Page 93 of Wed By Proxy

“Nothing of that sort,” Oswald hastened to assure him with a flicker of a smile. “No man has ever escaped a legal document I’ve drawn up. You were locked in tight, never fear.”

Guy relaxed. “Then whatever it is, it makes no difference to me.”

“Kerslake was a double-agent,” said Oswald smoothly. “He operated both for the north and for the south. Always has.”

Guy stood very still for a moment at this astonishing piece of news. Tristan Kerslake was a traitor? Then he swallowed. “Karadok is united now,” he said at last with a quick shake of his head. “This is no concern of mine.”

“There are still certain... factions. Rumbling away. That would seek to depose King Wymer if they could.”

“I’m not among their number. Not anymore.”

“Oh, I know that,” Oswald agreed blandly. “You take your vows very seriously.” Guy stiffened, but it seemed Vawdrey did not mean to cause offence. “There is also the fact Princess Una refused your attempt to free her three years ago at Sandysford,” he carried on casually. “Yes, I know all about that.”

“How?” Guy licked his lips. “The princess told you?”

Oswald shook his head. “You do her a disservice. It was Kerslake that told us. He had a first-hand account.”

“From Ulverston,” guessed Guy. He was silent a moment. “Tristan told you that, knowing he could have got us all hung as traitors?” He could hear the disbelief in his own voice.

“Oh yes,” agreed Oswald with a nod. “He told me that and a lot more. Every time a northern lord drank a toast to the imprisoned princess, every treasonous remark, every half-baked plot. All the northern nobles held him in such high esteem,” mused Oswald. “He had all their confidences. After all, he lost everything in the war, did he not? His birth-right.”

Guy clenched his hand. “It wasn’t his birth-right. He was the second son. If Miles had ever known he was capable of such perfidy—” Miles would have struck down his brother himself. Still, he thought, swallowing down the bitterness, he had other aspirations now.

“All this is nothing to me,” said Guy harshly. “I don’t care if Tristan is a spy. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“Well, he’ll be doing precious little spying in future,” commented Oswald wryly. At Guy’s questioning look he carried on a little ruefully. “After you departed, Kerslake decided to rid himself of a loose end.” Oswald shot a glance at Guy’s frowning face. “You see, one time at court, your wife saw Kerslake in my company. I did say, did I not, that she is a particular friend of my countess?” Guy struggled to focus on what exactly he was being told. “It is common knowledge, I believe, even this far North, that as well as Chief Advisor to the king, I am also his spymaster?” Vawdrey continued calmly.

“Aye,” Guy rumbled. “What of it?”

“It would seem Kerslake did not feel easy in the knowledge that the Marchioness of Martindale could let this slip at any moment, shattering the confidence so many held in him in this part of the country. He wrote to me. And what he wrote alarmed me so greatly that I thought it expedient to come North immediately.”

Guy’s heart clenched. “You mean—?”

“He attempted to take her life, two mornings ago.” Guy took an involuntary step forward. “Unsanctioned of course. I would never have approved such a course of action.”

Guy struggled a moment with his reaction of alarm and panic. His gaze shot over Vawdrey’s shoulder, seeking out her figure through the opening in the tent. “She’s not hurt? She—?”

“Defended herself very ably,” Oswald continued smoothly. “With your dagger, or so she tells me. He did not emerge from the encounter with his life.”

Guy paused, turning cold all over. “You mean…” He focused on that small figure again. It was the only way he could keep his calm. Tristan Kerslake had waited until he had left home and had then attacked his wife? “Nay.”

Oswald smiled thinly. “I think I probably spared you a good deal, being the one to come across her running down from that mountain, her skirts covered in blood.”

Guy thought of the baby Helga had spoken of and swayed. Vawdrey stepped forward sharply to grab his arm. “It was not her blood,” he assured him. “But still, it was not the sort of sight a husband would relish overmuch.”

“I need to see her, Vawdrey,” Guy muttered hoarsely, his fists clenched. “Tell me now what I can say or do to make that happen.”

Oswald looked thoughtful. “Believe it or not, I am fully alive to your plight,” he said sympathetically and let Guy absorb these strange words before continuing. “If I were to arrange a meeting between you now..?” He let his words trail off.

“I can give the assurances she needs,” Guy practically begged. And he wasn’t ashamed to do it. “Then after to the queen, her mother, whoever.”

“Very well then,” said Lord Vawdrey. “Allow me to retreat and confer with Queen Armenal. I shall return forthwith.”

XXXXI

Mathilde hurried in Lord Vawdrey’s wake, it was so cold it was almost painful to breathe, and she was suddenly filled with horrible misgivings. Did Guy even know that his best friend’s brother had died by her hand? As she approached the green striped tent, she saw the northerners there all give her their bows and call her name in greeting, although she did not recognize them all. Then she realized they were all calling her Lady Martindale. She threw them her most dazzling smile.

“Good morn,” she called warmly. “Good day to you all!” At the opening, Lord Vawdrey threw back the curtain and bowed, allowing her to enter ahead of him. She barely noticed when instead of following her inside, he simply fastened it shut behind him.