by Speer, Flora
“I must protest yet again.” Erland began complaining the moment Royce appeared. “The conditions under which you are holding me are disgraceful. I deserve better treatment.”
“No doubt you house your nephew under similar conditions,” Royce said, stepping aside to let Lilianne and Magnus follow him through the door.
“My nephew's circumstances have nothing to do with the way you are abusing me,” Erland said. “I demand larger quarters, with at least two more braziers and tapestries on the walls. These rooms are drafty; I'm freezing. The food is repellant to a man of cultivated tastes and the wine is no better than vinegar. I ought not to be here at all. As a French nobleman, I insist upon the comforts to which I am entitled. And get that stupid girl out of here! I do not want to see her.” He ended his list of demands with a threatening look at Lilianne that would have sent a less courageous woman fleeing out the door.
“Royce,” Magnus said, once again crossing his arms over his chest, this time to keep himself from wrapping his hands around Erland's throat, “perhaps the moment has come for us to explain to Count Erland why he, of all King Louis's nobles, was chosen for abduction.”
“A fine idea,” Royce said jovially. The smile he cast upon Magnus and Lilianne offered no hint of the disagreements amongst them. “Count Erland, thanks to your henchman, Norbard, we are aware that you are one of King Louis's most important agents. But you already know about Norbard's greed and treachery, don't you?”
Erland said nothing, though he tensed. Magnus could not help admiring the way in which Royce was playing with the man, suggesting dire threats without actual, spoken intimidation, allowing Erland's imagination to do Royce's menacing work for him. Magnus listened with an impassive expression as Royce continued the game, lying through his teeth with his next remarks.
“You will remain here, confined to these rooms, until King Louis agrees to exchange you for a captured English agent,” Royce informed him with a sweet reasonableness that held just the faintest tinge of a sharp edge.
“What?” Erland appeared to be stunned by Royce's words. “That’s not what you’ve been telling me. I understood from the questions you've been asking that I was abducted because of my knowledge of King Louis's future intentions against the English.”
“I do assure you,” Royce went on, sounding more like a regretful host than a jailor, “better men than you have been housed here, some of them in greater comfort than you are presently enjoying. If you care to reveal what you know of King Louis's spying operations in England and Normandy, perhaps something more pleasant can be arranged for you. A warming tapestry for the wall, a pitcher of good wine with your dinner, an occasional hot bath to ease the itch of the flea bites, a change of clothing – you understand how the game is played.”
“An English agent, you said?” Erland assumed an innocent expression. “I know of no captured English agents. Who is the man?”
“Desmond of Ashendown,” Magnus said when Royce's glance and raised brows designated him the man to state what Erland already knew.
Erland's self-control was remarkable. He did not so much as flick his eyes in Magnus's direction. Instead, he stared at Royce for a long moment before he began to laugh.
“I don't see what's so funny,” Magnus said.
“No matter what you do, Lord Royce,” Erland gasped, wiping his streaming eyes, “no matter how many French agents you capture and offer in exchange, King Louis will never hand Desmond over to you. Indeed, he cannot.”
A terrible fear assailed Magnus. Surely, he'd know if Desmond was dead. He'd sense the loss of his twin in his very soul. And he’d stop having those disconcerting chills that warned of danger to Desmond.
“You must forgive my unseemly humor.” Howling with renewed laughter, Erland collapsed into a chair. “This is too funny. I cannot bear it.”
Lilianne had been standing near the door, watching the scene with a deepening frown. She chose this moment to step forward, brushing past Magnus to confront Erland, though she addressed her first remarks to Royce.
“My lord,” she said, “I thought we were here to speak to my villainous uncle about Gilbert.”
“Gilbert?” Erland sobered briefly, before he laughed again and made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Oh, go away, you stupid wench. What has Gilbert to do with my present unhappy situation?”
“Count Erland.” Magnus unfolded his arms, allowing Erland to see how he was holding his large fists ready to strike. “You will speak to your niece with more respect.”
“Why should I?” Erland asked. “She betrayed me at Manoir Sainte Inge, when she showed you the way to my private room. For her disloyal act, she deserves no respect at all. Indeed, she deserves a severe punishment.”
“Think what you will of me, but Gilbert has never in his young life betrayed you,” Lilianne cried. “What have you done with him?”
“Surely, you don't expect me to tell you?” Erland said in a voice drenched with contempt. “Not after all this time. Desist, Lilianne. I have no intention of revealing Gilbert's present whereabouts to you.”
“You don't have to tell her where the boy is,” Royce said. “We already know.”
“Then, why ask me?” Erland sneered as he spoke, but Magnus thought he saw the beginning of fear in the man.
“What do you mean, you know?” Lilianne cried, turning her back on Erland to face Royce.
“Do you recall the parchments that Magnus took from Erland's desk?” Royce asked her.
Magnus noted how Erland went perfectly still when he heard the question. He also saw what Erland could not see, the odd look that Lilianne turned on Royce. Her startled expression suggested she couldn't believe what she was hearing, that she thought Royce didn't want Erland to know they had the documents. When Lilianne glanced at Magnus in perplexity, he chanced an almost imperceptible nod, hoping she'd understand that he didn't want to make Royce explain in front of Erland. She must have understood, for she followed his silent direction.
“Yes, Royce,” Lilianne said, a faint upward curve softening her lovely mouth. “I do remember how you said those documents might contain useful information. Was it about Gilbert?”
“So,” Erland muttered, “you have broken my code.”
“Lilianne, your brother is at Manoir Sainte Inge,” Magnus said.
“That cannot be!” she exclaimed. “I saw Erland and Norbard ride off, with Gilbert riding between them. I bid him farewell, and they escorted him away from the manor. When Alice and I cleaned Gilbert's room after he’d left, all of his belongings were gone.”
“Foolish female,” Erland said. “Like all of your sex, you cannot reason for yourself. You see only what men intend you to see.”
“Thanks to you, I am rapidly learning to see, and to think, for myself,” Lilianne snarled at him.
“Count Erland,” Royce said in a dangerously soft voice, “why don't you explain how you accomplished your clever trick, so Lilianne can understand.”
“Oh, why not?” Erland shrugged. “The truth can make no difference now. Gilbert must be dead by this time.”
Lilianne reeled, looking as if she would faint. Magnus caught her with an arm around her waist. She leaned against him, accepting his support, but she did not swoon or weep. She just stared at Erland with angry eyes.
“Tell us what you did to Gilbert,” she demanded, her voice remarkably steady.
“Late at night, after you and that ninny, Alice, were in your bedchambers and not likely to come out of them for fear of my men-at-arms,” Erland said, “I secretly returned to the manor and deposited Gilbert in the tower room above my private chamber. There he has been ever since. The poppy juice I gave him to keep him quiet during his homecoming wore off fairly soon, but by then he was securely locked away where no one could hear him call for help.”
“What of the times when you were gone from Manoir Sainte Inge?” Lilianne cried. “Who was caring for Gilbert then? I don't understand the purpose behind your deception.”
“You mean, you were spying on the English!” Lilianne cried.
“What of it?” Erland shrugged again. “I obey my king's commands.”
Lilianne caught her breath at the comment, so like Royce's earlier statement. Magnus tightened his arm around her waist, preparing for what was still to come.
“What Erland has just told you is undoubtedly true,” Royce informed her. “A short note on one of the parchments we deciphered confirms that Gilbert is locked in a tower room. Apparently, Erland has been personally providing food and water for the lad.”
“Why bother to feed him?” Magnus asked of Erland. “According to you, King Louis has made you Gilbert's legal heir. There’s no need to keep the boy alive any longer.”
“I thought it undiplomatic to let him die too soon after King Louis agreed to my petition,” Erland responded.
“Then, he's not dead,” Lilianne whispered.
Magnus could see the revival of her hope in the way she straightened against his encircling arm. But almost immediately she asked the question that had also occurred to him.
“Since you are not at Manoir Sainte Inge,” she said to Erland, “who has been feeding Gilbert in your absence?”
“No one,” Erland said with supreme indifference.
“Not Norbard?”
“Stupid girl, you forget that Norbard is still away from the manor,” Erland said. “Besides, no intelligent person would trust him with so important a secret.”
“Oh, dear heaven,” Lilianne whispered.
“Call on heaven if you wish,” Erland said. “Your pleas won't alter the fact that your betrayal of me doomed your brother. I hadn't yet taken Gilbert's food to him on the night when your friends abducted me from Manoir Sainte Inge. If I have reckoned the time correctly, that was eight days ago. Gilbert's supply of water may have lasted for another few days, but he is certainly dead by now. Which means that, in addition to being Count of Morvan, I am also Lord of Sainte Inge. I do thank you for your help, Lilianne.”
Magnus expected Lilianne to sag against him in despair over her brother's fate. He should have known better. She wrenched herself away from his supporting arm to fling herself at Erland. Seeing her coming, Erland leapt from his chair, putting it and the table between them.
“You are an evil, greedy man!” Lilianne shouted. “Gilbert's death was your doing, not mine!”
“Think what you will. The boy would never have made a warrior.” Erland sounded as if he was explaining a simple lesson to a particularly dense student. “Nor could he have grown into a strong lord for Manoir Sainte Inge. He simply was not tough enough. Eventually, you will understand that it was better this way, better by far for me to hold your late father's lands in my own firm grasp.”
“Gilbert was my little brother!” she screamed. “I know how you killed my father, too! What kind of monster are you, to murder your blood kin?”
“No monster,” Erland said calmly, “just a very clever man, who has outwitted your English friends.”
“I suppose you cleverly stole Lilianne's dowry too?” Magnus asked, wanting the details of Erland's crimes against his family to be spoken aloud before witnesses.
“Of course. A woman without a dowry is beholden to her male relatives,” Erland said. “In time, she will learn to obey me. I am, after all, her only hope of escaping life in a convent.”
“I'll die before I ever obey you!” Lilianne cried.
“As you wish,” said Erland. “I have no objection to killing you, too.”
“But you won't kill her,” Royce said. “So long as Lilianne does not return to France, there is no practical purpose in killing her, no benefit to you in her death. And you are, above all, a practical man, are you not, Count Erland?”
“If I ever see you again,” Lilianne said to Erland, “I will come to you with a sword in my hand. And, by heaven, I will use it.” She whirled, her skirts flaring out around her ankles, and left the room.
Magnus needed every bit of self-discipline he possessed to make himself remain where he was instead of rushing after her as he longed to do. He told himself Lilianne would likely prefer some privacy as she gave way to grief; but then, cursing himself for a coward and a fool, he took a step toward the door. Royce’s voice halted him, reminding him of the debt he owed to his own brother.
“Well, now that we have learned what happened to Gilbert,” Royce said to Erland, “will you tell us where Sir Desmond is?”
“I know nothing of your spy,” Erland responded with aristocratic indifference. “It would seem I am of no use to you at all, Lord Royce. What a pity you wasted so much time and money sending your men to seize me.”
“Perhaps that’s true,” Royce said, regarding him with an inscrutable expression. “Then again, perhaps a bit of judiciously applied pain will restore your memory in regard to Sir Desmond.”
“You are welcome to try.” Erland went rather pale at the thinly veiled threat of torture, but otherwise he seemed resolute.
“I will think on the many possibilities,” Royce said, smiling sweetly at his prisoner. “So will you, I am sure.”
“I have a request to make of you,” Erland said, somewhat uneasily. “As one nobleman to another, you understand.”
“Indeed? You surprise me. I did not expect you to make polite requests. Angry demands, yes, but not requests.” Royce waited for Erland’s next words.
“Were you in my position, you'd raise the same issue,” Erland said. Taking a deep breath, he went on, looking just a little embarrassed. “I’ve not had a woman for more than two weeks and I am growing uncomfortable. Send the castle whore to me. I'll not occupy her for long.”
“What do you think, Magnus?” Royce asked. “Shall I grant his request?”
“Does he really want a woman?” Magnus wondered, dragging his thoughts away from Lilianne. “Or is he seeking a means of sending a message out of Richton? I've heard of whores being used to carry letters, as well as for their usual purpose.”
“I give you my word of honor,” Erland began.
“You have no honor,” Magnus told him with a quietness that did not mask his rage at so cold-blooded a man. “If you need such comfort, then comfort yourself.”
The tightening of Erland's mouth, the sudden blaze of his eyes, could have been anger at the insult to his noble honor, or outrage at Magnus's crude suggestion, or just the frustration of his sexual need. Whatever Erland's true feelings, Magnus knew he had scored an important point against the man, who obviously liked to imagine himself in control of every situation. Magnus also knew he had made an enemy who would not soon forget what had been said in the tower room.
“Come along, Magnus.” Royce strode to the door. Magnus followed him. Neither man bothered to look back at Erland.
In the bailey again, Magnus swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. Royce, apparently lost in thought, was scanning the sky above the castle walls as if he expected to find there the answers he had sought from Erland.
“Will you resort to torture?” Magnus asked him.
“You’ve heard my opinion of torture,” Royce said. “Extreme pain seldom produces a truthful response.”
“I thought you were lying about that for Lilianne's sake.”
“I was not lying.”
“I no longer trust anything you say, Royce.”
“I know. I'm sorry for that, but it can’t be helped. I've grown used to people not trusting or believing me. You may trust this, however: I am dedicate
d to securing your brother's release, not because I care about Desmond, whom I consider a hot-headed fool, but because King Henry wants him freed.”
“That's all very well, but how are we to find Desmond, if King Louis claims to know nothing about him and we cannot get anything out of Erland?” Magnus asked.
“The original message concerning Desmond was sent to King Henry through a secret channel.” Royce sounded as if he was musing to himself. “I have my private suspicions about the origin of this affair, but I prefer to discuss them with King Henry before I make any decision as to what our next steps should be.”
“The king is presently in Normandy.”
“Which is why I shall depart for Normandy this afternoon.”
“What, now?” Magnus exclaimed. “Do you expect William and Braedon and me to go with you?”
“No. I want all of you to stay here at Richton. I’ll ride to Pevensey and take ship from there; it's a shorter crossing than from Hythe or Dover, and from the looks of the sky, the weather is about to turn stormy. I don't intend to be lost at sea.”
“I thought you'd prefer to use Captain Piers.” Magnus did his best to sound casual because he had just conjured up an idea of his own, one that would require the services of Captain Piers and his ship.
“As a nobleman attending the court of his liege lord, I will travel in official state, on a royal ship,” Royce said. “The Daisy isn’t grand enough for the impression I wish to make. My grandeur will be calculated to forestall any questions a bout my true purpose in Normandy. No one at court will be surprised when the king grants me a prompt interview. “
“You’ll be gone for some time, then?” Magnus asked. “For several weeks, at least? While I, and the others, sit here idly.”
“I expect you to await my return with as much patience as you can muster,” Royce said sternly.
“Do you expect Desmond to be patient, too?”
“I’ve told you, I intend to see Desmond freed. While I am away, you have my permission to question Erland as often as you like. I doubt if he will allow any important facts to slip, but every man does have his weaknesses. Do not permit him access to any of the castle whores. I think you are right about his request; he’s hoping to find a way to send a message to his fellow spies. Oh, and do please take care that Lilianne doesn't kill him before I return.”
