Where Love Has Gone (16 page)

For her part, Elaine was aware of the way
Father Otwin kept glancing at her as if he feared she would fling
herself into Aglise’s grave and declare her intention to remain
there. She knew Desmond and Cadwallon were also watching her
closely. They probably expected her to swoon, or to begin weeping
uncontrollably.

She was not so deeply sunk into grief as
that. The wrenching loss of her younger sister would stay with her
forever, she was certain. But the initial shock of finding – and of
seeing
– Aglise’s remains was fading. Elaine had spent the
long hours of her vigil thinking about Aglise’s death and the
circumstances surrounding it. At the same time, eager for any
indication, however insignificant, as to who the murderer was, she
had listened to the whispered remarks of the men and women who
visited the chapel. Most of them seemed to believe that because she
sat unmoving and kept her eyes downcast, she was insensible to what
they said.

After a few hours it had become plain to her
that some of the manor’s folk had, indeed, loved Aglise. Some had
not. A surprising number of the mourners had indicated at least
partial knowledge of what Aglise had been involved in during the
last weeks of her life. Elaine still did not understand all of it,
but she learned enough to make a very good guess about how and why
Aglise had met her end. What she lacked was proof that could not be
denied.

While still sitting quietly at the head of
the bier, she resolved to play out the game until the formalities
had all been properly observed. She owed that much to her
sister.

Now, standing at the edge of the grave,
staring down at the plain wooden coffin while two young men
shoveled dirt onto it and the rain turned the dirt into mud, Elaine
vowed again that she would have justice for Aglise. If she had to
go to the royal court and face King Henry himself in order to
obtain that justice, she would. She’d travel to the end of the
earth if need be.

The funeral feast was everything such an
occasion ought to be, with many elaborate courses and plenty of
good wine to blunt the jagged edges of sorrow. Thanks to Lady
Benedicta and the manor cook, each dish was well flavored with
herbs and spices.

Desmond ate little more than Elaine, who
seemed determined to continue to starve herself. He knew Elaine
abstained from food out of honest grief; Desmond couldn’t bring
himself to swallow because he kept wondering which of the herbs
used in the cooking might also be employed to cause the death of a
lovely young woman.

The last course of the long meal, a savory
dish to take away the cloying taste of the many sweet custards and
steamed puddings, was not yet over when Lord Bertrand left the
hall. He spoke to no one, not to Elaine, who was seated at his left
hand as usual, nor to his wife, who was at the far side of the hall
directing the servants in their final serving duties. Lady
Benedicta gave him scarcely a glance.

With Bertrand gone, Elaine turned her
attention to Desmond and Cadwallon, waiting to see what they would
do. As she expected, the two exchanged a quick look, obviously a
signal of some kind, then they stepped off the dais and followed
their host.

“They didn’t bother to excuse themselves,”
Elaine muttered. “I can guess what calls them away with such
urgency. Well, they are not going to face Lord Bertrand without
me!”

She left her seat and hurried after the men,
into the entry hall and up the winding staircase toward the lord’s
chamber on the uppermost floor of the manor. When she heard the
heavy door to the chamber slam shut, Elaine knew Lord Bertrand
hadn’t noticed he was being pursued. She continued up the steps,
moving so fast that she was almost treading on Cadwallon’s heels
when Desmond paused and turned to her.

“Go back, Elaine,” he warned.

“I will not. You are about my business, and I
insist on being present.”

“My poor girl,” Cadwallon said in a kindly
tone, laying a hand on her arm, “you are overset by grief. Let men
handle this matter.”

“If you call me ‘poor girl’ one more time,”
Elaine told him through gritted teeth, “I will overset
you
,
Lord Cadwallon, and push you off these steps! Yes, I am grieving
for Aglise; never doubt it. I am also angry at the manner of her
death. I will have justice for her. I want her murderer
punished.”

“Bringing a murderer to justice is a man’s
work,” Cadwallon stated.

“You are risking your life to say that to me
just now!” Elaine retorted fiercely.

“Would you really push me down the stairs?”
Cadwallon asked, his familiar, lazy grin curving his mouth.

“Indeed, I would,” she snapped. “If you
imagine smiling at me will prevent me from what I must do, then you
are greatly mistaken in me. I will stand with you when you confront
Lord Bertrand.”

“She’s right, you know,” Desmond said quietly
from several steps above her.

Elaine couldn’t see him clearly; the upper
stairway was too dark. But she could hear the warmth in his voice
and she welcomed his words. The pain in her heart eased a little to
hear him accept her rightful place without argument.

“Come along.” Desmond held out his hand and
Elaine took it.

The three of them gathered on the landing at
the top of the steps, with Elaine standing between the men, her
fingers linked with Desmond’s. Cadwallon, as the highest ranking
member of their group, knocked on the door of the lord’s chamber.
Elaine tried to repress a shudder at what awaited them inside.
Desmond must have noticed, for his hand pressed more tightly around
hers, his fingers strong and reassuring.

“Go away!” came Lord Bertrand’s shout. “I
don’t want to see anyone.”

“My lord, we must speak with you,” Cadwallon
answered. “Desmond and I have uncovered information about Aglise’s
death that we believe will interest you.”

A few moments of absolute silence ensued,
during which Elaine imagined the man within trying to collect
himself while thinking of possible responses to whatever Cadwallon
planned to say.

Then, abruptly, Lord Bertrand tore open the
door, flinging it wide. He stood unarmed at the entrance to the
lord’s chamber, wearing only his linen shirt and his hose. His face
was in shadow, but Elaine could see how disheveled his short,
greying hair was, standing up on end in spikes, as if he had raked
his fingers through it several times.

“Elaine.” Lord Bertrand stared at her. His
next words were anything but welcoming. “What are you doing
here?”

“As you see, my lord,” she responded with icy
politeness, “I have come with these good men to discuss with you
the matter of my sister’s death.”

“Aglise is gone,” Lord Bertrand said, turning
away from the door with a heavy step. “She’s dead and buried, and
nothing can bring her back. Can’t you let her rest in peace?”

“Could you rest in peace, my lord, with your
murderer free to go where he wants, when and as he wants, while you
lie wrapped in a shroud, in your coffin?” Elaine asked.

“You know nothing about her death,” Lord
Bertrand told her.

“I blame myself,” Elaine said.

“You?” Lord Bertrand laughed, a short, harsh
sound with no humor in it. “Foolish girl, how could you possibly be
at fault?”

“I blame myself because I guessed what was
happening and did nothing to stop it. I didn’t even send to Lord
Royce for help until it was too late.”

“You couldn’t have stopped it, Elaine. Nor
could Royce.”

“Last night, Lord Bertrand, as you left the
chapel,” Desmond said, forestalling the heated reply Elaine was
about to make, “you dropped this.”

He held up the gold necklace Cadwallon had
plucked from the chapel floor. Seeing the glittering links and the
little cross dangling from his fingers, Elaine gasped in
recognition.

“I believe this is the same necklace you were
searching for in the cave,” Desmond said to her.

“Yes.” She looked at Lord Bertrand, who had
gone pale as ashes. To her own ears, her voice was amazingly
steady. “How did you come by it, my lord?”

“I -” Lord Bertrand choked, unable to finish
what he had intended to say.

“Either Aglise gave it to him while she was
still alive,” Desmond said to Elaine, “or he carefully unclasped it
and took it from her body after she was dead. Father Otwin found no
marks on her neck, so the chain wasn’t torn from her.”

“I can’t believe Aglise would give it to
anyone,” Elaine said. “She treasured that necklace and wore it all
the time.”

“Well, then.” Cadwallon spoke in a hard
voice, unusual for him. “Which was it, my lord? A gift freely
given, or a trophy stolen from a dead girl?”

“Oh, dear God!” Lord Bertrand covered his
face with both hands.

“Answer us,” Elaine demanded. “How did you
come by that necklace?”

“I removed it from Aglise’s body, just before
I buried her.” Lord Bertrand’s shoulders sagged. Seen in the grey
light filtering through his chamber window, he appeared like a man
ravaged by some terrible disease. “She enchanted me,” he
whispered.

“‘Enchanted?’“ Elaine repeated, her sense of
horror and outrage growing by the minute. “It’s true, then! It was
you! I feared it might be, though I wasn’t certain until this
moment. In spite of the evidence of my own eyes and ears, I
continued to hope it was someone else.

“How could you?” she shouted at him. “You
were her foster father! Aglise should have been like a daughter to
you, safe from your depraved advances. Instead of protecting her,
which was your duty and your sworn obligation to our dead father,
who was always your true friend while he was alive, you used her!
Corrupted her! And then you murdered her!”

Suddenly, words failed Elaine. Reeling from
the double blows of her sister’s death and confirmation of all her
suspicions about Lord Bertrand’s carnal misdeeds, she was beyond
words, beyond coherent thought. With a shriek, she launched herself
at him, hitting and scratching and kicking.

“No!” Lord Bertrand put up his hands to ward
off her assault, though he did not fight back. “I didn’t kill her!
I swear, I’d never do such a thing! Not to her; not to Aglise.”

“Elaine, stop!” Desmond caught her around the
waist and dragged her away from Lord Bertrand. “You must calm
yourself. We need to learn more. Listen to me, Elaine. I promise
you, we will know the entire truth before we leave this room, but
you have to control your anger and be quiet, so Cadwallon and I can
question him.”

Desmond pulled her close to his side, though
she continued to struggle. When she clawed at his eyes, he shook
her hard, just once. It was enough to quell her rage, which wasn’t
really against him. She stopped fighting.

One of Desmond’s arms still encircled her
waist. His other hand turned her face so she was looking at him and
not at Lord Bertrand.

“There are many questions still to be
answered,” he said. “We don’t know all of it. Please, Elaine, have
a little more patience, just for a short time. Later, you may say
and do anything you want to him, but not yet.”

His quiet voice soothed her raging emotions
and the hand cradling her cheek kept her attention on him. When she
gulped and swallowed hard, trying to do as he bid her, Desmond’s
fingers gently wiped away the single tear she had shed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll not apologize for
the way I just behaved, but I won’t repeat the display.”

“You have good cause for anger,” Cadwallon
said.

He moved to plant his solid bulk at Elaine’s
other side, so she was buttressed by two strong men, until Desmond
removed his arm and put some distance between them. Elaine longed
for his supporting arm at her waist again. Then she quailed to see
the expression in his eyes.

“You should have told me what you suspected,”
he said, very coldly. “By withholding important information, you
made my job more difficult.”

“She said she wasn’t sure until just now,
when Lord Bertrand admitted it,” Cadwallon reminded him.

“That’s true,” Elaine insisted. “Desmond, I
could not besmirch my sister’s name without irrefutable proof.”

“Very understandable,” Cadwallon agreed.

“How can you claim you weren’t sure, when
Jean knew of the affair?” Desmond demanded, scowling at her.
“Didn’t he ever tell you how Aglise slipped out of the manor house
to meet her lover?”

“No, he did not,” Elaine stated firmly. “Jean
never said a word to me about any secret meetings Aglise may have
had. Perhaps, he was frightened,” she added, sending an accusing
glare in Lord Bertrand’s direction.

“But you did suspect Aglise of taking a
lover,” Desmond pressed her. “You didn’t even tell me that
much.”

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Elaine
snarled at him, her anger rising again. “I did what I thought was
best for my sister at the time. Again and again, I pleaded with
Lord Bertrand to send people to search for her, until he gave in
and did as I asked. I fought Lady Benedicta’s repeated accusations
that Aglise had run away with a lover, because I was certain she
hadn’t left the island. And I wrote to Royce, asking for his help.
But I was never obligated to reveal the most intimate details of my
sister’s personal life to you, especially when those details
remained only suspicions that I did not want to credit, that I
could not bear to believe. I kept hoping and praying there was some
more innocent explanation for her disappearance, even while I
feared the very worst.

“As for you,” she went on, whirling to face
Lord Bertrand again, “knowing Aglise was dead and where she was
buried, you deliberately sent your men-at-arms to the beach when
the tide was coming in, so you’d have a reason to call them back
and use the danger to them as an excuse not to search that area
again. Didn’t you?”