by Rue Allyn
“Do you?”
“Aye.” Despairing, Haven looked at Gennie. “There must be another explanation.”
Gennie’s eyes widened. “Surely you cannot think…” She turned to Edward. “Sire, I assure you…”
But the look in Edward’s eyes froze Gennie to silence. “What is it that you assure me of, Madame Dreyford?”
She didn’t seem to notice the king’s lapse of memory in using her widowed name. “Why, I could not, would not arrange to have Watley poisoned simply because I lost a groat to you, sire.”
“A groat and a promise, remember, Madame Dreyford?”
Haven ground his teeth, knowing that Edward already condemned Gennie, and her protests did nothing to mitigate that condemnation.
“Well, certainment.” She twisted her hands together.
“A groat and a promise. But what has that to say to anything? I would hardly poison my husband’s squire over such a piece of folly. I wasn’t even in the room.”
“No you would not harm Watley. I believe that, madame. But you might well seek to harm the king who executed your first husband.”
Gennie’s hand flew to her throat. “Non.”
“Non, say you.” Edward turned and snatched his cup from the table. “Then explain why Watley fell ill when he drank from my cup and not before. My cup, which came from the kitchens you supervise, Madame Viper.”
Gennie looked from the cup to the fury in Edward’s face and back. “I-I cannot.”
The king put his face a palm’s width from Gennie’s. “Of course you cannot. To explain this, you would have to confess that you tried to murder the King of England.”
“I did not.”
Edward’s lip curled, and he straightened to his full height. “A moment ago, madame, you lost a groat and a promise to me. I would claim that promise now.”
“Oui, sire.”
“Promise me that without regard to consequence you will always tell me the truth.”
“Certainment, sire, but will you believe me?”
“Let us find out. Did you poison my cup?”
Gennie squared her shoulders. “Non.”
Edward clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “Haven, have you at Two Hills Keep a room that can be locked from the outside?”
Haven felt fear, solid and cold, in his belly. “No, my liege, but the solar has a stout door. A bar can be added, and I can place a guard.”
Edward opened his eyes, holding Haven’s gaze with his. He spoke clearly, loud enough for all in the hall to hear, “Then take this lying viper from my sight, e’er I order her hanged on the spot.”
“Sire, you cannot…” Haven objected.
“As you love me, Haven, obey me now.”
“Aye, sire.”
Haven took hold of Gennie’s arm. With rigid steps, he escorted her from the room.
“Haven, don’t do this,” she pleaded.
He refused to meet her gaze or give ear to her entreaties.
Behind them he heard Edward order, “Send for Michael. I would have my strongest knight guard my back from this evil.”
The solar door shut behind Gennie. She sank onto the rug near the braiser. How could this happen? She had never in her life spoken a word of treason. Curse Roger and the long shadow of his traitor’s death.
She no longer feared for Thomas. Haven would do all he could for the boy. Her husband was too good a man to cover a child with the mantel of suspicion that cloaked her.
But it was Haven’s silence that hurt most. Could he believe her capable of such evil? Maybe when they had first met, but surely not now? Doubt wormed its way into her mind, If Haven did repudiate her, what would become of her and the child she carried?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Haven opened the solar door. His heart skipped when he saw the empty bed, then steadied as his gaze swept the room and found Gennie asleep on the rug. The tray of food he had sent up earlier lay untouched by her side. He closed the door and swept a hand across his face. It was nearly afternoon. He had not slept since leaving Gennie last night. He could not have done so had he tried.
He walked to where she lay and sat down beside her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Gennie.”
She started up. Sleep blinked horn her eyes, replaced by hurt and accusation. “What do you here? Have you come to gloat, now that my treason is confirmed?”
“Nay.” He reached to stroke her cheek.
Gennie jerked away, turning her back to him. “Do not touch me.”
Concern twisted Haven’s heart. She had every right to be bitter. So he fisted his hands in his lap. “Edward’s accusation was unjust. Anyone could have poisoned the king’s cup.”
“Take greater care with your words, husband, lest you be tarred with the brush of my treason.”
Losing patience, Haven grabbed her shoulders and twisted her about. Fear for her made him fierce. “Listen to me, Milady de Sessions. You have not committed treason. You are not capable of the act.”
Gennie’s mouth opened, then shut. Her face crumpled.
Haven found his arms filled with warm, weeping woman.
“Gennie, Gennie.” He stroked her dark hair. “I convinced Edward to give me a day to discover who else could have done this. Since the king sent you here, I have talked to almost every person in the keep.”
Gennie lifted her watery gaze to his. “Is Thomas safe?”
Haven looked at the woman he cherished. Of course she would think first of her son. “Aye, Thomas is safe, and I will keep him so. Just as I plan to keep you.”
“Do you have hope?” she asked.
“Some. No one has been allowed to leave. The assassin has to be here, Gennie. But I need your help, if we are to find him. And we are running out of time. Half the given day is gone.”
Genvieve swallowed. “What do you wish of me?”
“I want you to tell me everything that you did after the king arrived.”
“I rose early…”
He watched his wife as she related the minutia of a day spent in preparing the best possible reception for a king she had good reason to fear. Haven’s heart went out to her. He heard no trace of rancor. In Gennie’s situation, others might have felt justified in hating Edward. Gennie voiced only concern for the comfort of her husband’s liege and the rest of the people in the castle.
He laughed a bit when she described the battle between Goody and Rene in the kitchen. He frowned at her mention of the friars. But smiled briefly, when she told how the cook and the Englishwoman had united in the face of the friars’ unwanted assistance.
She ceased speaking as she noticed his frown. “Something concerns you, Haven?”
“The friars. They have been at prayers in the chapel ever since Watley fell ill. I had not thought to talk with them.”
“You cannot suspect a man of God?” Gennie uttered in a horrified whisper.
“Nay, I know not who to suspect. But the friars may have seen something that will help.”
“Then you must go to them now.”
“Nay, I wish you to finish first.”
“Very well. After I left the kitchen, I sought you out with my request that you arrange an additional entertainment because the meal would be delayed, and I had other tasks to perform.”
Haven nodded, remembering her harried expression. Her concentration now was equally deep. “From you I went to our chamber. I ordered a bath, and while I waited, I prepared my gift for you. The bath…”
“Hold, Gennie.” Haven picked up her hand. “You had a gift for me?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. A becoming flush colored her cheeks.
“Where is this gift?”
“When the bath arrived, I set the gift aside by the bed.”
He traced the lines on her palm, pleased at her shivered response. “Do you still wish to give it to me?” He studied her face as she answered.
“Oui,” she replied. “You have the right.”
Her words puzzled him, b
ut she stood and went to the bed, so he waited.
She returned with a soft knitted coverlet rolled and tied with string. “Here.” She thrust the bundle at him.
Haven took it, hesitating while she sat.
“What is this?”
“Cut the string. The gift is inside the coverlet.”
Bowing his head, he did as she bid but was even more puzzled. Inside laid a tiny silver rattle of the type given to infants. Then knowledge burst upon him. He raised his eyes to hers. “Does this mean…are you…?”
Gennie nodded, her eyes gleaming wetly.
Fatherhood! Watching Gennie grow round with his child. Holding the woman he loved as she suckled their babe. Then he remembered their circumstances. Would Gennie live to give birth?
His mouth thinned.
Gennie gripped his hand. “What will we do, Haven?”
“We will find that assassin and serve him to Edward for supper. Tell me the rest.”
“Where was I?”
“Your bath.”
“As I finished dressing, Therese knocked on my door with a message that Goody Brown urgently needed me. I returned to the kitchen, stopped Rene from beating a scullery lad for not properly cleaning the platters and cups for the evening meal. By the time I dried the lad’s tears and soothed Rene’s ruffled feathers, I had time for naught but to join you at table. You know everything from that point on.”
“The scullery lad—did he handle all of the platters and cups?”
“I don’t believe so. The king’s steward brought the king’s own dishes well before the disagreement between Goody and Rene. Rene set the things apart, so that he could put the best bits on the king’s platter. I am sure the cup was with the platter.”
“I talked to Rene and the rest of the kitchen staff. None of them saw anyone paying particular attention to Edward’s dishes, but all claimed to be very busy and could easily have missed something.”
“Wait; I recall seeing one of the friars near the king’s plate. In fact, Goody Brown called it to my attention. I think she feared that the plate, which was silver, would stick to the friar’s fingers.”
“’Tis now more important than ever that I talk with those friars. Gennie, is there anything else you can tell me?”
She colored. “Only that one of the friars was the same one who assigned to me the penance of the hair shirt.”
“For that alone, I should hang him by his thumbs. Why did you ever listen to him?”
“He used to visit Roger and hear our confessions, since we did not have a priest in residence.”
“I must needs talk with this friar.” Haven leaned over and kissed her. Then he left to seek out the friars.
His kiss lingered, and Gennie ran her fingers over her mouth. Whether Haven discovered the assassin or not, her life was full, simply knowing that he believed her innocent. She wished she could help him, but locked in this room she could do little except pray. So she knelt and did what she could.
Behind Gennie the door opened and shut. Before she finished her current petition to God, she—heard the interior bar drop loudly into place. She spoke her Amen and rose, shaking out her skirts. Her knees didn’t ache, so she couldn’t have been at her prayers for very long. Turning, she expected to see her husband; thus the black-robed friar who stood in front of the solar door surprised her.
“Who are you?”
Taking a step forward, the friar lowered his cowl. “Surely you know me, Lady Genvieve.”
It was the blazing-eyed friar from Chester and Yorkshire. The one who had lead the others to assist in restoring the kitchen to order.
Gennie suppressed a gasp and backed away. “What are you doing here? I did not request a friar.”
“Ah, child, I am here because of your great need.”
“Nonsense.”
“Then say your husband sent me.”
Hungry for news, Gennie stepped forward. “Did he speak to you? Do you bring word? Do you have knowledge of the assassin?”
“Aye. I bring word of the assassin. But I have not spoken to Sir Haven.”
“Then go immediately and tell him your news. If you tell me, none will believe you.”
“Have faith, child. When I tell my tale, I will be believed.” He took her hand and led her to a chair and footstool that sat by the braiser.
His hand felt dry and cold. Gennie cast a glance at the lengthening shadows in the room. “The day is almost over you must hurry,” she said.
“True, some speed is necessary, but first let us complete God’s work. Sit.”
Gennie was glad to let go of the friar’s hand, so she sat.
“I interrupted your prayers. Will you forgive me for that, Lady Genvieve?”
“Oui, But why stay you here? You must tell my husband what you know.”
“All in good time.” The friar patted her hand. “All in good time.
“How long has it been since your last confession, child?”
Gennie sent him a puzzled look. “I do not recall. A se’enight, perhaps. What has my confession to do with anything?”
“Confession is the first of the three steps needed for salvation. Without it, neither penance nor atonement is possible.” The friar clasped his hands around hers. “Now do as you are bid and confess your sins to me.”
Obviously to humor the friar was the only way to get him to leave and go to Haven. She bowed her head and made her confession. When she finished and asked forgiveness, the friar hesitated. She looked up at him and wondered at his expression. The word beatific leapt to mind.
With eyes alight and a soft voice, he asked, “Have you nothing else you wish to confess?”
“Non. Please, hurry to my husband with your news.”
“But we are not yet finished, milady.” A note of stress entered his voice.
“What more is there, pray?”
“You have not told me that you tried to murder the king.”
“That is absurd. I did no such thing.”
His hold on her hands tightened. “True, I am the one who failed to rid the world of the royal viper that would rob the pope by taxing the clergy.”
Gennie tried to pull away. “Nay, you are ordained, and murder is a sin,” she whispered, unwilling to believe what he told her.
“Not as great a sin as allowing Edward to continue his perfidy. If I am ever to succeed, he must believe that you poisoned his cup. Just as he believed Roger Dreyford guilty of treason.”
Against his grip, Gennie struggled to her feet. “Then Roger was not guilty?” She prayed for Thomas’s sake that the answer would clear his father.
“Roger Dreyford was eager for excitement. What greater adventure than to kill a king?”
“Non,” Gennie moaned.
“Hush, child. It is time to do your penance.” He loomed over her, let go her hands and grasped her throat beneath her chin, lifting her painfully to her toes.
“I know not what you mean.” Gennie ground out the words, barely able to breathe, let alone speak. “You are hurting me.” She clawed at his wrist and fingers with both her hands. All to no avail; his grip remained firm.
“I have heard your confession, and I shall administer penance.” His free hand fumbled in the folds of his robe. He drew out a vial.
“Non.” Gennie kicked out at him, but only succeeded in tangling her feet in his robe. Still she twisted and managed to make him stagger. His grip loosened for a moment. She let out a gurgling scream and tried to breathe at the same time.
She tried once more to twist free. This time she toppled them both to the floor. Unfortunately the friar landed above her and was able to press a knee to her chest. Gennie felt her lungs slowly collapsing under the pressure. She lost strength in her arms and could only watch him kill her.
With his teeth, he pulled the cork from the vial. His free hand covered her nose. The words of extreme unction filled her ears. She tried to keep her mouth closed but couldn’t. Either way, she would die.
Haven dragged his feet up
the stairs to the solar. How could he tell Gennie that he had failed? The friars had told him nothing that he hadn’t already heard. There was no one else to ask.
He had spoken to Edward, telling the king of Gennie’s pregnancy. Edward had relented a bit. Gennie must still give her life for the attempt on his, but not until the child was born. Until then she would live cloistered in a convent of Edward’s choosing. On the birth of her child she would give it to Haven’s keeping and accept her execution. For the sake of an innocent soul Edward would tolerate the woman’s evil that long and no longer.
Haven warned Edward that he did not know what he was doing and would one day regret his actions. But the king remained adamant, suggesting that Haven say his farewell to Lady Genvieve.
Halfway up the stair, Haven heard what sounded like a scream and a thump. A shout followed from Michael, who guarded the solar. “’Ware. To me, to me.”
Haven leapt up the remaining treads. Footsteps thundered behind him. He skidded to a stop beside Michael, where he stood beating on the solar door.
Haven pulled the man away. “What goes on here?”
“’Tis your lady wife. I heard her yell for help. Then came a crashing sound. I went to open the door, but ’tis barred from the inside.”
“Is someone in there with her?”
“Aye, the friar you sent to hear her confession.”
“I sent no friar.”
At that moment, several more men arrived, with Edward in the vanguard. “What has happened?”
“My wife is in there with your assassin.”
“Get axes,” the king shouted. “And find that Welshwoman, Gwyneth.”
More footsteps thundered. Haven, Edward and Michael slammed their shoulders against the stout oaken door. Three more times they rushed the barrier before Soames and Owain arrived, each with an axe.
The moments it took to chop the door to pieces lasted too long. Grabbing one of the axes, Haven went first through the door. At the sight of his wife crushed beneath the friar, Haven swung the axe and buried it in the man’s skull.
The body dropped to the floor beside Gennie’s still form. For a moment all was silent.
