Lady of Steel

by Mary Gillgannon

  “And you think Eadulf had the greatest reason to do so?”

  “I’m certain it was him.”

  “Thank you.” Again, Fawkes inclined his head politely, hoping Orva would take the hint that she was dismissed. She frowned at him a few moments longer, then gave a curt bow and walked off.

  “Do you think she’s right?” Gerard leaned near.

  “I don’t know,” Fawkes answered. “It’s possible, I suppose. But it wouldn’t be very clever of Eadulf to try to burn out the wise woman so soon after petitioning me to punish her. And Eadulf strikes me as clever. Clever and cunning.”

  Gerard nodded and went to fetch the next villager.

  It was Alwen, the corn maid. She smiled as she approached, then drew near and murmured, “Thank you again for yesterday.”

  “’Twas naught,” Fawkes answered, embarrassed. He didn’t want Gerard to get the wrong idea.

  He leaned back so Alwen’s pretty face wasn’t so close. She took the hint and straightened. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “The fire at Glennyth’s cottage.”

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  The young woman cocked her head. “I know you’re questioning all the villagers. But I wonder if you’re looking in the right place. It could have been someone from the castle.”

  “That’s true.” He waited for her to say more.

  “’Twas Glennyth’s cottage that burned, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s the one who was meant to suffer.” Alwen’s blue eyes focused intently on his, as if she could convey her meaning that way.

  Fawkes grew impatient. “Go on.”

  “Glennyth is friends with Lady Nicola, your wife.”

  “My wife. What about her?”

  “She often seeks out the wise woman. She did so when she was married to Lord Mortimer as well.”

  Fawkes wanted to shake Alwen. Why could she not simply say what she meant? “I’ve heard the tales that she poisoned or drugged her first husband,” he said, curtly. “What does that have to do with any of this?”

  Alwen met his gaze, then glanced away. “Lady Nicola has been to see the healer since you became the new lord.”

  Fawkes stared at Alwen. “What are you suggesting? Surely you don’t think Lady Nicola is drugging me.”

  A fleeting smile. “Not exactly. Not as she did Mortimer.”

  Fawkes couldn’t help himself. “What the devil are you trying to say? Tell me!”

  Alwen flinched, and Fawkes forced himself to sit back. He didn’t want the young woman to think he would strike her.

  “Tell me,” he repeated, more softly. “I swear no ill will come to you for speaking the truth.”

  Alwen held onto the skirt of her kirtle and twisted it in her hands. After giving him a quick nod, she said, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I went to the wise woman seeking a…something for myself. When I drew near the cottage, I heard them talking, Glennyth and Lady Nicola. I didn’t catch all that was said, but I did hear the words, love potion.”

  It was all Fawkes could do to keep from laughing. If there was anything Nicola did not need to seek out, it was a love potion.

  Alwen bit her lips. “They say that’s how Lady Nicola keeps you faithful to her. That’s why you didn’t futter me yesterday but merely pretended to do so.”

  Fawkes could not restrain himself. He laughed. “Lady Nicola doesn’t need to give me a love potion to keep me from straying from her bed. She’s a beautiful, desirable woman, and we’ve not yet been wed a month.”

  Alwen nodded. “Of course. I did not mean otherwise.”

  “And yet you assumed I would dishonor my marriage vows.”

  Alwen gave him a helpless look. “I don’t know what I thought. I’m merely going by what I was told.”

  “By whom?”

  She bit her lips again. “I can’t say.”

  Fawkes considered threatening to punish Alwen if she didn’t tell him, but found he had no heart for it. This was petty stuff, the kind of jealousy-fueled gossip that always made him wary of getting involved with women. He was glad Nicola wasn’t like that, always comparing her lot to that of other women.

  Unless Alwen was speaking about a man. Fawkes had a sudden uneasy thought. He’d told FitzSaer yesterday that his services as castellan were no longer required and that he should gather his things and go to Mordeaux if he wished to remain employed in Fawkes’s mensie. What if, before he left, FitzSaer struck back by setting fire to Glennyth’s house?

  But that made no sense. Why would FitzSaer take his vengeance on Glennyth? Unless he thought Nicola was behind his dismissal and sought to get back at her through Glennyth. Still, that seemed a stretch.

  “Does this person you speak of live at the castle?” Fawkes asked.

  Alwen nodded.

  “And is it a man or woman?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Fawkes studied her a moment. “I thank you for coming to me with this information, Alwen. I will take it under advisement.”

  She smiled uncertainly, bowed, and left. Fawkes watched her go, thinking it was a good thing Alwen was so fine to look at. Otherwise he would be heartily annoyed with her for wasting his time.

  He said as much to Gerard as they waited for the next villager. “I’m not certain there’s any point continuing. It seems like everyone has an idea who could have set the fire, but no one saw anything or can provide any proof.”

  “Are we going back to the castle then?”

  “If we halt the interrogations now, those who’ve already been questioned may feel as if they were singled out. And those we haven’t questioned may think I’m discounting any information they have. Nay, as tedious it is, I think we must proceed.”

  ****

  Nicola stopped by the kitchen. The scullery maids were shelling peas, and there was no sign of the pot boys. Nicola approached Agelwulf, who was butchering a hare. Two other skinned and gutted carcasses lay on the table. “One of the squires, Robbie, has been setting snares in the forest,” the cook said.

  “We’re having rabbit stew for supper?”

  “Aye.”

  “Speaking of the forest, have you heard anything regarding the fire in the village?” Nicola asked.

  “Not a word. But then this lot…” Agelwulf gestured toward the skullery maids. “They probably think themselves above anything that happens in the village. Since they dwell at the castle these days.”

  Nicola nodded. To be chosen to work at the castle rather than laboring in the fields was considered a great opportunity. “Well, keep your ears open. Fawkes is questioning all the villagers, but Glennyth did mention that there are people here at the castle who might bear her ill will.”

  “I will do so,” Agelwulf said. “Although I don’t understand why anyone would want to harm a wise woman. Glennyth is always generous in aiding those in need of her services. We’re fortunate to have her to tend to our injuries and ills. I keep a supply of salve from her here in the kitchen to use for treating burns. I also get cooking herbs from her. Since Rorik the peddler hasn’t been here since spring, I’ve had to rely on the wild garlic Glennyth gathers for flavoring. Even my supply of salt is running low. In fact, I was going to ask if you could send someone to Mordeaux to see if they had any to spare.”

  “I will go myself,” Nicola said. Fetching salt would give her an excuse to return to Mordeaux and see Simon. Her heart squeezed with happiness at the thought. But then she thought of Fawkes. He might think it strange if she went to Mordeaux again so soon. Nay, it would be better to send one of the squires. There would be other opportunities to see Simon. Indeed, if things continued to progress between her and Fawkes, she might finally be able tell him about Simon. How wonderful that would be, for them to all live together as a family.

  To Agelwulf, she said, “I’ll send Robbie. He deserves a reward for his efforts to stock the castle larder. Where do you think he is?”

  “He goes off to the forest a lot. Or he could be with the other s
quires in the barracks.”

  Nicola left the kitchen. She was halfway to the barracks when she realized this errand to Mordeaux might be useful for other things besides fetching salt. Hilary kept a good supply of herbs and decoctions, more so than Nicola. Now that Glennyth’s stores had been destroyed, it might be a good idea to see if there was anything in Hilary’s supply that Glennyth thought they should have at Valmar.

  She headed to the castle. Glennyth was in the solar, kneeling on the floor examining piles of herbs spread out on the cowhide rug. She looked morose. “So many of the herbs I gathered this summer were destroyed, and some of the plants won’t be in season until next spring. I’m especially worried what I’ll do without any angelica or foxglove.”

  “I have an idea how you can replenish some of your stores. I was going to send a squire to Mordeaux to get some salt. Perhaps he could also fetch some healing herbs from Hilary who has a small store.”

  “’Tis a relief to think Hilary might have some of what I need. But you can hardly send a squire to fetch herbs. Especially since I don’t know exactly what herbs Hilary has. I must go myself. That is, if Fawkes will let me leave Reynard on his own.” Glennyth motioned with her head toward the bedchamber, where Nicola presumed Reynard was resting.

  “If you go, you’ll have to ride there. It would take you near all day to walk.”

  Glennyth shot her an alarmed look. “I’ve never ridden a horse. I don’t think I could do it. At least, not without days of practice.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to ride alone. You could ride pillion with one of the knights.”

  Glennyth still looked uncomfortable with the idea. “I suppose I could do that. If Fawkes allows it.”

  “Maybe we won’t tell him.” Nicola liked the idea of sending Glennyth to Mordeaux. Glennyth could talk openly with Hilary and find out how Simon was faring. It wasn’t as good as going herself, but certainly better than sending Robbie.

  Glennyth raised her brows. “Another secret from your husband?”

  “I wouldn’t keep it secret. I would tell him after you left.” She motioned toward the bedchamber. “How do you think Reynard will fare if you’re not here to tend him for a day or two?”

  “He’ll do well enough. His burns are healing, which was the main concern. As for his injured lungs, there is naught I can do to aid in their healing. He will either get well or he won’t.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Nicola met Glennyth’s gaze. “So will you do it, even if you are uneasy riding a horse?”

  “I will do it. I’m eager to find out what stores Hilary has. And I should probably get used to riding a horse anyway. There are times when being able to reach a patient quickly is crucial.”

  “I’ll go arrange a knight to take you.”

  “I’ll put these things away. And say farewell to Reynard.”

  “You might wish to save your farewell until it’s time to leave. I don’t want Reynard to try and stop you. Or for him to seek out Fawkes so that he does.”

  “Reynard has no control over what I do. But I will heed your advice.”

  Nicola started to leave. Then she turned back. “Pack some things to stay the night. ’Tis nearly sext. By the time you get there and talk to Hilary, ’twill be too late to ride back.”

  “I’ll put these things away and get ready.”

  Nicola left the solar feeling a nagging twinge of guilt. She told herself she wasn’t exactly deceiving her husband, merely delaying telling him what she’d done until there was no time for him to undo it.

  She sought out Sir Godfrey, who had been in the castle garrison for years, and would not question whether she had the right to give him orders. She told him to prepare his mount and meet Glennyth outside the castle on the trackway. Then she hurried back to the solar to help Glennyth get ready. In less than a candle-hour the wise woman was on her to Mordeaux.

  With that task out of the way, Nicola went to the weaving shed. Most of the latest wool clip had been spun into thread and it was time begin dyeing. Leaving the weaving shed she started toward Old Thomas’s shop. Two of the vats for dying were leaking and needed to be repaired. On the way there, Will the squire rushed up. His freckled face was flushed with excitement. “A group of mummers and musicians are at the gate. Can we invite them in?”

  “Of course. Is it the same troupe that came last summer?”

  “I think so. Their wagons look familiar, although I don’t recognize their leader. Should I go to the kitchen and tell them we have visitors?”

  “I will do that. Although, on second thought…” Abruptly Nicola realized it wasn’t really her place to invite the traveling troupe to perform. Fawkes was lord of the castle now; it should be his decision. She felt a sudden stab of resentment. She’d managed well enough these past years, dealing with things like this on her own. Surely he would not care if she invited the entertainers to perform.

  “Aye. Go to the kitchen and alert Agelwulf.”

  Will ran off, and Nicola started down the trackway to the village. The performers and their wanes were in the field below the castle. Their leader came forward to greet her. He had glossy black hair in long curls and wore a crimson tunic with gold braid.

  “Lady Mortimer.” He bowed low. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard much of your grace and beauty. I’m Alan de Ronay, jongleur. I’ve performed all over the realm, including for Lady Eleanor, the queen mother herself.”

  Nicola was rather taken aback by the man’s fine speech and elegant manners. She managed to say, “I’m no longer Lady Mortimer. I’m wed to Fawkes de Cressy now.”

  “De Cressy? I haven’t heard of him.”

  “He’s recently back from Crusade with King Richard.”

  “What happened to Lord Mortimer?”

  “He’s dead. He was killed in combat with de Cressy.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “A little more than a month past.” Nicola was puzzled by the man’s questions. Traveling players usually took little interest in local politics. They should be discussing the fee for the troupe’s performance, not these matters.

  “That may complicate things,” de Ronay said.

  “I may have a new husband, but he is an honorable man and if he agrees to have you perform, you will be well-paid for your performance.”

  “That’s not what I am concerned about.” The jongleur drew near and lowered his voice. “Do you recall speaking to Father FitzAlan about the circumstances here at Valmar?”

  Despite the heat of the day, Nicola’s body turned cold. “I do recall that conversation. But it took place months and months ago. Things are entirely different now.”

  “That may be, but the prince’s plans haven’t changed.”

  She thought of Father FitzAlan’s words: When Prince John has decided on a course of action, he will send a message. “Nay.” She shook her head vigorously. “This is a mistake. Mortimer was a drunken fool. That’s partly why Fawkes was able to defeat him easily. But Fawkes is an altogether different sort of man. He’s a skilled warrior, and he leads a troupe of experienced knights. If Prince John sends someone to attack Valmar now, I vow they’ll meet with fierce resistance.”

  “The plan isn’t to attack Valmar, but Mordeaux. Once it falls, it will provide a base of operations for the assault on Valmar.”

  Nay! Not Mordeaux! Nicola was on the edge of hysteria. She sought to calm herself and reason with this man. “Is the Prince prepared for a long siege? Because that’s what he can expect. My father built both Mordeaux and Valmar to withstand a powerful assault. It would take months and months for an enemy army to take either castle.”

  De Ronay shrugged. “I know nothing of warfare. I’m merely delivering the message. As a courtesy to you, the woman who set these events in motion.”

  “And I’m telling you, you must go back to John’s court and explain the changes that have taken place here. You must convince him to alter his plans.”

  “I’m not in John’s employ. I’m a jongl
eur. I don’t involve myself in politics. I can’t afford to take sides in this conflict between the king and his brother.”

  “But you are involved or you would not be carrying this message. You must take this one back for me.” Nicola reached out and grasped de Ronay’s arm. “Please! I’m begging you!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As Fawkes and Gerard approached the castle, Gerard pointed to several dozen wagons near the gate. “It looks like a troupe of entertainers have arrived.”

  “Probably the same bunch that came through last summer,” added Geoffrey, the other Mortimer knight who’d accompanied them. “If it’s the same group, I can tell you, the tumblers are very skilled. I would very much like to see them again.” He gave Fawkes a hopeful look.

  “I suppose it would be a welcome distraction after the fire,” Fawkes answered.

  As they drew nearer, Fawkes saw Nicola talking to one of the performers, a dark-haired man in a gaudy red tunic. At first he assumed she was arranging the fee to be paid or other details. Then he saw how close the two were standing and that Nicola was holding the man’s arm. Jealousy shot through him and he glanced at Gerard and Geoffrey, wondering if either of them had noticed. But they were both watching two comely young women unloading one of the wanes.

  Fawkes looked away and continued to walk toward the castle. He wished he could as easily distance himself from the thoughts swirling in his brain: When the dark-haired performer came last summer, had Nicola dallied with him? And if she had, what was it to him? He’d had no claim upon her then. But if she’d been unfaithful, even to worthless, despicable Mortimer, didn’t it show a lack of honor and loyalty? Especially if she’d cuckolded Mortimer with a man like that, a flamboyant coxcomb who likely bedded a different woman at every castle and village he visited.

  By the time he reached the castle, Fawkes was furious. So furious he had to keep away from Nicola. He started toward the barracks, then abruptly realized Reynard wouldn’t be there. If his captain had followed Glennyth’s orders, he was resting in the lord’s tower.

  He found him there, seated in the solar with a large book in his lap. Fawkes stared at his captain in astonishment. “You can read?”