by Julia Latham
The crushed herb seemed to be mixed with another substance. She went to the window, held it up to the light and saw a white powder.
Her breath seemed to stop in her throat. This hadn’t been in the yarrow the day before, when she’d seen to a stable boy’s cut foot. She attempted to smell it, but it seemed to have no odor, for she could only smell the yarrow.
She went still, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Arsenic was a white powder. If she’d used this on the injured knight—how ill would he have become? Was it a lethal dose?
The chamber seemed too small, the air too confined.
“Mistress Sarah, there is something in my wine,” Francis called from his bedchamber.
“Do not drink it!” she cried, dropping the tray onto the table and rushing through the door connecting their chambers.
Francis held up the goblet to her.
“Did you drink it?” She snatched it from his hand.
He shook his head, staring at her uncertainly. “I was going to, but do you see, there is something sticking to the sides. ’Tis dirty.”
She stared into the wine she hadn’t poured, that Francis didn’t have the strength to pour. A few small lumps floated on the surface, and dried powder clung to the sides, as if everything hadn’t dissolved.
Who had left this lethal poison for a child?
And she’d thought she’d protected him so well all day. She felt cold and clammy. She trembled so violently, it was difficult to smile at Francis even as she dumped the wine down the privy.
She had no choice; she could not remain here and put Francis in any more danger. They had to flee. The only man she knew with the power to protect them was Lord Morton, her father’s liege lord, who’d been so kind as to recommend her services to Drayton years before. Surely he would take them in.
Chapter 21
Late that night, Robert decided that he couldn’t leave Sarah to face her fears alone. He would have to coax the truth from her. He hadn’t had a chance to speak with her before heading outside the castle to leave his report for the League that afternoon. In a way, it was for the best. He hadn’t wanted to fight in the melee, having to choose which side to battle on, having to hide even more of his skills.
He silently left his lodgings and began to move through the castle corridors, keeping out of sight. He reached her door and didn’t bother to knock, not wanting to alert anyone else to his presence. The room was dark, of course, but by the light of the torch in the corridor, he could see that Sarah’s bed was empty. Though the bedclothes were rumpled, as if she’d just gotten up, he couldn’t seem to stop the slow rise of tension. The door was open into Francis’s bedchamber. Surely she was there.
Silently, cautiously, he moved into the boy’s chamber, and although the light from the corridor had now lessened, he could tell instantly that no one was here. Francis was gone, too.
Moving quickly now, he searched the privy, the master’s bedchamber, even the solar beyond that. He found nothing. Where else could they be in the middle of the night? He wouldn’t let himself think of the implications until he was certain of the facts, but anger and betrayal welled up inside of him regardless. Had she been playing him all along? Perhaps the League was right to question his membership, if he could be taken in so easily by one woman.
Back in Sarah’s bedchamber, he lit a candle from the torch in the corridor, then closed the door to begin a thorough search. Since he wasn’t sure of her belongings, he could not tell exactly that things were missing, but her cloak was gone from the peg by the door. Other pegs were bare, and he remembered garments hanging there.
He stood in the center of the chamber, hands on his hips, and forced himself to slow down and think. If she were guilty of murder—and he didn’t believe it—she would flee alone, not hamper herself with a child. The only logical reason she would have taken Francis…was to protect him from someone else, he realized with dawning understanding.
What had been going on these last days? Never in his life had he been as mistrusted as he had this last fortnight, first by the League, and then by Sarah.
He would not let this stand. He would prove his methods to the League—and he would save Sarah.
Moving silently, he went back to his lodgings and gathered supplies. He could not open the castle gates—she must have left before they were closed for the night—so he would not have a horse. But he didn’t think he would need one. How far could she have gone with a child in the night?
He picked a corner of the battlements high above the keep, where the torches didn’t quite reach the shadows. He waited for the night guard to move past, a chill wind clutching at his garments. Then he climbed down a rope to the ground below. The moon peeked out from behind the occasional cloud, so he held to the shadows as he moved along the castle wall. Out on the main road, he turned away from the direction of the village, assuming she would not go where she would be known. From his pack, he carefully removed the covered lantern with its lit candle braced inside. He had practiced many hours of his life learning to keep such a lantern lit.
Soon he found the imprint of a horse’s hooves moving off the road and into the woodland. He began to run, maintaining an easy pace, keeping near the road but still well hidden.
Her encampment was too easily found. Much of his tension eased, though he still had to confront her. He remained within the trees at first. Sarah had built a small fire, and he could see the lump that was Francis curled up near it. Sitting at his side, she crooned softly to him, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead though he obviously slept. Robert watched the gentle touch of her hands, the sad, loving expression on her face as she looked down at her charge. No one who would treat a child with such tenderness could have murdered his father.
Robert stepped out from the trees into the firelight, throwing the hood off his head. She gasped and came up on her knees, then sagged weakly for a moment.
“You frightened me,” she whispered.
“You frightened me.”
He came closer and she rose to her feet, taking several steps away from Francis.
“You know this only makes you look guilty,” he said flatly.
She nodded. “I imagine you would think so.”
He snorted. “Why did you run away?”
“Because I can’t trust you to protect us,” she said coldly. “I was taking Francis to my father’s liege lord, because you weren’t even there today, when I needed you the most!”
“I was on the tiltyard all morning, trying to understand the way the Ramsey household works,” he countered with fury. “In the afternoon, I was fulfilling my duties, sending word to the king. Now tell me what happened!”
“You’ve been lying to me!”
He inhaled deeply. “To protect you.”
“Keeping me in the dark, confused, is protecting me?” she said fiercely, throwing her arms wide. “I disagree! You didn’t tell me that Lord Drayton considered marrying me. I had to hear it from Sir Anthony.”
“Then he must have told you the rest, his belief that Drayton was courting another woman, another motive that possibly implicated you.”
She frowned. “Possibly? Of course it implicated me.”
“It didn’t. I already know he’s a liar.”
She covered her mouth. “How do you know this?”
“Because I know every move Drayton made in London. There was no other woman. I believe Ramsey is trying to cast blame on you.”
“But why?” she cried.
“To keep it from himself. Walter says we cannot convict a man on such a statement. I wanted all the information—and the solution in hand—before I told you.”
Such welcome news should have calmed her. He thought he even saw tears glimmer in her eyes.
But instead she said coolly, “That’s not all you’re hiding. I can tell there is more.”
“This one is mild, and is part of my investigation. Walter received good news that no one suspects you in your husband’s death except his family,
and they are not a credible source.”
“As if I didn’t know this. My friend Maud wrote to tell me that men were asking questions about me, so I already knew what you were doing.”
The mysterious missive, he thought, relieved.
“Nay, there is something else,” she continued, “something that worries you, that seems to bubble up inside you as if trying to break free.”
He caught her upper arms and drew her closer, feeling frustrated. “I am not your husband, Sarah, who misled you for no other purpose than to have what he wanted from you. When I arrived here, I had a duty to perform, and I’m still doing it. I have discovered the murderer. You are innocent, and I will never allow you to be charged in this crime, even if I have to flee my duty and my family to see you protected. This is all I have, all I can offer.”
“You can offer the truth, Robert!”
He let her go, knowing that this was the moment that would decide their future. And he felt as if he had none without her. “If I tell you what I’ve sworn never to tell, if I betray all I’ve known for you, will you tell me what you’re keeping from me? Will you trust me?”
She nodded without hesitation.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I am on a mission from the king, but he did not grant it to me personally.”
Her eyes went wide, her expression wary.
“He asked it of the League of the Blade, of which I am a member.”
“The League of the Blade?” Her face showed disappointment and disbelief. “What is this you say, Robert? The League is a story told to children when they cannot sleep.”
“Legends often come from fact. The League is real, and exists to help the innocent, the weak, or the unjustly accused.” He arched an eyebrow.
Feeling uncertain and exhausted, Sarah stared at Robert, half his face in the firelight, the other half in shadow, as if he were two people.
The League of the Blade?
She wanted to scoff; she wanted desperately to believe. After all, he had finally professed his own belief in her innocence.
“Although we do not officially work for the king,” Robert continued, folding his arms over his chest, “he does call upon us in times of crisis. The mysterious death of a nobleman can be such a time, but in this case, there was also another reason. Drayton was a Bladesman. We would never let one of our own go unavenged.”
“A Bladesman?” she echoed weakly. “Lord Drayton? How could he have kept it from so many people?”
“The same as we all do. After the initial period of training, we are only called to duty for a fortnight each year. And by the time you knew him, he had already risen to our Council of Elders, an esteemed post. We investigated his death to see if it pertained to his status as a Bladesman, but could find nothing. ’Twas determined that the motive had to be more personal, so Walter and I were sent here.”
She looked about, beginning to believe, yet still wary. “Should we not speak…softly?”
“No one followed me, I am certain of it.”
The truth was finally beginning to sink in, and she stared at him as if she’d never known him. He had another life he could never talk about with anyone—yet he was sharing it with her.
“How did you leave the castle?” she asked slowly.
“I used a rope.”
She gaped at him, and her vivid imagination let her see him clinging to stone high above the ground, the wind buffeting him. And then she thought of his skill on the tiltyard, the praise about his abilities as a horseman while the men had been hunting.
She stared at him, at his calm expression, the way he just…waited for her next move. What should it be? Since learning of his lordship’s murder, she’d been questioning herself, losing confidence. Terrible things had been done by others, while she’d been punishing herself for naiveté.
Yet she’d spent two years of a bad marriage honing her instincts, trying to understand how people thought, educating herself. And since Robert had arrived, her every instinct had been to trust him. She could not ignore that anymore.
“Someone is trying to hurt Francis,” she said in a low voice, glancing at the sleeping boy. Could it really be Sir Anthony, his own guardian?
Robert’s expression grew harsh and angry, the change so shocking from his usual cheerfulness. She almost felt afraid, even though she knew his anger was for another.
“Tell me everything,” he commanded.
So she did, explaining about the startled cow, the sabotaged saddle, and then the worst of all, the arsenic in the wine goblet in Francis’s bedchamber.
“In my herbs, I found arsenic that hadn’t been there yesterday. I could have—I could have used them on that poor knight today.” She hugged herself to fight the trembling. “How could I let Francis remain in danger?”
“You should have come to me,” he said in a low voice.
“I was on my way to do just that—and then Sir Anthony decided to commiserate about our motives to have killed Lord Drayton.”
“His is a good one,” Robert said. His voice was soft, yet dangerous. “He’ll control all of Drayton until Francis’s eighteenth birthday. And who is to say the boy would even live that long, especially given what’s happened these last days.”
Though her mind was racing, she forced herself to slow down and think as he put more wood on the dying fire. Flames crackled and rose higher, illuminating the sleeping boy.
When he returned to her, she said, “But…Francis was hurt in the dairy shed before the Ramseys arrived.”
“I do not assume he is working alone.”
“He has help?” she asked in disbelief. “How many men could want a child dead?”
“There are some men who believe they are owed the best in life, and will stop at nothing to have it.”
A wave of grief battered her. “I suspected early on, you know,” she whispered.
He said nothing, although his expression softened. It gave her the strength to go on.
“When Lord Drayton’s illness went on and on, I began to fear it truly was poison of some kind. But I was alone and vulnerable, too afraid to speak up and be banished again. And who would have believed me? Even Margery did not.”
“Sarah—”
“You have no idea what it was like to be so afraid, to be a woman no one listens to.”
“I know what it’s like to be ignored,” he said quietly.
She ached, remembering his lonely childhood.
“Ramsey made a critical mistake targeting Francis,” he continued. “There would be no reason for you to want the boy dead, even if you’d killed Drayton. But Ramsey has a powerful motive—with Francis dead, he would have all of the estates and the title. Perhaps he’d planned Francis’s death from the beginning.”
She shuddered, her gaze helplessly lingering on the sweet, sleeping boy.
“You’re being framed for this out of desperation, and desperate men make mistakes.” He gave her a penetrating stare. “We know the truth, and we will soon be able to prove it, I swear to you. You don’t have to do everything yourself. You have me now.”
Since this afternoon’s terrible revelation, she’d been too frightened and frantic to cry, but now the tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.
“I trusted other men, Robert, from my father to my husband. No one has ever taken care of me. I have had to become strong and do it myself.”
Gently, he said, “Sarah—”
“You must listen to me, to the rest of the truth! I didn’t think I could trust you. I—I was using your attraction to me to save myself.”
Where was his anger, his disbelief? His expression only showed compassion, and it was almost her undoing.
“I didn’t want to care about you, but I couldn’t help it.” Her words ended on a whisper.
He smiled, a bit grimly, but it was there. “I vow to show you that your instincts about me aren’t wrong. I want only what is best for you. There is one way to prove it once and for all. You tell me what you want me to do next.
”
“What?”
“Whatever you think our next move should be, I will abide by it, even if it means leaving this place and living a life in secret.”
“But…but…you have family, you have the League!”
“But I want you, Sarah.” His voice was gruff. “I will do anything for you.”
The words she’d been desperate to hear now tugged hard on her heart. He was trusting her with his future—with all of their futures. He believed in her. His belief restored her own. She could not let him down.
“We cannot risk Francis’s life by trying to do this alone,” she said at last, her voice steady. “We need Sir Walter’s help.”
Robert slowly smiled.
Chapter 22
Robert enjoyed Francis’s delight when the boy woke in the morn to find that he had joined them. Francis was gleeful when they cloaked themselves to reenter the castle, mingling with all the servants who lived in the village without revealing their identities. Robert insisted people only saw what they wanted to, and as he predicted, no one imagined that Sarah and the little Lord Drayton would be entering the castle at dawn, leading a single horse.
They did not head for the chapel, where many filed to attend mass, nor did they return to the viscount’s chambers. After taking the horse to the stables, they went directly to the guest lodgings and surprised Walter as he came down the stone stairs to the courtyard. He looked impassively at the three of them, then led them back up to the first floor.
Once they were alone in the outer chamber, Francis grinned up at Walter. “We slept out of doors!”
The gruff man smiled and patted the boy’s head. “What an adventure you had. Do you understand that it must be a secret adventure? Those are the best kind.”
“No one is to know?” Francis asked hesitantly. Then he glanced at Sarah. “Like when I fell off the horse?”
She nodded.
“Very well,” he said, his little voice sounding mature.
“And now we adults need to talk. Come with me.”
Walter led the way to the inner chamber, and Robert watched through the open door.
