Boadicea's Legacy (37 page)

“John is our king, and as such, he has my sword. If that is a problem for any of my men, then they shouldn't be my men. What do you know of the knights the earl is sending?”

Warin and Albric roared with laughter.

“What?”

“He is sending you knights he finds … difficult.”

“Albric's being nice. The earl is sending ones that can barely stay astride. Why else do you think we didn't want to ride with them? It would hurt our reputation.”

Os smiled into the dark night, lulled to sleep by the sound of horses and men.

Ela's stomach-curdling scream woke him as if he'd never shut his eyes.

O
s, Albric at his heels, leapt over the prone forms of Warin and St. Germaine. “Get up,” he said as he ran for the inn.

He tried the front door, but it was locked. Os refused to let a piece of wood stand between him and his wife—especially when she needed him. Shoulder down, he lunged into the door. One time, two times, at the third lunge, the center splintered, and Os barreled through.

Ela grasped the banister of the stairs, her uncovered hair a sea of braids. Her thick cotton nightshift shielded her from prying eyes, but he noticed that her feet were bare. Her green eyes were huge in her oddly pale face. “It's Natalia—Lady Steffen. She's dead, Osbert. Dead.”

Logic and calm descended over him, as he'd trained himself to act in a state of crisis. “Where is the body?”

“The body?” Ela's chin jerked stubbornly. “Lady Steffen is … is … at the bottom of the servants' stairs.”

“Show me.” Os held out his hand for Ela's. He saw her
tremble, and it took all of his willpower not to scoop her into his arms and tuck her away. She wiggled her toes, as if the stairs were cold. “Do you need a robe, my lady?”

“Nay.” She wrapped her arms around her middle instead of taking his hand. “I will show you …”

The innkeepers, as well as the other guests of the inn, were now gathered either in the hall where the upstairs bedrooms were or down around the front steps. They all wanted to know what was happening and talked over each other so that Ela couldn't be heard.

Os whistled loudly, cutting through and demanding silence.

“This way,” Ela said, leading the group toward the back kitchen area. She pointed to the still form on the stone floor, keeping her gaze averted. The innkeeper's wife took one look and screamed, then quickly crossed herself.

The kitchen maid, roused from her cot behind the pantry, came around the giant table, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She saw the crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs and immediately started walking in reverse. “What's the matter with ‘er neck?” She brought her hands to her throat. “Why is everyone in me kitchen?” Her large bulk hit the chopping counter and she stopped, staring at the innkeeper. “Did ye see her head? ‘Tis on backward!” She broke into loud sobs.

It was just what was needed to get everyone into motion. The innkeeper's wife consoled the crying maid, while Ela came forward and knelt beside the body. “There's no pulse, and she's not breathing.” She looked up at Osbert,
her eyes deep and dark green. “She has no aura.”

Albric snorted. “Aura? What are you, some kind of witch that knows how to raise the dead? The woman broke her neck, ‘tis plain as that!”

“No, Sir Albric, I do not raise the dead. However, I do believe in respecting them—which you could learn to do.” Ela bristled with irritation.

Os kept his voice calm and even. “Enough. Albric, help me lay her out … carefully. Ela, do you know what happened?”

“There were no rooms left last night, so I offered to share mine with Lady Steffen.” She glared at him, that stubborn chin trembling.

He kept his expression passive, though on the inside he was punching Albric to the ground for being so insensitive. “When the men told me of Lady Steffen's affairs, I assumed you would do as much,” he said.

“I woke earlier in the night, to the sounds of her crying. I thought it would be kinder to let her shed her tears in peace. Perhaps I was wrong. Do you think she threw herself down the stairs? She was desolate, Os, just at her wit's end.”

“Sounds like it was an
accident,”
Albric said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Os also knelt down, leaning over the body of Natalia, Lady Steffen, to straighten her cloak. Cloak? “Why is she dressed for outdoors? I thought you said she was sleeping.” He patted down her pockets and pulled at the strap beneath
her body. He tugged at it until it pulled free.

“When she wasn't crying, she was snoring. I was sleeping.”

Ignoring Ela's defiant attitude, he raised the bag and showed it around. “You will all bear witness to what I find inside.” Os unclasped the fabric bag and frowned. Lifting a long strand of pearls, he showed them to Ela.

She gasped. “Those are mine.”

Os exhaled, pulling out a few small rings that he'd also just bought for his new bride. Along with her coin purse. “You were robbed.”

Ela defiance deflated. “I would have given her coin—I was going to ask her to stay with us until she found a home. I—”

Simmering with anger, Os held up his hand and pulled out a vial of wolfsbane. “And in return for your kindness, she was going to kill you.”

Ela sank to the floor, eyeing Lady Steffen's corpse with new horror. “She brought me water. I didn't drink it, because otherwise I have to”—she blushed—”you know. Oh! Henry!”

He made the mistake of blinking, and Ela was gone. She raced up the thin set of servants' stairs, exploding into the hall on the third floor. It took Os a second to follow. She headed for her room—her door was wide open. Os warned her to slow down. He felt a tingling on the back of his neck—something was wrong.

She was already across the threshold when she called his name, then there was a loud crash. He couldn't run fast enough. Sliding into her room, he saw her struggling with the window sash. “What happened? What are you doing?”

Her hair fell over her shoulders in thick ruby ropes. “Somebody was in my room—and they jumped out the window before I could hit them with the candlestick!”

“Let me see.” Os pulled her away and lifted the jammed sash with a tug and hard tap to the frame. It went up, and she was halfway out before he thought to pull her back inside.

“Let me go!”

“The person in your room is gone—tell me what you saw. Where were they? What could they be looking for?” Her body trembled—with anger, he knew now. Not fear. He rubbed her back just the same.

They both looked at the few bags Ela had packed. They'd obviously been ransacked—but by whom? Lady Steffen, or the man who just jumped to his freedom?

Ela marched over to the water glass and tossed the contents, glass and all, out the open window. “Take that!” She brushed her hands together, then took Os by the arm. “I have much to tell you. We are up to our ears in intrigue. You wanted no secrets between us.”

A ding of guilt pelted his pride. Before he could tell her to not speak of such things in an open space, Warin and Albric were at the door.

“Intrigue?” Warin nodded, his eyes speculative. “The Lady Steffen was murdered.”

“How do you know?” Ela stepped forward.

Albric pointed at her. “Why don't you tell us? It is your eating dagger that is in her back.”

Os turned around slowly and stared at Ela with mounting
fear. For her. For them. “Did you murder Lady Steffen?”

“Oh aye,” Ela said with a smirk. “And the Pope too.”

Everything Os knew to be true in the world came crashing down to his feet with the speed of an oncoming ocean wave, and his life was swept to sea.

“I'll need to search your things, my lady.” He knew Ela jested when she was feeling vulnerable. But why else would she feel vulnerable unless she was guilty? Had she caught the countess stealing her things? It didn't feel right.

“There was a man in my room. Mayhap he is the one who put my dagger in her back.” She looked at him as if he were an idiot.

“When was the last time you had the knife?”

“This evening, Os.” Her brow scrunched together. “I don't remember bringing it upstairs when Natalia and I went to bed.”

“Convenient,” Warin said coldly.

Os growled a warning. Warin took a step back.

Ela tapped her foot. “You look at me when you should be outside checking for footprints or something. I was the one being poisoned, remember?”

“You threw the evidence out the window.” Os fought for logic but felt like he was going to puke.

“So Henry wouldn't drink the poisoned water.” Ela stopped tapping her foot and peered closely at him. “You are going to treat me like a criminal?”

“I am my liege's man of business, and it is up to me to ask these questions.” Even-toned voice, even breaths. The
betrayal on her face twisted his gut.

“Tell me why I would kill Lady Steffen with my own dagger? It is new, and you had my initials engraved on it. Do I look stupid to you?” Fury crackled around her as she pointed at Os for emphasis.

Albric stepped back next to Warin, stumbling in his haste. “What are ye doin', wench? Don't point at me—”

“Albric.” Os used his quietest, most dangerous tone. “Do not speak to my wife that way, or I will kill you.”

Albric gaped.

Warin took Albric by the arm. “We'll wait in the kitchen with St. Germaine.”

“Who found the knife?” Os kept cool though his temper was boiling.

“I did, Os.” Warin clapped his hand on Os's shoulder. They left, and Ela stepped after them. He held up a halting hand.

“Fine. Just tell them not to move her body. I would see where this dagger is. Why wasn't there blood, Osbert Edyvean? A stab should have left plenty of blood, especially if it killed her.”

“How do you know that?”

“I am a healer—do you think I don't understand a little about dying too?”

She looked disgusted by him, and he allowed his temper to spill over the edge. “That's right—you are a healer. A miracle worker, if I believe the monk at Sir Percy's tombstone. You would know just where to stab someone to ensure they were dead.”

She strode past him, elbowing him aside. He was reminded that she was no small and delicate female to be coddled. He followed her down the stairs. The braids of her hair slapped against her back, and her bare feet glowed white.

He knew in his gut that she was innocent, but he couldn't be impartial when it came to an accusation of murder—the murder of her enemy's mother, who had also been mistress to the earl, his liege.

Ela stomped down the stairs, biting the inside of her cheek so that she wouldn't cry silly tears. So Osbert really felt that she was capable of murder?

She healed people. Her hands and heart and the magical gift within her spirit would never allow her to take a human life unless it was self-defense. Or war.

I didn't know that I was going to be poisoned
.

Even then, Ela knew she would never have resorted to a brutal killing. She supposed that she could understand Osbert needing to question her. But she couldn't ever forgive his cold handling of the situation. She was not a situation, she was his wife.

What had he meant by being a man of business for the earl? Wasn't he his own man now?

Ela stopped, surveying the scene in the kitchen from the third servants' step. She ignored the stares she felt—it would do her no good to fall apart. Lifting her chin, she
noted the angle at which Natalia lay and the clothes she wore, which included Ela's new stockings.

Biting into her lower lip kept her from sobbing in pity for a woman who'd never known true happiness.

St. Germaine eyed her, no judgment in his gaze. Albric and Warin were both unwilling to look at her directly, as if she'd sprouted snakes from her head and could turn them to stone. The plump kitchen maid had water boiling for some sort of calming infusion of chamomile and—Ela sniffed the air—lavender.