Preston was a mere commoner.
Far beneath a knight of the realm, Sir Malcolm thought with understandable smugness. Even though Preston was on his feet, there was no deference in his gaze. The way he stood, shoulders back, hands fisted, it was more a challenge than an expression of respect and polite self-deprecation.
Cheeky bastard.
In a vague, disconcerting way, Malcolm recognized a bit of himself in Preston. The man seemed to sense real power didn’t lie in rarified titles, but he probably didn’t know what Malcolm did. Power was in the air, in the elements, waiting for an adept man like himself to harness and use it.
When Lord Digory reached the dim corner, he sketched a courtly bow.
“The Countess of Cambourne, I presume. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Baron Digory, but you might recognize me better as head of the Ancient Druid Order. I believe your husband and I were onetime correspondents. At your service, milady.”
He bowed once more over her proffered hand as she thanked him.
“And may I also present my associate?”
Digory’s manners always became more stilted when a bit of whisky warmed his belly.
“Sir Malcolm Ravenwood.” Digory waved his hand in Malcolm’s direction.
With barely a nod of acknowledgment to either of them, Preston plopped back down and returned his attention to his trencher.
“May I offer my sincerest sympathy for your loss, countess?” Digory said.
“You’re most kind.”
Her voice was low-pitched, sultry even. Malcolm remembered she’d been an actress before her marriage, a good one by all accounts. She obviously still knew how to charm an audience. She introduced Jacob Preston, who barely looked up from his pie. Then once Malcolm presented the tray of biscuits, Lady Cambourne invited Digory and Malcolm to join them.
“Not wishing to seem indelicate”—Lord Digory began and then blundered ahead without the slightest hint of delicacy in any case—“but would you still happen to be in possession of those daggers about which your husband and I corresponded?”
She glanced at Preston, who appeared to be preoccupied with stuffing overly large bites of mutton and potatoes into his mouth. “Yes, I still have them.”
“Unusual that your husband didn’t see to it the daggers went to his heir,” Malcolm said. For a man not to hand such power on to his son was unconscionable, but the manner of the earl’s death proved he had no magecraft in his soul. Perhaps Cambourne hadn’t known the full extent of the daggers’ strength.
Until the end.
“My stepson has no interest in such things,” Lady Cambourne said briskly. “The weapons remain in my keeping and I’m looking for more information about them. My husband was so taken with the set, you see. It eases the pain of his parting for me to continue his interests. I’ve engaged Mr. Preston to assist me in my search.”
Jacob Preston looked up for a moment and bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. Then he shoveled another bite into his mouth and washed it down with a large swig of ale without adding a thing to the conversation.
“A commendable way to honor the earl’s memory,” Digory said. “Perfectly understandable, my dear. Is there any way I might be of assistance?”
She glanced at Preston as if expecting him to take the lead, but when he didn’t, she plowed ahead. Malcolm thought he detected irritation glinting in her large brown eyes.
“I’m sure a gentleman of your scholarship is steeped in the lore surrounding this sort of artifact,” she said. “If you could share any information you might have about the set of daggers, I would be most grateful.”
“Actually, I meant since they can only be a reminder of your sorrow, the Order would be pleased to offer you something for them and take them off your hands.”
“Oh, the daggers aren’t for sale,” she said quickly.
Care to wager on that? Malcolm thought.
Digory puffed himself up, a nattily dressed little toad of a man. “I would like
Far beneath a knight of the realm, Sir Malcolm thought with understandable smugness. Even though Preston was on his feet, there was no deference in his gaze. The way he stood, shoulders back, hands fisted, it was more a challenge than an expression of respect and polite self-deprecation.
Cheeky bastard.
In a vague, disconcerting way, Malcolm recognized a bit of himself in Preston. The man seemed to sense real power didn’t lie in rarified titles, but he probably didn’t know what Malcolm did. Power was in the air, in the elements, waiting for an adept man like himself to harness and use it.
When Lord Digory reached the dim corner, he sketched a courtly bow.
“The Countess of Cambourne, I presume. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Baron Digory, but you might recognize me better as head of the Ancient Druid Order. I believe your husband and I were onetime correspondents. At your service, milady.”
He bowed once more over her proffered hand as she thanked him.
“And may I also present my associate?”
Digory’s manners always became more stilted when a bit of whisky warmed his belly.
“Sir Malcolm Ravenwood.” Digory waved his hand in Malcolm’s direction.
With barely a nod of acknowledgment to either of them, Preston plopped back down and returned his attention to his trencher.
“May I offer my sincerest sympathy for your loss, countess?” Digory said.
“You’re most kind.”
Her voice was low-pitched, sultry even. Malcolm remembered she’d been an actress before her marriage, a good one by all accounts. She obviously still knew how to charm an audience. She introduced Jacob Preston, who barely looked up from his pie. Then once Malcolm presented the tray of biscuits, Lady Cambourne invited Digory and Malcolm to join them.
“Not wishing to seem indelicate”—Lord Digory began and then blundered ahead without the slightest hint of delicacy in any case—“but would you still happen to be in possession of those daggers about which your husband and I corresponded?”
She glanced at Preston, who appeared to be preoccupied with stuffing overly large bites of mutton and potatoes into his mouth. “Yes, I still have them.”
“Unusual that your husband didn’t see to it the daggers went to his heir,” Malcolm said. For a man not to hand such power on to his son was unconscionable, but the manner of the earl’s death proved he had no magecraft in his soul. Perhaps Cambourne hadn’t known the full extent of the daggers’ strength.
Until the end.
“My stepson has no interest in such things,” Lady Cambourne said briskly. “The weapons remain in my keeping and I’m looking for more information about them. My husband was so taken with the set, you see. It eases the pain of his parting for me to continue his interests. I’ve engaged Mr. Preston to assist me in my search.”
Jacob Preston looked up for a moment and bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. Then he shoveled another bite into his mouth and washed it down with a large swig of ale without adding a thing to the conversation.
“A commendable way to honor the earl’s memory,” Digory said. “Perfectly understandable, my dear. Is there any way I might be of assistance?”
She glanced at Preston as if expecting him to take the lead, but when he didn’t, she plowed ahead. Malcolm thought he detected irritation glinting in her large brown eyes.
“I’m sure a gentleman of your scholarship is steeped in the lore surrounding this sort of artifact,” she said. “If you could share any information you might have about the set of daggers, I would be most grateful.”
“Actually, I meant since they can only be a reminder of your sorrow, the Order would be pleased to offer you something for them and take them off your hands.”
“Oh, the daggers aren’t for sale,” she said quickly.
Care to wager on that? Malcolm thought.
Digory puffed himself up, a nattily dressed little toad of a man. “I would like
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