The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(16)

Owen shook his head. “No. They can stay as long as they like. I’m the one who will go.” He turned back to his groomsman and whistled, startling the young man. He turned to one of his captains. “The men can rest. Etayne and I are riding on to Averanche. Join us there.”

Etayne’s eyes were alight with amusement. Wisely, she said nothing.





CHAPTER SIX


Poisoner’s Gift



Owen was so exhausted when he reached Averanche that he fell asleep on a small couch with a goblet of wine still in his hand. His dreams of Ankarette were so vivid he could smell her scent of faded roses. In them, he was a child again, feeling safe because she was watching over him.

He imagined her stroking his hair and then realized that the sensation was not part of the dream. It was real. When he blinked his eyes open, he saw Etayne sitting at the edge of the couch, gazing down at him tenderly, her fingers slowly stroking his hair. For a moment, he forgot who she was, where he was, or how he’d come to be there, but the hard ride from Tatton Hall came back in a rush.

“I fell asleep, didn’t I?” he mumbled, remembering the goblet. She had set it on the table next to the couch.

“I would have tugged off your boots, but I didn’t want to wake you,” Etayne said. “You looked so peaceful.”

He rubbed his bleary eyes on the back of his hand and sat up, feeling the warmth from her sitting so near. She glided her fingers through his hair one last time and then nestled her hands in her lap. The look of yearning she gave him made him deeply uncomfortable.

“How late is it?” he asked, chagrined. The curtains were closed, but the room was dark. It was still the middle of the night. He scooted back until he was sitting up, but she did not give up her seat on the edge of the couch.

“I made sure the room was secured,” she said, looking over at the curtained window. “The latches are all fastened and set with traps. The bed looks infinitely more comfortable than the couch. There’s some cold capon and cheese over there from the earlier meals served by the castle staff. They didn’t expect you to arrive unannounced, so they’re staying up late to make sure things are ready in the morning.” She smiled at him. “I would have left you, but the door cannot be barred from outside. I didn’t want to leave you so . . . so vulnerable.”

That was a good word to describe the way he was feeling. He was exhausted from the long ride from Kingfountain. He’d anticipated a quick respite at Tatton Hall, but was in no mood to humor rich heiresses.

Etayne’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t told me how your trip to the North went.” She reached up and smoothed hair from his brow. “Was it as painful as you suspected? You made it before Lord Horwath passed away?”

Owen let out a pent-up breath. The room was lit by an assortment of thick candles offering a small glow. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and thought hard about the question.

“It was painful, to be sure,” he told her honestly. “She’s happy with her life. With her children. Even her husband wasn’t too intolerable,” he added wryly. “She’s moved forward, that’s clear. I feel as if I’m stranded on a foreign shore now.”

Etayne nodded sagely. One of the many things he appreciated about her was that she was an excellent listener, and even though he knew she cared about him, she never tried to push her feelings on him.

“You weren’t tempted to make her forget Iago?” she prodded.

“By the Fountain, no!” Owen said with a frown of disgust. “I could never do that to her. Nor could I look her in the eye afterward.” He gave her a solemn look. “She wants me to be happy. To find someone else to love.” He shook his head. “It’s not so easy as that.”

Etayne nodded sympathetically. “Your marriage will be commanded by the king, it seems. As hers was. Do you think this duchess could win your heart?”

Owen scowled. “I’m pretty confident she’ll hate me for what I’m about to do. The king doesn’t expect us to marry. He made it patently clear that we’re going to Brythonica to start a war, not form a marriage alliance. I’m supposed to offend her, not woo her. I’m more than capable of that.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “Oh, you are quite adept at spoiling hopes, my lord.” She fussed with the front of his tunic. “There are no Espion working in Brythonica, so we are going there blindly. What have you heard about it?”

“Most of what I know is from the mayor of Averanche. The fashions in Occitania are quite different from those in Ceredigion or Atabyrion. I’ve heard she’s a pretty lass, but it’s well known that she rarely gives audiences. You’ll be studying her closely, I am sure,” he said with a conniving smile.

Etayne dimpled. “You know me so well.”

“I’m expecting trouble from Marshal Roux. Facing him on the battlefield may actually prove a challenge.”

“Not for you, surely!” she said teasingly.

Owen shook his head and chuckled. Feeling restless, he started to rise from the couch, and she stood to let him up. “How long was I asleep?”

“An hour perhaps. I thought you’d sleep longer. Aren’t you tired?”

“I am,” he said, stretching his arms. “I’m not going to Brythonica without an escort. A hundred men will do, I think. I don’t want to appear too aggressive or distrusting.”