Shackled to iron rings in the wall, Gilbert was sagging so badly that the manacles were cutting into his wrists. He was still bleeding from Jonas's last blow, and his breath was coming in labored, wheezing pants. When Justin let the lantern's light play over that battered, bloated face, he could not summon up even a pinprick of pity. What pity had Gilbert shown Kenrick, cornered in the mill loft?
"You're making it needlessly hard on yourself, Gilbert. You know you're going to hang. So why ask for more pain in the brief time you've got left? Why not tell us what we want to know? Give us some answers and we'll go away and let you be."
The Fleming raised his head. When he spoke, his voice emerged as a croak, raspy and harsh, throbbing with hatred. "Rot in Hell..."
~~
Justin had dreaded telling Eleanor, but she took it better than he'd expected. Apparently she, too, had known a few men in her life who could not be broken, for she did not seem surprised by the Fleming's refusal to cooperate. And when Justin had completed his report, she said something that would later strike him as odd, reminding him of his earlier suspicions about her motives.
"Well," she said softly, "mayhap it was not meant that the truth come out..."
"Madame?"
"No matter. I was but thinking aloud, wondering if this means the Fleming's secret will die with him. Was he our last hope? What of his woman?"
"So far Nora has eluded us, my lady. When the serjeant's men arrived to arrest her, she was gone and some of her belongings were, too. They've been out scouring the city for her, with no luck so far. But even if she is caught, I doubt that she'd be of much help. I cannot see why the Fleming would tell her about a killing in Winchester. He's not the sort to be boasting in bed about his crimes, to give away any secrets that might be used against him later."
"What of the man's partner?"
"He is not likely to be as hard a nut to crack, madame." Justin was striving to sound confident, but he could not help adding a pessimistic qualifier, "... if we can find him."
Eleanor gave him a penetrating look. "You ought not to be so downcast, Justin. At least this Fleming will be doing no more killings. You said he is known to have slain five people, did you not? The true tally of his victims is probably twice that many. You may not have been able to get the answers we were seeking, but you undoubtedly saved some lives."
Justin nodded somberly. "But I wanted the answers, too."
Their eyes caught and held. "So did I," she said. "So keep on the trail. The hunt is not over yet."
~~
Justin's chagrin was not eased by Eleanor's praise; her generosity only made him feel even more disheartened. He'd let her down. No matter how he rationalized their failure to get the Fleming to talk, it always came back to that. She'd relied upon him and he'd disappointed her. And unless they could find the missing Sampson, no one but Gilbert would ever know if he'd been in the pay of the French king.
~~
Claudine was waiting when he emerged from the queen's great chamber. "You look wretched!"
He smiled wryly. "I know. But I spent most of the night over at the gaol, going home only to wash up."
She touched her fingers to the bruise spreading across his cheekbone. "Did the killer do this? Did you catch him?" When he nodded, she slipped her arm in his, drawing him toward the comparative privacy of a window alcove. "Then why are you not happier about it?"
"It is a long and troubling story," he said evasively. "No need to burden you with it."
Claudine shook her head reproachfully. "Now why am I thinking of clams?" Her fingers again sought his bruised cheek. "Do you know what I think you need? Me. Is there a chance you can get rid of that inconvenient friend?"
"I suppose he could always bed down in the smithy with Gunter. But what about the queen?"
"I'll get her to agree," Claudine said and then grinned. "Surely you've noticed that I am very good at getting what I want?"
Justin grinned, too, his spirits beginning to soar. "I can right gladly attest to that," he said, "and I'd like nothing better than to do more attesting, the sooner the better."
Claudine winked. "Wait here, then, whilst I talk to the queen. I'll be right back."
Justin sat down in the window seat to await Claudine's return. But no sooner had she disappeared into the queen's chamber than the door to the great hall was flung open and Durand strode in. Justin stiffened. This was the first time he'd seen Durand at court since confiding his suspicions to Eleanor. He had no idea how she had chosen to discipline her false knight, for she'd said nothing further. But it was obvious that Durand had lost the queen's favor. Nothing else could explain the look of fury that crossed his face now.
Justin got slowly to his feet as the other man stalked toward him. These past weeks had taught him that all wars were not fought on the battlefield, and one of the lessons he'd learned was to strike first and fast. "I'm surprised to see you, Sir Durand. I assumed that you had sailed for France with Lord John."
Durand's eyes were a brittle Viking blue, fathomless and frigid. "You'd do well to consider a sojourn in France yourself, de Quincy. If I were you, I'd ride for the nearest port as if my very life depended upon it."
"That sounds almost like a threat. But I am sure you meant it as a friendly warning, did you not?"
"Of course. You've given me such good reason to feel friendly toward you, after all," Durand said, with a menacing smile. "If not for you, the queen would have continued to see me as just another of her knights, one amongst many. That is all changed now, though - because of you."
"The pleasure was all mine," Justin said, and Durand's sarcastic civility splintered into shards of sheer ice.
"Some pleasures can be hazardous to a man's health," he said, "and some can even be fatal." He got the last word, for he turned on his heel then, not waiting for Justin's retort.
"Justin?" Claudine's eyes were wide, her brows arching upward toward her hairline. "What was that all about? I did not realize that you even knew Durand. What happened to cause such bad blood between you?"
"I accused him of being John's lackey - more or less - and he liked it not."
"You do enjoy courting danger, for certes! Luckily for you," she added, "I find madness to be well nigh irresistible n a man."
Justin smiled, but kept his eyes upon Durand's retreating figure. "You warned me about John, and with cause. But why should I accord the Prince of Darkness and one of his minions the same respect?"
"You're wrong," she said, with such vehemence that he looked at her in surprise. "John is indeed dangerous. Yet there are still occasional flashes of brightness in the dark depths of his soul." Her lips curved slightly then, hinting at a smile, for she could never be serious for long. "Lucifer was a fallen angel, after all. But you'll look in vain for any sparks in Durand's darkness, Justin. He is not a man you want as an enemy."
"Want him or not, I have him." Justin was touched by her concern, but he did not take Durand's threats as seriously as she did. How could the knight be a more dangerous foe than the Fleming?
~~
Shaking her hair over her shoulders, Claudine stretched so sensuously that Justin paused in the act of pouring wine. "You have more in common with cats than an overactive curiosity," he said admiringly. "You move like a cat, too."
"I hope you mean that as a compliment. Most people think cats are good only for catching mice and serving witches. But I fancy them myself, so I thank you." When he handed her a wine cup, she settled back comfortably in his arms. "I've been known to purr, too..."
"And to scratch."
She smiled into the wine cup. "I hope you're not complaining?"
"No... I think I was boasting," he said, and she laughed, then offered him the cup. "Drink up, darling," she urged. "You're going to be needing your strength tonight."
He began to laugh, too. "You are a shameless wench. I like that."
Reclaiming the cup, she deliberately dribbled wine onto his chest, and in the tussle that followed, the rest o
f the wine was spilt. After squabbling playfully over who ought to fetch the flagon, Justin dived, shivering, from the bed, for the hearth was not giving off much heat. "It is lucky the cup went into the floor rushes, ' he said with mock severity, "for I have but one set of sheets."
Claudine pretended to pout. "If you had not started squirming about like an eel, I'd have licked it off!" Lifting the covers, she patted the bed invitingly. "Hurry, I'm getting cold. I want you to warm - Jesu!"
"What?" He glanced around the cottage, puzzled, seeing no reason for her outcry.
She was staring at the huge mottled bruise on his left hip. "Surely I did not do that? Was it the man you captured yesterday? The killer?"
He nodded and climbed hastily back into bed, handing her the refilled cup. Sipping the wine, she explored his bruises with gentle fingers, a faint frown creasing her brow. "Forget what I said about your courting danger. You've taken her right into your bed!"
"So danger is a woman, then? I've always thought so, too."
She continued to survey his contusions, unsmiling. "I am not joking. You could have been killed, Justin. And it is not over, is it?"
"No," he admitted, "it is not." The afterglow of their lovemaking had begun to fade and reality was once more intruding. How were they going to find Sampson? And even if they did, could he be made to talk?
"That wretched letter had blood on it," Claudine said suddenly, and scowled at his look of surprise. "Of course I've figured out that the letter is at the heart of this, Justin! It is so obvious. You did not know the queen yet, for I had to help get you in to see her, remember? So whatever was in that letter had to be important, indeed, since she then took you into her service. You are not going to insult me now with a false denial, are you?"
"No," he said, "I am not."
"Good," she said, sounding mollified. "That was an easy guess. But I do not understand how the letter is linked to your hunt for this killer?"
Her voice had risen questioningly and he brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing her fingers. "I cannot tell you that, love."
"Why not? You could pretend this is a church and I am your confessor," she suggested impishly. "Anything you told me would not go beyond this bed, for I'd never betray the sanctity of the confessional!"
Justin was laughing again. "Listen, my beautiful blasphemer, I'd tell you if I could. But these are not my secrets, so I have not the right to reveal them, even to you."
"Yes, I am prying," she conceded. "And I'll not deny that I am curious, for who would not be? They are a most unlikely couple, after all: the Queen of England and a Winchester cutthroat! Of course I wonder about such an odd pairing. But it is more than curiosity."
Her eyes lingered for a moment on the bruise under his eye. "Justin, I am worried about you. You were ambushed once already, and the next time you might not be so lucky. I do not know what information you hoped to gain from that outlaw, but I do know you did not get it. You admitted as much when you said it was 'not over.' What are you going to do now? I need to know if your life will be at risk. Surely you can tell me that much?"
Justin's feelings for Claudine had been veering between passion and protection, between wanting to take care of her and take her to bed. His emotions were complicated now by a great surge of tenderness, a sentiment he'd had little experience with. Reaching over, he caressed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, her lips parting temptingly.
He did not kiss her, though, for in that moment the significance of her words sank in. She'd called Gilbert a "Winchester cutthroat." He'd never told her that, had never even mentioned the Fleming's name. So how had she known?
His fingers slid from her cheek, came to rest upon her throat. She smiled without opening her eyes, a dimple flashing. Fumbling for the wine cup, he drank deeply, but the cold continued to seep into his body, through marrow to the very bone. Only a handful of people had known of Gilbert's Winchester roots. Eleanor. Will Longsword. Luke and Jonas. Nell. And John. John would know, for Durand would have told him all that he'd gleaned from those spying missions to Winchester.
I'll have to look elsewhere. John's words seemed to echo in the stillness. He'd harbored suspicions about Luke. Ought he to have looked closer at hand? Could Claudine be John's spy?
Until that moment, he'd not known that the worst sort of pain need not be physical, utterly unrelated to broken bones or bleeding. Had she bedded him at John's bidding? All those questions about his past, so gently insistent, questions that a woman would naturally want to know about her lover. Jesus God. Had she been playing him for a fool from the first?
"Are you retreating into that clamlike silence again?" Claudine chided. "I do not expect you to betray the queen's confidence, no more than I would. But I can see how troubled you are. Keep back what you must, but do not shut me out entirely. Let me help, Justin."
She sounded very sincere. Those lovely dark eyes did not waver, her gaze as trusting and innocent as a fawn's. Could he be sure that he'd not let something slip about the Fleming? Was he doing her a terrible wrong? But it explained so much, too much. He had to know the truth. He had to know.
"You are right, Claudine," he said, and wondered if his voice sounded as strained to her ears as it did to his own. "Mayhap it might help to talk about it, and... and whom can I trust if not you? But I must have your word that you'll keep secret whatever I tell you. There is more at stake than I think you realize."
"I promise," she said readily. "Of course I do."
"I'll tell you, then, about the contents of that letter. It concerned the queen's son. It is very likely, Claudine, that King Richard is dead."
Her gasp was audible. "Oh, no! What happened to him?"
"He was shipwrecked on the way home from the Holy Land. The letter was from one of his shipmates. He claims there were but few survivors and the king was not amongst them."
"Dear God!" She seemed genuinely shaken. "Nothing could give the queen greater grief. Richard has always been the dearest of all her children. How could she keep pain like that bottled up within? She's acted as if nothing was wrong..."
"She is not willing to believe it, not yet. That is one reason why she is keeping it quiet. She is waiting for confirmation, whilst hoping that it will be disproved. But I read that letter and I have no doubts that the man was telling the truth."
He drained the cup, the wine tasting like vinegar. "Do you see now why I was so loath to speak of this, Claudine, and why I had to swear you to secrecy?"
"By the Rood, yes! Justin, this will... will change everything!"
"Yes... it will." He knew his story would not bear close scrutiny, but it was so sensational that no one would think to question it, at least not on first hearing. Setting the cup down in the floor rushes, he lay back wearily against the pillow. Claudine curled up beside him, continuing to express her astonishment, to sympathize with Eleanor, to speculate how Richard's death would affect the succession. Finally becoming aware of his silence, she poked him in the ribs. "You're not falling asleep, are you?"
"Sorry," he mumbled. "But I was up all night..."
"I'd forgotten about that." Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. "Get some sleep, then, love. Mayhap I will, too..."
Turning his head on the pillow, Justin found himself breathing in the rain-sweet scent of her hair. He was exhausted, but sleep would not come. What if he was wrong about Claudine? How could he ever expect her forgiveness? But if he was not wrong? What, then?
He was never to know how long he lay there. He was lost in time, trapped behind enemy lines in a foreign country, with no familiar landmarks in sight. "Justin?" Claudine was shaking his arm. "Love, wake up."
"What is wrong?"
"I am feeling poorly," she said, mustering up a wan smile. "Sometimes I get these severe headaches. They come upon me without warning, like a storm out of a cloudless sky..."
Justin sat up. "There is an apothecary shop across the street. I'll see if it is still open."
She shook her head, then winced.
"It is sweet of you to offer. But that will not help." Rubbing her temples, she winced again, and gave him another apologetic smile. "The only remedy that does is a tisane made up for me in Aquitaine. I'm not even sure what is in it, feverfew and betony and other herbs I could not name. When one of these bad headaches hits, all I can do is take the tisane and keep to bed until the storm passes. Would you mind taking me back to the Tower?"
"No, I'd not mind."
"No wonder I am so smitten with you," she said, groping for his hand. "I am truly sorry, love, to spoil our night together."
Justin stared down at the delicate fingers entwined in his. "It is all right, Claudine," he said softly. "I understand."
~~
They parted on the steps leading up into the Tower's great keep, for Claudine insisted that he need not accompany her any farther. She did not kiss him, for it was too public a place for that. Instead she squeezed his hand, her fingers stroking his palm in a clandestine caress. "I am so sorry, Justin."
The Queen's Man Page 26
