by Anne O'Brien
It was empty, much as she had expected, but she could at least say a prayer for Lewis’s soul. She entered the porch, lifted a hand to the iron latch and would have pushed open the great door when a shadow fell across the entrance behind her. A figure appeared, slipped into the soft shadows of the porch. She spun round, instantly alert for any danger, her hand clasped around the handle of the dagger she wore discreetly under her cloak.
Outlined with the sun behind him, it was the ragged boy of the inn yard.
‘What do you want of me?’ she demanded, keeping her voice strong despite the lurch of her heart as the boy approached. Would he attack her? Rob her? Was he an assassin sent by Sir John? She drew the dagger, its blade glimmering in the shadows.
The youth continued to shuffle closer.
‘Where is she?’ Richard demanded. His eyes swept over the crowd around them in the Butter Market.
‘Gone to the Priory, my lord,’ his man-at-arms replied.
Fear bloomed, racing through Richard’s blood. He might play down his concern for David’s safety at Talgarth to soothe Elizabeth’s fears, but Elizabeth’s safety was not a matter to be trifled with. A slither of alarm traced its nasty path down his spine.
‘What do you want of me?’ Elizabeth repeated.
‘Sanctuary.’ The lad’s voice was not the pathetic croak of the inn yard. As a rich chuckle escaped, he pulled off the disreputable hat and the sheep skin that had concealed his dark hair. ‘Sanctuary, dear sister. You don’t need the dagger.’
‘David! In Heaven’s name, what are…?’
‘Quietly!’ He grasped her sleeve as he had tugged on it earlier, pulling her inside the Priory into the deep gloom, into the protection of a massive tomb of some past prior. ‘Walls have ears. They certainly do at Talgarth.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Elizabeth closed her hand over his forearm, regardless of the lice and in grained dirt, and held on. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I had to get away. But I was watched…’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the distant altar where sparrows fluttered amongst the carvings.
‘How did you get here?’
‘Never mind that. Suffice that I did. I know that you got the ring.’
‘Yes, I did, but you must—’
The door to their right was pushed open. A footstep. David’s sudden movement, the glint of a short blade in his hand, as at the same time he pushed Elizabeth farther back into the shelter of the tomb, both shocked and silenced her. Then her brother visibly relaxed with a little laugh, and she looked up at the echo of approaching foot steps.
‘Richard!’
‘Well, at least you are both armed, for which I suppose I should be grateful,’ was his only dry comment. But his hand closed warmly on Elizabeth’s where she still clasped the dagger, an intimate pressure, a comforting little gesture that made her sigh with relief. She allowed Richard to take the blade from her and slide it into his belt. ‘Are you being followed?’ was all he asked.
‘Possibly…probably.’ David’s lips tightened, his eyes stormy, a challenge to the figure of authority now facing him. ‘I’ll not go back to Talgarth. I don’t care what you say.’
Elizabeth read the proximity of panic in the stark statement. So did Richard, who did not argue. ‘Stay here. Hide the dagger unless you wish to draw comment and wait by the gate. Give us thirty minutes. When the wagon passes we’ll come to a halt—for some reason that I cannot yet foresee. Climb in and hide under the purchases. None of my men will stop you. There’ll be some bolts of cloth to disguise you. Stay there—keep your head down—until we reach Ledenshall.’
‘Yes.’ David nodded, a flash of teeth as he grinned in the shadows, and sheathed the dagger. ‘You don’t know how grateful I am!’
‘You can tell me later. Come on, Elizabeth. Let us set this little mummery of our own into motion.’
‘So! Tell me what the de Lacy heir was doing skulking in Leominster Priory in beggar’s rags.’
Back at Ledenshall in the private parlour, chairs and stools were pulled round a table. David, now stripped of his beggar’s disguise, thoroughly scrubbed and clad in some borrowed garments from Richard, which were too large for him, but did the job, drained half the tankard in one gulp, wiped one hand over his mouth.
‘That’s better. But I think I still itch.’
‘Tell us, David!’ Elizabeth could barely restrain her impatience. She nudged him into reply.
‘Where do I start?’ It was a weary gesture now, she saw, as he tunnelled his fingers through his wet hair and there was grief in his eyes. Elizabeth stretched out her hands to offer comfort, but David shook his head, reached inside his tunic and drew out another jewel that instantly caught the light in a baleful glitter as he placed it on the table. It was a pendant, fashioned to hang on a gold chain to indicate a man’s status, weighty with gold, the sapphires deep and lustrous.
‘Lewis’s?’ Elizabeth picked it up, realising sadly that David was a child no more. These events had stripped him of his youth and innocence. She did not recognise the jewel, but her mind made the connection.
‘Yes. A recent purchase.’ The smile was twisted. ‘Lewis had ambitions as a courtier. I tormented him about it, made fun… I wish I had not.’
Elizabeth nodded in silent understanding. ‘I suppose he was wearing it at the wedding?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sapphires are credited with magical powers,’ she murmured as she turned the gems in her hand. ‘They did not save Lewis’s life, did they?’ There was no possible answer. Elizabeth leaned for wards, reached out her hand to clasp her brother’s wrist. ‘Tell me about the ring, David,’ she demanded.
‘I though you would recognise it. I found it, of all places, in the possession of Gilbert de Burcher, our uncle’s commander of the garrison.’
‘De Burcher?’ Richard, listening silently so far, sat up, pushed his tankard away untasted.
‘Yes. De Burcher. It fell from his pouch when he laid it aside with his tunic during a wrestling bout. He didn’t notice when I picked it up and pocketed it. Nor has de Burcher made anything of its loss. He must have realised it soon after I took it, but he made no fuss. Perhaps he dared not.’
‘A gift from Sir John for services rendered?’ Richard suggested.
‘Yes. Or Gilbert simply kept it because it was of little intrinsic value compared with the rest of the gems. Perhaps he thought it would not be missed by his lord.’ David’s brow furrowed. ‘Another thing—de Burcher’s well supplied with coin at present. He gambles and has more at his disposal than one might think, even for one of his status at Talgarth.’
‘And as I recall,’ Richard dropped the thought into the mix, ‘Sir Gilbert was here with Sir John for the wedding.’
‘Would he follow Sir John’s orders—to encompass murder?’ Elizabeth asked.
Richard replied without hesitation, ‘I’ve met the man. A fine soldier, but a hard one, not blessed with compassion. I think he would have no compunction.’
‘No. He would not,’ David agreed. ‘It’s my belief he would sell his soul to the highest bidder. He would follow Sir John’s orders to hell and back if it was made worth his while.’
‘And this pendant.’ Elizabeth held it close in her palm as a tangible reminder of her brother. ‘How did you come by it?’
‘It was Ellen. She discovered it some where at Talgarth—she wouldn’t tell me.’
‘In Sir John’s possession,’ Elizabeth confirmed, ‘or so she said in her letter when she sent the brooch. I presume they come from the same source.’
‘Yes. She’s very unhappy, although she hides it well. She helped me escape, deliberately to get me away from Talgarth. Whatever she suspects, she wanted me gone. I hid, with her connivance, in a wagon.’ David rubbed his shoulder where it had suffered from the hard roads. ‘I hoped I would see some of your people at the Fair. I didn’t expect to see you.’ He drank, then looked at Elizabeth with troubled eyes. ‘I hope Ellen will not be blamed. Sir
John can have a heavy hand. She can claim all innocence, of course, and put the blame on my absent head. Perhaps he’ll disinherit me as an un grateful brat.’
‘Perhaps.’ Elizabeth managed a tight smile at the attempt at humour. ‘Would Ellen speak out against Sir John?’
David laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet room. ‘Of course she would not! She’ll not stand against him.’
‘I think she might speak out about murder,’ Elizabeth disagreed. ‘I would!’
‘I wouldn’t wager my coat on it!’
‘Nor I!’ Richard agreed. ‘I think you must accept, Elizabeth, that Ellen will be obedient to Sir John’s demands. Not all wives are as forth right as you.’
Elizabeth flushed and shook her head. ‘Why were you so ill when we came to Talgarth?’ she demanded of her brother.
‘I have thought about that,’ David replied. ‘Nothing lasting, but enough to give me a fever and blur my wits. I recovered amazingly quickly after your departure. Master Capel spoke of ill humours in my body, which his potions drove out.’ He grimaced at the memory. ‘I think I was not to be allowed to speak with you.’
‘So we thought.’ Richard traced patterns in the spilled ale on the table as he considered the boy’s words.
‘There’s some thing else, Elizabeth. Master Capel wanted to know the day and time of your birth.’
She looked up, immediately alert. ‘Did you tell him?’
David frowned, ill at ease. ‘Yes. It took me by surprise and I could think of no reason not to. Although now I wish I had not. As for why he should wish to know… Who knows what Master Capel does in his locked rooms? Perhaps I’m letting my imagination run away with me.’
‘I expect so.’ Elizabeth’s thoughts raced in circles, sensing Richard’s sudden interest. She must not voice her fears. ‘I doubt it was important. Perhaps he’s compiling a de Lacy family history for Sir John’s aggrandisement.’ She turned to Richard, who still sat silently, considering. Had she done enough to deflect him? Of course he would not, as she did, see the implication of the information. ‘What are we going to do now?’
‘Do?’ Richard tilted his chin as if he would read her mind.
‘Against Sir John.’
‘You can do nothing within the law.’ He returned her gaze, his own uncompromising, brooking no argument. ‘Sir John will deny all accusations and no one will stand against him who has direct witness of the crime.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Elizabeth…’ he sighed ‘…we’ve had this conversation before. There’s no point in our going over old ground again. You know my mind on it. David’s news has confirmed what we thought, but has not changed the situation at all. Before the law we are powerless.’
She turned her face away. It still stood between them.
Richard rose to his feet, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, so that warmth spread to the cold chill of her heart, although his face remained implacable enough. ‘I’ll leave you and David to work out all types of vicious punishments for your uncle. But I’ll not be a party to them and I’ll do all I can to prevent you taking any steps that will put your selves in danger or cast the whole of the March into violent conflict.’ His eyes transferred to David. ‘I expect you to exert some sensible judgement here, David. Your sister, perhaps understandably, is given to extremes.’
He left the room, leaving Elizabeth torn between guilt at her own stubborn stance and frustration that she could see no way forwards.
‘He’s right, you know,’ David stated. ‘We can do nothing against Sir John.’
‘You will condone Lewis’s death?’ Sharp, intolerant. And Elizabeth immediately regretted her baseless accusation.
David snorted inelegantly. ‘Hardly. Do you need to ask?’
‘No. But I think we should—’
‘I’ll not be party to murder—or whatever else you’re thinking.’
‘You’re as uncooperative as Richard!’ But she smiled at last.
‘And I thought you would receive me here at Ledenshall with unalloyed pleasure. Now why did I think that?’
As Elizabeth moved to snuff out the candles before they parted for the night, David stopped her. ‘One thing, Elizabeth.’
‘What is that?’ Still preoccupied with her task.
‘When Master Capel asked the day of your birth, he also asked about Richard’s. I didn’t know, so couldn’t say. I thought I should tell you.’
Elizabeth abandoned the candles, her fears suddenly leaping fully formed. ‘Yes. You should.’ But kept her thoughts veiled. No point in disturbing David further.
Elizabeth immediately delved into Jane Bringsty’s wealth of knowledge.
‘Jane. If you were to practise the secrets of astrology and seek to cast a horoscope…’
Despite the late hour, Mistress Bringsty was engaged in folding Elizabeth’s shifts into a clothes press, but at this her whole body stilled, her hands flat on the soft linen. ‘Do you wish me to do so, lady?’
‘No. If you were to do so, would you need the day and time of my birth?’
‘I would. To determine which planet you were born under.’
‘And what would be your purpose in casting such a horoscope?’
‘Well, now. I have rarely done so.’ Elizabeth’s brows rose at the admission that Jane had ever done so. ‘And not at all in recent years. But I would do so to discover the state of your health. Of body and mind. The effect of the planets on your life and temperament. I would also use it—’ She stopped, frowned.
‘How?’ Elizabeth found breathing suddenly difficult. Would Jane confirm her worst fears?
‘To plot the day and time of your death.’ The reply was distressingly blunt.
Elizabeth simply nodded. ‘So I think.’ And gave herself over to some unsettling thoughts. So Sir John’s necromancer was dabbling in astrology, was he? But to what purpose? And why would he desire Richard’s day of birth as well as her own? She did not like the direction her thoughts took, nor could she share her concerns. She would not tell Richard. There was enough between them to cause friction—bringing Sir John to justice—without this to muddy the waters further.
As for Sir John—he was guilty with blood on his hands. If Richard and David would not help her, then she must take his punishment on to her own shoulders. She had patience. She would wait and plan until the perfect moment arrived. No secretive poisonings or casting of dubious spells, as Jane would be quick to advise. Sir John must answer for his des pi cable sin in full public eye.
Except, her heart heavy, she knew she must have a care, must devise some means that would not bring shame on Richard. I would never forgive myself if anything harmed you in any way, Richard had said to her, simply a statement of a possessive husband to his wife, without, she accepted, the burden of love. Elizabeth carried that burden, willingly, joyfully, despite the pain it brought her. With all the weight of that emotion on her soul, she could echo Richard’s words. Richard must not be implicated; she would never forgive herself if any action of hers brought condemnation down on him. He might not love her, but her love for him coloured every decision she made. Richard must not suffer for any action of hers.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth sat in the solar, feet neatly on a foot stool, making her intention clear. She wished her breath did not feel quite so constricted in her chest, that her heart did not thud so loudly in her ears. Surely Richard must hear it. It was June, Midsummer Eve, the traditional occasion for festivities and feasting, for trials of strength and skill in the March, the perfect opportunity for her revenge against Sir John, yet to achieve it she must lie to Richard.
She swallowed against a dry throat and looked up to where he waited for her. It was difficult to meet his eyes, but she forced herself to hold the keen gaze. ‘I have decided. I will not go.’
‘Why will you not go?’
‘I feel unwell.’ She bit her lip. ‘My head—and my stomach feels uneasy.’
‘You have the headache.’ He failed
utterly to disguise his incredulity. ‘Enough to keep you from the Midsummer Fair?’
Elizabeth’s determination all but wavered in the face of Richard’s disbelief. ‘Yes.’
Richard tilted her chin. ‘Why do I not believe you?’
‘I have no idea, my lord. It is not in my nature to dissemble. Don’t you trust me?’ It hurt that he might not, even as she accepted that she deserved his censure for what she was planning.
Richard looked askance, his blatant refusal to answer deepening the hurt further. ‘Are you breeding?’ he asked instead.
Elizabeth flushed to her temples. ‘No,’ she replied smartly. ‘You’ll be the first to know if I am.’ But she could not deny the sweet flutter of anticipation.
‘Then I can’t persuade you to come with me?’
‘No!’ And she prayed he would not question her further. Lying to Richard made her heart ache as well as her head.
‘As you wish.’ She thought he had accepted at last. Then he swooped, fast as a hawk, leaned an arm against the high chair-back and kissed her full on the mouth. ‘You seem well enough to me, lady.’ He kissed her again, hard, demanding, his tongue owning the soft fullness of her lips, his hand clasping the nape of her neck to hold her captive. ‘In fact, you seem far too delicious for an ailing wife. We could, of course, stay here together and celebrate the Midsummer Solstice entirely privately. It’s high time you quickened. What better time than this?’
Lips parted, eyes wide, Elizabeth could think of no reply.
‘Nothing to say? Why did I hope you might invite me to your bed? Take care, Elizabeth.’ Another kiss to steal what breath she had. The speculative gleam in his eye as he left the room thoroughly unnerved her.
Elizabeth’s face burned, her heart lurched, her breath hissed out between softened lips and her whole body felt tender. Had she detected the faintest shadow of disappointment in his face? Why did she have to dissemble and send him away? She breathed out slowly, accepting the need for it. Because Richard could not, must not, be involved in the momentous step she was about to take.
