Page 5

“Aye, she was lovely.”

The memories flooded back, of watching the pretty young girl with the red and gold of sunset in her hair. But she’d been watching William, whose handsome looks had always drawn every eye. John hadn’t expected anything different, not back then. He’d well known how far above him she would always be. Yet still he’d trailed after her, watching her as if she were a rare painting hung in a church. He’d been a foolish, whimsical boy.

“I wish you would listen to me,” Philip said with a sigh. “This is the perfect time to ask for help from the League of the Blade.”

John groaned. “Not that fairy tale again, Philip. Though you may spend every free hour trying to track down each deed attributed to them, what has it gotten you?”

“More clues to work with,” Philip said stubbornly.

But his face reddened, and he looked away.

“More myths, more legend. More nothing.” John spoke more harshly than he had intended.

Philip glanced at him impassively. “Just because they hide their deeds well, does not mean they don’t exist. My own grandmother swore until her dying day that she would have been killed for her money, had not a Bladesman rescued her. I would not even have been born!”

John softened his voice. “I do not doubt your grandmother, Philip. But I will not wish for rescue by a legend when I can solve my own problems. I will prove to Lady Elizabeth that I can be a successful husband.”

Philip smiled. “And you’ve already begun. You left all of your coins to begin the resurrection of your castle’s fortunes. The priest will do a good job acting as steward until you appoint someone else. Your parents died six years ago. Even if they watch from heaven above, they would not blame you.”

John said nothing. His brother had allowed a mockery to be made of the sum of their parents’ lives. John refused to let anyone think that he would make a mockery of his life—of his marriage. He had grown to love his exciting life in Europe, never imagining that he would have the opportunity to make a good match. If he occasionally felt the slightest worry that marriage and nobility might be boring, he always put it out of his head.

There was another burst of laughter from several roughly dressed men gathered at a table near the hearth. They did not soften their voices.

“I don’t believe ye.” With food caught in his beard, the man speaking leaned back against the wall, almost toppling his bench.

“Whot’s not to believe?” another man demanded, getting to his feet, trying to look affronted, but spoiling the effect by swaying. “I just come from there. Her soldiers been sent away, and Castle Alderley is bein’ held by Lord Bannaster.”

John stiffened. Castle Alderley was the home of his betrothed. It was under attack? He rose to his feet, and Philip followed his lead. With a hand on his sword hilt, he walked to the hearth. The group of laughing men all looked up at him, their smiles fading as they took in the fact that their numbers were clearly three to one over John.

“Mind yer own concerns,” Dirty Beard said, spitting into the rushes at John’s feet.

John only raised an eyebrow, then ignored him to focus on Swaying Man. “What else do you know about Castle Alderley?”

Swaying Man took another sip of his ale, touching his tankard to John’s chest. “And whot be yer interest?”

“You don’t need to know my interest. I’m only asking for information you’re already freely giving.”

Dirty Beard rose suddenly to his feet, pawing at his scabbard. John drew his sword, slashed the man’s belt off his waist and dropped his weapon hard to the floor.

Now all six men were on their feet, facing the two swords of John and Philip.

“We want no trouble,” John said pleasantly. “Only answers. If you wish to keep your swords—and your lives—you’ll respond. Now tell me the news of Castle Alderley.”

Dirty Beard and Swaying Man exchanged a guarded glance, while their four companions shuffled uneasily. They were all drunk, but they seemed to realize that the size disparity between them and John and Philip was not in their favor.

Swaying Man kept a hand on his sword hilt, gave a loud belch, but then grudgingly said, “The viscount is holdin’ it for the king.”

“And why would it suddenly need to be held?”

“Lady Elizabeth is a maiden yet, and that estate needs a man’s guidance.”

“Not the way she acts,” Dirty Beard grumbled, looking longingly at his sword. “Thinks she’s good enough to do it all herself. ’Bout time a man showed her otherwise.”

Swaying Man leaned forward as if he and John were suddenly friends. “He’s got her locked in a tower, he has. Even now he’s gone to London, askin’ the king for permission to⁠—”

They all broke into laughter as if each of them understood what the viscount wanted. John’s sweat turned cold at the thought of a young woman treated thusly—and because he had not returned in time.

John put up his sword and tossed a coin onto their table. “My thanks for the information.”