“So do I,” said Wulfstan.
William glared at him. “What are you saying? That you can divine his motive?”
“No,” said Wulfstan. “But I know his name.”
The power of speech deserted William. He glanced at Robert, who looked equally astonished. Was it possible that after so long a time, they’d finally learn the man’s identity?
At last, William found his tongue. “If this is some twisted attempt at humor—”
“I assure you, ’tis not,” Wulfstan said.
William folded his arms. “I’m listening.”
With knitted brow, Wulfstan turned and stared into the empty hearth. “My vision was clear. I saw everything, including the symbol on the man’s arm. A blue serpent.”
The long-buried image—which had resurfaced only once, the day Meg described her bizarre dream—dominated William’s mind. “Aye,” he said. “I remember it.”
“’Tis a permanent mark, a pigment fixed into the skin.”
“You seem to know a great deal about this serpent.”
“I should. I’ve seen it many times before.”
Wulfstan hesitated. Tension stretched the length and breadth of the prison chamber.
“Where?” said William.
Wulfstan turned to him as a rumble of thunder penetrated the cold, stone walls. “On my brother’s arm.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Emma paced the bedchamber floor, and each step released the scents of meadowsweet and marjoram from the herb-strewn rushes. Her heart swelled. Her stomach fluttered. Tonight was the night.
A roll of thunder drew her to the open window. She peered out at the darkened fields and the bustling bailey below. A gust of cool wind brushed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation.
The chamber door closed with a thump. She spun around.
“I have it,” Gertrude said, hastening forward. She held a small flask in one hand and a pewter cup in the other. “Meg said you must drink it immediately for it to work tonight.”
Emma stepped forward. “What’s in the cup?”
“Mint water to wash away the taste.” Gertrude handed her the flask. “Meg said the medicine would be bitter.”
Emma raised the flask to her nose. “I can certainly smell the rue. I wouldn’t have guessed so much was necessary.”
“Meg assured me she used the proper amount,” Gertrude said. “But you’ll have to drink all of it.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Go on,” Gertrude urged.
Tentatively, Emma sipped the medicine. She shuddered as the acrid liquid slid down her throat. “Bitter is hardly the word,” she said. “’Tis revolting.”
“Drink it quickly,” Gertrude advised. “All at once.”
Emma nodded and steeled herself against the foul taste. With eyes closed, she gulped down the medicine. Gertrude swiftly reclaimed the flask and thrust the cup into Emma’s hands.
Eagerly, Emma drained it. She’d never been so grateful for the taste of mint, but as she swallowed the last drop, she winced. She handed the cup back to Gertrude, then touched her temple. Her head throbbed.
Gertrude appeared anxious, watchful. “What is it?”
Emma rubbed her temple and took a deep breath. “My head.”
Gertrude stepped backward. “Perhaps you drank too fast.”
Emma stared past Gertrude to the wall beyond. The stones seemed to shift. The surrounding furniture began to sway.
She blinked. “I’m dizzy.”
“Of course you are,” said Gertrude. Her stance and tone of voice had changed.
Emma searched her cousin’s luminous, green eyes. “Did Meg say to expect that?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“Because I poisoned you.”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate the fog in Emma’s head. Heat flooded her body. Her mouth went dry.
“Poison,” she said. “Is it fatal?”
Gertrude smiled. “It had better be.”
Her words stung. All at once, Emma remembered her prophetic vision.
If only she’d understood it. If only she could see William once more.
Sorrow, anger, and intense nausea battled for precedence within her. “Why?” she choked.
Gertrude’s sneer transformed her face. ’Twas ugly, inhuman. “Because I hate you,” she snarled. “All these years, I’ve bided my time and dreamt of the day I’d be rid of you. I rejoiced in the news of your marriage, because I thought the curse would prevail. But you were stubborn, as always, and refused to allow a man into your bed. If you’d just married Wulfstan like I advised, you would’ve been under Aldred’s control.”
Emma felt numb. “Aldred,” she murmured.
Gertrude laughed. “Haven’t you guessed? What a stupid, simple soul you are. ’Twas Aldred I met last night at Woden’s Circle. He is my lover…not one of your husband’s impotent goblins. Soon we’ll be married. Then together, we shall rule Ravenwood.”
Emma fought to focus on Gertrude’s face, but there were two of them. “Do you expect my husband to cower and run away after my death?”
“No. I expect Aldred to kill him.”
Fear clawed at Emma. Her throat constricted. “What right have you to Ravenwood?” she rasped.
Gertrude smirked. “All of your visions, your uncanny eye for detail, and you never suspected. You and I aren’t cousins, Emma. We’re sisters.”
Emma’s stomach burned. Her senses reeled. She stumbled to the bed and leaned against it.
“Your father was mine,” Gertrude explained.
Emma shook her head, and the chamber spun. “He bedded his own sister?”
“He knew I was his daughter, just as you knew I was his favorite. Father and I were alike, you see, and I was firstborn. Ravenwood should be mine.”
“No. Ravenwood was my mother’s birthright.”
“The dead have no rights.”
“You’re mad.”
“I’m practical. You’d be dead already if your brute of a husband hadn’t jumped in front of Aldred’s arrow. But where Aldred failed, I’ve succeeded.”
Emma fell to the floor. The rushes were prickly, blurry. She opened her mouth, but speech was too difficult.
“I can’t wait to tell him,” Gertrude continued. “He awaits me in the woods.”
There was a slight rustle, followed by the sound of Gertrude’s footfalls moving farther and farther away. “Fear not, Sister,” Gertrude hissed. “You won’t be lonely as you rot in your grave. Your precious Norman will soon follow.”
The door creaked, then slammed shut. Emma roused her last ounce of strength.
Must stand, she thought, reaching for the bed. William needs…
She clung to consciousness, but it slipped away. Her hand and arm flopped to the floor.
****
“Aldred?” said William.
Robert leaned against the prison wall. “I don’t believe it.”
Wulfstan crossed his arms. “I speak the truth.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “Or a clever lie.”
“Why would I lie?”
“Why would you warn me against your own brother?” William asked.
Wulfstan’s arms dropped to his sides. “’Tis the right thing to do. I’ve wrestled with my conscience long enough.”
William glanced at Robert, who shrugged in response. Then he returned his gaze to Wulfstan. “What do you expect me to do with this knowledge?” he asked. “Fight your brother, die by his sword, and leave you a happy widow to wed?”
“I have no desire to wed.”
William snorted.
“And your death would not make your wife happy,” Wulfstan said.
“You assume a lot.”
“I assume nothing. I know.”
William stared at him for a long moment. “How do you know?”
Robert stepped forward. “Perhaps they shared confidences in
the chapel.”
William raised an eyebrow. “The chapel?”
“I found him there with Lady Ravenwood,” Robert explained.
William glared at Wulfstan. “Oh?” he said in a low, controlled voice. “What did you there?”
Footfalls echoed in the stairwell. Geoffrey bounded up the last few steps and raced through the doorway. “My lord,” he said between rapid breaths. “You must come quickly. ’Tis Lady Ravenwood. She’s unwell.”
William’s chest tightened. “What’s wrong with her?”
“We don’t know,” said Geoffrey. “Tilda found her lying on the floor in your bedchamber. We cannot wake her.”
William turned to Wulfstan. “You were the last to see her,” he snapped.
Wulfstan shook his head. His eyes were ablaze with emotion. “I’m as shocked as you are.”
“If you’ve hurt my wife—”
“I’ve not!”
“We’ll see about that,” William said. He glanced at Robert, then Geoffrey. “Stay here, both of you. Watch him. Under no circumstance is he to leave.”
Robert nodded and fixed his gaze on Wulfstan.
“Aye, my lord.” Geoffrey darted out of the way.
William dashed past his squire and flew down the stairs. Oblivious to everyone and everything around him, he raced to the bedchamber.
Beyond the open doorway, Emma lay on her back on the floor. Pale. Motionless.
Tilda knelt beside her. She was sobbing, chafing Emma’s lifeless hand.
Paralyzed, he held his breath. ’Twas impossible. Unendurable.
Tilda looked up. “My lord!”
He searched her tear-stained face. “Is she alive?”
“Aye, but her breathing is shallow.”
Relief coursed through him. Springing into motion, he rushed forward and fell to his knees beside Emma. He gazed down at her ashen face and grabbed her other hand. ’Twas cold. Too cold.
“Have you any idea what happened?” he questioned.
Sniffling, Tilda shook her head. “None.”
He glanced at the open window, then gritted his teeth. “Right,” he said. “Go and find Meg.”
“I cannot leave—”
“Tilda, listen to me like you’ve never listened to anyone before. You must find Meg. She’s our only hope.”
Tilda stared at him. Then she gently laid Emma’s hand on the floor.
“Aye, my lord.” She wiped her eyes. The next instant, she jumped up and rushed out the door.
He scanned the chamber for clues. All was in order. Frowning, he released Emma’s hand and lifted her in his arms. He stood and carefully laid her on the bed.
The bedstead groaned as he sat beside her. He pushed a strand of raven hair from her forehead. “Emma,” he whispered.
She looked so beautiful, so still. More fragile than he’d ever imagined. If only she’d open her eyes. Move. Moan. Anything would be preferable to the blaring silence that scraped his ears.
He grabbed her hand and willed his strength and warmth into it. But ’twasn’t enough. He was powerless to help. All he could do was wait.
Chapter Twenty-Two
An eternity passed before William heard voices in the stairwell. He gazed once more at Emma’s ethereal face, squeezed her hand, and stood. Then he turned to the doorway.
With hunched shoulders and bowed head, Meg hobbled into the chamber. Tilda followed behind, pressing her hand to the older woman’s back as though for support.
“What happened?” he asked.
Tilda stepped forward and linked her arm through Meg’s. “I found her lying on the workshop floor.”
Meg lifted her head. Her violet eyes, though dulled by pain, were still as striking as Emma’s. “Someone snuck up behind and hit me over the head.”
“God’s blood!” he swore.
“Or mine,” Meg said. She raised a hand to the back of her head and grimaced.
“There were shards of clay on the floor,” Tilda said. “Who would do such a thing?”
He advanced and took Meg’s free arm. The movement gave her a clear view of Emma’s prostrate form. “Holy Mother,” she whispered. “This is what Emma saw in her vision. Help me to her.”
Together, William and Tilda guided Meg to the bed. Once there, she pushed their hands aside.
“I’m well enough,” she said. Leaning forward, she examined Emma’s hands. She lifted Emma’s eyelids, checked the inside of her mouth, and sniffed at her lips. Then she straightened. “I suspected as much.”
His throat constricted. “What is it?”
“Poison,” said Meg.
Tilda gulped. “No!”
He could barely swallow. “Why would she take poison?”
“And what did she take?” said Meg. “I think I smelled rue, but there’s something else and ’tis overpowered by mint. Saw you a cup or bottle lying around?”
He shook his head. “Not a one.”
She tapped her lip with her forefinger. “Then there’s no trace of it. How can I heal her when I don’t know what poisoned her?”
A chill ran down his spine, but he ignored it. Now was the time for discipline, logic. “If she were alone when she took it, the container would still be here.”
Meg’s frown deepened. “Someone must’ve given it to her, then cleaned up the evidence.”
He nodded. “I’ll wager ’twas the same person who attacked you in the workshop.”
Tilda wrung her hands and looked from William to Meg. “No one at Ravenwood would harm her ladyship,” she said. “It had to be an outsider.”
“A stranger wouldn’t know of Emma’s workshop,” Meg said. “Nor could he find his way to her bedchamber without someone noticing.”
William rubbed his stubbly chin. “Unless he were knowledgeable.”
Meg regarded him. “A knowledgeable stranger?”
“There is one among us who fits that description,” he said.
“Wulfstan,” Tilda breathed, her brown eyes wide.
Meg gasped. “Wulfstan is here?”
“He came at daybreak,” Tilda said.
Meg’s eyes brightened. “Then there’s hope.”
William scowled. “I fail to see how his presence inspires hope.”
Meg clapped her hands together. “’He has the Sight. If he touches Emma, he might see which poison affected her.”
“Aye!” said Tilda.
William glanced at Emma. “He will not touch my wife. For all we know, he’s the one who poisoned her.”
“He would never hurt Emma,” Meg said.
“I have no proof of that.”
Meg stamped her foot. “No, all you have is your pride. The longer you nurse it, the greater the chance Emma will die!”
“She will not die!” he bellowed. Then he dropped his head and expelled a long breath. “She cannot.”
The clop of boots on stone shot up the stairwell and through the open door. Robert’s squire hurried into the chamber.
“My lord,” Guy said, panting. “You’re needed in the bailey.”
“Has Erik returned?” William asked.
“No, but we have another visitor,” Guy said. Then he noticed Emma on the bed. “My lord, is she—”
“She’s still alive,” William said.
“For now,” Meg added.
The color drained from Guy’s face. He crossed himself as a drumroll of thunder sounded outside. “Will you come, my lord?”
“I’ve no time for visitors,” William said.
A sudden spark lit Guy’s blue eyes. “You’ll have time for this one.”
William’s skin prickled. “Who is it?”
“Aldred the Merciless.”
****
Every black emotion William had ever experienced seethed within him as he strode into the keep’s forebuilding. Several of his men lined the walls and watched him in silence. Beyond the stone’s protection, thunder rumbled again. ’Twas closer this time. The storm was near.
He stepped through the arch
way into the open wind. His gaze shot to the gatehouse, where a row of ravens perched. Had they gathered for a show? Or a showdown?
He clutched the hilt of his sword. ’Twas cool, hard. He scanned the faces of his men. Then his eyes narrowed as they focused on the menace in their midst.
In the center of the courtyard, atop his gray stallion, sat Aldred. The howling wind lifted his sapphire cloak so it billowed about him. He, too, wore chain mail…and his sword.
Heat engulfed William. He fought for control as he descended the steps to the bailey floor. With a slow stride, he approached Aldred. He circled the gray warhorse for a full minute, then halted at its side.
“Won’t you dismount?” he said coolly.
“I’d rather stay where I am,” Aldred said, his tone imperious.
“I’m not surprised,” William muttered.
“But you should be. Very surprised. ’Tis not every day one’s bride is poisoned.”
William’s fingers grazed the friendly hilt of his sword. “How do you know that?”
Aldred reeked of conceit. “I arranged it.”
William moved fast. His sword hissed as it left its scabbard. He poised the blades’s tip against Aldred’s neck. “Give me one reason,” he grated.
“I’ll give you a reason not to. I’m the only one who can save Lady Ravenwood.”
Time stood still. So did William, and ’twas the hardest thing he’d ever done.
I could kill him now, he thought. All who live under the weight of his cruelty would be free…but that wouldn’t help Emma.
He lowered his sword and thrust it back in its scabbard.
“That’s better,” said Aldred. “Now, I’ll make you a deal.”
“I don’t deal with villains,” William said.
“You have no choice. Only two people know what poisoned Lady Ravenwood, and I am one of them.”
“Who else knows?”
“The woman who poisoned her. Gertrude.”
William went cold. “Her scorn for Normans is brazen,” he said. “But why would she hurt her own cousin?”
“She’s not Lady Ravenwood’s cousin. She’s her sister.”
William frowned. “Lady Ravenwood never told—”
“She never knew. Gertrude should be mistress here, and she’s waited long enough. ’Twas time for action, and a poisoned drink was the next best thing to a poisoned arrow.”
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