Padraig shook her off and crossed the room, where he picked up her discarded gown from the back of a chair. “Get out.” He tossed the gown at her, but it only landed in a pile at her feet.
She put her hands on her hips and gave him a rueful smile. “Are ye fashed your preciousBeryl saw me?”
“Cletus is dead,” Padraig said bluntly. “Sir Lucan will be joining me in a moment, so nae matter what task Hargrave has set you to, I suggest you get yer things on an’ go.”
“Cletusis dead?” she repeated.
He turned to the decanter on the table and poured himself a drink without answering her. But as he raised the cup to his lips, he paused. Someone had just tried to poison him in a hall full of guests; could he truly trust that the drink set in his chamber for his own consumption was safe? Goddammit. He hurled the cup and its contents into the hearth.
Searrach was still standing in the middle of the floor, her eyes wide. She hadn’t flinchedat his temper.
“Isthe wine bad?”
“Aye. Nay.” Padraig turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face.“I doona know.”
He didn’t hear her bare footfalls, but a moment later Searrach’s arms slid around his middle from behind. He felt her lay her face against the middle of his back.
Padraig sighed and opened his mouth to command her once more to leave, but stopped as he noticed the faint scars around Searrach’s wrists. Thin, faded pink over white. As if she’d been repeatedly bound.
Beryl had said the woman had been attacked before coming to Darlyrede months ago, but the markingslooked recent.
Very recent.
“Searrach,” he asked in a quiet voice. “How did you get the scars on your wrists?”
She was very still against him then; he couldn’t even feelher breathing.
“The wood ’round Darlyrede are full of robbers. Have you heard?”
“Aye,” Padraig said. “Did they do that to you?”
She slid her arms from around his waist and withdrew. Padraig turned and watched her walk to the discarded gown. She slipped it over her head, not bothering with the ties so that it hung loose and sacklike on her frame.
Her expression was blank as she returned to his side, where she picked up the decanter and poured wine into the remaining chalice. She replaced the stopper and then picked up the cup deliberately.
“I doona want it,” Padraig said.
But the woman raised the cup to her own lips and drank the contents in one go.
“Ah,” she sighed, and then handed the chalice to him.
Padraig took the cup with a frown. “I know Hargrave sent youto spy on me.”
“Is that what I’m to be doing?” She looked at him with eyes that were flat, like a dog who has been kicked for so long, it no longer expects kindness, no longer fears the abuse. She picked up the decanter and poured the rest of the wine into the cup Padraig still held.
He waited a moment and then brought the chalice to his lips. Like Searrach, he drained the contents in several long pulls.
Searrach looked into his eyes. “You might do well to wonder what secrets your precious Beryl is hiding. I’m nae the only one indebtedto a Hargrave.”
She left him in the silence of his chamber, the warmth of the wine in his stomach doing little to dispel the chill at the back of his mind.
* * * *
Iris stood from her seat at the wide window as the door to the chamber opened and Lady Hargrave entered. She was grateful for the interruption of her imagination running wild with thoughts of how Padraig was entertaining Searrach in his chamber. The lady paused in the doorway as her gaze fell upon Iris, and she brought a hand to her chest.
“Oh, Beryl,” she breathed. Caris pushed the door shut and slid the bolt without ever taking her eyes from Iris. And then she hurried across the floor.
Iris met her more than halfway, her hands reaching out. Caris Hargrave ignored them, instead taking Iris into her arms andembracing her.
