Chapter Thirteen

M acInness was waiting when Patrick rode up the path to the postern gate of the holding. He stepped out of the shadows and raised his fist in the air. The other warrior reined in his horse and dismounted.

“Trouble?”

MacInness nodded and the ground moved beneath his feet. When his head stopped swimming Patrick was beside him and had an arm braced around him. “Someone tried to kill you?”

His head spun so he held still and answered, “Why would ye ask?”

Patrick grinned at him. “Well, you look like hell and cannot stand upright.” When MacInness was steady, Patrick let go and grabbed the reins of his horse.

MacInness grunted, “I was on my way to the smithy and was hit from behind.”

“Any idea who hit you?”

“I’m no’ sure yet, but I dinna think it will be long before more trouble heads our way.” MacInness rubbed the back of his neck. “Things have changed since Owen was overlord here.”

Patrick clenched his jaw. “I’ll speak to Garrick, then. He’ll understand the need for me to leave Merewood’s guard.”

MacInness didn’t want to admit that he’d feel better if he had his entire Irish Contingent surrounding him, but he couldn’t take them back when they still served under Garrick of Merewood.

“Ye canna leave Merewood, ye pledged yer sword to Garrick when we finished serving Owen of Sedgeworth.”

“And the king gave Merewood Keep to de Chauret.”

A dark look crossed the Irishman’s features, leaving MacInness to wonder what else the man knew. The man never spoke about his family or home without prying it from him with a flagon or two of mead.

“I dinna want to cause trouble with the new lord of Merewood.”

They walked along the path back the way Patrick had come, away from the keep. “De Chauret is a good man.”

“Ye trust the mon?”

Patrick nodded. “He nearly died trying to save his daughter.”

MacInness hadn’t heard the whole of that story yet. He’d been too preoccupied with the woman who’d become his wife.

“But he fought like a demon when he saw Lady Eyreka throw herself in front of his daughter,” Patrick ground out. “He left his back unprotected… if William hadn’t been there…”

“Canna be much of a fightin’ mon, if he left his back unprotected.”

Patrick paused by the bend in the road. “He loves Lady Eyreka.”

MacInness wondered if the man had feelings for her and was glad to have it confirmed by a trusted source. “I’m sensin’ trouble at Sedgeworth, mon.”

His former vassal nodded. “Half of the guard was loyal to you and the other half…”

MacInness stared off in the distance. “To the bastard who let his wife beat Lady Jillian.”

“But she’s happy now, married to Garrick with a lusty-lunged babe.”

They smiled. “Aye, young Alan’s cries could wake the dead,” MacInness agreed.

MacInness’s gut knotted. He hadn’t wanted to see her happy. He’d hoped to return from the Highlands to find her miserable and regretting her decision not to take him up on his offer. But the fates conspired against him in favor of Garrick of Merewood. The lass loved her husband and her life.

“What about living with Norman rule?”

“Don’t we all?”

MacInness grunted. “’Tis the truth, but I didna mean that and ye know it.”

“Change comes,” Patrick said before walking again. “Does your head pain you?”

“Only when me eyes are open,” MacInness said, appreciating the gruff laughter of his friend. He’d missed it while he was away.

“Merewood Keep is well run. De Chauret is a fair man, who’s open to change. Garrick’s wife and mother are well protected.” Patrick looked around him as if uneasy being so close to their former lord’s holding. “I canna say the same for you and your lady wife.”

“Genvieve,” he stumbled over the name. “I still canna say it properly,” he grunted. “When we both served Owen of Sedgeworth, before endin’ our service to the mon, we were in the thick of things.”

“The perspective is different when you’re in the midst of the guard,” Patrick added. “Yours is a lonely view, being at the top.”

MacInness had thought the same. It was a large part of why he didn’t want to accept the gift of Sedgeworth Keep. With it would come the running of the holding, caring for its people, and now it seemed a wife as well. A bonny lass. His mind wandered to the night they’d wed. The woman was passionate. A woman after his own heart who’d reveled in their lovemaking as much as he had.

“Does she know who attacked you?”

“I’ve yet to ask.”

Patrick turned around and glared at him. “What do you know of her, or her people?” he asked. “How do you know she’s doesn’t subscribe to the Norman way of thinking that all Saxons and Scots should be wiped out?”

MacInness had his friend by the throat before his brain registered that the man was gasping for breath. Horrified, he loosened his hold and stepped back. “I—”

Patrick rubbed at his throat, his face still red, but now with anger. “Be sure of the answer before you strike out at those of us who are your friends.” He mounted his horse and set off at a cantor.

“Wait!” MacInness called out.

The warrior pulled back on the reins, but didn’t turn around.

“I’ve feelin’s for the lass.”

Patrick looked over his shoulder. “Lady Jillian or your wife?”

MacInness rubbed his hand over his face. It was hard to admit, and the feelings had snuck up on him, but it was best to tell someone he trusted. But the words wouldn’t come out.

Patrick turned his horse around. When he pulled to a stop, MacInness rasped, “My wife, Lady Genvieve.”

Patrick stared at him. “So you no longer love Lady Jillian?”

MacInness’s head shot up. “You knew?”

His friend nodded. “A few of us did, but we know you value honor above all else.”

MacInness didn’t know how he felt about others knowing of his love for Lady Jillian.

“’Tis why we followed you from Sedgeworth to Merewood,” Patrick continued. “We hold honor and duty above all else.”

Why hadn’t his friend spoken to him about it? There’d been time enough. “But ye didna say anythin’.”

“It wasn’t important and at the time we were more concerned with making sure she was safe and that our new overlord didn’t kill you.”

The light of laughter in the other man’s eyes eased the tension building inside of MacInness. “Well, there was a time or two when I’d gladly have beaten him bloody meself.”

“About Lady Genvieve…” Patrick began.

“I care about the lass.”

The other warrior nodded. “A good start, my friend.” He picked up the reins again. “I’ll speak to Garrick about releasing my men from his service, since he’s no longer lord, but seneschal, our terms of service should have ended.”

MacInness wasn’t certain about that. “If he’ll release ye, I’d be grateful if ye’d pledge yer sword to me.”

Patrick grinned, “I’ve never gone back on my pledge to ye, ye damned Scot.”

“But yer—”

“Pledged to Garrick of Merewood because we followed you. My sword is yours first.”

MacInness felt his throat tighten. He’d always hoped his men’s loyalty hadn’t shifted when they’d followed him from Sedgeworth to Merewood Keep. Confirmation of that hope set his mind at ease. “All right then, mon,” he said. “See if Kelly and Eamon can join ye.”

“I’ve heard from Sean.”

MacInness smiled. “Did he follow young Roderick’s lead and handfast to a lovely Scottish lass?”

“’Twould take more than the few minutes we have left before we’re missed to tell you the whole of it.”

MacInness knew it would a tale worth hearing. “When you’ve been released, then.”

They parted, each with a task that would help MacInness ferret out the truth and the culprit. Walking back would take the rest of his strength, but it had been worth it to meet with Patrick alone—unobserved.

When he reached the postern gate, his steps were slow and his head pounding. His wife was waiting for him. He blinked, but the vision didn’t disappear. She stood waiting just outside the gate.

“Lass, what are ye doin’ all alone?”

She looked over her shoulder before answering, “I was worried.”

MacInness’s heart lightened that the lass had taken him at his word and would speak when they were alone. “I’m hard to kill, lass.”

Her eyes filled with tears. Did she care for him?

“Where were you?”

While he appreciated her concern for him, he wasn’t ready to confide in her as he did his friend. There were things to be sorted through, the very least of which would be finding the man who’d tried to kill him. Then there was the loyalty of the guard…the list seemed endless.

“I needed to clear my head.”

She looked as if she wanted to ask more, but the sound of footsteps approaching had her falling silent.

“Come, lass,” he said offering his arm. “We’ve tasks to complete before the evening meal.”

*

Genvieve wanted to ask Winslow whom he’d left the keep to meet. It was obvious to her he was troubled when he returned. And then there was the flash of something in his eyes that hinted he had something on his mind that troubled him and that he would not be sharing with her.

Could she blame him? The question pricked at her conscience while they walked along the garden path, through the carefully tended herbs and to the door to the kitchens.

If she had hoped for more affection from her husband, she was disappointed. He patted her hand as if she were a cousin—or his sister. “I’ll leave ye here, then.”

Was he preoccupied with his own troubles, or had his desire for her burned itself out in one night?

When she would have called out to him to ask, Beatrice appeared in the doorway.

“Milady,” she said. “We’re about to open a cask of wine and need you to oversee the duty.”

Her husband nodded, and she noticed the twinge of pain he sought to hide. She might have missed it if she hadn’t been studying him so closely. She motioned to Beatrice that she would follow and reached out to her husband.

Winslow looked as if he didn’t want to wait, but she wasn’t about to give him a choice. “You’re in pain.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm and then into her eyes. “Ye truly care then, lass?”

She felt her cheeks heat. But she hadn’t the time to worry about her reaction to his question. He was her husband and in pain. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He sighed, but was it because of her words or the sound of them? Mayhap he was hoping for a different answer. She didn’t know and right now didn’t have the time to pursue it. He shrugged.

“I have an herbal draught that was used to cure my mother’s headaches.”

“Yer voice doesna sound as rough today.”

If his words meant to reassure her, they had the opposite effect. She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. Merde , she had forgotten how she sounded for a moment. Rather than be grateful that she could speak, she worried how it sounded and if she’d ever regain the full use of her voice.

Come , she mouthed.

“Dinna fret about how you sound,” he told her.

She ignored his words, and tugged on his hand in answer, pulling him into the kitchens with her. She went right to where she’d left the small supply of herbs, reached for a goblet, filled it with warm water from the pot heating over the cooking fire, and sprinkled a pinch of the ground-herb mix from a small jar.

She stirred it and handed it to her husband.

He hesitated, then took it from her.

The truth hit her like a blow. Mon Dieu , he didn’t trust her! Had he heard the same rumor she had overheard on her way to the hall this morning, that she had had someone try to kill him?

He didn’t know what was in her heart—she hadn’t told him. But more, she had no wish to become a widow again.

When he didn’t drink from the goblet, she snatched it back and downed half the contents and glared at him.

The taste was the first thing she noticed. It wasn’t right. She put a hand to her throat.

“Lass?”

“I—” She felt odd. She walked back over to the alcove and the high shelf where she’d placed her small supply of healing herbs. Reaching for the tiny jar, she opened it and sniffed it.

This wasn’t her mix.

“What’s wrong?”

The heat radiating from his body warmed her. When had she grown so cold? Her gaze met his and she was suddenly afraid. “Don’t drink it.”

She was going to pour it on the floor, but he stopped her. “We may need to save this.” He took the goblet from her and placed it on the table tucked into the alcove beneath the shelf.

He was speaking, but the rest of his words sounded so far away, indistinct. A tingling sensation pricked at her fingertips and worked its way up her arms as fear iced through her belly.

“Winslow,” she wanted to warn him, but the room was growing dim. “I’m sorry,” she rasped as her world went black.