A knock on the door made Byrne look up. Finally she had come. When she didn't enter, he crossed the room and yanked it open.
"Why do you not—" He stopped and looked down. It was not Jayr, but Nottingham's seneschal. "What do you want?"
Skald bobbed a bow and addressed the turned-up tips of his lurid green court shoes. "I am to deliver a message to you, my lord."
"Well?"
"Lord Cyprien expressed a wish to ride with you. He has taken his mount to the grove of trees on the north side of the lake. He asks that you meet him there." Skald tucked his hands behind his back and gave him a timid glance. "Shall I accompany you as your groom, my lord? You know I am the finest horseman in Florence."
"No. You can go tell the stable master to saddle my horse." Byrne slammed the door in his face and went to the intercom. "Harlech."
"My lord?"
"Have you found my seneschal?"
"I regret to say that I have not, my lord."
Byrne did not issue any further orders. The intercom lay in pieces, thanks to his fist.
As Byrne made his way to the stables, he stopped every man of the Realm who crossed his path and demanded to know if they had seen Jayr. All of them claimed they had not and offered to look for her. The innocence of their expressions aroused Byrne's suspicions, and he made a detour to stop at the wardrobe keeper's chambers.
Farlae came to the door in his shirtsleeves, an open bottle of bloodwine in his hand. "May I be of service, my lord?"
"You can tell me where Jayr is," Byrne said. "Dinnae bother to deny that you know. Nothing happens under my roof that you or your spies cannae see or hear."
"I know that Jayr went into the city early this afternoon. Just as I know that you spent most of the morning sitting outside her bedchamber door." Farlae propped himself against the door frame, his one black eye glinting. "As does, I daresay, the entire jardin. Doesn't seem like a very comfortable spot. Is there something amiss with your own bed?"
Byrne's lips peeled back from his teeth. "What business is it of yours what I do? I am master here. I will take my rest na**d, on the battlements, among a herd of goats if it pleases me."
Farlae shrugged. "Goats are overrated, or so I have heard. Sheep, now, they are said to be quite another matter. I may have to investigate that myself." He drank from the bottle.
Killing his wardrobe keeper, Byrne decided, would not take a great deal of effort. The hall held at least twenty objects with which he could end the man's existence. Only the prospect of Rainer's weeping held him back. "Why did Jayr go to town?"
"Deliveries held up, damaged goods, paperwork to be signed, feed deliveries rescheduled, the usual," the wardrobe keeper said casually. "I hope she remembers to pick up the parts that came in at the Singer center for my serger." He thought for a moment. "I believe a week ago Rain requested that Jayr order four gallons of latex paint from the hardware shop. It seems he tired of the colors in his rooms. Too bad he won't be here to repair them."
"These errands could be handled by anyone. These are the last days of the tournament; Jayr knows she is needed here—" Byrne stopped and gave Farlae an incredulous look. "You did this deliberately."
"The serger failed on its own," Farlae drawled. "I will need it repaired if I am to tailor all that Lycra the humans must have for their spring season costumes. I had nothing to do with the paint order. Rain is gone off with Viviana. Good riddance." He took a drink from the bottle.
Byrne stabbed a finger in his face. "This nonsense was but an excuse to send her into the city. You did this to keep her away from me."
Farlae lowered the bottle and smiled. "Perhaps we did this to keep you away from her."
"You've gone mad," Byrne said blankly. "Every one of you. My own men, rebelling and conspiring against me. In my own keep."
"Doubtless we are." Unimpressed, Farlae studied the condition of his nails. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"
"Get stuffed." Byrne walked away. "No." He stopped and turned around. "Call Jayr on the contraption she hangs on her ear. Tell her I command her to return to the Realm and report to me at once."
"Oh, dear." Farlae held up a familiar-looking device. "Do you mean this contraption? I fear in her haste to go it fell out of her pocket and into mine. Well, Harlech may have helped it get there."
Byrne grabbed it and threw it against the wall, where it exploded into a hundred fragments.
"That," he said, staring into Farlae's black eye, "is what happens to a man's head when I lose my temper."
"Indeed." Farlae folded his arms and looked interested. "What happens to a woman's?"
For a long time Byrne stood and said nothing, saw nothing. For his insolent wardrobe keeper's questions explained everything. He had lived with these men, trained with them, fought beside them. They were loyal to him because he was suzerain, and they lived by Kyn rule. Some of them admired him. Most of them feared him.
They were loyal to Jayr because they loved her.
"I would never hurt the lass," Byrne said.
Farlae's mouth took on a faint sneer. "That is not what I saw last night outside the ballroom."
"I kissed her," he roared.
"You terrified her," Farlae shouted back, smashing the bottle of bloodwine against his doorway. "You see, my lord, you were not the only one tracking last night. So tell me, when did your seneschal become your prey?"
"I love her."
The three words rang between them, echoing down the hall until the shocking sound of them died away. Farlae crouched and began picking up pieces of the broken bottle.
"Christ." He knelt to help him. "This is a wretched bloody mess."
"It need not be." Something like kindness softened Farlae's craggy face. "Aedan, if you love Jayr, do not force her into something for which she is not ready. Give her leave to come to you, if that is what she wishes. Give her time." Sorrow filled his eyes. "God knows, you cannot hold someone you love if they do not feel the same for you."
There was no more time for this. "I'm riding out to the north side of the lake to meet with Cyprien. Tell anyone who is still interested that I will return in an hour."
Farlae took the shards of glass from him. "Yes, my lord."
"And, Farlae," he said, staring into his hellish eye. "Rain has as much interest in Viviana as I do in a herd of goats."
The wardrobe keeper inclined his head. "Thank you, my lord."
Byrne left for the stables. His favorite palfrey, a big, good-natured stock mare who had more stamina than pedigree, stood saddled and waiting for him. He refused the stable master's offer of a groom and rode out to round the lake.
Byrne took his time making his way to Cyprien's appointed meeting place. The night air cooled the heat in his blood and restored some order to his thoughts. Farlae, he realized, had provoked him only in order to accomplish the same. When Jayr returned from the city, he would settle this thing between them.
How he would do that, Byrne didn't know.
He reached the north side of the lake but saw no sign of Cyprien at the edge of the groves. Large black beetles flew out of the grass as his mare rode through it, whizzing past Byrne's face as they made their startled escape. Then something longer and more lethal passed by his head and struck the ground in front of the mare. She skittered back a moment before something struck Byrne's neck, sinking in like a heated poker.
He reached back to pull the thing from his neck when another struck his left shoulder. The shafts told him they were arrows; the pain told him they were copper tipped. He kicked his heels into the nervous mare's sides and headed for the cover of the groves.
The mare plunged down, falling away from him, screaming as the ground beneath them vanished.
Chapter 16
"You cannot begin the archery contest until Lord Byrne returns," Jayr heard Harlech say as she carried in the last of the feed sacks and dropped them on the stable master's pallet.
"Very well, where is he? Gone off with your wife, too, Harlech?" There was a heavy thud, and the speaker grunted before gasping, "'Twas a jest."
"'Tis not funny, Reg," Beaumaris advised.
She came around the corner and found Harlech and several of the men standing in a loose group. "What is amiss here?"
"Lord Byrne has been gone for hours." Beaumaris glared at one of the trainers, who was holding a hand to his belly. "The archers are growing restless, as are the guests."
"He should be in his chambers," Jayr told them. "If not there, the guards' hall. Someone should be with him." She turned to Harlech. "Who did you send to attend him in my place?"
"That would be me," Beaumaris said. "I lasted but two minutes before he ordered me out. I could not help it that the fire smokes."
"His chimney always funnels the worst of the wind during the day," Jayr said. "I close the flue every morning to keep the backdraft from blowing ash into the room. You have to open it or the fire smokes."
Beau looked up at the roof beams. "Now she says something."
"Our lord has not been in the best of moods since you left," Harlech said to her. "We have searched the keep from one end to the other, and checked the guest rooms as well. He is not here. Did he say to you where he might go tonight?"
"I did not speak to him about his plans. He would not leave during a tournament." Jayr turned and spotted an empty stall. "There. His palfrey is missing. He must be out riding."
At that moment a horse came trotting into the barn. The palfrey's empty saddle sat on her back, and her ears flicked as she whickered to the other horses.
"Or not," Beaumaris said.
Jayr caught her and checked her for injuries, but found none. She handed the reins over to one of the grooms. "Perhaps he went for a walk instead. Ask Lord Locksley if he would preside over the archery contest." She went to saddle her horse and then called Harlech over.