And a sudden memory of her childhood surfaced an impression that had stayed with her despite the years. It confused her for it was from a time before the abbey and the man in her memories was not the evil man her mother was running from but of one who had once set her upon a pony and told her that one day she would know how to ride like the wind.
As Rose galloped Lord Roxburghe’s stallion through the high grass toward a crimson sunset, she no longer let herself worry if Mrs. Simpson was right about the wishing ring being dangerous. Tonight was a full moon.
By the time she returned to the abbey and reined in the stallion, her thick hair had unraveled from its plait, and streamed in windblown tangles to her waist.
Having given up on keeping the cocked hat on her head, she’d shoved it in her knapsack miles ago. The thought of spending hours combing out her hair did not make her regret ridding herself of the hat. Some decisions were like that, she realized—like borrowing the stallion for a day.
Yet, a sudden chill went down her spine. The horse tossed his head. She rubbed her hand along his neck. “What is it, boy?”
She looked toward the abbey. The late-afternoon sun shone on its stone walls like a beacon of light—or a warning. The main keep tower, slightly higher than the abbey itself, also seemed to glimmer in the dying sunlight. For a bare fraction of a second, she held the stallion’s restless pacing in check.
Friar Tucker lived and worked in the rooms that overlooked the fields. The curtains were opened.
The abbey had guests!
Chapter 4
“Irefuseto listen to a holy man lie to me.”
Ruark turned to face the man standing in front of the window. The curtains were partly drawn, but the sun had set and shadows obscured most of the room. One candle burned on the desk. Tucker was a tall man but not big, yet he had always seemed larger to Ruark. He still wore his brown robes, dusty from his journey. A cap covered his short, clipped hair. Ruark had been at the abbey when Tucker returned. Ruark had arrived only to find Loki gone and Rose with him.
Impatience brought Ruark to the window to see what had grabbed Tucker’s attention but he saw nothing.
“I can’t help you, my lord.”
Ruark stepped in his path, his cloak swirling around his calves with the agitated movement. He had not removed the sword or other weaponry upon entering the abbey. The message itself said he had not come as a friend. But it said more. He had come willing to fight for his prize. “Do you think I have been sitting on my arse enjoying my grand homecoming while my brother rots in one of Hereford’s hellholes?” he demanded. “Probably to spend the rest of his life imprisoned if I cannot find a way to secure his release.”
“I told you, I can’t help you,” Tucker persisted. “I have no idea what you are talking about!”
Ruark’s thoughts crowded around him like brooding buzzards as he focused on Tucker. “I asked you if you knew Countess Hereford. She was from Redesdale. You are from Redesdale. As is the uncle you just buried from Redesdale. Except you have no uncle.” He withdrew from his cloak a packet. “My man of affairs has been in Carlisle these past weeks mining for information on Hereford’s past. It seems the widow of the man you went to Redesdale to bury is an ungrateful blatherskite with greasy palms and an intent to blackmail you. We found Lady Hereford’s maid. She and the child never got on the ship to France.”
“Move aside, Roxburghe. Or I will forget we were ever friends.”
Ruark grabbed Tucker’s wrist and forced the package into his hand. “Your father was a vicar living at Kirkland Park for twenty years. Lady Elena’s father was his patron. You grew up with her. When she needed help she came to you.”
“Nay.” The word came out in a desperate rush.
“Is Rose Lady Roselyn Lancaster?Isshe?”
“She is like my own bairn’, my lord. You can no’ have her!”
The revelation struck him like a punch in the gut. He had not known positively until this moment that the daughter lived, that the rumors might be true or that he could feel so betrayed by a man he had considered his friend.
Ruark could not think clearly. “Christ ... Tucker. How could any man have kept such a secret for seventeen years? Does she know Hereford is her father?”
“Aye, she does.” Tucker grabbed Ruark’s sleeve. “Wait!”
Ruark had never laid his hands on a woman or child or aman of cloth, but by God, he was tempted to do so now.
She knew! He’d talked to her less than a month ago in this very abbey.
She’d known about his brother, all along knowing ’twas her own sire that held him imprisoned, and he damned himself now for wasting precious time in finding her. He realized the rage he felt. Rage because of who she was or something else ...
“You don’t understand,” Tucker whispered.
Ruark’s voice lowered to a rasp. “What I understand is Rose Lancaster is alive. Hereford must know she is alive or he would not still be at Kirkland Park.”
“Wed her and Kirkland Park will be yours.”
