Where Love Has Gone (10 page)

“No.” Elaine’s face was pale and drawn in the
light of the candle Ewan still held, but her voice was firm. “I
will stay here. You will need me to identify her – if it is Aglise
whose grave I stepped on. I will hold the candle so Ewan can help
you dig.”

“We’ll need more than one candle,” Desmond
said. Wanting to give her a few minutes alone to recover herself,
he added, “You will find two candles in my saddlebag, just outside
the entrance. See if you can locate a couple of flat, stable rocks
on the beach and bring them along, too. We can drip wax on them and
stand the candles up, so we all have free hands.”

“Very well,” Elaine said. “But I am staying
with you until you finish digging. You cannot make me leave.”

“We won’t try,” Cadwallon said before Desmond
could insist that Elaine shouldn’t be present while her sister’s
body was unearthed. “When you come back, bring my shovel along,
too, and both sections of the handle. You may have to make two
trips.”

Elaine crawled out of the cave, then levered
herself to a standing position by grabbing at the nearest rock.
Tears flooded her cheeks and a heartbroken cry burst from her
lips.

“Aglise – oh, my poor sister!”

She leaned against the rock face of the lower
cliff, taking deep breaths until she was in better control of her
emotions. Tears still trickled from her eyes, but she knew Desmond
and the others were waiting for the supplies she was charged with
carrying to them. If she wanted the truth about Aglise’s death, she
was going to have to help Royce’s men as much as she could and
trust them to see justice done.

As she knelt next to Desmond’s saddlebag to
search for the candles, she heard the sound of stones being
dislodged from the path. She stood again, to find Lord Bertrand’s
man-at-arms, Flamig, stepping onto the beach. He was a familiar
presence, whom she had frequently noticed nearby during the weeks
since she had last seen Aglise.

“Lady Elaine!” Flamig exclaimed. “What are
you doing here? I saw four horses tied just above and decided I
ought to come down and warn whoever was here that the tide will
soon turn.”

“Oh, Flamig.” Elaine put out both hands and
Flamig caught her forearms, steadying her.

“What’s amiss, my lady? You are pale as
death.” Flamig looked at her with real concern written on his harsh
features.

“Death. That’s what is amiss.” Elaine
swallowed hard against fresh tears. “We have found Aglise. My
sister is dead.”

“
What?”
Flamig appeared to be as
stunned as Elaine was. He looked around. “Here on the beach? Was
she washed up, after all this time?”

“She wasn’t drowned,” Elaine said, feeling
much calmer now that she had to explain the circumstances to
someone who knew Aglise and had always treated her with respect.
“She is buried in the cave, just there.”

“Buried?” Flamig echoed the word with an
expression of horror. “That means, someone killed her – or caused
her death and tried to hide it.”

“Just so. Desmond and Cadwallon are inside.”
Elaine moved one hand to indicate the cave entrance. “They sent me
to find extra candles and Cadwallon’s shovel. I found her. I – I
stepped
on her!”

“My lady, you should not be here.”

“On the contrary, I must be here.” Elaine bit
down on her lower lip, so the pain would stop the last of her
tears. She had work to do, a duty to her sister to perform,
questions that needed answering, and she wasn’t going to flinch
from what was required of her. “You may join us inside if you want,
Flamig, though you’d do well to leave your sword out here. If you
try to crawl through that narrow entrance wearing it, you will
likely become stuck. I do believe the men could use your help.”

“I’ll carry the shovel.” Flamig unbuckled his
belt and propped his sword against Desmond’s saddlebag. “You go
first, Lady Elaine, so they don’t think I’m an enemy bent on
challenging them. From what you’ve told me, they’ll have reason to
be cautious.”

Clutching the extra candles and a pair of
flat rocks she had picked up, Elaine crawled back into the cave.
While Flamig made his slow way inside, she explained how he had
noticed the horses and then had found her on the beach.

“Dear God.” Flamig went to his knees beside
the hole in the sand and crossed himself twice. “Who would want to
hurt so lovely a girl?”

“Who, indeed?” said Desmond, who did not look
at all pleased at the additional company.

“I can help you dig,” Flamig said, rising to
confront Desmond’s cool, assessing gaze.

“Were you among the men-at-arms who searched
this beach for Lady Aglise?” Desmond asked.

“Aye.” Flamig nodded. “And I was nearly
drowned for my trouble. D’you think she was here then, lying so
close, and we never guessed? Ah, poor little lady.”

“Yes,” Desmond said coldly. “Poor lady.”

By then Cadwallon had fitted the sections of
the shovel handle together and attached the handle to the metal
scoop. Ewan dribbled wax onto the rocks Elaine had brought with
her, and set the candles securely on them. When he lit the new
candles light flared across the cave, revealing the work Desmond
and Cadwallon had done with their bare hands while Elaine was
gone.

“We have uncovered the head and shoulders,”
Desmond said to Flamig. “As you can see, the body is wrapped in a
linen sheet.”

“The body?” Elaine cried, stepping closer.
“Call her by her name.”

“Not until we know for certain who is lying
there,” Desmond said.

“Then, open the sheet,” Elaine commanded.
“Let me see her face.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Desmond
asked.

“Of course, I’m sure! Why else did you allow
me to stay, if not to recognize her, to put a name to what we’ve
found?”

“Very well, then.” Desmond caught the edge of
the linen and slowly drew it back.

Elaine had thought she was prepared, but she
discovered she was not. Both hands at her mouth smothered her cry
of horror. She wanted to close her eyes against the awful sight;
instead, she continued to stare.

Two months of dampness, of salty water and
sand had done their work. No sign of Aglise’s beauty remained, save
for her golden hair, which lay moist and matted against her
skull.

“Elaine?” Cadwallon touched her arm. “You
must tell us if you recognize her.”

Elaine saw Desmond on the other side of the
grave, and Flamig and Ewan closer to her, all looking at her with
undisguised pity. Cadwallon held her elbow in a grip that suggested
he feared she would faint. She pulled her arm away and stood very
straight.

“Yes.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “That
is my sister. Cover her face, Desmond, and leave it covered until
we lay her in the manor house chapel. Don’t let anyone else see her
like this. Only Father Otwin and I should see her in such
condition.”

“Elaine, it’s time for you to leave,” Desmond
said. “I’ve kept my word that you might remain until we found
Aglise. Now, let us finish the work we have to do here.”

“No.” She spoke with all the forcefulness she
could summon. “You promised I could remain for as long as I wish. I
will stay by my sister’s side until she returns to warden’s
Manor.”

Now it was Desmond who stared, though not at
the body in the sand. His gaze was fixed upon Elaine’s face with
such intensity that she wondered briefly if he suspected her of
some nefarious purpose.

Perhaps he realized that she hadn’t told him
everything she knew about Aglise. She had ridden after him with
every intention of confessing all of it, but now she couldn’t speak
a word of what she had meant to say. Not, at least, until she had
lost every hope of an alternate explanation for the horror that lay
before her.

Elaine, having lived on hope for more than
two months, and having just seen all her hopes of finding Aglise
alive utterly ruined, still believed it was possible that she
wouldn’t have to destroy her beloved sister’s reputation in order
to learn who had killed her. To preserve Aglise’s good name, she
resolved to keep silent for a little while longer.

Cadwallon used his shovel carefully, digging
around the still shape in the sand without disturbing it, until the
four men were able to reach into the hole, slide their hands
beneath the linen, and gently, reverently, lift Aglise out of her
shallow grave.

“She’s so light,” Ewan said.

“She was not very large,” Flamig
remarked.

“We’ll need something more substantial than
the linen to wrap her in while we carry her back to the manor,”
Desmond said.

“I have a blanket rolled up behind my
saddle,” Flamig said. “We can use that. And, if I may suggest, my
lords, we cannot carry this poor lady home slung over one of our
saddle bows as if she were a casualty of war. We are going to need
a cart.”

“Yes, Flamig, that’s a good idea,” Elaine
said when she thought Desmond was going to object to the
man-at-arms making any arrangements. “Please ride to Warden’s Manor
at once and procure a cart. Ewan, will you climb the path with
Flamig and bring back his blanket? It will save time. While Flamig
is seeing to the cart, we can wrap Aglise and get her out of this
cave and up to the top of the cliff before the tide is full. I
don’t want the cold sea to touch my sister – not ever again. The
second time she is buried it will be in a solid wooden coffin, in
consecrated ground, and with Father Otwin to see that all is done
properly.

“Then,” Elaine went on, facing Desmond,
daring him to contravene any of her orders, “after Aglise is laid
to rest, we will discover who has done this to her.”

“Aye, my lady,” said Cadwallon when Desmond
did not speak. “We will have justice for your sister.”

“Do you have any idea who killed her?” Flamig
asked.

“We will learn soon enough,” Desmond told
him. “The blanket, if you please, Flamig. Ewan, make haste to bring
it back here. We do need to be out of this cave before the sea
reaches it.”

When Ewan and Flamig were gone, Elaine went
to her knees beside Aglise, to bow her head and offer a long,
silent prayer for the repose of her sister’s troubled soul.

“Desmond, this changes things.” Cadwallon was
standing behind Elaine and he spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want
to disturb her.

“Indeed,” Desmond murmured, his attention on
Elaine’s bent head and her single braid of thick, brown hair. He
told himself the odd, twisting sensation in the vicinity of his
heart was pity and nothing more.

“Now,” Cadwallon whispered, “we have a good
excuse to stay on Jersey for a few days beyond what Lord Bertrand
has granted us. And more time on Jersey means we’ll have a better
chance of finding the killer.”

Startled, Desmond turned his gaze to the big
man who stood close beside him. How, he wondered, had he ever
imagined Cadwallon was slow-witted? Then he cursed himself for his
own muddled wits, for he realized that if the grieving sister were
anyone except Elaine, he’d be thinking the same thing as Cadwallon.
The finding of Aglise’s body provided the best possible reason for
them to remain on Jersey, at least until after she was buried.

“If the guilty man is at the funeral,”
Cadwallon continued, “he may give himself away by a word or a
gesture. You and I, and Ewan, will need to be wide awake and paying
attention.”

“Never fear, I will be awake,” Desmond said,
responding to the criticism Cadwallon had tactfully left unspoken.
He couldn’t allow sympathy for Elaine to cloud his judgment. He
turned a little toward Cadwallon and added in a half whisper so
Elaine couldn’t hear him, “Why do you assume the killer is a man?
Jealous wives have been known to kill. You and I have already
discussed that possibility.”

“Aye.” Cadwallon nodded. “But then, after the
deed was done, there was the problem of carrying the body down a
steep path and burying it in here. Doing all of that required a
man’s strength.”

“Unless Aglise was killed right here, on the
beach.” Desmond could see on Cadwallon’s face just how little he
thought of the notion of a would-be female murderer carrying a
linen shroud while she lured her prospective victim to a cold and
dangerous beach and then, once the deed was done, dragged the body
through the narrow cave opening.

“I suppose it’s possible, but it doesn’t seem
very likely, does it?” Desmond admitted. “Cadwallon, I’ve just
thought of something.”

He was interrupted by Ewan, who crawled back
through the entrance pushing a tightly rolled blanket ahead of
him.

“Flamig is on his way to the manor,” Ewan
reported. “He promised to bring a cart as soon as possible. I told
him I thought we ought to keep this discovery quiet, but he said
questions are sure to be raised about his need for a cart. So, he’s
going to report directly to Lord Bertrand and let him see to the
arrangements. I suppose that will delay his return a bit.”

“If I know anything about such
circumstances,” said Cadwallon, “everyone at Warden’s Manor, and in
Gorey village, too, will know within an hour of Flamig’s arrival
just what has happened. Which means we’ve no chance of catching any
guilty person by surprise.”

“Damnation!” Desmond muttered, annoyed with
himself for worrying about Elaine when he should have been paying
attention to the crime and thinking of ways to solve it. “I wish
I’d had sense enough to order Flamig not to reveal how we found
Aglise buried in this cave. It would be preferable to let people
assume she was drowned and washed up on the shore.”

“What difference would that make?” Elaine
asked. She stood, quickly moving out of reach of Desmond’s offered
supporting hand. “The killer knows how Aglise died and what he did
with her.”

“I meant, I should have thought of confusing
the issue, in hope of learning more,” Desmond explained.
“Accomplices sometimes speak out of turn, correcting apparent
mistakes with information they are not supposed to possess. Or,
they simply admit what actually happened without thinking
beforehand about what they are saying.”