"I expect," Justin said, "that she intends to thank him."
Davydd's jaw dropped. "Have you gone mad? 'Thank him'? For stealing the king's ransom?"
"No, for recovering it." Justin unsheathed a smile that never reached his eyes. "It seems, my lord, that you were wrong in your suspicions. Llewelyn played no part in the theft of the woolsacks. He told me that some weeks ago, and I believed him. Now the Earl of Chester does, too, and so will the Queen's Grace. I'd go so far as to say she'll be grateful to him for his help. You see, nothing matters more to her than retrieving the ransom... nothing." His voice had hardened and that last word was thrown out both as challenge and judgment.
Davydd's face flamed. Almost as quickly, though, the color ebbed, leaving him pale and shaken. Adam had sauntered over to Justin's side, followed by several of his men, figuring it couldn't hurt to give the Welsh prince a subtle reminder that Justin was under the Earl of Chester's protection. He need not have bothered, though. Davydd's eyes were blank and unfocused. He pushed past Justin and Adam without even a glance, as if they were not there. By the time he'd reached the door, he was almost running.
The silence in the hall was smothering. Glancing around, Justin saw that while much would remain unspoken at Davydd's court, it would not remain unknown. The Welsh prince's scheming was not as secret as he thought. In the utter stillness, Justin could hear Emma's voice again, dripping icicles and contempt, telling John that Davydd was "doomed." He waited until people began to stir, to whisper to one another, and then he walked over to the dais and paid his respects to the Lady Emma.
She beckoned him closer and he gave her credit for her gambler's nerves, her willingness to bluff. "You must like spiced wine," she murmured, "for you seem to have a taste for bittersweet. With the one hand, you offer my husband hope, and with the other, you take it away."
He wondered how he'd missed it before, that gleam of sharp intelligence in those bewitching blue eyes. "The power to bestow or deny hope is not mine, my lady. I do the queen's biding."
"I think you do more than that, Master de Quincy." Leaning forward, she pitched her voice even lower. "We both know that the recovery of the ransom will not be enough to restore my husband to royal favor, and we both know why."
She could not be sure, though, how much he did know, and he waited, curious to see how she would go about finding out. By implying that they shared a secret, she suggested an intimacy between them, even a complicity, all without saying anything explicit, any thing he could refute. "It is my hope that Davydd's disgrace will not spill over onto me or my son. This was Davydd's doing, after all, not ours."
He offered a noncommittal response, a bland "I understand your concern, my lady," and caught the fleeting shadow that crossed her face just before she favored him with her most captivating smile.
"I hope the queen realizes how fortunate she is to have a man of your abilities in her service. What you have accomplished is truly remarkable. But how ever did you find the woolsacks?"
"I was in the right place at the right time," Justin said modestly. "I was told that you'd gone on pilgrimage whilst I was away, my lady. Was it as fulfilling as you'd hoped?"
"Yes, it was. But with regard to those missing woolsacks -"
"I visit the holy well whenever I stay at the abbey. It is very peaceful there. I hope you took the opportunity to see the countryside whilst you were in Treffynnon? One place in particular would be worth a visit... the abbey grange at Mostyn."
Emma's eyes widened. Her lips parted, but no words emerged. She stared at Justin in stunned silence, and for once in her life, she had absolutely nothing to say.
~*~
The sky was splattered with clouds. Hovering low along the horizon, they absorbed the colors of sunset, dulling red into russet and warning the weather-wise of coming rain. As long as daylight still lingered, though, Justin and Angharad continued to stroll the paths of Emma's garden, for this was their first - and likely last - opportunity to speak together without fear of eavesdroppers.
Angharad's hand rested on Justin's arm, a touch that was feather-light and as unsubstantial as cobwebs. It was the grip of a ghost, an illusion furthered by the pallor of her skin and the bruised hollows under those haunted dark eyes. Most women stirred his protective instincts, but none so strongly as this heart sick young Welshwoman. One of the reasons he'd returned to Rhuddlan Castle was to make sure that Davydd and Emma paid a price - if only in anxiety - for their double-dealing. But he'd also needed to find out how Angharad was faring.
"I have gotten permission from the Lady Emma to go home for a while. Mayhap if I could pass time with my family, in surroundings that do not remind me of Thomas every time I turn a corner..."
She let the rest of her wish fade away into forlorn silence. Justin bit his lip, acknowledging that he was out of his depth. He did not doubt that Molly would have known how to comfort Angharad. So would Nell. Claudine, too. But the right words somehow kept eluding him. Would it be kinder to let her keep her delusions? Would it be crueler to tell her the truth? If only he knew.
"What I cannot understand, Iestyn, is that no one seems concerned about finding his killer. Nothing is being done, nothing!"
"You do not believe Davydd's claim, then, that it was Llewelyn's doing?"
"No one believes that, not even Davydd. It was a shabby, shameful act, trying to smear Llewelyn with my Thomas's blood. I can barely bring myself to look upon the man's face, Iestyn, I have such contempt for him."
"It might be better, then, if you go to your family and stay there. I would worry less about you, Angharad, if you were well and clear of this rat's nest."
"I've thought about it," she admitted. And when he sought assurance that her family would not marry her off, as would likely be the case on his side of the border, she smiled, a smile that actually looked genuine. "In Wales, a woman cannot be forced into marriage. If she is a widow, that right is absolute. If she is unwed, her family can object if she marries a man of her choosing, but they cannot make her wed against her will."
"Truly? I might learn to live quite contentedly under Welsh law," Justin said, thinking of the generous provisions for those born out of wedlock in Wales.
"Our women enjoy more rights than yours. That is why I was able to assure Thomas that my family would accept our marriage; he said no English girls of good birth would have dared to make a match on their own."
"For certes, few would. You and Thomas planned to wed?"
"We talked about it often. That is why I was so bewildered when he came back from Chester and was so cold and curt with me. He loved me as much as I loved him, Iestyn, I know he did."
Justin doubted that exceedingly, no more than he believed that Thomas would ever have married Angharad. Which was worse, if she lost her lover to death or to betrayal? Would she be better off knowing he did not deserve even one of her tears? "Men... they are not always steadfast, Angharad, and love... love can change; it can even die."
"Not Thomas," she insisted, shaking her head so vehemently that her veil slipped and was carried off by a gust of wind. She never even noticed its loss. "The way he was acting... that was not the real Thomas. Mayhap he did let himself be tempted by an English harlot, for he always said women in Chester were no better than they ought to be. But even if one did bewitch him, her spell would not have lasted. I made sure of that."
"How?" Justin asked, and even in the fading light, he saw color rise in her cheeks.
"I... I fought fire with fire. I gave him a love potion."
"You did what?"
Justin looked so shocked that she regretted confiding in him; men did not understand these things. "I put mandragora in his wine. And it would have worked. There is no love philter more potent than one made with mandrake, which is why it is so costly."
Justin was speechless. He'd heard the stories about mandragora, also known as mandrake or the Devil's apples. Few plants had as many legends swirling around them. It was said to grow only in the shadow of the ga
llows. People claimed it shrieked when pulled out of the earth and anyone who heard it would die. Its root was shaped like a man, and it was all the more sought after for being so rare, for it did not grow in native soil. A drop or two made a highly effective sleeping draught. Its fame as a love potion was widespread. And it was one of the deadliest of poisons.
"I can see you do not approve, Iestyn. I admit it was a desperate measure, but I was not cheating. I was not ensorcelling Thomas. He loved me without need of charms or spells. The love potion was just to reawaken that love. And if only he'd lived, if only he'd not been stabbed that night, in the morning he would have come back to me. He would have loved me again."
Angharad raised her head when he kept silent, regarding him with a look that was challenging, defensive, and entreating, all at once. "Well? Are you going to scold me, tell me that the Church frowns upon such heathen practices?"
Justin shook his head slowly. "No, lass... I am not."
Chapter 21
October 1193
Chester, England
SITTING UP, MOLLY STRETCHED WITH FELINE GRACE. HER dark hair was loose, appealingly disheveled, her green eyes so wantonly inviting that Justin was seriously tempted to rejoin her in bed. "You look," he said, "like a succubus.
Molly yawned and stretched again. "That had better be good," she warned, with a sleepy smile, for she was not intimidated by his superior education. She liked it that he knew so many things that she did not, confident that she had her own area of expertise, hers the learning that came from life, not books.
"Well... a succubus is very good at being bad." Leaning over the bed, he kissed her upturned face. "The Church warns us about these she-demons, who come to men in their sleep and steal their seed."
"And men, being so chaste and pure, naturally resist fiercely. Anyway," she said huskily, "I've already stolen your seed... or have you forgotten?"
"Not even on my deathbed, Molly-cat."
"Then why must you be away so soon? I know you and Bennet have some foolish idea that Piers is a seething cauldron of jealousy. It is simply not so. But be that as it may, Piers will be in Shrewsbury till next week."
"Ah, Molly, I wish I could stay," he said, with such heartfelt regret that she stopped trying to lure him back to bed, at least overtly. Watching as he finished dressing, she wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, letting the blankets slip just enough to keep testing his resolve.
"So be it," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "London is beckoning, and you must be off with your report. I wonder, though, what you'd say if I were to ask you who it is that you are reporting to." He looked so uncomfortable that she sighed again, this time for real, "Relax, Justin, I am not asking." She paused and then added, "… Not yet."
"I will tell you, Molly," he promised, "... when the time is right."
She pouted to make it clear she was not impressed. "I thought you were not leaving until this afternoon. So why are you up and dressed already?"
"There is something I need to do this morn. Suppose I meet you and Bennet at the tavern about midday?"
He was expecting her to probe further, but instead she smiled. "Right gladly." Something in his expression alerted her, though, and her smile faded. "You are going to see the bishop, are you not?"
"No, I think it best that I do not."
Picking up his mantle, he kissed her again and then headed for the door. But before it closed behind him, he heard her call out, "Justin... go see your father!"
~*~
When Molly sauntered into the tavern, she saw Justin sitting alone at a back table and, with a nod to Berta, headed in his direction. "So where is that brother of mine? The sheriff hasn't hauled him off for watering the wine or some such nonsense?
"No... he insisted upon going to the cook shop and getting us what he rather ominously called our 'last meal.' Of course he's been gone so long that he may well have gotten into trouble, which - knowing Bennet - is probably wearing skirts."
Molly pulled up a stool. "Did it go well?" When he looked at her quizzically, she prompted, "Your visit with the bishop."
"I did not see him." in order to fend off her scolding, he had to admit that he had stopped by the bishop's palace, but Aubrey was away, having departed for his manor at Wybunbury on Monday past. He did not volunteer that he'd been greatly relieved to find Aubrey gone, and Molly did not press, satisfied that she'd gotten him as far as his father's door.
"So why do you look so disquieted, then, if you did not quarrel with the bishop?"
Justin was not sure that he liked this eerie ability of hers to read his moods with such ease, "I do have something on my mind," he admitted, but Bennet's arrival interrupted any further revelations.
Bennet had spent money he could ill afford on a variety of foods: freshly baked bread, a crock of pottage, and several hot pies, two made with river eels and pike and one that tasted suspiciously like capon, forbidden on this meatless Friday. Bennet swore it was barnacle goose and therefore permitted, since the barnacle goose was said to hatch in the sea. That had always sounded fishy to Justin, a ploy to evade the strictures of Lent, and although he said nothing of his skepticism, he contented himself with the eel pie.
When they'd eaten their fill, Bennet called Berta over and instructed her to pack some of the food for Justin, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied his boyhood friend.
"Your mission was a great success. Whilst you've been sparing with what you've told us, we know you accomplished what you set out to do; you recovered the missing ransom. It's true you have no evildoers to drag back to London, but when are princes ever arrested, even Welsh princes? I daresay he'll get what he deserves, though, since kings hold grudges even longer than cuckolds. As I see it, the only thing you've failed to do is to solve the death of de Calde... whatever his name was. Aside from not being able to thank his killer, what does it matter? So why do you not seem better pleased by it all?"
"Actually," Justin said slowly, "I did solve his killing... or at least I thought so when I left Wales."
He had a very attentive audience as he briefly related to them what he'd learned from Angharad in the gardens at Rhuddlan Castle. They listened raptly and were vastly amused when he told them about the love potion, both laughing until they had tears in their eyes.
Molly recovered first. "So much for those Church elders who would have us believe the Almighty has no sense of humor! This was divine justice if ever I heard it. And the Welsh girl, she has no idea what... Oh, Jesu, you did not tell her, Justin?"
"Of course I did not! Why would I do anything so cruel? I never thought I'd be grateful to Davydd for his botched attempt to blame Llewelyn, but it was that dagger he had planted in de Caldecott's chest that kept Angharad from guessing the truth. She is a clever lass, and if not for her belief that he was stabbed, she'd eventually have realized that her love potion killed him. I do not think she could have lived with that knowledge..."
"Well, she need never know," Bennet pointed out pragmatically. "But what did you mean when you implied you now have doubts?"
"I've been prodding my memory, trying to recall all I could about that evening. I remember seeing Thomas and Angharad in the window seat, drinking, as she said. But he did not become ill right away. By the time he finally left the hall, more than two hours had passed since he'd drunk her wine, and I've always heard that mandragora acts very swiftly. Rolf said as much, too, and I got the impression that he knows more about poisons than any honest man should, So this morn I visited the apothecary shop near the abbey. I had to find a couple of coins to get his cooperation, but he did confirm it. It was not Angharad's mandragora that killed de Caldecott. If she'd given him too much, as I first thought, he'd have been stricken soon after... and he was not."
Justin slumped down in his seat, no longer trying to hide his frustration. "It is not that I want Angharad to be responsible. But at least it was an answer and it made sense, Now... now it will forever remain a mystery."
&
nbsp; Bennet and Molly exchanged knowing glances, theirs the cryptic communication of siblings who need not rely wholly upon words. "You think, .. ?" Bennet asked and Molly nodded.
"We know how you hate puzzles, Justin," she said fondly. "But this is one puzzle we can solve for you. My guess is that whilst the Welsh girl thought she was buying mandragora, she was really getting bryony. It is a common ruse, for bryony is much cheaper and more easily obtained. You remember Toothless Maud?"
Justin did. "People said she was a witch, and we'd run for our lives every time we saw her. Why?"
"Toothless Maud sold love charms and potions, and rumor had it she knew which herbs would help a scared girl get rid of an unwanted babe. She also did a brisk business selling mandragora for the lovelorn... only it was bryony. She shaped the root to look like mandragora and her customers went off happily with it, none the wiser. It would not do much good in enticing an unfaithful lover back, but enough of it can easily kill. And unlike mandragora, bryony takes a few hours to act."
Justin considered this for a few moments and then smiled ruefully.
"People kept telling me that nothing in Wales is as it first seems. I ought to have guessed that even the mandragora would be false."
~*~
Molly and Bennet walked with Justin to the stable where he'd kept his stallion. Copper was now saddled and ready to go. It was Justin who seemed loath to leave. "Remember," he reminded them again, "that if you need to reach me, I rent a cottage on Gracechurch Street. If I am away, Gunter the smith or Nell at the alehouse is likely to know when I'll be back. And they are friends of mine, so they can be trusted."
"Might not the bishop know your whereabouts, too?" Molly teased, and Justin gave her a warning look before silencing her with a very thorough kiss. A quick embrace with Bennet, and he swung up into the saddle, looking down at them both for a word less moment before urging Copper out into the street.
They waved and Molly called out a cheeky "Godspeed, lover!" When she glanced at her brother, though, she caught his unguarded expression, and she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.
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