A Rose in Winter

  “Yes, mistress?” he managed breathlessly.

  “Have Rufus bring the carriage around,” she snapped. “I will be taking an outing shortly.”

  “Yes, mistress.” He gave a brief bow and hurried toward the back again to see to her bidding.

  Shouting in strident tones for her maid, Claudia continued her ascent, and the trembling girl rushed out of her mistress’ chambers to meet her in the hall.

  “I will be going out for a while,” Claudia stated sharply. “Lay out my clothes.”

  “Whi—”

  “The red traveling dress and the plumed hat,” her mistress barked. “And this time, don’t dawdle! I am in a hurry!”

  The young maid whirled and was about to dash back into the chamber, but she remembered herself and stepped quickly aside to let her mistress enter first. Claudia glared at her as she passed, and the girl shivered in trepidation. The bruises had barely healed from her last reprimand, and seeing the temper her mistress was in, she fully expected more to follow.

  A half hour later, Claudia came from her chamber and descended once again to the elaborate foyer, snatching on a pair of gloves as she came down. She watched curiously as the butler hurried to the door well ahead of her, but what she had thought was an eagerness to please was no more than a part of his regular duties. Though she had not heard the knock on the front portal herself, she was sure it had come, for when Charles opened the door, there stood a man whom she stood in great fear of: Lord Saxton.

  “I have come to see Lord Tal—”

  Lord Saxton halted his announcement as he caught sight of the crimson-garbed figure on the stairs, and in sudden panic, Claudia glanced about for some place to flee, but she was held fast to the step as the cripple, brushing past the gaping butler, moved with his halting gait to the bottom of the stairs, where he stood looking up at her.

  “Miss Talbot”—the rasping voice seemed to hold a sneer—“I was hoping your father had returned, but you might provide the information I seek.”

  “I don’t know where they’ve taken her!” she lied, her tone reaching a high squeak.

  “Ahh.” Lord Saxton leaned on his cane and tilted his masked head thoughtfully as he peered up at her. “So you know why I came.”

  Claudia bit a trembling lip, daring no reply, and nervously pulled off her gloves.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” her unwanted guest apologized in the same snide tone. “I see that you are going out.”

  “I”—she searched for an excuse—“need some fresh air.”

  His gloved hand swept in a downward motion, indicating the stairs. “Please, you needn’t fear me.” His chiding laughter mocked her obvious anxiety. “I rarely harm anyone…unless provoked.”

  Claudia gulped and glanced up, wondering if she could reach the safety of her chamber before he caught her. She saw her maid standing near the balustrade on the landing above, nursing a bruised and bloody lip, and distantly mused on what tricks her imagination was playing on her. She could have sworn she had seen a smug sneer on that one’s face.

  “Miss Talbot, join me,” Lord Saxton bade in a flat, harsh tone.

  In compliance she carefully descended the stairs but could not bring herself to move from the last step. There was no need. He came to her instead, making her cringe away to escape his imposing nearness.

  “Do you know where the sheriff has taken my wife?”

  His words, though deadly calm, jolted into her. She read in the rasping tone many implications that caused her concern for her well-being.

  “Charles…” she whined fearfully.

  Lord Saxton turned as the servant took several hesitant steps forward. “Stay where you are if you have a care for yourself. I will tolerate no interference.”

  Charles retreated an equal number of strides and nervously closed the door in want of something to do. Claudia blanched as the masked head came around, and she caught the hard glint of his eyes behind the holes.

  “Well?” he barked. “Do you know?”

  “Allan sent a note to my father,” she rushed to explain. “I had no idea what he had done until I read it. He’s keeping her in an old deserted cottage somewhere south of York, I believe. I was just going to see to Erienne’s welfare now. Is there some message…” She stumbled to a halt as the eyes hardened behind the leather and sensed that he had seen through her lie.

  “If you have no objections, Miss Talbot, I will go with you. My coach can follow us.”

  “But…” She sought some excuse to deny him, but as he stared at her with that fixed, leather smile, she felt the trap close about her. In an effort to escape it, she questioned, “Do you know that your wife is with child…by that renegade, Christopher Seton?”

  The brittle light never wavered.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Aye, I heard.” The hooded head slowly nodded. “I have much to talk with her about.”

  Claudia’s brows raised as a new thought struck. Perhaps there was much to be salvaged of her revenge by leading this beast of a man to the other woman. He might become violent with Erienne, and she could witness the beating the wench rightfully deserved. A smile touched her lips as she thought of such a comeuppance. After Lord Saxton finished with his wife, Christopher Seton would not want to look upon her again, and of course she, Claudia, would be quick to offer him condolences at his loss of a mistress.

  She waved a hand almost cheerily as she beckoned the cripple to follow her. “Come along then. We’ll be on the road for some time, and we’ll need to get started now if we intend to reach the castle by noon.”

  Lord Saxton followed in her wake, dragging his cumbered foot past the butler, who stared after them in amazement. He knew his mistress was flighty of moods but wondered at her wisdom in going off alone with the beast who had all but threatened her on the stairs. He closed the door behind the pair and shook his head as he crossed the foyer. A movement on the landing made him pause, and he glanced up to where the maid leaned against the balustrade. The hatred on the girl’s face had grown quite obvious now that her mistress had gone.

  “I hope he drops her down a well-used privy somewhere.”

  * * *

  Avery had managed to obtain himself a ride on the back of a cart to the edge of the Talbots’ property, though the sheepman who had provided it had cast a deeply skeptical glance toward the pasty white legs jutting out from beneath the strange skirt that covered his loins. But as Avery scrambled to his fastest and most painful gait up the lane leading to the Talbots’ manor house, he gave no thought to what the man might have thought of him. The Talbot coach had passed them a short distance down the road, and he had espied Lord Talbot himself sitting within it. Avery was too anxious to catch the man before he left again on some other business to worry about his own attire.

  He jerked down the skirt of his britches as an errant breeze wafted up to caress his backside, but he did not slow his puffing pace as he saw the manor house just ahead of him and Talbots’ coach standing in the drive before the portal. He smoothed his bedraggled garments as best he could and climbed the full dozen steps to the front portal. His insistent banging on the door plate brought him face to face with the dignified butler, who suffered a momentary spasm of repugnance from the sight that greeted him. His gaze disdainfully measured the tattered man before he regained his arrogant stance and sniffed. “Yes?”

  “Ah, I seen his lordship’s at home.” Avery cleared his throat. “I would like ter talk with him for a few moments.”

  Charles’s eyebrows jutted up with a quick twitch, then he raised his head and loftily explained, “Lord Talbot has no time for visitors now. He is about to leave on important business.”

  “ ’Tis urgent that I speak with him!” Avery insisted.

  The hooded eyes of the butler flicked down him again, and almost reluctantly he replied, “I shall ask his lordship if he wishes to speak with you, sir. Your name?”

  “Avery Fleming!” the former mayor announced in aggravated tones. ??
?Don’t ye know me? I’ve been here before!”

  Charles’s surprise was evident. “You do bear a resemblance to the mayor.” He looked Avery over more closely and shook his head doubtingly. “Excuse me, sir, but it looks as if you’ve fallen to a bit of misfortune.”

  “I have!” Avery heartily agreed. “And that’s why ’tis necessary for me ter speak with his lordship!”

  “I shall return shortly, sir.”

  Avery waited, barely able to control his fretting impatience as the servant’s footsteps retreated into the house and dwindled into silence. In a moment the sound came back, and Avery brightened as he caught sight of the butler again.

  “What did he say? Can I come in?” he asked the servant eagerly.

  “Lord Talbot is pressed for time, sir. He will be unable to see you.”

  “ ’Tis important!”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Charles haughtily apologized and would say no more.

  Avery’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he stumbled away from the door, hearing it close behind him, and made his way down the steps. His legs felt weak of a sudden, and he leaned against a carriage wheel, entirely drained by the events of the past days. If he could just present his case to Lord Talbot, he was certain that the man would understand and feel compassion, at least enough for a few more quid and maybe even a horse.

  Avery raised his head and gingerly touched a tender spot on his brow. He had not the energy to get to Mawbry, or anyplace else, for that matter. It seemed he was doomed without a mount or even food to sustain him. What could he do? He was bereft of all of his belongings, cast out by family and friends, and now with no chance to talk with his lordship, there seemed no hope for him.

  Suddenly his attention perked as his eyes settled on the canvas-covered boot of the coach. It was big enough for a man, and not only would it provide him with transportation, but by hiding in it, he also might even be allowed the opportunity to present his claim to Lord Talbot after the man’s business was done.

  Avery glanced around furtively. The driver was paying no heed to him as he sat in his seat, dozing. The two footmen were talking together near the lead horses, and after dismissing him from mind with a derisive sneer, they paid him no further mind. No one else seemed to be about to stop him. It was his chance, perhaps the only one, and he would be a fool if he did not at least try.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE ground grew barren and rocky as the coach bearing Claudia and Lord Saxton approached the western shore overlooking the heel of Solway Firth. The winds whipped wet and cold off the western sea. A granite bluff reached high, then plunged in shattered parapets to the sea crashing white with foam and froth far below. Retired from the brink and half behind the shelter of the bluff, the ruins of an ancient castle squatted like some wounded hare upon the barren slope of stone.

  It was to this tumbled structure they journeyed, the Saxton coach halting a hundred yards or more short, well beyond a normal musket’s range. Tanner made a half circle, turning so they faced away, ready for flight should the need arise, while the Talbot coach passed boldly on, laboring up the steep incline, across a once-dry moat now bridged with salvaged masonry and planks. A shout heralding their approach rang out, and the coach entered the broad courtyard, unimpressive in its size and half filled with the scattered blocks of once-proud walls. On the right, a timbered portico sheltered the entry to the barracks. To the left, only the first and second level of the watchtower remained intact, while the higher floors had crumbled away. Ahead of them, the central keep lay in tumbled disarray. There, a place had been cleared to stable horses, and short of that, a turn-around for carriages.

  Allan Parker stepped casually from the doorway of the barracks and watched the familiar coach sweep in and come to a stop. Lord Talbot had made good time finishing with his business in York and arriving before noon, Allan mused as he went to greet his employer.

  The footman hastened to fold down the step, then reached up, pulling the door wide. The opening was immediately filled with crimson skirts and a wide-brimmed, plumed hat of the same hue. Allan gave a mental groan and ground his teeth as he recognized the one he least wanted to see. Recovering his aplomb, he proceeded as propriety dictated and, putting on a welcoming smile, reached out a hand to assist in Claudia’s descent. His fortunes quaked in the still-young day, for if the wench’s presence was not enough to darken it, the door was quickly filled by another. Parker stared in open bemusement as Lord Saxton swung his twisted, booted foot to the ground.

  “You amaze me, Lord Saxton,” he stated his thoughts bluntly. “You are the last person I expected to venture here.”

  A rasping chuckle came from the mask. “Miss Talbot informed me of her intent to visit my wife, and I thought it only prudent that since our ends were alike, she and I might travel across this hostile countryside together. I brought my own carriage, as you can see if you choose to look, and men for protection. Oh”—he held up a hand to make a point—“my men are quite well armed, Sheriff, and perhaps more than a little nervous. You know the stories going about.” He flicked his gloved fingers casually. “If any of your men should…ah…wander too close, I cannot answer for the consequences.”

  It was Parker’s turn to chuckle. In a way he admired the boldness of this cripple. “From most men, sir, I would consider that a warning, even a threat.”

  “Forbid it, sir,” Lord Saxton assured. “Strike it from your mind. I meant nothing of the kind. I only know my servants are ill at ease of late. You know, the highwaymen, this night rider, and these murders and all. Most dreadful and frightening times.”

  Lord Saxton noted the half-dozen indiscriminately attired and rather brutish-looking men who had wandered out to lounge behind the sheriff near the barracks door. They stared in unbridled curiosity at him, and several gestured at Claudia, leaning heads together as they exchanged whispered comments with leering grins. The girl was accustomed to a loftier style of gentry and grew uneasy beneath the lecherous stares.

  “I came to see the mayor’s daughter, and I would be about it,” she declared, and then questioned testily, “Where is she?”

  The sheriff ignored her a moment. “And you, Lord Saxton? Have you also come well armed? It seems the last time we met…” He let the comment hang unfinished.

  Lord Saxton clumsily braced himself with his twisted foot. “But for this.” He handed his heavy walking stick to the man, then spread his cloak and coat wide. “You may search me if you wish. I have no other weapon, unless you see something I have missed.”

  Allan hefted the cane in his hand. “A most formidable one, at that.” He twisted the silver head to no avail. “But I will give it to you. Perhaps the temptation”—he spoke this last loudly and over his shoulder—“would urge you to use it unwisely.”

  He tossed the cane back and laughed, while his men picked up the play with loud guffaws as they fondled the butts of their own pistols in hopeful glee.

  “Well, then,” Lord Saxton sighed impatiently, “as Miss Talbot suggested, let us be on our way to see the Lady Saxton.”

  “As you will.” Parker gave his arm to Claudia and tossed back over his shoulder, “If you will follow me, sir.” He led off without pause, and it was only Claudia’s careful, mincing gait that allowed Lord Saxton to hobble along apace with them. Still, he almost stumbled several times as his cane skidded on loose rocks, and each misstep was marked by mocking laughter from the porch of the barracks.

  “Eh, he must be blood kin ter Haggie,” one chortled.

  A path had been cleared on the debris-strewn steps that led to the erstwhile tower, and the sheriff stepped ahead to open the door to the room within. There, five men cast lots on a blanket-covered table in a corner. As the sheriff entered with his guests, one of the men jumped to his feet and was recognized as that ever-eager worthy, Haggard Bentworth. He stepped forward to greet them, not noticing that the hilt of his sword had snagged a corner of the blanket, and with his movement pulled the teetering table over, spill
ing coins, cubes, and cups of ale to the dust-laden floor. He ducked beneath the swing of a ham-sized fist and ignored a bevy of curses and threats as he disencumbered himself, slapping down the wayward blanket. With a cheery smile, he started forward but stumbled over a broken chair and plowed headlong into the sheriff.

  Parker cursed and threw the man off, wondering why he had ever allowed Haggard to come along, except that the oaf was too innocent—or too stupid—to force himself upon their prisoner and was therefore worthy to be trusted as her keeper.

  Haggard’s ear twitched as he cast an uncertain glance toward the masked one, then he peered at the sheriff wonderingly. “Be there ought I can do for ye, sir?”

  “Aye! Give me the key to the lady’s cell.” Parker’s lips almost twitched into a snide sneer as he regarded the fellow, but he won the battle and managed a noncommittal frown as he received it. “See that some tea and vittles are prepared for our guests.”