by Julia Latham
“When you look at me like that, ’twill take no time at all.” But he came up on his elbow, his look serious. “But we cannot linger…”
“I know. Francis is cared for, but only temporarily. We have to ensure that he will be safe forever.”
“Though he may be an orphan as I was, I promise you he will have a better life than mine.”
She gave him a soft smile, rubbing the back of her hand against his chest. “I know. For now, my thought is that he’s too young to know what happened to his father, what almost happened to him.”
“Aye, there will be time in the future to tell him such things.”
They both rose and dressed. He watched the graceful moves of her body, and enjoyed the fact that she watched him as well, even as she blushed.
When he was ready to leave, he drew her against him. “Do you have any concerns, any fears, about what we will be doing?”
She shook her head. “Nay, ’tis a well thought out idea—although I should not praise you much, for fear it will go to your head.”
He laughed.
Her smile faded. “But perhaps, without parents, you have not had much praise in your life.”
“Nay, my foster father took care of that. And much as I did not take everything about my training seriously, I always worked hard to earn his praise.”
“Then you have my praise,” she said, coming up on tiptoes.
He met her lips in a kiss that he wished could go on forever.
They broke apart with great reluctance.
“I will depart through the lord’s solar rather than be seen leaving your bedchamber.”
“Thank you,” she said. She touched his cheek. “Tell me we will be together again soon.”
“Aye,” he murmured, turning to kiss her palm. He left before the urge to do more overwhelmed him.
When Sarah reached the great hall, the morning meal had long been finished. She headed for the kitchen, for she was ravenous.
Margery hurried to walk at her side, whispering, “I was worried when ye did not come down to mass or to eat. What is wrong?”
And so the lying had to begin, even to her dear friend. “Francis is not feeling well. It began yesterday.” It was easy to appear concerned, to show a hint of fear, when she knew how close another poisoning had come to fruition.
“The poor mite! Is it a fever?”
“Aye, and he can keep nothing in his stomach. But he thinks he is feeling better this morn. I am sure he will be well in no time.”
Margery patted her arm with sympathy.
By the midday meal, more than one person had asked about Francis’s illness, so Sarah hoped the news spread far—so that Sir Anthony could wonder if his arsenic was beginning to work.
At dinner, Robert began to distance himself from Sarah. He flirted with the other ladies, and made it obvious that he did not include her among them. Sarah saw the confused glances people cast from Robert to her, and could only lift her chin and ignore the rare sympathy—and the more prevalent suspicion. Sir Anthony was one of those who treated her solicitously, and she wondered if he was mentally rubbing his hands together over the success of his plan to implicate her. It was difficult to be near him without vividly thinking of what he’d done to Lord Drayton, what he’d tried to do to Francis.
After the meal, Margery cornered Sarah, who was forced to lie again, confiding her fears that Robert’s intentions toward her had changed, that it might be only a matter of time before she was accused. Margery consoled her, promising that she would help her escape if need be.
At supper, two weary travelers requested a night’s comfort, as did a messenger on his way to Gloucestershire from London. Sarah would have thought nothing of three strangers needing shelter—if she hadn’t remembered Walter’s promise to recruit more Bladesmen. Were they already arriving? Why didn’t this make her feel safer?
Nothing would ease her until the truth was revealed.
To her surprise, Simon was one of the only members of the household to speak to her, offering to play a game of chess, when it was clearly so difficult for him to be near her. She accepted, her memories of being an outcast in the Audley home resurfacing until she felt so alone.
As they bent over the board, he spoke stiffly. “I do not believe these ridiculous rumors.”
She was surprised, considering the way she’d had to reject him. With a sigh, she said, “You are kind, Simon.”
“As I assumed, Sir Robert was only trying to befriend you to find a way to accuse you of murder.” His voice was laced with misery.
She winced at his accusation. “I know not what to think anymore.”
Simon defeated her at the game.
She was almost relieved as she rose to her feet. “I fear I was not much of an opponent this night. But now I must go see to poor Francis.”
“He is still feeling poorly?”
“A bit. But he is on the mend.”
Behind her, Robert suddenly said, “I will accompany you.”
She heard the gasps and whispers, even as she turned around to face him. Though he wore a smile, his eyes were cold, and he could have easily frightened her.
“Why is that?” she asked coolly.
“You might need help carrying everything.”
But everyone would now think she couldn’t be trusted alone with the little boy.
Simon stalked past Robert, brushing his shoulder hard, deliberately.
Robert only inclined his head.
As midnight approached, Robert paced his bedchamber waiting for the lateness of the hour, all the while reliving Sarah’s white-faced performance of impending doom. She was so believable, so brave, when even her own life was at risk.
At last he could no longer deny that he needed to see her. To minimize the risk to their plans, he once again used a rope from the top of the keep, swinging onto her window ledge, where he squatted and carefully pushed open the shutters.
Bathed in candlelight, she stood on one towel, another wrapped around her, as she poured heated water from the cauldron into a basin. He remained motionless, openmouthed, as she dropped the towel and began to wash herself. He followed the path of the wet cloth with intense fascination as she leisurely soaped her arms and shoulders, and then began to circle her breasts.
She suddenly lifted her gaze to him and smiled. “Are you going to crouch there all night?” she softly called.
He dropped swiftly to the floor.
She put a finger to her lips, and then motioned to Francis’s bedchamber—where Walter was.
He had totally forgotten about his partner. It was amazing he could function at all when looking at her naked. She gave him that slow, wicked smile that twisted his insides. He was out of his garments in a flash. In utter silence, they bathed each other with soapy hands until the wood floor was a mess. Having to be quiet in some ways made the encounter all the more passionate.
He couldn’t get enough of her kisses, hot one moment, sweet the next. And when she touched him, took his cock in her hand to explore, he shuddered with bliss. He lifted her off the ground, and with one thrust he was inside her. Her eyes went wide, she gave the tiniest gasp, and then she sagged against him, quivering, rubbing her breasts to his chest in a way that surely pleasured them both.
They strained against each other, their gazes locked, their bodies slick. Every time he lifted her, her breasts bounced, dazzling him. When she stiffened and shuddered in his arms, he gave himself over to the pleasure.
They dropped back onto the bed and just breathed, looking at each other, grinning.
Then she got up—God knew he probably couldn’t—and brought several towels to dry themselves. Then they crawled beneath the coverlet and she came into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.
“This might have been the worst day of my life,” he murmured.
She hugged him tighter. “I know what you mean. But the goal is all that matters.”
“Ramsey demanded to know what was going on, but I said I was sti
ll gathering evidence and couldn’t speak. I hinted that I was close to making an announcement.”
“Let him stew on that, wondering if he’s safe at last.” She looked up at him. “Do you remember Emma, our lady’s maid who served the Ramseys when they were in residence?”
He nodded.
“I almost collided with her when I was coming up here earlier this evening. She cringed away from me, the first person to do so.”
“I am sorry, Sarah,” he said, caressing her arm where it lay across his chest. “Perhaps ’tis not just about you. Mayhap she has another reason to be afraid.”
She lifted her head. “You think she knows something?”
“You’ve assigned her to Ramsey while he’s here, and she’s served him before. We think he might have had help.”
“But using our servant rather than his? That seems very risky.”
“I will talk with her on the morrow.”
They both quieted until at last he could not deny the inevitable. “I must go.”
She nodded drowsily. After he dressed, he bent to kiss her one more time.
“Be careful,” she murmured, looking toward the window through which he would depart.
“I am always careful. Tomorrow is the day, sweetling. By the evening, it will be all over, and you’ll be free.”
She tried to smile up at him, but worries shadowed her eyes.
Sarah dreaded the morning, and for good reason. At mass, only Margery knelt on the cold stone floor beside her. In the great hall, when all went in to break their fast, servants obeyed her without meeting her eyes.
Master Frobisher approached her where she stood near the kitchens. “Mistress Sarah?”
She nodded but could not summon a smile.
“Are you…well?”
He looked uncomfortable and apologetic and sad. Somehow it made her feel better. Not everyone believed the worst.
“You can imagine how I’m feeling, Master Frobisher. I know not what is happening, nor why.”
“It does not seem fair. I wanted you to know that I do not believe what Sir Robert is implying.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Thank you. That brings me peace. I can only trust in my innocence, and that the truth will come out.”
“The boy is well this morn?”
She gave him a smile. “Better.”
“Good, good.”
They stood silently, awkwardly for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “I received some disturbing news after mass.”
She raised her eyebrows and waited.
“One of our maidservants has disappeared.”
That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “Who is it?”
“Emma, the lady’s maid.”
The maid Sarah herself had assigned to the Ramseys.
“The servants who share a bedchamber with her claim that this morn, she said she was too ill to attend mass.”
Sarah stiffened, worried that arsenic had been employed on someone else.
“When the maidservants returned, she and all of her possessions were gone.”
Had Robert been correct? Was Emma involved and too frightened to remain?
“And no one knew a reason she was upset?” Sarah asked.
“None,” Master Frobisher said, shaking his head. “She might have taken some fancy into her head, or been led astray by a man. We may never know.”
“Have the maidservants tell us if they hear word of her in the village.”
“Aye, mistress.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Take care this day. I’ve seen Sir Robert’s face, and though he smiles, I think he has made his decision.”
As the servants left the hall by ones and twos to begin their day, Robert called people to his side: Sarah, the Ramseys, the steward and treasurer, Father Osborne, Simon, and Margery—the last of whom was a surprise, unless he wanted Sarah to be comforted by her only true friend.
“I have grave news to relate,” he said as they all watched him in silence. “But now is not the time.”
She could hear a ripple of sighs and murmurs.
“I invite you all to dine in the viscount’s private solar at noon.”
Sarah felt eyes on her, and saw Sir Anthony watching her sadly. She looked away.
And then began another long morning of suspicion. Each hour dragged slowly. She spent much of it with Francis, but only after Robert privately assured Sir Anthony that she would never be alone with him. The poor boy was restless and confused, although he’d found many hours of satisfaction with a skill Walter was teaching him—how to use his knife to make wooden figurines. Sarah was impressed at the graceful statues Walter created, especially the pony with a little marking carved in its forehead just like Lightning. She thought the Bladesman might even have blushed as she praised him.
Francis said she looked sad, so he wanted her to wear his mother’s brooch to cheer her up. She let him pin it on her, smiling, so that he would know he’d helped.
At last it was time to attend their private dinner. Sarah felt nervous and afraid and relieved all at the same time. She straightened her shoulders, facing the door to the lord’s chambers. She was surprised to feel a hand on her shoulder.
Walter looked down at her. “The plan is sound. It will not fail.”
She nodded her gratitude, not trusting herself to speak. She entered the solar from the lord’s bedchamber to find Robert already there. They glanced at each other, but said nothing. Worried that her eyes would give her away, she looked about the chamber. As planned, she saw individual silver plates overflowing with food on the cupboard along one wall. She hastily looked away.
Soon the rest of the guests were assembled. Robert seated Sir Anthony at the head of the table, his wife at his right. The rest filled in the empty spots, leaving the far chair for Robert. Sarah gave Margery a grim smile, and the seamstress responded in kind as they sat beside one another.
As one, they all turned to face Robert, who remained standing, hands clasped behind his back. “My announcement will be better accepted on a full stomach. Allow me to serve you,” he said, setting plates before each of the guests.
They all continued to exchange confused glances.
“I was hoping young Francis would be well enough to join us, but he is not,” Robert said casually, lifting the last plate. “The kitchen sent up his plate as well. I brought it here.” He set it down before Sir Anthony. “No point in wasting a good meal.”
Even as the steward and treasurer began to eat, Sarah watched Sir Anthony, waiting for him to ask for another plate, or to refuse to eat, incriminating himself. All day long each plate sent to Francis had been examined, and Walter had told her that evidence had been found of arsenic. Sir Anthony had continued to try to kill the boy. They didn’t descend upon the kitchen, preferring to keep the villain in the dark.
Instead of refusing to eat, Sir Anthony picked up his knife and stabbed a piece of lamb. As he brought it toward his mouth, Lady Ramsey suddenly slapped it away.
Chapter 24
Sarah could not control her gasp. Robert stepped forward, his expression grim. Lady Ramsey gripped the table, her eyes closed.
Sir Anthony only looked confused. “Caroline?”
“Oh, how clumsy of me,” she cried, her voice unsteady.
She bent to pick up the knife. The meat had landed somewhere else, and she looked at the empty tip of the knife as if confused.
“Clumsy?” Sir Anthony repeated. “Were you reaching for something?”
Robert opened his mouth, but it was Simon who spoke.
“’Twas no accident,” he said impassively.
Sarah gaped at him where he sat across the table from her. His face was white with strain, his eyes haunted with sadness. Lady Ramsey blinked as if she didn’t understand.
“’Tis Lady Ramsey who wants the viscountcy for her beloved husband,” Simon continued, his words dripping with sarcasm. “And there is probably enough poison in that poor boy’s plate to make sure she succeeded at last.”
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The table was silent as all stared at Sir Anthony and his wife. Sir Anthony’s mouth opened and closed several times, as if he didn’t know what to say, his face as gray as death.
“Do not look like that, Anthony,” Lady Ramsey exclaimed. Then she gave him a beatific smile. “You deserve only the best. And since I could not give you a child, I had to give you something else to make up for it. A viscountcy is perfect, do you not think?” she asked, clapping her hands together.
Sarah felt a sick sort of pity that she and Lady Ramsey had barrenness in common.
“Caroline, nay—” Sir Anthony began, his voice strangled and harsh.
Sarah glanced at Simon, who sat unmoving, his shoulders stiff, his stare concentrated on Lady Ramsey. What had he done for her, all the while he’d been courting Sarah?
“Emma didn’t understand how important this was,” Lady Ramsey said of the Drayton maid. “She would no longer obey me.”
“She fled rather than continue to serve your evil,” Simon said flatly, “as I should have fled. But I was…trapped.”
“How is that?” Robert asked.
Simon continued to stare at Lady Ramsey with bleak eyes. “I was protecting my foolish sister, Isabel. She was once Lady Ramsey’s lady-in-waiting, and had committed an indiscretion with a married man. Lady Ramsey threatened to reveal it all if I did not assist her.” His gaze shot to Sarah. “I could not let her life be ruined!”
Sarah stared at him helplessly, angrily, unable to give him the understanding that he seemed to crave. A man had been murdered!
Whatever Simon saw on her face made him slump.
“What is he saying?” Lady Ramsey trilled, staring back and forth between her silent husband and the knight she’d blackmailed. “I do not understand!”
“You understand,” Simon said. “I helped you frame poor Sarah, I helped you get the poison where it needed to be.”
Then he lurched to his feet, and before anyone realized his intentions, he ripped the jeweled pomander from where it hung at Lady Ramsey’s waist. He smashed it open on the table, and white powder leaked out instead of fragrant herbs. Robert caught him from behind, but Simon did not struggle.
