Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

A side from the brief moment she'd seen Alden on the training field after exchanging words with Stirling, Elara had not spoken to her confidant yet. Having avoided the other instructors, vowing not to draw any more suspicion after she'd dismissed the guard and her maid, Elara instead had locked herself in the steward's chambers with the inventory records.

From the weapons discrepancy Pembroke first discovered, to other smaller issues she'd uncovered, the records had proven more illuminating than she could have hoped for. She was looking forward to sharing her findings with Alden and uncovering any of his own observations.

You wish to see him for other reasons too.

Nay. Elara would never have chosen the man for such an important task for that reason alone. It would go against every tenet her father had instilled in her about using her mind, and not her heart, to make decisions. That her pulse happened to race when he was near...that she found herself glancing at him too often during instruction...none of those facts negated that he was trustworthy, something she'd sensed since the start.

Wiping her brow and exposed skin with scented water, Elara poured herself a goblet of wine and began to write all she'd learned that day. She was so engrossed in her task that the knock on the door to the secret entrance to her chamber startled her. It would be Alden, of course, but she could not be too cautious.

"Identify yourself," she called through the door, pushing aside the tapestry.

"Alden of Shirsten St. Mary, son of John of Dunridge, at your service, my lady."

Smiling, Elara unlatched the door. "Your father," she said, stepping aside, "is well-known throughout England as the most skilled blacksmith of his time."

Alden wore breeches and a cream linen shirt, its wide Vexposing the top portion of his chest. She was used to seeing him without the emblazoned black surcoat given to all recruits when they joined their order. Glancing away from the thick forearms clearly visible with Alden's shirt sleeves rolled, she bid him enter.

"He comes from a long line of blacksmiths and is very skilled indeed."

Elara picked up the pitcher she had brought with her from the hall, and asked, "Wine?"

"Aye," he said, his deep voice closer than she expected. For such a large man, he was quietly stealthy indeed.

Pouring the wine, she turned and handed it to him. "We've much to discuss."

Their eyes met. Elara did not wish to look away. For once, she wished to allow herself to be drawn into their depths. For one so affable, he had experienced pain too, as had everyone. But his cut deeply, and Elara wished to know what had caused it.

Pushing away the thought, after indulging herself for another moment too long, the silence too intimate, she gestured for him to sit.

"Will you tell me how you first learned of the potential breach?" he asked as Elara sat across from him.

Beside the fire, as they drank finer French wine than Elara would have expected here at Blackwood, a fortification concerned more with security than luxuries, she explained what the steward had uncovered.

"He brought his suspicions to Lord Ashcroft," she said. "And from there a council was convened."

"Is there a way to explain the fact that our men received less weapons reinforcements than the ledgers suggest?"

"An error, perhaps?" she ventured, standing. "'Tis possible, but not taken together with this."

Placing her wine on a nearby table, she fetched the piece of parchment Pembroke gave her. It did not occur to Elara that Alden may be unable to read until after she handed it to him.

"I did not mean—"

He looked up.

"That is..." She should not have said anything. Now there was no way for Elara to cover her words. "I could read it to you."

He frowned, clearly displeased. "My mother was gently bred and learned to read. She taught my siblings and me at an early age."

"Apologies, Master Alden. It occurred belatedly to me you've never taken written notes during our instruction."

"And since I am a simple blacksmith's son, 'tis unlikely I am able to read and write?"

Elara chastised herself for the assumption and thought to appease him. "Alden," she said, using his given name as he'd prompted her to do many times. Elara did not want him to believe she thought him inferior in any way. "As you've told me to address you, unless you've changed your mind on that."

It was a peace offering. Would he take it?

"I have not, my lady," he said.

Elara would venture one step further toward making amends. "Elara. In this chamber," she clarified. "Of course, during instruction 'tis Lady Elara."

"Of course," he said. Alden raised the parchment. "As to this."

"As to that." She sat once again.

He read the parchment. "This is the reason repairs have been delayed? I assume Pembroke did not approve the cancellation of iron ore?"

"Nay, he did not. Nor did he discover that peculiarity. I spent the day poring over his books. That particular entry is even more damning than the reallocation of supplies."

"Indeed, it is. But why would someone be so subtle if their intent was to lend the king support from within these walls? Would not exposing the order accomplish the same goal, and more?"

Alden asked the question Elara had been wondering herself all day.

"I agree," she said. "And having spent the day with Pembroke's records, found naught else to incriminate our traitor. Why such subtle tactics?"

Alden shook his head. "I assume you spoke with Pembroke to determine who might have access to his records?" His eyes narrowed. "And have questioned him throughout?"

"I've done both," she admitted. "I do not believe he'd have gone to Ashcroft with the information were he himself the traitor, and in speaking with him, the man appears credible to me. As for the records, he claims none have access to them, but clearly such is not the case. He admitted that fact, of course, when I reminded him that this would point to his own culpability."

They both took a sip of wine at the same time.

This morn, before Elara had been fully awake, she dreamed they sat just this way. Alden had stood, come to her and held out his hand. She'd taken it, allowing him to pull her up. Allowing him to kiss her.

When she came fully awake, Elara had been disappointed it was but a dream.

Of course, he did not do that, nor would she allow it. The inappropriateness of such an action—disappointing Sir Eamon, who had brought Elara to Blackwood, risking her reputation, which would never recover—forbade it. Though her mind continued to conjure such images, despite herself.

"Have you learned anything?" she asked him, breaking the silence.

"I have not. Though I've listened to my fellow recruits' conversations more closely than I would care to. I've kept my own council, mostly, until now."

"I've noticed," Elara said, taking a sip of wine. "Have you always done so?"

Alden thought about the question. "Perhaps not in Shirsten St. Mary. It is a small village, and most know me there."

"So it is Blackwood that brings out the reticence in you?"

"Not Blackwood precisely . . ." He stopped.

"Go on," Elara prodded, waiting. Alden seemed to be contemplating saying more, but Elara could tell the moment he decided not to do so.

"'Tis naught. So what, besides listening more closely, would you have me do, lady—"

"Elara." She smiled. "You've forgotten already."

"I'm unsure that I will be able to call you by your given name alone."

"You've asked for me to do so," she reminded him.

"Our roles are very different," he said, Alden's voice low and measured.

"In this matter, they are not. In this chamber..." Realizing what she had been about to say could be taken as provocative, Elara instead answered his question. "I would have you continue to listen carefully. Observe your fellow recruits. Look for anything that might sound or look unusual."

"Would it be possible to monitor correspondence somehow, without being discovered? If there is a traitor among us, they are getting information out somehow."

Elara thought about that for a moment. "I could speak to Pembroke about the possibility."

"May I ask a question, unrelated to the matter at hand?" Alden asked.

"Certainly," Elara replied, standing to refill her wine. She moved toward him with the flagon, waiting. He nodded. As she poured, Elara stood close enough to feel the heat from Alden's body.

"How did you come to be so skilled at political strategy?"

Moving away more quickly than was necessary, Alden's closeness affecting her more than it should, she sat down once again.

"My father began as a royal messenger, his own father one before him. He rose to chancellor to King Henry and has served the royal court ever since." She'd said as much many times, certain she did so with Alden present. But that's typically where she stopped the story.

He waited.

"My mother died in childbirth. I was raised by my father, at court. Unlike other ladies, however, I know little of playing the harp. A game of chess was my father's preferred pastime."

"Your father serves the king, and yet you are here."

"My father serves the king only because it was he who took the throne. Neither he nor I believes such an ascension was the rightful one, though we kept that opinion to ourselves."

Alden stretched his legs out. Her antechamber had never felt quite as...full. He was one impressively large man.

"It is dangerous for him. You being here."

It was not a question, but she answered it anyway. "Aye. He worried, increasingly so, his true feelings may be uncovered. While he no longer travels with the king, my father remains at court but was much relieved when I came to Castle Blackwood. The belief at court is that I married a Scotsman."

"Do people not question your father about your supposed marriage and husband?"

"They do, but my father is careful to share few details. He is quite good at saying much but nothing at all. Even so, if I were to be discovered here..." Elara sighed.

"Your father would pay dearly."

"Mayhap with his life. This traitor must be uncovered," she said with more feeling than was typical for her. "I've told no one what I just shared with you, Alden. Only Eamon knows the full truth, though some of the others on the council have guessed at most of it. They know my father well, know he serves a court that he does not support."

"Thank you," he said. "For trusting me with that truth."

She'd said too much. It was not like her to wag her tongue so freely.

"If there is naught else," she said, standing.

Alden took her cue and did so as well. He placed the wine goblet on the table beside the pitcher. She did the same, prepared to escort him out, when a knock at her chamber door interrupted them. She and Alden exchanged a glance.

Elara shook her head to his silent question. She expected no one. Had dismissed the guard and her maid, and there was no reason for any other to be in this tower at such a time.

Alden's jaw locked, his eyes blazing.

She looked toward the secret passageway door.

Alden shook his head. He would not be leaving. Not until the newcomer identified themselves. She made her way across the room, and with one last glance at Alden, she called out, "Who is there?"

"Lord Stirling." The archery instructor's voice boomed from the other side. He had never visited her here, and there was no cause for him to do so now. He did not even like her.

She turned to glance at Alden, but he was already heading into her bedchamber. Elara took his cue, shut the adjoining door and opened the other to find Stirling waiting for her.