The Herald's Heart (17 page)

“You managed to deceive this entire keep into believing the place haunted. You’ve lied on a number of other occasions. I am certain you could manage a deception that would allow poisoned candles to be placed in the chapel, whether you placed them personally or not.” He spoke with chilling calm.

“Larkin, to whom do you give the candles when you deliver them?” Mother Clement asked gently.

“I give the tallow candles to the cook and the beeswax ones directly to Father Timoras.” She glared at the priest who glowered back. “What he does with them, I cannot say, since I am forbidden to enter the keep.”

“Did you suffer from itchweed rash after your last delivery?”

Still aware of Talon’s icy stare, Larkin lowered her head and clasped her hands atop the table. What a fool she’d been to think Talon’s trust reliable. He might still believe she was Lady Rosham, but he would see that as even more motive to kill the earl.

“Nay, but they were wrapped and sealed when I received them,” she whispered, certain that no one who heard would listen. For most of the previous night, she’d prayed for strength to be near Talon yet never touch him as more than a trusting and trusted friend. She would need that strength now, but not to resist desire—desire was as dead as the earl. No, she needed all the strength God would give to survive the accusations, to prove her innocence

“The beeswax candles are always wrapped in cloth to protect them from scratches. The earl was most particular about that and would accept nothing around him that was flawed,” Timoras offered.

“So Father Timoras’s accusations may possess some truth.” Talon’s tone was flat. “Cleve, get two of the castle guards, now.”

The man left running.

Larkin whipped her head up at Talon’s icy statement. “I did not murder the Earl of Hawksedge.”

His lip curled. “So you say. But I remind you that you’ve uttered many an untruth in the time I have been at Hawksedge.”

She flinched as his words lashed at her. She had never lied. But none, not even the one man who’d claimed to trust her, would believe her. He seemed determined to place a noose around her neck for something she had not done. She had no defense. Not even the truth. So be it. She would not cower before fate. “Believe what you will. I did not put itchweed in those candles. I did not plot to murder the earl. No one can prove that I did.”

“Despite your protests, I know you had many reasons to want the earl dead. Justice, revenge, the Rosham title and lands are only the motives I am certain of. You had the means to kill him and the opportunity. As you say, none can prove that you did this murder. But until I can decide what is to be done, I must consider your safety and hold you prisoner.”

She snorted. “You fear I would escape, more like.”

“I do. I also fear that someone will hear of the earl’s death and try to exact the same kind of justice you think has been visited on the earl.”

Cleve returned with the guards.

“Take Larkin to the solar. Keep her there, with two guards on the door at all times.” Wood had more feeling than Talon’s voice.

“Aye, Sir Talon.” Cleve held his hand out to her. “Come.”

She took the soldier’s hand and rose. “Do not do this, Talon.”

“A moment, Cleve, Sir Talon,” interrupted Mother Clement. “Larkin and Timoras are not the only persons with access to those candles.”

“Who else?”

“The anchoress, Dame Margery, makes the candles. ’Tis how she contributes to the holy work of the abbey.”

“Surely you do not suggest that the anchoress did this foul deed.” Timoras’s eyes showed white with shock.

The abbess ignored the priest. “I but wish to make clear that there may be more here than Sir Talon or any of us knows.”

Talon gave Mother Clement a stiff nod. “For that I thank you. Still, I must keep Larkin in custody. She is the most likely suspect. Because of that and the previous attempts on her life, she is in the most danger.”

“But you will question the anchoress?” Larkin asked.

“Aye, I will do that much. I will also look into the earl’s affairs. If there is more to the earl’s death than we have found this day, I will discover it.”

“Thank you.” She was grateful for the crumb of hope he offered that perhaps his trust and regard were stronger than she believed.

Talon’s expression softened a bit. “You are welcome.”

Larkin trembled at the sorrow she saw in his eyes.

“Well, Cleve. What are you waiting for? You have your orders.”

“Aye, sir.”

Despite her aching heart, Larkin gave a stiff nod. “Good night.” Then she turned her back on Talon.

• • •

He hated what he was doing, for he still believed she was Lady Larkin Rosham as she had always claimed. But that made her motive for murder stronger. He despised the actions he felt forced to take, but either she’d committed a heinous crime or she was in danger of being murdered herself, perhaps both. Thank the saints he had never yielded to desire and become her lover. She would have trampled his heart, and he did not know if he would have survived.

Mother Clement thought there was doubt about Larkin’s guilt. He blessed the abbess for providing that sliver of hope. He shook his head. He’d promised to investigate further, and he would. Too much deceit spoke loudly that Larkin was ruthless in pursuit of what she thought was justice. Despite his belief that she really was Lady Rosham, she’d killed any trust he could have in her. ’Twas a great sorrow, but no great leap to believe her guilty of murder.

The others at the table took their leave. Talon made sure that Mother Clement had an escort to the abbey. He begged that she take a message asking Dame Margery to speak with him on the morrow. Then he turned his back on all who remained and mounted to the battlements.

Toward dawn, he decided his eyes were deceiving him. He’d stared too long at the sea and cliffs visible from the battlements. He could swear he saw lights in the cliff face, where no lights should exist. No doubt it was just a trick of the sunrise, and he was too weary with trying to find a reason to believe Larkin to figure out the cause. He knew he needed sleep, just as he knew sleep would not come.

Was there any way to save her? Madness even to imagine that. Still, the slim possibility of her innocence compelled him to try. He turned and descended into the bailey. He would question the candle-making anchoress and put to rest the only remaining doubt over Larkin’s guilt or innocence.

• • •

Talon knocked on the chained door of the anchorage. Would the woman still fear him? Most likely, but he had to talk to her. He had to find the final proof of Larkin’s guilt himself. Some weak part of him wanted her to be innocent and would surely deny any reported evidence against her.

The window shutter opened to reveal the anchoress’s pock-ravaged face. Graying hair curled wildly about her head, and she looked at him with blank eyes. “Did you knock?”

“Yes. I hoped you would speak with me.”

The woman’s smile was beatific. “Certainly, my child. How may I help you?”

She showed no trace of fear. Could this be the same woman? He’d not seen her clearly on his earlier visits. But she’d taken one look at him, screeched incomprehensibly, and fled to pray. Yet how could it be anyone else? Anchoresses were walled in for life, believing that enforced contemplation would lift them to a higher plane of understanding. The closest one could get to God in this world.

“I was told that you make candles for Hawksedge Keep.”

“Yes, I do. But only beeswax candles. Anyone can make tallow candles, but beeswax takes special handling, especially to produce the purity of wax and flame that the earl requires for his chapel.”

“Is the process truly so difficult?”

“Indeed it is.” Whereupon she launched into a detailed account of candle-making so complex it made Talon’s head spin. The variety of conditions, possible ingredients, and implements that she described staggered his imagination.

“Beg pardon, but where do you keep all of this?” Her cell was roomy but simple, as befitted one who had rejected the world, and she could not have stored all those materials within the Spartan walls.

“God provides all that I need through the abbess, and she sends it with the carter.” He swallowed against despair. That Larkin had opportunity to dupe the anchoress into using poison in the candles did not mean it was true.

“Tell me once more how scent and oils are added to the candle yet the color and texture remain flawless.”

She repeated the process. Talon echoed her until he felt he could make such candles himself. “And you are certain you could not possibly mistake one ingredient for another?”

Dame Margery blinked at him. “One does not create the finest candles by making mistakes.”

Well enough. He would take the holy woman’s word that she would know the materials she used in her work. But if Larkin did not provide the itchweed, and the anchoress would have noticed, how did the stuff get into the candles?

“Do you ever make candles at the request of one person?” Perhaps the anchoress did make the poison candles deliberately but was ignorant of their intended purpose.

“Other than for the chapel in the keep, where enough candles are ordered to make the effort worthwhile, no. I make these lights for the abbey. They sell the candles and supply all my needs in return. Taking a commission for one person would benefit the abbey not at all.”

“Not even for someone you know well?”

Dame Margery looked down her nose at him. Which was quite a trick since she was tiny by comparison to his height. “The answer is the same. Now I am late to my prayers; are you finished with your questions?”

“Just one or two more. Do you wrap and seal the candles before they are sent to the earl?”

“Well, the candles are wrapped and sealed before being sent to the keep, but I rarely do that.”

Talon felt any remaining hope of Larkin’s innocence begin to dim. If she had access to the candles before being sealed, she could have substituted the deadly for the pure.

“Who does?”

“I could not tell you. The nuns take them in exchange for the food they leave me.”

“But the carter said she got them from you.”

“Indirectly, I suppose she does. She always stops to thank me and chat with an old woman before going on to the abbey.”

A spark of hope still burned. With the abbey and the anchorage being so close, Larkin might well think of them as one and the same. He would question the nuns and discover if she had been inside the abbey long enough to make the poisoned candles or substitute candles made elsewhere. Larkin got the candles from the abbey, but Mother Clement had sent him here. Why?

“You are welcome, sir.”

“And I do apologize if I startled you the last time we met.”

Her brow wrinkled. “We have not met, my son.”

“Aye, but we have, lady.”

“Come closer. My vision is not as good as it once was.”

Talon approached.

Her eyes widened and her lips rounded. “Na-ay.” She wailed and lifted her hand as if warding off a demon. “You are dead. She told me you would be dead and could taunt me no longer.” The woman whirled in panicked circles until she bumped up against the altar. The small statue of the Virgin toppled from its shelf and broke in two. The anchoress fell on her knees and lifted the pieces to her breast, sobbing. “Holy Mother, forgive me for I have sinned against the Son.” The prayer continued in a confused babble of pleading and confession accompanied by much tearing of hair and thrashing.

Talon backed away. Dame Margery’s reaction was a complete mystery. He knew of nothing that could prompt such behavior. Who had told the woman he was dead, whoever he might be? The earl was the only dead person in Talon’s knowledge. Yes, some physical resemblance existed between his father and him, but surely age would have made them different enough not to be mistaken for one another. Now Talon had more questions to ask, but as long as the anchoress reacted thus, he would never discover if she knew anything about the earl’s death.

He mounted his horse and rode away. He let the steed wander, not caring where he went. ’Twas the third time he’d inspired fear in the holy woman. Was she mad, or did she act like this with all who sought her blessings? If the chance existed that she was somehow involved in the earl’s death, how was that possible? More importantly, why? She was locked away from the world and could not leave her anchorage until a physical death claimed her, but where the will existed, a way could be found.

The horse ambled to a halt. Talon found himself staring at the door to the abbey. If anyone could fill in the gaps in the anchoress’s information, it would be Mother Clement. He dismounted and knocked.

Minutes passed before the window in the gate opened in silent invitation to speak his piece.

“I need to see Mother Clement. ’Tis most urgent.”

The window slammed shut.

Was he being refused?

He heard clanging followed by a great groan as the gate swung inward. He tied his horse’s reins to a ring in the outer wall, then entered the abbey.

Inside, a nun waited for him. “This way, sir.” She set off toward an area behind the main buildings.

Beyond the main abbey stood a number of smaller buildings. A path wound between the structures and out into a low-walled garden and orchard. He followed the nun to where Mother Clement knelt, digging among the herbs.

“Within this garden, all must labor in the Lord’s name.” She handed him a hoe. “Break up the soil around these plants that I may talk with you.”

Mother Clement wore a broad straw hat that shielded her face from the sun and his sight. ’Twas disconcerting to speak to a hat. He shrugged and set to work.

“How may I help you, my son?” The words floated up to him.

“I’ve been to see the anchoress.” He struck the earth with the hoe.

“Ah.”

Ah? What kind of comment was that? “’Tis the third time she’s seen me, and her fearful reaction troubles me.”

“Yes, I don’t doubt that it would.”

“Then she treats all her visitors with fear?”

The hat tilted, and a pair of solemn gray eyes studied him. “Nay, none but you.”