by Candace Robb
Winifrith shook her head. “I am afraid that is not possible. The fever, you see. I would feel responsible if you took ill. And I could not bear for you to take it to the children.”
“Surely but a moment . . .”
“I am sorry.” Winifrith commanded Fitch to bring claret for her and her guests and then fetch Maud with baby Simon. “Come let us sit by the fire.” She herself settled on a stool near the hearth, encouraging Lille and Ghent to sit beside her. “I am so fond of them,” she cooed.
In a few moments footsteps clattered on the stairs outside the house and Winifrith’s eldest daughter danced in with tiny Simon in her arms. He had not been so quick to recover the ordeal of his birth and had the translucent skin of a child destined to sit and watch his siblings in their robust play, ever too fragile to join in. But he had a grin that lit his sweet face and a squealing laugh that inspired laughter in all who heard it. Even dour Fitch, sitting on a bench by the door, made a sound that might be a chuckle. Maud, with her mother’s delicate features and her father’s height, flashed a dazzling smile at Matt and had soon deposited baby Simon on Kate’s lap so that she might flit about pouring wine and showing off her charms. Matt was smitten, his own warm, engaging smile beaming brightly.
Simon gurgled and reached out a hand toward Ghent, who was nearest him. His little legs pumping in delight, the baby bounced on her lap. It heartened her to feel his surprising strength. Not so puny after all.
As Kate bounced Simon on her knee and chatted with Winifrith about the mayoral election and Isabella Frost’s boasts that the mayoral feast would be the grandest in the city’s history, she noticed Matt and Maud slipping away. Maud was often Kate’s quiet supporter in disputes with Lionel. She wished she had anticipated the attraction and primed Matt to ask Maud about her father’s illness, how long, details.
Winifrith moved on to the gossip about Margery Kirkby. “I do not know what to think. King Richard was our king for so long, the grandson of King Edward, and now he is imprisoned, or worse . . . And King Henry demands our loyalty, so it is treasonous to support the very man it was treasonous to betray. Were the men committing treason when they captured King Richard? For he was still king when they did. What a muddle.” She wagged her head. “So I do not know what to think of Sir Thomas Kirkby’s betrayal of King Henry in support of King Richard—or I should say Richard of Bordeaux, as we are now to refer to him. It is difficult to condemn Sir Thomas. And in all the confusion—Well, how does anyone know who is doing what to whom?”
Winifrith’s breathless expression of bemused indignation was clearly meant to distract Kate. She hoped it rather distracted Winifrith, and did her best to keep the conversation moving along.
“I find it difficult to believe Sir Thomas would take sides after risking his life and his reputation attempting to reconcile the royal cousins,” Kate said. “And to think of Lady Margery being hunted down as she grieves for her beloved husband—I begin to wonder what manner of man wears the crown.”
“Have a care, Katherine. Those are treasonous words.”
Simon had been nodding in Kate’s lap, but as Ghent shifted and meeped in his sleep the baby woke and began to bounce again. Kate turned the conversation to marvel at his strength.
Winifrith’s expression softened, and she reached over to tickle her son’s feet. “He is a miracle child. My last, I fear. The midwife does not think I can—or should—carry another.”
“You have a houseful of beautiful, healthy children to comfort you, eh?” said Kate.
“What about you? You have Simon’s, and your brother’s child, but what about one of your own, Katherine?”
“One day I should like that. When the time is right.”
“These are your best years for it. Carrying them, birthing them, it was all so much easier when I was younger. Sir Elric is so handsome. Do not put business before marriage for too long.”
Kate was only half listening to Winifrith, more intent on the sound of feet on the outer stairs to the upper story and a creaking above. Maud and Matt visiting Lionel? She hoped so. She bent to smell the sweetness of Simon’s downy hair and tickle him so that he giggled and shrieked, waking Ghent, who barked in response, a noise to disguise the sounds overhead.
“To be frank,” Kate said, amidst the ensuing laughter, “I think I shall just steal this adorable child and take him home.”
Winifrith was about to say something when the room grew too quiet and voices were suddenly audible up above. Maud’s and Matt’s . . . and Lionel’s. Rising with a gasp, Winifrith was out the door before Kate managed to stand up and resettle the baby in her arms so she might hitch up her skirts to climb the steps.
By the time Kate reached the bedchamber above, Winifrith was berating her daughter for her betrayal.
“It’s not right!” Maud exclaimed, her pretty face screwed up in anger. “Your lies could cost Berend his life!”
Simon began to fuss in Kate’s arms, and she rocked him gently, giving him a finger to hold. He stuck it in his toothless mouth and was content.
“Cost Berend his life?” Winifrith glanced to Maud, to Kate, then to her husband, who sat propped up against pillows with a bandage round his forehead and his arm in a sling, his eyes wide in uncertainty about what to do. “What has Katherine’s cook to do with your—” Winifrith threw up her hands, for it was clear he was not ill, but injured. “Your misadventure?”
“The sheriffs’ men are searching for Berend,” said Maud. “He was seen arguing with the spice seller the very night he was murdered. Father’s story might save him.”
Winifrith slumped down on the edge of the bed. “Is this true?” she asked Kate.
“Berend’s danger? Yes.”
The woman turned to her husband. “Did you know this?”
“I’ve been abed, weak from loss of blood. How could I hear of it?” He looked at Kate, and sighed. “But now you know, I will have no peace, will I?”
“Peace?” Kate repeated. “How could you ever have peace if you sent an innocent man to the gallows?”
“Amen,” whispered Maud.
Winifrith reared up and slapped her daughter. In the ensuing shouting match, Kate sidled over to Matt as she attempted to calm the baby’s frightened cries.
“Merek was being attacked and Lionel stepped between them,” Matt told Kate. “A brave act, but he was badly wounded. Someone else came along, scared off the attacker, and helped Merek and Lionel.” He held out his hands. “I can take the baby out on the steps. That should soothe him.”
Blessing him, Kate handed Simon over to Matt. When they were out the door, she went to sit on the bed by Lionel. “Do you recall the feast Berend prepared to celebrate Winifrith’s churching after her ordeal with Simon?”
“That was just a few months ago, of course I remember,” Lionel snapped, then whispered an apology. “I did not know Berend was blamed. It was not him, I can swear it was not.”
Kate’s heart raced. At last someone who could help. “I pray you, what did you see?”
“It was dark. I’d—God help me, I do not know what happened. We were talking, and suddenly a man came charging at Merek, calling him a thief and a swindler. He stabbed him once, and then again. At least twice. As Merek fell, I—I don’t know what I thought I might do, but I stepped between them.”
“You tried to save him?” Kate had thought Matt misunderstood. Lionel had always struck her as a coward who would cross the street to avoid an unpleasant encounter.
He sat up a little straighter, though it caused him to flinch from the pain. “I drew my dagger, we circled, and then he attacked. I never had a chance. Don’t know what I was thinking.” He blinked at the memory, seemingly as surprised as Kate was. Winifrith groaned and crossed herself. “When his dagger sank into my side I could not catch my breath. He reared up as if he was going to finish me off, but someone called out to him to halt. He looked up, then stumbled backward, turned, and ran. I wanted to run as well, but all I could manage was to crawl int
o the darkness.”
“So there was light,” Kate noted.
Lionel stared at her a moment, a flicker of something, then looked down, shaking his head slowly. “Yes, there was some light. I could see the attacker’s dagger. And Merek lying there. But I cannot think where the light came from. I had no lantern.”
“Was Merek dead?”
“No. I saw enough—” He looked at his daughter. “Maud says his throat was slit. Not then. He muttered something. A man makes no sound once his throat is cut.”
Was it the second man who finished off Merek? “You saw the man who frightened off the attacker?”
An ill-chosen shrug forced Lionel to bend over, panting with pain.
Kate gently suggested he rest a moment, catch his breath. Winifrith wanted her to leave, but Kate suggested she go take the baby from Matt so that he could come in and listen. To her surprise, Winifrith nodded and stepped out.
Maud took her mother’s place at her father’s bedside, helping him lie back against the pillows, giving him something to drink. “Forgive me, Father, but I could not let you burden yourself with such a terrible guilt.”
He was soaked in sweat, his breathing shallow.
“How extensive are his wounds?” Kate asked.
“The stab wound in his side.” Maud indicated a spot just below the heart. “And a deep slice to his upper right arm.” Hence the sling to hold it still. “And his head must have hit a cobble or something. The physician wanted to bleed him, but Mother refused. She said he had lost enough blood.”
Lionel opened his eyes. “I crawled to a place along the wall with some sort of beam sticking out. I used it to pull myself upright and lean against the doorway. When I caught my breath I saw the man kneel to Merek, help him rise.” Lionel coughed weakly. “I do not know how I managed, but I stumbled away and somehow made it home. I don’t remember much of the journey.”
“It was the middle of the night when he returned,” said Maud. “How he made it across the city when he was so weak, losing so much blood, and without alerting a night watchman . . .” She nodded to Kate and cocked her head toward her father as if this was his cue to explain.
Kate leaned close to Lionel. “He carried you home, didn’t he?”
Lionel bowed his head.
“Why did you not tell us?” asked Maud. “There is no shame in that.”
“I promised,” Lionel mumbled.
Maud reached out and lifted his chin. “Father.” Spoken as a warning.
“I swore I would not tell. He saved my life. And Merek’s. He was alive, Merek was. We left him standing up against a wall, waving us on.”
“But if you say nothing, this man would seem guilty of murdering Merek,” Maud pointed out.
“I had not thought . . .” Lionel groaned as if it were all too much.
“Berend?” Kate asked.
A nod.
“Was he alone?”
“I do not remember much.”
“Father,” Maud warned.
He closed his eyes. “I remember no one else. I told you, I recall little of the journey.”
“You were in pain, I know,” said Maud, touching his cheek.
He leaned into her hand, his face softening into a contentment Kate had never witnessed, never guessed he ever experienced.
“Why were you with Merek?” Kate asked.
“I—He had approached me about our spice shipments,” Lionel whispered.
“Thinking to trade with us?” asked Kate. “Is that why he had been asking our partners about you?”
“He had? What sort of questions?” Lionel’s voice was little more than a gasp, and Maud touched Kate’s hand, as if to stay her, but her father shook his head at her and looked to Kate.
“Holme said he was quite persistent with questions that went beyond trade,” said Kate. “He asked about your character, and your relationship with Sir Ralph.”
“He hoped I might afford him a tie to my cousin Westmoreland? I did not know—I have been a fool, Katherine.”
“Forgive me for assuming you would hear of it,” she said, pressing his hand, hoping for a little more before he must rest. “You say Merek was alive when Berend carried you away?”
“Yes.”
“So we don’t know who murdered Merek,” said Kate.
“No,” said Lionel. “I cannot swear to the sheriffs that Berend is innocent.” A pause for a cough.
Maud helped him to drink something in a cup. It smelled of honey and herbs.
“If I speak up they might accuse me.” His eyes reflected his fear, and also his pain and exhaustion.
“Of course they won’t accuse you. One need only see your wounds to believe your account,” said Maud. She drew back the covers, revealing a bloodstained bandage that wrapped round her father’s torso.
“One more thing and then I will leave you to your rest,” Kate said. “Where did this happen?”
“We were on our way toward Foss Bridge. We had just come through the Shambles. Near St. Crux, it was.”
“Oh,” Kate whispered.
Maud looked up. “Is that important?”
It was. “Merek’s body was found closer to the market, on the other end of the Shambles.”
“See? Not dead yet,” Lionel whispered. “Sounds like Merek was headed home.”
Kate nodded as she thought what that meant. “Merek’s attacker might have returned, found him struggling down along the shuttered shops,” she said. “Please, if you have any idea who the attacker was, now is the time to say.”
Lionel groaned. “Don’t know why I protect the bastard. Jon Horner. Talk to him.”
Startled, Kate said nothing for a moment, then, softly, “I cannot, Lionel. He was found dead this morning, possibly poisoned.”
“God help us,” Maud gasped. “Is father in danger?”
“Sir Elric’s squire is watching the house,” Kate assured her. Lionel was soaked in sweat, his eyelids flickering. Enough for the moment. “I am grateful for all your help, Lionel.”
A weak smile, though his eyes were already closed, his head listing to one side. “Me, a help to you.” His attempt to chuckle dissolved into a cough.
As they left him, they found the apothecary Gwenllian Ferriby waiting on the landing. Her eyes keenly studied their faces. Her rich dark hair was caught up in a bronze crispinette, slightly mussed from the fur-lined hood she had just pushed back, but the effect just seemed to emphasize her beauty. Kate had become acquainted with her while Kevin recuperated in her home. She was the foster sister of the infirmarian at St. Mary’s, Brother Martin, and had prepared Kevin’s tinctures according to her brother’s instructions once Kevin left the infirmary. Her apothecary was on St. Helen’s Square, next to the York Tavern, a long way to come from her shop in the middle of the day. Curious.
Maud reached out to embrace Gwenllian. “I am so grateful you’ve come. The drink has calmed Father, and eased his pain, but I fear he is feverish.”
“I will go to him, Maud. Rest easy. Between me and the physician, we will put him right.” She nodded to Kate. “Dame Katherine,” and stepped past them into the room, followed by a servant.
“Personal attention from the apothecary,” said Kate with a questioning look.
“She does it as a favor to me,” said Maud. “I once saved her daughter from a runaway cart, and we have been friends ever since.”
Yet another reason to love and respect the young woman before her.
“Thank you for your help today, Maud.”
“Father was of help?”
“He was. I doubt he would have spoken up without your encouragement. I am in your debt.”
“Mother was wrong to prevent him from speaking to you,” Maud said simply, then started down the steps.
“She means to protect her family.”
Maud paused, looking back over her shoulder. “A man who so easily slit another’s throat, he is a danger to us all and should not be free to walk the streets of York. If the constables spen
d all their efforts searching for Berend, the real murderer will go free. My regret is that it is still not proof enough to protect Berend.”
Nor, in her right mind, could Kate be certain Berend had not finished the man, except that she could not believe that of Berend. But Parr . . . She said nothing as they continued into the hall.
Winifrith glowered at Kate from her seat by the hounds, Simon asleep in her arms. “You have outstayed your welcome.”
“Hush, Mother,” Maud hissed. “If Dame Katherine comes to Father’s defense, the sheriffs will believe her, for all in the city know they are not friends.”
“You risked your father’s life before you knew whether she would defend him.” Winifrith did not look any more kindly on her daughter than she did on Kate, when she turned back to her. “Will you vouch for him, Katherine? Will you do that for him despite your differences?”
“Of course,” said Kate. “I seek the truth, always. And, as I told Maud, your house is being watched by one of Sir Elric’s men. Now I will leave you in peace.” Kate took Maud’s hands, pressing them. “Bless you.” Calling to Lille and Ghent, she slipped on their leashes, and departed.
Matt, who had stood quietly beside Fitch near the door, opened it for her and followed her out. A wintry sun had turned the snow underfoot to slush, forcing Kate to pay close attention to where she was stepping. As they reached the end of the bridge, she suggested that Matt head toward the Martha House on Castlegate and escort Marie and Petra home. She suddenly wanted them near.
“And you, Dame Katherine?”
“I am going to pass Jon Horner’s house, see whether the sheriffs’ men are there, and then stop at the guesthouse.”
“Ah.”
“I will see you at home.”
Not far down Davygate she passed Jon Horner’s house, unguarded. Damn the sheriffs. But they did not know all that she did.
She hurried on.
Margery pressed a hand to her stomach and moaned. “Oh, my dear man. I pray it was quick, that he did not suffer.”
