Knights Divided. Suzanne Barclay
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of them is as gifted as you, my dear,” he’d told her as they chatted in his private chamber over a cup of wine. High praise from the man whose musical skills had made him a legend among players and leader of the famous Golden Wait of Harrowgate, the minstrel band chartered by the city.
“Thank you, sir.” She’d smiled briefly, recalling the magical summer when her father’s parents had come to Oxford to meet the children Cedric had never told them about. Small wonder, since his alliance with their mother had béen a lie and a sin. When he’d wed her, Cedric had neglected to mention the wife he already had. ‘Twas not until Olivia found out about them and followed him to Derry that Cedric’s sins had been revealed.
Cedric’s parents had been anxious to meet their only grandchildren, but embittered by Cedric’s betrayal, her mother had refused the old couple’s overtures of peace. Curious as she was to know her grandparents, Emmeline wouldn’t have defied her mother if not for the lute. The one her father had brought her; the only gift he’d ever given her. Gift, ha! It turned out the lute was a priceless antique Cedric had stolen from his father. Alford recognized the instrument as he was leaving her mother’s apothecary shop, but told her she might keep it.
Emmeline had felt bound to return the lute and sneaked out to the inn where Alford and his wife were staying. Alford had coaxed her into playing a song for him and then another. Her talent, raw and unformed, as he called it, had so impressed him he’d not only insisted she keep the lute but offered to teach her. Torn between loyalty to her mother and a soul-deep longing to make music, Emmeline had agreed. The lessons, given in secret, had opened up a whole new world for her, but the glimpse of heaven had cost her dearly. She’d deceived her mother and finally ended up hurting her nearly as much as Cedric had.
“I am sorry I could not come to London with you after that summer,” she told Alford. “But Mama collapsed, and…”
“You could not leave her.” He patted her shoulder with a gnarled hand. “You are far more loyal than your father. It’s been years since Cedric has crossed our threshold.”
Nay, I am no better than my father. Out of selfishness, she’d deceived her mother and broken her heart. And she’d failed Celia, too, but she was trying so hard to make amends. “I have come to London to learn what I can of Lord James Harcourt.”
“I know of him. He was often at court, being a member of John of Gaunt’s household. A handsome young man and much favored by the ladies, as was his father, Lord Alexander, who was accounted a rake in his day.”
Like father, like son. She explained how Sir Thomas’s hands were tied by Harcourt’s connections and his men’s testimony. Alford had immediately sent out inquiries, but they’d found naught to link James to Celia’s murder. Elusive and mysterious were two descriptions applied to the wayward Harcourt heir. He’d always had a penchant for adventure, and rumor linked him to smuggling and other illegal activities. But ‘twas speculation without a shred of proof. Adding to her frustration had been the disappearance of Celia’s maid. Lily had gone off a week ago, taking with her Celia’s few pieces of plate and the small silver brooch Emmeline had given Celia. They’d not been taken by the murderer, for Sir Thomas had listed them on his inventory of Celia’s possessions. None of Alford’s contacts had been able to find Lily. The silly girl was probably hiding somewhere, afraid she’d be arrested for thievery. Emmeline didn’t care about the pin, all she wanted was answers. And to make James Harcourt pay.
“Ah, there you are,” murmured a deep voice.
Emmeline gasped as the object of her speculation plopped down onto the bench beside her. She would have leapt up and run off, but he was sitting on the edge of her gown.
“Stay,” he commanded when she tried to wriggle free. “Why did you run away?” He stared at her intently from that single, black eye of his. Torchlight filtering in through the bushes limned his ruggedly handsome features, high cheekbones, sensual mouth and strong jaw. Even sitting still, there was a vitality about him that commanded attention. An aura of power, leashed at the moment but likely to explode as it had when he’d attacked her uncle. She’d been right to think him dangerous.
“I—I was afraid.”
“Of me.” He managed to look as guileless as a schoolboy.
Fraud. “You hit Markham, and ‘tis said you killed a girl.”
“Your uncle is a fool and a bully. He deserved a few bruises for hitting you.”
“He was wroth at me because my grandfather insisted I be allowed to play with the Wait” That much was true. When Alford had heard about the party, he’d been certain James would attend and had forced Markham to bring her. Her indignation at being relegated to playing the bells had precipitated the slap.
“Is Alford le Trompour your grandfather?”
“Aye, he is. I’m surprised you know of him.”
“He is a minstrel without equal. As a lad I sat enraptured whenever he came to play for King Edward. I longed to make music as he did.” He gazed at his wide, callused hands lying palm up on his muscular thighs. “You’d think I had ten thumbs so poorly do I play. ’Tis not fair, for I always know all the words.”
“Grandfather says it is a talent you are either born with, or not.” Unfortunately she’d gotten the gift from Cedric, along with other, less pleasant, traits.
“What is your special talent?” He watched her as though her answer were the most important thing in the world to him. His regard, his attention, were too flattering to deny.
“The lute.”
“Yet you play the bells today.”
“Aye. ‘Twas the source of the argument and the slap. Markham does not think me good enough to play with them because I am neither a trained harpist nor a member of the Wait. I am only here because—” She stopped, aghast to realize she’d been about to spill her plans for revenge to Celia’s murderer. What kind of wizard was he to make her so quickly forget her goals?
“What is it? Did the slap cause your head to ache?”
“Nay. Aye.” Emmeline put a hand to her temple. Damn, he was the most confounding man. “Why did you come to my aid?”
He grinned and laid a hand over his heart. “I am the most chivalrous of men. If I see a maiden in distress, I must ride to her rescue like the knights in the ancient ballads.”
“Humph.”
“Not even a hint of a smile to reward my foolishness? You are far too serious, my lovely little harpist”. He leaned closer, his face so near it filled her vision. “Damn.” Gently grasping her chin, he tilted it toward the light. “He marked you.” His thumb barely grazed her cheek. “I should have been quicker.”
Light as the touch was, it sent an odd tingle streaking down her neck, leaving gooseflesh behind. His fingers were so warm, his expression so full of concern she felt herself being drawn in, drowning in the depths of his dark, compassionate gaze.
Shivering, Emmeline struggled back from the edge of disaster. Pulling her chin from his hold, she said, “Please…”
“Your head aches. Small wonder.” Quick as lightning, his hands slid around to the nape of her neck and attacked her braid.
“Wait! What are you doing.” She leaned away. Or tried to, but only succeeded in getting her hair pulled. “Ouch!”
“Hold still.” He was nimble and knowledgeable. In seconds he had her braid undone. “There.” He tunneled his fingers into her hair at her temples and gently massaged her scalp.
It felt so good a moan escaped her throat.
“See. Is that not better?” he murmured. His fingers slid in farther, tracing circles on the sides and back of her head.
More than better. ‘Twas magic, pure and simple. Her mind ceased to function. Her eyes drifted shut; her head fell back into the