Page 30 of The Mage’s Rake (Catkin Trilogy #2)

Gareth

“ Gareth! Gods… Gaa—reeeth!”

I groaned and rolled over, burying my head under my pillow and cursing the day I had allowed my older sister, my younger sister, my cousin, and practically the rest of my extended family to move into the neighborhood.

Of course, I jest, but truly ever since my return to Baywaters, not a morning had gone by without my sleep disrupted by some mishap that must be resolved by Uncle Gareth. This morning would be no different.

“Gareth!”

Another voice chimed in alongside my sister’s.

Uncle Oren. If Oren was here, it meant that something had truly gone awry.

Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of bed, wrapped my thick wool bathrobe about me and made my way over to my dressing screen where my clothes were laid out for the day by my personal valet, Alfwyn.

Just in time. Oren and Kaleigh poked their heads into the room and looked about expectantly.

“There you are, Gareth,” Kaleigh said, as though she had lost me at the market. “We weren’t certain whether you got in.”

“You might have asked Mrs. Malmsey,” I pointed out dryly.

“Mrs. Malmsey has enough already on her hands thanks to your coming and going,” Kaleigh shot back.

I poked my head over the dressing screen, gave Kaleigh a hard stare, and then shifted my gaze to Oren, who had decided to lounge against the bedpost.

“Look, Gareth,” Oren sighed. “I wouldn’t have come if Harold and I didn’t find ourselves in a bit of a bind as it were. Gods’ truth.”

I bit back a sigh. Compared to the rest of the country’s nobility, the Wright family had emerged from the wars of succession relatively unscathed.

While Landis and Hugh were forced to pick up the pieces of their lives in the wake of death and familial loss, I had been blessed with a surfeit of Wrights.

Harold Annislee, that would be Lord Annislee, my maternal grandfather, died on the Fields of Marrasol alongside his only son, my Uncle Rhenn.

Old age and sickness took others—my parents and grandparents—leaving only Granny Bren, Harold’s widow.

There were others, though. Aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings who remained close by the ancestral family home, carving out their own pieces of land from the shire the Wrights owned.

When my mother passed from ague, and my father followed her in a fit of pique, I ensured my siblings—Brenyra, Kaleigh, and Harold—were all well-provided for with money and land.

In return, they inflicted me with much care and oversight… and more demands.

“What is it now?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

“The Blue Room flooded with the rainfall last night,” Kaleigh said, flopping down on the end of my bed. “Auntie Bella and Auntie Ashleigh woke up from a rain shower on their heads. We moved them, but you’ll want to call in the roofer.”

I nodded to myself and made a mental note to discuss the matter with my estate manager, Oliver. “Oren?”

“Something’s up with the windmill. The spur wheel, I think.”

“That’s odd.” I frowned as I pulled on a thick dark wool sweater. “Did we not replace it a few months ago? Before Wintermas?”

“It is odd,” Oren admitted. “It’s been getting me thinking about a few other incidents that happened when you were gone. Perhaps we can discuss it with Oliver?”

“Good idea. Is he coming this morning?”

“Already sent word.”

“Good, good.”

With that, I reassured Kaleigh that I would have the roof set to rights.

I then made my way down to break my fast with the family members who had invited themselves over that morning—grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins, with a handful of their children.

The noise was tremendous, and I found myself wincing a few times as shrill voices rose and fell throughout the meal.

When tutors and nannies whisked them away, I thanked Agathar and Meryn for giving me family, but not burdening me with one personally.

I knew that my sisters in particular would be horrified if I said as much out loud.

My family understood my need for peace and quiet, my fondness for a pipe and a book at night, and my desire to find the right tomcat before settling down.

Regardless, at the same time, they fussed and they worried, no doubt concerned that I would end up a lonely tom in the twilight of my years.

Whenever I returned to Baywaters, they popped in every day to “cheer Uncle Gareth up”.

They planned country dances and dinner parties.

They undoubtedly roamed the shire looking for any passing eligible bachelor who might catch my eye. They hovered.

Unfortunately, the last thing I wanted right now was a partner.

After Averil slammed the front door of Baywaters behind his tail, I’d promised myself to focus on Landis and the kingdom first. I would help with the treaty-making process and smooth over the issues leading up to the royal wedding, and when that fell through with glorious aplomb, it was up to Lord Elthorne and myself to smooth matters over with Estellia.

Not that Estellia could say much on the matter seeing as it was their princess who eloped to the border leaving Landis standing at the altar.

For a while, uncertainty had hovered over Sumarene, but Princess Rilla, true to her world, helped to iron out any misunderstandings.

Thanks to Lord Elthorne’s efforts over Wintermas, a proper treaty appeared to be in the offing.

Peace had truly come to Sumarene, allowing me to take a small holiday to Baywaters for Wintermas.

Hugh, I believed, was more than capable of fending off Lord Morne.

Or so I thought.

It turned out that Hugh had become the target of a malicious curse.

Thanks to Alan’s intervention and some romantic bonding, Hugh’s life and heart were saved.

That’s what Landis told me, at any rate.

My main concern was the role of Lord Morne in all of this.

It seemed that loyalists led by Landis’s disgruntled, ambitious cousin were not above attempting to take Landis’s life.

After hearing about the second assassination attempt, I vowed to end it.

Easier said than done, however. Even after collating new reports, tracing the clues, and gathering what witness reports we could, there was simply not enough evidence to tie anything concrete to Lord Morne.

Everything was done with intermediaries, particularly the Night Blade Guild.

If I was to definitively tie Lord Morne to a treasonous plot, I would have to capture a Night Blade, turn them, or gain from them enough information to implicate the noble.

Hugh’s story still came to mind. A redheaded rogue.

The redhead who had slipped past guards on multiple occasions to infiltrate the castle.

A Night Blade, I was certain of it. He had last been seen by the Standing Stones of Averlee, slipping into Shrosebury Forest. Hugh had been gutted over having to choose between Alan and the unknown rogue.

I wasn’t too concerned. The King’s Blades and I would scour the countryside and uproot every stone and tree to find him.

I would get my tom… but first I would have to survive my family and the rigors of country living.

When dusk fell, the ancestral Wright home was also thankfully plunged into relative quiet.

In the distance, one could faintly hear a dog barking, the sharp whistle of a shepherd, and the murmur of an owl’s hoot.

If I strained my ears, I fancied I could catch the rush of the tributary’s water down to the bay where the river met the ocean.

For as long as I can remember, the pounding surf had been with me—a part of me as though carved into my soul.

I know some might find the quiet of midnight in the countryside almost feel witchy, haunted... That sort of thing. To me, it was a time of sanctuary and peace. Not long ago, my nights would be spent with more than a book and a pint of ale.

Averil. The name conjured up nights of passion and love.

Love that had died under the withering sun rays of apathy and spite.

When Averil left, my heart felt sadness mixed with relief.

Yet, he did take some of my will with him.

After Averil, I had no interest in forming another bond any time soon.

My life was already too complicated to make room for the entanglement of yet another relationship. Perhaps one day...

Leaning back, I set my pipe aside and reveled in the quiet crackle of the cheery fire before me and the stillness of the family manor. My aunts would no doubt be already abed, allowing me to truly enjoy the silences.

The almost silences. No sooner had I relaxed than my muscles tensed at the sound of a slightly creaking wood. Baywaters is several centuries aged, but I know every floorboard and wall. I know the steady, certain footfall of my butler and the housekeeper. This was different.

A stealthy creak. Someone was heading down the hallway, trying to be quiet.

Oren returned? I wondered. One of my nephews or nieces fleeing parental wrath? Or someone else?

Hair tingling on my arms and the back of my neck, I set aside my chosen reading for the night (a monograph on folk verse) and rose silently.

Unlike the intruder, I knew how to slip silently across the room.

Sliding through the shadows, I stalked the prey I could barely see—an unfamiliar silhouette that disappeared into my ground floor offices.

The door was now set ajar, and a faint light glimmered. I easily sidestepped the floorboards that might have betrayed my presence. Positioned at the door, I watched the intruder glide from shelf to shelf. Looking for something?

The barest hint of light flickered from behind a shaded lantern. My eyes instantly recognized the faint shape and make—a specialized lantern for bandits, burglars... and assassins. Pushing the door further open with my foot, I slipped my sole dagger from my belt, inhaled, and then pounced.

Despite the surprise attack, the intruder responded calmly and easily at first. Even as my fingers grasped a bit of black cloak, I found it hanging empty from my hands. Now freed, the intruder instantly made for the window. I chuckled darkly. That would be his first mistake.

Just as I hoped, the locks on my window also proved to be a bit of a puzzle.

No doubt the efficacy of my anti-burglar measures had stumped the intruder earlier, forcing them entry through another part of the manor.

No matter. That was a puzzle for another day.

For now, I had to trust that Baywater’s labyrinthine corridors and halls would trap my mouse. This infiltrator would be mine.

Reaching the unknown perpetrator’s side, my fingers clamped down on a slender arm.

Dragging the slight body of the black-clothed figure to me, I slid my dagger up to the approximate position of where their neck might be—only to discover that the shadow within my arms had yet again slipped away from me.

Hard muscled fingers chopped at my arms and lashed out at my stomach.

Pain lanced up from my wrist, forcing me to drop the dagger.

There was a scuffle as we fought. The would-be intruder wrestled with me from bookshelf to bookshelf, from my desk to the visitor’s armchair. Papers flew about, books rattled down onto the floor, and knick-knacks lining the mantle rocked back and forth dangerously.

Eventually, I managed to latch onto a slender wrist and jerked it viciously, twisting it about.

That move elicited a cry of pain from my prey.

I followed it up with a jab of my knee into their lower back, forcing them to stumble.

Then, grabbing their other arm, I pinned the slight body pressed against me back against my desk roughly.

With their wrists now restrained by my right hand and their legs spread and pinned by my thighs, I was finally able to reach around and jerk off the soft black hood that shadowed their face. The fabric tore a little as I pulled it back, taking the lower mask off as well.

I stared down in shock at the pale face now revealed to me—the soft curve of red lips above a narrow chin, complemented by a pert nose and large deep green eyes above.

This close, I couldn’t help but notice the light smattering of freckles across the young tom’s sharp cheekbones.

That and the pink flush that now spread across his face.

Then, realization hit me as the shadowed locks of his curls tumbled down—as fiery red as a flame, now set alight beneath the sharp rays of the lantern.

Pale skin, freckles, and red hair. A slight figure.

My mind rapidly tabulated his features and connected him to the reports scrawled in the guards’ hands.

The reports the King’s Blades had sent me.

This was the redhead I had been searching for.

The one with whom Hugh had spoken. The one I had been seeking.

I had found my tom after all.