Authors: Gerri Russell
Regret knifed through him. "Why use a bow and arrow?"
She picked up one of the arrows that had fallen from her quiver. "That is the skill I know." With a quick, fluid motion, she nocked the arrow, turned toward the post, and fired. Before he had time to register what had happened, her arrow hit its mark, not an inch from its twin. Her gaze returned to his, unflinching. "I can defend myself. I can teach Lady Violet the same skill."
He glanced away from her to Violet. The girl trembled violently, her shoulders quaking, her gaze cast to the packed earth beneath her tiny feet. So small, so innocent.
He scooped up Violet with one arm and cradled her to his side. "Uncle Camden will see that you are safe. Women do not need to know how to shoot." The little girl buried her face in his neck and a pang of tenderness stirred within him. "You are both under my protection."
Violet nodded against his neck, but Rhiannon turned away and gathered the rest of her fallen arrows. At the target post, she plucked her arrows from the wood. Anger reddened her cheeks.
She had no idea of the danger she was in. But she could never know the truth.
She marched past him without saying a word. Her dusty gray skirts swayed as she bent to retrieve the blanket and embroidery frames that had gone unused.
Then she turned to Violet. "Lady Violet, would you enjoy spending time with your Uncle Camden for the rest of the day?"
The young girl nodded eagerly.
A moment later, Rhiannon was gone.
Shock ran through him. Whatever reaction he had expected from Rhiannon, it wasn't this. What woman didn't want to be cared for? He frowned down at Violet's golden curls. And what was he supposed to do with a child?
Chapter Seven
"What is that woman trying to do to me?" Camden grumbled to himself several hours later. He'd accepted the challenge of watching over Violet, mostly because Rhiannon hadn't given him a choice.
Officiously he had escorted Violet to the lists where he and his men sparred with swords. He placed her on the fence to watch, but she didn't stay there. He'd pulled her away from two of his best warriors as they battled, swords swinging, unaware of their unschooled observer.
"Is that how you'll keep me safe, Uncle Camden, with your sword?"
Camden scooped her into his arms, realizing the lists were no place for a child.
Inside the castle, he took her with him down the back stair and into the storeroom where he kept his ale.
"What are you doing?" Violet asked as she watched him rotate the wooden barrels on the rack closest to the door.
"I'm making sure the fermentation spreads evenly through the liquid."
"What's fermentation mean? Can I do it, too?" she asked, placing her small hands against the wooden barrel closest to him. She pushed, her cheeks turning pink at her effort. But the barrel remained where it stood. "It won't move." She skipped ahead to the next one, then the next one, until she was out of sight.
"Violet?" he called when he could no longer see nor hear the child. He found her a moment later when a thunderous crash filled the air. He ran down the long row to find her at the end, her pretty blue gown drenched with ale.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Camden." She stood in a puddle of ale left behind by the barrel that lay on its side, spewing liquid through the small opening that had once been closed by a cork.
He righted the barrel, suppressing the groan he desperately wished to vent. "Are you hungry?" he asked, praying it was somewhere close to their midday meal. Together they went upstairs, and after drying her skirts by the hearth, the meal was set.
Weary from chasing the young girl about, Camden gratefully seated her at the high table beside him, then filled her trencher with honeyed mackerel, braised turnips, and a slice of cheese.
He searched the room for Rhiannon with a self-satisfied grin. The afternoon had been difficult. He would be the first to admit. Even so, he needed her to see that he and Violet had survived without her. It seemed essential that he prove to her he had lived up to her challenge.
His gaze moved from one table to the next, seeking a familiar head of golden hair. He frowned. The woman was nowhere in sight.
A tug on his sleeve brought his attention back to the little girl beside him. "I don't like mackerel. Mummy never made me eat turnips like this." Violet frowned down at her plate and rocked back in her chair. "Uncle Camden, why do I have to eat with you?"
The questions flowed after that, fast and apparently without needing a reply.
"Why doesn't that man use his knife to cut his food?"
"Can we play outside after we eat?"
"Can I have cakes with honey instead?"
"Uncle Camden, that man burped. Do you hear him? Mummy says it's impolite to burp."
Any triumph he might have experienced a moment before faded as the truth curled his ragged nerves into knots. Violet's high-pitched voice continued with one question after another until he wished he were temporarily deaf.
Camden scooted his chair away from the table. "Come, Violet. Let's go find Rhiannon. She'll know what you want for dinner. And she might be able to answer a question or two for you."
He assisted Violet with her chair. No sense suffering alone. A quick apology for insulting Rhiannon's skills earlier, and blessed silence would once again be his.
Rhiannon had just fastened the clasp on her cloak when a knock sounded on the wooden door of her chamber. In strode Camden, carrying a pink-cheeked Violet. By the joy that radiated from the young girl's face, Rhiannon would have to admit, he had done perfectly fine without her. Then she looked at Violet's dress.
"Oh, heavens, what have you done to her gown?" she asked before she caught herself. She pressed her lips together. Who was she to question him?
He set the young girl on the floor in front of him. "She's a child in need of a nursemaid. Teach her how to protect herself with a bow and arrow." He offered her a partial smile. "Teach her anything you want."
"Anything?" Rhiannon folded her arms over her chest to hide the trembling reaction to his nearness that had set into her limbs.
His smile vanished. "Within reason."
"Thank you for your trust, milord. But you gave me much to consider these last few hours." She hesitated. "Perhaps another nursemaid would be more appropriate."
Violet crossed the room to stand before her. "No."
She bent down to look into Violet's eyes. "This is between your uncle and me, I'm afraid. He has every right to decide what is right for you." She smoothed one of Violet's errant curls from beside her cheek. "Aren't you going for your ride this afternoon with Thomas?"
"Why don't you hurry along, Violet," Camden said. "You are keeping Thomas waiting. Then Rhiannon and I can talk."
Violet moved reluctantly toward the door. "Thomas said we could ride in the orchard this afternoon if it was all right with you, Uncle Camden."
"It's fine. But it's cold outside so remember your cape."
Violet nodded, her gaze still on Rhiannon as the girl let the door close softly behind her.
Rhiannon turned away. "Do the Ruthvens surrender so easily?" His voice was rough.
"I was merely being practical. It's obvious you don't want me here. I should leave before Lady Violet becomes too attached to me. She doesn't understand that this was a mistake. Mother Agnes was wrong."
"It's no mistake." He gazed at her flushed cheeks and full lips. Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. He took a step toward her. She froze, unable to move away from his presence. Slowly he reached for her, gently tracing his finger along the sensitive flesh of her jaw to her chin.
She braced herself against the power of his touch as her resolution faltered. "Why the change of heart?" her voice shook.
"I do not despise you." For a moment a shadow darkened his eyes. "Quite the contrary." His fingers slipped up then down the sensitive flesh beneath her chin. The caress felt far more arousing than it should have. "Lady Violet needs a woman she can depend on in her life." The heat of his body enveloped her.
She swallowed roughly, wanting desperately to step out of the web he'd woven around her, yet she couldn't seem to find the strength.
"You'll stay here with—" he paused again, "—with Violet." The air between them was charged with tension — a different kind of tension than had been there before. Something dark and mysterious in his gaze reached out to her, beckoned her to risk staying.
At a loss for words, she nodded.
She remained still, unable to do anything other than force herself to breathe, slowly, evenly.
He withdrew his finger from her flesh. "You and Lady Violet can do what you wish within the walls of the castle as long as Travis and Hamish are present."
"Who?" she asked, suddenly confused.
"Your guards."
She could only blink. "My what?"
"You may proceed with the archery lessons. You have proved your skill. And because I also know you to be a fine rider," he continued despite the angry color she knew he could see in her cheeks, "I will inform Thomas that you are to take over her riding lessons."
Camden ignored her growing anger, which only upset her more. He started for the door. "Hamish and Travis will assist you with anything you need."
The door closed with a firm click behind him, but not before she caught sight of the two hulking warriors who stood just outside her door.
He'd asked her to stay, as long as her two nursemaids stayed right by her side.
The realization that he still judged her by her last name stung.
Rhiannon moved to the bed and collapsed upon it. She lay there, nestled in a sea of crimson and wondered what her life would have been like had she been born as anyone else.
"Your Grace." His chamberlain's well-tailored form filled the doorway of the library in the small country home they'd been forced to rent on the outskirts of the town below Lee Castle. "You have a visitor."
Bishop Berwick studied his long, graceful fingers with a scowl. "Show him in," the bishop said, unable to keep the boredom from his voice.
"As you command," the chamberlain bowed, leaving the room.
Bishop Berwick's fingers wrapped around the ivory-handled mirror that lay facedown on his desk. He picked up the mirror and smiled at his reflection. A narrow, triangular face stared back at him. He could claim no attributes of beauty, except for his wide-set gray eyes. They sparkled with an exceptional brilliance that his mother claimed proved he possessed the holiest of spirits.
He stared at the reflection of his eyes. They gleamed with pleasure, then impatience, then boredom. He set the mirror facedown once more. He hated the country. Hated that the youngest Lockhart had unknowingly forced him to take up residence in an area where people did not love him as he should be loved. This Lockhart might be green in age, but he was twice as wary, and thrice as well-guarded by his armed warriors as his brother had been. Getting him to fall would take some skill.
The bishop's lips pulled up into a sardonic smile. Fortunately, he had all the skill necessary to take the mighty Lockhart down. Then the Charm Stone and the little girl who knew its magic would be his to command. He needed that stone. His position in the Church depended on it.
The bishop thrummed his fingers on the surface of the desk. Performing miraculous healings with the aid of the Charm Stone would guarantee that the Council would select him as the new archbishop over the other five contenders.
He needed a miracle. The Stone would give him that and more.
A shuffling at the door interrupted his thoughts. The chamberlain reappeared. He turned to the peasant beside him. "You may take three steps into the room, then bow. Wait there for his grace to recognize you by offering his hand and ring for you to bow over. Only then may you speak."
The peasant did as directed. The bishop flinched as the peasant nearly touched his hand with his filthy body. "Report," the bishop commanded, stepping a safe distance away from his earthly subject.
The man's face was alive with eagerness. "The wee one is at Lee Castle. I saw her wee little head of yellow-gold curls myself." A brownish-yellow smile followed the divulged information.
The bishop took another step away, wishing he had his perfume bottle nearby to freshen the air with anything other than the man's foul breath. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Is that all you have for me? Any sign of the Charm Stone?" The bishop waved his hand before his nose instead.
"Nay, no stone. But Lord Lockhart has taken in a chit whom no one seems tae like. Someone named Ruthven."
A jolt of pure satisfaction rode through the bishop. He dug into his robe and pulled forth a silver coin that he tossed at the peasant. "You did well. Keep watching. I want to know the moment the Stone surfaces."