Chapter 14

Failure was a bitter draught to swallow.

Phillip leaned on his sword and dragged his sleeve across his face. He had gone through the garrison knights one by one, besting each with more ease than he should have, all to no avail. The men had all been rotated in over the past three years and seemingly not a bloody one of them had ever had anything to do with anyone save Neill. The only thing they knew of the lady Heather was rumor that she was permanently unwell from the terror of having to wed with an English demon from Artane.

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. How Neill had managed to acquire the most superstitious and simpleminded of men in the area, he didn’t know, but he had the feeling it had been deliberate. It was difficult to convince lads that he meant them no harm when they were continually looking at him as if he’d just sprung like a demon out of the forest, but there it was. As far as having any answers from them, there was little hope of it.

Neill was refusing to talk and Phillip couldn’t bring himself to beat the tale out of him. He supposed his father would have simply stared the man down until Neill gave up and babbled his secrets in a bid for relief. Phillip didn’t have his father’s charm or his stamina. At the moment all he wanted to do was join that damned incoherent priest for a hefty tankard of ale and drink himself into oblivion.

The only hope left him was the lad standing against the wall, finally no longer dressed in skirts. Phillip caught his eye, then nodded pointedly toward the field. Hamish trotted out with a bit more enthusiasm than he’d displayed to that point, which boded well. Hamish also seemingly possessed a sword but didn’t seem particularly inclined to use it, which boded less well. Phillip frowned at him.

“Let me see your skills.”

“I’d rather talk,” Hamish said, as easily as if he’d been speaking to a mate, “if it’s all the same to you.”

“’Tis not all the same to me,” Phillip said sternly. He couldn’t deny that before him likely stood a veritable font of information, though what he suspected he would have to go through to liberate it from that lad gave him pause. “I don’t need someone to converse with at table,” he continued, “I need men to stand with me and fight.”

“I prefer to keep my boots unbloodied.”

Phillip could have said the same thing himself, but his life was what it was and he needed men he could rely on. He looked at Hamish coolly.

“I could kill you as easily as to talk to you.”

“But you wouldn’t,” Hamish said promptly. “I know about your code of chivalry.”

“I could, within the limits of that code, make your life so miserable you wished for death.”

“You could, my lord, yet I suspect you won’t,” Hamish said without hesitation. “I know ruthless, and you aren’t it.”

Phillip thought he might find a goodly amount of the same if he were forced to carry on much more conversation with the cheeky lad before him. “I should beat you senseless for your lack of respect.”

“Oh, I respect you well enough,” Hamish said. “But you need frankness and that’s what I’m here to provide. I also might have the answers you need, if you were willing to take me with you when you go.”

Phillip looked at him sharply. “Am I going somewhere?”

“I think you might want to, my lord.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Haemesburgh is a hellhole, my lord.”

There was no point in denying the truth of that. Haemesburgh would likely benefit from being unbuilt, then redone. If he’d had the stomach for it, he would have done it himself.

Phillip considered. “And what’s to stop me from torturing the answers out of you and leaving you behind here just the same?”

“You need answers, my lord,” Hamish said frankly. “I have them, as you might imagine. That, and you’re too full of chivalry to leave an innocent child to fend for himself in a nest of vipers such as we have here.”

“Innocent,” Phillip echoed with a snort, wishing he could dredge up more irritation than amusement. “You?”

“Forced into skirts,” Hamish said, innocently. “Threatened with death if the wimple and veil weren’t donned. How can you not wish to see me rewarded for all these years of trauma by welcoming me into your service?”

“I think a good whipping would serve you better,” Phillip muttered, though he certainly didn’t have that in him either.

He couldn’t avoid a sigh that felt as it if came from the soles of his boots. Haemesburgh could be a lovely place—for not being Artane, of course—but at the moment, as Hamish had unfortunately pointed out, it was an utter hellhole. Filthy, smelly, untended. He wasn’t sure how it was that a place that had obviously been built in the past decade could look so derelict so quickly, but perhaps it took a determined effort by those inside the walls. In the end, he might do better to simply raze the place.

One thing was certain and that was, regardless of the state of the keep, the location was ideal. Nay, it was critical. The truth was, he would eventually be the lord of Artane—should his father ever decide to finally take the necessary step into the next world—and his duty and privilege would be to pass on to his children a collection of holdings as free from strife as he could make it. The political situation at present was one he didn’t dare ignore. The time would come when the king’s hold over his barons would diminish and Phillip had no intention of being on the wrong side of that fight.

Add to that the unpredictability of the Scots to the north and he would need an outpost in enemy territory, at the very least. Haemesburgh was perfect, damn its crumbling walls and cesspit that had obviously never been visited except perhaps by Hamish, who had mined its depths for things to fling over those crumbling walls.

The choice that lay before him was stark and unpleasant. He could either stay and fight an uphill battle against his own future garrison, or go and let the place go to ruin for another pair of months. If he left, he might find Heather and then things would look different, or he might find her brother and things would look different still. The truth was, the situation at present was untenable and unraveling quickly. There was a part of him that wished for his father’s advice.

Actually, he couldn’t help but wish he had taken his father’s advice in the first place and settled for a well-connected London lass who came with a collection of guardsmen who had never had to don skirts and pretend to be who they weren’t.

But then he wouldn’t have met Imogen—or, rather, been available to aid her, which was surely all he intended to do with her.

He glanced at the small collection of souls huddled on stools and benches pushed up against the walls of the keep proper. Imogen was there, looking muddy and exhausted. Rose was sitting next to her, stunning and lethal as always. Jackson was leaning back against the wall, lethal and ill-humored, as ever. The twins and Connor were golden spots in the gloom, though he had the feeling that if he turned his back the little ones would be gone immediately to go undermine his foundations and look for buried riches.

Well, his first task was laid out before him with undeniable clarity: he would need to see Imogen home. And who knew but that solving the mystery that was Imogen Maxwell would lead him to other things?

He looked back at the lad who had seen so much at Haemesburgh but seemed so ready to bargain away his freedom for the chance to leave the keep.

“If I agree to take you with me,” Phillip said slowly, “what guarantee do I have that you’ll provide me with the answers I need?”

“When a squire swears fealty unto his lord, that fealty comes with answers.”

Phillip felt one of his eyebrows go up of its own accord. “Am I acquiring a polisher of my mail?”

“A lad to guard your back in tight spots, rather,” Hamish said seriously. “I’ve more experience with that than you might think.”

Phillip had something wash over him, something he wasn’t sure wasn’t pity. If nothing else, perhaps he could see the lad before him fed until he didn’t look as if he were fair starving to death. “I do have a squire already, you know,” he pointed out.

“You have a scribe, my lord, not a squire. That little Bartholomew might be able to stab a ruffian in the eye with his quill, but defend you with steel?” Hamish shook his head. “I can’t see it. I, on the other hand, couldn’t scribble my name to save my soul but I don’t need to count your ribs to know which ones have a large enough gap to welcome my dagger.” He nodded wisely. “Handy, that.”

Phillip smiled in spite of himself. “By the saints, lad, you have a mouth on you.”

“Desperation leaves me no choice but to speak boldly.”

Phillip had the feeling his life was about to take a radical turn to the left when he’d intended that it should go straight. He studied the lad before him. He couldn’t have been more than ten-and-six, poorly fed, with a look of desperation in his eye that was covered likely as best he could with bluster.

“Where are your parents, Hamish?” he asked quietly.

“Dead, my lord.”

“No siblings?”

“Slain, my lord.” He shrugged. “’Tis just me, making my way in the world. Happy to be free of gowns, if I might say so.”

“You might indeed, my lad,” Phillip said with a sigh. He blew out his breath. “You’d best have tidings that will serve me.”

Hamish dropped to his knees and held out his hands. Phillip suppressed a sigh, checked Hamish’s spindly fingers again for hidden blades, then held out his own hands to accept the lad’s fealty.

“They pressed me into pretending to be the lady Heather five years ago,” Hamish said without hesitation.

“Who did and why?”

“Her brother and Sir Neill,” Hamish said, “and the reason was to keep you coming to Haemesburgh regularly that they might be confident of your whereabouts and intentions.”

“Was Heather here?”

“Nay, my lord. She’s been missing these past five years. I was roused from my spot in the piggery one fine morn and simply told to don wench’s gear. No one spoke of her any longer. It was as if she’d been spirited away by ghosties.” He crossed himself fervently. “Unsettling, that.”

Phillip somehow wasn’t at all surprised. “Where is Robert the younger?”

“That I do not know, my lord, but I have thoughts on where we might go look.”

That was perhaps good enough for the moment. Phillip hauled the boy to his feet and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Pack your gear, lad. I think we’ll leave tonight.”

“Already packed, my lord. Shall I leave Sir Neill with a token of our affection before we go?”

The saints preserve him, he suspected he might have just bound an assassin to him. “Nay, lad, I think we’ll leave him with himself intact.”

“Then shall I loosen his ropes only far enough for him to work himself free and that only after we’re away?”

Phillip supposed Sam and Theo might be willing to aid Hamish in that goodly work. “Aye, take my youngest cousins with you to see to that.” He paused. “Anyone else we need to carry with us?”

Hamish beamed. “I knew ye was a kindhearted master,” he said, looking as if he were suddenly a lad of eight summers. “Kindhearted, indeed!”

“Ah—”

Hamish embraced him awkwardly, then dashed off to collect Sam and Theo. The three of them conferred for a moment or two, then continued on, presumably to gather up others who also needed a fresh start. Phillip resigned himself to leading something of a children’s crusade, then turned and walked off the field. He noted that Imogen and Rose were deep in conversation, prayed he wasn’t the subject of that conversation, then leaned against the wall next to Jackson.

“I’ve decided ’tis impossible to find the answers I need here,” he said carefully.

Jackson only looked at him steadily. “I can understand that. What did the brat say?”

“He has things he thinks I’ll want to know, but he’ll only tell me those things when we’re not here any longer.”

“Clever him.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Phillip asked. “Given that Neill isn’t going to talk without a turn on the rack and the rest of the men don’t know anything, I thought he might be a decent hope.”

“Agreed. What now?”

“I’m not overly fond of the idea of abandoning the post here,” Phillip admitted, “but I must help Imogen find her way home and I need somewhere to think. And as we discussed last night, I have a question or two to pose to your sire.”

“I’m sure he would gladly house us for a few days. When do you want to leave?”

“Now.”

Jackson nodded. “I’ll speak with Cederic and arrange things.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated, then reached out and clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “Thank you, Jack. For more than just this.”

“You are a sentimental old woman,” Jackson said with a faint smile. “Go fetch our lassies and we’ll be away before you can wipe the tears from your eyes.”

He watched his cousin saunter off, more grateful than he wanted to think about for such souls to call family, then walked over to where Rose and Imogen were sitting. He squatted down in front of them and attempted a pleasant look. “I thought we might make a journey.”

Rose was having none of that. “Abandoning the battle here, are we?”

“For the moment,” he agreed. “My plan is to travel to Ravensthorpe. ’Tis closer than Artane, of course.”

Rose regarded him with eyes he knew always saw more than he was comfortable with. “My father will, of course, be happy to have you. What do you intend to do with your keep whilst we’re away?”

“Nothing. I imagine it will still be standing upon my return, don’t you?”

“Phillip, my lad, you may be the only soul in England who wants it,” she said seriously, “so you know I’ll agree with you on that. Perhaps the lads will rise up against Sir Neill in your absence and you’ll find everything rearranged upon your return.” She tilted her head toward Imogen. “Our lady has mentioned she might want to visit Edinburgh in the near future if you’re interested in a journey there.”

Phillip looked at Imogen in surprise. “You would?”

“Yes, but I can get there on my own—”

“Of course you won’t,” he said without hesitation. “I promised I would aid you however I may and so I shall. After we make a brief stop to see my uncle, we’ll go.”

Imogen looked at him. “You’ll still help me?”

She looked so surprised, he wondered what her life had been like to that point. Hard on the heels of that thought came the one that told him he was acquiring more mysteries every day. Why would Imogen want to go north? What would Hamish reveal about Heather’s whereabouts?

Would he have a damned keep to come back to if he left that afternoon?

“Is Edinburgh your home?” he asked, realizing she was waiting for him to respond.

“Close enough,” she said.

“Then we’ll make for it in a few days,” he said.

And perhaps along the way he might manage to pry a few more details out of her such as how she’d come to be at a keep in the midst of nowhere at all without a guard or servants or anyone to care for her. His mother never would have endured the like, but then again, his father never would have sent his beloved wife off past the front gates without half a garrison to keep her safe.

Where the hell was Imogen’s family?

He rose, nodded to the ladies, then took himself off to at least attempt to look as if he weren’t distracted beyond what he should have allowed himself. First, his uncle’s keep. And perhaps whilst he was in a place where he wasn’t continually looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t going to die, he could find a few answers to those mysteries that troubled him.

He ignored the distinct impression he had that he wasn’t going to like those answers at all.