Where Love Has Gone Read Free

that.”
    “Better send two men,” Cadwallon suggested,
“and arm both of them.”
    “Aye, I’ll do so,” Captain Piers said,
nodding his approval of the idea. “‘Tis never safe ta send a man
alone inta a strange place. Now, mind ye remember about the tides
here. They come in strong and verra fast. Ye don’t want ta be
caught walkin’ upon the wet sand when the tide turns.”
    “We won’t forget.” Desmond bid farewell to
the captain, then headed for the gangplank with Cadwallon
following.
    “Jersey looks to be a pleasant spot,”
Cadwallon remarked as they rode through the village and onto the
narrow path that led upward to Warden’s Manor. “I like the warmth.
My Janet would enjoy seeing all these pretty flowers.”
    Desmond spared only a glance for the
springtime beauty of the plants growing in rocky crevasses along
the way, filling the open spaces with delicate colors. As the path
wound higher he could see the Daisy standing out to sea and
he noticed how the tide was already receding from the shore of
Gorey village, leaving an ever-widening strip of wet sand.
    Neither he nor Cadwallon wore chainmail,
their armor having been packed into the saddlebags. Being
ostensibly on a peaceful visit, both men were clad in woolen
tunics, hose and boots, with only their swords and eating knives
for protection. Both wore mantles slung over their shoulders,
though they didn’t need them. As Cadwallon had noted, the air was
pleasantly warm, and it was sweet with the scents of many flowers.
The early afternoon sea breeze ruffled Desmond’s short,
sandy-colored hair.
    “I neglected to ask you,” Cadwallon said in a
companionable way, “whether Lord Bertrand knows we are coming?”
    “He does not,” Desmond replied. In response
to his cold tone, Cadwallon cocked an eyebrow at him. Desmond
decided he’d better explain a little more fully. Annoyed though he
was by Cadwallon’s presence, he didn’t want to make an enemy of a
man whose help he was probably going to need. “Royce thought it
best not to provide any warning. That way, anyone who may have
colluded in Aglise’s disappearance won’t have time to make up a
false story.”
    “You ought to have told me before this, and
without my asking.” Cadwallon spoke rather sharply for so
slow-moving and relaxed a man. “We are equal partners in this
mission, Desmond. I expect you to keep me apprised of whatever you
know, as I will inform you of anything I learn.”
    “Fine. I’ll do that.” Desmond wished again
that he were riding to meet Lord Bertrand with only his squire for
company. Still, he could make use of his unwanted companion. “Since
you are a baron and I am only a knight, I suggest you appear to
lead our party. That way, while you converse with Lord Bertrand and
his lady, I will be free to ask questions of the lesser folk.”
    “Which you no doubt consider the more
important work of our mission,” Cadwallon said agreeably.
    As Desmond expected, they were stopped at the
gate set into the thick wall that surrounded the manor
    “Royce of Wortham asked us to pay a visit to
his friend,” Cadwallon said, slipping easily into the half-truths
so familiar to all spies. “We bear messages from Lord Royce, as
well as from some of Lord Bertrand’s other friends at court.”
    The sentry at the gate called to a
man-at-arms, who led the guests into the high-walled courtyard,
where they left their horses in the care of Richard and Ewan.
Desmond knew his squire would garner as much gossip as he could
from the stable lads and from any other squires he met, and he
hoped Ewan was trained to do the same.
    With the man-at-arms as their guide, Desmond
and Cadwallon proceeded through the courtyard to the manor house,
where they found themselves in a large hall. It was past midday and
the main meal was over. Servants were dismantling the trestle
tables. A few men-at-arms stood talking together.
    A quick glance about the hall showed Desmond
no women, save for a few