Reluctance still shone in Magdalen’s eyes, and Cyn stifled a groan. The morning was swiftly passing, and today, William would likely arrive with his men-at-arms to take her back to Glemstow. Cyn had to find out her secret, and soon.
He squeezed her fingers. Her eyelids fluttered, but her expression remained wary.
“Magdalen,” he urged. He’d never felt so torn up inside, not since the day he’d returned to his family’s castle to see Francine standing hand-in-hand with his brother.
Magdalen gnawed her bottom lip; she clearly struggled with her conscience. “I…”
He swore under his breath. There must be some way to earn her trust. Sharing the book of old tales hadn’t worked, but he couldn’t give up trying… What, though, would persuade her?
Cyn glanced away, and his gaze found her bag tied to the rope. Remembering what he’d found inside the bag, he rose and went to the shelf near the fireplace. Light glinted off the silver stag ornament as he retrieved it from its special spot near the book. After untying her bag, he brought it to her and set it in her blanket-covered lap, along with the stag.
Her eyes widened. Drawing in a sharp breath, she picked up the ornament.
“I am certain ’twas made by the same silversmith who designed your doe. The style is identical.”
She studied the stag, and then her fingers tightened around it, as though to draw strength from it—just as he’d done many times through the years. “I vaguely recall that there was once a mate for my doe. How did you come by it?”
In as much detail as he could remember, he told Magdalen of that afternoon when he’d been gifted with the stag. “To this day, I remember her as the most beautiful lady I had ever seen. Her words helped me through some very dark days. “’Twill be all right,’ she told me—”
“‘You will see,’” Magdalen finished. Tears welled along her lower lashes.
“Aye. How did you know?”
“I believe…that lady was my mother.”
Magdalen’s mother. ’Twould explain the resemblance between the two women.
A sad smile curved Magdalen’s mouth. “She was indeed beautiful, not just in her appearance, but the way she treated others.”
“Was,” he echoed.
“She died in childbirth when I was ten. The babe, a boy, perished too, moments after he was born. I…was with my mother when she passed on.”
“I am sorry.” Cyn couldn’t imagine watching a parent and sibling die; the anguish would be unbearable. He’d been spared that kind of pain by being away in the East when his parents had perished. Bitterness, rage, and gut-twisting anguish stirred within him at the memory of his brother informing him of their deaths, but Cyn mentally shoved the recollections aside. Magdalen was most important now, not just for what she could reveal about the stag, but for what she’d tell him about William.
“My mother gave me the doe when I was a child,” she was saying, “but just before she died, she gifted me with the ruby. She told me to always keep it close to me, and that ’twould bring me good fortune. For a while, I thought ’twas true, until I found…”
“Found?” he coaxed.
She averted her gaze, and the silence lagged. He forced himself to remain still and quiet, to leave the burden of ending the silence upon her. “My mother… At what keep were you serving as a page when you met her?”
How neatly Magdalen had avoided answering his question. He could be patient, however, for a little while longer. “I served at Drandwick Keep, in Nottinghamshire.”
Magdalen’s eyes widened. “Lord Falderston’s castle?”
“Aye.” Cyn well remembered the broad-shouldered, dark-haired lord whose booming laugh could carry across a bailey.
“When I turned fourteen,” she said, “I moved to Drandwick to become a ward of Lord and Lady Falderston. My mother had been best friends with her ladyship, and the Falderstons were very kind to me. I also met my friend Aislinn there.”
“The lady whose letters are in your bag,” Cyn recalled.
Magdalen nodded. “She married Lord Hugh Brigonne and now lives in Lincolnshire.”
While Cyn had never met Hugh Brigonne, he’d heard the story of what had befallen him last year. Found naked and left for dead in a forest, Brigonne had survived a foul plot by a rival lord to claim his estate and intended bride. Brigonne was known to be one of the wealthiest lords in England.
“My parents were also friends with the Falderstons,” Cyn said. “’Tis how I ended up being sent to their fortress to train as a page. Your mother must have been visiting Drandwick Keep the day I met her.”
“Most likely.” Magdalen’s brow creased with a frown. “Sometimes I traveled with her. Is it possible that you and I met years ago, but do not remember?”
“’Tis possible,” he agreed, “although I only lived at Drandwick Keep for about four weeks, up until the day I…” A rueful laugh broke from him. “Well, let us just say that his lordship decided his castle might not be the best place for me. He sent me to his older brother’s keep, and I was much happier there.”
“What happened?” Magdalen was clearly fascinated. “Did you get into trouble?”
“Indeed I did. At eight years of age, I was one of the youngest pages at Drandwick. I was often bullied by older boys who had already become squires.”
“Oh, goodness,” she murmured.
“The teasing upset me, but I never fought back, not until that one afternoon—the day after your mother gave me the stag, actually—when I could stand the torment no longer. After a particularly cruel trick played on one of the other pages, I confronted the nastiest bully. I was terrified, but determined the mistreatment had to stop. He sneered and then mocked me, and my anger boiled over.” Cyn shook his head. “I walloped him in the jaw, hard enough to crack his teeth together, and then we were both clawing at each other, wrestling each other down to the dirt. Lord Falderston had to break up the fight.”
“Did you have to answer to his lordship?”
“I did. When I told him about the bullying, he confided that he had been aware of it, and had spoken to the squires about it, but the lads obviously had ignored his order to stop. He asked if I was unhappy, and when I said I was, he offered to send me to his brother’s fortress. ’Twas closer to my parents’ keep, and so I was glad to move. William was one of the first friends I made there. He was also a page. We have been close friends ever since.”
Her gaze had once again turned wary.
“How did you meet William?” Cyn asked. “Through Edwina?”
Magdalen set the stag down in her lap and then nodded. “I met her at Drandwick Keep, not long after Aislinn left to wed her first husband; she became a widow, so her marriage to Hugh, you see, was her second. Edwina and I became good friends, and after she married William, she asked me to move with her to Glemstow to be her lady-in-waiting.” A flush stained Magdalen’s cheekbones. “Truth be told, I was very pleased to receive her offer. A betrothal had been arranged for me, to a lord I did not love, but my fiancé died after being wounded in a duel he’d foolishly provoked. I had continued to live with the Falderstons since my fiancé’s demise, and while I appreciated her ladyship’s constant efforts to find me a husband, I refused to marry unless I was in love. I was glad in the end to leave Drandwick and begin anew.”
“A beginning I assume you got,” Cyn added, “and which was working out well until a couple of days ago.”
“Exactly,” Magdalen said, looking down at the stag.
“What happened?” He covered her hand still touching the ornament, her smaller, more delicate fingers enveloped by his. She shivered in his grasp. “Tell me. You must. William will likely come for you today, and while I may be sheriff, there are limits to what I can do to stop him.”
The crackle and hiss of the fire filled the silence as he waited. If she stubbornly refused to answer him yet again—
She raised her gaze from their joined hands. “I will not just tell you,” she said quietly. “I will show you.”
***
Her heartbeat loud in her ears, Magdalen pointed to her gown. “Can you bring it to me, please?”
Astonishment flared in Cyn’s eyes. “Do you mean to put it on?”
“Nay. As I said, I will show you what William wants.”
Cyn appeared puzzled, but nodded briskly and pushed to his feet.
She prayed she wasn’t making a grave error in judgment. Yet, if her mother had placed her faith in Cyn—and from what Magdalen remembered, her mother had always been an excellent judge of character—then Magdalen would trust him, too. She had to trust someone, and Cyn was right: William would arrive to take her back to the castle as soon as he could. She couldn’t be the only one who knew his vile secret.
Cyn strode to the rope to pull her gown free. Sunlight swept over him, gilding some parts of his body with bright golden light, others in inviting, grayed shadow. With his attention on his task, and not on her, she let her gaze slide down his broad back, down to where his tunic brushed against his dark-colored hose; the curves of his muscular buttocks were defined by the drape of the woolen cloth.
A flush warmed her face, and she snapped her gaze away. She would simply die if he caught her staring at his bottom. Still, she couldn’t deny he was as handsome as the lords and knights lauded in the chansons she loved so much. If she weren’t in such a predicament, she might have enjoyed being cared for by such a man. ’Twas rather romantic that she’d swooned in the forest and he’d swept her up into his arms and carried her to his home to protect her. Years ago, she and Aislinn would have shrieked in delight and spent most of an afternoon huddled together in a secluded part of Drandwick Keep’s garden, discussing such a tantalizing tale; yet, Magdalen didn’t dare indulge in daydreaming now.
Returning to her, Cyn set the shimmering gown in her lap.
“I will need a knife.”
His dark brows rose. “I am even more curious now.” He reached into his right boot, drew out the leather-sheathed dagger, and handed it to her.
The costly silk, more torn than she’d thought from her frantic dash through the woods, rustled as she shifted the garment to locate the left sleeve. With the blade of the knife, Magdalen cut through the row of stitches, eased her fingers inside the hem, and withdrew the flattened parchment wrapped in the extra cloth she’d used to protect it. As the small parcel came into view, Cyn laughed, a sound of surprise.
“I would never have thought to look in your sleeve.”
“As I had hoped.”
She set aside the cloth and unfolded the document. Desperately hoping she was making the right decision, she handed it to him.
“Thank you for finally trusting me.”
Pleasure and regret battled inside her. “You will not be grateful after you read what is written there.”
His attention shifted to the sparse lines of black ink, slightly smudged from the parchment getting damp.
Fighting a bone-deep chill, Magdalen tugged the blanket more closely around her.
Cyn’s eyes narrowed as he read, and his breath expelled on a hiss. “No wonder you are so afraid. Do you have the vial mentioned in this missive?”
“Unfortunately, I do not. I looked in William’s linen chest, where I found the letter. I also searched the rest of the solar, but could not find the vial. Mayhap I should have searched longer, but after reading the missive, I felt I must get away as quickly as possible.”
Cyn’s expression was a gut-wrenching mix of disbelief and rage. “William is a loyal and honorable man. I cannot believe he is involved in such treachery.”
“The proof is in your hand.”
“The letter does seem damning. There may be more to it, though, than we realize.”
A ghastly coldness crawled through Magdalen. Cyn didn’t want to believe William was guilty of wrongdoing. Would Cyn destroy the letter? The fire was easily within reach, if he chose to toss the missive into the flames.
If he intended to burn the letter, she’d have to wrest it from him. Her gaze dropped to the knife, lying atop her gown, and the coldness within her settled deeper. She’d never used such a weapon before. Without doubt, he was the superior fighter, but she’d do what she must to get the letter back and flee.
Still, the thought of threatening Cyn after he’d been so kind to her, of possibly having to stab him, made her feel queasy.
“You are very quiet,” Cyn said, studying the letter.
“We must get that missive to one of the King’s men,” Magdalen said firmly.
“I want to ask William about it first,” Cyn replied, his tone equally firm.
Still, he refused to acknowledge his friend’s guilt. Anger simmered along with her fear. “While I respect you are friends with William, he is not the only one to consider. The plot might endanger Edwina and Timothy.”
“True,” Cyn said. “Believe me, I would never wish harm upon William’s wife and child. However—”
A loud bang echoed, followed by shuffled footfalls. Carrying a wicker basket, Borden hurried into the room, preceded by the three wolfhounds. “His lordship is approaching,” he said, out of breath. “He has four men-at-arms with him.”
Panic whipped through Magdalen, and she struggled to rise from the chair. The stag slipped from her grasp and fell on the planks.
“Easy,” Cyn said, setting a hand on her shoulder to stay her. He took the knife and shoved it back into his boot, the movement so neat and fast, he’d obviously done it a hundred times before. Oh, God, now she had no chance of saving the letter.
“Do not fret,” Cyn said, as gently as he’d spoken earlier to Perceval.
“William is coming here!”
“You do not have to face him.”
“W-what do you mean? How—?”
“Trust me.” He glanced at Borden. “You know what to do.”
“Aye, milord.” The steward set aside his basket, crossed to the rope, and began taking down Magdalen’s garments.
Cyn shoved the letter down the front of his tunic and then carefully guided her leg down from the wooden stool. With a swift precision that suggested the activity had been rehearsed before, Cyn cleared all of the nearby furnishings out of the way—all except the large patterned rug covering the floorboards. As he dropped to a crouch beside it, Borden set aside the coiled rope and folded clothes and hurried to help roll up the rug, to reveal bare planks, some bearing knots in the wood.
Cyn pushed his finger into one of the knots and she heard a metallic click. Several more clicks, and with a grunt of effort, he and Borden pulled out a rectangular section of the floor, revealing a dark opening beneath.
She gaped.
Crossing to her, Cyn said, “When the poachers built this home, they included a place to hide their most precious bounty. ’Tis a little dirty and cramped, but large enough for you to lie down inside.” He helped her to her feet, ensuring the blanket stayed wrapped around her.
“Does William know of that hiding place?” she asked.
“Nay. Once you are safely inside it, we will return the room to the way it looked before. He will never know you are nearby, listening to his every word.”
Part of her rebelled at the thought of being closed into the floor; she’d never liked cramped spaces, and she’d be stuck in there until Cyn or Borden let her out. Yet, ’twas better than confronting William, and Cyn was right; she’d be able to hear what William said about the missive.
She hobbled a step forward, but then Cyn swept her into his arms. He carried her to the opening and, dropping to his knees on the planks, guided her to sit on the edge of the cavity and lower herself in. The inside walls of the cavity were wrought from stone, and a damp, musty smell clung to the air.
Borden handed down her bag, shoes, and her garments to use as a pillow, and she lay down. As the men hauled over the rectangular section of planks, she said, “Please. Do not leave me in here for long.”
“As soon as William’s gone, I will let you out,” Cyn said from above her.
“Promise?” She spoke so softly, she didn’t think he’d heard, but he met her gaze and nodded. “I promise.”
They lowered the planks into place, and she was plunged into darkness.