Where Love Has Gone

by Speer, Flora

  “I will always miss my father,” she said softly. After a moment she added, “When Father lay dying he begged me to take care of my little sister. I promised I would, but I haven’t done a very good job of it, have I?”

  “You are not responsible for Aglise’s disappearance,” Cadwallon said firmly. He reached over from his horse to pat her hand. “You’ve done the best you could to locate her. I think your father would be proud of your efforts.”

  “Thank you,” Elaine whispered, and swallowed hard.

  “Do other women of Aglise’s age live in Warden’s Manor?” Desmond asked, returning to his questions. “Or in the village, perhaps? Someone a little younger than you, who is a close friend to her?”

  “No.” Elaine drew a long breath. “You needn’t ask about the servants, either male or female, or the squires, or the men-at-arms, or their wives, or even the manor chaplain. Aglise is on good terms with everyone, but close to none of them.”

  “What about Jean?” asked Cadwallon.

  “Jean?” Elaine stared at him.

  “My squire, Ewan, mentioned a lad named Jean,” Cadwallon stated blandly.

  “Jean is one of the kitchen helpers. He’s small for his age and not very quick-witted, so the other boys tease him. From time to time, Aglise and I have tried to protect him from their bullying. As a result, he is devoted to both of us. In fact, when I wrote to Royce, I entrusted Jean with the letter, knowing he’d find a way to send it on to Normandy. Jean would never hurt Aglise.”

  “Well, then, to sum up what you’ve told us,” said Desmond, “we have a beautiful and good young woman. Everyone loves her; no one wishes her harm. Yet she has disappeared, apparently without a trace.”

  “Just so,” Elaine said, her voice shaking a little.

  “You insist she hasn’t left the island. Lord Bertrand claims his men have searched all of Jersey without finding her or uncovering any clue as to where she is.”

  “Yes,” Elaine whispered, close to tears.

  “Where do you think she is?” Desmond asked, looking hard at her.

  “I don’t know. But I am most dreadfully worried about her.”

  “I can see you are. In fact, you are worried enough to write to Royce in defiance of Lord Bertrand’s wishes.” Desmond pulled his horse to a stop and swung around in his saddle to confront her. His voice took on a cold, razor-sharp edge. “What are you hiding?”

  “I? Nothing! I just want my sister back, safe and well.”

  “Then, you had better tell us everything you know about her disappearance.”

  “I have told you! I’ve revealed all I can.”

  “Ah,” said Desmond relentlessly. “All that you can tell us. But not everything you know.”

  “Stop it!” Elaine wavered for just a moment between helpless tears and anger. Anger won. She refused to break down. She went on the attack instead, not caring if the charge she hurled at him was ill-founded. “Sir Desmond, you are without a doubt the coldest, most mean-spirited man I have ever met. I cannot imagine that Royce sent you here with instructions to badger me in this way.”

  “Royce sent Cadwallon and me here to Jersey because you begged for his aid,” Desmond retorted with cool masculine logic. “He sent us because he knows we will find Aglise – which we intend to do, with or without your assistance. I consider it most peculiar that after pleading for help, you are now attempting to obstruct our efforts to provide it. If you really want to learn what has become of your sister, then answer my questions fully and honestly; it will save time for both of us.”

  “You are right.” Perhaps, if she tossed him a crumb, he’d stop pressing her so hard. “I haven’t told you everything.”

  “Tell me now.” He waited, eyeing her as if he’d like to shake the truth out of her.

  “I believe Aglise has been concealing something. The trouble is, I have no idea what it could be. That’s why I’ve been reluctant to say anything about my suspicions. No, suspicion is too strong a word. I just have the impression that Aglise knows something she shouldn’t know.”

  “And she gave you no hint at all as to the nature of this knowledge?” Desmond demanded.

  “No. I do wonder whether she has been trying to protect me by not telling me,” Elaine said. “That’s part of the reason why I’ve been so worried about her. What if she knows something that’s dangerous to know?”

  “Like what?” Desmond asked.

  “I keep telling you, I don’t know!” Withstanding his questions and his compelling gaze would be much easier if only she didn’t find him so attractive, if only she didn’t want him to look at her in the same way that men looked at Aglise. Trying to keep her thoughts fixed on her sister, rather than on the man who continued to stare at her in a most intimidating manner, she offered the only possibility that occurred to her. “Perhaps it has something to do with the French king’s interest in these islands.”

  “Is that a supposition, or do you have evidence to suggest a particular and immediate French interest?” Desmond asked.

  “I’m only guessing. I make the guess because Lord Bertrand often speaks of his duty to hold Jersey and the other islands for King Henry against any French incursions.” Elaine was uncomfortably aware of the way both Desmond and Cadwallon were suddenly regarding her as if they were a pair of finely bred hawks who had just caught a glimpse of the prey they were trained to capture. “Please believe me, if I knew what Aglise apparently has learned, I would tell you in hope that the revelation would help you to find her.”

  “Why are you so certain Aglise is still on Jersey?” Cadwallon asked.

  Desmond could see the unexpected question had startled her. She recovered within a heartbeat or two. Of course, she did; Elaine was equal to almost any challenge. She was courageous and intelligent and utterly fearless in her desire to find her sister. He believed she was honest to the very core of her soul. He was also certain she was still withholding what might well be the most important piece of information. But why? To what purpose?

  Desmond nudged his horse and followed after Elaine and Cadwallon, listening while she explained how Aglise was so well known on Jersey that she could not leave without being noticed, that there were few places from which Aglise could have departed, and that there was no reason for her to want to leave.

  “Not even if she wants to carry this unknown information to someone who is not on the island?” Desmond asked. “Suppose she fears for her life because of what she has learned and she is eager to escape the danger? What if she has decided she must speak to Royce in person, to tell him what she knows? Could she have prevailed upon one of the many souls on Jersey who love her to carry her to Normandy? It’s not so far away; fishermen must sail in and out of the harbor at Gorey every day, not to mention the traffic at other harbors on the island.”

  “No,” Elaine said, her firm conviction sounding in her voice. “If what you say were true, she’d have taken me along. Aglise would never leave me behind to face a peril she had avoided – or to be used against her in some way, perhaps as a hostage for her silence. That is why I am certain she never left Jersey.”

  Desmond caught Cadwallon’s eye just then and recognized his own thought in the other man’s expression. Perhaps, as Elaine insisted, Aglise, having learned something dangerous, had not left Jersey – or, had not left it alive.

  On that first, exploratory circuit of Jersey, they paused a few times to ask about Aglise at farm houses or in the tiny villages they passed through. The answers they received were courteous, but unanimous. Everyone knew Aglise by sight, knew she was missing and regretted it, but no one had seen her for weeks and everyone had already informed Lord Bertrand of the facts when he or his men-at-arms made their first inquiries.

  When they finally reached the northwestern tip of the island they reined in and sat for a few minutes, gazing out over the brilliant, blue-green sea toward the neighboring islands of Sark, Herm, and Guernsey. Then they turned south, gradually moving downhill, following the shorelin
e along a wide, curving bay that was edged by sandy beaches.

  By then the sun was high and the day was becoming quite warm. At Cadwallon’s suggestion they stopped at a pleasant little cove to eat the food Elaine had provided. Removing their cloaks, they spread them on the sand for a tablecloth.

  In hope of luring Elaine into a less cautious stance, Desmond asked no more questions of her, so the meal was a pleasant diversion from the seriousness of the morning.

  While they rested after eating, Cadwallon suddenly rose and ducked behind a rock to pull off his boots and hose. Then, clad only in his unbelted tunic, leaving his sword behind with Desmond, he ventured into the water.

  “Watch the currents,” Desmond advised, though not very energetically. He was stretched out on the sand, leaning back on his elbows, with his ankles crossed and his face tilted up to the sun. Perhaps it was the effect of the wine and the warm day, but he was feeling remarkably relaxed. “Cadwallon, I don’t want to have to rescue you,” he added, yawning.

  “The water is safe here,” Elaine said, her quiet voice sounding to his ears like a note of sweet music. “The bay is sheltered, and this cove even more so. Aglise and I used to come here sometimes, and she always waded right in. Once, she neglected to hold her skirt high enough and came out dripping.”

  Desmond pondered the faint smile curving her mouth as she relived the happy memory. Elaine possessed a pretty mouth, with a nicely shaped lower lip that seemed to him, in his present indolent mood, to invite nibbling upon. Her single braid of brown hair lay over one shoulder, her pale skin was flushed by sunlight and warmth, and her grey eyes were soft.

  Since she had removed her cloak he could appreciate the elegant shape of her figure, the curve of her waist, and the gentle swell of her breasts. He liked the way she looked, and he liked her courage and quiet dignity even more. Had they met at court he’d still have noticed her for the sheer difference between her and the luxury-loving, senselessly chattering court ladies. At court, he’d find excuses to speak with her and learn to know her slowly, to make a friend of her.

  Her hand lay near his. Reacting to an unexpected flicker of desire, he touched her wrist, then let his fingers slide along her soft flesh until they laced into her slender fingers. Her startled gaze met his. For a long moment they gazed into each other’s eyes, grey meeting darker grey, and Desmond imagined he perceived a flash of warmth.

  Then Elaine shifted position, wriggling her shoulders as if to loosen muscles tightened by the stress of the morning. Her back was straight and graceful, her neck was slender, and beneath the brown wool of her dress, her gently rounded breasts -. Still holding her hand, Desmond swallowed hard and forced himself to look away from temptation. A secret agent could not afford to care deeply about anyone, and a sensible woman would do well not to trust any agent.

  On a few occasions during his career he had found it necessary to seduce a woman in order to further an assignment for Royce. But it was duty and his emotions were not involved, for he made a point of never mixing spying with his personal pleasures. And he was becoming more and more certain that in his present mission, spying was called for. The realization excited him almost as much as the touch of Elaine’s warm fingers did.

  If she was right and her sister had discovered something she shouldn’t have known, then it was possible – nay, it was likely – that Aglise was no longer alive. If his speculations were correct, Elaine would be grievously wounded by the loss of the sister she loved.

  Damnation! It should be nothing to him if Elaine’s heart was broken. He could not allow his own heart to be beguiled by any woman, however intelligent and quietly tempting she was. His task was to uncover the truth of what had happened to Aglise, to put a stop to any illegal or treasonous activities he happened to discover, and then to leave Jersey with his life, and Cadwallon’s life, secure, so they could make their reports to Royce.

  Therefore, it was time for him to resume his questioning now, while Elaine appeared to have relaxed her earlier suspicions of him. He needed to know more about his quary, the beautiful and elusive Aglise. Elaine’s remarks about the promise she had made to her father showed him the way.

  “I have a twin brother,” he said, shamelessly using his own experience to manipulate Elaine into speaking freely. “When Magnus and I were boys, we were as close as you and Aglise apparently are. Then we quarreled and didn’t see each other for years, and for all that time I felt as if half of my heart was torn out. Only last year we reconciled and began to settle our old differences. I am just beginning to feel whole again. So, I think, is Magnus.”

  “How dreadful for you. Aglise and I spat now and then, as sisters will do, but we have never actually quarreled.” Elaine gazed at him with a sympathy that threatened to plunge Desmond into deep guilt. He rejected the emotion, sensing that, if he prodded just a little more, if he twisted Elaine’s heartstrings a bit tighter, he could lure her into revealing what he wanted to know.

  “A happy childhood is a blessing,” he said. “Mine was not happy. My father was a harsh man. My mother was his second wife, married for her dowry. He never loved her, or the sons she bore him. He had his heir by his first wife, you see.

  “But your father, from all I’ve heard of him, was very different from mine. Lord Aldwynd must have been a fine man, else he and Royce would not have become close friends.” Deciding he had revealed enough of his own past life to set an example of reminiscent openness, Desmond fell silent, waiting for Elaine to walk into the trap he had prepared for her.

  “Father was so kind to Aglise and me.” Her voice was soft with memory and tinged by a sad note. “I can remember him sitting in the great hall at Dereham Castle with both of us on his lap, Aglise cuddled in one arm and me in the other. He always smelled of horses and wood smoke and pine.”

  “You and your sister enjoyed a happy childhood.”

  “Oh, yes. Until Father died.”

  “What of your mother?” Desmond thought Lady Irmina had likely been jealous of any attention paid to her daughters rather than to herself, so he wasn’t surprised when Elaine pressed her lips tightly together and didn’t respond to his question.

  “So, after Lord Aldwynd’s death, you and Aglise came here, to Warden’s Manor, to be fostered with Lord Bertrand and Lady Benedicta,” Desmond said, determined to draw more information out of her. But gently, so she wouldn’t resent his insistence and thus refuse to answer any questions he needed to ask in the future. “Did Lady Benedicta have no other ladies attending her?”

  “No. I suppose,” Elaine said after considering the matter for a moment, “it’s difficult to find parents who would insist upon such an exile for their daughters, and harder still to find girls who are willing to live in so remote a place, even for just a few years.”

  “But you and Aglise were willing?”

  “Our mother insisted. We had no choice.”

  Desmond wasn’t surprised to hear it. From what he knew of Lady Irmina, sending her daughters to Jersey probably seemed a good idea to her. And yet, something about the arrangement didn’t quite fit. So fine a man as Aldwynd of Dereham must have had other friends than Lord Bertrand, friends who would be willing to take Aldwynd’s daughters into their own households. For that matter, since Royce was Aglise’s godfather, why hadn’t the girls been sent to Wortham Castle, to live there with Royce’s own teenaged daughter?

  The question raised another, more troubling, issue.

  Surely, Royce knew all about the girls’ family situation, so why hadn’t he provided such vital information to his own agents before sending them off to Jersey?

  While Desmond contemplated the unanswered questions surrounding the disappearance of Aglise and tried to make sense of apparently unrelated facts, Elaine untangled her fingers from his and rose from her seat on the cloaks.

  Moments later a flash of smooth, white leg and a neat ankle brought him to his feet. Elaine had removed the woolen hose she wore for riding and had kilted her skirts high, tucking them int
o her belt, leaving her long legs bare. Desmond watched in astonishment as she ran across the sand and splashed into the water.

  For an instant he feared Cadwallon had gone in too far and was in trouble, and Elaine was foolishly trying to pull him ashore because he, Desmond, was too lost in thought to be of any use. Then he saw that, while Cadwallon was some distance into the water, he was only knee deep, still safely in the shallows. Elaine was walking through the water toward Cadwallon, laughing at something the huge man had just said.

  Desmond stood watching them and trying to suppress his annoyance. Elaine seemed to be perfectly at ease with Cadwallon. She bent to scoop a shell out of the water and handed it to him.

  “Near my home in Devon,” Cadwallon said, “we find mussels on the rocks and make a meal of them. And Janet, my wife, collects shells of all kinds.”

  “Give her this one,” Elaine said. “Tell her a friend found it on a sunny April day.”

  “Aye, I will. It’s a pretty shell. Janet will like it. The water’s a bit cool.”

  “It’s refreshing after our warm ride, but yes, you mustn’t catch a chill,” Elaine said, laughing. “Lady Benedicta will surely scold me if you do.”

  They turned together to walk out of the water, but stopped when they saw Desmond with his fists on his hips and his legs spread wide in a confrontational stance. Desmond’s heart ached to see the laughter vanish from Elaine’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Cadwallon, looking about as if to discover any approaching danger.

  “Nothing,” Desmond said. Seeking an excuse for the way he had been staring at them, he added, “I was just wondering whether Aglise ever waded here, or at some other, less safe cove.”

  “Are you suggesting she might have drowned accidentally?” Elaine asked. “Impossible. Aglise vanished in February, when the weather, and the water, are both too cold for wading.”

  “So she did,” Desmond agreed, forbearing to mention that someone who wanted Aglise dead could have pushed her into the cold winter sea, where she wouldn’t have to drown. The girl would have been chilled to death within moments, with not a bruise on her body to suggest violence.