The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4)

by Irina Shapiro

  Chapter 77

  May 1465

  Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland

  Guy had retreated to his room after the picnic under the pretense of having a headache. He did have one, though it wasn’t bad enough to shun the company of others. But making small talk with Eleanor and conversing with Hugh as if nothing out of the ordinary were about to occur was more than he could manage. He’d rehearsed his speech dozens of times, but every time he imagined confronting Hugh, his stomach muscles clenched and his conscience gnawed at his heart.

  Choosing between duty and love was no easy thing, even if he’d known all along who the victor would be. Hugh would not take the news well, especially now that Kate was with child. Had they attempted to get an annulment before Kate conceived, Hugh might have been easier to convince since he’d then be free to marry again. A new wife meant a new opportunity to make his fortune and start a family. But now, Guy would have to tell Hugh the truth about the child, an insult Hugh would never forgive or forget. Hugh might even wish to resolve this conflict with swords, a fight to the death to preserve his honor. Guy wouldn’t put it past him, and in truth, he might have been driven to do the same had Hugh cheated him of his wife and heir.

  Guy sighed, filled with self-loathing. He should have left as soon as Hugh married Kate and stayed away indefinitely. He had no right to love his brother’s wife, nor had he acted honorably when he allowed his love to cross the line between the emotional and the physical. Being with Kate was the most sublime thing he’d ever experienced, but it was also the most underhanded, reprehensible act of his life, and no amount of self-flagellation would ever atone for the injustice he’d done to Hugh. He’d talked Kate into his chosen course of action, but would she ever be happy, even if they managed to secure an annulment? Would she ever forgive herself for the dishonor she’d brought to Hugh and the de Rosel family, or would she blame Guy for bullying her into going against her vows, her faith, and her conscience? Lying with him had been bad enough, but openly telling the world that she’d been unfaithful to her husband, conceived a child with another man, and wished to be excused from her marriage vows because she wished to be with her lover was something else entirely. Perhaps he’d been wrong to push so hard. Kate was torn, and terrified of the consequences of their actions, and perhaps her continued sickness was a manifestation of her internal struggle.

  Guy folded his arms behind his head and stared at the tester above him. The die had been cast and no amount of recrimination would alter the situation. If he wanted to live with Kate and be a father to his child—which he did, more than life itself—he had to confront Hugh.

  Guy didn’t immediately react to the screams that seemed to reverberate through the walls of the keep. Perhaps Eleanor had seen a rat. She’d never become used to the vile creatures, no matter how many of them she’d come across over the years. But the screaming got louder and was followed by the sound of running feet. Something was wrong. Guy sprang to his feet and sprinted through the door and down the stairs.

  Everyone seemed to be crowded by Hugh and Kate’s bedchamber. Eleanor was weeping in the doorway, and Alf, Jed, and Walter stood about in stunned silence, staring at something just beyond Eleanor’s shoulder. Nurse was inside, her normally calm voice sounding hysterical and weepy. Guy pushed past Eleanor and exploded into the room, desperate to know what had happened, but he wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes.

  Hugh was down on his knees, his arms wrapped about his middle, as if he were trying to hold himself together, his forehead pressed against the wooden bedframe. Guy couldn’t see his face, but he could tell by the heaving of Hugh’s shoulders that he was crying. Nurse stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder as she stared at the bed, keening. Guy advanced into the room, but the urgency to discover what had happened had left him. His heart already knew what he would find, and he wanted to run, without stopping until he exhausted himself enough to fall into a dreamless sleep from which he’d never wake.

  The bed hangings were partially closed, but once Guy stepped around the side of the bed, he could see clearly. Kate lay uncovered on the bed, her eyes wide open, staring at something just off to the left, her face frozen in a grimace of pain. Her skirts were bunched up, the fabric soaking up the dark red blood that pooled beneath her hips. A tiny baby lay between her legs, its nearly translucent skin covered in blood. Its eyes were closed and it was curled into itself, but beneath the slimy cord that tethered the child to Kate’s body was the unmistakable stub that identified the child as being male.

  The desperate sob that tore from Guy’s chest forced Hugh to look up. He staggered to his feet and came toward Guy, catching him in a bear hug. “She’s gone, brother. She’s gone,” he cried. “And so is my son.”

  “What happened?” Guy cried, his anguish there for anyone to behold. “I don’t understand. She seemed fine at the picnic.”

  “She took her own life,” Nurse replied. She held up a small brown vial. “This is oil of rue. Some use it to dislodge a babe from the womb, but a large dose is fatal. Perhaps she got the notion from Aileen, who’d used the same poison.”

  “But why?” Hugh cried, his voice hoarse with agony. “Why would she do that? She was so excited about the coming babe, so filled with hope for the future.”

  Guy grabbed for the basin just in time as his innards turned themselves inside out and he retched and retched, until he sank to the floor and curled into a ball on the cold stone. He knew why Kate had done it. She couldn’t bear the weight of her guilt or the fear of what was about to happen. Taking her own life, which she’d see as the ultimate sin, had been preferable to what he was about to subject her to. He’d as good as killed her. He’d killed his love, and his baby. And Kate, as a final act of atonement, had become the instrument of her own punishment, since as a suicide she’d be forever condemned to hell, her remains denied proper burial.

  Guy forced himself to his feet. He was eviscerated by grief, but he couldn’t allow anyone to discover the truth. No one could know what he and Kate had meant to each other, or what they’d planned to do. Hugh was already devastated by his loss, and Guy would do anything to spare Kate further shame or judgement. The truth would die with him when the time came.

  “Come,” Guy said to Hugh as he wrapped an arm about his brother. “Come away.”

  Hugh looked at Guy, his eyes unseeing. He seemed utterly lost, as if he suddenly had no idea where he was or what had just happened.

  “Come, Hugh,” Guy urged him.

  “Ye go on, pet,” Nurse said to Hugh. “I’ll see to Kate and the babe. Ye shouldn’t see her like this. This shouldn’t be yer last memory of her.”

  Hugh nodded and allowed Guy to steer him toward the door, but not before Guy watched Nurse slip the vial into her pocket. There was nothing odd in that—she wouldn’t leave poison lying about—but the one thing he had noticed, even in his state of shock, was the writing on the bottle, the penmanship that of his late mother. The label was written in tiny letters, the ink faded after years of exposure to the light. Kate would never have been able to read that. Her sight was failing. Had she perhaps been seeking relief from her sickness and taken the wrong thing by mistake? Was there hope that she hadn’t done this awful deed on purpose? The knowledge that she hadn’t taken her own life wouldn’t bring her back, but it would ease his heart. God would still take her into his embrace, as well as their son, and grant them life everlasting. Salvation would have meant everything to Kate.

  Guy and Hugh spent the night in the parlor, drinking themselves into a stupor and talking about Kate. Neither one could bear to be alone yet. They were united in their loss, bound by grief. Hugh didn’t understand the extent of Guy’s loss, but he’d recognized that Guy bore great affection for his sister-in-law and leaned on him for support, knowing that Guy was likely the only person who could truly understand his grief. By the time the first rays of the sun sliced through the gloom of the parlor, a decision had been made, and a pact had been struck.
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  Kate would not be buried at a crossroads with a spike through her heart, as was the custom with suicides. They would bury her in the chapel in consecrated ground, in the place that had meant the most to her and where she’d found solace in life and would also find peace in death. No one would learn the truth of what had happened. No one. For if word got to Father Jonas, he might order to have Kate’s remains exhumed and reburied as the Church demanded. She would be forever safe beneath the stone floor of the chapel, sleeping peacefully with her rosary in her hands.

  By the time Hugh and Guy abandoned the parlor, Kate’s body had been washed and wrapped in a shroud—one that Nurse had prepared for herself to be used when the time came. Kate’s remains were laid out on the table, a thick candle burning at each end.

  “Where’s the child?” Hugh asked.

  “In there, with her.”

  Hugh nodded. “Come, brother. Let’s go dig a grave.”

  “Dig a grave?” Nurse asked, gaping at them.

  “Kate’s to be buried in the chapel,” Hugh replied, his tone brooking no argument.

  “But she’s a suicide,” Nurse protested. “It’s a sin to keep it from the Church. And she died unshriven.”

  Hugh paled, his eyes boring into his old nurse. “Kate will be buried in consecrated ground with all the respect due to her. And if you ever breathe a word of what transpired to anyone, you will find yourself buried right next to her. Do you understand?” Hugh ’didn't raise his voice, but the depth of his threat was clear.

  “Aye, do as ye will,” Nurse conceded.

  They held the funeral for Kate in the evening. The chapel was hardly large enough to accommodate all six of them, but they wanted to pay their respects to her. Hugh, Guy, and Eleanor stood closest to the grave, with Alf, Jed, and Walter bringing up the rear. The chapel was alight with candles, the tiny flames dancing in the draft from the ill-fitting window and casting eerie shadows onto the mourners. After Hugh did a reading from the Bible, Guy and Walter filled in the grave and replaced the stone slabs. There would be no mark on the stones, and no name or date etched into eternity. Kate would remain hidden forever, safe in her resting place.

  After the funeral, they all retired to the hall where Nurse had laid a cold supper in honor of Kate’s memory. Eleanor sat next to Hugh and spent the meal seeing to his every need. He hardly seemed to notice her ministrations, but Eleanor was patient. She’d had to be.

  Guy waited until everyone had gone to sleep before returning to the chapel. He was exhausted, and his arms ached from digging the grave and lifting the heavy stone slabs, but there was one more thing he had to do, and he had to do it in secret. Guy removed his doublet, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and reached for a crowbar. He’d dig all night if he had to, but he’d lay his sword in Kate’s hands before morning came. It was the most precious thing he owned, and he wished for Kate and his son to be buried with it. It was the only honor he could accord his loved ones, and he’d see it done. And once the new day dawned, he’d leave Castle de Rosel, maybe not for good, but for a time. He couldn’t bear to remain in the place where he’d loved and lost so much.

  As Guy left his childhood home the following morning, a spare sword he’d taken from the armory slapping against his hip, he suspected that Hugh would marry Eleanor within the year. The marriage would be based on lukewarm affection and mutual gain. Hugh would continue as lord of the manor until Adam was ready to take up the management of the estate, but would remain nominally in charge for the rest of his life, being Adam’s stepfather. Hugh would be set for life, one way or another. And Eleanor was still young enough to bear children, so perhaps Hugh would become a father after all. He genuinely cared for Adam, or so Guy wanted to believe, but if the boy fell in battle or died of an illness, Hugh’s child would become the next Baron de Rosel.

  Guy knew he would never marry. Kate had been his great love, and he would honor her by remaining pure for the rest of his life, however long that might be. From this day on, he’d live by the sword, and hopefully, die by the sword, since his life had become a burden to him. He no longer had a reason for being, but didn’t dare end it all in the hope that Kate’s death was accidental and they might meet again in the afterlife.

  Guy spurred on his horse, eager to get away from Castle de Rosel. He’d get to London after Ascension Sunday and offer his services to Warrick, if the earl was still there. Guy wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, but there were two things he knew for a fact—the conflict between the houses of Lancaster and York was not over, and the Earl of Warrick would not be thwarted in his plans to see one of his daughters as the Queen of England, a dream that was no longer as accessible as it had been even a year ago since rumor had it that King Edward had refused Warwick’s request for a betrothal between his brother Richard and Anne Neville. There would be another rebellion, and there would always be another battle. Guy’s life might have some purpose yet, even if that purpose wasn’t his own.

  Chapter 78

  November 2014

  London, England

  Just past noon, a steady rain fell outside the plate-glass window, the feeble light of the gloomy afternoon resembling dusk. Rhys removed his reading glasses and laid Quinn’s report on his ultra-modern desk, his gaze thoughtful as he his eyes met hers. “This will not do. We don’t know what really happened. Our viewers need closure.”

  “I don’t know what really happened, Rhys. I’m not Miss Marple. I can’t conveniently solve the crime by the final chapter and explain my reasoning for the benefit of those who missed the clues.”

  “I know that,” Rhys replied irritably, “but we need to come up with an ending that will give us a ratings boost. What are your thoughts? Who’d want to murder Kate?”

  “We don’t know that she was murdered.”

  “She believed she was.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “So let’s theorize,” Rhys suggested. “You go first.”

  Quinn leaned back in her chair and considered the possibilities. She’d analyzed all this before, but perhaps Rhys would find a new angle. “The only people who might have wished Kate harm would be Hugh and Eleanor. Hugh might have found out about the affair and realized the child wasn’t his. This would be an easy way to get rid of both Kate and the child, and punish Guy in the process. With Kate gone, his pride would be salvaged and he could get on with his life, as we know he did.”

  “And Eleanor?”

  “Eleanor was trapped. She was a woman, still in her mid-twenties, who, for all intents and purposes, had been buried alive. Hugh would never allow her to remarry, for fear of losing his home and the income he pilfered from Adam. Her only hope was to marry Hugh and regain the status of wife, rather than remain a widow for the rest of her days. With Hugh, she would still be close to her son and possibly have more children.”

  “Would she really kill Kate?”

  “They say poison is a woman’s weapon of choice. Perhaps she did.”

  “Doesn’t seem likely though, does it? And what happened to the baby? There were no bones of an infant discovered with Kate’s remains, were there?”

  “No. Joan said the baby was buried with Kate, but there was no evidence to support that. Perhaps it was buried separately and the bones were too tiny to notice when we searched the surrounding area. We might have mistaken them for the bones of a bird or a mammal.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s your theory?” Quinn asked. She could already see the gleam of creativity shining in Rhys’s eyes.

  “In the episode, Hugh, having recalled how effectively rue killed the unfortunate Aileen, will use the poison on Kate after learning of her infidelity. He wasn’t overly pleased with the marriage to start with, and finding out that his wife and his brother were playing him for a fool would be enough to push him over the edge. Oh, he’d play the grieving husband, but he’d send Guy a clue that he was aware of what was going on under his nose, and allow him to wonder for the rest of his days whether Hugh had actually
murdered Kate and the child or whether Kate died by accident.”

  “And how would Hugh do all that without actually confronting Guy and confessing to the murder?”

  “The sword. A knight’s sword was his most precious possession. By burying the sword with Kate, Hugh would be letting Guy know that he was aware of their connection, and that he was burying everything that was precious to Guy in one grave: his lover, his child, and his weapon. I think the viewers will love that. Very dramatic.”

  “And that’s why you’re so good at what you do. I have to get going,” Quinn said, checking her watch. “I have a Thanksgiving dinner to prepare for. I’m in charge of cornbread and collard greens.”

  “You’ll be getting a dual citizenship next,” Rhys joked as he got up to walk Quinn out. “I’m glad things are going well with you and your father. How’s Alex taken to him?”

  “Like powdered sugar to a beignet.”

  Rhys laughed. “Enjoy your dinner, and don’t get too comfortable. I have a new case to discuss with you.”

  “You have the subject for the next episode?”

  “Indeed, I do, but I wouldn’t want to ruin all this family fun. Ring me tomorrow. You’re going to love this one,” Rhys said with a merry twinkle in his eye.

  “I take it there’s no urgency?”

  “Oh, this poor sod is not going anywhere.”

  Rhys kissed Quinn’s cheek and gave her a wave as she got in the lift. Quinn leaned against the wall and smiled. Tomorrow, she’d find out what Rhys had in store for her, but tonight, she’d enjoy a dinner of unfamiliar delicacies with the people she loved best in the world. She had much to be thankful for.

  Epilogue

  Joan was the last to leave the chapel after Kate’s burial. She was about to return to the kitchen—she had supper to serve—when her hand closed around the smooth glass of the vial she’d taken from Kate’s bedside. Joan trudged up the stairs to the top floor and walked to the end of the silent corridor, where she entered what had been Marie de Rosel’s solar. No one went in there anymore—no one save Joan.