had already determined to answer. "That will not do," he announced, uncaring of Lord Ulric's flash of anger. "No one will make a claim on Kitty."

The tension in the room grew palpable as Lord Ulric also rose to his feet. Guy wondered when the earl had last been denied his every wish. Mayhap not for many a year.

"And why is that?" Lord Ulric asked, one hand going to the sword at his hip.

Otto's eyes flickered between the two of them. Guy knew that his old friend would be cognisant that Lord Ulric had erred, but if he had to make a choice, he would side with his father.

Guy fixed his eyes on Kitty, who was now visibly trembling. Whatever happened, he would not abandon her to the unwanted attentions of Lord Ulric. She was in his employ and deserved his protection. But more than that, the thought of any man touching her caused him inexplicable discomfort.

He could see but one way out of this. Switching his gaze from the pretty wench to the furious old warrior, Guy summoned an insincere bark of laughter. "Why? Because she is mine, Lord Ulric. And I confess, I am possessive over my women."

Did Kitty flinch, or was it his imagination? Guy couldn't afford to spare her so much as a glance. His attention was firmly fixed on Lord Ulric, most especially the hand on the hilt of his sword.

For a second, the old man's gaze still conveyed his wrath, but then his lips creased into a smile, and he sank back down in his chair, reaching again for his goblet of wine. "Fair enough, my good man," he allowed. He gave a small chuckle. "You really should have said something earlier."

"Forsooth, Guy." Otto also reached to refill his wine, his eyes dancing with a mix of merriment and relief. "What was that you said about not dallying with the servants?"

Guy sat back down in his chair, his knees weak and his stomach still jittery with nerves. "Every rule needs an exception," he stated, finally looking away from Lord Ulric and raising his eyes to Kitty. Did she know that he acted purely to save her?

"And what an exception." Lord Ulric raised his glass to the red-faced serving maid still standing by his side.

"You may leave us now, Kitty," Guy said. Her obvious shame made him almost regret his actions, but then she flashed him the smallest of smiles and he knew she was grateful to him. His relief was almost as great as when Lord Ulric released his sword. Relief which mingled with the buzz of adrenaline and intoxication from the wine. He suddenly needed to be near her. "Hold on," he ordered, just as she reached the door. With a nod at his amused companions, Guy stood up from the table and crossed the hall to meet her. She smelled of freshly baked bread and something sweeter. A strand of hair had escaped her cap, and Guy had to control his urge to push it back behind her shell-like ear. The poor girl still trembled like a leaf, but he could not put an arm around her shoulders to offer comfort. "Finish up in the kitchen and go straight up to your chamber," he told her in a low voice that only she could hear. Her green eyes grew wide as saucers as she looked up at him in alarm. He leaned closer. "Then bolt your door from the inside and allow no one admittance."

Relief washed over her features, removing the lines of worry and leaving her beautiful once again. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered.

"You shall always be safe in this castle," he breathed, unable to prevent his hand brushing lightly against her arm. "For as long as I am Earl of Rossfarne."