“He’s likely afraid of a hiding, being beyond the brook,” Padraig said.
Beryl hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Any matter,” she said briskly at last, “we should return. It has been a generous hour, Master Boyd. And although I would hold you to your promise of continued lessons, I fear that there are tasks I simply cannot put off.” She began gathering up the remnants of their meal and placing themin the basket.
Padraig didn’t want to go. He felt that, just for the short time they had sat together in this quiet place beyond Darlyrede’s walls, everything else had ceased to matter. He reached out for the red leaf lying on the oilskin and stood, stepping toward Beryl and sliding the stem into the scallop of her hair.
“So you doona forget,” he said.
Her eyes were star-filled as his fingertips grazed the side of her face, but onlyfor an instant.
She reached down for the handle of the basket, the leaf a blaze of jagged color in her properly coiffed hair. “Don’tyouforget your fitting. Good day, Master Boyd. Satin!”
Padraig watched her climb up the hill in her gray skirts, her little white familiar following after her.
Aye. He might be winning her indeed.
Chapter 10
The greenery that usually decorated the great hall only in the weeks during Advent had been strung in preparation for the arrival of the hunt guests. Iris could tell as she walked through the fragrant space carrying Caris’s freshly laundered underdress that no expense had been spared in making Darlyrede’s public areas as grand in appearance as any that could be boasted by royalty, and it was obvious that Vaughn Hargrave wished to make a very clear impression on his guests of his affluence and rank. But why he would choose to throw such a fete at this vulnerable time of Padraig Boyd’s claim to the hold baffled her—Iris would have thought it to the evil man’s advantage to keep word of Thomas Annesley’s legitimate heir secret until the king decided the legitimacy or no of his claim, and that was not likely to occur until well after the turn of the year.
It worried her too. Vaughn Hargrave did nothing lest it was tohis advantage.
Her frown arched across her brow by the time she had mounted the stairs and arrived at the lady’s apartments. Lord Hargrave was dangerously sly, and Iris knew that there was a reason for his actions. She only hoped she could figure it out before someone else went missing.
She heard a shrill voice issuing from the chamber. Iris took a deep breath and steeled herself into composure before tapping lightly on the door and then pushing it open.
“No! No! No!” Lady Hargrave was shouting as Iris entered. She briefly caught sight of the noblewoman flinging a wadded ball of cloth at one of the older maids. “I’ve told you, it’s not the right one! Think you I don’t know myown costumes?”
“Milady.” Iris strode toward the little group gathered around Caris Hargrave, already holding out the underdress across both forearms asif in offering.
“Beryl, thank God.” Caris’s voice fell into a strangled whisper, and she clutched for the thick bedpost and leaned onto it as if her temper had cost her all of her strength. “The one with the ivory stitching?”
“Yes, milady.” She held it higher toward the woman, who reached out one trembling finger to stroke the intricate and delicate hem.
“I told you.” Caris turned her face only slightly toward the other women gathered. “You fools left it behind. My best underdress!” Her shoulders heaved as if she’d been running. “Get out,” she demanded, and then turned away from the post to stumble to her dressing table, muttering, “useless,” as she sank onto thecushioned seat.
“But, milady,” the oldest maid offered hesitantly. “Your veil—”
“Beryl will arrange my coif for me.” She waited for a response, her back to the chamber, her hairbrush in her hand. But when no one moved or replied, she slammed the tool on the tabletop. “Get out, I said!”
Iris looked sympathetically to the maids, but most would not meet her eyes as they passed her. She walked to the bed and laid the underdress carefully atop the coverlet as the door closed.
“What troubles you, milady?” Iris asked calmly, coming to stand behind the quaking woman. She reached past Lady Hargrave’s shoulder and retrieved the brush, setting at once to smoothing the woman’s hair. “Your gown has been found—it was only set aside from the rest of your costume because of its fineness. The beading of your kirtle would have snagged it.”
Caris was panting shallowly through her mouth. “Useless,” she whispered. And then she met Iris’s gaze in the hazy-looking glass. “Forgive me, Beryl. I fear I am at odds withmyself today.”
Iris gave her a smile and continued brushing. “Surely it’s not the guests arriving that has upset you so—you are known for your generosityas a hostess.”
“But it is,” Caris admitted suddenly, and the intensity of her tone caused Iris to pause the hairbrush in midstroke. “Oh, I’m a fool!” She covered her mouth with one pale hand and then closed her eyes as ifagainst tears.
“Milady.” Iris came around the stool to kneel at the woman’s side. “You must tell me so that I might help you bear this burden.”
Caris dropped her hand and turned to look down into Iris’s face. “I fear I’ve done something in haste that I now very much regret, and because of it I have perhaps jeopardized your position at Darlyrede. With me.”
Iris’s heartbeat stuttered. “Milady?”
“’Tis vanity’s consequence, is all I can say,” the woman muttered, fidgeting with a fold of her dressing gown. “Pride. I wanted to show you off, I suppose.”
“I don’t understand.”
