Something Fishy

A/N: Hey there! Sorry I disappeared for so long. Between really bad writer's block and some personal stuff (my gramps is really sick and my dad has to have surgery) I'm afraid posting regularly hasn't been an option. Hopefully, that will be changing, and you haven't forgotten me! This is the first I've written in a long time, so if you could review, I would really like to know what you think. Thanks, and love as always!

Dane


Chapter Three

Zelia sighed in contentment as she looked over her busy dining room. Something about the cozy fire, warm tones of the linens, and the laughter of guests inspired a quiet excitement in her. She had done this all; she had made The Cottage a success.

Or, maybe it was the particularly handsome duke in the back corner that inspired that reaction in her. Tall and blond and very, very buff, he was like a Viking. She decided she wouldn’t mind much if he wanted to pillage her. Hell, he had already started her, ah, thatch on fire, and he hadn’t done more than eat a dish of honey pheasant and drink rather a lot of wine. He gestured to the maid, but as Alice was busy fending off a drunk viscount’s wandering hands, Zelia decided she would get the man what he needed. Whatever he needed.

“What can I get you, sweetings?” she asked with an inviting smile.

“More wine.”

Zelia frowned. “Don’t you think—“ she began.

“Yes, I do, and that’s a problem. I want more wine.”

She looked at him closely. “Of course. I’ll bring the bottle, yes? And fix a room for you upstairs.”

Frederick, Duke of Woldsworth, knew she meant for when he passed out.

“That sounds perfect.” The woman left to perform the tasks. Although she could only have been gone moments, it seemed to him far too long before she arrived again with the promised bottle of wine—and another glass.

“What’s that for? I’ve already got a glash.” Was he slurring a bit? Couldn’t be. “I have already got a glass,” he repeated for good measure, very careful to employ the full force of his well-learned diction. It made him sound imperious, which he liked. People often found it intimidating, that a man his age would be able to speak so.

“This is for me,” the woman said simply, and sat down across from him.

“Hey, I didn’t invite you,” Frederick protested, elocution forgotten. “You can’t just sit down.”

“Sure, I can. It’s my inn.” Damn, the woman could sound nearly as regal as him, and she was common!

“So, what’s the matter, sweetings?”

“I surely don’t know what you could be talking about.”

The woman snorted. “Please. You wear angst like a manure pile wears stink.”

“I say, you can’t—“

“As we’ve already established, I indeed can.” He was younger than she had thought. Younger than her, even. Nineteen, maybe twenty. She still shouldn’t be speaking to him so boldly. He was a duke after all, according to his entry in her guest registry. Judging by that tone he had taken with her a moment ago, he hadn’t lied. Only the aristocracy could don such a snooty tone at will. But he was young, and drunk, and seemed inexperienced. She was quite sure he wouldn’t actually take her to task for her own tone.

“So, spill,” she prompted.

“I am Frederick, Duke of Woldsworth.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m Zelia, mistress of The Cottage. Nice to meet you. Now, spill already.” This kid! Was he ever going to just get to the point? She knew she couldn’t seduce him in good conscience now, and she was eager to convince him to retire. If he embarrassed himself in public like this, it would be her reputation that suffered.

“I mean,” he elaborated, “that’s the problem. I wasn’t supposed to be. The duke, I mean. But my brother—“ He cut himself off with a gulp of wine.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“He fell down the stairs. I don’t think it was an accident.”

Zelia gasped. “Oh dear Lord.”

“I think—I think he might have been part of the resistance. And now, just seven days ago, my sister was taken by the royal guards for questioning. And I have no idea how to run estates. I was training for the church! In France. French I know. I can translate Latin and Greek and even Aramaic. But comforting a grieving mother and rescuing an imprisoned sister is beyond my capabilities. I don’t even know where they’re holding her!”

Zelia was silent a moment. She heard things at the inn; people were often far too careless with their words after a few glasses of wine and the seeming anonymity of being in a public place. Somehow, they never imagined that there might be someone paying attention. Most weren’t actually members of the resistance, she knew, merely sympathetic. Still, it was dangerous to spout dissenting opinions in these times, when the duke-turned-king had spies and officials searching high and low for enemies to the crown. Despite her own family’s history, Zelia herself couldn’t bring herself to particularly hate the new king. She paid attention to the proclamations and laws; none of them seemed too outrageous or unfair. She couldn’t say she cared for the way he had gone about getting his power, but at least he wasn’t abusing it. Still, the young duke before her had certainly had a tough time of it recently. On the other hand, to be investigated for conspiracy against the crown would not exactly help her keep her secret. On the other hand, Woldsworth’s chest was just broad enough to give a good—

No, she wasn’t considering that option anymore. The poor thing was too vulnerable right now; she would be taking advantage. He would probably like it, but it still wouldn’t be right. Well, if she wasn’t going to provide him with pleasant distractions, she could at least provide a little information.

“Is your sister pretty?”

“I beg your pardon? What kind of question is that?” the young duke sputtered.

“A good one. If she’s from a good family, and she’s pretty, the king is unlikely to let her come to harm. He likes a pretty face,” Zelia explained.

“What are you implying? That I need to worry about Elizabeth’s virtue?”

“Is she pretty or isn’t she?” Zelia pressed.

“I don’t know! She’s my sister! And besides, I haven’t seen her since she was ten. I don’t know. I guess she’s pretty enough.” Frederick sincerely wished he wasn’t having this conversation. It was distracting him from getting as drunk as he would like to be.

“Then you don’t have to worry about her. Cedric will have her under guard and in seclusion, but she will be comfortable—and safe—enough for the time being. Not in the dungeon, in any case.”

“Thank the Lord,” the young man across from her said quietly. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Where she is? What I need to do to get her out of there?”

Zelia scanned her memory. She knew she had heard... The itinerate court kept the king in touch with his wealthier subjects, but it sure made him hard to keep track of.

“Ah, yes. Bassford—his own castle, for once. I believe he’s staying there through the harvest.”

“And to release her?” Frederick pressed. “What do I need to do to convince him to release her?”

“Well...” she hedged. “You’ll have to pledge your fealty, obviously. Beyond that, I don’t know. Sometimes he wants proof of one’s loyalty. That’s a little harder to predict.”

Woldsworth looked concerned at that. Zelia hailed Alice, who had finally disentangled herself from the overly virile viscount, and requested some stew for the duke. It would distract him and hopefully help temper the headache he would undoubtedly be sporting come daylight. She would meanwhile distract herself with the other guests, and temper her frustration with a cup of tea.

His fear for his sister somewhat alleviated, Frederick found himself exhausted after his meal. And still quite drunk: the room spun as he stood.

“Whoa, there!” A slim, strong arm slipped around his back. “Come on, then, sweetings. Let’s get you horizontal.”

Frederick looked at the woman supporting him, the owner of The Cottage. Did she just say what he thought she said? Could it possibly mean what he thought it meant? Impossible. She didn’t seem like that sort of woman.

“Um, I mean, I’d rather not have you pass out in my dining room,” she corrected hastily. “Altogether bad for business.” Mentally, she was hitting herself. He was hardly more than a boy. He had been meant for the church! Many of her customers enjoyed her flirtatious manner, but she had the feeling this rather proper young man would not feel the same.

From the doorway to the kitchen, Cookie watched her employer escort the intoxicated young duke to his chamber and smiled. Cookie had a talent with herbs, but infatuation with the improbable young men was one particular female malady she couldn’t ease.

Alice watched the handsome young duke being escorted upstairs by Madame Zelia. Catching the woman’s eye, she smiled in sympathy. Yes, she could certainly see why Zelia would be disappointed at being unable to reel this one in.

Frederick frowned in consternation. Had he just caught that maid staring at his bum? This was a reputable establishment; he must be hallucinating. He really should not have drunk so much. He had the feeling he would regret it even more in the morning, from what he had heard. Some of the men in the seminary had been quite wild in their younger days. Actually, some of them had been quite wild even at the seminary. He wished they had more successfully impressed on him just how disconcerting being drunk felt. His worries had relaxed away, mostly, but his belly was most definitely disconcerted. He felt the stirrings of regret already.

Disconcerted did not begin to express what Zelia felt when Woldsworth’s confused stomach sent the bulk of Cookie’s stew entirely in the wrong direction and onto one of her nicer rugs. She sent a quick prayer winging to heaven to preserve her from attractive men who couldn’t hold their liquor.

As a fierce headache struck and his stomach still roiled, Frederick began to pray in earnest for a swift and merciful death.