A Murdered Peace

by Candace Robb

  “Land is only so good as the people who work it. I’m a much better cook than a farmer. My property is better off in the hands of my tenant. All revenue goes right back into the land, the crops, the house.”

  “That is where you go when you leave for a few days?”

  “Sometimes. If I intend to stay sober. My tenant is a grim, God-fearing man and his wife finds me frightening on my calmest days. I would not impose on them when I drink until my devils take over.”

  Kate did not like the ache with which she imagined this life she knew nothing about, these people who knew things about Berend she had never guessed—Montagu, Merek, the tenants. Why had she thought a servant would bare his soul to her?

  Because he had been so much more than a servant.

  “I always meant to tell you.” He leaned his forearms on his thighs, his face close to hers, his hands pressed together as if praying for her to believe him. “But I knew you would find it suspect that a propertied man would wish to work as a cook. I would. For once, my courage failed me. Am I correct in guessing that Sir Elric is the source of this information as well?”

  “Yes.”

  Nights of worrying about him, the hollow ache of his absence, the memories like open wounds, burning when touched. Kate reached out and cradled Berend’s face in her hands.

  “Why did you return to York?”

  She felt him flinch.

  “I count this city my home. Where else would I go?”

  The city, not her household. She tried not to react. “But you said you are not back to stay.”

  “Not yet.”

  “So why are you here now?”

  Berend moved her hands from his face and held them. “I did not expect the king’s men to be in the city. Not yet.”

  “Sir Elric believes Margery Kirkby to be in the city. Why? She has no family here.”

  “Why do they want her?”

  Just ask him if he brought her here, and why, Geoff hissed in her mind. And why he was in Pontefract, Oxford, Cirencester.

  Be quiet.

  “Something to do with her husband’s part in the plot,” she said.

  “I still doubt that Thomas Kirkby was part of it,” he said. “He is—was so determined to find a peaceful way forward. But then I hardly believed it when I heard of the plot.” Berend turned toward the window, his head tilted toward his missing ear. “Do you know whether anyone has seen her?”

  Kate knew that posture. He was thinking. “Not that I know of. Why are you here now, in this room?”

  “I told you. To find out what you know about Lady Margery. And whether anyone is asking about me.”

  Now. Tell him now, Geoff insisted.

  “I’ve already told you about Merek,” she said.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Unfortunately for you, my cousin William’s wife considers your absence a personal slight. Isabella Frost is furious that you are not available to cook for William’s mayoral feast, and she’s made moan to all the wives of the council.”

  “Overbearing shrew.”

  “You are not the first person to call her that,” said Kate, trying to lighten the blow. For she saw that it had been a blow to him. “And Sir Elric has been asking as well. How can I help you?”

  He turned back to her, pressed her hands, then let go to knead his leg. “You cannot. It is too dangerous. You have too much to lose. The children need you. I pray I have not brought attention to you.”

  Knowing how he cared for Petra, Marie, and Phillip, Kate could not believe that Berend would risk endangering them merely to question her about Lady Margery. And what of Lady Margery seeking sanctuary with her? Is it possible he did not know? “If that concerns you, why did you come? The truth, Berend.”

  A fleeting smile. “I trusted that once I slipped away you would be forewarned, take precautions to protect the household from king’s men, or men pretending to be his. It would be wise.”

  Kate agreed. “The king’s men will hear soon enough that I am Margery’s friend. You cannot protect me from that.”

  “No. At the moment I have all I can do to protect myself.”

  “And your traveling companions?”

  He had averted his eyes again, but she knew that fixed jaw. “The less you know, the better.”

  “Damn you, Berend. Help me help you.”

  He bowed his head. “You have. Bless you. Thank you for warning me.”

  Kate touched his shoulder. “Petra misses you so. She wants everything to be as it was. So do I.”

  “The royal cousins have murdered peace.” He raised his head, rubbing his eyes as if that might revive him. Or had there been tears? No, his eyes were steady as he gazed on her with the saddest countenance. “Wresting the crown from Richard was the worst thing Henry might have done for the realm. With the uprising—He cannot allow Richard to live. So now he not only plucked the crown from the anointed king but he will have his blood.”

  “God help us.”

  “We must help ourselves. Look to the children. Keep them safe.”

  “I will guard them with my life.”

  Berend rose with a grunt—the leg must be far more painful than he would admit—and limped to the window staying out of sight as best he could while peering out. “Would you check to see if my path is clear to slip away?”

  He was leaving so soon, too soon. Kate felt in her bones the danger he faced. Would they ever speak again? She went to him, wanting to embrace him as a friend. But he held her at arm’s length, shaking his head.

  “Do not make this harder than it already is, Katherine.”

  “Kevin and his men might help you.”

  First he looked shocked, then angry. “No. Tell them nothing. Nothing, do you hear me?”

  “You’ve told me nothing that I might share. I merely meant . . .”

  “And do not set Jennet on my trail. This is not your battle.”

  Battle? “I don’t even know who they are, or what Salisbury wanted of you.”

  His expression relaxed. “That was my intention.”

  He had succeeded. “Will I see you again?” she asked softly.

  Now he rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed his forehead to the top of her head. “I pray that you do. And the children, Lille and Ghent, Jennet, Matt. You are my family.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I must go.”

  Kate lifted her face to his and kissed his cheek, then held him tightly for a moment, listening to his strong heartbeat, faster than usual, and no wonder. Injured and on the run. “Come back to us,” she whispered.

  A deep breath. “If God wills it,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

  “Lady Margery is as safe as she can be,” she said, despite herself. “But Carl is missing.”

  She saw how that worried him. Yet he tried so hard to hide that they had traveled together.

  “Did you part ways before York?” she asked.

  “I will tell you no more, Katherine.”

  “So be it.” She crossed the room to see whether he could safely depart. Checking the shutters, the landing, the stairway. She turned as she felt him behind her. Hood up, cloak belted close, gloves hiding his missing fingers, he might be any traveler.

  “God go with you,” she whispered as he passed her, beginning his descent. Though a large, muscular man, he moved silently, avoiding the creaking steps, opening the gate with nary a squeak this time. Pausing at the bottom he glanced back, one hand raised, then slipped out into the crowd moving along Petergate.

  Kate slumped down on the top step, covered her face, and prayed.

  Holy Mother, I pray you, intercede with your son on Berend’s behalf, ask him to watch over my friend, see that he comes to no harm. And, if it please your son, send him back to me.

  And then she cursed the royal cousins for murdering the peace in her home, the city, the realm. Arrogant knaves. You use us as if we’re merely tokens on a game board.

  It has ever been so, Geoff said in her head. Look how the French
and the Scots ruined our family.

  I know. It was simple of me to think the peace might last. Me, of all people.

  What will you do?

  She wiped her eyes, forced herself up on her feet. Prepare.

  6

  TRESPASS

  A low growl woke Kate. She was stiff and cold, but it was her own fault. She had chosen to remain dressed and ready, perched on a bench in her bedchamber between the door and the window that looked out over the landing and the back garden. Lille sat beside her. The hound had been hesitant to climb the steps, uneasy with this unaccustomed privilege. But it was no privilege—rather the hound was on guard, playing a crucial role in Kate’s plan.

  It might have been more uncomfortable. Kate would have preferred to stand watch down in the snowy yard. But she did not want to be so obvious that she was waiting for the expected intruders. This way they could not be forewarned. A widow with children, she feared for her safety and took precautions. Effective precautions.

  Pressing her back against the wall, Kate slid up until she could see out the open shutter. Lille rose to stand beside her, snout forward, sniffing the air, then pricked her ears and leaned her head out the window, looking in the direction of the steps. She gave another, much softer growl. With a touch on Lille’s head Kate signaled thank you and, motioning to the hound to stay, she stepped out onto the landing and went to the rail to look down into the yard and the entrance to the kitchen. Ghent, who was with Jennet in the kitchen, should have also sounded the alert. There. She could just make out the outline of the open kitchen door, the embers of the hearth fire giving a soft glow.

  She need not worry about the girls. She’d sent Matt to Dame Eleanor giving her permission for Petra and Marie to stay the night at the Martha House after their lessons with Sister Brigida, a special treat. Her mother had been more than happy to have them, but, ever on the alert for trouble, Eleanor had made it clear to Matt that she would expect an explanation when she returned with them midday, after their lessons. Kate considered it a small price to pay for ensuring that the girls were not frightened in the night.

  In the doorway behind Kate, Lille was restless. Down below, Ghent led Jennet out of the kitchen, stepping with caution toward the corner of the house.

  It was time. Kate slipped the lead through Lille’s collar, then motioned for the hound to walk beside her. Slowly, silently they went to the stairway where Kate paused, listening. Lille, nearest the railing, gazed down, guiding Kate. In the soft light spilling from her neighbor’s shuttered window next door, Kate could see two figures moving with stealth, headed for the side entrance to her hall.

  Careful. They will be armed, Geoff warned in her head.

  Of course they are. But it’s good to have you with me, Geoff.

  She and Lille crept down the steps. They were halfway down when the men reached the hall door. She was now close enough to smell the wine on their breath. The one who had spoken to her on the street glanced round as if sensing they were not alone, then shrugged and reached toward the latch. Sawyer was his name, according to one of Jennet’s young spies, having gotten close enough to listen to the two for a moment. The other was Parr.

  Ghent and Jennet were several strides away from the intruders when Kate saw a glint in the hand of the one nearest her, Parr. Holding her breath, she drew the small axe from her skirt pocket, weighing it, anticipating the pleasure. But Jennet was quicker, coming up fast and yanking the man’s arm behind his back before either could respond.

  “Bloody—” Parr cried out in pain as he dropped the knife.

  The door opened, Matt standing back to avoid Sawyer’s wobble as the door pulled him forward. The man managed to grasp the doorframe and avoid falling on his face. The lantern behind Matt illuminated the scene.

  “And why, might I ask, are you creeping up to my door past curfew?” Kate demanded from the steps as Jennet started moving Parr past Matt and into the room, Ghent and Lille crowding close to Sawyer. Kate bent down and retrieved the fallen knife. “I want an explanation. Go on. Follow Parr into the hall. Unless you want the night watchman to join us. And some of the neighbors?”

  Sawyer glanced at the dogs and warily sidled past Matt.

  “I think you can safely let go of his arm now,” Kate said to Jennet.

  Matt closed the door as soon as Kate and the hounds had cleared it.

  “Forgive us, we mistook this house for the one where we’re lodging,” said Sawyer, slurring his words unconvincingly. They had indeed been drinking, but not that much.

  “Well, Sawyer, tell us where you are lodging and we will direct you.”

  “He lies,” said Jennet, dangling a bloody piece of meat she had carried in a small bag. “They tossed this out behind the kitchen to divert the dogs. Poisoned meat.”

  Lille growled.

  “Poisoned meat?” Kate repeated in a quiet voice, working to control her anger. It would not do to kill the king’s men in her hall, but oh how she wished she might.

  Parr seemed to realize their danger. “Not poisoned. Not so far as we know. The butcher said—”

  “Shut up, you bloody fool,” Sawyer growled.

  Parr bowed his head, but Kate caught his sideways glance at his partner, the subtle smirk. All an act.

  “You have no understanding of a well-trained hound, I see,” said Kate, pretending to be amused at their bungling.

  Pulling himself up to his full height as if thinking to threaten Kate, Sawyer said, “There’s nothing for it, then. We are here on King Henry’s business. Unaccustomed to the strong ale in the North.” Though they reeked of wine. He faked a fierce glower, but there was anger beneath it. “How do you know our names?” he demanded drunkenly.

  “I asked.” She saw by their expressions that they had not shared their names with many. That was no act. Good. The dogs, her readiness, they were forewarned. “If you truly are here on the king’s business, he is not well served by you.” She called the hounds over to her, and motioned for them to stay at her side, but keep watch on the trespassers.

  Neither man could tear his eyes away from them. Kate knew what they saw, wild beasts, untamable, ready to break their training and tear them apart. Never had her hounds disobeyed her. Never. But the men’s doubt was useful, rendering the dogs even more effective in protecting her. She took a deep breath. Jennet tucked the meat back in the bag.

  “Explain yourselves,” Kate demanded.

  “Call off your dogs,” Parr said with false bravado as he rubbed his shoulder.

  “They are not attacking you, which is more than you deserve, creeping up to my home in the dark of the night with a blade drawn, hoping to poison them. I hardly consider it wise to call them off. And you have certainly done nothing to deserve my hospitality.”

  Matt had busied himself arranging a bench for the two men and two chairs for himself and Jennet. He knew better than to think Kate would sit while the men were in the house.

  Kate motioned to the bench placed behind Sawyer and Parr. “Sit.”

  Sawyer shook his head.

  “Perhaps you will permit my hounds to assist you.” Kate signaled Lille and Ghent to take a step toward the two men.

  They took their seats on the bench without further argument. Jennet and Matt sat as well.

  Kate nodded. “Now. What do two men who wear the Lancastrian livery want with me?”

  “We wear the duke’s livery, but we are the king’s men,” Sawyer stated.

  “Your mission?” she demanded.

  “We are rounding up traitors to the king.”

  “Are you accusing me of treason?” Kate asked. “Me, a hard working merchant’s widow bringing up three young wards? When have I had time to commit treason?”

  “Not you,” Parr growled as he rubbed his shoulder. “A noblewoman and a man lately of your household. Berend, formerly Baron Montagu’s man.”

  No mention of Carl. Because they knew his whereabouts?

  “My cook?” Kate frowned. “But I no longer employ
him. You say he was Baron Montagu’s man? Surely you are mistaken. He did not seem one to have been employed in the kitchens of a nobleman.”

  “He was no cook then, but an armed retainer. And after that . . .” Parr glanced at his companion.

  “You should be more cautious about whom you hire, Mistress Clifford,” said Sawyer. “The man left the baron to become a mercenary. An assassin.” He punctuated it with a gap-toothed smirk.

  Lille growled.

  “I don’t believe you,” Matt cried. “Have you seen the man? Missing an ear, some fingers, some toes. An assassin? Pah.”

  Jennet snorted. “Now you’ve had your fun, why don’t you tell us the truth?”

  “Insolent servants,” Sawyer muttered. He’d begun to sag on the bench.

  Kate silently thanked her clever servants. Stalling, she noticed that Parr’s jacket was puckered as if he had tried to clean the dark stain from it. Was it blood? She looked at his face—dried blood beneath his nose and the beginning of a bruise on his cheek. A bandage peeked from his left sleeve. He, too, slumped slightly, as if wilting in the warmth of the hall. In fact, now she studied their bloodshot eyes, she believed both were more than slightly inebriated. Curious that they had risked their mission. Clearly Parr had been in a fight. With whom? Carl? Had he struggled, fought back? She wished she might speak his name, challenge them, but she could not without revealing that she had at least spoken to Lady Margery. The need for secrecy hampered her.

  At least their inebriated states might make it easier to fool them into thinking they had achieved their mission. “My household needs its sleep, so I agree with my maidservant. Tell me what it is you want.”

  Sawyer straightened as if remembering himself. “Is your former cook here?”

  “No.”

  “Lady Kirkby?”

  “No. Is that it?”

  “We have the right, as the king’s officers, to search your house for the miscreants,” he said, beginning to slur his words.

  “And then we’ll be done with you? Good,” she said, not waiting for an answer. “Come. Quickly now.” She clapped her hands at them, making Lille and Ghent bark as if eager to proceed. “I want to get back to bed.”