Through The Leaded Glass Read online

  She stretched, feeling an ache in every muscle. Now that was a way to spend the night.

  But today was a new day. Her last day to find that window and make it back in time, so she couldn’t spend it in bed, much as she’d like to.

  By the time she’d gotten dressed for her “countess” duties and made it down to the kitchens, passing a group of boys playing with the dogs in the courtyard, fires were blazing in the ovens with succulent juices of roasting meats sizzling into the flames. Cook was managing her army of helpers with barked orders and a couple of sharp nods.

  “Is there somethin’ I can be gettin’ for ye, m’ lady?” Cook asked while she chopped vegetables into small enough pieces to assure they’d become boiled mash for dinner.

  Kate had tried to convince her to steam them, but Cook had looked at her with the same look Alex had when she’d told him she was from the future. “I’d like to watch and learn if you don’t mind. They, um, that is, only certain members of my… order… worked in the kitchens and I thought perhaps it was time I learned your ways.”

  “Well, my lady, if ye don’ mind me sayin’ so, ye’ve got some peculiar ideas on how t’prepare meals.”

  If the woman only knew… Kate decided to hold off any sushi discussion, and let her rattle on, describing the different dishes she was preparing for the evening meal, how and where she’d procured the ingredients, what was a favorite dish for which holiday and other things a countess was probably supposed to know.

  “An’ this here, m’ lady.” She pointed to a large fish. “I’ll be servin’ it fer yer weddin’. Always looks festive when the lord’s men carry it in. Ye’ll taste it this evenin’ and see if ye don’ like it.”

  “My… wedding?”

  Cook’s craggy face lit up with a smile. She stood a little taller and, if Kate wasn’t mistaken, stuck out her chest a little more. “Now don’ ye worry ‘bout yer weddin’ feast, m’ lady. You and his lordship deserve nothin’ but the finest. And ye shall have it.” She waddled over to the stove and arranged her pots as if organizing an army. “Matilda! Mind the bread. We don’ want t’burn it.”

  She looked back at Kate as poor Matilda rushed across the room to the oven and dragged several loaves out. “My pardon, m’ lady. What was I sayin’?”

  She patted her hair and Kate cringed when her hands went back to the vegetables. At least the food was going into boiling water, but what Kate wouldn’t give to be able to teach them a few sanitary kitchen practices.

  “Ah, yes.” Cook whacked a poor carrot to smithereens. “Yer weddin’ feast. Why, if I could give our lord Frederick, the scoundrel, a feast to remember, I can certainly manage a better show for one as deservin’ as our lord Alexander.” She crossed herself and pointed the knife to a young woman who was plucking a chicken.

  “Enough, Carol. We’ve no need for more birds. Off with ye.” She waved the knife. “And don’t ye be listenin’ to Viscount Hambledon, mind. Ye don’t need no fancy thoughts in that head o’ yours. Nor wot thoughts be in his either.”

  “Yes, Mother.” The young woman wiped her hands on her apron and dropped a quick curtsy. “M’ lady,” she said as she left.

  Cook settled herself on a stool and resumed vegetable chopping. “Yes, our lord Alexander is loved by all, not like his brother who was always thinkin’ things were his for the takin’. But I did m’best for him, I did. Truth though, no one mourned his passin’. Why, you should have seen the first feast I prepared for our new lord. As if he were king, it was.”

  Alex hadn’t spoken a lot about his brother, but Kate had gotten the feeling there was no love lost between them. And something Cook said made her wonder why.

  “He thought every what was his for the taking?”

  Cook looked up as if she’d been caught with her hands in the sweetmeats jar. “I… I’m not one t’ go spreadin’ tales m’ lady, but…” Cook glanced around.

  The other women suddenly became very busy.

  Cook lowered her voice. “Let’s just say that more ‘n one of them boys out there—”she nodded toward the courtyard— “they be his get.” Her mouth thinned and she leaned in closer. “And the gettin’ was not always willin’.”

  Kate followed the nod and spied Beatrice’s son. “Duncan is Frederick’s?”

  “Aye, mum.” Cook shook her head. “ ‘Twas a sad time with that one. Beatrice was so young an’ pretty, and the lord, he was always eyein’ her. When her father said ‘twas time to marry her off, well, our lord, he didn’ like it.” She stabbed the knife into the chopping board. “After that, it was not possible to marry her to anyone. But our lord? He went on t’another girl. And another after her. ‘Twas a sad time.”

  Sad didn’t begin to describe it. It did, however, give her an idea as to the motive behind the thief’s actions: what if whatever was happening here was due to something Frederick had done? An enemy he’d made who wanted to exact his revenge, if not on Frederick, on the next in line?

  All she and Alex would have to do was make a list of people who would’ve liked to see Frederick dead, then check their alibis.

  Of course, if Cook’s story was just a taste of Frederick’s nastiness, that list could be longer than she’d like. But at least it’d give them a starting point.

  ***

  How dare they! That cow of a cook. How dare she blaspheme the good name of Frederick Traverse, Earl of Shelton.

  She’d be the first to suffer.

  The man stretched his back and sank against the sacks of flour behind the kitchen wall, seething.

  And the lady Katherine. So high and mighty. ‘Twould serve her right to be bearing her own bastard, or at least a seven month babe. That’d take her down a peg or two. Why, that shame could be growing in her belly right now.

  And it would completely disrupt his plans.

  He drummed his crooked fingers against his thigh and cursed the irregular rhythm. He’d removed Alex from the keep today. Now to go about doing the same with Kate—permanently.

  There could be no more legitimate heirs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Nicholas? What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here.” Isobel ran into the corridor behind her great hall, hands fluttering, a sure sign she was up to something.

  Nick tossed back his cloak and grasped her arm. “We have to talk, Issy.”

  “We’ve said all we have to say. You really must leave.” She tried to pull her hands away, but he wasn’t about to let her go. Not when he had her where he wanted her.

  Well, not exactly where he wanted her, but ‘twas a start.

  “Expecting company?” He’d seen the direction her steward Dalfour had ridden: straight to Shelton. The woman had no shame, and while that worked for him in the bedroom, it wouldn’t do to have her throwing herself at Alex. Not now.

  “Have you no pride, Issy, to beg in the face of his denial? Alex won’t marry you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Nicholas.”

  Any other time he’d enjoy removing her insolence, but now he just wanted to strangle her. They could have so much together if the foolish woman would only get her eyes off Alex’s purse. “I mean that I have a plan, so you can forget your scheming where Alex is concerned. He has Kate, and unless you want to end up with Wexham, I suggest you hear me out.”

  Isobel bit her lip and uncertainty clouded her eyes, along with desperation. “I don’t have time for this, Nicholas. You speak of plans and possibilities when my only option other than Alexander is Wexham. I can’t marry him, Nicholas. I can’t. I’ll do anything to ensure I don’t. Alexander must marry me.” She raised her chin, her eyes like stone.

  He knew that look, knew the stubborn streak which had served her well in her mourning period when many men had sought to press their suit and breach her defenses.

  Only he’d succeeded. Yet, now she threw away their chance.

  He’d ridden here early, to tell her of his plan. Oh, not the money he would borrow, a man did have his pride, but the possibility th
at Henry wouldn’t deny his request.

  Her lack of faith burned into his soul.

  “Damn you, Issy.” He dropped her hands. “You would throw away our chance over fear and cowardice? I expected better of you.”

  “This is all I am, Nicholas.” Her voice was small and shattered. “Not such a prize after all. Just a landed widow with enough money to go to the highest bidder for the king’s purposes. And that won’t be you, Nicholas. I know it and you know it and, most assuredly the king knows it.”

  She touched his hand and it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and take her away, the king, Alex, Wexham, be dammed.

  “Stop this pain, Nicholas. End it now, while we still care for each other. I can face anything if you don’t hate me, but I can’t go willingly to Wexham. I have to do what I can and you can’t help me.”

  She ought to just put a dagger in his heart and end it for both of them. She was giving up. On him, on them. “You’re right, Issy. I can’t help you. Not if you don’t want it. Or me.”

  God’s breath, he hated begging. But he would do anything for Issy. Any damn thing he could to prevent her from making this mistake.

  Isobel closed her eyes. “Please leave, Nicholas. There’s nothing for you here anymore.”

  Nick choked back the bile threatening at the top of his throat. Gathering the remnants of what little pride he had left around him like a shield, Nick left, never once looking back.

  Let her suffer the humiliation, then, when Alex arrived. It’d be her turn to come crawling to him when Alex rejected her once more.

  ***

  Alex reined in Herald, scanning the road ahead of him. No one. They’d been riding for hours. How far could the tradesman have gotten with a full cart?

  Herald’s sides heaved with exertion and Alex let him rest while Matthew and Thomas caught up to them. Their horses were no match for his and though they were slowing him down, to come alone would have been madness.

  He just hoped Lawrence hadn’t said he’d seen the window merely to get back in his good graces, or this would all be for naught.

  Crows circled overhead in the autumn air, their raucous caws disturbing the peace. A pheasant rustled through a roadside thicket, its orange and brown plumage matching the oak leaves on the ground.

  The afternoon was quiet. Pleasant. Yet something nagged at him. Why hadn’t the tradesman stopped at Shelton? The large reward he offered should be enticement enough. That the man had passed by was curious. That he was nowhere on the horizon, worrisome.

  “How much farther, do you think?” Thomas asked, wiping a hand across his brow. The air might be cool, but the sun beat down. “The tradesman must have a quick team to make such good time with a full cart.”

  Thomas was right. They should have caught up with him by now. Had Lawrence sent him on a merry chase out of spite?

  Alex turned Herald to return to the keep, when he saw a small wagon approaching from the rear. “There. That must be him.”

  The three men pulled alongside the cart. It looked like a crofter’s cottage, but was painted in the colors of the hillside.

  “Good day to ye, m’ lords,” said the driver, tipping an odd sort of hat, revealing a bald head surrounded by a ring of graying hair. “Ye have an interest in m’wares, do ye?” The man didn’t wait for an answer but climbed from the driver’s seat and worked his way to the door on the side of the cart. “Won’t ye come in?” He pushed his spectacles up on his nose and bowed as he held open the door.

  He was a small man, perhaps the size of a young squire, and wore a strange tunic slit down the front with the collar stitched back. His hose hung on his legs, almost covering footwear that resembled Kate’s, and there was a knowing look in his eye that told Alex that Lawrence had had nothing to do with this.

  “Matthew, Thomas, remain outside with the horses.” Alex swung off Herald and in two strides was through the door and climbing two short steps into the man’s… shop.

  He’d never seen anything like it. Wooden boxes were stacked along the one side, tufts of hay peeking from the rims. A small pallet rested in the back corner, woven blankets laid out in precision across it. Kettles, jugs, and an assortment of cutlery fit into the space beneath the pallet. Clothes hung on pegs on the opposite wall, some brightly colored tunics, others in a manner similar to what the man currently wore, and some Alex didn’t recognize.

  An earthenware pitcher rested in a hole cut into the small table attached to the wall. Alex wasn’t familiar with the smell of the steam rising from it.

  “Have a seat, m’ lord. Then ye won’ be havin’ t’ bend yer back so.” The man picked up the pitcher. “Would ye like some tea—oh, better not.” He set it back down, a crooked smile on his face. “We don’t need any more anachronisms.”

  “Anachronisms?”

  The man hopped up on the pallet, his feet swinging over the edge. “Er, something I do on occasion that I really must stop.” He looked at an odd cuff on his wrist, then jerked his sleeve down over it. “Now, what can I do for you—er, be doin’ for ye, m’ lord?”

  The change in speech added to what Alex suspected. He pulled Kate’s drawing from his purse. “I’m looking for this window.”

  “Pretty.” The man took the drawing and looked at Alex over the rim of his spectacles. “What makes you think I have it?

  “I was told you did.”

  “Ah.” The man folded the drawing and tucked it in his pocket. “I had one of the same shape, but it didn’ have the design.”

  Alex let out the breath he’d been holding. He’d thought for certain he’d find it here.

  Now what was he going to do? He’d promised Kate…

  “I could fashion one for you if you’d like.”

  “I need it by tomorrow.”

  “Cutting it a bit close aren’t you?” The man coughed. “My pardon, m’lord. I, uh, should be able to have it for you. ‘Twill take me through the night, and o’ course I have to go back and get that other one, but if ye’d like, I’m more than happy to do it for ye.”

  “And my gold.”

  The man nodded. “Aye. And the gold. O’ course.”

  Why did Alex get the feeling that the man wasn’t interested in his gold?

  And why did he have faith that the window this man delivered would do what he and Kate wanted it to?

  He looked around the wagon. Odd clothing, boxes containing who knew what, a strange smelling beverage, those shoes… And that cuff that looked like a clock on his wrist.

  “Why didn’t we pass you on the road?”

  “A man travelin’ alone can be fair game for ruffians. I travel, well, let’s just say, in disguise.”

  Or perhaps he’d travelled as Kate had. “You’re certain you don’t have the window here?”

  The little man removed his odd shaped cap and scratched the top of his head. “Nay, m’ lord, but I can get it for ye. As good as the original, it’ll be.”

  Given the contents of this cart, Alex didn’t doubt it.

  He fished a few gold coins out of his purse and tossed them onto the table. “Very well. I’d like it as soon as possible.”

  The man gathered the coins and the drawing. “Now, yer certain, m’ lord? Ye’ll no’ be changin’ yer mind?”

  They were not talking about the window. “No, I won’t change it. Once I give my word, I honor it.”

  The little man stroked his chin. “Very well. Ye’ll have it on the morrow.”

  Tomorrow. Kate would have her window tomorrow. Which meant he had one more day with her. One more night.

  “Tomorrow, then.” He turned to leave and bumped his head on a shelf above the door. He reached up to catch a teetering glass unicorn before it fell.

  “Don’t touch that yet!” The little man dashed around him and pushed him out of the way, catching the object before it hit the floorboards. “Phew!” He wiped his brow with the sleeve of that odd tunic. “Eh, my pardon, m’ lord. I, uh… didn’ want ye t’hurt yerself. Aye, that�
�s it. The horn—”he held up the unicorn—” ‘tis sharp. I wouldna be wantin’ the blood of an earl t’ be spilled in m’ home, ye see.”

  “Do I?” Alex saw a lot more than the man knew.

  Or did the man know more than him?

  Alex left the question unasked, ducked his head, and descended the steps and closed the door, reading the sign there.

  “Very well then, Master Griff. Until the morrow.”

  ***

  “I don’t like this, Kate. We should have waited for Alex.” Tristan and his two men paced through Isobel’s great hall. They’d ridden over as soon as Isobel’s steward had brought word that the gypsies were preparing to leave her land. Why they hadn’t let Alex know they were here was one more mystery in a week filled with them.

  “There’s no time,” said Kate. “I can’t risk them leaving before Alex returns. I need to speak with Alic—er, Madame Alicia.” She glared at the guards who were keeping them corralled in the hall. “What’s keeping Lady Marston?”

  The stoic guards didn’t answer. Not that Kate had expected them to. Isobel was probably fuming that she’d shown up instead of Alex.

  And, yes, there was some feminine satisfaction in that. Totally irrational, but Kate was owning it.

  The steward returned to the hall. “My lady will see you now. If you’ll follow me.”

  Tris and his men filed in behind her, but Dalfour nodded at the guards who brandished their swords. “Only the lady Katherine, please. My lady’s orders.”

  Tris grabbed Kate’s arm. “I don’t like it.”

  Kate wasn’t exactly thrilled, but time was running out. “I’ll be back soon, and we’ll all go find the gypsies together. We’re in Isobel’s home; nothing’s going to happen.”

  Famous last words.