Suzanne Robinson (28 page)

“She’ll refuse.”

“And we’ll argue, but everyone’s accustomed to that, so when I toss her over my shoulder and carry her off, it will surprise no one.”

“Carry her off? What need is there for such a display? I but asked you to—”

“Welles, I’ll only carry her to Friar Clement’s cave. He can marry us. I’ve already talked to him about Juliana.
Besides, I have a method of persuasion that will work with your daughter.”

“What is it, by God? I have need of such a method.”

“It wouldn’t avail you.”

Hugo sighed, but didn’t inquire further.

“After the marriage, I’ll take Juliana to Stratfield. Once she’s left Wellesbrooke and ceased to call attention to herself, all this evil talk will fade.”

“Not if I don’t find a murderer,” Hugo said as he shook his head.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Gray glanced at Hugo out of the corner of his eye. “You have been plagued by this foul stripping bandit of late. He and his minions are the most likely criminals about. If Edmund discovered him engaged in some act of thievery, and they fought, he could have killed my cousin to save himself.”

“But the stripping bandit has never even wounded anyone.”

“Do we know that for a certainty?”

“No, but he’s never come into the castle either.”

“He was growing more and more bold as time went on, or he wouldn’t have risked robbing me.”

“True.”

“So it only makes sense that the real culprit might be this stripping bandit, and that he’s already fled the barony in fear for his life.”

Hugo gave a loud whoop and clapped Gray on the back. “Right wondrous, de Valence. A noble course of reasoning, and so much more believable than all this foolish talk about, well, all this foolish talk.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

Rubbing his hands, Hugo strode toward the tent entrance. “I’ll consult my steward and my marshal at once. They’re sure to agree with you. I knew there had to be an answer. I knew someone else was responsible.”

“Good e’en to you, Welles.”

“What? Oh, yes, God give you rest.” Hugo disappeared, but Gray could still hear him.

“Why didn’t I think of the bandit? Of course. A most convincing explanation. The bandit, of course.”

Gray allowed his shoulders to slump once Hugo was out of sight. Sinking his head in his hands, he thought about what had just happened. Hugo Welles suspected his own daughter of killing Edmund. Was it just suspicion, or had he discovered proof of Juliana’s guilt? After all, she wasn’t the only one to be spurned by Edmund. No one had suggested that little Yolande might have killed him.

Juliana couldn’t have done it, not the loving, innocent firebird he’d made love to in that cave. Hugo was making the mistake of thinking that because he and Juliana shared quick tempers, they also shared blood thirst. Surely that wasn’t true. Women could be fierce, and Juliana was one of the fiercest. Women guarded manors and defended besieged castles against armies. This he knew. And Juliana had already taken up arms, but not in defense.

He hadn’t been serious in suggesting that the bandit was guilty, only hoping for a temporary distraction. But Hugo had jumped on the opportunity to offer a credible substitute for his daughter, a known thieving knave. Even now he was probably announcing the bandit’s guilt to his knights. Gray stared at the flap through which Hugo had vanished.

“Yes, Welles, that’s what I fear the most—that it was the bandit who killed my cousin.”

BEHIND THE MANOR HOUSE AT VYNE HILL, THE kitchen garden was flooded with sunlight, and for once the cold wind had died down and allowed the air to warm. Women hoed and weeded in rectangular planting beds while several girls watered. Juliana walked along the rows of plants while consulting a journal in which she’d listed the proposed contents of the garden. Alice followed with a box containing quills, ink, and water, sneezing periodically.

Juliana walked down the path between two rows of beds, then turned and surveyed the garden. A fat black and yellow bee flew by; its buzz harmonized with the women’s chatter. Making a mark by an item on her list, Juliana ran the feathered end of her quill down the page.

“I think we’ve got all the cooking herbs either planted or stored for sowing. Let me see, anise, basil, dittany. Did we bring mallows? Ah, yes, now I remember. And the tansy of course. Yes, that’s everything at last. Did you set out those pots of rosemary, Alice?”

“Ah—ahchoo! Oh, yes, mistress.”

Juliana closed the journal and handed the quill to Alice. After arriving this morning, she’d tried to avoid thinking about her predicament with Gray and Edmund’s murder by keeping herself busy. But in brief moments between giving orders or while supervising repairs, confusion brimmed to the surface. She was furious with herself, for some time during the night she’d accepted
her love for Gray without really understanding it or him. She hardly knew the man. Her heart was perverse, her body a traitor to her will.

She was furious with herself for joining the ranks of weak-kneed damsels who sighed behind kerchiefs whenever Gray de Valence appeared. She was furious at herself for longing for the touch of a man whose heart was full of deceit. She was furious at herself for loving him when he treated her like a—a milk maid in need of a tumble. And most of all she was furious at him for getting the better of her.

“Alice,” Juliana said as she glared at a discarded hoe. “I won’t be trampled beneath his boot.”

“Whose boot, mistress?” Alice covered her nose with a kerchief and stifled a sneeze.

“He’s worse than Yolande and my sisters. I cannot believe he suspected me of—” Juliana glanced around at the women in the garden and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Of murdering Edmund. The evil-minded lout. I was as confounded as everyone else when I found out, but no doubt he thinks I should be as whimpery and pale as Yolande at the idea.”

Behind the kerchief, Alice murmured some comment, but Juliana was lost in recalling Yolande’s distressed remarks. At the time she’d been too furious to do more than rant at the three girls, and Yolande deserved the chastisement most of all for being such a coward. She had nearly swooned when she described poor Edmund’s body and how the sand that had spilled into the wound at his throat had been dark from his blood.

“Humph.” Juliana kicked a clod of dirt. “Weak livered and witless. Why, I saw the body myself, and I didn’t grow all jittery and addled like a …” Juliana’s voice trailed off. She stared past Alice at the brick wall around the kitchen garden. “I don’t believe it.”

“What, mistress?”

She blinked and dragged her gaze back to Alice. “Oh, naught. Now, um, let me see … where is that list of repairs?”

Someone called her name. Eadmer ran across the garden and skidded to a stop, nearly slipping on the gravel that had been laid on the path.

“Mistress, little Jacoba, she be taken ill again.” He paused to catch his breath. “Her mother begs you to come.”

Taking time only to fetch her healing box, Juliana ran to the village; it was quicker than waiting for her horse to be caught and saddled. Little Jacoba had gotten better since Juliana had sent remedies for her. What had happened?

Jacoba’s parents lived in a house near the old Norman church. Juliana hopped from stone to stone across the ford in the stream and hurried down the dusty track between a row of houses until she came to the church and its graveyard. Children scurried out of her way, and she nearly collided with a farmer and his hay cart. Beyond the church lay a thatched house sheltering beneath the branches of an apple tree. A small crowd of women and old men had gathered in front of the house. A woman hovered at the door and waved to her. Jacoba’s mother.

“What’s wrong?” Juliana asked as she pressed by the curtsying woman and entered the dark cottage.

“Oh, mistress, I tried to keep her quiet, but this morn she started chasing the chickens, she did. High spirits, that’s what did it.”

Jacoba lay on a pallet near the central fire. The house was large, but had only one room in which the family slept, ate, and worked. Other pallets were rolled up and stacked in a corner. Tools hung on the walls while sacks of grain huddled beneath a rickety shelf. From the fire,
smoke curled up toward a hole in the roof, but much of it remained in the room. The mother began waving her apron to keep the smoke away from Jacoba. The child was coughing violently.

Kneeling beside the girl, Juliana opened her healing box and plucked a ceramic bottle from it. She pulled out the stopper, waited for the coughing to ebb, then held the vessel to Jacoba’s lips. She kept it there until the bottle was empty. Jacoba swallowed the last of the potion, coughed, and licked her lips. Dark brown hair was plastered to her brow. Her skin was almost transparent while her cheeks were flushed. Only four, she was one of those children whose eyes seemed too large for her head. She began to cough again.

“Come, little mite,” Juliana said. “Let me help you sit. There.” Looking around, she saw a stool and brought it to the child. “I want you to sit before this stool and prop your arms on the seat. That’s good. Now, rest your head on your arms. You see? That feels better, doesn’t it?”

Jacoba smiled weakly and nodded. Juliana stroked the child’s hair while she waited for her potion to begin its work. Gradually the coughing eased. When Jacoba seemed calm, Juliana rose, picked up her healing box, and went outside with the mother. Retrieving a bag from the box, she handed it to the woman.

“You were right. She’s an active child and hasn’t rested enough after her illness. This is elecampane, horseheal. I’ve already prepared it, so you may mix it with watered wine. I’ll send some from the manor. It will help get rid of the foul humors in her chest and lungs.” Juliana handed the mother another bag. “Make rosemary tea for her. It should—”

A sudden rumble distracted her. They both turned and looked toward the ford in time to see a destrier plunge into the water and send a great fan of water spraying into
the air. Through the spray of water Juliana saw a flash of emerald-green pennant blazoned with a gold dragon. She groaned.

“Not him again.”

Hooves thundered, armor and weapons set up a din as the riders galloped down the path. At their head rode Gray de Valence, resplendent in emerald and silver surcoat over light mail. He had shoved back the mail cap from his head, and the sheen on his armor was almost as bright as his hair. Juliana watched him toss his head to shake a lock from his eyes. For a moment her imagination summoned visions of this man—wearing animal skins and iron instead of silk and steel—sailing a long ship with a high, curving prow and square sail.

Setting her jaw, she quelled the shiver of excitement that darted through her and banished the barbaric vision. How could she allow herself to lose all composure merely at the sight of the man riding his damned horse? She marched to the low fence that surrounded Jacoba’s house and stopped at the gap at the front; she set the healing box on the ground and straightened as Gray rode past.

He saw her, shouted, and wheeled his mount. Leading his men in a circle, he rode to her, hauled on the reins, and slid from the saddle before his horse had stopped. Juliana sneezed as dust billowed up. Waving the clouds away, she kept her gaze fixed on him while he stalked over to her. She glanced behind her to see that the group before the house was staring at him and whispering. Turning back, Juliana was about to launch into battle with him when Gray suddenly grasped her hand and bent over it. All she could do was stare when he kissed her fingers.

“God be thanked that I’ve found you, Mistress Juliana,” he said loudly enough for their listeners to hear. “Are you well?”

Juliana stared at him without speaking. Keeping hold of her hand, Gray stepped closer and gave her a smile so unctuous and solicitous that it banished whatever words she’d summoned as an answer.

“My dear sovereign lady,” he said in that same loud and attentive tone, “your father and I went to your chamber to speak with you this morn and found you gone. You have caused your family and me great distress by leaving so precipitously when there’s a murderer about.”

Lashes fluttering, Juliana looked down at their joined hands, then recovered herself. She tried to pull her hand away from his, but his fingers tightened, and he slipped his free arm around her shoulders. Each struggled to gain the advantage while attempting to conceal their efforts from the onlookers. He kept his smile plastered in place even as she elbowed him in the ribs.

“Dear Mistress Juliana, have no fear. Your father has sent me to keep you safe while he searches for the one who killed my cousin.”

“What?”

Her voice squeaked, and she went still.

“My men will search the area around Vyne Hill. Your father is convinced that the culprit is that whoreson stripping bandit who’s been preying on the barony for so long.”