Read Online The Maiden's Hand by Susan Wiggs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Wiggs
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the flagged floor. Long, dappled shafts fell on a frail man whose skin hung loose upon his skeletal frame. He had wispy hair that might have been black at one time, proud aquiline features and keen eyes.
He hardly looked the hero or the crusader, yet there was something about him. The aura of a powerful mind that had outlived its useless body.
“Why did you tell Kit to leave the room, my lord?” asked Oliver.
“We’ll need him, but not yet. Do sit down.”
Spencer had a pleasant way of giving orders. He was, taken as a whole, a rather pleasant man. The fact that Oliver owed his life to the earl made it easy to like him.
“I should thank you,” he said. “I thought I was done for, that it would all end at the gallows. My lord, I am in your debt.”
Spencer nodded. “The life of an innocent man is payment enough. Still, I do need your help.”
“What is it, my lord? What can I do to repay you?”
Spencer stared at the foot of the bed, where a great chest with an arched lid stood. “The deed is possibly illegal. At best, it’s a manipulation of the law.”
Oliver grinned. “I’ve been known to break a statute or two in my time. In sooth, Oliver Lackey was not wholly innocent. I did indeed incite riots and mayhem when the mood took me. Tell me more of this task.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“My forte.”
“It involves a great deal of record searching.”
Oliver’s spirits fell, for such work bored him. “Not my forte.”
“That is why we’ll need your friend Kit.”
Oliver was suddenly impatient with the whole affair. He resisted the urge to start pacing again. Even in sunlight the room held the dank promise of death. Blackrose Priory was a strange place indeed, peopled with strange inhabitants, not the least of whom was Mistress Lark. He much preferred the rollicking atmosphere of London.
“My lord,” he said, “I cannot help but wonder what you require. Mistress Lark went to a great deal of trouble to find me and bring me here.”
Spencer clutched the tapestried counterpane as if he wished to leave his bed. “You gave her trouble?”
The ferocity of the question took Oliver aback. “No, my lord. But I do confess I wasn’t sitting at home waiting for her to come calling. She found me—” he dropped his voice to a mumble “—at a Bankside tavern.”
“God’s shield,” Spencer snapped. “I expected better from you.”
He sounded like someone’s father, Oliver thought. “She is incredibly loyal to you, my lord,” he observed, hoping to turn the subject.
“Of course she is,” Spencer grumbled. “I have raised her from infancy. Given her every advantage, taught her a woman’s duties—”
“A woman’s duties? And what might they be, my lord?” Oliver had a few ideas of his own, but he wanted to hear Spencer’s answer.
“Obedience. That above all things.”
“Ah.” Oliver had to remind himself that Spencer was his host and responsible for saving his life. He had to content himself with the mildest comment he could muster. “My lord, I have never subscribed to the view that women are inherently sinful and need to be brought to heel like mongrel puppies.”
Spencer wheezed out a long-suffering sigh. “You still do not understand, do you, my lord? You believe I summoned you here to help me. It’s Lark, you jolt-head. I brought you here to help Lark.”
“He wants us to what?” Kit demanded.
They strolled in the parkland north of the old priory. The forest in the distance covered the rising hills with skeletal gray trees. Archery butts and a quintain, long idle, rose from the yellowed lawn amid a tangle of wild ivy. An abandoned well, surrounded by rubble, stood amid the disarray. A broken stone pedestal lay near the well, where doubtless some saint or other had once reigned in serenity.
“Break the entail on this estate,” Oliver explained. “He doesn’t want Wynter to inherit.”
“Wynter must inherit, since you say he’s the eldest—and
He hardly looked the hero or the crusader, yet there was something about him. The aura of a powerful mind that had outlived its useless body.
“Why did you tell Kit to leave the room, my lord?” asked Oliver.
“We’ll need him, but not yet. Do sit down.”
Spencer had a pleasant way of giving orders. He was, taken as a whole, a rather pleasant man. The fact that Oliver owed his life to the earl made it easy to like him.
“I should thank you,” he said. “I thought I was done for, that it would all end at the gallows. My lord, I am in your debt.”
Spencer nodded. “The life of an innocent man is payment enough. Still, I do need your help.”
“What is it, my lord? What can I do to repay you?”
Spencer stared at the foot of the bed, where a great chest with an arched lid stood. “The deed is possibly illegal. At best, it’s a manipulation of the law.”
Oliver grinned. “I’ve been known to break a statute or two in my time. In sooth, Oliver Lackey was not wholly innocent. I did indeed incite riots and mayhem when the mood took me. Tell me more of this task.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“My forte.”
“It involves a great deal of record searching.”
Oliver’s spirits fell, for such work bored him. “Not my forte.”
“That is why we’ll need your friend Kit.”
Oliver was suddenly impatient with the whole affair. He resisted the urge to start pacing again. Even in sunlight the room held the dank promise of death. Blackrose Priory was a strange place indeed, peopled with strange inhabitants, not the least of whom was Mistress Lark. He much preferred the rollicking atmosphere of London.
“My lord,” he said, “I cannot help but wonder what you require. Mistress Lark went to a great deal of trouble to find me and bring me here.”
Spencer clutched the tapestried counterpane as if he wished to leave his bed. “You gave her trouble?”
The ferocity of the question took Oliver aback. “No, my lord. But I do confess I wasn’t sitting at home waiting for her to come calling. She found me—” he dropped his voice to a mumble “—at a Bankside tavern.”
“God’s shield,” Spencer snapped. “I expected better from you.”
He sounded like someone’s father, Oliver thought. “She is incredibly loyal to you, my lord,” he observed, hoping to turn the subject.
“Of course she is,” Spencer grumbled. “I have raised her from infancy. Given her every advantage, taught her a woman’s duties—”
“A woman’s duties? And what might they be, my lord?” Oliver had a few ideas of his own, but he wanted to hear Spencer’s answer.
“Obedience. That above all things.”
“Ah.” Oliver had to remind himself that Spencer was his host and responsible for saving his life. He had to content himself with the mildest comment he could muster. “My lord, I have never subscribed to the view that women are inherently sinful and need to be brought to heel like mongrel puppies.”
Spencer wheezed out a long-suffering sigh. “You still do not understand, do you, my lord? You believe I summoned you here to help me. It’s Lark, you jolt-head. I brought you here to help Lark.”
“He wants us to what?” Kit demanded.
They strolled in the parkland north of the old priory. The forest in the distance covered the rising hills with skeletal gray trees. Archery butts and a quintain, long idle, rose from the yellowed lawn amid a tangle of wild ivy. An abandoned well, surrounded by rubble, stood amid the disarray. A broken stone pedestal lay near the well, where doubtless some saint or other had once reigned in serenity.
“Break the entail on this estate,” Oliver explained. “He doesn’t want Wynter to inherit.”
“Wynter must inherit, since you say he’s the eldest—and
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