Chapter 16

Phillip stood at the door of the great hall and wondered just how long Jackson Alexander Kilchurn IV thought he could hide in his own castle without being discovered.

He’d seen his uncle the morning before, of course, as he’d ridden with his company into Ravensthorpe’s courtyard and heard the comforting clang of the portcullis slamming home behind them. Jake had seemingly been unsurprised to see them, but perhaps he’d been in communication with those two annoyances, Robin and Nicholas de Piaget, who had no doubt felt the need to warn him that Phillip was off on another attempt to get inside Haemesburgh’s gates.

Phillip had given his uncle the briefest of details about his stay inside the keep, told him as much as he’d known about his suspicions that they were being stalked on their journey east, then listened to his uncle order scouts to be sent out to see what could be learned.

He’d watched Rose lead a blanket-swaddled Imogen off to points unknown and trusted that both of them would sleep safely. He’d seen to his men, thanked his uncle for his hospitality, then tossed himself down onto a pallet in front of a fire. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

He did, however, have vague memories of waking a time or two, but the effort of rousing fully had been just too much. There was a terrible luxury about knowing he was in someone else’s keep with their walls keeping his enemies at bay. He didn’t dare accustom himself to the feeling, but he was glad of it on the rare occasions he was able to enjoy it.

Enemies. He honestly hadn’t imagined that he would have acquired all that many over the course of his life, but perhaps someone from Haemesburgh was less pleased with the thought of him as lord than he would have suspected.

Dawn had broken again, he’d had a wash and dug clean clothes out of his gear, and then he had shouldered the burden of facing his own life. That had seemed quite a bit more palatable after a decent breakfast that his aunt hadn’t had anything to do with cooking. Amanda of Ravensthorpe was beyond beautiful, but the woman couldn’t place food within ten paces of a fire without burning it to a crisp. The first thing his uncle had done upon wedding her was find a decent cook for them. Gold very well spent, to be sure.

Phillip stepped out into Ravensthorpe’s courtyard and took a moment to reconcile himself to sun instead of drizzling rain. It was chilly, though, which concerned him. He had intended to be inside Haemesburgh with his feet up in front of the fire well before any snow fell, which was obviously not going to be the case that year. He suspected that unless he solved several mysteries in rapid succession, the only place he would be putting his feet up was in his grave.

He realized that Aunt Amanda was coming his way, looking as lovely as she always did. She hesitated when she saw him, which led him to believe that she might be sharing her husband’s aversion to robust conversation. A memory came to him through the fog that was the previous day of his life. He wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t dreamed the like, but since it was possible he hadn’t, he examined it carefully.

Amanda had seen Rose and Imogen settled, then come to have a quiet word with her husband. Phillip had been yawning too much to hear anything she’d said, but the look on Jake’s face came back to him. Or, rather, the lack of expression. As if he’d heard tidings he absolutely hadn’t expected to be faced with.

Interesting.

“My lady aunt,” he said, making Amanda a low bow. “A pleasure, as always.”

Amanda laughed and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Now that you’re no longer alternately drooling and snoring, I’ll return the greeting. You look less shattered than you did yesterday. Long journey from Haemesburgh, I take it.”

“Too long and made in great haste,” Phillip admitted. “Any tidings from your scouts?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said, shrugging, “but you know better than to attach any meaning to that. ’Tis a bit difficult to look for what you can’t identify. Any ideas on who might be stalking you?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Phillip said grimly.

“Too many suspects, or too few?” she asked with a smile.

“The latter, assuredly,” he said. “Why would anyone want to do me harm?”

“That, my little lad, is the most puzzling thing of all,” she said, her smile fading. “You are definitely not your father, which is something in your favor. The only thing I can think is that you do want a fairly strategically desirable keep, never mind that I can think of few who would want to live there.”

He had to agree on all counts. And if none of the scouts had seen anything untoward, perhaps he and his men had been imagining things. For all he knew, someone of Imogen’s ilk had been following them to make certain she remained unharmed. That seemed quite a bit more farfetched than thinking someone might want him dead, but the thought of making a list of souls who might want to slit his throat was not something he thought he wanted to face at the moment. There were other less perilous mysteries to be solved first. He smiled at his aunt.

“I’m sure ’tis nothing more than jealousy over that fine keep. You wouldn’t know where your husband is, would you?”

She blinked. “Jake? Haven’t seen him. Is he missing?”

“He’s made an art of hiding so far this morning.”

“Then best of luck with your hunt,” she said. “I’ve things to do. Important things.”

He wouldn’t have been surprised if one of those things was to go and warn her husband he was being sought. Phillip shot her a dark look, which she only smiled at before she walked briskly back inside her hall. He resumed his perch atop the stairs to better keep an eye on the courtyard for reluctant relatives. And whilst he was about that goodly work, he made a list of all the places he’d already looked for Jake that morning.

He had sought the man out in his own bedchamber, his solar, and his kitchens only to be told each time that he had narrowly missed the lord of the hall and perhaps he might like to try the stables, the smithy, or the lists. Unfortunately, those locales only yielded suggestions from the masters of those domains that Phillip continue on his search. His patience was wearing very thin.

He was beginning to suspect Jake didn’t want to talk to him.

He formulated a new plan. He would chase his uncle out to the lists and threaten to slay him unless he provided the answers Phillip wanted. It was his only hope, truly, given that Jake was a master at avoiding topics he didn’t care to discuss. A hearing loss that ever seemed to conveniently come and go. Pains in his head that, now and again, rendered him incapable of speech. A blank look, as if all his wits had deserted him temporarily. Phillip knew what to expect and had no intentions of being put off by any of it.

What did I’m available mean and why was it scrawled in an almost indecipherable hand across the back of Imogen’s cloak, followed by a series of numbers?

He felt certain Jake might know, though, again, he didn’t like to think overlong on why that might be the case. It was, put simply, past ridiculous.

He had avoided the most likely possibility so far that morn, but he realized he would have to face the truth eventually and that truth was that he was daft. Indeed, the more fully he faced it, the more it seemed the only explanation. His sire and uncles had been closeted in the lord’s solar at Artane because they wanted peace for drinking the finest of the keep’s wine and indulging with equal abandon in the telling of ribald jests whilst not having to share any of the same with their sons. There was no conspiracy of secrets, no desperate effort to hide paranormal oddities, no continuous effort to present a fa?ade of normalcy when the truth was far more complicated and dangerous.

He caught sight suddenly of his uncle Jake strolling across his courtyard. More interesting still, Jake caught sight of him, jumped a little, then trotted off in the opposite direction.

Phillip cursed. So, that’s how it was. Phillip hurried after him, determined to have speech with him before Jake managed to bolt himself inside his solar. It turned into a full-on dash for the nearest bolt hole, which, unfortunately for Jackson Kilchurn, Phillip was intimately familiar with, having spent more than his share of time at Ravensthorpe in his youth.

He caught his uncle just outside a gate that led to a rather uncomfortable passage to the kitchens.

“Let me aid you,” Phillip said, slapping his hand on the wood and blocking Jake’s ability to flee. He glared at his uncle. “With whatever goodly work you’re about.”

“I don’t need aid,” Jake wheezed.

“You look to be needing a bit of exercise.”

“I just had some,” Jake said. “What I need is a strong drink.”

“If only you indulged.”

“I’m considering turning over a new leaf.”

Phillip paused at the turn of phrase. That was something, wasn’t it? His uncle did that often, that unusual turn of phrase. Phillip couldn’t say he’d noticed it overmuch in his youth, but now it seemed strange indeed. Where had he learned it? He studied the man before him, considering things he hadn’t wanted to pay heed to before, but found he couldn’t ignore now.

His uncle was an excellent swordsman, true, but there was something about his ability to fight that Phillip had always found curious. It was likely something only he and his father would have noticed, but it was clear to him that Jake had learned swordplay later in life. He wasn’t sure how to describe how he knew that, but he did.

There were other things about his uncle that had never exactly bothered him but had given him pause for some reason. Jake’s uncanny calm in the face of wars and famine. His insistence on every soul in his kitchens washing their damned hands before they prepared meals. His truly unparalleled skill in drawing. But perhaps the most glaring thing was his name. Jackson Alexander Kilchurn IV.

What madman named his son that when that son was not in line to some throne or other?

He looked at his uncle purposefully. “Let’s train.”

“Oh, let’s not,” Jake said, looking about himself, no doubt for a rescue. “I’ll find you someone more your speed.”

“Only you have the skill to stand against me.”

Jake started to speak, then shut his mouth and laughed. “Appeal to my vanity, why don’t you?”

“I thought I would try.”

Jake studied him for a handful of moments, then sighed heavily. “All right, I can see I won’t win this one. You can tell me all about your sorry tale while you’re trying to kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you.”

“I don’t want to know what you want to do with me, but I have the feeling it’s going to be very unpleasant.”

“It needn’t be,” Phillip said smoothly. “Not if you tell me what I want to know.”

Jake muttered something that sounded a bit like a prayer, but nodded just the same and walked out into the middle of his training field. Jake’s squire took his swordbelt and scabbard, just as any squire would have done for his lord. Phillip wanted to find it reassuring, but for some reason it struck him as odd, which was odd in itself.

What was going on in his family that he had been oblivious to?

He drew his own sword, then set to. It only took a few moments before he revised his opinion of his uncle’s swordplay. Jake might not have had a sword put into his hands as a wee thing, but he was a damned fine swordsman. Phillip found himself more challenged than he’d thought he would be, which led him to realize that perhaps he was being more arrogant than he should have been. Arrogant and daft. There was nothing odd in his family, nothing untoward going on where he hadn’t been watching, nothing being said that wasn’t said in every other castle in England. Obviously he wasn’t sleeping well at night. Perhaps all he needed was a turn on a decently clean goosefeather mattress to put his poor wits to rights.

In time, he called peace to catch his breath. He dragged his sleeve across his face, then words came out of his mouth he hadn’t intended.

“There’s something odd about her.”

“About whom?” Jake asked, without so much as a hitch in his breathing.

Phillip supposed now that he’d begun, there was no reason not to press on with his madness. “Imogen,” he said. “There are things about her I find odd.”

“Women can be peculiar,” Jake offered sagely.

“Not womanly odd,” Phillip said in exasperation. “A more substantial odd than that.”

“And your mother wonders why you aren’t wed.”

Phillip glared at him. “I know how to behave properly.”

“And keep your mouth shut?”

“Aye, that, too!”

Jake laughed as he propped his sword up against his shoulder. “Is this what you dragged me out here to talk about—no, wait. I think it might be very enlightening. Tell me how it is that when you went to fetch your bride from her pile of rags, you managed to come away from your keep with another woman entirely. We’ll peer at the details and see where you ran afoul of trouble.” He smiled pleasantly. “I think I’m going to be able to offer you quite a few suggestions.”

Phillip was beginning to regret not having let his uncle escape earlier. He rolled his eyes and resheathed his sword. “Very well, but I’ll need to walk as we speak.”

“Run, you mean,” Jake said, putting away his sword as well, “but I’m full of energy, so don’t worry you’ll outrun me.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Phillip muttered, though he supposed he should have been. Whatever else his flaws, Jackson Kilchurn had not gone to fat.

He handed off his sword to a cousin he didn’t bother to identify, then walked with his uncle around the perimeter of his training field. Now that he had a ready ear, he hardly knew where to begin. Perhaps stating the most obvious would be easiest.

“Heather wasn’t at Haemesburgh,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t think she’s been there for quite some time.”

“Indeed,” Jake said slowly. “Then whom have you been treating with each time, if treating it can be called?”

Phillip steeled himself for the laughter he knew would be coming his way. “Her squire.”

Jake looked at him in surprise and, it had to be said, a fair amount of amusement. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” Phillip said. “Apparently young Hamish is the one who has been holding court on the parapet, wearing her skirts, and flinging things my way.”

“Don’t you have a Hamish in your company?”

“Indeed I do.”

Jake laughed. “I have to admit I’m surprised by the twists and turns your life is currently taking, but I suppose they’re good for you. I can hardly wait to hear what the lad has told you, but why don’t you start at the beginning. I’m old and have trouble following these troublesome details.”

Phillip ignored his uncle’s grin. “I arrived at the keep to find Imogen hanging from the drawbridge,” he said grimly. “I had thought her to be Heather, but soon realized my mistake. After rescuing her and forcing my way inside the keep, I found Heather gone, Hamish taking her place as lady of the keep, and the garrison captain eyeing the lord’s chair with undisguised fondness.”

“Where is Lord Robert?”

“The elder or the younger?”

“Either.”

Phillip shrugged. “I’ve no idea. The garrison is relatively new, which I’m imagining wasn’t a happy accident, the priest was senseless with drink, and Sir Neill particularly unwilling to divulge any tidings. Hamish the squire has promised me all manner of answers did I liberate him from Heather’s gear, so at the moment he is my only hope for the truth.” He paused. “I haven’t seen him yet this morning. I’m assuming he hasn’t fled.”

“He’s chatting with the ladies in Amanda’s solar.”

“I’m unsurprised.”

Jake laughed a little. “He’s already done what he considers his duty in the lists, assured me of his unwavering devotion to your own poor self, then trotted off to see if he could pour wine for my wife. I thought it was probably best to keep him contained.”

“Likely so,” Phillip said. He sighed. “So, there is the whole of it. My betrothed is missing, her father likely dead, her brother nowhere to be found, and her garrison captain fully prepared to send me speedily into the next life. I’m counting on answers from a lad who’s too clever by half, and I now have a woman who can barely speak intelligible French to look after.”

“Your life is complicated.”

“’Tis untidy.”

“Worse still.”

Phillip wanted to ask Jake if he had misunderstood him at various times during his youth when he’d heard him curse in a tongue that had sounded a bit like the peasant’s English Imogen also seemed to know. He wanted to ask his uncle if he’d really been born in London, where he’d learned to put ink to parchment and draw such fantastical things, why Rose especially seemed to always be carrying secrets she seemed reluctant to share. Jackson was another matter entirely, endlessly gnawing on a burden he absolutely wouldn’t talk about.

He wanted to ask him what he thought of Imogen.

“I think there’s the call for lunch,” Jake said brightly. “Let’s go eat something, shall we? I’m sure things will look better on a full stomach.”

“But—”

Jake had already gathered up his squire and was trotting back toward the house.

“I haven’t asked my questions of you,” Phillip shouted.

Jake only waved over his head and bolted for the house. It would have taken a dead run to have reached him before he gained the front doors. Phillip suspected arguing with Jake’s belly over the timing of any conversation wouldn’t go well.

He supposed he wasn’t adverse to another meal so quickly after the first, so he followed his uncle from the lists and back to the house. But that was the last delay he would tolerate. He had questions to put to the man scampering around the corner of his keep and have answers to them he would.