The Silver Rose cb-2 Read online

  The day passed slowly. The lords of Ravenspeare and their guests settled for card play, and tempers ran as high as the stakes as the drink flowed freely. The absence of the Hawkesmoor party drew little remark, and the servants kept as far from the Great Hall as they could while still performing their duties.

  In the green parlor in the north turret, the card play was for minimal stakes, the conversation was lively, and the servants were attentive. Simon lay on a sofa in his shirt and chamber robe, a hot poultice of mallow leaves easing the ache in his wounded leg. Helene was plying an embroidery needle; the men were playing basset. Ariel was in and out of the room, and it took Simon quite a while amid the buzz of conversation and the general sense of well-being in the parlor to realize that she was more often out than in.

  He was feeling easier in his mind after the night they had shared.

  "What's keeping you so busy today?" he asked casually, when she reappeared in the middle of the afternoon after what seemed a particularly long absence.

  "Oh, just household things." Ariel picked up the wine decanter, moving around the room to refill glasses. "It's a good opportunity when the weather's like this to do all the little things that get put off."

  Simon glanced up from the cards he was shuffling. His eyes narrowed as he watched her. Her hair was untidy and tendrils clung damply to her forehead. But she didn't look hot. Quite the opposite. More as if she'd been out and about in the frigid damp fog. As if aware of his sudden scrutiny, she shot him a quick look, and her ears turned pink. He watched as the color spread to her cheeks.

  "What kind of things?" he pressed, dealing cards with deft rapidity. Ariel's gaze fixed in familiar fascination on his hands. It seemed to her that while his long fingers flew like the shuttles of a loom, his actual hands and wrists barely moved at all. Of all the manifold pleasures of his body, she adored his hands the most. They were so large, the knuckles so prominent, and yet their touch was so delicate it wouldn't bruise the skin on an overripe peach.

  "Oh, reorganizing the stillroom and the linen closet. There's sewing and darning-"

  "But I thought you were not expert with a needle," he interrupted, still casual, as he selected a card from his hand and tossed a guinea to the table. "Banker's stake, gentlemen."

  "Ariel didn't say she was doing the needlework herself," Helene pointed out, a little puzzled by Simon's inquisition. It was clearly making Ariel uncomfortable.

  "No, I didn't," Ariel said, shooting Helene a grateful smile. "But men don't know the first thing about organizing domestic matters."

  "And how should we, Ariel?" Lord Stanton asked with a laugh, matching the banker's stake with his own and laying down a card face up. "Men are such poor creatures. We have none of the arts of creating comfort. We're only good for making war and havoc."

  "Speak for yourself, man." Simon turned over the top card from the intact pack in the middle of the table. It matched his own card. "The bank wins, I believe, gentlemen."

  "The bank's winning all too often, it seems to me," Jack declared, taking up his wine. A chorus of agreement came from the cadre, and Simon laughingly yielded the bank to Stanton.

  Ariel, grateful that the attention had shifted from her, wandered to the window. Dusk was falling already, although it was hard to differentiate any change in the light through the fog. She had been down at the river, checking on the flat barges that would be used to transport the horses. A perfectionist, she would not be satisfied until she had personally checked every rivet, every rope, every block and tackle that would be used to secure her animals. She knew she had been driving the ferrymen to distraction with her fussing, but they'd been well paid and could put up with it.

  "I'm just going to see if anything's required in the Great Hall," she said, sliding to the door, offering an almost guilty smile to the room at large. "Is there anything anyone needs here?"

  "Yes, your company," Simon observed, leaning back and regarding her quizzically. "You seem to be having trouble sitting still."

  "It's the weather. It makes me itchy," Ariel said as she departed, closing the door behind her.

  Simon shook his head and returned his attention to the game.

  Ariel sped down the spiral stairs to the floor beneath. She hurried along the corridor, took the side staircase, and approached the Great Hall from the kitchen. She stood in the shadow of the staircase watching the scene. If there was a sober member of the group, he or she was hiding it well. A few couples were engaged in a lewd dance on one of the tables, to the strains of a jig played by the musicians in the gallery. A hogshead of malmsey had been broached, the tap left on so that the wine flowed stickily across the floor.

  Ranulf was sitting at the top table, his eyes unfocused, his mouth thinned. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself, Ariel reflected. But then, he very rarely did. Even the heights of debauchery faded to please him, although he was always striving for some new sensation.

  Roland was nibbling amiably at the ear of Lord Darsett's mistress. The woman was giggling, even while her hand was lost in her protector's crotch.

  Ralph appeared to be asleep in a bowl of venison stew.

  There was no sign of Oliver Becket.

  Ariel moved away, back to the kitchen. It was as safe tonight as it ever would be. Ranulf did not suspect anything. And he wouldn't be going down to the river on a night like this without a good reason.

  "Doris?" She beckoned the girl, who was putting the finishing touches to a dish of roasted partridges for the green parlor's dinner.

  Doris, beaming, abandoned her task and hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes, m'lady."

  "I need you to do something for me. At ten o'clock I need you to come to the green parlor and fetch me."

  "Fetch you fer what, m'lady?"

  "Just say that I'm needed at a birthing in the village and Edgar's waiting with the gig to take me."

  "Oh… but who's 'avin' the baby, m'lady?"

  Ariel sighed. "You don't have to worry about that. Just come upstairs at ten o'clock and give me the message. Can you do that?"

  Doris looked mightily puzzled, but the instructions were simple enough, so she bobbed a curtsy and said she could. Ariel nodded and left the kitchen, returning again to the stables, where Edgar was alone, muffling the hooves of the horses in preparation for moving them out.

  "I'll start at this end," Ariel said, gathering up sheets of sacking and entering the far stall.

  "Don't you think you'll be missed up at the castle?" Edgar inquired phlegmatically. "You don't want to draw attention to things, seems to me."

  Ariel paused in the act of lifting Serenissima's hoof. Edgar was right. Still, she was afraid she would only draw more attention with her stupid blushes around Simon. "I'll just do a couple," she compromised. "Then I'll go back for dinner."

  Somehow she would get through dinner.

  She hurried upstairs and found Simon alone in the parlor. "Where is everyone? Timson is bringing dinner up in ten minutes."

  "They went to change." Simon flexed his poulticed thigh. "Since I'm playing the invalid today, I'm excused such courtesies, but…?" He raised an eyebrow as he ran his eye over Ariel's tousled clothing.

  Ariel glanced down at her old riding habit and cursed her stupidity. "Forgive me. I… I was forgetting that we have guests," she said somewhat lamely. "Everyone is so easy and informal, I… I just forgot."

  "I expect you've been too busy today to worry about such unimportant matters." Simon watched the flush crimson her cheeks. "Come here, wife of mine." He held out a hand.

  Ariel crossed the room, trying to hide her reluctance. He took both her hands and held them firmly as she stood in front of him. His eyes were still quizzical.

  "What's going on, Ariel?"

  "Nothing! I've just been very busy doing things… things that have to be done." She tugged at her hands but his grip tightened.

  "You wouldn't be hiding something from me, would you?

  "No!" she exclaimed. "And you're making me
blush because you're making me feel guilty, and I don't have any thing to feel guilty about. You know how I go red at the slightest thing."

  He laughed and released her hands. "Yes, I do. Very well, forgive me for being suspicious. If you say you're not hiding anything, then of course I believe you."

  Ariel spun away from him as flames blazed in her cheeks. "I have to go and change." She whisked from the parlor, leaving Simon staring reflectively into the fire. He was far from convinced she was telling him the truth.

  Ariel, praying her clumsy blushes hadn't put him on his guard, pulled a simple gown of gray wool out of the armoire. Its only ornament was a band of turquoise silk beneath the bosom, and matching bands on the sleeves. When she had first acquired it, she had considered it the height of elegance, but compared with her admittedly scanty trousseau wardrobe, it struck her as pathetically plain and unfashionable. However, silks and velvets were ill suited for the rough work she would have to do later. Dinner was an agony. She felt Simon's eyes on her constantly and covered her confusion by seeing to her guests' needs when the servants were gone as attentively as Timson himself. Not a glass was left empty, a plate unfilled.

  Doris's knock on the dot of ten o'clock was a blessed relief.

  "M'lady's wanted at a birthin'," Doris announced with a curtsy. She was frowning as she struggled to be word perfect. "Edgar's waitin' wi' the gig in the yard." She curtsied again and said with a rush of inspiration, "If you could come quick, m'lady. The mother's powerful bad."

  Ariel leaped to her feet. "Yes, of course. I'll come directly." She cast a distracted glance around the table. "Forgive me, Helene… gentlemen. I may be back late, so I'll see you in the morning. Simon, don't wait up for me." She almost raced from the room, her heart jumping with relief.

  "What was all that about?" Helene asked, puzzled.

  "I wish I knew." Simon leaned back in his chair, idly twisting the stem of his glass between his fingers.

  "But… but a birthing?"

  "Remember I wrote to you that Ariel is a midwife and a leechwoman," he said, still somewhat absently. "She's much in demand in the neighborhood as a healer."

  "Yes, I remember now." Helene sipped her own wine. "I don't think I took it seriously."

  Simon's laugh was short. "Believe me, my dear, one must always take Ariel seriously whatever she does." He rose from his chair and hobbled to the window, staring out into the blackness.

  "It's a raw night for errands of mercy," Jack said.

  "Mmm." Simon returned to his chair. He stared down into his wineglass, then suddenly he exhaled and his chair scraped again on the floor. "Goddamn it! The little wretch has been lying to me all day!" He hauled himself upright, grabbing for his cane. "Where are my britches, damn it! I can't go out in my drawers!"

  "I'll fetch them." Jack leaped to his feet. "But what are you going to do?" 1

  "Find out what's going on," Simon declared grimly.

  "Let me go for you."

  "Just fetch my britches… oh, and my cloak. It's cold as the grave outside." He shrugged out of his chamber robe and sat down to unpeel the mallow poultice from his leg.

  "Let me help." Helene took the discarded poultice from him. "Is there anything I can do?"

  "No… thank you, he added belatedly. "I'll attend to my devious young wife myself. Ah, Jack, give them here." He almost snatched his britches from Jack and thrust his feet into the legs. His booted heel caught on the material, and he hopped for a moment on his good leg, cursing under his breath, before Jack gave him a push back onto the chair and manipulated the britches over his boots.

  "Thanks." Simon stood up again. He fastened the hooks at his waist and clasped the silver buckle of his belt. He slung his cloak over his shoulders. "Forgive me for breaking up the party, but I have the unmistakable feeling that marital duty calls. In fact," he added savagely, "I've been ignoring that damned clarion call for far too long."

  The door banged shut behind him, and his halting step, sounding remarkably fast, descended the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Simon made straight for the kitchen. If Ariel had been summoned to assist a laboring woman, the servants would know about it. When Doris caught sight of him, she turned and fled toward the scullery. Simon's lips thinned.

  "Can I 'elp you, m'lord? Is there something you need abovestairs?" Timson asked anxiously.

  "Only my wife. Do you happen to know where I might find her?"

  Timson stroked his chin. "Can't say as I do, m'lord."

  "She's not been summoned to the village, then?"

  For a moment Timson looked puzzled, then speculation and calculation flashed across his eyes and Simon guessed the man was trying to decide how Lady Ariel would want him to respond to a situation he knew nothing about.

  "I 'aven't been in the kitchen much this evenin', m'lord," Timson said slowly. "But I could ask around."

  "Don't bother. I'm sure I'll get the same answer from everyone." Simon limped to the kitchen door. It seemed the household automatically closed ranks around their lady whether or not they knew what was going on.

  He felt his way down the kitchen path, using his stick as if he were a blind man. The fog was all but impenetrable and the silence in the still air was eerie, as if all living things had been choked by the wet, frigid, suffocating blanket. The stableyard was deserted, not even the faintest glimmer of a lantern showing through the gray-whiteness.

  Simon leaned on his cane in the middle of the yard and listened intently. Then he heard something. A faint bark, instantly silenced. It was hard in the disorienting fog to get a sense of the direction. He waited, immobile, concentrating all his faculties as he had so often done in the past when patrolling a picket line, listening for the faint crack of a twig, rustle of a leaf, that would indicate the approach of a stranger.

  Then it seemed that he could hear voices, faint whispering tendrils coming to him through the fog. He raised his head and sniffed like an animal scenting the wind. It was all too easy for the overstretched mind to play tricks in these conditions. All too easy to fabricate the sound one wanted to hear. But they were there. Those disembodied voices. And they were coming from the direction of the river.

  He waited until he had oriented himself, then set off, his cane tapping the cobbles ahead of him as he felt his way toward the path that led from the stableyard down to the river. On the path his boots crunched on ice, went through to the iron-hard mud beneath. The ice was already broken up, shards of it cracking beneath his heels. Something resembling a troop of cavalry had trampled down this path very recently.

  He increased his speed, knowing it was risky when he was blind as well as lame on the uneven and treacherous track, but the voices were sounding more solid now, although he couldn't make them out. Then something barreled out of the darkness and flung itself at him.

  He swore as his foot slipped. He flung out his hands and found a tree trunk right beside him. He clung to it, recovering his balance, as one of the wolfhounds slobbered ecstatically on his chest. The second materialized, a paler gray streak against the thick gray darkness.

  "Down!" he commanded in a harsh whisper that brought them instantly to heel. Their eyes glowing yellow, they sat grinning up at him, clearly delighted to welcome him to whatever game was in progress.

  Where the hounds were, there he would find Ariel.

  In confirmation, Ariel's voice, muffled in fog, drifted from the river, "Romulus… Remus… where the devil are you?"

  "Come, Mama's calling," Simon murmured, pushing himself away from the tree. "Let's go and surprise her, shall we?"

  The fog seemed, if possible, even thicker by the river, but his eyes were now accustomed and he could make out shapes as he emerged from the path onto the riverbank, the dogs bounding ahead of him, unhindered by the stygian gloom.

  Simon stared in astonishment. Several torches now offered a diffused light, their flames a snakelike flicker tonguing the fog. Ariel's entire Arabian stud was gathered on the banks of the river
where three flat barges were moored. As he watched, the men who were moving among the animals began to lead them onto the barges.

  Ariel's fluid shape seemed to be everywhere, adjusting halters, calming, stroking. There was no sound, no jingling of harness, no clatter of hoof, as the haltered animals were led on board. They must have muffled the hooves with sacking, Simon thought incredulously.

  How could Ariel have had this monumental transport in her head and never given him so much as an inkling? All day she'd been making these preparations, and not once had he guessed. But how could he guess, when he hadn't the faintest idea why she would be doing this? The stables at Hawkesmoor would be ready for her stud in a matter of weeks. So where the hell was she taking them? And why?

  But he wasn't going to find any answers standing on the sidelines. He moved forward away from the trees and onto the flat bank.

  The dogs raced forward, barking excitedly, and Ariel hissed at them. "Quiet!"

  "Should 'ave left 'em in the tack room." It was Edgar's voice and it was Edgar who saw Simon first. "M'lord?" His tone was expressionless but it brought Ariel swinging around on her heel.

  "Simon!"

  "The very same," he agreed, stepping toward her. "And would you mind telling me just what in the name of grace is going on here?"

  Ariel dropped the halter she was holding. She walked slowly over to him. What could she say? How could she possibly explain what he was seeing?

  Her eyes in the greenish yellow light were glittering with dismay. "You aren't supposed to be here." The stupid words spoke themselves even as she tried desperately to think of a satisfactory explanation.

  "I rather got that impression myself," he observed with an amiability that didn't deceive her. "What's going on?"

  "I don't have time to explain here. Please go back to the castle." She tried to keep her tone moderate, but he heard her desperate urgency.

  "That's not good enough. I want to know now." His voice was clipped.

  Ariel in her mind's eye saw Ranulf plunging through the trees to discover the scene at the river while she bandied words with her husband.