Chapter 18
Sir Tristan arose and dressed on his own, not wanting Brom to know more than he had to about his feelings for Lady Fay. He’d had to send his squire on an errand to the village, so Brom knew more than he should. But every time he asked an impertinent question about his relationship with her, Tristan shut him up with a look.
He turned the cloth bag over in his hand, feeling its contents rolling around inside. He hadn’t wanted to be so bold as to have a ring made for her, but he thought she might like the silver coil bracelet with three tiny rubies embedded in it. He’d been adamant about the rubies, telling Brom not to come back without something that had the red stones. She was so fiery and truly set him aflame every time she was near him, he felt the color suited her.
He still had his reservations about her oddness, but she seemed normal and coherent most of the time. He thought he could still save her from her proclivities if only she would allow him to ask for her hand in marriage. Once she was ensconced in Dernier Keep, he’d nip that reading habit in the bud. He didn’t want her to be unhappy, but hoped he could keep her busy enough that she wouldn’t miss that foul pastime of hers. He grinned, thinking about all the ways he’d like to entertain her, so eager to take her in his arms again.
Fortunately, no one was in the courtyard. But when he made his way back to the low, round door that led to the fishery, there was a lad that had his nets in a heap on the ground, readying to fish.
“Run along, lad, I wish to be alone here for a while.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir Tristan, but the cook will beat me later if I don’t bring him fish for breakfast.”
Tristan raised a brow. “And I shall beat you now if you don’t leave.”
The boy put his face in his hands, but the choice was clear. He left his net and took off. Tristan made a mental note to speak to the cook about not beating the boy and, in a moment of magnanimity, gathered up the net. There was no reason he couldn’t toss it in the stream while he had his visit with Lady Fay. When the boy returned, his work would mostly be done for him and he’d only have to pull in the catch.
He sat on the flat rock and looked at the gently running stream, counting the fish that jumped out and splashed back beneath the surface. He’d got to double digits when he started wondering how long he’d already been waiting. He paced along the creekside for a bit, then peeked out the small door. No one, not even a sign of the boy coming back for his net. The sun was getting high enough in the sky where he couldn’t wait much longer. The boys would be gathering on the training field and Sir Walter might be out again to watch. He loved rehashing his days on the battlefield with Tristan. And Tristan liked to think Sir Walter already thought of him as a son-in-law.
If the daughter ever showed up to be wooed. He paced around a bit more on the inside of the inner wall until the kitchen boy finally showed up again. He waved the lad through the door, knowing it was time to give up. Their rendezvous was not to be. He hoped she wasn’t ill again. It hadn’t been long since her recuperation. Maybe she had overexerted herself. He headed to the great hall to grab a bit of breakfast, knowing someone would let him know if Lady Fay were under the weather again.
While he prayed she was well, it would give him an excuse to visit her in her chamber if she wasn’t feeling well. It might be the only way to see her over the course of the next few days, with the way Sir Walter occupied his time, and the way that scoundrel Lord Drayton always snuck into supper early and stole the seat beside her.
None of the family sat at the high table, so he found a spot amongst the men, both his own and Lord Drayton’s and absentmindedly shoveled in enough bacon and bread to get him through the morning training. Brom wasn’t about or he would have any pertinent news already. A perusal of the rest of the hall revealed Batty wasn’t down yet, either. Now he was more worried than ever that Lady Fay was ill.
His appetite gone, he got up to leave, running smack into Lord Drayton on his way out. It was the perfect end to an utterly dreadful morning. Tristan tried to ignore him, but the blustering buffoon loudly greeted him, actually holding him up with a hand on his chest.
Tristan put a stop to that familiarity with a look. “What is it, Drayton.” He caught himself from explaining he was late to practice, not owing that man any explanations.
“I wondered if you’d seen Sir Walter yet this morning,” Drayton answered, with a grin that set Tristan’s teeth on edge.
The man seemed to be taunting him without saying a word and he didn’t like it one bit. He imagined Lady Fay would like it if he was the bigger man in a situation such as this and merely shook his head.
“I have not,” he said.
He continued to block Tristan’s way, to the point where Tristan considered helping him out of it with force. “Not to worry,” Drayton said. Tristan shrugged. He hadn’t been worried. “I’m sure he’ll find me, as we have important plans to make.”
His worry level tipped slightly. “Is that so?” he said slowly, wishing he’d shoved past the man already. He could be halfway to the training field by now, or halfway to finding either Brom or Batty for news about Lady Fay.
“It, of course, won’t be made official for some time, I’m sure,” Drayton said, lowering his voice. “But I plan to ask for Lady Fay’s hand.” He paused, expecting Tristan to have something to say about that. Tristan had plenty he wanted to say, mostly with his fists.
“Is that so?” he asked again, feeling a twitch in his left eye. “You think he’ll be amenable to that?” He wanted to ask if she would be amenable and, to his horror, it was as if Lord Drayton read his mind.
“I’m certain, since I only spoke to Lady Fay about it last night. She gave me express permission to go ahead and approach Sir Walter. Now, if you’ll excuse me. As I said, I have important matters to attend.”
Drayton pushed passed Tristan as if he had been the one in the way. Tristan stood there, blindly gaping, then regained his composure enough to leave the great hall, sure every eye was on him. Drayton had spoken to Fay last night? He had spoken with her last night. Had Drayton met with her after they’d made their plans for this morning and made her a better offer?
He stopped dead in a hallway, still reeling with disbelief. Lady Fay had given Drayton express permission to speak to her father? How? And why? They’d—they’d spent the night together and she’d told him to wait, but Lord Drayton got to ask at once?
He found himself sinking into a rage he might never get out of. What had Lady Fay and Lord Drayton done—no, he couldn’t think it. His mind went blank at the very consideration that Drayton had touched—kissed—he reached out and slammed his fist into the nearest wall, drawing blood on every knuckle. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t care. It was only because he did care that he felt a pain in his chest greater than any wound he’d ever received in battle. He felt the outline of the bracelet burning a hole through the package he’d tucked into his doublet. He’d hoped to surprise her, but he was the one getting the surprise.
“Damn it all, Sir Tristan, I’ve been hunting high and low for you.” Brom startled him, seeming to appear out of nowhere.
“I was right here,” he said numbly. He had to get himself together or appear weak in front of his men, something he couldn’t have. He shook himself and noticed Brom’s drawn face. “What is it?”
He pointed toward the front, where outside the open courtyard doors, Tristan could see several riders who’d just dismounted, speaking animatedly with some of Sir Walter’s squires. “Those men were on their way through to Bellingham, when a great hoard of soldiers tore past.”
“Soldiers? Whose men? They couldn’t have been heading here or they would have arrived already.”
“Yes, soldiers, heavily armed, at least thirty, according to that lot. They didn’t recognize the arms. And no, they must have gone right past Grancourt Castle. Which means …”
Tristan nodded, wanting to punch the wall again, but he supposed being called away to battle might distract him from the pain in his chest. “Have you called for the horses to be readied?” he asked, barely pausing for Brom’s nod. “We must be off at once to make sure the keep wasn’t their final destination.”
He spared a glance toward the stairway leading to Lady Fay’s chamber. Would she worry for him, the way he’d worried for her? Probably not. Another good reason to be called away at a time like this. It would spare his pride when that peacock Drayton eventually announced his good fortune. Still, he would have liked to hear from Fay the reason why she’d chosen Drayton over him. His fingers twitched, warring over their desire to either caress or strangle her. He had never felt such a betrayal, so thoroughly fooled. He reached for the bracelet, meaning to smash it under his heel, but couldn’t. His tattered heart begged his pride to wait to hear the answer.
“What is it?” Brom asked.
Tristan realized he continued to stand in the hallway, halfway between leaving and staying. He straightened his back and looked down at his bloody knuckles. “Nothing. Let’s be off at once. Leave behind Alistair to collect our things and follow us. We won’t be returning.”