Climbing a short flight of steps to a thick, metal-strapped door, Simone emerged onto the wallwalk near the rear of the keep. She saw clearly Didier’s shimmery outline, sitting cross-legged on the moon-rinsed stone, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists. Near his far hip was a small, dark shape, blending into the shadows. She heard the mournful hoot of some night bird.
“Didier,” she called in a low voice, closing the door carefully behind her and wincing at its creak. “I’ve brought you a gift.”
He did not reply. Simone drew nearer to his statuelike pose and dropped to her knees. She was on her feet again in an instant, the short scream escaping her throat before her hand could cover her mouth, and she nearly dropped her lantern. Her shriek bounced off the stone walls, echoing over the hills, and Simone hoped no one would investigate her alarmed cry.
The brown bird at Didier’s side jumped a little on its feet, ruffled its wings, and gave a startled little coo but did not fly away. It stared at Simone with eyes seemingly the size of Didier’s fists, giant black orbs ringed with eerie, dazzling yellow.
“Didier,” Simone gasped, clutching at her chest. “What on earth is that?” The cold breeze cut to her damp scalp and smelled of ice, adding to the chill of fright the creature had given her and stealing her breath. She scolded herself for not donning a cloak. Her nose ran and she sniffed.
“He’san owl and his name’s Willy,” Didier said, staring at the invisible horizon. “He won’t harm you.”
Simone lowered slowly to her knees once more, keeping a wary eye on the bird. Willy was obviously leery of Simone as well, for he skittered and ducked away when she dropped to the wallwalk. Simone dragged her gaze from the owl.
“Didier, please come down from here,” she implored. “I have discovered some things about Papa—about his treasure—that are quite disturbing. We may be forced to leave Hartmoore.”
She thought she saw him glance out of the corner of his eye toward her, and so she pressed on. “Look what I’ve brought you.” She laid the tiny chunk of bread on the rough stone near his knee. The owl hooted curiously and sidled closer. “And I’ve saved some stew in my chamber as well. Come inside with me so that you will be close at hand in case we must go.”
The boy reached out a hand and fiddled with the bread. “I can’t,” he said at last. “I’m waiting.”
“But Lady Genevieve says that Lord Nicholas will return on the morrow. Surely you can give up your vigil now.”
But Didier shook his head. “Non.” He turned to Simone. “Why can you not stay here with Willy and me and we will all await the baron together?”
Simone hesitated, but then another frigid gust buffeted her body. “I’ll freeze, Didier,” she implored. “Besides, what if I am missed at the keep? There is no logical explanation for me to sleep atop the wallwalk.”
“What of it?” Didier shrugged and picked up the bread. He held it out to the owl in his palm, and the bird picked it up daintily with his sharp-looking, hooked beak. “You are mistress here—you may do as you please. If it pleases you to stay, stay. Should it not please you…” He shrugged again. “I’ll not be going with you, any matter.”
Simone sighed, her teeth chattering and her muscles stiff with cold and fatigue. “Fine, Didier,” she said, her ire rising. “Fine. Stay here for as long as you wish, while I must go inside and carry this burden on my own.”
He did not reply, and Simone gained her feet with a huff. Her supper nearly left her body when she heard the door behind her creak. She spun around, but the corridor beyond was dark and unoccupied.
“Go, then,” Didier said.
Simone looked down at the ethereal form seated below her, her heart still thudding in fright. She was hurt by her brother’s cool dismissal. She picked up her lantern and turned to go.
“Hewillreturn on the morrow,” Didier said from behind her, giving Simone pause.
A final plea begging him to come inside was on her tongue but she squelched it, sensing he would not be swayed.
“Very well. Then I shall see you on the morrow.” She stepped into the corridor and bid him a whispered good night before closing the door.
Didier sat in the quiet night, alone once more save for Willy. “Good night, Sister.”
Willy snuggled up to his side and sat down on his bony owl feet. Didier arced a hand down the bird’s back, certain it would be silky-smooth if he could feel it. The bird hooted sadly.
Many people were coming to Hartmoore, of that he was certain. A great storm would envelop them all soon, leaving some stronger and others to drown in the aftermath.
He shuddered, and Willy hopped over to sit where Didier’s lap would have been with a sympathetic little cry.
’Twas a race, now—who would learn the terrible truth first and use it to destroy their enemies. Death was coming for Didier again, regardless—this time in the form of an old woman.
He tried to cry.
Chapter 18
Simone smiled as Isabella struggled to pull at each item set on the table before her mother. Haith never hesitated in the conversation she was holding with the other women, but calmly plucked each contraband from the babe’s chubby fist and moved it farther out of reach, often with a colorful, mild scold such as, “Och, leave it be, lass.”
Isabella squealed in three-toothed delight when Haith handed her a large wooden spoon. Simone wondered if she and Nicholas would ever have children.
