“I’ve never killed a woman in my life,” William said without emotion. Charles said nothing, looking steadily at his friend, and William shrugged. “Yes, if I’d wanted to, Hawisa would have been the one. Remember how she would sneak into my bed and try to tempt me?”
“Until the time Anne caught her, and then the wench avoided you like the plague.”
They laughed together, but returned to their serious contemplation.
Charles explained, “Anne outweighed Hawisa by two stone. Lady Saura wasn’t big enough to scare Hawisa, so I thought that you—”
“No. Whoever killed her is our hellhound.” William peered at Charles. “It couldn’t be Raymond.”
Charles snorted. “Marriage has scrambled your brain. Raymond loves you.”
Hearing what he wanted to hear, William sighed with relief, then straightened with consternation.
“And he loves your lady. Hell, I think half the men at the wedding were in love with your lady. Raymond brooded about her, I sighed over her, and you never even noticed. You had eyes for no one save her. All her attention bent to you. Even Nicholas lusted after her, and you know how he feels about women.” Charles finished his second mug of ale and belched. “Those stupid poems and all those innuendos he spread around. And he kept looking at her with those red eyes, like the devil who’d seen an angel land on earth.”
William turned his cup and gazed at the ale as if somewhere inside he’d find the answer. “It had to be someone at the wedding. It had to be someone who knew Burke Castle. Whoever it was kept sneaking up on Saura, scaring her and whispering to her. He even came into the garden through that little back gate, remember it? And touched her.”
Charles growled in disgust. “That sounds like Nicholas. He always liked to sneak around and frighten the folk who couldn’t get back at him.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Shrugging, Charles explained, “You were four years older. You were a squire when we were pages and a knight when we were squires. When you came home to visit, you were the object of our hero worship. God, for years we looked up to you. Especially Nicholas. He kept his corruptions well hidden from you.”
A fear burgeoned within William, a fear he kept at bay with his logic. “What else did he do?”
“The usual mean little-boy things. He liked to tie his dog too tight and watch it gag. He’d ‘accidentally’ knock the squires down with his lance. And he only rutted with women who were unwilling. Or girls.”
William quivered, on the edge of discovery. “But he didn’t kill Hawisa.”
“Nay.” Charles rinsed his hands in the fingerbowl and nodded to his squire to take it away. “He’d have to be mad to have killed that maid.”
“That’s it!” William stood up and shouted. “That’s it! That’s what’s wrong with my logic. There’s no logic in madness, and Nicholas is mad. Totally insane. Come on.” He smacked Charles on the arm and leaped over the bench. “We’ve got to go. If he hasn’t got Saura yet, he soon will have.”
nineteen
“I used to worship him,” Nicholas said plaintively. “Did you know that?”
“Who?” Saura crouched, shivering before the fire in the great hall of Cran Castle.
“William. I used to worship his footsteps.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Nothing.” He stepped closer to the fire and she edged aside, tucking her skirt around her ankles. “I never changed my mind as much as realized I could be him.”
“Be him?” she asked stupidly. “Be William?”
“Aye, don’t you see? That’s the beauty of it. After I kill William, I’ll be Lord Peter’s son.”
Astounded and confused, she blurted, “What about Kimball?”
“Kimball?” He sounded almost absentminded.
“Kimball, William’s son. The heir to all Lord Peter’s lands.”
“Oh, Kimball.” He brushed him aside with no concern. “I’ll have to kill Kimball.”
Closing her eyes in anguish, Saura prayed for guidance. “Don’t you want to be…William…to Kimball?”
“Be a father?” Nicholas considered it. “Nay, children are too much trouble. He can remain until he becomes of some consequence, and then he’ll have to die. I’ll be his chief mourner, as William would be. Does that make you happy?”
In all sincerity, he was offering her a boon, and that was worse than what had gone before. His idea of kindness was the murder of a boy, followed by a monstrous lie. Her control slipped. She could hear her blood throbbing in her ears. He was evil, and she wanted to send him back home, back to the devil. She rose; she wanted to rip his eyes out, strike him, make him bleed.
The sound of shod feet running up the stairs stopped her. Cocking her head, she listened. The slap of shoes and the whistling gasps reminded her of someone, and when the panting messenger spoke, her fury dissolved in shock.
“I tol’ Lord William ye had her, m’lord.”
“Dreadful rogue!” Saura exploded. “Bronnie, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, m’lady, I hoped ye wouldn’t know me.” Sounding more wretched than he had when she’d left him in Arthur’s castle, Bronnie shuffled his feet. “Lord Nicholas became my thane when Lord Arthur died an’ I’m just doin’ what he tells me.”
“How could you!”
“I’m not likin’ it,” he assured her. “I tried t’ tell Lord Nicholas not t’ do it, but for some reason no un ever listens t’ me.”
“I’ve heard too much from you,” Nicholas said frostily. “You’re not here to chat with my wife, but to report—”
“Your wife? I thought ye said she was Lord William’s wife!”
“Fool!”
The sharp crack of hand against face and Bronnie’s groan made Saura wince.
“Mind the business you’re told to. Now what did Lord William say?”
“I didn’t exactly see Lord William.” Bronnie danced back and Saura assumed he’d dodged another blow. “’Twasn’t possible! I found Lord Charles’s castle just where you tol’ me, an’ I walks right up an’ knocks at th’ gate, but they say th’ whole throng inside is gettin’ ready t’ ride out, an’ I asks where, an’ they say t’ save Lady Saura, an’ I says who’s got her? An’ they say Lord Nicholas, an’ I says that’s right.”
Saura didn’t want to laugh. She knew hysteria loomed close. But try as she would, she couldn’t dislodge her grin. Bronnie’s obvious cowardice was too much. With a gasp, she began to giggle and continued until Nicholas laughed, too.
“That’s fine, Bronnie,” he assured the serf with assumed geniality. “As long as William knows where she is.”
“That’s not all, Lord,” Bronnie said eagerly. “Lord William’s comin’ by hisself.”
“What!” Saura’s laughter stopped and she sank down on a bench, clasping the sides with rigid fingers. “By himself?”
“Aye, I went into th’ castle for a bite t’ eat. Th’ kitchen maid seemed t’ take a fancy to me.”
“Resting?” Nicholas snorted.
“A man can’t run so far an’ not need t’ rest, m’lord.”
“Oh, of course not.”
Nicholas’s sarcasm flew over Bronnie’s head, and the man sighed with relief. “Aye, I knew ye’d agree. I heard him talkin’. Arguin’, actually.”
“Lord William?” Nicholas tapped his toe.
“Aye, Lord William! Who else? They were at dinner an’ I heard him. Tellin’ his friend that th’ scurvy beast who had his lady would never let an army in, but he might let just him in by hisself. Lord William, I mean.”
“Scurvy beast, eh? We’ll see who’s the beast. Could a beast have trapped the fabulous Lord William? Could a beast have planned such an operation? Who else but Lord Nicholas of Walham could have brought William of Miraval to his knees?”
“Not quite to his knees. Not yet.” Saura grunted when Nicholas reached over and pressed his fingers into her shoulder, leaving a bruise, she was sure.
“What would
Charles do while William comes to me, by hisself?” he mocked. His voice never wavered from her direction, but the query was for Bronnie.
“Oh, he was goin’ for Lord Peter.”
“Going to Lord Peter,” Nicholas said thoughtfully. “Interesting. How long ago was this?”
“Yesterday. I ran like th’ wind back here.”
“That’s what you’re good for,” Nicholas said. “When were they leaving?”
“Lord William, he was chomping at th’ bit, but Charles needed help organizing th’ men an’ preparing for war. Today at dawn, they said.”
“Did you hear that, my love? Luck is with me.” Nicholas stroked his hands over her injured shoulder.
“Lord Peter will never accept you,” she said casually. “You said yourself he hides his contempt of you.”
“He’ll be devastated by the death of his son.” Nicholas paced away from her and then returned. “’Tis time for bed.”
“Of course he’ll be devastated, but I doubt he’ll lose his mind. Don’t you think he’ll be just a mite suspicious when you appear with William’s kidnapped wife in tow?”
“True.” He considered and then decided, “I’ll just have to imprison you here until Lord Peter’s death. Come.” He caught her wrists. “Let’s use the bed in the solar. I’ve dreamed of you there.”
The casual way he tossed away her freedom whetted the edge of her courage, his intense desire drove her to desperation. “What about your mother?” Saura threw the question at him like a dart. “What did she think when you killed your brother?”
He stopped propelling her toward his bed, and she felt a tremor go through him. “My mother was a saint.”
“Didn’t she love your brother, too? ’Tis an unnatural mother who doesn’t love all her sons.”
Turning her around to face him, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “She loved us all! She doted on us. We were her flowers, her little jewels.”
The pain of the bruise, the humiliation of her position made her insist, “What did she say when you killed him?”
“She didn’t want me to leave her, but they forced me.”
She snapped at the clue. “Did she cry when you left?”
He ignored her. “My father had removed the other boys from her early, but she kept me until I was eight. She told me she’d never let me go and I swore I’d stay with her forever.”
“Did she cry when you left?”
“My inheritance came too late for her. She’s dead.”
“She cried, didn’t she? She cried because you betrayed her like all the rest.”
“I didn’t betray her.”
He spoke without opening his teeth, and the muffled bitterness in his voice made her quiver and then straighten. “Your poor mother. Waiting here alone with only her memories, waiting for her baby son to return. Waiting and waiting, while you’re out learning to be a knight and japing with the other lads and tossing the women’s skirts up over their heads.”
“I didn’t have fun. ’Twas work, all the time work. ’Twas work to be a knight and ’twas work to train Arthur to follow me like a dog. And I didn’t toss the women’s skirts unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless they fought me and ’twas work.”
“You didn’t want to enjoy yourself while your mother suffered alone.”
“Exactly.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You understand. I knew you would.”
She lashed him with her contempt. “I understand you’re lying to me. I understand you enjoyed training Arthur to follow you with unthinking devotion. I understand you enjoyed watching him be destroyed by his foolish plans for William. I understand you enjoyed fighting those women, hurting those women, making them do what you wanted.”
“How could you understand that?”
“Because you’re doing the same thing to me. You enjoy forcing yourself on the helpless. You’re holding me, watching me squirm like a moth caught by a careless boy. What would your mother think about that? All this pleasure you get from manipulating people? Is that what she taught you?”
“My mother was a saint!”
“Nay, she wasn’t. No wonder your father removed you from her care. She was a nasty, perfidious woman who couldn’t stand to let her sons go.”
Like an asp striking, he grabbed her by the throat. Panicked, her hands flew to his wrists, but the tendons in his hands stood rigid with fury. She lashed out with her foot, but his arms were too long for her to reach him. His thumbs pressed into her windpipe, and instantly her aggression faltered. Her breath swelled in her chest, unable to escape, and she clawed at him frantically. Tossing her like a rag doll, he swung her around and leaned over her, and in some corner of her mind she heard William instruct, “Do the unexpected.”
Her knees collapsed beneath her and she dropped all her body to the ground. Her weight shifted and his fingers slipped. She sucked in a breath before he caught her again, but he rewrapped his hands around her throat with great deliberation, like a man prepared to do his duty and enjoy it.
He said nothing, she couldn’t speak. She knew she was dying, for she heard a sharp whine fill the air. Did the flap of angel wings sound like the whine of a mosquito?
Nicholas released her, and she fell to the floor, gagging. As the throbbing in her head diminished, she thought perhaps he was toying with her, waiting to move in for the kill. Still, the whine grew louder and resolved itself into words.
“Ye can’t, m’lord. She’s noble lady. Ye can’t kill a lady.”
“You stupid oaf.” Nicholas said it as if it were a revelation. “I can do anything I want.”
“Lord William’s comin’ for her. He’ll want t’ see her.” Bronnie sounded anguished and uncertain, arguing with his betters yet afraid to stop.
“William’s coming alone. I’ll let him see her corpse and then—”
“Ah, nay.” Bronnie gasped with loud astonishment. “No man could hold Lord William if he saw her corpse. No man would try.” Doubtfully, he added, “An’ even if ye managed to kill him, I’d not want those two ghosts haunting my castle.”
Breathing heavily, Nicholas paced back and forth, back and forth, using small and rapid steps. Coming to stand next to Saura, he rolled her onto her back using his toe. She flopped back, only half exaggerating her exhaustion and her fear. “Get her up,” he ordered. “Let’s see how clever she is when she’s cold and hungry and the damp of the dungeon creeps into her bones.”
“Ye can’t throw her into that hole,” Bronnie protested. “She’s a lady.”
“She’s a vixen, and deserves what she receives. Get her up!” Nicholas’s fury waxed cold and pure. “Or I will.”
Saura raised a pleading hand to Bronnie and he shuffled to her side. “I’m sorry, m’lady, so sorry, but I have t’ touch ye.” His big hands grasped her shoulders and withdrew at her gasp of pain. “Grant pardon, my lady,” he murmured again, and she motioned for him to help her.
In cautious increments he eased his arms around her until Nicholas barked, “Bring her now!”
Bronnie hefted her all the way off the ground in one swift movement. “Sorry,” he muttered, carrying her after Nicholas. They descended the privy stairs into the undercroft and he apologized again, “I’d never touch a lady.”
Saura didn’t care. Wishing to reserve her strength for her last bout with Nicholas, she was glad of Bronnie’s warmth and support. She hoped her voice would work; her voice had to work. It was her only weapon in this unequal war, That, and her brain; and her brain seemed to be operating slowly, dazed with pain and shock.
Wine soaking into wood, herbs, meat kept too long; the odors of the storeroom enveloped her. Here they would find the trap door built into the floor of every castle. The trap door that led straight down to agony and death.
She had to speak now, she had to talk to him. Testing, she croaked, “Nicholas.”
Bronnie checked his stride, but Nicholas didn’t answer. Perhaps he hadn’t heard; perhaps he ig
nored her. “Nicholas,” she tried again, and her voice came out with strength. Still it grated, rusty with pain. “I want you to promise me something.”
They stopped, the three of them, and she heard the scrape of the metal handle and the creak of unoiled hinges. Then the door slammed back against the floor and musty air rushed out. It carried a whiff of damp and horror, of mildew and suffering.
Saura jerked back. Satisfied with her reaction, Nicholas said, “I can promise you a living tomb.”
“Is it dark down there?” Sarcasm colored her words and he cursed her. Undaunted, she insisted, “I want you to promise you’ll not put William down with me.” Her throat hurt and she placed her hand on it for support. It had to last through this one final stratagem. “I hate him. I’ll kill him if you put him in with me.”
“What trick is this?” he questioned skeptically.
“No trick. We fought. We fought before he left. Don’t you remember my tears in the woods?”
“In the woods where I caught you? Aye, you were crying.”
“I cried until my eyes bled.”
Scorn bit through his tone. “He adores you.”
“He wants more than I can give. He wants me to pledge to give myself wholly. He wants my soul as well as my mind. He wants me to depend on him for everything, while he needs me for nothing. You know William. You know what he expects.”
Her bitterness caught him by surprise. “Aye.” Eyeing her, he paced again, slowly, across the room and back.
“Please don’t put him in with me. I cannot bear his demands and he swore—”
“To make you yield?” Nicholas released an angry cackle, and she could hear him rub his hands up and down his leather riding breeches. “Very good. Very, very good. Put the rope down, Bronnie, and make her go.”
Bronnie blubbered with terror. “My lord, please, Lord Nicholas. She’s a lady.”
“The rats can get mother’s milk from her. Make her go!”
Placing her on her feet, well away from the hole, he assured her, Bronnie fetched the rope. She heard him tie the ends to a beam while Nicholas chatted, “Dear little Bronnie worries about you being a lady, but you’re actually getting privileged treatment. Most prisoners are thrown down. If they’re lucky, ’tis wet and the floor’s oozing mud. If ’tis summertime and dry, or wintertime and frozen, they can lie there with their broken bones, groaning in agony, until they die.”
Candle in the Window: Castles #1 Page 32