No Dark Place (12 page)

“They must have left it,” Richard said. “Certainly no one saw it being removed. If they had, they would have reported it to me.”

“Go and check,” Guy said.

Sir Richard looked as if he were going to object. The food was being served and he was hungry. One look at Guy’s face changed his mind, however, and without further comment he left the table to go to the chapel.

He was back before Guy had had a chance to take more than a few bites of the roast swan that was on his trencher.

“It’s gone,” Richard said. His veined cheeks were red with anger. “They took the body away and no one reported it to me.”

Guy slammed his hand down on the table and the blonde lady next to him jumped.

“I want that boy back here,” he said in a low, menacing voice. “I don’t want him showing that face around the countryside. If Simon of Evesham gets a look at him….”

“You can always say he is a bastard, my lord,” Richard said reasonably. “It is true that he has the de Leon eyes, but there is no proof that he came by them honestly.”

“You fool,” Guy snarled. “First of all, my dear brother was far too righteous ever to stray from the sacrament of holy matrimony. In truth, the great crusader had the soul of a priest.” Guy’s voice was full of contempt. “He only married to keep me from becoming earl.”

The blonde lady sitting next to him laughed knowingly. “You certainly don’t have the soul of a priest, my lord.”

“Shut up,” Guy said.

She shrank into herself and was quiet.

“Even the holiest of men may be tempted by a beautiful woman,” Richard insisted.

“You don’t understand,” Guy said impatiently. “That boy may have the de Leon eyes, but the rest of his face is a mirror image of my sister-in-law. That is why Nigel Haslin picked him up, of course. He saw the resemblance and thought to use the boy against me. Nigel has always suspected I had something to do with my brother’s death.” He glared at the woman next to him. “Which I didn’t!”

“Of course not, my lord,” she said hastily.

Guy narrowed his eyes in a way that made him look remarkably like Hugh. “I have no intention of turning my honors over to an upstart boy, even if he is my nephew. I will hold what is mine, no matter what it costs to do so.”

“What do you think he is going to do next?” Sir Richard asked.

“I think Nigel will take him to Stephen,” Guy said. He set his jaw angrily. “Which means that I must get to Stephen first.”

N
igel was enormously relieved when he reached Somerford safely. All during the ride he had been blaming himself bitterly for his carelessness in taking Hugh to Chippenham.

I should have realized that Guy was bound to strike out at the boy
, he thought as he walked wearily up the ramp to the door of his castle.
He killed to get the earldom. What a fool I was not to realize that he would kill again to keep it
.

He looked at his daughter, who was walking beside him.

“I feel like a fool, Cristen,” he said. “It is my fault that Geoffrey is dead.”

She said to her father what she had said earlier to Hugh. “The fault is Guy’s, Father, not yours.”

“That’s too easy a way out,” he said tiredly. “It is I who bear the responsibility of taking Hugh to Chippenham. And all that was on my mind when I did so was that perhaps he would remember something if he saw the place where he passed his childhood. I never thought seriously about Guy’s
reaction. I was only thinking of Hugh’s.”

They passed through the door, which was being held open for them by a page, and entered the Great Hall.

Cristen was immediately attacked by her dogs, who leaped around her in ecstasy.

“Manners, manners,” she admonished them, but her hands were caressing two eager heads and scratching two blissful sets of ears.

“Watch out they don’t knock you over,” Nigel warned.

She laughed and knelt down to be closer to her welcoming party. “I missed you, too,” she said to shiny black Ralf. “And I missed you as well,” she added to the rapturous shaggy brown ball that was Cedric.

Nigel had moved along to the fire, which was burning brightly in welcome for the lord of the castle, lowered himself to the largest chair, and called for a cup of wine. It was nine o’clock at night and the day had been a long one. Nigel was feeling every one of his fifty-five years.

A group of returning knights had come in the door after Nigel and Cristen, but their numbers were depleted, as Hugh and some others had taken Geoffrey’s body into Malmesbury, to see him properly disposed in the abbey church.

Finally Cristen was able to quiet her admirers enough to come and join her father by the fire.

She sat in one of the high-backed chairs and a
page brought her a cup of wine, which she sipped gratefully.

“That was quite a coup the men pulled off, managing to extricate Geoffrey’s body without any of Guy’s men knowing what they were doing,” she said with admiration.

“Aye,” said Nigel. “Two of them held his arms around their necks and carried him away from the castle seated on their crossed hands. They told the guards that he was one of the men who had accompanied them to pay their respects to Geoffrey, but that he had drunk too much earlier and had passed out.”

“Thank God his body had not yet begun to stiffen,” Cristen said.

“Aye,” her father agreed. He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs before him, rested his chin on his chest, and said sorrowfully, “Poor Geoffrey. He was a fine lad. I dread having to tell his mother that he is dead.”

“I know,” said Cristen.

One of the dogs nudged her thigh. Automatically, she stroked his head.

Behind them, the knights who had returned with them were speaking in low voices as they unpacked their gear. Cristen’s ladies had already retired to their solar on the next floor.

“Your idea to take Hugh to Chippenham was not entirely without merit, Father,” she said quietly. “He did remember something.”

Nigel’s head jerked up. “He did?”

“Aye.” She continued to stroke Ralf’s black head. “He told me that he remembered the chapel.”

Nigel stared at the small, pure oval of his daughter’s face. She was wearing her long brown hair in braids and they fell across her shoulders all the way down past her waist. One of them almost touched the dog’s head.

“He wouldn’t tell me anything at all,” Nigel said.

“It is that he is more comfortable with me,” she said easily. “I think it is less difficult for him to talk to women than to men. He loved his foster mother a great deal, you see.”

She didn’t say anything to her father about Hugh’s refusal to meet his natural mother.

Nigel put his hands on the carved oak arms of his chair. “And did he see fit to confide any of his future plans to you?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

“Just that he was going to pay a visit to Simon of Evesham,” she replied serenely. “Evidently Philip Demain asked him to go back with him.”

At that, Nigel pushed himself upright in his chair. “Simon of Evesham is a supporter of the empress!”

Both dogs looked at him, reacting to the tone of his voice. Ralf laid his ears back and growled softly in his throat. Cristen patted him reassuringly.

“Set your mind at rest, Father,” she said, her voice as reassuring as her pat to Ralf. “I don’t think
Hugh is interested in politics at the moment.” Her face was grave. “I’m sorry to say that at present, his sole interest appears to lie in avenging the death of his father.”

Nigel’s eyes, the same color as his daughter’s but not nearly as large, were fixed on her face. “Are you saying that he has finally admitted that he is Hugh de Leon?”

Cristen said simply, “Aye, he has.”

Nigel pounded his fists on the arms of the chair. “That is wonderful!”

“I don’t know,” Cristen said.

He scowled at her. “Surely you couldn’t wish him to continue as he was? As Hugh Corbaille he owned three small manors in Lincolnshire. As Earl of Wiltshire he will be the overlord of forty-three manors—in Wiltshire, Dorset, Somerset, Hampshire, Surrey, Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire, and Ox-fordshire!”

She withdrew her hand from the dog. She looked very small in the big chair, almost like a child. The expression on her face was not at all childlike, however.

She said, “But he is not the Earl of Wiltshire yet, Father, and in order to gain that title he will have to overcome Lord Guy—who is a formidable adversary, as we have discovered to our sorrow.”

“I realize that, my dear,” Nigel said. “But the king is desperate to control Wiltshire. The support of the Earl of Wiltshire, like that of the Earl of Chester and the Earl of
Essex, are prizes that both Stephen and the empress will be vying for with all the largesse that is in their gift.”

Cristen smoothed her hand along one of her braids. “Have you thought that it is possible that Guy will sell his backing to Stephen in order to gain Stephen’s support against Hugh? Guy is the man presently in possession of the earldom, remember. It will be almost impossible to dislodge him if he has the backing of the king.”

Nigel scowled. “Guy is staying aloof from this fight.”

“He was staying aloof before he knew about Hugh,” Cristen said. “Now that he knows there is a challenger for his title, he may well offer to sell his support to Stephen in exchange for the king’s promise of assistance against Hugh’s claim.”

Nigel’s scowl deepened. “Then we must get to Stephen first.”

Cristen said, “Hugh is right. First he must go to Simon of Evesham to have his claim validated. By the time he does that, however, it may be too late to go to Stephen.”

Nigel cursed. Then he muttered apologetically, “Sorry, my dear.”

Cristen leaned her head back against the carved wood of her chair. Her face looked strained. “I’m afraid, Father,” she said. “I’m afraid for Hugh.”

Ralf pushed himself under her feet so that he was serving as her footrest.

“I will tell you something about Hugh, Cristen,” her father replied. “He is the most thoroughly competent young man I have ever been privileged to meet. Believe me, he can take care of himself.”

“In the field he can,” she returned grimly. “But his fighting skills won’t save him from a knife in his back.”

“No.” Nigel’s face was perfectly sober. “That will be the job of his friends.”

By the time Hugh returned to Somerford, Nigel had gone to bed and Cristen had retired to the family solar. As Hugh was sleeping in one of the bedrooms that led off the solar, and not in the hall with the other knights, he entered the family refuge to find her sitting in front of the brazier, which had been lit against the chilly autumn night.

“You saw Geoffrey safely to the church?” she asked quietly as he shut the door behind him.

“Aye.” He took the chair next to hers and stretched his cold hands out to the brazier.

“Father is going to ride over to Bradley to see his family tomorrow morning. They may wish to bring his body home for burial.”

“Aye,” he said again.

She sighed. “He blames himself for Geoffrey’s death.”

“Your father blames himself?” He stared at her in shocked surprise. “It was my fault, not his!”

“It was as much my father’s fault as it was yours,
Hugh,” she replied. “He blames himself for bringing you to Chippenham without foreseeing what Guy’s response might be.” Her eyes were on his hands, which were still held out toward the brazier. “You, on the other hand, blame yourself for getting sick and letting Geoffrey borrow your horse.”

He continued to stare at her. The hands he was holding out to the fire were rigid. “You don’t think it was either of our faults?” he demanded.

At last she turned her eyes to meet his. “I can understand why you both feel guilty about Geoffrey,” she said. “Whenever someone is connected to the death of another, it is only natural to feel some degree of guilt.” Her voice was quiet, her face grave. “Believe me, Hugh, when I tell you that I understand this. I feel guilty every time I’m called in to help someone with my herbs and I fail.”

There was a line sharp as a sword between his brows. “That’s ridiculous. You try to help. There is no reason for you to feel guilty if you fail!”

“I understand that with my reason.” The light from the brazier illuminated the peach-colored glow of her suntanned cheeks. “But I feel guilty that my knowledge isn’t enough. It isn’t a rational feeling, I realize that, and I don’t let it stop me from trying again. Nonetheless, it’s there.”

There was a long silence while Hugh continued to look at her.

At last he moved, leaning his dark head against the back of his chair. “You are saying that it’s natural
for me to feel guilty about Geoffrey, but that I shouldn’t let it cripple me,” he said.

She regarded him, her great brown eyes filled with beautiful clarity. “Aye,” she said. “That is what I am saying.”

His face was very still. “That is what Bernard said when I let Ralf walk ahead without me. Strange how it never seems to be my fault when the people around me get killed.”

She said, “My mother caught the illness she died of from me.”

An expression finally flickered across his face. “Jesu,” he said. “What a selfish monster you must think me.”

She shook her head. “No. You’re just human, Hugh. And that means you feel guilty. Isn’t that what original sin is all about?”

I felt guilty in that chapel and it had nothing to do with original sin
.

But he didn’t say it. He knew the feeling was connected somehow with the image of the body he had seen lying on the chapel floor. He didn’t understand what he had seen and felt, but he knew that somehow he was going to find out. No matter how terrible his past had been, he couldn’t live without it any longer.

He gave Cristen a faint smile. “All right,” he said. “I understand what you are saying.”

She smiled back. “Talk to Father Anselm,” she recommended. “He was a member of the Chippenham
household when you were young. He should be able to answer some of your questions.”

He wasn’t even surprised that she had divined his thoughts. She had done it too often before.

He nodded. “I will.”

All of a sudden, she yawned, showing an expanse of pink mouth and white teeth. He smiled. “Go to bed,” he said. “You must be exhausted.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I am.”

She didn’t tell him that he must be tired as well. Cristen never said the wrong thing.

She stood up. “Good night, Hugh.”

Courteously, he stood as well. “Good night, Cristen.”

He watched her small, straight-backed figure as she crossed the solar floor and opened the door that led to her bedroom. She went in without looking back.

A few minutes later, Hugh made his way to his own room. The squire who was sleepily waiting inside brought him water and helped him out of his clothes, and in short order he was sliding naked into the comfortable bed.

He had been prepared for sleeplessness, but to his great surprise he fell into deep slumber immediately and slept soundly through the night.

Philip Demain was sleeping in the Great Hall along with Father Anselm and Nigel’s resident knights. The third floor of the castle was reserved for the ladies, and Somerford was not big enough to have a
large number of private bedchambers.

As Philip settled himself comfortably on the straw mattress that was to be his bed for the night, he reflected complacently that his mission had been a success. Not only had he been able to identify Hugh as the son of Roger and Isabel, but Hugh was going to accompany him back to Evesham to show himself to his uncle, Philip’s lord. No doubt once the visit to Simon was accomplished, he would go on to Worcester to see his mother.

Philip said now to Father Anselm, who was lying on the mattress next to his, “You will be accompanying us back to Evesham, Father, won’t you?”

“No,” the priest surprised him by saying. “I will be returning to Winchester. I have duties at the cathedral there that I cannot neglect.”

The two men had found a corner to themselves, thus gaining a modicum of privacy from the rest of the knights. Philip said now, his voice pitched softly so that no one but the priest would hear him, “But…I had thought you would want to spend some time with Hugh. If he is to regain his memory, he needs to have someone who can tell him stories about his childhood. My own lord cannot do that. He scarcely knew Hugh when he was a child.”

There was a long silence. Then the priest said in a strained voice, “Believe me, son, it is better for Hugh not to remember.”

Philip pushed himself up on his elbow and tried to see the priest through the darkness of the hall. All
he could make out, however, was a shadowy outline lying on top of the mattress.