Bone of Contention (16 page)

“I want to go home,” Loveday said. “I must go home at once and see what is happening.”

“It is too late,” Bell pointed out. “It would be full dark before we arrived, and the manor was peaceful this morning when Sir Giles rode out there. Since St. Cyr is dead, there can be no further threat to Noke.”

“Bell is right, love,” Magdalene said soothingly. “Why do we not go out to the market, since you now have nothing to fear, and find an evening meal at a cookshop? You will feel better for being out of this room and walking about.”

“Yes,” Bell agreed heartily, “and I will hie me off to The Broached Barrel. One alehouse is as good as another. I can ask about St. Cyr there as well as listen for the wagering about Salisbury.”

“And I,” Sir Giles said, “had better get back to Lord William.” He smiled at Magdalene. “Shall I tell him that you do not believe Niall committed this crime and have set about finding out who did?”

“Twice was enough,” Magdalene said, watching Bell collect his boots and begin to pull them on. “I have no great urge to confront murderers. When my women and I were at risk, I did what I must. Of course if Bell finds an answer, I will let Lord William know, but I think Niall will be innocent or have a good reason for what he did.”

They walked together to the Carfax where Sir Giles turned left on Castle Street. Bell, Magdalene, and Loveday walked straight ahead. The sun was just about to drop behind the hills to the west, but the market was as lively as ever with a long, light evening ahead and plenty of twilight for packing up goods on a midsummer day.

About midway along the street, across from Redding’s mercery, Loveday pointed to a cookshop and said, “Let us eat there, Magdalene. Edmee and I often took a meal there, as it was close to the shop. It is a little more costly than the place at the end of the street, but that makes it a little quieter too. And I think it the cleanest.”

“That last convinces me,” Magdalene said. “The cleaner the cookshop, the less likely stomach gripes, I have found.”

They crossed the street and Magdalene noted with approval that the benches seemed sturdy and the tables carried no more than recent spills. She told Loveday to order what she thought would be good, since she was familiar with the place, and then Bell touched her arm and she looked up.

“I assumed you would allow me to share your bed tonight,” he said. “Was I right?”

“Do you still want to?” Magdalene asked. “I saw how you looked at me when I spoke of murder.”

“It was not what you said, but how you looked,” Bell said. “You are, I think, more intimately acquainted with killing than most.” He looked down into her face, so lovely it made his chest hurt, into the misty blue eyes that met his steadily. “It is none of my business,” he said. “If you will let me come, I will be grateful.”

She smiled. “Remember Loveday will be there.”

Bell wrinkled his nose. “That one knows men and knows how to use them. No sweet maiden, she. Loveday can stuff her ears if she does not wish to hear us. She may or may not be virgin, but I doubt anything we could do would shock her.”

Magdalene giggled. “I fear you are right.” Then she put her hand over his on her arm. “And thank you for finding out what you can about St. Cyr’s death. William will be grateful if you can clear his man.”

That brought nothing but a snort from Bell, who backed free of her light grasp and walked away up the street toward The Broached Barrel. Magdalene sighed. Sometimes Bell seemed ready to accept her relationship with William and other times he acted like a strutting cock. Well, it was his battle to fight, she had made clear her conditions.

She turned about and soon saw Loveday seated at a bench farthest from where she and Bell had been standing and went to join her. As Loveday had promised, the food was plentiful and very good. Having been together all day, they had run out of casual conversation and ate in companionable silence. Still, Magdalene was a little surprised by Loveday’s hearty appetite. She thought that if she had been sworn to marry Bell and he had been accused of something as cowardly as stabbing a man in the back, she would be sorely troubled. Loveday was not. Was it because Loveday was yeoman stock rather than gentle born? Was it good or bad to be raised with notions of honor?

“Shall I step into the baker’s and find a sweet to top off the meal?” Loveday asked, breaking into Magdalene’s thoughts.

“Why not?” Magdalene agreed. “And I will walk across to The Lively Hop and get us some ale.”

Their errands being completed at almost the same lime, they met at their table, pushed aside the crusts left from the meal, and settled themselves together to eat sweet buns and drink their ale. Before they had even shared out the buns, a man past his middle years but still strong and active rushed across the road and seized Loveday by the arm.

“Come away!” he said to her. “You do not know with whom you are sharing food and drink.”

“Master Reinhart,” Loveday said, smiling at the man. “How surprised I am to see you.” Then the smile disappeared and her eyes widened in distress. “Do not say you wrote to me and told me you were coming and I did not remember? Oh, how dreadful. You will have been turned away from Noke. Oh, I am so sorry.”

“I was indeed turned away from Noke, but there is no cause for you to be sorry. I did not write in advance of my coming. It was a sudden decision. When I heard that the king was coming to Oxford and I realized that he might wish to examine and even end your wardship…” He looked at Magdalene, tightened his lips, and began to tug at Loveday. “Come away from this person. You must come with me.”

Magdalene did not know whether to laugh or to curse. It seemed that Loveday not only knew too many people in Oxford and the surrounding neighborhood but extended her acquaintance to London as well. The man so horrified by seeing her and Loveday together was Master Reinhart Hardel, a wealthy and moderately powerful wool merchant from London who was a steady client of the Old Priory Guesthouse. He had been Sabina’s client, but had happily transferred to Diot.

“Good sir,” Magdalene said, as if she had never seen him before in her life, “I promise you that whatever I am I intend no harm to this young lady.”

The man looked surprised, then satisfied. Nonetheless, he acted as if the words Magdalene had spoken had come out of unoccupied air and said to Loveday, “Come away, my dear. Even if she intends you no harm, to be seen with her is harm in itself. Come away.”

“No, indeed,” Loveday protested, pulling away. “You do not understand—”

“And that is just as well,” Magdalene interrupted, giving Loveday a warning and admonitory glance which she hoped would be understood.

Until Niall’s involvement in St. Cyr’s death was resolved, it would be a mistake to confide too much in anyone. She rose, taking two of the sweet buns and one of the ale mugs.

“I will take another table so that you and this gentleman can talk at ease,” she said. “Remember, you need to remain free to do anything you think best.”

“Oh, my God,” Master Reinhart said, as Magdalene walked away and settled at another empty table, “to what did you agree with her?”

“To nothing at all,” Loveday said.

“Thank God! I am sorry to shock you, my dear, but the woman is—” He hesitated, apparently trying to think of a way to explain clearly without shocking or frightening Loveday, failed, and continued, “The woman is a whoremistress. She is beautiful, well dressed, and gently spoken, but a whoremistress she is, and likely as not she intended to recruit you to serve in her house in Southwark.”

Loveday burst out laughing. “No, no, Master Reinhart. I swear she has no such intention and she told me at once when we first met several days ago that she kept a whorehouse and that I must not be seen with her. She was far more shocked than I when a common friend introduced us—”

“Common, indeed, if he introduced you to Magdalene,” Reinhart remarked, his lips curling with distaste.

Loveday’s brows shot up. “I see you know her quite as well as this ‘common’ friend does.”

Reinhart looked shocked. “Loveday! A man’s doings are between him and his priest, and no business of any woman.”

“Of course,” Loveday said, lowering her lids over her eyes.

She would not quarrel with Master Reinhart. It was he, when her father and brothers died and she was so dazed with grief that she hardly knew day from night, that went to King Stephen with a petition that she be acknowledged heir to her father’s land and property and be taken into ward. Wardship cost; the king was supposed to receive all the profit a ward’s property produced. But Stephen had been very busy and her estate small compared with most he took into wardship. The king had never appointed a warden, so Loveday managed on her own, each quarter sending to the exchequer a tidy sum…but not near as much as Otmoor produced. In addition, Master Reinhart bought large quantities of sheared wool and fleeces from her and could be trusted to give her an honest price with which she could compare other offers.

“I just meant that I was warned about Mistress Magdalene’s…ah…business,” Loveday went on softly. “I was not delivered unknowing into her hands, but I had little choice. She was the only one who could and would offer me a refuge when St. Cyr came with a forged betrothal agreement.”

“I heard about the forged betrothal. I have been here two days, searching Oxford for you.”

“Two days? But that was when I left Noke.”

“Yes. I just missed you by a candlemark or so. When I arrived, your steward said he was commanded not to let any man or woman into Noke. He was most apologetic, saying that he was sure an exception would have been made in my case, but that no one knew I was coming. And then he told me that you had gone to Oxford with your brother-by-marriage, and about St. Cyr’s attempt on you and his threats.”

Loveday did not ask why Master Reinhart had not gone to Master Redding. He would not have known of her friendship with Edmee. There was hard feeling because Master Redding had married Edmee instead of Reinhart’s daughter, so Loveday never mentioned Edmee to him.

“I have never been so frightened in my life,” Loveday admitted. “Believe me, residence in a whorehouse was a cheap price to avoid being seized by St. Cyr. And Magdalene took great care that I not be recognized. I went veiled and was mostly confined to a private chamber so no one knows…well, except William of Ypres—”

“William of Ypres!” Reinhart exclaimed.

“He is Magdalene’s…ah…protector—” Loveday began but was interrupted by a young man, who came over to the table, nodded at her, and drew Reinhart away.

Loveday had smiled warmly at Tirell Hardel, Reinhart’s son. When she was a little girl, Tirell had sometimes come with his father on buying trips and they had played together. In recent years, when she had gone to London she had stayed with the Hardels and found Tirell amusing and brotherly. She knew he did not feel otherwise toward her. The way he would tell her she had a smudge on her nose or her veil was crooked or her hem, did not bespeak the admiration a man had for a woman.

Suddenly she frowned down at the bun she had not eaten. What was Tirell doing in Oxford with his father? He should be in London managing the business if Reinhart was traveling. They were not buying. It was too late in the year for buying wool. And Master Reinhart had said he had come to Oxford because he thought the king might wish to end her wardship. Usually a wardship ended when a young man came of age or a woman…married. Reinhart had made one successful petition to the king on her behalf, did he intend to petition again, to gain permission to marry her to Tirell?

‘No.’ The rejection burst into Loveday’s mind with considerable force. She did not want to marry Tirell. To think of coupling with him made her queasy. Not that he was anything like St. Cyr. He was a fine young man, handsome, well-mannered, and clean, and he would be kind to her—but it would be like futtering a brother.

Moreover she knew he did not want her as a man wants a woman; he thought of her as a sister, which would just about guarantee he would spend good money on whores instead of enjoying what he had in his own bed. Even worse, he was trained to wool and to business and would want to stick his nose into every aspect of her estate. More, he would want to manage her lands as he saw fit.

Oh no. She had seen what she wanted. Niall’s red hair and bright eyes, his broad shoulders and strong legs, the strength and skill at arms he had shown when he drove off St. Cyr. Oh yes, that was what she wanted. And if he had rid her permanently of St. Cyr by sticking a knife in his back? Well, it was surely a more certain way to remove the threat than petitions to the king, which might or might not be considered.

What he had done was not to save himself, there would be a good reason, not greed or cowardice. And she did not care. She wanted Niall Arvagh, who would breed his horses, breed children with her, and leave her wool trade and estate alone. He had laughed when he said she would manage the manor better than he because it meant so little to him. Yes, knife in the back of St. Cyr or not, she wanted Niall Arvagh.

She had been watching Tirell and his father with blind eyes while she thought about Master Reinhart’s intentions, but a sharp gesture from the father broke into her musing. She almost smiled when she saw how unhappy Tirell looked, plainly he liked his father’s plans no better than she did. And then Loveday did smile, quickly raising her ale cup to her mouth to hide it. Master Reinhart, who had been so intent on not knowing Magdalene, had not paid proper attention to where his son was taking him and had backed up almost into the table at which Magdalene was sitting. No doubt she had heard every word the two had said to each other.

Magdalene had indeed heard them. When Master Reinhart’s back almost touched hers, Magdalene had intended to speak aloud to warn him. However, the younger man’s first words made her lift her veil over her head to better hide her face and look down intently at the few crumbs remaining from the sweet buns she had eaten.

“I went looking for St. Cyr last night,” Tirell Hardel said. “And I found him.”

“To what purpose?” Master Reinhart asked sharply.

“Because, as I have told you before, father, I have no desire to marry Loveday.” He shuddered slightly. “It will be like bedding my sister.”