He reached out and took her elbow. “We canna speak freely here. My chamber is closest.”
“The pair of you go on,” Lucan said. “As much as it pains me, I have a duty to report back to Hargrave that Cletus has died. I’ll away as soon as I am able and meet you there.” Lucan looked to Beryl. “Stay with him.”
“I need to go to my own chamber,” Beryl argued, and although she did not address Padraig, he could see her agitated frown. “Lady Hargrave will call for me after the meal, and I must be there.”
But the knight was already shaking his head. “No.”
“Sir Lucan—” Beryl pressed.
“I’ll keep her safe,” Padraig interrupted, pulling her to his side. Although the sentiment behind his words was genuine, it pained Padraig to make the pledge to the knight under false pretenses. It was true that he had no intention of letting Beryl out of his sight after they had both come so close to death at an unknown hand. “I suspect everyone will be gathered in the hall for some time after such an event.”
Beryl pulled free. “Neither of you understands,” she insisted. “Lady Hargrave is fragile. She will be greatly disturbed by a death at the feast. She’ll want me. And if she can’t find me—”
“There will be disquiet, no doubt,” Lucan acknowledged. “But I suspect that’s what Hargrave wishes. I’ve the feeling he intends to somehow use the opportunity of Cletus’s death against you, Padraig.”
“He ate from my plate,” Padraig said. “Whatever killed him was meant for me.”
Lucan nodded, his noble face a grim mask. “And so I really must go.” He again looked to the beautiful woman who had distanced herself equally between the two men in the corridor. “Please, stay with him.”
She watched the knight return in the direction of the hall until the shadows had swallowed him, and then she turned and walked past Padraig. He caught up with her in two strides.
“I’ll wait with you,” she allowed. “But only after I go to my chamber. There is aught I must do.”
“I’ll accompany you.”
“No.”
“Aye.”
She was silent until they stood before his door, and then Beryl stopped and spun to face him.
“I must see to Satin. If Lady Caris is in a state, I could be gone all night.”
Padraig opened his mouth, but Beryl forged ahead.
“You can’t come with me. I don’t wish it.”
“Sir Lucan said—”
“Do you always do what Sir Lucan says?” she tossed at him. “It shall take some time to change my costume, and it would do your reputation no favors to stand about in the corridor outside my door.”
“I doona care for my reputation. You shouldna be alone.”
“I’m not the one in danger, Padraig,” she said sternly, but her cheeks flushed, and that was the second time she’d called him by his given name that evening.
“You would have eaten from the same platter.”
Beryl’s gaze did not waver. “It wasn’t meant for me. I’ll—”
The door at his back opened suddenly, and both he and Beryl turned wide eyes to it.
“You’ve returned sooner than I expected.” Searrach was just visible through the slender opening, but what could be seen of her was shocking in the dim light of the corridor; she was very clearly nude.
“Couldna wait to get back to me, I see. Och, Beryl,” she said in a dramatic gasp, and then moved herself behind the door. “I didna know you were there.”
Padraig knew his mouth was agape and he looked between the two women.
Beryl’s mouth was pressed into a thin line. “I wish you a good evening, Master Boyd.” She turned and strode down the corridor on swift feet, escaping Padraig painlessly with the unlikely aid of the naked woman currently residing in his chamber.
“Dammit, Searrach, what are you doing here?”
But Searrach only opened the door wide with a matching smile, revealing the whole of her body.
“I’m your afters,” she said, and then took her bottom lip between her teeth as she seized Padraig’s hand, pulling him into the room and then slamming the door.
* * * *
Iris felt as if her entire head was afire by the time she pushed through her own chamber door and bolted it behind her. She went at once to the panel in the wall to retrieve her writing materials.
Her lips pressed together and her face continued to burn with humiliation, although she couldn’t have explained why—she hadn’t been caught naked in a corridor. She moved to her cot to unpack her supplies, wishing to set down the details in writing quickly, before they began to smudge together in her mind, although she realized that she would likely have more time than she’d anticipated now that Padraig Boyd was occupied with the Scotswoman.
Iris began to list the guests as she remembered seeing them in the hall, but her hand was shaking in an annoying fashion. She paused and raised her gaze from the page, took a deep breath and blew it out. Immediately, her mind’s eye was filled with the image of Cletus, writhing on the stones.
“Argh!” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, hoping the image would be dislodged. But when she opened them, only tears escaped, leaving space for so many other undesirable memories to rush in. Lady Paget’s study of her, Padraig’s attentiveness, Lord Paget’s embarrassing accusations, Father Kettering’s bewildering outburst.
Searrach waiting for Padraig in his chamber. Naked.
Iris sniffed and swiped at her nose with the back of her wrist and then set to her notes again. This was no time for ridiculous self-indulgence. The facts wanted documenting.
The fact was, Cletus was dead. And it could have very easily been Padraig Boyd instead.
She forged ahead with an angry frown, detailing as best she could Lord Hargrave’s speech, Adolphus Paget’s tirade, the dishes Cletus had sampled from the platter on the table. Which
