The Trials of Alaric (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #8)

Chapter Twenty-Three

W ell before seven, Alaric was up and dressed. He walked through the castle, carrying his boots so he did not wake anyone else. The tallest tower on the seaward side was little used, but Claddach’s housekeeper was conscientious and each room he came to as he climbed the stairs was clean and tidy. He saw no hidden doors, but then he wouldn’t, would he? If they were hidden?

So, he came back down the stairs, stopping at each room to run his hand over panels and examine floorboards. Still nothing. It was nearly time to meet the others, and Bea didn’t think this tower was the one in the verse, but Alaric would come back if they found nothing in the other towers.

He hurried from the tower to the main door, and found Bea, Ellie, and Luke all waiting. Tarquin and Eloise arrived before he’d had time to say more than, “Good morning.” Bea nodded to the footman who was standing by to open the door, and they all thanked him as they passed out through the door and into the fresh, crisp morning that waited beyond.

“I was thinking about the verse,” Luke announced. “I think we should start with the north tower. It is closest to Scotland, and by the time of the knights, Scots pirates were a great danger to English shipping. Irish pirates were more active in Tudor times, which is probably a little late for the Earl of Claddach to have knights in his watchtowers.”

“It is a good point,” Bea noted. “I was thinking of the Vikings, but that is a little early for knights, is it not? In any case, Vikings would most likely have come here from Scotland or Wirral in England. Even if they came from Dublin, they were as likely to round Claddach from the north as from the south.”

They all looked to Alaric, who shrugged. “North it is,” he said. “We have to start somewhere.”

Bea had brought the key for the watchtower door. She opened it, and Alaric said, “Let’s start at the top. I imagine that would be where the knights kept watch, since they could see more of the sea on the other side of the bluff from the highest point.”

The others set off toward the stairs that spiraled up from one side of the ground floor room, but Bea stopped. “I had forgotten. The very top door has always been locked. For as long as I can remember.”

Alaric pulled the ring of keys from the pocket of his coat. “That might explain why I found these under my mattress last night.”

They all stopped to look at the keys dangling from his hand. Bea was the first to speak. “The locked door is a good sign then. Let us go and see if one of the keys is a fit.” She was the first to reach the stairs, and the others followed, hurrying up them as fast as they could.

The tower had eight levels, and the stair spiraled through the immensely thick stone walls, with openings into the interior on every level. They climbed past empty room after empty room. The run had become more of a walk by the time they reached the top floor. The stair spiraled on up. “The top of the stair opens onto the roof,” Bea explained. “From up there, you can see for miles. But the view from the room below is nearly as good—or, at least, it is in the watchtower at the far end of the inner wall, which is in every way the same as this one, so I do not see why the top room would be different.”

“Try the key, Alaric,” Tarquin said.

The second of the larger keys fitted and turned. Alaric stepped back and asked Bea to open the door. She did so, and stepped inside, followed by the others.

The room inside was unexpected. Alaric’s first impression was of a blaze of color, but that was a reaction to the grey stone he had seen all the way from the ground. As his mind adjusted, the bewildering chaos resolved into tapestries, carpets, drapes, furnishings. The watch room had become a bedchamber.

No. More than a bedchamber, for a large desk resided under one window, and comfortable seats beckoned from near the fireplace. In which a fire was laid, awaiting only a flame.

It was a luxurious medieval fantasy of a room.

“My,” said Bea from beside him. “I had no idea.”

“Was that the hidden door?” Ellie asked. “And if so, where is the secret gold?”

“The door wasn’t hidden,” Alaric pointed out. “Just locked. Also, the verse says doors, not door. But the key let us enter the room, so we must be in the right place.”

“Are you meant to sleep here?” Eloise wondered.

It was possible. “I think the uneasy sleep was about finding the keys, but I cannot be certain.”

“Let us search,” Luke suggested. “Hidden doors could be under any tapestry or behind drapes. Even in the furniture.”

“Search carefully,” Bea warned, lifting the nearest tapestry to peer behind it. “This must be Papa’s retreat. We don’t want to damage anything.”

It was Luke who found it. He drew the drapes for more light and disclosed a large window on the seaward side of the tower. Here, eight floors up and on the edge of an eight-hundred-foot cliff, the builders had not been concerned about stray arrows or siege engines, or even the structural integrity of the tower since they were right at the top.

Instead, their aim had been the best possible view of the sea, and all six searchers stopped to stare out over the ocean. They had to step right into the window embrasure to do so. A wooden frame had been built to jut out over the cliff, allowing a watcher to see down the cliff to the waves breaking below and to both sides, as well as so far ahead that, in the far distance, a soft misty shape against the sky was very possibly Wales.

Heavily carved paneling lined the embrasure, and a window seat had been built under the bay of the window frame. Alaric could imagine reclining there, on the colorful cushions, dreaming as he looked out to sea.

The paneling and seat were not recent, Alaric thought. The wood was dark with centuries of polish, and to his eye, the carving looked Tudor, or perhaps earlier.

“There are cupboards under the window seat,” Luke commented. “I’ll check those.”

Reminded of their goal, the others returned to their search, until Luke called, “Alaric! Come and look at this.”

Luke was kneeling on the window seat and had piled the cushions behind him, so the carved panels were laid bare down to the wood of the seat. “I’ve found several cupboards that weren’t obvious,” Luke explained, waving an airy hand at a couple of open doors. “But once I realized they were there, I opened them easily enough. Nothing inside. But look.”

He ran the tip of his finger down the paneling in a straight line, and Alaric could see it. A crack. But the wood was old and probably dry. Dry wood cracked. Luke moved his finger back to the top of the crack, stretching to do so, and ran it in a straight line toward the window. Alaric’s interest sharpened. And when Luke, without taking his finger from the wood, dropped it down in another straight line, he was almost convinced.

“How do we open it?” he asked, examining the carving for something that looked like a handle.

“I’ve tried to twist, push, or slide all the knobs I can find,” Luke told him. “I don’t think that’s it. I think it is locked, Luke, and one of these holes in the pattern will take your key.”

By now, the others had gathered around. “Try it,” Bea said.

The first two holes were not deep enough, but in the third hole, the second largest key met with a brief resistance and then turned. They waited. The panel remained stubbornly shut. Luke tried the knob—it was a carved rose—closest to the lock and this time, it turned. Still, the panel did not open.

They stared at the paneling in disappointment, no one looking more crestfallen than Luke.

“That should have worked,” he complained.

“Doors,” said Tarquin. “Alaric, you said it. The verse says doors. And look!” He traced a rectangle that shared a long side with the first. It extended beyond the window seat toward the room, but it definitely looked like a door. Or as much like a door as the first had.

Alaric looked at his remaining key.

“Too small,” said Bea. “Try the same one again.”

He looked up into her eyes and saw the same excitement in them that he felt. Then he tried the second key. This time, he found the correct hole on the first try, judging it by the position of the other. He stepped back to let Luke turn the rose on that door, and both doors popped open.

“The hidden doors,” Luke said, unnecessarily.

The cupboard was empty. Alaric could not have described the depths of his disappointment, and from his friends came a chorus of sighs.

Then Eloise spoke. “Lord Lucas, were the other cupboards you opened carved inside, as well as out?”

They all turned to look at her. Then Luke reached out to stroke one of the details on the inside of the door nearest to him. His touch was almost tender, as if the carving were a baby animal or a beloved woman. “No,” he said. “No, they were not.”

Ellie stated the obvious, her voice full of awe. “These ones are.”

Both carvings seemed more modern than the rest—the wood less discolored by time, the proportions of the scenes closer to real life. They both showed lovers. Alaric squinted at the edge of the door nearest to him, and sure enough, he could tell that the inner carved panels were applied to the doors, and not an integral part of them. Indeed, the doors were remarkably thick for cupboard doors—perhaps as much as an inch and a half.

On the left-hand door, two people in the long chainmail hauberks of medieval knights stood hand in hand. One wore padded leggings and a conical helmet with a nose piece. The other was a woman, her long gown showing under the hauberk and her plaits tied in a crown of hair around her head.

On the right, the embracing lovers were from the late medieval. Alaric guessed the era from the high-waisted gown and elaborate head dress on the lady and the hip-length doublet that showed under the robe worn by the gentleman. Their robes, capes, and hats appeared luxurious and ornate, and they were hung about with jewels.

The background of both panels showed crops being harvested, boats coming ashore laden with fish, and simply dressed people dancing.

Bea touched the nearest lady with gentle reverence. “Brede daughter of Fergus, and first Lady of Claddach,” she said. She moved her hand to the knight. “Turstin son of Waudrile. Her consort.”

The others stepped out of her way as she moved to the second panel. “Lulach FitzWaudrile, Second Lady of Claddach. Jamie McAllister. Her consort. The panels show the first two Ladies of Claddach and the men who loved them.”

“But where is the gold?” Eloise asked.

As if light suddenly poured into his mind, Alaric knew. The secret gold of which the verses spoke was the Lady of Claddach. The two depicted, and the one beside him, who did not yet hold the title but would in time to come.

And then he suddenly understood the last two lines. He said nothing, however. How could he? To announce such a thing in public, even to dear friends, before he had told the two people who most deserved to know?

As the others discussed the images and the rhyme, Alaric realized that Bea also remained silent.

*

Her father was a cunning man. Bea had always known that. Known, too, that he was proud of her. It was only today that she realized how much he loved her. She had solved the last riddle, and she was almost certain that Alaric had, too. He went very quiet, and he kept looking at her when he thought he would not be noticed.

Did he truly understand? Every few minutes he would smile, as if he were full to the top with joy that bubbled from within and had to be released, or he would burst in front of the whole house party. Or perhaps she was putting her own feelings on to Alaric.

Time would tell. She had a visit to the ancient abbey to conduct, and Alaric was off to answer her father’s questions. But afterward! Afterward, if she was right about what Alaric thought and intended, she would be able to pick up all the dreams she had set aside when she agreed to choose her husband through the trials.

Afterward.