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  Then, too, had he not been fooled himself into thinking only good thoughts about Milisant when he thought she was Jhone? How often were others so fooled as well?

  He could have just let it go without comment. But he was too curious to know whether his mother was just deluding herself, as she so often did, or whether she really didn’t know the Milisant he did.

  So offhandedly he asked, “What think you of the way she dresses?”

  Anne frowned at first, as if not understanding why he would ask, but then smiled with the memory. “You mean her fondness as a child to wear the garb of her playmates? But of course, she outgrew that.”

  “Actually, Mother—”

  She was quick to cut him off. But then he should have known better than to use a word like “actually,” which would be too negative for her peace of mind.

  “And she enjoys hunting,” Anne said. “Which should please you, much as you like to hunt yourself.” “She doesn’t hawk.”

  “She doesn’t? But I know her father mentioned more than once—”

  “That she excels with a bow?” he cut in, quite dryly.

  Anne chuckled. “How silly, Wulf. Of course she doesn’t use a bow. And I’ve seen her hawk. A splendid bird. Rhiska, I believe she calls it, named after a bird she had in her youth that some brute of a boy killed for spite. But then I am sure she will tell you the story if she hasn’t already. ’Twas a most unpleasant experience for her, so the telling of it should draw her closer to you.”

  He stopped in shock. If, as he suspected, he was the boy his mother had just mentioned, who had killed Milisant’s first Rhiska, no wonder she was at his throat.

  “Brute” would have been the girl’s word, not his mother’s. Anne never resorted to name calling or passing such character judgments as that. So Milisant had obviously related the story to Anne, just kept silent on who the brute had been, since Anne very likely wouldn’t have believed her if she’d tried to convince her that her son was the culprit.

  Jesu, he wished he’d known before now that that had been the result of getting the attacking hawk off of him that day. He certainly hadn’t meant to kill it, if this was indeed the hawk in question. But how else was he to have gotten the thing off of him, when it had been making every effort to rip off his fingers?

  Still, if he’d known the bird hadn’t survived hitting that wall when he’d shaken it off of him, he might have stayed to make some attempt to comfort the enraged girl for her loss. And they might both have ended the day without such horrid memories.

  “Speaking of birds,” he said now, “have you seen all of her pets?”

  “All?”

  She was frowning again, then just as quickly smiling as she obviously figured she knew what he referred to. As usual, she guessed wrong.

  “The wolf, you mean? A strange pet, aye, but so friendly. Believe me, I would trust it ere I would one of your father’s dogs. It slept at my feet once, did you know? I wasn’t even aware that it was there until I kicked it by accident, and it didn’t even growl—oh my,” she added with a giggle. “She calls it that, doesn’t she? Growls? But that is so inappropriate, when it’s as tame as a kitten.”

  He got the impression that his mother thought he was worried about the wolf. He could have clarified that he was referring to Milisant’s great number of pets, rather than one in particular. His main worry was that she would turn the marital chamber into a stable, but he decided there would be no point in pursuing the issue. His mother would turn any concern he might have into a minor consequence of no import. He loved her greatly, he truly did, but sometimes her attitude left him distinctly frustrated.

  It was just as well. He didn’t really want to complain to her about his bride-to-be, at least not at this time. That kiss was still too fresh in his mind, and if anything, his thoughts were more centered on when might be an opportune time to have another taste of her—just to assure himself that he hadn’t imagined how nice was the first taste.

  He did need to warn his mother, however, about the attacks against Milisant. Since she was like to be much in the girl’s company, ’twas not something he could keep her ignorant of to shield her from worry.

  So he said without preamble, “I mean not to cause you great alarm, Mother, but you need be aware that someone is trying to kill Milisant.”

  She gasped. Not surprisingly, she didn’t believe him. “Wulf! ’Tis not a subject to jest about!”

  “Would that it were only a jest. But there have been two, possibly three attempts made against her in a mere matter of days. I tell you only because you will be often around the girl, and should take note of anyone who comes near her whom you do not recognize.”

  Her sudden pallor said she took him seriously this time. “Who? Sweet Jesu, why?”

  He shrugged. “I cannot guess who, but as to the why—unless she has an enemy she is not owning up to, I would suppose someone either hopes to hurt me through harming her, or mayhap prevent the wedding.”

  “Then you must marry immediately.”

  He chuckled. “She is not like to agree to that. ’Twas already suggested.”

  “I’ll speak with her—”

  “It won’t do any good, Mother.”

  “Of course it will,” she said confidently. “She is a reasonable girl. If it will stop these attacks, then she must agree.”

  Reasonable? He was afraid now that his mother really did think Jhone was her sister. But there was no point in beating her over the head with the truth, that Milisant wanted no part of their joining. She would find that out for herself if she attempted to rush the wedding.

  So he merely said, “Do as you will.”

  Knowing his mother, she would anyway. And as long as she had been warned to be wary of anyone she might find suspicious, he was satisfied.

  Twenty

  “Idiots, the whole lot of you! I give you a simple task to do, and it was a very simple task, and you botch it repeatedly. What, I ask you, am I paying you for? To be told how incompetent you are?”

  Ellery’s first thought was that he should stop sleeping in hostelries where Walter de Roghton could so easily find him. His second thought was that he would as soon kill Walter as the girl Walter had hired him to kill. Course, that wouldn’t be good for his reputation, so it was merely a thought, albeit a nice one.

  He didn’t hang his head in shame either, though he knew that was the reaction the lord was seeking. His two accomplices, Alger and Cuthred, accommodated Walter well enough, both looking suitably chastised, but Ellery looked him in the eye and merely shrugged his indifference.

  “Circumstances, m’lord,” was all he said by way of excuse. “We will do better next time.”

  “Next time?” Walter all but screeched, redfaced in his rage. “What next time? You had access to Dunburh, you will have no such access to Shefford, which is kept like a stronghold under siege. No one enters who has no legitimate business there. Even merchants must be known to the guards, or they are turned away.” “They will hire—”

  “You are not listening! Shefford is an earldom. An earl does not hire, he draws from his vassals and villages service owed to him.”

  “There is always a way, m’lord, to gain what is needful—if not through hiring or bribery, then by trickery or stealth. There will be villagers who come and go. There always are. There will be wagons that enter—and whores. I know a wench I can use if needs be. She has worked for me before and knows a thing or two about poisons. What is not needful is you telling me how to do my job.”

  Ellery couldn’t care less that it was a lord he was slighting, when he could claim no such title himself. He was a free man, and that gave him all the rights he needed, far as he was concerned, to speak his mind to noble and serf alike. He’d been born to a London whore, had no idea who his father was, and had been cast off onto the streets to fend for himself ‘fore he was barely weaned. He had survived starvation, beatings, and sleeping in the gutter in the dead of winter. A blustering lord was naught to him.
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  That Walter looked like he was about to froth at the mouth, said clearly he was not accustomed to being addressed so by someone he would consider far beneath him. Too bad. If Ellery had learned anything about life, it was to take what he could, by arms if needs be. What worth was life, after all, if one must grovel and eat dirt, just because some noble, born in his gold-lined bed, said so?

  Ellery didn’t mind this job. He had killed others for hire. But he didn’t like being told how to do the deed. He didn’t like being yelled at either. He was a big man, bigger than most. If his size did not make other men hesitant to rail at him, his demeanor did. He had been told that although he was a somewhat handsome brute, he looked meaner than sin. So he was used to being treated with a degree of wariness, if not actual respect.

  As for the job in question, that it was a woman he was to kill made only one difference. He had seen her in all her beauty, or rather, seen her sister, who was reputed to look exactly the same, and he had a real fondness for pretty women. He’d kill her well enough, but he wanted her first. But Walter didn’t need to know that, was like to insist that she not be touched other than with a blade.

  Cuthred and John weren’t of the same mind and had simply tried to kill her as Walter wanted. But Cuthred had a lousy aim with a bow, and John, well, he hadn’t come back from that monastery.

  Truth was, she would have been dead now if Ellery didn’t want a taste of her first, because it would have been easiest to kill her that day on the path near Dunburh, rather than try to take her as he’d done. He was beginning to wonder, though—and not because Walter was railing at them, but because of John’s death—if having her first was worth the risk he was putting himself and his friends to.

  Mayhap he should just hire the whore he was acquainted with to get into Shefford Castle and poison the wench. Then again, he hadn’t tried yet to get into Shefford himself. He would have to see if that was as difficult as Walter was claiming first, ‘fore he decided.

  He did have one complaint, though. He didn’t mind not being told why a job needed doing. That was no concern of his. But he did object to not being told all the particulars of a job that might be pertinent to his success or failure.

  He said so now, “You should have warned us, m’lord, that the lady is betrothed to an earl’s son.”

  “That wouldst have made not a bit of difference if you had done the deed when you should have, ere de Thorpe went to collect her. She was the veriest fool, behaving no better than a peasant, even going off into the Dunburh woods alone. She was easy to get at, at any time prior to de Thorpe’s arrival. But since you have thrice bungled the job, she is now like to be guarded more greatly than a queen, especially now she is ensconced inside Shefford.”

  Ellery wondered, if she’d been so “easy to get at,” why the arrogant lordling hadn’t done the deed himself. Likely because he was as competent with a blade as he was with the drivel that came out of his mouth.

  Of course, he’d yet to meet a “lord” who wasn’t all bluster that hid the veriest coward underneath. He knew there were exceptions out there, true knights who trained diligently and were quite competent at war and killing. Ellery had just never met one, but then he wasn’t like to, since such men as that wouldn’t need the sort of services that Ellery provided, were quite capable of taking care of such things themselves if needs be.

  He didn’t say this to Walter, he said instead, “If she behaved like a peasant before, what makes you think she won’t continue to do so? Methinks she is her own worst enemy. We need not get to her, she will come to us.”

  “Would that you could depend on that, but you cannot,” Walter said, though he did seem to be somewhat reassured. “Do not forget there is a time constraint. She needs to die ere the two families are joined in marriage, not afterwards. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, but we will still be prepared to take advantage of her own foolishness.”

  “Suit yourself, but do not fail me in this, or you will know a king’s wrath, as well as my own.”

  Ellery burst out laughing, causing Walter to flush a mottled shade of red. Why did petty lords think that invoking the king’s name was like threatening the wrath of God? That might have been the case with the last king, known to be as lionhearted as he was called, but with his weak-kneed baby brother?

  Walter, incensed, finally found his voice enough to say, “You dare!”

  Ellery waved a dismissive hand, not the least impressed with the lord’s fury. “Threaten me with de Thorpe and I might worry. Even I have heard rumors that he is a knight of worthy note.

  But your petty king deals only in intrigue and lies. He is a threat to no one but his own faithful nobles. Now be gone, m’lord, and leave me to plan this murder in peace. I will finish the job I started because I choose to, not because I worry over your displeasure.”

  Again Walter was too incensed for words. Stiffly, with all the hauteur of his class, he marched from the room. Ellery couldn’t care less that he had gravely insulted his employer. He’d been paid half the promised fee, and would collect the other half when the time came, from the lord’s hide if need be.

  Outside the room, Walter was thinking along the same lines. He had already intended to have the mercenaries killed once they finished the task he’d set them, just as a precaution to assure the job was never spoken of. Now he was thinking he would do the killing of them himself, and enjoy it immensely.

  Twenty-one

  “You seem much subdued today, and that worries me,” Jhone said.

  Milisant had paused on the circular stairs on their way down to the Great Hall. That she paused to gaze longingly out one of the arrow slits at the countryside beyond Shefford’s outer walls, Jhone tried to ignore for the most part, sure that there was something else bothering her sister, other than her near confinement here.

  Trying to ferret out what it was, she continued, “Are you still tired from the trip?”

  “Nay.”

  The brevity of that answer had Jhone even more worried. “Very well, what maggot are you chewing on?”

  Milisant glanced back at her with a slight smile. “If I liked maggots—”

  “You know what I meant,” Jhone cut in impatiently. “You also know you cannot hide your distress from me, no matter how much you try.”

  Milisant sighed and said simply, albeit in a whisper, “He kissed me.”

  Jhone blinked. “When?” “This morn.”

  “But that is a good thing—”

  “The devil it is,” Milisant snapped back.

  “Nay, truly,” Jhone persisted. “Do you not recall our conversation, about the benefits you can have if he desires you? Verily, that he would kiss you when there was no other reason for it but that he wanted to, then—”

  “Oh, he had a very good reason for doing so,” Milisant said with remembered anger. “Because he could.”

  Jhone stared for a moment, then chuckled. “How silly. Of course that is no reason.”

  “’Tis the reason he gave.”

  “Mayhap, but still not the reason.”

  “And I suppose you know the reason,” Milisant asked in exasperation.

  “Do you think about it, the answer will come to you easily enough,” Jhone replied. “Would a man kiss you if he did not want to kiss you?”

  “I can think of other reasons besides wanting,” Milisant scoffed. “There is the kiss to establish peace, the kiss to establish domination, the kiss to punish, the kiss to frighten, the kiss to—”

  “Enough,” Jhone cut in, all but rolling her eyes. “Why do you fight to deny that he could desire you? We decided that would be to your benefit.”

  “Nay, you decided that,” Milisant reminded her. “I decided I want no part of his desires.”

  Jhone frowned. “You didn’t like his kiss?” Milisant’s blush was answer enough and had Jhone smiling in relief. “Well, we can at least be grateful you didn’t find it completely horrible.”

  “I mind it not when Growls licks my
cheek either. Does that mean I want him to lick me?”

  “The wolf and the, er, Wulf”—Jhone paused to giggle over the similarity of names—“cannot be compared.”

  Milisant snorted her disagreement. “Speak for yourself. I find it quite easy to compare Wulfric to a wolf—not my wolf, but wolves in general.”

  Jhone sighed at that point. “I’ve said it before, but I did not think you would really be stubborn about this to the bitter end. Yet you are determined to prove me wrong, aren’t you?”

  “Stubborn about what?” Milisant asked defensively. “About not liking him? About not wanting him to kiss me? Jhone, you did not experience the pain he put me through when he broke my foot, the dread and fear of being lame. ’Tis a miracle I walk not with a limp today.”

  “I did experience your dread and fear—not the pain, but the horror of your possible lameness. But, Mili, that was so long ago. He has become a man since then. Do you honestly think he wouldst cause you that kind of pain today? He is Lord Guy’s son. You know how kind Lord Guy is. How can his son be so different?”

  “Easily. I am a prime example of a child who grows to be in no way like either parent.”

  “Untrue! I have heard Papa say many a time how much you remind him of our mother.”

  Milisant rolled her eyes now. “Because she had a bit of a temper. Think you she behaved otherwise like me?”

  “Verily, you are not the best example to use,” Jhone conceded with a chuckle. “Yet have I spoken with Wulfric when he thought I was you, and he was all things gallant, courteous, knightly—”

  “And I spoke with him when he thought I was a lad, and he was all things brutish, arrogant, and surly.”

  Jhone threw up her arms in exasperation. “Faugh, I give up.”

  “Good,” Milisant just managed to get in before Jhone continued.

  “You give new meaning to the word stubborn. He is not going to treat his wife like a disrespectful servant, which is what he thought you were that day he arrived.”