Now all he had to do was organize a feast fit for a queen and stop two opinionated cooks from killing each other in the process.
He grinned.
Or perhaps their battle would serve as entertainment for the festivities. So long as they did each other inafterthe meal was cooked, all would be well.
***
Supper was an interesting affair.
Queen Yolande chose to eat in her rooms, citing weariness from the day’s travels, which left Caitrina and the other ladies to join Marshal Gordon and the most senior of the queen’s courtiers at the high table. As the most recently appointed lady-in-waiting, Caitrina ended up at the far left end of the table, next to the elderly and hard-of-hearing Chevalier Artois.
Lady Gisele claimed the spot next to the handsome young marshal and the pair appeared to find no challenge in making pleasant conversation. Indeed, Gordon proved quite the raconteur—he drew many a smile from the countess. Quite a feat, as the lady rarely displayed any signs of amusement, even in the company of some of the queen’s most seasoned courtiers.
Caitrina focused her attention on the food.
The cooks had quite outdone themselves. ’Twas simple fare compared with the queen’s usual meals, but it was well prepared and tasty. There was a fine selection of meats, including roast boar, capon with ginger and cinnamon, and herring served with parsley sauce. Ale flowed freely, the pages frequently filling all cups to the brim.
Perhaps if the conversation with Chevalier Artois had been easier, Caitrina would have spent less time looking down the table. But even the simplest comment, be it about the food or the bard’s choice of song, was a chore. Everything had to be repeated. Several times. After a few struggling efforts, their talk fell silent and Caitrina was left to listen to the laughter emanating from Gordon and Gisele’s end of the table.
She was relieved when supper was over.
In the midst of the dancing and piping that followed the meal, it was surprisingly easy to slip out of the manor. It was a quiet moonlit night, with plenty of stars scattered across the late-October sky. Caitrina pulled her soft woolen brat over her shoulders. Several guards stood atop the manor walls, but all were looking out at the surrounding countryside, not inward. No one stopped her as she made her way to the stables.
She ducked into the dim confines, not entirely certain of her plan. Was she truly going to leave the manor unattended and ride off into the night? It hardly seemed wise. But how else would she find Marsailli? Perhaps it was a moot point. To have a hope of succeeding, she had to first locate a suitable mount. Not an easy task. Horses were huge beasts, capable of crushing a wee thing such as herself. What she needed was a placid mount of short stature. She made her way from stall to stall, peering at the animals within. Surely the monks would own such a beast? She stared up at the massive dapple gray destrier standing in the stall before her.
It snorted, and she took a quick step back.
By the heavens. Its head was as large as her entire body.
The sharp rap of a boot heel striking the wooden threshold shook her from her reverie. Someone was coming! She ducked into an empty stall and buried herself as best she could in a pile of straw. Who would be entering at this hour? The stable lads and the grooms were partaking of the ale up at the manor—she’d made certain they were well into their cups and enjoying the festivities before heading out the door.
Peering through her blanket of straw, she watched a tall shadow make its way to the back of the stables. A man, with a lean build and broad shoulders. All other features were obscured by the dim light. One of the grooms, perhaps? Although he held himself a little too cocky for a mere stable hand. And he wore a cloak, which suggested a degree of furtive behavior. This man had something to hide.
Quite literally, it appeared.
As she watched, he tucked a leather-wrapped bundle in the rafters above the darkest corner of the stables. He positioned it quite carefully, neatly between two posts, ensuring that it would not be seen even in the brighter light of day. When he was satisfied that it was well hidden, he turned and scanned the narrow confines of the little wooden building. Caitrina shrank back a little. Was any piece of her skirt visible in the hay? She prayed not.
Her prayers were answered.
He marched past her, unaware of her presence. But as he passed by, Caitrina caught a glimpse of a strong chin and a long, thin nose. It was a face she recognized. Marshal Gordon. But why would the marshal be hiding something in the stables? Especially in the dead of night?
Perhaps a better question was,whatwas he hiding?
Caitrina stood and shook the straw from her clothing. There was only one way to find out: take a peek inside the bundle. The only problem was, she wasn’t quite tall enough to reach it. Searching the stables, she found a small three-legged stool that gave her just enough added height. But getting the bundle down was harder than she’d thought. He’d wedged it tightly in place, and she had to wriggle the package to get it loose. Fortunately, it wasn’t heavy, and she soon held it in her hands.
Aware that time was swiftly passing, Caitrina leapt down from the stool and peered inside the leather pouch. The object inside was shiny and hard, but she could not make out exactly what it was. Something valuable, no doubt.
But still, why was the marshal hiding it in the stables?
The marshal had many resources at his disposal, including the keys to the manor coffers. Why would he not place his valuables there? Under key and under guard would seem to be safer than a darkened corner of the stables. Unless he was hiding an object he did not want discovered by other souls among the manor staff.
Caitrina clutched the pouch to her chest.
But that suggested the marshal was not the honest man he portrayed. And it made her hungry to know exactly what it was that the pouch contained. Better light would be useful, which she would find only up at the manor. It was risky to take the pouch, but she had a feeling its contents would prove useful. She needed help to rescue her sister, and the marshal—honest man or no—might be just the aid she required.
Tucking the pouch under her brat, Caitrina scurried back to the manor.
It was time to discover the marshal’s secret.
