Lost Innocents (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 3) (22 page)

Faucon lunged forward. Just as his fingers brushed the back of the lad's tunic, his foot caught on a trunk. He rolled as he dropped, shoving himself back to standing in one smooth move. He wasn't fast enough. The lad now had half the length of the glade on him.

Yet panting in fear, Gawne lurched up into a crouch, his hands still moving as if he crawled. Faucon's feet slid and slipped as he strove for purchase in the deep litter. Then Alf bounded past him.

The big man grabbed the boy by the back of his tunic. Gawne thrashed as he was lifted from the earth and drove a foot into his captor's mid-section. The commoner gagged and bent, all the air driven from him. Using his foot for leverage, Gawne tore free from Alf's stunned grasp.

Too late. Faucon threw himself at the boy, wrapping his arms around the lad's hips. They went down together, rolling, crashing into stumps and logs as Gawne writhed and shifted, fighting to escape.

They came to rest face-to-face. Wrestling the lad to the ground beneath him, Faucon lay atop Gawne's legs, pinning him in place with the weight of his body. Ivo's son screamed, still trying to kick as he rose to sitting. His fists flew. Small the lad was, but having two older brothers had taught him well. One blow set Faucon's left ear to ringing. The next connected powerfully enough with Faucon's right temple to threaten stars.

"Cease!" he bellowed, ducking his head into the breast of Gawne's tunic as he sought to protect himself.

The blows stopped as Gawne crashed back to the earth. The lad howled in desperation, wrenching with all his might. Alf gasped from almost atop his Crowner. Faucon raised his head. The Englishman had Gawne's arms pressed to the ground under his knees. The soldier's face was pale as he yet strove to fill his lungs.

Even with two men on him, the boy still refused to yield, gasping and grunting as he fought. Alf traded his hands for his knees and slid back to sitting. Faucon, his ear aching and ringing at the same time, followed suit, his hands yet gripping Gawne's legs.

"Cease, Gawne," he commanded, shaking his dislodged senses back into place. "I don't come for you. You didn't kill Jessimond, of this I'm certain."

The lad instantly relaxed. Then to Faucon's complete astonishment, Gawne gave breath to a great heart-rending sob. Releasing the lad, then waving to Alf to do the same, Faucon sat back on his heels. The moment Gawne was free, he rolled onto his stomach, buried his head in his arms and began to weep.

Alf coughed. He drew in a full but ragged breath. "Are you sure I shouldn't keep a hand on him?" he gasped out.

Faucon rubbed at his temple. He'd wear the mark of Gawne's fist for at least a weak. "He's yielded. I think."

Edmund dropped onto one knee next to him. "Sir! The idiot is touching the leper!" the monk shouted into his employer's ringing ear.

Wincing, Faucon looked past Alf. Johnnie now cradled his sister in his lap, making pained, mewling sounds. The leper lay stiffly in his arms, yet retaining the curl of her final slumber.

Only then did Faucon realize what he should have known the instant Johnnie approached him to bring him into the woods. Amelyn had committed the most grievous of all sins. She had chosen to join her daughter in death.

"Holy Mother, she knew what she was after and made certain she got what she wanted," Alf said in cautious respect as he looked at the woman's wrists.

Amelyn had removed her gloves so she could do the task she'd set herself, and used her eating knife to do the deed. That hadn't been the right knife for the chore. She'd had to saw at her own flesh with the little blade to achieve her aim.

But achieve it she had. Blood had more poured than throbbed from her, saturating the hems of her sleeves and coating her palms and fingers. As it dried, it had crusted and cracked, now flaking away as the idiot held her.

Hew's warning about a grieving mother once again echoed in Faucon.
If only
, he sang to himself. But that was a refrain he couldn't afford to repeat, nor did wishing for a different outcome change what lay before him. Instead, all Faucon wanted was to depart this beautiful place, leaving mother and daughter here, joined for all eternity, forgotten even by God Himself. Let England's king wring his coins from some other death.

"How could she do that? How could she damn herself to hell when her daughter will be with our Lord? She abandoned her child," Edmund whispered, his voice hoarse as he again pleaded for assurance from his employer. The monk had his prayer beads in hand. They were already slipping through his fingers, even though Edmund hadn't yet knelt to chant out the words that accompanied them.

"I'm not certain I can fault her," Faucon offered quietly, so the lad across the glade didn't hear him. "So oft had life beaten her and so much had been stolen from her, that it left her weakened and without purpose. To live on after her precious daughter was gone, only to die from the disease that Odger had ultimately forced upon her, must have been more than she could bear."

Edmund's face paled. Moisture filled his eyes. "So it must have been for my mother. I was wrong to think ill of her," he breathed.

Surprise shot through Faucon. He stood still, waiting for the monk to say more. Instead, his clerk turned and knelt next to Amelyn, then bowed his head as he began to pray.

Still pondering his glimpse into Edmund's past, Faucon crossed to where Gawne lay on the ground and crouched next to the boy. Although the lad yet had his face pressed into the leaves, Gawne's grief was almost spent. When Faucon stroked his back, the boy shuddered at his touch and sought to catch his breath. Turning his head to the side, resting his cheek on his arm, he looked at his Crowner. This hadn't been his first spate of tears. This second shower had laid new tracks through the dirty remains of that previous storm.

"I didn't know what she intended," Gawne managed, his voice wispy. "I wrapped Jes for her. She didn't want anyone to be afraid of touching Jes when the time for burial came. Then she asked me to bring her some water. By the time I returned with her cup, she'd started it." He paused to gag, then continued at a raw whisper. "I had to watch her as she finished the task, then stay by her as she died."

"This is my fault," Faucon offered. "Hew suggested last night that Amelyn might not recover from Jessimond's death. I heard him, but did not comprehend how dire his warning. Your guilt is mine. Thus, will it be our duty to pray for Amelyn's soul, doing so until we die. Perhaps if we explain to our Lord often enough how deeply she grieved for her child, He will take pity on her and spare her eternal damnation."

That drew yet another trembling sigh from the lad. Gawne nodded as if the movement of his head was all he could manage. Faucon gave him another moment, then asked, "Are you settled enough that you can answer my questions?"

The boy closed his eyes for a moment, then struggled to sitting with a sigh. He wiped grief from his face with his sleeves, taking much of the dirt with it. Beneath the smut, his face was wan.

"Meg accused me of killing Jes. I didn't do it," he offered on a shuddering gasp. "I would never have hurt Jes!"

"As I said, I know you didn't kill the girl," Faucon assured him.

"But what will happen to me?" Gawne asked, his voice hoarse and his words broken. "What if I return home and she again names me murderer in front of everyone?"

"Rest easy on that accord," Faucon said. "Once I accuse Jessimond's killer—and you may trust that I will name the one who did this—the matter will be resolved in your favor. Now, tell me your tale."

Words spewed from the boy. "It was Meg who killed Jes! That's why she accused me!"

"You saw her commit the act?" Faucon asked swiftly, wishing Gawne had witnessed Jessimond's death but certain that he hadn't.

"Nay," the boy moaned, tears again sparkling in his eyes, "but I should have. I was to have been here with Jes that night. She asked me to meet with her, saying she needed my help. I was going to leave once Da and my brothers slept, but Da had brought out his first cask of plum wine. Fearing it might explode, he opened it in the doorway. Once it was tapped, that's where he chose to sit, right there in the doorway, with me trapped inside. There was no way for me to leave save to push past him and, if I had tried, he would have stopped me. He'd never have let me go. I waited, but he was still sitting there when it was time for Rauf and me to take to our pallet for the night. I meant to stay awake until he retired—" here, Gawne paused for another shuddering breath. A single tear trailed down one cheek. "Instead, I fell asleep when I should have been here," he repeated at a whisper.

Faucon eyed the boy in pity and wondered how the outcome of that night might have differed if Gawne had managed to escape his sire. Moreover, if Gawne had indeed told Hew that Jessimond had come into the woods to meet someone, he'd lied, doing so to shield himself from the pain of failing his friend. "Can you show me where you found Jessimond's body when you arrived here the next morning?"

Nodding, the boy came to his feet, once again swabbing his face with a soggy sleeve. Together, they crossed to a spot not far from where Amelyn had finished her life. Alf followed, maintaining a respectful distance as he watched what went forward between the boy and his Crowner.

Faucon crouched, scanning the area. Despite the rain two nights ago, much of the tale told by the crushed leaves and grasses, and broken ferns could yet be read. Once he had a sense of what had happened, he sifted his hands through the litter. There were indentations in the mossy layer beneath the leaves.

Clearing away the debris, he looked at what he'd found. The one who had knelt here had been heavy enough to break through that soft emerald layer. During the struggle as Jessimond's life ended, bits of green moss had been driven into the even softer soil hidden beneath it.

Shifting, he eased into position, putting his knees into the dips. Alf stepped around him to crouch just beyond Faucon's reach from where he knelt. "About here?" the commoner asked, touching his finger to an area of crushed grass.

"I think," Faucon replied with a nod.

He shifted to look over his shoulder at Gawne. "Where my man points, is this where her head rested when you found her?"

Gawne blinked at him in astonishment and nodded mutely.

"What of her clothing? Did you find her garments?" he asked.

This time, the boy shook his head to the negative. His eyes closed and he swallowed. "I looked everywhere. Why would her clothing have been taken?"

Not for the reason Faucon had originally believed. At last, the bits and pieces in his head were beginning to arrange themselves into something that made sense.

"Think back over the last few days of Jessimond's life. Did she tell you anything that surprised you? Anything unexpected. Not just about her. Perhaps about wishing to meet her father? Or it could have been about Meg or the kitchen."

Gawne frowned at that. "Nay, nothing. Jes didn't know who her father was. She only once talked about her sire. Before Martha died, she told Jes why Amelyn didn't know who had sired her, that—" he broke off mid-word, the sudden uneasiness in his gaze suggesting he didn't wish to breach a confidence.

Faucon completed the lad's sentence for him. "That Jessimond had been conceived in rape. Amelyn told me."

Gawne gave a relieved sigh. "Jes made me swear a blood oath that I'd never reveal that. As for Meg, all Jes ever said about her was how much she hated her," the boy said.

Then he paused to chew on his lip for a moment. "What about something strange that Meg did?"

"If it strikes you as odd, I'd like to hear it," Faucon replied, nodding his encouragement.

"Meg went to Alcester three days in a row just before Jes died. Each time she went she was gone for the whole day and didn't return until so late that none of us knew she was returned until the next morn." Gawne said. "One of those days was a baking day. Meg left before her own loaves were finished. That's something she's never before done. Why would she go to Alcester without her loaves to sell?"

Yet frowning in confusion, Gawne continued. "Instead, on the baking day, Meg left Jes to finish the loaves, again something she'd never done. Jes told me that after she took all the loaves from the oven, she put them on the kitchen table to cool, the way Meg always did. But while Jes went to the well to fetch water for cleaning, someone entered the kitchen and stole every loaf."

"All of them?" Faucon replied in surprise. "What did the good wives of Wike have to say about that?"

Gawne shrugged. "Nothing at all. Nor was anyone in Wike without bread that night. Save for Meg."

That made Faucon grin. Thus had the women of Wike taken what little vengeance they could on the one who'd stolen from them for years.

"Jes said Meg was very angry when she finally returned, that being after it was full dark, as I said, sir," Gawne went on. "When Meg learned what had happened to her loaves, she took her fists and a switch to Jes, beating her to drawing blood."

Alf's brows rose at that. Faucon released a breath of sour amusement. It didn't surprise him that the bakestress had lied about the reason she'd beaten her ward. No thief wanted to admit that another thief had stolen from her.