would they do that, unless they’d feared being overheard? And which, then, were their natural voices—those in the garden or the hall?
It was also possible that the plotters were not even nobles. Servants crossed the garden to get from the courtiers’ apartments to the hall all the time; no one would look askance at a small group of servants talking together for a moment.
As for Armand’s impertinent, improper, unwelcome kiss, his reason for it was plausible, and yet…
A sound echoed in the narrow stairwell—a soft, slight scraping, as if something had rubbed against the step or wall, like a heel or the edge of a scabbard.
Adelaide quickened her pace, hurrying to reach the guest chambers where she could expect to find servants waiting for their masters and mistresses to retire, including the maidservant the steward had assigned her.
She missed her footing on one of the low, worn steps and fell on her hands and knees. A strong hand grabbed her arm and started to pull her up.
Panicking, she swung hard and hit a face.
Armand de Boisbaston’s face.
“God’s teeth!” he growled, putting a hand to his cheek.
“You scared me!” she exclaimed, her heart beating like a startled bird’s wings. “I thought you might be one of the assassins.”
“If I was,” he said through clenched teeth, “it might be because you aroused my suspicions with your behavior in the hall tonight. I gather it’s not usually your habit to converse with every male in the hall, or dance with any man who asks, but you were certainly the merry gadabout tonight. You couldn’t have drawn more attention to yourself if you tried.”
Adelaide didn’t appreciate his criticism and raised her chin. “I thought time was of the essence, so I talked to as many men as I could. Are you truly distressed to think I put myself at risk, or are you upset because a mere woman might prove to be more useful in such a matter than a mighty warrior?”
“I’m upset because you deliberately put yourself in danger.”
“If I can prevent a battle for the throne, then I’ll put myself in danger. And where was all this noble concern for me when you kissed me and risked my reputation?
“What have you done to determine who is plotting against the archbishop and William Marshal, my lord, except talk to Randall FitzOsbourne and dance with Lady Mary? Have you already determined, as I have, that it was most likely not any of the noblemen in the hall this evening that we heard? Have you, too, concluded that it must be a high-ranking servant, clerk or soldier to speak with such an accent and yet not be in attendance on the king?”
“I’ve not been idle,” he impatiently replied. “I spoke with Godwin, one of the soldiers here, and he told me three men left Ludgershall before the evening meal—a clerk from Salisbury with a message for the bishop, a steward from a castle belonging to Sir Francis de Farnby, and a tailor from London who’d brought some samples of cloth for the queen.”
“I hardly think a London tailor could be the perpetrator of such a plot.”
“If he was a tailor,” Armand shot back.
That gave her a moment’s pause before she continued just as defiantly. “Perhaps the conspirators are not gone, and since they may still be here, we should continue to look for them, in any way we can.”
“I will not allow you to put yourself in jeopardy.”
She wasn’t going to let him, or any man, intimidate her, or tell her what to do. “You have no right to rule me, my lord, so I don’t need your permission, your protection, your approval or your help to do what I must do. Now, if I have your gracious leave, I am going to bed, and tomorrow, I may very well discover I have to speak to several of the king’s clerks. That, I will do, whether I have your permission or not.”
She swept her skirts behind her and continued up the stairs, determined to prove to Armand de Boisbaston that she was no flighty, foolish woman overwhelmed by his looks, his kiss or his masculine arrogance.
While pretending to fall in love with him because he had made that necessary.
ARMAND GLARED after Adelaide a moment, then turned and marched back down the steps to the hall. God’s blood, of all the high-handed, stubborn women! She was precisely the sort of female he would never marry!
He was so angry and engrossed in silently denouncing Adelaide, he didn’t see the shadow that shifted in the flickering torchlight when he left the stairwell.
Or the person who made it.
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