by Julia Latham
What was he doing out here alone, away from the castle?
She went through an overgrown clump of ferns and low-hanging branches, pushing at dangling leaves and her own wild hair, when resistance gave way and she stumbled into a clearing.
Sir Robert was watching her, legs braced wide, bare arms folded over his chest.
Waiting for her.
A cold sweat broke out across her skin, and she shivered, fighting back fear. She had thought of nothing but discovering his secrets, protecting Francis and her home. She’d become complacent, confident in her new life.
God above, could he have known she’d been following him?
She was a different person now, she reminded herself. She would not so easily return to the cowed woman she’d been. She forced a smile. “Sir Robert, what are you doing here?”
He only arched a brow, his small smile hinting at amusement.
When he said nothing, her words seemed to just tumble out, sounding more and more foolish. “Francis and I enjoy walking through the woods. I point out birds’ nests in the trees, and frogs beside the stream. I was trying to find a new path for one of our lessons, and suddenly, there you were!” she finished brightly.
He began to walk slowly toward her, each stride covering much ground. She remained rooted to the spot, even as her frantic brain urged flight. He was a stranger who’d been paying too much attention to her. Now she was alone with him—how could she not have learned from the past?
But if she ran, he’d know she’d been lying, and she’d never discover the truth of his mission.
He stopped in front of her and spoke in a low, even voice. “Following men is never a good idea, mistress.”
She blinked as if in confusion. “Well, of course I know that. I was not following you. ’Twas an accidental meeting.”
“I’ve been watching you following me since we left the castle.”
How could she answer that? She trilled a laugh and fluttered her lashes as she knew other women did. “Oh, please, Sir Robert. If you must flatter yourself, then—”
He gripped her upper arms, and her words died on a fearful gasp. Even the birdsong seemed to stop.
Some strange look passed through his eyes and he just as suddenly released her. She took a shaky breath.
“You do not need to pretend to be other than yourself for me,” he said.
“And neither do you, Sir Robert.” She inhaled deeply, calming the butterflies in her stomach. “’Tis not my place to ask, but I can no longer hold my tongue. What king’s business brings you to Drayton Hall?”
A wry smile twisted his lips as he regarded her. “My mission has concerned you much?”
She nodded. “The young lord is in my care.”
“And you felt the need to brave the woodland alone?”
She bit her lip, then softly confessed, “I had to know.”
“I am here to investigate the viscount’s death on behalf of the king.”
She gaped at him for a moment, knowing this was so much worse than she’d imagined.
Arsenic. The subtle whisper of a word invaded her mind, and the guilt rode hard behind it. She couldn’t believe it—didn’t want to believe it.
She forced herself to look surprised, then shocked. “But—but—the physicians thought his illness the black death. All left him alone to keep it from spreading to the rest of the household—”
“All left him alone?”
“I—nay, of course not. Someone had to care for him.”
“And who was that?”
“Myself, of course. I am the Drayton healer.”
“So they all risked you to the illness, but not themselves.”
She stared at him, confused. “’Tis my chosen skill. I care not how or why someone is ill. I attempt to heal them.”
“And you tried to help the viscount.”
“Of course I did! Oh, surely this conjecture is all madness,” she said, throwing up her hands and pacing away from him. She couldn’t think beneath his intent gaze. “Why would the king investigate Lord Drayton’s death?”
Sir Robert followed her, stepping back into her line of vision, forcing her to look at him. “Because Drayton was murdered.”
Hearing such words aloud was truly terrifying. Her mouth sagged open, and all the fears she didn’t want to confront rushed through her mind.
He caught her elbow. “Mistress Sarah? Are you ill? If you swoon in my presence, I’ll be forced to carry you back to the castle, and you won’t like how that will look.”
“I am not going to swoon!” She pulled her elbow out of his grip and almost stumbled. Her stomach clenched with grief and nausea as she was forced to at last realize that Lord Drayton had suffered terribly for a cruel reason. “M-murdered?” she said, wincing as she stuttered. “Who would do such a thing to a kind, decent man? He had no enemies.”
“So it once appeared, yet that doesn’t change the fact that the symptoms of his illness were of arsenic poisoning.”
She covered her mouth with both hands. How could she tell him she’d suspected the truth, but that it had been too late? She had been closest to Drayton at the end; she knew what it felt like to have unjust suspicion fall on her. If she told Sir Robert that she’d suspected poisoning, it would look like she was turning suspicion away from herself.
She had whispered her fears to Margery, and even her own dear friend hadn’t believed her, had told her to be quiet instead of risking her safety and position with unfounded rumors.
Sarah despised herself for succumbing to her own fear. She’d once felt the hopelessness of abandonment and hunger, had been too afraid to experience it again, so she’d kept quiet. She was telling Sir Robert the truth when she said she couldn’t imagine who wanted Drayton dead.
“His symptoms of long-term poisoning seemed clear to the king’s advisors,” Sir Robert continued.
She knew she continued to gape at him, but he seemed to easily ignore her white face and haunted gaze.
“The headaches and vomiting, the loose bowels—”
She shuddered, hugging herself, tears stinging her eyes. “But those are the symptoms of so many illnesses!”
“But his red face? The peeling of the soles of his feet?”
She gasped. “I had never seen the latter before, didn’t understand…”
Didn’t want to understand, she amended silently. She was a failure at so many things in her life, but had always thought she was a competent healer. And now she didn’t even have that illusion any more.
She couldn’t hold back the tears that leaked between her tightly closed eyelids. Lord Drayton had suffered needlessly, and she hadn’t been able to help him. She felt overwhelmed and hopeless, and when Sir Robert patted her back, she didn’t think about who he was. He was trying to comfort her, when no one ever had. Since her father died, she’d always been alone.
Without thinking, she turned into him, desperate for solace and absolution, and knowing she would never have it. And then she felt the warmth of his arms around her, the heat of his body against her cheek. She inhaled the scent of him, of manly things like horses and the clean sweat of training.
And for just a moment, comfort swept through her.
Horrified, she immediately pushed away.
She stared up at him and winced at his impassivity.
“Sir Robert, I didn’t—I never meant—” She tried to gather her thoughts together, knew that she was now in a precarious position at Drayton Hall, especially under the eye of the king. “I would never play on your sympathies,” she continued gravely, trying to keep a quiver from her voice. “What will you do now?”
“With you?”
Her eyes widened with confusion. “I—nay, that wasn’t what I meant.”
“But you are a part of my mission.”
A shot of fear burned her from the inside out. “What do you mean?”
“I need your assistance.”
She put a hand to her chest as relief flooded through her. For just a
moment, she’d thought he was about to accuse her of murder. “My assistance? I am a healer, a child’s nursemaid. What do I know of a king’s mission or a murder investigation?”
“You know Drayton Hall, and all its inhabitants. Someone here murdered your lord. Do you not wish to help me find and bring that person to justice?”
She felt unsteady, as if her world turned upside down. “You think someone I know killed him?” she whispered, appalled.
“You yourself said he had no enemies. The king’s men have agreed. So that leaves someone close to him.”
“But he had no enemies within the household, either!” she cried, then covered her mouth as her voice rang through the clearing.
Sir Robert solemnly said, “But obviously he did.”
She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting such a good man dead, felt stunned and heartsick and terrified all at the same time. Who among her friends could do such a thing?
“Nay, I cannot believe that someone I know—someone the viscount knew…”
“He was a powerful nobleman, Sarah. He had command of life and death over everyone here.”
“But he would never use it! He believed in fairness and justice!”
“Perhaps someone didn’t agree with his version of such noble beliefs.”
She took a deep breath. “I understand what you’re saying, but no one ever spoke of such a thing. Who would question our lord?”
“Perhaps not aloud, but that is what I am to determine.”
“But why me? Why not Master Frobisher, a man far more knowledgeable than I could ever be? Or the sheriff?”
“Those men will be of use to me, of course, but they might also make people too fearful or intimidated to answer my questions. But although I have only spent a day at Drayton Hall, already I can see how much you are respected and loved.”
She blinked at him, feeling her throat tighten and her eyes sting. She’d had none of that just two years before.
“People feel comfortable around you, Sarah,” he said in a low voice.
The informal use of her Christian name seemed too familiar, too personal, but how could she correct him? And now he wanted her to work closely with him, help him find a murderer?
“I am hoping that with you at my side,” Robert continued, “your friends will speak more willingly.”
“Why wouldn’t they speak willingly? All will want justice for our lord.”
“Not all,” he reminded her.
She shivered and rubbed her arms.
“Will you help me?”
She hesitated, but already knew what her answer would be. She owed it to little Francis to discover who murdered his father. She owed respect and loyalty to the memory of the man who had saved her. “Aye,” she finally said, lifting her gaze to Robert. He was watching her calmly, closely, as if he wasn’t sure what her answer would be.
It was almost as if such a look questioned her loyalty. She straightened, feeling a sense of purpose wash through her, strengthening her. “Aye,” she repeated, her voice louder. “I will provide all the assistance you need.”
His eyebrows rose as he studied her, but that slow smile showed his approval. “You have my thanks, mistress, and my gratitude.”
“You do not need to thank me. I admired Lord Drayton as a man of principle and loyalty and goodness. The fact that someone cut short his life sickens me. This person deliberately took away a little boy’s only parent. We need justice here at Drayton Hall; therefore I am at your disposal. What do you need of me?”
“I need you with me as I question people. I need your observations and reactions. You know the castle and its layout. Everything and anything will be helpful to me.”
She nodded. “And this relationship between us—I will report to you as if you are now my lord?”
The seriousness in his eyes softened, and once again the charm peeked through. “Your lord? That is a powerful word, Sarah. Can we not be partners?”
“Partners? How can that be? I will take orders from you, assist you as any underling should, but I know nothing about the methods to find a murderer. You do. You represent the king in this, and have his trust, which is a great honor and worthy of my respect.”
His frown was too playful. “Now you make me sound like a wise, doddering ancient. I am not those things, Sarah. I am just an investigator who needs your help.”
It was her turn to frown as she strove to keep their conversation focused. “You seem rather…young, for such an important task. How old are you?”
He laughed softly. “Twenty and four years.”
“Younger than I!” she said in surprise.
“So ’tis you who are doddering and ancient.”
“Sometimes I feel that way,” she muttered, shaking her head. “But why you? Why were you chosen?” Before he could speak, she snapped her fingers. “Ah, I see. You are here with Sir Walter.”
“He answers to me,” Robert said smoothly.
There was something unusual about their partnership, but she sensed she would get no clear answers. And he owed her none, of course.
“I have assisted the king on other matters,” he said, “but of course I cannot betray their true nature.”
“And obviously, you’ve been successful, since he’s entrusted you with the investigation of a nobleman’s demise.”
Robert’s nod was almost a bow.
“So how shall we begin?” she asked.
He led her to a boulder beside the stream, and she dutifully sat upon it while he stood before her.
Robert looked down at Sarah, her skirts spread around her, her lovely, freckled face lifted to him in expectation. After displaying surprise and horror about the viscount’s murder, she’d settled into a resolute determination to help him.
Yet he could not forget her look of fear when he’d first confronted her. She was worried that her crimes would be discovered.
He linked his hands behind his back. “The murderer poisoned the viscount slowly, slipping arsenic into his food or drink over a period of several weeks. So the murderer would have to be here during this time.”
“Or have someone in his employ do the terrible deed.”
He smiled, even though she could be deliberately misdirecting him. “Very good. Perhaps you will prove an apt pupil.”
She lowered her gaze with apparent modesty. “I am good at my studies.”
“Your studies?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.
“I did not have much education in my childhood beyond the simple things a woman is taught. But during my marriage, my husband’s family allowed me to study with the tutor of his brothers. I discovered I enjoyed languages and poetry and the sciences. Learning is something I am good at.”
She said it with quiet conviction, as if discovering such a thing about herself gave her peace.
She was a healer, a woman of learning—a woman capable of figuring out and undertaking a secretive murder. He wanted to know about her marriage, what made her delve into studies rather than simply making a home for her husband. But he could not be too obvious.
“Then you will learn and understand my methods as we go along,” he said. “So talk to me about the people here. Do not try to think about their guilt or innocence. I want to see them as you do.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she began to speak of the people that formed her world, her gratitude that they’d accepted her. She must not have felt welcomed in her late husband’s family, and he would eventually have to explore that. She spoke of the steward and treasurer with respect but no true friendship. There were bailiffs overseeing each of the viscountcy’s numerous properties, men who came regularly to Drayton Hall but did not live there. Yet she’d already realized they could still be suspect, and so had named them to deflect even more attention from herself. By her explanation, the cook was a man gifted with food, but not with the management of his kitchens—and arsenic was the main poison to kill rats in a kitchen. That was mostly likely where she had procured her weapon of choice.
> When she spoke of the household staff, it was obvious she was closest to one of the seamstresses, Margery, for she mentioned her with fondness.
“Should I talk to you about the dairymaids? The stable grooms? There are so many people…” Sarah trailed off, her expression distant.
“That is enough for right now. We don’t want to make anyone suspicious by our absence.”
“Oh good Lord!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Francis will be wondering where I am.”
“And where is he now?”
“With the chaplain at his studies, but surely ’tis time for dinner. We must go.”
He caught her arm when she would have hurried away from him. “Sarah, wait.”
But touching her had been a mistake. Her garments contained the warmth of her body, and her sweet lavender scent rivaled the flowers scattered in the clearing. Her eyes watched him solemnly, yet he sensed a faint nervousness about her.
“Our partnership must remain between you and me,” he said, staring down into her wide, dark eyes with their pale brown lashes. “I do not want to see you in danger.”
“Danger?” she scoffed.
He didn’t smile. “Someone is hiding a terrible secret at Drayton Hall, and they think they’ve gotten away with it. That person will feel trapped and defensive when he or she discovers that their crime is known. Desperate people lose their ability to act rationally. I expect this person to focus his ire on me. But I do not want it to spill over onto you. So we will be friendly, you and I.”
“Friendly?” she said with doubt, her wary eyes studying him.
“Friendly—and flirtatious, so it will seem as if we have a reason to be together. Will that bother you?”
She opened her mouth, then seemed to rethink her answer before speaking. “Nay, I understand your concerns.”
“Is there someone who will be offended if I pay such attention to you?”
“Are you asking if I have a suitor?”
“I am.”
“Nay, there is no one,” she said slowly.
“Not Sir Simon?”
Her gaze flew to his in obvious surprise. “Why would you think that?”
