Читать книгу Uncovering The Merchant's Secret - Elisabeth Hobbes - Страница 13

Blanche walked to the end of the passageway. She took three breaths to regain her composure before she smiled down at Andrey who was sitting on a stool.

‘That was interesting,’ she said. An understatement, indeed.

Andrey grunted and sheathed the sword that he was conspicuously wearing.

‘What did you find out?’

‘Very little.’ Blanche frowned. ‘He claims to have no memory of who he is or where he is from.’

‘Do you believe him or do you think he is lying?’

Blanche considered the conversation that had taken place. The man’s—Jack’s—air of confusion and the look of horror that had crossed his face when he had been unable to supply a name had appeared genuine. The film of perspiration that had arisen across his brow and chest could not have been feigned. Her hand twitched as she recalled the shape of his chest muscles beneath her palm, firm and smooth. A younger body than she had touched for so long. It had taken control not to explore further down to his belly and beyond and see if everything was as well toned. She shook her head to rid herself of the image.

‘I believe him. More’s the pity,’ she said. She looked back at the door to the storeroom. A twinge of guilt took her by surprise as she considered what an inhospitable room it was for a man in his circumstances to find himself. A bare room, little more than a cell. She had not bolted the door, but she wondered if he was aware of that, or if he even suspected he had been confined at all. There were other, better rooms and other beds. She blinked, surprised at the direction her thoughts were taking. It was that kiss which had done it. She should never have yielded to the temptation on the beach.

‘We’ll have to keep him here a little longer.’

‘Why?’ Andrey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

‘He has no money, no possessions.’ Her conscience gave a twinge; there had been a box somewhere and she had the cross in her room.

‘He has no name.’

‘Assuming he is telling the truth,’ Andrey said.

‘Assuming that.’ Blanche sighed, wishing she had never brought him to the castle. ‘However, we cannot send him out to wander the countryside like a vagrant. Who knows whom he might encounter? Here he is safe from harm.’

‘And causing harm,’ Andrey pointed out. ‘Marie didn’t like him.’

‘He made her jump, nothing more,’ Blanche said. Andrey was protective of his wife to the point of inanity and Marie’s reaction to being surprised would not have helped Jack endear himself.

They walked back up the stairs and out into the courtyard. The window that was high in Jack’s room was at ground level in the wall of the storerooms so a breeze could keep grain fresh. If Blanche knelt down beside it, she would be able to look over his bed. Was he sleeping now or lying awake, wondering who and where he was? The fever that had almost claimed his life had been fierce, and his skin had burned even as he shivered. His muscles did not lie—he must be strong indeed to have fought that off.

She decided against looking in case he was awake and saw her.

‘Put a guard on his door,’ she told Andrey. ‘Someone loyal to you.’

She straightened her sleeves and thought back to the way Jack had seized her by the wrist. He had moved so quickly, but there had been no panic in her. The abhorrence she usually felt at being touched without permission had been mild and she had snapped at him as a matter of course. When the impulse had clearly filled him to try to touch her for a second time he had stayed his hand and that had endeared him to her even more.

‘A pity he has no memory,’ she mused to Andrey. ‘I would like to know who he is and what he is doing.’

She crossed the courtyard from the building where Jack was being housed and climbed the outside stairs to the main tower of the fort. She paused as she always did and pressed her palm against the door. Compared to the grand home that she had shared with her second husband, Yann, it was small, but it belonged to her and no one else. Jack had believed the house belonged to a man, naturally, and the knowledge rankled. But why would he not?

She lifted her head, proud to have done something so few women would dare to try or succeed in doing. There had been times after Yann’s death when her courage to continue down the path she had chosen had wavered. But she had continued, and Bleiz Mor lived and fought, her name a tribute to the wolf pelts that had decorated their walls.

‘Brittany will triumph,’ she whispered to Yann’s ghost. ‘You did not die in vain.’

She climbed the stairs to her private room on the top floor of the tower and sat in the high-backed chair at the window, shivering a little in the breeze that crept round the threadbare screens. Winter had not fully loosened its grasp, but each time she considered spending some of her plunder on her own comfort she thought of the widowed women who struggled in bare cottages to feed fatherless children, or the men toiling to grow crops in fields turned to battlefields. She did not need it as much as they did.

She turned her attention to the cross that lay on the table. Keeping this was an indulgence. She had examined it over and over in the days before Jack regained consciousness and could picture it with her eyes closed. It was engraved on the back with the initials J and M on either side. She had been right to suspect his name might begin with that letter. She wondered who M was and a little jealous flame flickered in her breast. She hoped it was his family name and not that of a wife or lover. Perhaps he would remember if she showed him the cross. She would wait until he was well rather than risk agitating him now.

She held the cross tightly and pursed her lips. That was not the only reason for delaying. If his memory returned and he was proved to be a supporter of Charles de Blois, there were matters she would have to face. Taking a man’s life in combat or on the seas was one thing, but callously executing him in her own home after giving him care and shelter was entirely another. She worried she was allowing her sense of sympathy for his injuries and pity for his circumstances to cloud her judgement. Perhaps he thought a woman would be more easily tricked or cajoled into believing his lies, or that her opinions were of no consequence. He would not be the first man who had tried to dismiss her in such a way.

She walked behind the tapestry screen and into the shallow alcove of the window and glanced out over the sea, deep in thought. She occupied the whole of the top floor of the tower as her bedchamber and private solar. From her window, and hers alone, high on the highest floor of the tower, it was possible to see that the coast with its shallow inlets and jutting rocks dipped in more deeply and curved round behind the cliff in a loop.

It was in this concealed cove, safe from the tides and from passing eyes, where her two ships rested at anchor. She inhaled deeply, tasting the salt air in the back of her mouth and feeling the wind enfolding her. She had not sailed since the night before Jack’s shipwreck.

Although she was still furious at the way the villagers had defied her and lit the church lights, she knew they were growing restless with the continued assaults on houses loyal to the de Montfort cause. She had sworn vengeance on the French, yet had kept her ships at harbour since the night of the shipwreck, the thought of more death turning her stomach in a way that was new and unpleasant. News had come to her earlier in the day through the network of men in her pay of a French ship making its way along the coast. It would not be allowed to pass further up the coast.

She summoned Marie—the only person Blanche permitted inside her private sanctuary—and sent orders down to Andrey to ready her two ships, White Wolf and White Hawk, by dusk.

She descended to the large room on the ground floor where her household ate and joined them, passing around the tables to speak with each man and woman. Like her, everyone here had lost someone dear to the French after the siege of Quimper or in other battles. Like her, they had sworn to wreak revenge on those who had taken arms against the rightful claimant to the dukedom of Brittany, but only Blanche had the determination and courage to do what she had done and rebuild her life stronger than she had been before. They loved her for it and were fiercely loyal. She had no fears that her identity would be revealed by anyone within the walls of the castle.

She could not help but feel proud of what she had accomplished as she looked round the room. Lamps burned brightly on every table, richly coloured tapestries hung along each wall and they drank from ornate goblets. Anyone who visited would be awestruck by the riches on display and understand that Blanche Tanet’s spirit had not died when her husband Yann had been executed.

She stood on the raised dais before the fire, knowing that her silhouette before the flames was dramatic, and waited for silence.

‘Luring the ship on to the rocks was cowardly and short-sighted. We could harm our allies as much as our enemies. That must not happen again.’ She waited while the inevitable muttering subsided. Jagu Ronec was sitting beside Andrey, his face thunderous. Blanche smiled at him warmly, despite the stirrings of anxiety inside her, and addressed her next words of flattery to him.

‘You are all brave men, strong and determined, and have no need of such tricks. Tonight, my friends, we attack the French ship that is sailing down the coast from Concarneau. I wish you success. We will win and Brittany will triumph.’

She held her goblet aloft, fingers closing round the jewelled stem, and led the toast. The wine they had salvaged from the wreck was excellent quality. She stepped down and spoke to Ronec.

‘I’ll sail with you tonight. White Hawk leads the advance.’

Ronec’s eyes gleamed. Blanche hid her revulsion as his lips brushed the back of her hand. If she had been more far-sighted, she would never have thrown her lot in with him, but it had seemed a good idea given that he was her closest neighbour and a friend of her first husband. He was fiercely passionate about the cause, but lacked the acumen to come up with such a bold venture himself. A week of nights in his bed had been a price she had reluctantly accepted in return for the money she had needed and the provision of a crew, but he clearly expected the transaction to continue even after he had paid her what she needed for White Hawk. That she had staved him off for over a year was a source of amazement to everyone, most of all to Blanche, and it was a constant worry that she could not hope to do so for ever.

The assault was a success. White Hawk lay in wait for the French cog while White Wolf came from behind. When the sail was hoisted it caught the wind, the square billowing out, proudly displaying the symbol of the wolf pelt. She saw White Hawk do the same. Blanche’s mood lifted, as it never failed to once she felt the waves lifting and breaking. The symbol of Yann’s favourite quarry now struck fear into the hearts of the foe who had taken him.

The crew were suppressed with ease and little bloodshed. Blanche strode back and forth before the bound crew who knelt on the deck at sword point. Dressed in Bleiz Mor’s disguise, the sense of power never failed to thrill her. Even in the height of summer, she wore a thickly padded gambeson beneath a heavy leather jerkin. As well as protecting her, it gave her a masculine shape. The impression was of a stocky man. To complete the disguise, she wore a low-brimmed hat and grotesque jongleur’s leather mask in the form of a wolf’s upper face. It added an air of menace and ensured that any opponent would not realise he was facing a woman. She suspected she could forgo the padding and still go undetected because how many women ever faced and defeated men as she did?

‘Thank you for your donation to our cause,’ she smirked. ‘John de Montfort will be grateful for your weapons and the people of Brittany will eat well with your wages.’

The Captain stared at her with hatred in his eyes, but his defiance subsided as she stood over him. She tore the hat from his head and grasped him by the hair, ready to slit his throat, but stayed her hand on seeing the shock of unkempt blond hair and the crisscross of scars on his brow. He reminded her too much of the man lying in her storeroom.

‘Let them live so they can pass our message to their commanders,’ she said. She waited until the crew had been thrust into the rowboat and tossed the flaming brand on to the deck of Charles Roi herself.

Both of Blanche’s ships returned home wealthier than when they had left. Cheered by the thought of gold, Ronec had barely objected when Blanche took the opportunity to tell him of the survivor’s presence. It had been fortuitous.

It was almost dawn when Blanche returned to the castle, the scent of woodsmoke in her nostrils and cries for mercy in her ears. As soon as Ronec left to return to his own home, Andrey spoke to Blanche in an undertone.

‘The guard I left on the stranger’s room came to speak to me. Your survivor has been creating quite a disturbance. He has been demanding to speak to you.’

‘Demanding?’ If he was capable of such, then he must have made a swift recovery since Blanche had spoken with him.

‘Requesting, then. But forcefully and frequently. He has eaten and bathed so he no longer stinks.’ Andrey frowned. ‘I am not happy with him being here. We should slit his throat, or at the very least surrender him to someone who has more proficiency in discovering the truth. It would gain you some credit.’

Blanche recoiled. ‘You mean torture? No.’

Andrey grinned. ‘Are you showing mercy again tonight, Cousin? Since when have you shown compassion to your enemies? You have cut down men in their dozens without a second thought.’

Blanche closed her eyes. She smelled the iron odour of blood, felt the cold steel in her hand. Each man she had cut down in the assault on Charles Roi had been one strike against Charles de Blois and his army in revenge for the loyal Bretons who had died. Why did the existence of one stranger attack her conscience so powerfully? Her strange compassion to the surviving crew was his fault.

‘We are in a war. I will kill when I know the men are my enemies,’ she said brusquely. ‘I don’t know that this man is. He may be an ally or, if he does follow de Blois’s cause, he may be a useful hostage. We can hand him over at any time.’

She glanced towards the building where Jack was being housed. She had few servants, but even at dawn the building was buzzing like a beehive, alive with the sounds of daily life. A visitor listening to the chatter of maids washing could believe he was in just another household, not the stronghold of a feared pirate.

‘He might respond better to a man asking questions. Not all men think women worth speaking the truth to.’

Maybe it was time for Jack to receive a visit from the Sea Wolf. This would test him and allow Blanche to see whether she received the same declarations twice.

‘I will speak to him once more.’

Andrey looked her up and down. ‘Like this? What if he recognises you?’

Blanche gave him a tight smile. ‘It isn’t likely. He’ll see what he expects to see—a man in a mask. Why would he assume I’m a woman beneath the disguise when I do something so unwomanly? He’s only seen me briefly in any case.’

She made her way instead to the storeroom. Andrey’s guard was sitting at the end of the corridor, dozing. He jumped at her sharp whistle.

‘Has he been any trouble tonight?’ Blanche asked.

The guard shook his head.

‘Wait here for my word,’ Blanche instructed, taking the lantern from the table. She pulled her mask on, tipped the brim of her hat lower over her face and swung the door open.

Jack was lying on the bed, stretched out on top of the furs. His hands were behind his head and one long leg was bent at the knee, crooked over the other. He appeared to be asleep and looked much as he had on the beach the first time Blanche had seen him. She was half-tempted to try to wake him and see if he repeated his kiss and in turn regained some memories, but as she stepped over the threshold his head jerked up.

‘Madame, is that you?’

His tone was eager. Blanche paused, wondering what in her step had made him recognise her? She lowered her voice more, making it into a husky snarl.

‘No.’

Blanche hung the lantern on a hook beside the door and stood, arms folded and legs planted apart. She stuck her hips forward and lifted her head. The mask would disguise her face and as always she spoke in a deep growl to hide the feminine tones.

‘My men tell me you have been calling for her. Why? Is there something you need?’

Blanche swept a hand around the room, taking in the mattress with fine furs. She looked pointedly at the table where an uncorked wine bottle stood beside an empty wooden plate. She knew he had been sent water to bathe earlier in the day.

Jack set his jaw. ‘I have no cause to complain of my care. I have everything I need except my freedom.’ Jack’s expression became bullish. He lowered his hands and sat upright, swaying slightly. ‘Are you the master of this house?’

‘No. You have met its mistress, Madame Tanet.’

She watched as he digested this information. When he looked back at her, his eyes were sharp.

‘She is your wife?’

Blanche laughed. ‘Madame Tanet is a widow. She belongs to no man.’

Jack cocked his head, his eyes flickering with interest. Blanche’s palms grew sweaty inside her leather gloves. Most women did belong to someone and Blanche woke every day knowing how fragile and unusual her independence was.

‘Then how come you are here?’ Jack asked.

‘The lady and I have come to an arrangement that works well for both of us.’ She thickened her accent as an extra precaution until she sounded more like the common fishermen in the village.

Jack’s eyes widened, then narrowed slightly. Interesting. He was obviously speculating what sort of arrangement it was and no doubt coming to the conclusion Blanche expected. Knowing he had no suspicion of whom he was talking to gave her a rush of pleasure and power. She drew her sword, but held it at her side. Jack’s eyes followed the movement and his powerful shoulders tensed.

‘Madame Tanet tells me you claim to have no memory of who you are.’

He gave her an angry glare. ‘I do more than “claim”.’

He was dressed now, wearing one of the servants’ loose tunics and breeches. The tunic was tied by two points, leaving the top two open. Blanche tried not to look too obviously at his chest. He swung his legs over the bed and indicated the table.

‘May I have some paper and the means to write?’ he asked.

‘You can write?’ Blanche raised an eyebrow. ‘You know this, yet you do not know your name?’

He looked perplexed. ‘I know some things, though I don’t know why or how. I can speak. I can dress myself, as you can see. I hoped if I had the means to write or draw, some memories might come to me.’

He probed carefully at the edge of the bandage. His hands were long, with slender fingers and well-kept nails. She knew from nursing him there were old callouses on the ridge at the base of each finger that had started to soften. If he was a sailor they would be hardened. He was a mystery. Solving it teased her intriguingly.

‘Who are you?’ she breathed.

He looked surprised and Blanche realised with alarm that she had almost let her guise down for a moment and revealed her true self.

‘Tell me the truth,’ she said, more sternly. ‘I have no time for men who speak falsehoods to me.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, his voice rising in frustration. He bunched his fists, pressing them to the side of his temples, then pounded them on the wall in frustration. His expression darkened and he looked unexpectedly dangerous. He stood and faced Blanche, arms crossed and head high. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms were toned, but did not have the deep tan of men who were used to working outside all day. Good arms. Strong arms, Blanche thought, then despised herself a little for noticing such a detail.

‘I have told you what I told Madame Tanet. Present me with another visitor and I shall swear the same to him. Where am I? I have told you everything I am able, yet no one will tell me where I am or who is keeping me here.’

He stepped towards her and she raised the sword. ‘Do not move.’

‘Who are you?’ Jack growled. ‘You come in here, threatening me with a sword. I demand to know why I am being kept here.’

‘I’m not threatening you,’ Blanche snarled. ‘This is for my protection.’

‘Against what?’

Jack curled his lip. He spread his arms wide and turned in a slow circle, giving Blanche a perfect view of his tall, strong body. He would conquer her easily if he decided to attack. She gripped her sword tighter. When he faced her there was no fear in his eyes, only anger held in check. If she held a sword to his throat, he would not quake like the Captain of Charles Roi had.

‘I have no way of attacking you or defending myself. Until this morning I could not even raise myself from the bed. You are treating me poorly, monsieur, and I would like some answers. If I were myself again and in possession of a weapon of my own, I would take them from your lips at sword point.’

‘If you were yourself, you would not need to fight me for the answers,’ Blanche pointed out. She lowered the sword, her hand trembling a little as the thought of what he had already done to her lips sent a shiver through her belly. ‘But you obviously think you are capable, which tells us both something about you, does it not?’

He glared at her, then spun away and walked to the window, his frustration clear. Being a storeroom, the window was high set and narrow. He raised himself on to the balls of his feet, craning his head to look out, and grabbed hold of the bars as if he intended to pull his entire body off the ground. His arms were muscular and Blanche considered that he would have no problem doing that.

‘What do you see?’ Blanche asked, curious to discover what would command his attention. ‘Tell me what it tells you.’

He looked over his shoulder at her. Light drenched his hair, picking out the blond among the sand and casting shadows over sculpted cheekbones. ‘Is this a test? Will I earn my freedom if I pass?’

She cocked her head to one side and gestured. Their eyes locked and for a moment she was fixed by the certainty Jack recognised her, despite the mask, but he looked away. He was silent as his head moved from side to side. Blanche held her breath.

‘There is a rounded tower on the building opposite with a window set high into the top. I know I am below ground here because I can see doorways and steps.’

He sniffed. ‘From the smell of grain I think this is a storeroom, not a cell.’

He breathed again, more deeply and slower. His shoulders lifted and his torso expanded. He had a powerful body, Blanche thought. She caught herself wondering what it would be like to run her hands over the solid muscles of his back that moved beneath the tunic, imagining them to be as solid and sculpted as those in his chest. She took a step closer.

‘I can smell the sea,’ Jack murmured. ‘And when it is quiet in the night I think I can hear the waves.’

He let go of the bars and dropped on to his feet with a lightness that took Blanche by surprise, and stood upright.

‘I already know I am by the coast because Madame Tanet told me they had only brought me a short way. Where is she?’ he asked.

Blanche was struck by the eagerness in his voice. He obviously found her attractive from the way his eyes filled with life. She wondered how deeply the memory of their kiss was buried and what it would take to make it resurface.

‘You’d like to see her again?’ she asked. ‘A pretty woman, isn’t she, for all that she is older than you, I think? Don’t men your age hanker after young virginal girls?’

‘I don’t hanker after anyone,’ Jack snapped. He raised his head and his eyes were hard, though pain whispered at the edge of his voice. ‘I would like to see her again because she was kind to me when I woke and I believe it is down to her I owe my life. I would like to thank her.’

Blanche sheathed her sword and adjusted her cloak and gloves.

‘Perhaps you will see her again. However, I will pass any messages on to her that you wish. I will leave you now. I have matters to attend to.’

‘Am I a prisoner?’ Jack asked, anger in his voice. ‘Is the door to be bolted once more?’

Blanche jerked her head up in surprise. She had not drawn the bolt when she had left, which meant that if he knew of its existence he had either opened the door or had heard it before. Which in turn meant he had been feigning sleep when she entered to bathe him. Her sense of fairness told her he had perhaps half woken and was lapsing in and out of sleep and had not intended to deceive her. The contemptuous part of her that knew what she did of men was unsure.

Jack flexed his arms. ‘I have been still and sleeping for too long and ache to stretch my legs.’

Blanche looked at the limbs in question that he now planted apart. They were long and lean with—she couldn’t help but notice—a sizeable bunching of cloth between them. She had thought her desire for men had been ground out of her by the degrading exploits she had put herself through since Yann’s death, but to her consternation, heat rose to her face. Images of lovemaking began to bud in her mind like wild blooms after the winter frost.

‘You stay here for now. For your safety as much as anything else. Madame Tanet had to fight to bring you here and her men will not trust a stranger as readily as she will. These are difficult times.’

She hammered on the door with a fist. Jack tensed, looking as though he was about to spring forward, but when she held out a hand he stood back. He clearly didn’t like the answer. She didn’t blame him.

When the door opened, Blanche dropped into a low bow, sweeping the hat from her head with a flourish, and swept out. She bolted the door, taking care to make as much noise as possible so Jack knew what she had done.

She leaned against the door and pulled the mask from her face, then fanned her neck with her hat and faced Andrey who was waiting at the end of the passageway.

‘I think he’s telling the truth.’

‘Did you mention what we found in the barrels?’ Andrey asked.

Blanche shook her head. What they had discovered had been surprising, but it had not seemed an appropriate time to throw it in his face. It had been interesting to see how Jack’s manner had been when he believed he was speaking to a man. He had been polite, yet this time she had sensed an undercurrent of belligerence he had not shown to Blanche. She’d half expected him to attack her even without a sword in his hand.

She believed his memory loss was true, however, though how to help him regain it was going to be a challenge. And she did want him to. He fascinated her beyond explanation. She would have to think about it, but now she craved her bed.

‘I want one more interview with him later on,’ Blanche insisted.

She pressed her ear to the door and could hear Jack muttering to himself but could not make out his words. She wondered what he would be like in a fight. She wondered what he would be like in bed. She wasn’t sure which excited her more.