Where Love Has Gone (28 page)

“Good morning, my lady,” he said, trying not
to sound as if he ached to seize her in his arms again. “How is
Ewan?”

“He’s better,” she told him. “We needn’t fear
leaving him behind until he is completely recovered.”

“As to that,” Desmond began, “I refuse to
discuss the issue with you again. When Cadwallon and I leave, you
are not coming with us.”

“Good heavens!” Elaine cried, paying no
attention at all to the subject that had caused two quarrels
between them on the previous day. She was no longer looking at
Desmond, but instead was staring across the hall to the entry.
“What an extraordinary man.”

Desmond turned to see what had so transfixed
her. He went perfectly still for a moment, immobilized by surprise.
Then relief washed over him and he began to smile as he beheld the
solution to several of his most pressing problems.

The burly, deep-chested fellow who strode
into the great hall moved with the unmistakable rolling gait of a
sailor accustomed to spending more time at sea than on land. Light
brown hair and a straggling beard framed a weatherbeaten face. The
man wore a bright blue tunic belted in green leather, his legs were
clad in green hose brighter than his tunic, and a pair of fine red
leather boots encased his feet and calves. A broadsword worthy of a
great knight hung from his belt, and a long, dangerous-looking
knife was thrust between belt and tunic.

“There ye are, Desmond, me lad!” the colorful
apparition cried in a loud voice. “I’ve come a day or two late, but
the weather’s not mine to command. Where’s yer friend, that big
Welshman? I don’t see him about.”

“Lady Elaine,” Desmond said, barely managing
to contain his joy, “may I present to you Captain Piers of the ship
Daisy
? I do believe he has come to carry all of us to
Caen.”

“Caen, is it?” Captain Piers said. “Well,
laddie, that’s open to discussion. There’s a dreadful storm blowin’
far out at sea. Ye may have noticed a bit o’ rain and fog these
last few days.”

“We noticed,” Desmond said.

“Now, as to whether I can sail to Caen,”
Captain Piers began. “I’ll need convincin’, if ye take my
meanin’.”

“Oh, I do,” Desmond responded. “You expect
additional payment.” Though he was still glad to see the captain,
some of his initial pleasure began to drain away. He hated
bargaining with the man. Where money was concerned, the captain was
little better than a pirate.

“Captain Piers, how rude of me,” Elaine
exclaimed. “Do, please, join us. We have some nice wine in this
pitcher, and the castle baker has provided bread still warm from
the oven.”

“Thank ye, me lady. I do believe I’ll partake
of a cup or two o’ wine, since ye so kindly recommend it.”

Thus it happened that Lord Bertrand, entering
the great hall he still thought of as his, found a garishly clad
sea captain sitting at his high table, eating his bread and cheese
and drinking his wine.

“I was not informed of the presence of any
guest at Warden’s Manor,” Lord Bertrand said, halting before the
table. He took up a belligerent stance and glared at Desmond as if
inviting a fight.

“Captain Piers has just arrived,” Desmond
said. “Lord Bertrand, this is the captain and owner of the ship
Daisy
, which will convey us to Caen.”

“I haven’t agreed to go to Caen,” Lord
Bertrand stated with undisguised hostility.

“Nor have I agreed to carry ye there,” said
Captain Piers. “Desmond, I do believe we’ve reached a stalemate. Or
is it a checkmate?” The captain flashed a wicked grin in Elaine’s
direction.

“I suppose you want an extra fee for carrying
us in poor weather,” Desmond said.

“Aye. Exactly how much I’ll expect will
depend on how many passengers, and just how bad the weather is. The
voyage will likely take a while, ye see, for the winds are barely
blowin’. That’s why the fog is so heavy. But once the comin’ storm
breaks, it’ll be a rough passage. Speakin’ for meself, I’d much
prefer ta wait it out in a safe harbour. So, ye’ll have ta make it
worth my while ta sail.”

“We cannot wait,” Elaine told him. “Our
mission is urgent. Captain Piers, would you be willing to carry us
just as far as the nearest port in Normandy?”

“It’ll be Regneville ye’ll want, then,” the
captain said. “A decent harbor and good accommodations ashore, if
ye should need them. Aye, Regneville it is, me lady. Fer an
additional price, o’ course.”

“I am amazed that Royce employs you,” Desmond
told him, scowling.

“Lord Royce knows I’m honest. Knows he can
trust me. Ye wouldn’t believe some o’ the ventures I’ve carried out
fer him.”

“No,” Desmond snapped. “I wouldn’t believe
you.”

“Now me feelin’s are hurt,” Captain Piers
said. “I thought I deserved more respect from ye, Desmond me lad,
considerin’ how I saved yer life last year.”

“You did?” Elaine cried, gazing at the
captain in fascination. “Oh, I would like to hear that story.”

“I would be pleased ta tell it ta ye, me
lady.” Captain Piers turned a conspiratorial smile upon her.

“Listen to me, you disreputable scoundrel,”
Desmond said, his tone roughening. “We have urgent business in
Caen. Lord Royce’s business; the same man who pays the outrageous
fares you charge. You will take us directly to Caen, and we will
leave today, by noon at the latest.”

“I am not going to Caen,” Lord Bertrand
declared.

“You have no choice,” Desmond told him in the
same harsh voice he had used on Captain Piers. “If you give your
word to go peacefully, you may depart with your lordly dignity
intact. Otherwise, you’ll go in chains. Either way, you board the
Daisy
when I do.”

“Hold on here a minute,” Captain Piers
interrupted. “I’ve been paid ta carry two knights, two squires, and
four horses. If this kind lady is ta join yer party, and Lord
Bertrand, here, is goin’ as well, that’s two more passengers and,
likely, more horses.”

“And a young boy,” Elaine added, smiling
sweetly at the captain. “Jean cannot ride, so he has no horse. Nor
do I have a horse.”

“Three extra passengers and one extra horse,
then. An’ one o’ the original horses is missin’. Now, let me reckon
the fares.” Captain Piers began counting on his fingers.

“Where is Richard?” Desmond suddenly asked.
“And where is his horse?”

“I hope an’ trust yer squire is asleep in yer
cabin aboard ship,” Captain Piers answered. “He spent the night
pukin’ out his last few meals. An’ the night before, too.”

“Richard is never seasick,” Desmond said.

“So he claims, too, and both of ye may be
right about that, if what I suspect is true. That’s how he lost his
horse, ye see. He says he rode it to Cherbourg in search o’ me an’
me ship, but when we looked fer the poor beast, she was gone.”

“What are you talking about?” Desmond
demanded, his suspicions mounting with every word the captain
spoke.

“Ye see, we were berthed in Cherbourg a few
days ago. Richard says he was lookin’ fer me and the
Daisy
,
on yer orders, when two fellows accosted him on the dock and forced
him ta drink some vile-tastin’ ale. Then they asked a lot o’
questions about where he was goin’ next. He wouldn’t tell them
nothin’ so they hit him over the head an’ dumped him in the
harbour. Lucky fer him, one o’ my sailors recognized the lad from
yer recent voyage ta Jersey and fished him out and brought him ta
me.”

“Someone was trying to get information from
him?” Desmond asked.

“Aye. It’s likely he swallowed some o’ the
harbour water, as well as whatever they forced down his throat.
Harbour water’s foul enough ta make any man puke. Anyway, yer
squire’s been sick ever since, though he did stop pukin’ long
enough ta deliver yer message, so here I am, just as ye
requested.”

“Did I hear aright?” Unnoticed by the others,
Cadwallon had come into the great hall. “Someone followed Richard
and tried to force information out of him?”

“Looks like it.” Captain Piers nodded to the
big man. “What d’ye expect, my foine Lord Cadwallon, ye and yer
friend bein’ spies an’ all?”

“Desmond,” Elaine said, “since Richard is
ill, I suggest we bring him here to Warden’s Manor and let him stay
with Ewan, to keep him company until both of them have
recovered.”

“I have a better idea,” Cadwallon said to
Desmond. “Thanks to Elaine’s nursing skill, Ewan is improving
rapidly. His fever has broken and his wound is healing nicely.”

“Wound?” Captain Piers exclaimed. “Yer squire
was wounded? An’ the other squire’s beaten and nearly poisoned ta
death. What the devil’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing that need concern you,” Desmond told
him. “All right, Cadwallon, what is your plan?”

A week or so ago, he wouldn’t have bothered
to ask. He’d have assumed his own arrangements were superior to
Cadwallon’s notion of what they ought to do. But, against his own
will, Desmond was changing. He could feel the steady alteration in
his mind and his heart and for a moment he wondered if the island
of Jersey – or Elaine – had bewitched him. Then he recalled how,
over the past two weeks, he’d had ample evidence of Cadwallon’s
steady nerves and good sense. He decided he owed it to the man to
listen to what he had to say.

“Rather than disturbing Richard to bring him
here, I suggest we all board the
Daisy
as soon as possible,”
Cadwallon said. “Including Lord Bertrand and Jean. We can transport
Ewan to the dock by litter or by cart. Elaine, I’d ask you to pack
up whatever herbs you think will be useful to Ewan and to
Richard.

“Captain Piers,” Cadwallon went on, “You know
full well that Lord Royce will pay you whatever you think is fair,
so let us dispense with any further arguments about your fees for
extra passengers. We must be in Caen as soon as possible, and that
is all that matters.”

“Ah. Ye do make good sense, me lord.” Captain
Piers seemed to be considering the proposition.

“I still like the idea of putting into
Regneville,” Elaine said. “We ought to split into two groups, one
group to travel overland, and the other to head for Caen by sea.
That way, some of us should – no,
must
– arrive in Caen in
time, no matter how dismal the weather becomes.”

“Yes, I think you are right,” Cadwallon said.
“Desmond, the decision is yours.”

“I agree with both of you. Regneville it is.”
Desmond rose from the high table, his gaze on Lord Bertrand, who
was listening intently to the discussion. Desmond chose his next
words carefully, not wanting to give away how much they knew of the
plot against King Henry’s life. “With two separate groups, we have
a better chance of someone reporting to Royce promptly.”

“I’ll find Jean and tell him to collect his
belongings.” Elaine was on her feet, too. “Then I’ll gather the
herbs, and do what I can to make Ewan comfortable for the
voyage.”

“We sail as soon as all o’ ye are aboard,”
Captain Piers announced, his objections apparently swept away by
Cadwallon’s promise of easy payment. “I’ll use what wind we have,
and pray for a stronger blow later.”

“I cannot leave,” Lord Bertrand protested.
“Not until my wife is buried.”

“You have several hours before we sail,”
Desmond told him with no trace of sympathy. “Speak to Flamig and to
Father Otwin about the arrangements. Whether your lady is buried,
or not, you depart with us.”

“Elaine, you will join me for Benedicta’s
funeral, won’t you?” Lord Bertrand sent a piteous look in her
direction.

“How can you ask such a thing?” she cried.
“No, my lord; I refuse to attend the funeral of the woman who
murdered my sister. Nor will I grieve with the man who kept
Aglise’s death secret for months, while I wept and worried for her
loss.”

With that, Elaine stalked out of the great
hall, her shoulders rigid and her head high. But Desmond saw the
trembling of her body and the way she clasped her hands tightly
together, and he ached to comfort her.

“Seems as though ye’ve had an interestin’
time on this little island,” Captain Piers remarked to
Cadwallon.

“You don’t know half of it,” Cadwallon
said.

Lady Benedicta was buried in mid morning, in
a grave just outside the fence that surrounded the little cemetery.
Though a formal funeral was forbidden to her, the kindly Father
Otwin was there to say a few prayers, in which he asked for such
peace as heaven might choose to bestow upon her lost soul, and then
begged that comfort be granted to her bereaved relatives.

Desmond also attended the ceremony. He kept
to one side, watching the proceedings with a sharp eye. Nothing
unusual occurred and no one appeared except the small party from
the castle. If Lady Benedicta had any confederates on the island,
they stayed away.

Lord Bertrand stood dry eyed next to Flamig,
the two of them surrounded by six men-at-arms whom Flamig referred
to as an honor guard. Desmond knew the men were there to make
certain Lord Bertrand returned to Warden’s Manor immediately
following the burial. The same six men-at-arms later conducted him
to the
Daisy
and saw him aboard. On Flamig’s orders, one of
the men remained on the ship to guard Lord Bertrand until he was
delivered to Royce.

The sky was cloudy with the distant promise
of more rain, but the slight wind that Captain Piers had mentioned
continued to blow. Shortly after noontime the
Daisy
sailed
slowly out of Gorey Harbor bound on a southeast course.

At Elaine’s suggestion Ewan and Richard
occupied the same cabin, each on a narrow bunk. Richard was pale
and wan after two days of being sick. He made no protest when
Elaine dosed him with an herbal infusion that she promised would
settle his stomach. As for Ewan, he was still groggy from the sleep
inducing medicine she had given him to make his transfer from the
castle to the
Daisy
a bit less painful.