Chapter Twenty

She wanted to see her chicken.

That fluffy, soft chicken with the black feathers that had given her love and attention when no one else would. Even now, when she had plenty of attention and affection, Janet had not forgotten about her pet. She never would. She was deeply disappointed that the bed for her chicken hadn’t been made. Darius had been given the task, according to Jane, but he was unable to finish it before he was called to duty by Thor because of the burning village to the east.

That meant Mary had no bed.

Sleeping in the big bed next to a softly snoring Joan, Janet was very worried for her chicken. The fowl had always come inside to sleep with her when she shared this chamber with Madam Madonna, though Madam Madonna had kicked the chicken once or twice when it annoyed her. But, surprisingly, she’d allowed the chicken shelter in the keep.

Caledonia, however, did not.

There was a difficult paradox there. Janet had come to love her mother. Caledonia was kind and patient and gave her hugs and food anytime she wanted it. She even let Mary come into the keep during the day, when they were having their lessons, as long as it didn’t distract Janet from her learning—but at nighttime, Caledonia insisted that the chicken needed to go outside. Normally, that would have drawn Janet’s ire, treating her chicken so poorly, but because she had come to love her mother, she was very torn about what to do.

She very much wanted her chicken inside.

Tonight, she’d been expecting the chicken bed, and when it hadn’t come, she had tried not to weep. They’d had a lovely supper of bean stew with pork and carrots, plenty of bread and butter, and the milk that was left over when the butter was made. It was delicious. Janet had eaten until she could hold no more and gone to bed with a fully belly, but it didn’t soothe her longing for her pet. Long after Jane and Joan had gone to sleep, Janet lay there and stared at the ceiling, wishing she had her chicken with her. Surely Mary was lonely out in the yard, now without a bed to comfort her.

Janet had to see her.

The keep was quiet at this hour and she knew exactly how to leave without being heard. She’d done it before, especially with Madam Madonna around. Not that the woman had ever cared what she did, but Janet had honed her silent skills on the nun. With both of her sisters sleeping heavily, Janet climbed out of bed, nearly falling to the floor, and made her way out of the chamber.

Her mother’s chamber was next door to hers but the door was closed. That was the perfect situation for sneaking down to see her chicken. The door at the top of the stairs was bolted, so Janet quietly threw the bolt and opened the door. The darkened stairwell was beyond, and she made her way down, cautiously, until she was in the keep entry.

After that, it was simply a matter of slipping from the front door.

There were no servants around, which was fortunate because there was no one to question her. They were usually asleep at this hour, so Janet took advantage of that as she threw the big iron bolt on the front door and then lifted the wooden bar that braced the door shut. She pulled the panel open only to have it squeak a little, and she froze, looking around to see if someone had heard it and was coming to investigate. But the keep remained silent and, relieved, Janet slipped from the front door and down into the darkened bailey beyond.

*

“I have comewith a message for Lady Stafford. Quickly—admit me.”

The soldiers at in the lower bailey weren’t particularly wary of a single, unarmed man standing in the portcullis, but the sergeant in command did crowd up against the iron grate to ask some questions.

“What about the flames we saw?” he asked. “Were there raiders?”

“A few, but they have been subdued. Let me in because I bear a message for Lady Stafford.”

The sergeant peered at him. “I don’t know you,” he said. “Are you one of de Reyne’s royal soldiers?”

It took a split second for the man to realize that was the answer he should use. “Aye,” he said. “I am a royal soldier.”

The sergeant boomed for the portcullis to be lifted.

Rotri slipped in.

He had only been to Stafford once, for his niece’s wedding, and that had been many years ago, so he didn’t know the place at all. Even though Dordon wasn’t too far from Stafford—perhaps a two-day ride—he’d never had any reason to go to Stafford.

Until now.

Now, he had every reason.

“Where is the lady?” he asked the sergeant. “She will be expecting this message.”

The sergeant pointed to the keep high atop the hill. “There,” he said. “Tell the gatehouse sentries that you come with a message. They will send for her.”

Rotri thanked them and quickly moved toward the road that led up the motte. Stafford was lit up this night, awaiting their army’s return, so he had plenty of light to find his way to the upper gatehouse.

I am a royal soldier.

It seemed strange that the sergeant had believed him, given that he wasn’t wearing a royal standard, but he wasn’t going to question the man’s lapse. For once, he didn’t let his pride lead the way. Normally, he would have announced himself as Lord Dordon, brother to the Earl of Tamworth, and demand to be admitted, but this time he didn’t.

He didn’t follow his instincts.

He was following his heart.

That greedy, small thing in his chest. The one that was shriveling, almost as dead as his son back at Millford. Domnall had told him to come, after all, and Domnall would have been clever about it. He would have scolded his father for not using any opportunity to gain access to Caledonia. That elusive niece, a woman they’d tried to snare for two solid years, was finally within his grasp because Rotri lied about being a royal soldier.

I’ll claim her, Domnall. Wait and see.

He would make his son proud.

Up the narrow road to the upper bailey went Rotri. He had a good view of Stafford as a whole at this elevation, and it was an impressive place. Much more impressive than Dordon Castle. He could see now why Cristano wanted it. Truthfully, he didn’t know Cristano well, and even though the man had promised him Tamworth, he could change his mind. Rotri would have to think about leverage, something forcing Cristano to honor his bargain. Perhaps he’d withhold the marriage to Caledonia until he had Cristano’s promise in writing.

He was too close to his goal not to demand a guarantee.

The upper gatehouse loomed ahead, and the guards here had even less concern for Rotri’s appearance than the sentries down in the lower bailey. They let him through with hardly a word, indicating the keep and telling him that they would send for a servant to summon the lady. No one seemed particularly interested in him, but they were concerned about the events happening in the town to the east. No one was sure what had happened other than a fire, and they didn’t even really know which village had sustained damage yet, but their focus was on the event. Rotri could hear them talking about it. That only worked to his advantage because they weren’t focused on him. They had believed him when he said he’d come with a message for Lady Stafford.

It was as simple as that.

In fact, no one had sent for a servant yet. They were still standing by the closed gate, talking about the distant action and the return of Stafford’s troops. Hearing this, and realizing he wasn’t being watched, Rotri began to casually wander toward the keep. It was dark and cold out this night, with a gust of wind every so often lifting the dirt and debris of the bailey. It was almost ghostly, as if the specters of Stafford were dancing around him. He could hear noises everywhere. Little by little, however, he edged closer to the keep.

Then he heard it.

A door opening.

Looking up, he could see that it was the entry door to the keep. A small child was coming down the steps. He stopped his advance, watching the child come to the bottom of the stairs. Dressed in what looked like a sleeping shift, she began to walk toward the eastern side of the bailey, but her gaze abruptly fell on him and she stopped. For a moment, they simply looked at one another until the little girl pushed her hair from her eyes and headed in his direction.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Rotri didn’t know what to say, and scrambled to come up with something. He wasn’t entirely sure that if he didn’t give the right answer, the child wouldn’t raise an alarm. He briefly considered smothering her, but he held off. There was no need at the moment. But he would be ready to cut her off if he needed to.

“I… I am looking for Lady Stafford,” he said. “I bear a message from her husband. Do you know where she is?”

The child nodded. “She is inside, sleeping.”

Rotri looked up at the keep as if to see Caledonia through the walls. “I would like to see her,” he said. “Will you send a servant for her?”

The little girl eyed him a moment, but she kept looking off toward the east side of the compound. “I came to find my chicken,” she said.

Rotri looked off into the darkness, the same direction that had the little girl’s attention. “Your chicken?” he repeated.

“Mary,” the little girl said.

“And that is your chicken?”

“Aye.”

“What is your name?”

“Janet,” she said. “I live here.”

“Are you a servant? What I meant to ask is if you tend the chickens.”

She shook her head. “My mother is Lady Stafford,” she said. “Who are you?”

That information filled Rotri with joy. He’d heard that his niece had children, but he hadn’t known how many or what sex. He’d never really cared. But now, he had one of them in his grasp and wasn’t going to let her go. Leverage, he thought.

He would use the child against the mother, if needed.

Fate had taken pity on him tonight.

“Will you take me to your mother, Lady Janet?” he asked politely. “I must speak with her.”

Janet was indecisive. “But I must get my chicken.”

Rotri held out a hand to her, a kind gesture if it had come from anyone other than him. But coming from Rotri, it was a deadly and possessive one.

“I will help you,” he said. “We will find your chicken and then you will take me to your mother.”

That was good enough for Janet. She grabbed his hand and practically yanked him back to the kitchen yard, where her chicken was sitting, quite comfortably, in a worn, woven basket that was used for many chores. She gathered up the fat black chicken and, with Rotri in tow, headed back the way she had come. He followed her all the way to the front door of the keep, where she suddenly stopped and turned to him.

“We must be quiet,” she whispered. “And do not tell my mother about the chicken.”

He shook his head solemnly. “I will not, I swear it,” he said. But then he looked up at the keep again, dark and forbidding against the night sky. “Is there anyone else in the keep?”

Janet nodded. “My sisters,” she said. “And Nica, but they are all sleeping.”

“Who is Nica?”

“My friend.”

“Where does she sleep?”

Janet pointed up. “On the very top, in her own chamber.”

That was enough chatter as far as Janet was concerned. Quietly, she took him inside, and Rotri shut the door behind them. The old hinges creaked, causing both to freeze in their tracks—surely the squeaking would alert someone—but several seconds passed and no one appeared. Relieved, Janet headed up the stairs with Rotri close behind her. Quietly, they took the stone steps, and Janet pushed open the door at the top of the stairwell.

It was as still and silent as it had been when she left. Leaving Rotri standing at the top of the stairs, she rushed into the chamber that she shared with her sisters and plopped the chicken on her bed, covering it up with the coverlet to hide it. Then she returned to Rotri, pointing to one of two closed doors on the landing.

“My mother is sleeping in there,” she said. “I will wake her.”

“Nay,” Rotri said. “I will. Thank you for bringing me.”

That was enough for Janet. She didn’t question him. She was eager to get back to her chicken, so she simply left him and went back to her chamber, shutting the door.

That left Rotri alone on the landing.

Alone and ready to strike.