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Chapter Two
Fin
“How is he doin’?”
“He is alive,” the Duke’s physician Walter told Fin. “His condition is still grave, but there are signs of improvement.”
Because he was usually Col’s shadow whenever he came to York, the people had gotten used to seeing Fin around the castle. Though some of the English were still unsettled by the sight of Scotsmen wandering the halls, because they were part of the Duke’s family now, they did not give him any trouble.
“Tis good news,” Fin replied. “Tis very good news.”
“So long as he continues to improve, it is good news,” Walter said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to see the Duke.”
Walter walked out of the chamber, leaving Fin alone with Hollis, his second in command. Hollis came from the same village as Fin, and they’d known each other since they were boys. Aside from Col, there was nobody he trusted more than Hollis. When Col had raised him up to Captain of his household guard, Fin had brought Hollis along as well. The man had become his right arm, and Fin didn’t know how he functioned without him.
Fin took a seat at the table in the chamber and poured them both a glass of wine as Hollis took the chair across from him. Hollis picked up his glass and sniffed at it.
“The least they could dae is ‘ave a proper glass of ale,” he said.
Fin chuckled. “The Ainglish arenae known for their strong constitutions,” he said. “Ale might be tae much for ‘em.”
They shared a laugh and sipped at their wine for a moment. Fin was glad to hear the Duke was recovering and knew both Gillian and Col would be too. He scratched at his beard, his mind whirling as he tried to come up with a list of suspects.
“Who’d want tae ‘urt both Gillian and ‘er fither?” Hollis wondered aloud.
“Twas not Gillian they tried tae murder,” Fin said. “Twas Col, they were tryin’ tae poison.”
“Well, the assassin wasnae a very good one,” he replied. “He didnae manage tae kill either target.”
“Thanks be tae God,” Fin said. “I daenae know what would’ve ‘appened if they’d succeeded.”
Hollis nodded and drained the last of his wine and immediately refilled his glass. Fin was not well versed enough in the line of succession to know what would have happened had the assassin succeeded in killing both Col and the Duke. The land would have been leaderless and thrown into chaos. Fin could only imagine that nobles from both sides of the border, Scottish and English, would have fought for the land and titles that went with it. He’d seen it enough in Scotland to know what could happen.
“So, where dae we start?” Hollis asked.
Fin shook his head. “I daenae ken,” he said. “But we ‘ave tae start somewhere.”
“Aye,” Hollis said. “Ye lead the way.”
They drained the last of their wine and got to their feet. As Fin looked down at his wineglass, an idea occurred to him. He set his glass down and looked up.
“We need t’ go t’ thae kitchens,” he said.
“Right b’hind ye.”
* * * * *
Fin walked into the kitchen and felt his stomach rumble, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in a while. He and Hollis snuck a couple of the roasted chicken legs from a platter, earning them dirty glares from the kitchen staff.
“Where’s the Head Steward?” Fin asked one of the passing scullery maids.
“In the larder,” she replied.
“And ‘is name, lass?”
“Mr. White,” she replied. “Mr. Daniel White.”
Hollis leaned back against one of the counters and munched on his chicken leg, a grin on his face.
