Kitabı oku: «Uncovering The Merchant's Secret», sayfa 4

Chapter Five

Jack was torn from sleep by the sound of the door slamming back and wood hitting stone. He had been awake until dawn rose, considering his conversation with the mysterious man before giving into his body’s demand for sleep.

His body jerked and he gazed blearily at the two figures who had entered. They had not visited him before and were dressed in well-cut coats of wool, but their belts were adorned with various weapons that looked well used.

‘Get up,’ the younger of the two—a handsome dark-haired man who Jack thought looked about forty—barked. ‘You’re wanted.’

Jack frowned. He pushed himself on to his elbows, cursing the fact that he still felt slightly dizzy when he moved too suddenly. ‘Who by?’

‘You’ll find out when you get there,’ the man replied curtly. ‘If you don’t come willingly, we’ll take you.’

He pulled the edge of his cloak back to reveal a pair of iron cuffs linked by a heavy chain. Jack pushed himself from the bed, his temper flaring and his fists bunching. He reined it back in. Though the man’s tone caused his temper to rise, he was not prepared to suffer the indignity of being shackled. Besides, this was his first opportunity to leave his room and he would be unwise to pass it up.

He pulled on a loose-fitting jerkin over his tunic and hose. At the end of the bed was a pair of boots. They were well-worn brown leather, scuffed at the heels and toes, and reached to mid-calf. When he pulled them on they fitted him perfectly, fitting to the shape of his soles and toes, so were most likely his own. He inspected them curiously for a moment, waiting for some sign of recognition, but beyond the sense of striding he got nothing.

The men stood by, the one who had spoken drumming his fingers on his crossed arms with an impatient look on his face. A spark of mutiny reared up in Jack and he took time to run his fingers through the side of his hair that wasn’t muffled in the bandage, to adjust his borrowed clothes to his liking and to rub a finger round his teeth to freshen them. He caught a flash of a smirk on the face of the short, wide man.

‘I’m ready,’ he said, addressing the short man. ‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll find out when we get there,’ Dark Hair growled.

They led him along a passageway. Jack gazed round curiously at the rooms he passed. He was, as he had suspected, in a storeroom. The other rooms he passed were being used to store food, including a particularly pungent cheese that made Jack’s mouth water.

They climbed the stairs and emerged in the small courtyard that Jack had seen from his window. He looked back at the building and identified what he thought was his room at the furthest end. He tried not to think of it as a cell because the idea of his imprisonment made his body grow cold with perspiration. He began walking across the courtyard towards the round tower that was the only other building within the walls.

‘Not that way,’ said the short man. ‘Follow us.’

They walked at either side of him and led him through the gateway round the back of the tower. Wind buffeted him, catching his hair and the loose sleeves of his tunic. He inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh air after the stifling yeastiness of the storeroom. A rutted track led down and away from the castle. Jack looked back, ignoring the urging of the two men. The round tower was a squat, wide building with windows set at intervals that revealed three storeys. It clung to the edge of a cliff, with a sheer drop to the rocks below. Jack felt dizzy even looking at it.

‘Come on,’ said the short man, while Dark Hair gave him a rough shove between the shoulder blades.

Eventually, they emerged on a long, curved beach. By the time they arrived, Jack’s back and armpits were clammy with perspiration and the tunic was sticking to him. He hadn’t realised how weak he still was. He walked unaided, though his speed had slightly irritated his captors. He was determined he would not show any weakness to them.

When his feet crunched on the sand, he had to resist the urge to sink down to his knees. Instead he stood and gazed around, moving his head slowly from one end of the beach to the other.

Smooth black rocks rose out of the sea at each end of the cove, providing a natural end, with others scattered along the length, half-buried beneath grey shingle. The tide surged in and out, revealing other rocks concealed beneath the sea. The wind was fierce and cold, and the tide crashed on to the beach in violent rolls that sent spray upwards. White rolls churned further out, indicating there were more rocks. Gulls circled lazily across the pale grey sky, their cries the only voices punctuating the crashing waves.

A lone figure stood on the flat, black rocks just above where the tide reached. He was facing out to sea. He wore his hat pulled down low and a heavy cloak of black trimmed with white fur that billowed in the wind. It was a dramatic pose, clearly contrived for maximum effect. This was the same man who had visited Jack’s room earlier on.

‘We’ve brought him,’ the short man said.

The man on the rock turned slowly, sure-footed on the treacherous rocks. He was wearing the unsettling animal mask. He tilted his head back.

‘Thank you, Andrey. Bring him closer.’

Andrey was the friendlier of the two men. He made to take Jack’s arm, though without much effort, and Jack shrugged him off easily. Andrey seemed to hold no grudge, but followed close behind as Jack walked across the shingle. Jack stopped short of clambering on to the rocks to join the man. The surface was black and they glistened with weed. Jack felt an overpowering sense of nausea and dizziness as he imagined himself flailing, losing footing and crashing into the sea.

The man gestured around him.

‘Well, Master Jack?’

‘Well?’ Jack echoed. He folded his arms and stared at the man on the rock.

He was slightly shorter than the other two, though held himself tall with poise. Beneath the cloak that reached to his knees he wore a bulky leather surcoat, loosely belted at the waist. His chest looked thickset and Jack imagined that the neck and chin beneath the tightly wound scarf would be equally corpulent. If only he would reveal his face. Being able to see only the black eyes was unsettling.

Clearly, the man expected Jack to be cowed and a sense of rebellion swelled in him. He folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet wide.

‘You have me at a disadvantage. I do not yet know your name.’

The man looked at Andrey and the other man. Were they servants or companions? He folded his arms.

‘I am Bleiz Mor.’

Jack started forward, mouth open, then stopped and drew back as fog rolled across his mind once more.

‘You have heard of me?’ The suspicion in the man’s voice was the first hint of emotion Jack had seen.

‘No. Yes.’ Doubt filled Jack’s mind, but there had been a flicker of something.

‘All sailors and Frenchmen have heard of the Sea Wolf,’ the dark-haired man growled. ‘They know to fear him.’

‘Thank you, Ronec,’ Bleiz Mor said. He tilted his head on one side. ‘Is Ronec correct?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jack heaved a sigh, feeling frustrated. ‘Your name seems familiar, but I don’t know where I have heard it. You seem familiar, but I don’t know if we have met. I wish I could remember.’

‘It would be to your benefit if you could,’ Bleiz Mor prompted, somewhat unnecessarily to Jack’s mind.

Jack walked closer to the rocks. Bleiz Mor did not move.

‘Some memories are locked inside my head,’ Jack said. ‘I have tastes and smells, sometimes voices or faces, but they jumble together and I don’t know where they are from.’

He closed his eyes and held his hand out as if he could snatch the memories back that way. The man cocked his head to one side. Again, Jack was filled with a tormenting sense of familiarity he couldn’t explain.

‘Is Bleiz Mor a name or a title?’

‘A perceptive question. If you know my name, then you should know I am to be feared. I do not know if you can be trusted. You may be an ally of the French or a spy for Charles de Blois. I do not know if I can trust you not to betray me.’

‘Then perhaps you should not have told me it,’ Jack pointed out.

‘That’s what I said,’ Ronec growled.

Ronec had clearly spoken out of turn because Bleiz Mor’s head came up sharply and he spat words at Ronec that were too quick for Jack to catch. The intent was clear, though, and, from the resentment in Ronec’s eyes as he bowed his head, Jack realised there was some animosity between the two men.

‘Have you brought me here to be judged?’ he asked. ‘What is my crime?’

‘Crime?’ The head tipped to the side. An inflexion of surprise.

‘I presume I must have committed one to be held in such circumstances and threatened with being chained to be brought to you.’

‘No crime has been committed as far as I am aware,’ Bleiz Mor answered.

‘Not by me at least,’ Jack said. ‘But you have the appearance of having no love of the law, otherwise you would not disguise yourself.’

He kicked the sand, sending a spray of small pebbles cascading into the sea, causing a musical ripple, and looked again at the man on the rock.

‘The vessel I was on was wrecked,’ Jack said grimly. ‘But I am unsure whether it was an accident or intentional. Are you responsible for my situation?’

White-hot fury surged inside him. He was weary to the bone and wanted to be lying down, not standing on a windswept beach with someone who would not even show his face.

‘Am I to be kept in captivity for the simple fortune of not dying along with everyone else?’

He spun towards the man, exhilarated at the thought of plunging into a fight with his fists and feet. Bleiz Mor showed the first sign of agitation Jack had seen, but it didn’t seem to be the threat of attack that had hit the mark.

‘I swear to you now that I had nothing to do with that,’ he spat, his voice rising. ‘And I have not brought you here to be judged or sentenced.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You assume everyone else died.’

Jack considered before answering, ‘I think so. My identity is in question and you clearly wish to know as much as I do. If there was someone who could reveal the truth, I don’t believe you would keep that from me. What would be the point?’

Bleiz Mor nodded. ‘You are a clever man. We have no other survivors. Perhaps some lived and were washed ashore further along the coast, but we have seen no one. You were lucky.’ His voice softened unexpectedly. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

Jack hung his head. Heaviness and a sudden sense of grief enveloped him like a thick mist, chilling him and filling his stomach with blackness. Loss felt as familiar and well fitting as his boots. But who he grieved for, he could not name.

Bleiz Mor swept round to Jack once again.

‘Does this place seem familiar to you?’

Jack walked to the edge of the sea and knelt back on his heels, staring out across the rocks. There was nothing familiar. The sea stretched out and jagged rocks rose above the surface in the distance, but nothing significant struck Jack.

‘Is this where you found me?’

‘It is.’

There appeared to be a flat surface stretching out beneath the tide, turning the sea a black, oily colour. At low tide, it might be possible to walk out.

‘How far does this stretch?’ he asked.

Bleiz Mor shrugged. ‘Far enough that if a ship heads in at the wrong place it will run aground.’

‘Like mine did.’

‘Like yours did.’

‘How did I survive?’

‘My best guess is that you clung to the rocks and were somehow washed ashore. It would explain the gash on your head and the grazes on your body.’

Jack’s hand went instinctively to the bandage. The pain was no longer a blinding throb, but a dull ache he could ignore most of the time. The lacerations on his chest and belly were at the stage where they itched rather than stung. He touched his chest and his mind filled with the memory of Madame Tanet’s hand gently soothing him. His skin grew prickly as he realised he craved her touch again and he lowered his hand, bunching it into a fist at his side.

He lifted his head and found Bleiz Mor had been watching closely. The mask and hat made his features impossible to see, but his stance and the tilt of his head radiated arrogance and authority.

‘You tell me nothing that helps me,’ Jack said. ‘And, as you know, I can tell you nothing that helps you.’

‘It might have been safer to let you die,’ Bleiz Mor said with a cruel laugh.

Jack raised his eyes, his body growing rigid with anger.

‘Perhaps so,’ he snarled. ‘What is the point of me living if I am to stay here in this half life not able to remember anything? If I dash my head against the rocks once more will that restore my memory or snatch what I still know away from me?’

‘I cannot answer that. But I will offer some consolation—once you remember more, I can decide what is to become of you and if I am to let you go.’

‘And what if I never do? Am I to remain here for ever?’ Jack asked. He was filled with a reckless urge to put an end to the torture of his existence.

‘I have done with your insinuations and constant questioning. Kill me now rather than that.’

He strode to where Bleiz Mor stood and dropped to his knees on the shingle, bearing his throat and gesturing to the sword Bleiz Mor wore at his side. He willed the bastard to strike, meaning his words more sincerely than anything he could remember.

Bleiz Mor drew the sword slowly and stepped back, holding it at arm’s length so the tip was a finger’s width from Jack’s heart. The organ in question hammered in Jack’s chest, loud enough that it must be an easy target. Jack waited for the blow that would end his life, staring up with a challenge, and determined to meet his fate with open eyes. Part of his brain told him this was what he had been craving for a long time.

‘You do not fear death?’ Bleiz Mor murmured.

Jack gritted his teeth. The sudden longing for death had felt like the greeting of an old friend. What had his life been like if that was true?

‘It appears not.’

The sword wavered, then Bleiz Mor sheathed it with a smooth gesture.

‘You are fearless as well as clever. If you do not regain your memory, I could make use of a man like you.’

‘As a pirate?’ Jack sneered.

‘As someone defending Brittany against those who would lay claim to her,’ Bleiz Mor answered. ‘We fight to regain our land for the true Duke. There are worse lives than mine.’

‘And better,’ Jack spat. ‘Honest men do not hide their faces and threaten people.’

Bleiz Mor jerked his head and Jack steeled himself for a blow, but instead the masked man leaned close and spoke in an angry whisper.

‘You talk to me of honesty. Do you know what was in the barrels we salvaged? Sunk to the bottom of cheap wine? Weapons. Swords and knives. Your ship was a smuggling vessel. Don’t assume you are any better than I, monsieur. Can you honestly say you haven’t killed or stolen?’

Jack dropped his head. He had no answer and the remembrance of the rage and craving for a fight indicated he might indeed be that sort of man.

Bleiz Mor gave a short laugh. He did not press Jack for an answer, but addressed Ronec. ‘I’m satisfied he knows nothing. Are you?’

‘So shall I slit his throat?’ Ronec growled, fingering the blade of his knife.

Bleiz Mor appeared to consider the offer. Jack lifted his chin, baring his throat.

Ronec laughed and said something in a dialect Jack didn’t know. Bleiz Mor retorted angrily and the two men squared up to each other, both shouting furiously and rapidly. Ronec was taller and wider, but the squat man showed no signs of backing down and, against his will, Jack found himself impressed by his captor’s tenacity. He laughed and both men turned to face him. It seemed to break the tension between them as they shook hands.

‘We’ll have no murder in cold blood here,’ Bleiz Mor insisted.

Ronec sheathed his knife and gave Jack an unpleasant grin.

‘Wait a short while, then take him back to the castle,’ Bleiz Mor said. He swept away up the path Jack had been brought down, leaving the other three men standing on the beach. Jack stared at the short figure, striding away. A sense of loathing welled inside him. It might not be his doing that Jack was in this predicament—the outrage had seemed genuine—but he had made no attempt to make it easy for Jack. His manner rankled.

‘I’d kill the son of a putain now,’ Jack muttered beneath his breath.

Where was he going? Did he live in the tower alongside Madame Tanet? Jack stepped forward to follow him, but Ronec and Andrey were alongside him instantly and took an arm each. Jack attempted to throw them off, but they held tight. Jack flexed his muscles and twisted in their grasp. He was strong, despite the fever that had sapped his strength, but so were they. Under normal circumstances he might have stood a chance of freeing himself, but not now. He would grow stronger and bide his time.

He watched as Bleiz Mor walked away up the path and disappeared round the bend. Jack vowed to himself he would have vengeance on the man for speaking to him in such a manner. He’d tear the arrogant tongue from his mouth and choke the life from him. But within him, a bud of anxiety was beginning to shoot. Knives and weapons concealed in wine barrels?

Was he involved in foul play like the pirate and would he ever discover the truth?

Chapter Six

What to do now?

Blanche removed her disguise. She folded the cloak and gloves and placed them in her wardrobe. She dropped the mask in the hat and put them beneath the table towards the back. She bathed in cold water and brushed her hair loose, then dressed in a gown. It was always a relief to put away her disguise, especially the uncomfortable mask, but the restrictiveness of her tight bodice made her long to wear breeches and a tunic all the time.

She sat by the window, rubbing beeswax into her nails. It would not do for her hands to show signs of labour or exposure to the elements. From there she could see the path that she had walked up. She watched as Jack was brought back to the castle. He was walking slowly, head bowed and shoulders hunched. She was pleased to see Ronec’s manacles had not been necessary, but frowned none the less.

He cut a lonely figure, his large frame folded up on itself as he walked ahead of Ronec and Andrey. He was still weak and looked haggard. She had half expected him to drop dead on the beach—in fact, when he dropped to his knees she had believed his life was giving out.

Blanche drummed her nails on the stone sill and remembered the feeling that had come upon her as Jack had knelt on the sand, his chest smooth and toned, bared and waiting for her to strike. The bruises and grazes were healing and fading. Even if she had intended to end his life, the idea of marring the perfection further had been repellent. She had been consumed with the urge to remove her gloves and run her fingers over his body in a caress, to feel the hardness of his muscles and the softness of the palm-sized area of light hair that reached between his nipples.

She’d expected to see fear or resignation when she drew her weapon, but the blue orbs had been brimming with challenge. When he had begged for death it had not been entirely a surprise. She frowned. Not begged. Demanded. What was his past that he should seek out an end so boldly? Jack was a brave man, whoever he was, and he was not afraid of death. The offer of employment had been sincere, though he had taken it as a taunt and rejected it. If he continued to have no memory, perhaps he could be persuaded.

What to do...?

If you have someone or something, you would produce it.

He had sounded so desperate and agitated that she had almost feared for his mind. She walked to the other window and opened her jewel casket to take out Jack’s cross. This could be the key to release Jack’s memory, or one of them at least. She bit her lip, reminding herself that she did not know where the box was. She had told Andrey they could open it, but then hadn’t done and since coming back to the fort had lost track of it among all the other salvage. It would not be fair to Jack now he was conscious. She ran her fingers over the garnets on the front and let the chain slip through her fingers. She would return it to Jack in a day or two, when he had fully recovered.

She left her room and ordered the servants to prepare a room for Jack. Even though she was now the chatelaine of a lonely tower, she had not forgotten the rules of hospitality that she had been brought up with since childhood. She had sorely breached them and now she had decided Jack would have to stay, she could not house him in a storeroom for ever.

When she received word that his room was prepared she made her way down to the storerooms. Marie was loitering at the end of the passage, holding a bowl and looking nervous.

‘He won’t bite you,’ Blanche chided gently. She took the bowl of white cheese and honeycomb from Marie and sent her off to find Andrey.

Blanche knocked at the door before she entered. There was a short delay before Jack’s low voice answered.

‘Who is it?’

‘Madame Tanet,’ she answered. She pressed her hands against the door.

There was a pause before he bade her to come in. He was standing, leaning against the wall facing the window, arms raised around his head, as if he had been pulling himself up to look out again. He turned and gave her a warm smile that made her toes curl with pleasure.

‘Good day, madame. I saw you leaving the tower and hoped you might be coming to visit me.’

Blanche’s throat tightened at the thought he had been watching while she was unawares. She wondered what else he had seen.

‘You were spying on me?’

‘That’s a severe verdict!’ He glanced over his shoulder at the high window. ‘I have little else to occupy me. Do you blame me for wanting to see what is happening?’

She dipped her head in part acknowledgement and part apology, then held out the bowl.

‘I’ve brought you some food.’

Jack took it from her and began to eat, picking morsels of the cheese delicately between his thumb and forefinger. He ran his finger round the bowl to catch the final crumbs and trace of honey and licked them clean. He almost certainly didn’t intend the action to be seductive, but Blanche’s neck prickled at the sight of his tongue running meticulously around the tips. She licked her lips as if they were covered in honey, too. He noticed her watching and frowned.

‘Excuse my lack of manners. I haven’t been allowed a knife.’ The rebuke was gentle.

‘You have an appetite and are out of bed at least,’ she said. ‘This is good.’

‘Yes. The pallet is not the comfiest place for a man who is not insensible and close to death.’

He rolled his shoulders back and stretched his head from side to side, illustrating the cricks and aches he must have developed and giving Blanche a good look at the firm tendons in his neck and broad shoulders in the process. Jack still looked tired. The shadows beneath his eyes had diminished slightly and his face was a little less lined, but he was clearly still weary. Blanche recalled how he had looked while she had nursed him through his fever, flushed cheeks in an otherwise grey complexion, with a sheen of sweat covering his supple chest.

‘Perhaps the news I bring will be welcome in that case,’ Blanche said. ‘Will you come with me, please?’

He narrowed his eyes and glanced behind her at the passageway, presumably checking if Ronec and Andrey were there to escort him.

‘Of course.’

He pulled on his boots and followed her out. He walked slowly and carefully, his eyes watchful and body held in readiness in case he needed to move into action. Whether or not he remembered it, this was a man who was used to assessing his surroundings. They walked across the courtyard, but when Jack began heading towards the beach path Blanche took hold of his arm. His forearm tensed at her touch and he jerked his head towards her, eyes vividly bright. She removed her hand quickly, recalling how she had cautioned him not to touch her. She should at least give him the same consideration.

‘We’re going in here this time,’ she said, gesturing to the tower.

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘So you know that I was taken to the beach.’

‘I do.’

Jack’s face became guarded, but his eyes grew watchful.

‘I know where you went and who you met,’ Blanche said. This was the test; whether he now admitted he had recognised her or if her disguise had held.

‘Considering your recent illness, confronting Bleiz Mor was foolhardy. Most men would not live if they tried that. Many have died for less.’

Jack’s face contorted with rage that made Blanche quake.

‘Ruthless or not, he toyed with me, taunted me and made accusations that I could not confirm or deny.’

‘But he needed to be sure you were not an agent of the de Blois faction,’ Blanche pointed out. ‘Your memory loss could have been a trick, or you could be unwittingly putting us into danger by your presence.’

‘Nevertheless, I took exception to his manner,’ Jack snapped. He seemed to recall he was talking to a woman and lowered his voice. ‘The next time I encounter him, I hope to have a sword in my hand.’

An air of power emanated from him. Blanche curled her fingers, anxiously tightening them into fists buried deep in her skirts. He spoke with such hatred in his voice and with fair reason. She swore to herself that she must never make the connection between them.

‘Madame, I must ask, are you in danger here?’

Her instinct was to laugh scornfully and tell him she was perfectly capable of keeping herself safe, the same answer she had given to Andrey when she first started on her venture. However, Jack was looking at her with such genuine concern on his face that the words died on her lips and she just stood there, open-mouthed. Jack jerked his head towards the beach path.

‘From that vicious cur. You seem agitated and you have turned pale.’

Blanche lifted a hand slowly to her cheek. It felt hot, the fires stoked by this unexpected show of concern and the intense look that blazed in Jack’s eyes.

‘I’m not in danger from Bleiz Mor,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. It was all she could manage.

Doubt filled Jack’s blue eyes. He must have taken her wavering voice as an admission that she was frightened because he moved even closer, arms outstretched, as if intending to protect her from unseen assailants who might even now be attacking. Or preparing to enfold her within an embrace.

Blanche felt the long-forgotten need to be in someone’s arms and took an uncertain step towards him. Jack reached a hand to her face, but hesitated before his fingers brushed her cheek, his hand wavering in mid-air. The suspense twisted Blanche’s innards and she could swear she felt his touch from the way her nerves shouted. He took another step closer, but still did not touch her. Blanche realised she was holding her breath. Slowly, Jack lowered his hand again.

‘If you are sure. But if I can be of any aid to you, however small or slight, please, know I am here.’

A lump filled her throat that Jack—a stranger who had no reason to care for her well-being—was offering himself as protector when he had such unbearable troubles of his own. For so long she had relied on no one but herself, and the very idea that someone else might be her champion was strange and disconcerting.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. She held an arm out. ‘Please, come with me. The wind is getting chilly.’

He fell in beside her and took it. She led him inside the tower, highly conscious of his body close to hers. The sound of lively music and low murmurs of servants’ voices came from the Hall where the tables were being laid for the evening meal.

‘Up here...’ She gestured, indicating the stone staircase. She dropped his arm and led the way up the stairs. She paused on the first turn to confirm Jack was following her and caught his eyes flickering away. A flash of guilt crossed his face, but he threw it off. Blanche hid a smile. He had been gazing at her body as he walked behind her and was interested in what he had seen. She could not censure him for that. She found it hard to keep her eyes from roving over him in turn. His broad shoulders and great height were so charming.

She led him to the first floor and opened the door, gesturing for Jack to enter, then followed.

‘This room is for you.’

Jack stood in the centre and gazed around. The room was one that Blanche used for visitors and as such was well decorated. A small but comfortable bed, with a luxuriant coverlet of green wool embroidered with blue silks, stood against one wall. A similar coloured tapestry decorated the wall opposite, above a small fireplace. A table and chair stood before the window.

Jack looked suspicious. ‘My new cell?’

‘Not a cell,’ Blanche said. ‘I’m sorry you believed your previous room was one.’

‘The door was often bolted,’ he countered.

‘But, as you see, this room has no bolt, except for one to give you privacy,’ she said gently, walking to the door and running her fingers over the iron. ‘Jack, you are welcome to stay as a guest in this house. With luck something might emerge which could help heal your broken memory.’