The Silent Touch of Shadows by Christina Courtenay Read Free Book Online Page B

echoed through her mind once more, but she shook her head to free herself from its cloying tentacles. Steve had spoken those vows once, but he hadn’t meant them in real life, any more than in the dream. Or if he had, he’d quickly forgotten.
    No, there was no happy-ever-after for Melissa.

Chapter Five
    Although servants scurried around putting up trestle tables for the main meal of the day, Roger was happy to see they were out of earshot. What he was about to discuss with the lord of Idenhurst was no one’s business but his own. He preferred to be without an audience.
    They chatted about the weather and the state of the roads at first while they sipped their wine. At the same time, Roger surveyed the hall with curiosity. It was impressive, with a series of windows facing the courtyard and a huge oriel window in the middle of the opposite wall. On either side of this were two enormous fireplaces with carved stone surrounds. They looked newly built and must have replaced the customary open fire in the middle of the room. They struggled to heat the vast chamber, belching puffs of smoke into it from time to time, which made the air heavy. Fresh rushes were being strewn on the floor, and Roger guessed that Lady Presseille ran her household in a well-ordered and cleanly fashion. There were no dogs looking for scraps, so he assumed they’d been banned.
    When the ladies had disappeared, a little of Sir Gilbert’s bonhomie had gone with them. ‘So, you wished to speak to me,’ he said now, raising his eyebrows.
    ‘Yes. It’s with regard to a matter that concerns my late mother, Lady Emma of Langford,’ Roger began, unconsciously lowering his voice a little. He thought he saw a flicker of surprise in the older man’s eyes, but it was quickly masked and he couldn’t be certain.
    Sir Gilbert said only, ‘Oh, yes?’
    Roger tried to see through the polite façade. He needed to judge what manner of man Sir Gilbert might be. His lordship had, at first glance, looked affable enough. Usually skilled at weighing up his opponents, in Sir Gilbert he perceived hidden depths. Judging him proved more difficult than he had anticipated. Roger already knew about the death of Roland Presseille, Sir Gilbert’s only son, because he’d actually been present when it occurred, but he wasn’t about to mention that. Although obviously tired and drawn by grief, the older man appeared calm and collected, with an innate courtesy not always present in a person of his high standing. Roger decided he was probably fair and honest, as Sibell had said.
    ‘I’m a bastard,’ he continued matter-of-factly, ‘and have never felt the lack of a father. However, I have to admit to a certain curiosity as to who my sire might be. My mother assured me that my father was nobly born, but she always refused to tell me his name. On her deathbed, however, she relented and told me to seek you out.’
    The older man’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but he held his tongue.
    Roger went on, ‘She claimed my father was a member of the Presseille family, and said that if you were as honest as she remembered, you would help me to find him.’ He held out his hand and removed a ring from the smallest finger. ‘She said this might help nudge someone’s memory.’
    ‘I see.’ Sir Gilbert’s expression remained calm, but to Roger it seemed almost too carefully neutral. His lordship took the ring and gave it a cursory look before handing it back quickly, as if it burned him, then frowned.
    ‘And have you come to claim recompense of some kind then, or were you simply hoping he would buy your silence?’ Sir Gilbert sounded unaccountably defensive and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
    Roger resented the implied insult. He gritted his teeth to keep his anger contained. ‘I want nothing from my father except perhaps recognition of my existence,’ he growled. ‘Is that so much to ask? I’ve made my own way in life. I have acquired some wealth in the service of noble lords,