Suzanne Robinson (23 page)

It took him almost an hour to tell the story, and still there were gaps only Honor could fill. At last he was able to go up to her chamber, but to his anguish, Jacoba was standing guard outside, her chunky arms folded, a long, thick wooden spoon clutched in her hand for a weapon.

He faced the woman with a scowl that would have alarmed the most battle-hardened knight. “Out of my way.”

“No use, me lord.”

“Jacoba, I’m in no mood to put up with your insolence.”

“I can see that,” the waiting woman said, relaxing her stance. She lowered her voice. “I give her a potion to put her to sleep. She was crying and couldn’t stop. Now, you just save your apologies and your begging for a while.”

“She’s not hurt?”

“Nah,” Jacoba said, then she glared at him. “Not any worse than what you done to her. That hurt her worse.”

Galen turned back to the stairs and murmured to himself, “What am I going to do?”

“Don’t know,” Jacoba said. “I seen her face, me lord, and I don’t think all the groveling and begging in the world will do a bit o’ good.”

N
INETEEN
 

H
onor groaned and opened one eye. Through the bed curtains she could see bright light. It was well past prime, sunrise, and Jacoba’s potion had made her sleep late. What had awakened her from that dreamless, heavy sleep? Ah, she heard it again. That great bawling laugh.

“Oh, no. Uncle Edwin.”

The betrothal guests were arriving. She listened carefully and heard footsteps and the high-pitched voice of Edwin’s wife, Maud. Maud had a plain name, but she had been and still was a pretty woman with a tendency to chatter.

Honor slumped under the covers with an unsteady sigh. For a brief moment she’d forgotten that her relatives would be arriving today to
witness the betrothal. Hiding under the covers, Honor twitched the bed curtains aside to judge the light.

Yes, it was well past prime. Father had invited almost a dozen relatives and friends, and they’d be arriving all morning. The betrothal would take place around nones, the hour halfway between noontide and vespers.

She would have to speak to Father before then. She should get up and do it now, but she didn’t want to move. It wasn’t that she was sore from being attacked, bound and gagged by Master Baldwin in the forest of Durance Guarde. It wasn’t the nightmare of being stuffed into an old cistern while he made an appearance at the castle. It wasn’t even the ordeal of being dragged up Berengar’s Tower and almost knocked on the head and thrown to her death. No, she didn’t want to move because her spirit was dead.

She didn’t want to face Father, her relatives, and friends, and most of all she didn’t want to face Galen de Marlowe. Her heart seemed to have frozen, then cracked and splintered. Even her near escape from death hadn’t encouraged it to reassemble itself.

She should be grateful to be alive. She should be in church on her knees thanking God. Mayhap she would be able to do that in a few days. Right now all she could think of was how Galen had appeared at the moment she thought was her last. How her heart had soared higher than the highest tower at Durance Guarde at the sight of him.

And then when Baldwin had tried to kill him, she’d become a monster of fury. She’d tried to kill Baldwin with her bare hands and teeth. But once Baldwin was dead, she’d come to her senses.

Galen had rescued her because any good and chivalrous knight would have done the same. She was the woman he wanted to bed, but not to wed. The woman to whom he’d been forced to make an offer by an unfortunate chance. Honor sniffed and wiped away her tears with the edge of a sheet. Today was going to be a nightmare.

A voice on the other side of the bed curtains startled her. “You got to come out of there sometime, me lady.”

“Go away, Jacoba.”

“Your father is asking for you. He wants to know why you began to suspect Master Baldwin after all these years. He asked Lord de Marlowe, but all he got was a funny look. So now Sir Walter wants to see you.”

She had forgotten that last night she’d promised her father more details after she’d rested. They had announced to the household that Baldwin Trune’s death had been an accident so as not to disgrace his innocent family. Last night she hadn’t felt strong enough to do more than that, but Father wanted to understand it all. What tale was she going to tell him that wouldn’t expose Galen’s secret? Galen.

“False-hearted wretch,” she sniffed. Groaning again, she threw back the covers and shoved the bed curtains aside.

She washed and put on her shift, then stared at the gown Jacoba held out to her. “Not that one.”

“It’s the one you ordered special. It came yesterday from London. The seamstress barely finished it in time.”

“I don’t care.”

Jacoba just stood there. “I got no other ready.”

“There’s the yellow one.”

“You burned the bodice.”

“The crimson silk.”

“Stepped on the hem and tore the waist.”

“The emerald green damask.”

“You trod in muck and I ain’t been able to get the stain out yet.”

“Then I’ll wear one of my black ones,” Honor said with her hands on her hips.

Jacoba shook her head. “I just saw the washer woman stirring them in the laundry vat.

Honor studied the waiting woman with suspicion, but Jacoba returned her stare undismayed.

“Oh, very well.”

The gown was indigo, the color of her eyes, and embroidered with silver thread. It had a deep V neckline that revealed an undergown of lighter blue and silver. Honor had refused to order a hennin to match, and had planned to wear the sapphire pendant in her loose hair. Instead, she gathered her hair in a silver net at the back of her neck and ignored Jacoba’s objections.

“By me faith, lady, you’re the most unfashionable girl I ever did see.”

“Good,” Honor snapped. “Then it won’t surprise you when I return to my widow’s barb.”

Oblivious to Jacoba’s laments, Honor hiked up her skirts and stalked downstairs. It was a strain to greet Uncle Edwin, her three cousins, her father’s old friend the Earl of Surrey and all the others. She avoided Galen’s brothers.

Luckily her uncle Edwin and aunt Maud had appointed themselves surrogate hosts and were offering wine and wafers to all newcomers. Honor made her way over to Sir Walter, who was talking to his aged great-uncle, a blue-veined, white-haired old man sitting in her father’s favorite chair, trying to stay awake.

“Ah, my dear, you’re here at last. I would speak with you at once. Come with me. Excuse us for a while, Uncle. Last minute details to arrange, as you know well.”

“What?” the old man asked. “Oh, go on and leave me alone, Walter.”

“Galen,” Sir Walter said, “come with us.”

Honor whirled around to find him standing but a few paces from her. Her heart pounded, and her hands were suddenly clammy. Vertigo nearly made her stumble, but she took a deep breath and nodded to him coldly, trying not to notice his great, dark eyes, which seemed to draw her to him in spite of the fact that she knew her heart was shattered ice. Before more disturbing feelings could stir in less frozen parts of her body, Honor turned on her heel and followed her father. They
met in the anteroom that adjoined Sir Walter’s chamber.

“Now, daughter, you must explain to me what caused you to suspect that your husband was murdered after all these years. I accept that it must be so, or Baldwin wouldn’t have tried to kill you.”

“And he confessed even as he tried,” she replied. “He said he didn’t want to do it, but that he knew I suspected what he’d done when I questioned him in the treasury yesterday. I think guilt and God’s anger had driven him a little mad.”

Sir Walter shook his head. “But what brought about your suspicions?”

She glanced at Galen, who had gone to a window and was looking outside. His body was rigid, and he had dark shadows under his eyes. He turned his head and looked into her eyes. Honor was startled to find in his gaze not uneasiness, but trust. Still staring into those onyx and gold eyes, she thought quickly.

“Um, yesterday morning I overheard him in the chapel praying for forgiveness for causing Aymer’s death.”

Galen didn’t appear surprised at her words and spoke for the first time. “Lady Honor told me he also confessed to her what he’d done with the body.”

“Aye,” she said, dragging her eyes from his. She turned to her father. “You see, he knew if Aymer was found, people would notice the wound on his head, so Baldwin had to hide his body. If you remember,
Father, that was the year after we built the new kitchen out of stone, and Master Baldwin got the idea of adding on to it. I think we should go to the brewery at once.”

The three of them left the hall, made a stop at a storeroom for a pick, and entered the brewery. Sir Walter dismissed the servants inside, and the vats of ale and beer were abandoned.

Honor walked along the wall that separated the kitchen and brewery. The vast fireplaces of each building had been placed back-to-back on either side of a thick wall.

“I recall Baldwin stopping the work on the wall early that day,” Sir Walter said.

“Yes,” Honor said. “But I remember it was more than half finished at the time.” She faced the fireplace and pointed to the wall to the right. “See how this side has an additional thickness?”

The two men joined her in studying the difference in thickness.

While Sir Walter walked along the wall Honor moved nearer to Galen and whispered so that her father couldn’t hear. “Remember the bricks you talked about?”

Galen nodded, then spoke quietly, “There’s just enough space.”

“About here, I think.” Honor pointed to a spot in the wall.

Galen swung the pick. He hacked at the mortar and brick until he’d made a hole large enough for
a child to fit through. Sir Walter pulled a loose brick out of the wall, took a candle, and held it up to the hole.

“God deliver us!” He backed away, crossing himself.

Galen took the candle from Sir Walter and looked inside a gap between the kitchen and brewery walls, then he held the light while Honor stepped forward. Steeling herself, she looked over the bricks and down at the floor where Galen pointed. She drew back at once, gasping and trying to catch her breath.

The brewery floor seemed to waver. Then she was swept up in Galen’s arms. Her father’s voice sounded in her ears, then the world steadied itself. Sir Walter was standing over her holding the candle while Galen held her.

“Aymer’s clothes. Those were what he was wearing. There’s nothing left of him but—”

“Don’t say it.” Galen squeezed her gently. “Remember, ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. It was over long ago.”

Honor bit her lip and nodded. Swallowing hard, she struggled out of Galen’s arms.

He set her on her feet, and Sir Walter put his arm around her. “By my faith, I don’t know what to do.”

“I must get out of this place,” Honor said.

Sir Walter began to guide her away from Aymer’s makeshift tomb. “Of course, my dear. You need
fresh air. Let me think. God’s mercy, we’ve all our guests to think of, and the betrothal.”

“I advise you to keep silent,” Galen said. “Otherwise you’ll have a feud with Isidore Jennings, and he’ll want blood.”

“But I didn’t kill Aymer,” Sir Walter protested.

Galen stopped at the brewery door and regarded them with a severe expression. “It won’t matter. He’ll use it as a pretext to disgrace you and confiscate your lands.”

They walked into the sunny warmth of the day, and Honor took deep breaths while holding on to her father’s arm.

“You’re right, de Marlowe. We’d best seal that hole again and wait until after the betrothal to inter poor Aymer.”

Sir Walter and Galen went back into the brewery. Honor heard them stacking bricks while she waited.

The men were soon back. Sir Walter brushed mortar from his robe and Galen dusted his hands. Honor avoided looking at him even though his gaze sought hers. It was painful to be near him even when they said nothing to each other. In his presence she felt as if she would explode out of her skin.

“The hole is blocked,” Sir Walter said. “Well enough for now. Sir Renard will seal it himself during the betrothal feast. I can trust him. Once the guests are gone we can make proper arrangements.”
He scratched his chin. “But I must bury him. He must have the offices of the church that were denied him.”

Galen walked over to Sir Walter. “Please allow me to speak to the king first.”

Sir Walter bowed. “That’s kind of you, de Marlowe. If you could go to London tomorrow?”

“Father,” Honor said.

Galen inclined his head. “I shall do so with all speed.”

Honor edged over to Sir Walter.
“Father.”

“Your aid will save me from great peril, my son.”

“Father!”

Sir Walter jumped and turned to her. “God save us, child. What ails you?”

“I must speak privily to you before we do anything, Father.”

“Honor, don’t,” Galen said.

“Galen,” Sir Walter said, pointing to Aunt Maud, who had come out of the hall and was waving. “I believe my sister wants to speak with you.”

“Of course, but—”

“Best do her bidding,” Sir Walter said. “She wants to quiz you about your family and property, and she won’t go away until she’s satisfied.”