That was Wells’s way of saying She’s only wasting time with that infernal painter like she does every morning. Sherwood didn’t have a problem with Wells, which was good, since he ran the castle and could make the artist’s life miserable if he wanted to. That said, he was of the same mind as many in his position, believing a painter’s time to be worthless.
Lady Dulgath allowed herself a glance at Sherwood. He smiled. She smiled back. His heart vaulted a hurdle, forcing him to take a deep breath. He nearly lost the presence of mind to pull the cloth over the painting before Thorbert Wells entered.
“My lady,” Wells said, pausing at the doorway to bow.
Thorbert Wells was a rotund man with a fondness for expensive belts that neither he, nor anyone facing him, ever saw. The chamberlain’s girth also hid his shoes, which that morning were a fine pair with soft leather uppers. Wells rarely wore the same pair twice in a week. He owned so many shoes that Sherwood had once asked Wells’s manservant if he ever placed a mixed pair on the chamberlain’s feet to see if he noticed. This was the sort of joke that gained Sherwood access to the kitchens at night and a swig from the hidden jug of barley whiskey kept under the floorboards.
“Sheriff Knox has some gentlemen here to meet with you,” Wells said.
“Gentlemen?” she asked.
“Ah…yes, concerning the recent unpleasantness.” Wells had a problem saying the words assassination, murder, or killing. Even when it came to butchering quails to eat, he was apt to say, The birds will be dressed for dinner, as if the fowl shared his penchant for belts and shoes and would be seated at the table.
Again, the lady focused on Sherwood, and he was certain she was looking for—perhaps not permission, but understanding. Sherwood’s heart climbed up his throat, as if searching for a better view of this extraordinary moment.
“Very well, let them in,” Lady Dulgath said with just enough irritation in her voice to suggest that interrupting their time together was a disappointment.
Wells bowed again, then waved three men in.
Sherwood recognized Sheriff Knox, although he hadn’t had cause to speak with the man. Still, he had seen him around, especially of late, and Hugh Knox wasn’t the kind of person one overlooked—he was the sort you crossed the street to avoid. Harsh, with a tendency to glare, he wore his blond hair tied back and had a red sash across his chest and wrapped around his waist. Edged in gold, the garment was the mark of his office. He wasn’t from Dulgath. The color of his hair and stubble told that story. The habitual squint of his eyes and sneer on his lips told the rest. This wasn’t a genteel man. He wore two sabers and steel shoulder guards over a thick three-quarter-length leather gambeson. That day he looked tired, understandable, given the recent unpleasantness. The man charged with enforcing the law and protecting the countess couldn’t be sleeping well.
A pair of men accompanied him, neither a native of Maranon.
One was tall, with a friendly smile and a relaxed stride, acting as if he were meeting a familiar bartender instead of a countess. He was dressed in worn leather and had dull buckles on three separate belts—none of which Thorbert Wells would have been caught in if his trousers depended on them—and a long cloak tossed jauntily over one shoulder. He one-upped Knox by wearing three swords. The one on his back looked big enough to fell a tree. The other man, a few inches shorter, might have been a woman for all Sherwood could tell. He was tented inside a dark cloak, hood up and his hands lost in its folds. Only a sharp nose, thin lips, and a pale chin presented themselves.
“Your Ladyship.” Knox went down to one knee. Rising, he gestured to the others. “This is Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater of Melengar. They come highly recommended by Viscount Winslow of Colnora and Bishop Parnell.”
“Highly recommended for what?” she asked, tilting her head from side to side, studying the two.
Knox hesitated and glanced awkwardly at Wells and Sherwood. “Perhaps we could speak privately?”
“Is it a secret?” she asked.
“In a way, milady.”
“They are here to protect me, yes?”
“No,” the one in the hood said without so much as a pleasant tone, much less a milady.
The countess raised her head to stare down her nose at him, no attempt to hide her irritation. “Then why are you here?”
“We’ve been hired to find the best ways to kill you.”
Sherwood dropped his favorite brush, adding to the woes of its bristles. Wells clamped a meaty hand over his mouth, making his big cheeks swell as they flushed red. Knox closed his eyes, tilted his head up toward the ceiling, and opened his mouth but said nothing.
Lady Dulgath folded her arms under the head of the fox and raised an elegant brow. “Really? And how much are you being paid? Hadrian—is it?”
The hood shook. “Name’s Royce, and that information is between me and my employer.”
This time even Knox brought a hand to his face.
“Pardon me,” the taller one with the swords butted in, “my lady, I’m Hadrian.” He offered a gracious bow. “I hope you’ll excuse my partner. He’s not accustomed to speaking to…people…ah, people such as yourself. You see, we were asked to evaluate security measures to see if there are ways to improve them. Royce is an expert at finding flaws, particularly when it comes to threats of assassination.”
The chamberlain cringed at the mention of the “a” word.
“So you believe my life is in danger. That’s why you’re here?”
“Don’t you think your life is in danger?” Royce asked.
“Not particularly.” She expelled a huff of air, pivoted on her left heel, and turned her back to them. She took three steps toward the window, stopped, then spun on the same heel back to face them once more. “If I did, would I allow a man with three swords and another shrouded in a hood to enter my private study?”
Royce shrugged. “I just thought you were stup—”
“Royce!” Hadrian snapped. In a milder tone, he continued, “My friend is very tired from our long trip. Now, if no one is trying to harm you, there’s no reason for us to be here. But since we’ve traveled so far, and on the expectation of payment, I hope you won’t begrudge us the opportunity to at least tour Dulgath. Neither of us has been to Maranon before. Your corner of it is most beautiful.”
Lady Dulgath continued to stare at Royce. “Draw back your hood,” she ordered.
Hadrian laid a hand on the other one’s shoulder and whispered something to him.
“Is there a problem?” the lady asked.
“I’m here to do a job,” Royce said. “Not entertain you.”
“You’ve come to my castle unbidden and have failed to show any sign of decorum or decency. Would you rather entertain me from my dungeon?”
Royce sneered. “Would you rather I—”
Sherwood didn’t know why he did it. If anything, it was because he couldn’t abide the words that were likely to finish that sentence. He grabbed the nearest bottle of pigment and hurled it at the man. The artist was to the side and slightly behind the visitors when the bottle flew. With his hood up, Sherwood couldn’t see the man’s eyes, and he knew Melborn couldn’t have seen him. The bottle was small but heavy due to its thick glass—as ideal for throwing as a polished river stone. His aim was perfect. The container should have cracked against the hooded man’s head, but it didn’t. Instead, a slender hand darted from the dark cloak and snatched the bottle from the air. Then the hood turned, and Sherwood felt like a mouse who’d caught the attention of a hawk.
The taller man stepped in again. “Perhaps we should attempt this meeting at another time?”
Wells’s face was so red it neared purple. “I think you are right. I shouldn’t have allowed this intrusion in the first place. Gentlemen, if you will?” He shooed at them, his large sleeves flapping with the effort.
Lady Dulgath said nothing, but she continued to stare at the hooded man as he and the others left.
Only then did Sherwood look down at his tray. He was sickened to realize he’d thrown the bottle of Beyond the Sea.
Chapter Five
Castle Dulgath