The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) by Jeff Wheeler Page B

messages about these guests, and as the head of the Espion, he hated surprises. He had the sudden impression that Marshal Roux was there. The man had a nasty habit of anticipating Owen’s actions. “Who?”
    “Lord Tidwell,” Farnes said. “And his daughter Ida. Lord Bascom and his daughter Prynn. There’s also a wealthy merchant from Genevar who stopped at Averanche first and then came to Tatton Hall when he heard you were returning. I think he has a daughter in tow as well. And then there is an heiress from Brugia who is staying in the village. She’s forty years old and quite determined to meet you.”
    Owen stared at Farnes in disbelief. “You’re letting them stay in the manor?”
    Farnes looked helpless. “It would be the height of rudeness not to offer hospitality.”
    Owen wanted to throttle his herald. “It’s the height of rudeness to show up uninvited!”
    The look Farnes gave him was scandalized. “You’re not going to send them away!” he hissed under his breath.
    Owen shook his head. “No. They can stay as long as they like. I’m the one who will go.” He turned back to his groomsman and whistled, startling the young man. He turned to one of his captains. “The men can rest. Etayne and I are riding on to Averanche. Join us there.”
    Etayne’s eyes were alight with amusement. Wisely, she said nothing.

CHAPTER SIX
    Poisoner’s Gift

    Owen was so exhausted when he reached Averanche that he fell asleep on a small couch with a goblet of wine still in his hand. His dreams of Ankarette were so vivid he could smell her scent of faded roses. In them, he was a child again, feeling safe because she was watching over him.
    He imagined her stroking his hair and then realized that the sensation was not part of the dream. It was real. When he blinked his eyes open, he saw Etayne sitting at the edge of the couch, gazing down at him tenderly, her fingers slowly stroking his hair. For a moment, he forgot who she was, where he was, or how he’d come to be there, but the hard ride from Tatton Hall came back in a rush.
    “I fell asleep, didn’t I?” he mumbled, remembering the goblet. She had set it on the table next to the couch.
    “I would have tugged off your boots, but I didn’t want to wake you,” Etayne said. “You looked so peaceful.”
    He rubbed his bleary eyes on the back of his hand and sat up, feeling the warmth from her sitting so near. She glided her fingers through his hair one last time and then nestled her hands in her lap. The look of yearning she gave him made him deeply uncomfortable.
    “How late is it?” he asked, chagrined. The curtains were closed, but the room was dark. It was still the middle of the night. He scooted back until he was sitting up, but she did not give up her seat on the edge of the couch.
    “I made sure the room was secured,” she said, looking over at the curtained window. “The latches are all fastened and set with traps. The bed looks infinitely more comfortable than the couch. There’s some cold capon and cheese over there from the earlier meals served by the castle staff. They didn’t expect you to arrive unannounced, so they’re staying up late to make sure things are ready in the morning.” She smiled at him. “I would have left you, but the door cannot be barred from outside. I didn’t want to leave you so . . . so vulnerable.”
    That was a good word to describe the way he was feeling. He was exhausted from the long ride from Kingfountain. He’d anticipated a quick respite at Tatton Hall, but was in no mood to humor rich heiresses.
    Etayne’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t told me how your trip to the North went.” She reached up and smoothed hair from his brow. “Was it as painful as you suspected? You made it before Lord Horwath passed away?”
    Owen let out a pent-up breath. The room was lit by an assortment of thick candles offering a small glow. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and thought hard about the