Where Love Has Gone (21 page)

Desmond allowed himself a moment of private
pleasure, savoring the rush of intense feeling that danger always
produced, before he tamped down the emotion and began a systematic
search of the dovecot. He made his discovery almost immediately. It
wasn’t hidden. But then, there was no need for concealment.

Ewan sneezed twice, very loudly.

“Be quiet, unless you want to be caught,”
Desmond warned. “If we can hear the sentries from in here, they can
hear us.”

“I can understand why Lady Elaine hates to
come in here.” Ewan stiffled another sneeze. “I feel as if I have a
terrible head cold. And my eyes are all sandy.”

“Be patient. This won’t take long,” Desmond
said. “I want both of you to see this, so I’ll have two
witnesses.”

“See what?” Ewan asked, sniffling.

“What I’ve found. Look at this.” Desmond held
up a wooden box, about a foot square and a few inches high. It was
unlocked. He opened it. “Hold the lantern closer, Cadwallon.”

“Aha,” Cadwallon exclaimed softly. “Exactly
as we thought.”

“What are those?” Ewan asked, peering into
the box. “They look almost like jesses for falcons, only
smaller.”

“They are similar,” Cadwallon said, pointing
to one of the leather objects. “A tube with a slip of parchment
rolled up inside is fastened just here, and then this tiny harness
is attached to a pigeon’s leg.”

“So that’s how the messages are sent,” Ewan
said between sneezes. “The ones you were explaining to Lady Elaine.
We have found the proof we needed. Now, what do we do with it?”

“What we still have to discover,” Desmond
said, “is the identity of Lady Benedicta’s correspondent, the
person who receives the pigeons at the end of the flight. Once we
know that person’s name, we’ll have a better idea what she has been
up to.”

“No good, most likely,” Cadwallon
remarked.

“Could we leave, please?” Ewan asked
uneasily, scanning the increasingly disturbed movements on the
perches above their heads. “Before we wake up all the birds and
someone comes to see what the fuss is about?”

“In a moment.” Before he closed the wooden
box, Desmond removed one of the tiny harnesses and slipped it into
the pouch at his belt. “Cadwallon, shine the lantern around. Let’s
see as much as we can while we’re here. We aren’t likely to have
another chance.”

“I see ordinary grey and brown pigeons,”
Cadwallon said, obeying the order. “Also, a few white doves. Even
some wrens. Perhaps, they flew in unnoticed. They will certainly
eat well, from the looks of the feed in the dishes.”

“There isn’t much here except the birds,”
Desmond noted. “The box is safe enough, so long as only Lady
Benedicta has the key.”

Ewan sneezed thrice and Desmond decided to
release him from his discomfort.

“Shut the lantern, Cadwallon, and let us be
gone,” he said.

Once they were outside the dovecot, Desmond
reset the lock, then slipped the long, metal pick back into the
very useful pouch at his belt.

They kept to the shadows, making their silent
way across the courtyard. They met no one. Two sentries paced on a
walkway above the wall that surrounded the manor. In the absence of
any threat, the gate stood wide open. Cadwallon doused the lantern
and left it on a bench near the gatehouse, after which they
continued their cautious walk through the morning twilight.

The sky was beginning to lighten, so when a
female figure coming from the direction of the manor house hurried
across the courtyard, they hastily ducked behind the fence of the
herb garden and crouched down to avoid being seen.

“We’d better hurry,” Cadwallon urged as soon
as the woman was out of sight. “More folk will be stirring
soon.”

“Yes.” Desmond responded absently, his gaze
probing the shadows where the woman had disappeared. “Wasn’t that
Lady Benedicta who passed us?”

“I think so,” Cadwallon said. “We left the
dovecot just in time. I hate to think what she’d say if she caught
us there.”

“I’d dearly like to know what message she is
sending,” Desmond murmured.

“It’s already too late to find out,”
Cadwallon said. “Another few moments and the bird will take
wing.”

Sure enough, as they reached the top of the
staircase to the manor door Desmond looked toward the area above
the dovecot just in time to see a small, winged shape rising into
the dawn sky.

“Damnation,” he muttered, then followed his
companions into the entry hall.

Flamig was waiting for them. He frowned at
Ewan, who sneezed several times.

“What’s wrong with him?” Flamig asked.

“Nothing that can’t be easily cured,”
Cadwallon said. “Ewan, take yourself to our chamber. Wash your face
and hands and put on a fresh tunic. Before we left the keep I
ordered Jean to supply a pail of hot water and it ought to be in
the room by now. Use my soap and scrub well; it will help. I know
because it’s the remedy my wife imposes on me when I come in from
the stables sneezing and coughing from the dust in the hay. You
will recover shortly.”

“Aye, my lord,” Ewan said. “Thank you, my
lord.”

Glad to have a few moments to consider what
they had learned in the last hour, and to wonder what message Lady
Benedicta was sending by pigeon, Desmond listened with some
amusement to Cadwallon dispensing domestic advice. The big man
never ceased to surprise him.

“Lord Cadwallon,” Flamig said, “I think you
should know what has happened here while you were out, wherever you
were.” His gaze moved from Cadwallon to Desmond, as if he expected
an answer to what they had been doing.

“Isn’t it a bit late at night for much to be
happening?” Cadwallon asked with a credible semblance of innocence,
considering how busy he and his friends had been during the last
hour.

“Lady Benedicta beat Jean, the kitchen boy,”
Flamig informed them.

“What?” Desmond exclaimed, his sense of
danger sharpening. Then, half a heartbeat later, “Do you know where
Lady Elaine is?”

“Safe in her room. Jean ran to her. I intend
to tell you all of it, my lords, because I think you ought to know.
But first, let us sit in a quiet place where we won’t be
disturbed.”

“I suggest our chamber,” Cadwallon said.
“It’s the safest place.”

“I can’t go there,” Flamig objected. “I
prefer a location where I can see anyone who enters or leaves the
solar.”

“Do you?” Desmond regarded the man-at-arms
with growing interest. “Why is that?”

“So I can protect Lady Elaine,” Flamig
said.

Desmond didn’t ask from what he intended to
protect Elaine. He indicated a bench that was pushed against the
wall, from where the stairs to the solar were visible, as well as
much of the solar itself.

“Will this do?” Desmond asked.

“Aye.” Flamig led the way and chose the end
of the bench that offered the best view. “While you were gone,”
Flamig began without further delay. He provided a concise
description of Jean’s problem with Lady Benedicta and Elaine’s
efforts to help the boy.

“How do you know all of this?” Desmond asked
when he was finished.

“The day after Lady Aglise disappeared,”
Flamig answered, “Lord Bertrand assigned me to watch over Lady
Elaine and keep her safe from any harm. I was to perform my duty
secretly, not letting anyone else in the manor know what I was
about. Not anyone at all.”

“I find Lord Bertrand’s concern fascinating,”
Cadwallon murmured, slanting a knowing glance in Desmond’s
direction.

“He seemed to feel that Lady Elaine was in
some danger,” Flamig said, “though he didn’t explain what the
danger was. He did warn me not to alarm her.”

“That explains why you followed us to the
cliffs yesterday,” Desmond said. “And why you were in the corridor
while Elaine was in the stillroom tonight.”

“Aye, my lord. I seldom let her out of my
sight. When you and your companions arrived on Jersey, you
presented a new problem for me. At first, I wasn’t sure whether you
meant her any harm.”

“And now?” Desmond asked.

“Now I’ve chosen to tell you what little I
know about Lady Aglise’s death, because I believe you can help me
to protect Lady Elaine. She is in danger, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Cadwallon shortly. “And, from
what you’ve said, so is Jean.”

“Where is Lord Bertrand right now?” Desmond
asked.

“Why, in his chamber, I suppose,” Flamig
said. “I haven’t seem him since he left the hall after the midday
feast.”

“We need to speak with him,” Desmond said,
standing. “Come along, Flamig.”

“I, my lord?”

“When you hear what we have to say to Lord
Bertrand,” Cadwallon told him, “you will understand why he was
worried enough about Lady Elaine’s safety to place a guard on
her.”

“What I’d most like to know,” said Flamig,
heading for the stairway as he spoke, “is why he wanted me to work
in secret. I’ve been puzzling over his order for weeks while I
watched and listened for any sign of a threat to Lady Elaine. I’ve
reached my own conclusions as to who I’ve been protecting the lady
from. And I don’t hesitate to tell you, my lords, I do not like
what I’ve learned.”

“What is it now?” Lord Bertrand’s pale face
and red-rimmed eyes gave him the look of a man who hadn’t slept at
all. Barefoot and clad in the same wrinkled tunic he had worn on
the previous day, he faced the men at his chamber door. When he saw
Flamig standing behind Cadwallon’s tall bulk and noticed the grave
expression on the face of his man-at-arms, he exclaimed, “Elaine!
Is she -?”

“She’s safe in her chamber, my lord,” Flamig
assured him.

“Thank God.” Lord Bertrand visibly
relaxed.

“We have come to tell you why Aglise was
killed,” Desmond said, watching the older man carefully for any
sign of guilt.

“I already know why.” Lord Bertrand rubbed
his face. “She died because of my unseemly lust for her.”

“You know
who
did it.” As Cadwallon
spoke he pushed his way past Lord Bertrand and into the chamber.
“But you are wrong about why it was done. Your disgraceful affair
with Aglise merely served as a convenient excuse, to cover the real
reason for her murder.”

“What are you talking about?” Lord Bertrand
demanded. With a glare that encompassed the other two men as well
as Cadwallon, he added, “I do not recall inviting any of you into
my chamber.”

Ignoring the complaint, Desmond shut the door
so no one on the stairs could hear what he was going to say. He
considered it entirely possible that Lady Benedicta might be
hovering about the solar after dispatching her latest message, and
if she was, she would want to know just how much he and Cadwallon
had discovered.

“Lord Bertrand,” Desmond said, choosing to
plunge right into the thick of it, “are you aware that your wife
regularly sends messages by way of pigeons?”

Lord Bertrand rubbed his face again, then
slowly lowered his hands to stare at Desmond.

“I know of her interest in breeding the birds
for the table,” he said. “Many noblewomen keep a dovecot. We eat
the results of her efforts. I believe you were served spit-roasted
squab during your first meal here.”

“Some of the birds in the dovecot are indeed
plump creatures who are clearly reserved for cooking. Others are
the sleeker, faster kind of pigeons used to bear messages in time
of war. Or to carry secret messages between spies. From this island
a bird could fly north over the Narrow Sea to England, but it is
far more likely to fly eastward, toward Normandy, which is closer.
Or to France,” Desmond said, his fingers at the pouch attached to
his belt. He pulled out the tiny leather harness and held it up.
“We found several of these in the dovecot. Do you know with whom
Lady Benedicta corresponds?”

“Oh, dear God,” Lord Bertrand muttered. His
shocked expression as he stared at the harness convinced Desmond
that he hadn’t expected anything like the problem now presented to
him. “Why couldn’t you leave this alone? Why –
why
, did
Elaine have to send that cursed letter to Royce?”

“Do you know who receives Lady Benedicta’s
messages?” Desmond repeated his demand with firm emphasis, certain
from Lord Bertrand’s anguished exclamations that he did harbor
suspicions about his wife’s activities, even if he was not sure
just what those clandestine activities were and wasn’t directly
involved in them. “Do her birds return to a French spy in Normandy?
Or do they fly directly to France?”

“My lord Bertrand!” Flamig declared. “I can
remain silent no longer. I’m not blind and I have ears. I pay
attention to what goes on around me. Until recently, I believed you
to be an honest man. Why did you allow this to happen? Your carnal
relationship with Lady Aglise was appalling enough, but after she
disappeared, how could you let all of us here in Warden’s Manor and
those in Gorey village wonder where she was for so long, when all
the time you knew she was dead? Why didn’t you speak up at once and
spare Lady Elaine and the rest of us so much worry?”

“I did it for my honor’s sake,” Lord Bertrand
said.

“Honor!” Flamig cried in open scorn.

“The fault lies with me, as you three have
pointed out. I believed my uncontrollable desire for Aglise so
maddened my wife that she killed the girl out of jealousy. That’s
why I set you, Flamig, to watch over Elaine after Aglise’s death. I
failed to protect Aglise, but at least I tried to keep Elaine
safe.”

“Do you know for a fact that Lady Benedicta
killed Lady Aglise?” Flamig demanded.

“Oh, yes.” Lord Bertrand heaved a long,
ragged sigh. “Flamig, I want you to understand what happened on the
night Aglise died. I found her unconscious on the floor here in my
chamber, where she had apparently dragged herself when she felt the
first twinges of death working in her. I sent for Lady Benedicta in
hope that she could revive her. But when my wife came, she did
nothing. She stood just inside the door, not even approaching the
bed where I had laid Aglise, and she watched while Aglise breathed
her last. By her calm manner and her refusal to help, and then at
the end, by her own admission, I knew she had poisoned her
rival.