Jane Feather: The Silver Rose

continue to celebrate. I expect her to return here within a few days."

Ranulf examined him in silence for a minute, his expression intensely speculative. Then he said with a sneer, "Ah, well, I daresay we can contrive to amuse ourselves, Hawkesmoor. But I'm damned if I'm going to keep two hundred guests at my table celebrating a wedding without a bride."

The three brothers turned and went back to the Great Hall, making no attempt to adapt their pace to their brother-in-law's slower one. The hall was filled with breakfasting guests, and Ranulf, with an agile jump, leaped onto the top table.

"Give me your horn?" He snapped his fingers at Ralph, who blinked and then pulled out the hunting horn thrust into his belt.

Ranulf blew a long note and the hubbub in the cavernous hall died as people stared in astonishment at their host in his midnight blue velvet riding dress standing in the middle of the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen. My dear guests," Ranulf began in a voice of spun sugar. "I very much regret to tell you that the wedding celebrations have come to a premature end. Lady Hawkesmoor has been suddenly called away."

The silence elongated as the crowd struggled to understand what had been said. Then whispers started up. "What did he say?" "What was that about the bride?" "Where did she go?" "Is she ill?"

Simon listened in mingled disgust and amusement. On one level he didn't blame Ranulf. The man was probably fed up to the teeth with entertaining such a greedy throng at what must be exorbitant cost. But to bring his party to such a violently abrupt conclusion was scandalous. The court would buzz with it, and God alone knew what the queen would make of it. It was unlike Ranulf to be so careless of Her Majesty's disapproval.

"What the hell's going on, Simon?" Jack spoke at his shoulder. "Are we leaving?"

"No," Simon said. "We aren't. I'm obliged to attend to my wife, and I can't stay in this snake pit without someone watching my back." He limped off, leaving Jack scratching his head in bemusement.

"So my bud's with this Lady Kelburn, you say?" Oliver Becket slumped over the table in the Rising Sun tavern in Cambridge. Idly he traced a pattern in the dribble of ale that had spilled from his overfull tankard when the potboy had thumped it down.

Ranulf regarded his friend with a degree of irritation. He needed Oliver's attention and clearheaded assistance, and the man appeared to be as drink sodden as Ralph. "Apparently she's staying with the Kelburn woman for a few days." His expression grew black. "If she really is breeding, I'm going to have to do something about it. Lucifer! But that bloody-minded girl has completely run out of hand!"

Oliver nodded sagely. "Can't have a Hawkesmoor child taking off with her dowry."

"No. But I'd cross that bridge when it comes. While she's away I intend to get those Arabians out of the stables and settle the Hawkesmoor once and for all. Then we'd start afresh."

"I'll get rid of that Hawkesmoor bastard for you." Oliver's bloodshot eyes glared at the pattern he was making on the stained planking. "That what you want me to do, Ranulf?"

No. I'll take care of that myself. I want you to see to the horses." Ranulf sipped his claret with a faintly fastidious frown. "I'm staging a party this evening, and while we and the Hawkesmoor and his friends are so occupied, you will raid the stables and get the entire stud off Ravenspeare

Oh." Oliver blinked his eyes heavily. "Much rather do away with the Hawkesmoor, Ranulf."

"What did he do to you?" Ranulf leaned forward curiously. Something had occurred between the Hawkesmoor and Oliver to drive the latter from Ravenspeare Castle, but so far Oliver wasn't telling.

Oliver flushed and buried his face in his tankard. "Let's just say I bear the man a grudge." When he set down the now empty tankard, his eyes had cleared and his voice was less slurred. "What about Ariel?"

"Oh, don't worry about my sister. Once she's been shorn of her horses and her husband, I'll deal with her. She'll remember her place again."

"Not sure she ever knew it," Oliver remarked with unusual sagacity. "But if those horses of hers are so valuable, won't you need her to run the breeding program?"

"She'll run it." Ranulf's lips thinned. "She'll run it for me. I intend to keep a stallion and a mare from the stud, as seed for a new strain, and ship the rest off to the Hook of Holland as I did with the mare. My agent'll find buyers for them there."

"Mmm." Oliver nodded. "And you'll have Ariel back, widowed, her dowry returned to Ravenspeare…"

"Precisely. And I swear that my sister will never leave Ravenspeare land, if I have to keep her in shackles." Ranulf refilled his glass from the dusty bottle on the table beside his elbow.

"No more husbands, then?" Ranulf shook his head.

"So where does that leave me… vis-a-vis your sister?"

"Wherever you wish it to, my friend."

"I've a score or two to settle with that young woman," Oliver mused, a nasty glint in his eye.

"Then you may settle them with my blessing." Ranulf reached over and punched his friend's upper arm. "You may have exclusive rights to my sister, Oliver. But first we have to get rid of the Hawkesmoor."

"So what's this party, then?"

Ranulf's eyes narrowed. "One of my specials, Oliver."

"Oh-ho. That why you're in town?" Oliver managed to look relatively astute.

Ranulf merely nodded. "I've a little game in mind, and while we're playing it, the Hawkesmoor will suffer an accident. And this time," he added with a savage frown, "there'll be no interference from my busybody little sister." He drained the contents of his glass, his charcoal eyes spitting remembered anger.

Then he continued, with a small dismissive shake of his head, "But while we're busy in the Great Hall, Oliver, you will be busy in the stables. Nine o'clock tonight. You'll drive the animals to the livery stables in Huntingdon. They're primed to receive 'em. My men will take them from there to the shipyard in Harwich in the morning."

Oliver grunted. "Poor compensation for missing one of your special parties, Ranulf."

"Never mind, you'll have my sister soon enough to make up for it." Ranulf pushed back his chair with a scrape on the sawdust-littered door. "There are men on guard around the stables. Make sure you come prepared to deal with them. Fortunately you won't have to contend with those damn dogs. They've gone with Ariel on retreat."

Oliver's grin was wolfish. "I claim the right to collect the widow from the Kelburn woman… comfort her in her bereavement."

Ranulf laughed. "We'll see. I'm off now to choose the toys for my party this evening."

"You sure the Hawkesmoor and his friends will play? Your little games aren't likely to appeal to that stiff-necked clan of Puritans."

"They'll play," Ranulf said confidently. "They'd play because they'll think they might be able to influence the proceedings for the good. They won't be able to stand aside, turning a blind eye to the plight of my pretty toys."

"Oh, what a reader of men's souls you are, Ranulf."

Oliver chuckled and snapped his fingers at a passing potboy, gesturing to his empty tankard.

"You won't be able to do your part if you're befuddled, man."

Oliver chuckled again. "Don't worry, Ranulf. I'm a past master at sobering up when the need arises."

Ranulf knew that this was true, so he merely raised a hand in salute and went on his way to a small house on the far side of Midsummer Meadow where he could pick and choose the toys for his special party.

Simon rode down the narrow track to the drainage cut. The reed-thatched cottage stood on a knoll above the dike. Even when he reached the gate, he hadn't decided exactly how he was going to deal with the situation. Arguing with Ariel would accomplish nothing. Neither did he see much profit in taking the caveman route. Hauling her off by her hair, while it had a certain appeal in his present mood, would cast him in the role of villain, and he'd had enough of that from Ariel.