“The wood ’round Darlyrede are full of robbers. Have you heard?”
“Aye,” Padraig said. “Did they do that to you?”
She slid her arms from around his waist and withdrew. Padraig turned and watched her walk to the discarded gown. She slipped it over her head, not bothering with the ties so that it hung loose and sacklike on her frame.
Her expression was blank as she returned to his side, where she picked up the decanter and poured wine into the remaining chalice. She replaced the stopper and then picked up the cup deliberately.
“I doona want it,” Padraig said.
But the woman raised the cup to her own lips and drank the contents in one go.
“Ah,” she sighed, and then handed the chalice to him.
Padraig took the cup with a frown. “I know Hargrave sent you to spy on me.”
“Is that what I’m to be doing?” She looked at him with eyes that were flat, like a dog who has been kicked for so long, it no longer expects kindness, no longer fears the abuse. She picked up the decanter and poured the rest of the wine into the cup Padraig still held.
He waited a moment and then brought the chalice to his lips. Like Searrach, he drained the contents in several long pulls.
Searrach looked into his eyes. “You might do well to wonder what secrets your precious Beryl is hiding. I’m nae the only one indebted to a Hargrave.”
She left him in the silence of his chamber, the warmth of the wine in his stomach doing little to dispel the chill at the back of his mind.
* * * *
Iris stood from her seat at the wide window as the door to the chamber opened and Lady Hargrave entered. She was grateful for the interruption of her imagination running wild with thoughts of how Padraig was entertaining Searrach in his chamber. The lady paused in the doorway as her gaze fell upon Iris, and she brought a hand to her chest.
“Oh, Beryl,” she breathed. Caris pushed the door shut and slid the bolt without ever taking her eyes from Iris. And then she hurried across the floor.
Iris met her more than halfway, her hands reaching out. Caris Hargrave ignored them, instead taking Iris into her arms and embracing her.
“Oh, my dear,” she said near Iris’s ear. “Are you all right?” She leaned back and framed Iris’s face with her cool, slight palms, sliding her hands around as if feeling for fever.
“I am well, my lady,” Iris assured her, a lovely, warm feeling blooming in her chest. It had been so long since anyone had cared for her welfare, and Iris hadn’t realized how much she missed it. Perhaps her own mother would have done the same thing. “I came as soon as I had changed, so as not to be seen.”
“Good girl,” Caris praised. “But, my God. That terrible, dead man. You didn’t touch him, did you?”
“No.” Iris led Lady Hargrave to her usual post before the window, where the tray of milk and cheese was already laid. “Forgive me my prying, milady, but what is being said about Cletus’s death?”
Caris sighed again, closing her eyes briefly, as if the strain of remembering was nearly too much for her to bear. “Padraig Boyd, of course, is under suspicion. That savage interloper would do anything to shame this house.”
Iris hesitated, swallowed. “Do you think, perhaps, the meat was poisoned?”
Caris’s eyes went wide. “Who could know? Oh, it’s so distressing. At least the spectacle of it took away Lady Paget’s attention from you.”
“Did she notice me?”
“She did,” Caris said gravely. “I had to assure her that you were no one. You could in no way have a hand in the dastardly goings-on.”
Iris gasped. “She suspected me?”
“Oh, yes,” Caris confirmed. “She saw you stay Padraig Boyd’s hand.”
Iris’s stomach did a turn.
“But have no fear, my dear,” Lady Hargrave said with a gentle smile. “You were right. She did not recognize the face of her maid even after such scrutiny. I don’t think we’re in so much danger of being found out.”
Iris tried to calm her galloping heartbeat. “Milady,” she began. “May I ask you something…of a personal nature?”
Caris blinked but did not answer.
Iris knelt down at the woman’s side, clasping her shaking hands on her thighs. “Are you…afraid of Lord Hargrave?”
Caris Hargrave’s face was a pale mask of serenity in the flickering glow of the candlelight, and Iris wondered how many years of practice the woman had needed to steel herself from emotional response. It was as if Iris hadn’t spoken at all.
“Of course not, my dear.” She paused for a moment. “Why would you think me to be fearful of my own husband?”
“Forgive me, my lady,” Iris whispered. “But I think you know why.”
Caris broke gazes with her to look out the window, and it was several long, tense moments before she spoke. “I feared you would hear rumors once you were away from my protection.”
“I know you have tried to protect me,” Iris rushed. “And that is the only reason I now speak of it. I fear for you, milady.”
Caris turned her head to regard Iris once more, and now her eyes were wide with surprise. “For me?”
“Yes,” Iris insisted. “If you should…continue to try to protect me.”
“Ah,” Caris said with a sad little smile. “I see. Oh, my dear.” She sighed and then held out her hands, into which Iris placed hers. “You must listen to me very carefully, Beryl. And after I have said what I must say, you must promise me that we will never again speak of it.”
“But, milady—”
“No,” Caris interrupted. “I am still your lady, and I will have your word.”
Iris clenched her jaw. “I promise.”
“Thank you. I will hold you to that. Now, you have no experience with what it is like to be married. In fact I would dare say it is precisely because of men that you have ended up in your particular circumstances.
