vacant at its center. “I had no idea.”
Lord Paul gazed fondly down at Mary. “This lass could probably recite to you every action you have taken, every siege you withstood, every campaign you fought.”
Erik’s eyes drew down to her, and there was a tumult of emotions in his gaze – the surprise melding into respect and something stronger.
Lord Paul spread his arms. “If you are not interested in talking about your time in the Holy Land, maybe you have some questions about the keep or its lands? How it has fared since you have been gone?”
Erik looked over to Lord Paul at that, his gaze even. “The keep’s people. Yes, I have a question.”
Lord Paul arched an eyebrow. “Ask, and I shall answer.”
Erik’s gaze became steely. “I would like to hear how you allowed Mary to end up alone in the Mangy Cur tavern without support nor succor.”
Lord Paul’s shoulders tensed. “I had nothing to do with that decision,” he stated firmly. “I myself would like to know how Michael thought –”
The main door pushed open, and Michael strode in, coming over to join them. “Night patrol is taking over,” he reported to both Mary and Erik. “Nothing of concern. It’s been quiet out there.”
Erik held him with his gaze. “And what do you have to report about sending Mary alone into Caradoc’s home base?”
Michael’s stance sharpened, and he glanced down at Mary. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Mary sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t Michael’s fault,” she explained. “He argued long and hard for other options – for any other option. But in the end I overruled him. It was the only path I saw which might –”
She cut off, realizing that she had almost been drawn into revealing the core of Lady Cartwright’s mission for her. She flushed, looking down.
Erik’s shoulders were drawn tight. “Which might what?”
Mary’s eyes were pulled to the empty sofa, to where Lady Cartwright had glared down at her with those marble-cold eyes. Mary could still salvage part of her mission. She could still follow through with the task she had been ordered to fulfill.
Erik’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment it was as if Lady Cartwright was looking down through his eyes, staring with that same focused determination. “God’s teeth, Mary, I accept that you own the keep. I am not contesting your leadership here. I accept you have every right to sleep in the master suite, to sit in the family chair, to tear down my portrait –”
Lord Paul was on his feet, a pulsing vein bulging at his neck. “Now you have gone too far!”
Erik put up his hands in a move of surrender. “I was only saying –”
Lord Paul took a step forward. “I was here that night,” he growled, his voice rough. “I was here the night the messenger came in with the news that you had left for the Holy Land. Your mother flew into a rage. Until then she had been absolutely convinced that you would return home any day, that your fleeting infatuation with Lynessa would come to an end. But when that messenger finished speaking –”
His eyes went to the bare wall above the fireplace. His voice dropped low. “She was like an enraged boar. She dashed her crystal goblet of wine against the floor, shattering it. Then she strode over to that painting on the wall, the one her eyes barely left any time she was in this room, and she ripped it down from its hook. She flung it into the fire.”
Erik’s eyes widened, and he turned to stare into the roaring flame.
Michael’s voice was hoarse. “And then Mary dove in after it.”
Erik’s face went white with shock. He turned to Mary, his gaze moving down to her gloves.
He gave a low groan. “I thought you had been burnt during the destruction of Cintersloe.”
Mary looked down at the leather gloves, then into the maw of the fireplace. She could remember the moment with vivid clarity. The painting of the man she both resented and craved with all her heart. The
Lord Paul gazed fondly down at Mary. “This lass could probably recite to you every action you have taken, every siege you withstood, every campaign you fought.”
Erik’s eyes drew down to her, and there was a tumult of emotions in his gaze – the surprise melding into respect and something stronger.
Lord Paul spread his arms. “If you are not interested in talking about your time in the Holy Land, maybe you have some questions about the keep or its lands? How it has fared since you have been gone?”
Erik looked over to Lord Paul at that, his gaze even. “The keep’s people. Yes, I have a question.”
Lord Paul arched an eyebrow. “Ask, and I shall answer.”
Erik’s gaze became steely. “I would like to hear how you allowed Mary to end up alone in the Mangy Cur tavern without support nor succor.”
Lord Paul’s shoulders tensed. “I had nothing to do with that decision,” he stated firmly. “I myself would like to know how Michael thought –”
The main door pushed open, and Michael strode in, coming over to join them. “Night patrol is taking over,” he reported to both Mary and Erik. “Nothing of concern. It’s been quiet out there.”
Erik held him with his gaze. “And what do you have to report about sending Mary alone into Caradoc’s home base?”
Michael’s stance sharpened, and he glanced down at Mary. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Mary sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t Michael’s fault,” she explained. “He argued long and hard for other options – for any other option. But in the end I overruled him. It was the only path I saw which might –”
She cut off, realizing that she had almost been drawn into revealing the core of Lady Cartwright’s mission for her. She flushed, looking down.
Erik’s shoulders were drawn tight. “Which might what?”
Mary’s eyes were pulled to the empty sofa, to where Lady Cartwright had glared down at her with those marble-cold eyes. Mary could still salvage part of her mission. She could still follow through with the task she had been ordered to fulfill.
Erik’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment it was as if Lady Cartwright was looking down through his eyes, staring with that same focused determination. “God’s teeth, Mary, I accept that you own the keep. I am not contesting your leadership here. I accept you have every right to sleep in the master suite, to sit in the family chair, to tear down my portrait –”
Lord Paul was on his feet, a pulsing vein bulging at his neck. “Now you have gone too far!”
Erik put up his hands in a move of surrender. “I was only saying –”
Lord Paul took a step forward. “I was here that night,” he growled, his voice rough. “I was here the night the messenger came in with the news that you had left for the Holy Land. Your mother flew into a rage. Until then she had been absolutely convinced that you would return home any day, that your fleeting infatuation with Lynessa would come to an end. But when that messenger finished speaking –”
His eyes went to the bare wall above the fireplace. His voice dropped low. “She was like an enraged boar. She dashed her crystal goblet of wine against the floor, shattering it. Then she strode over to that painting on the wall, the one her eyes barely left any time she was in this room, and she ripped it down from its hook. She flung it into the fire.”
Erik’s eyes widened, and he turned to stare into the roaring flame.
Michael’s voice was hoarse. “And then Mary dove in after it.”
Erik’s face went white with shock. He turned to Mary, his gaze moving down to her gloves.
He gave a low groan. “I thought you had been burnt during the destruction of Cintersloe.”
Mary looked down at the leather gloves, then into the maw of the fireplace. She could remember the moment with vivid clarity. The painting of the man she both resented and craved with all her heart. The
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