by Ruth Kaufman
“Pamping, you must come at once,” someone called.
“Don’t release Sir Adrian until I return,” the servant said as he scurried back down the hall.
A presumed criminal in his own home. The silence bore down on him. He could feel the servants’ tension as they held him, feel the man whose knife was against his throat tremble slightly. The hall was poorly lit at this hour, but he knew every shield, every sword on the wall, every banner that hung from the rafters.
What had transpired? Maybe she’d fallen and was merely unconscious.
A moment later, Pamping returned, a contemptuous expression on his sallow face. The candle made his bald head gleam.
“Well, well, Sir Adrian Bedford. Make that Sir Adrian Bedford, murderer,” he said.
“I didn’t kill her.”
Pamping laughed. “There’s no point in lying. We have proof.”
Pounding on his door awoke William from a fitful sleep. He clutched the covers to his chest. Had Hatchet Baldwin returned already? Only two days had passed since they’d given him a repugnant task to complete in exchange for his debt’s cancellation. He hadn’t even had the chance to tell them he’d done it.
He couldn’t move. He’d die of fright, just as he was, naked in his bed. He should’ve known they’d chop him up despite their unholy bargain.
“William, let me in!”
He fell back against his meager pillow in relief, then dragged on a tunic and hose before he opened the door.
“John, what’s wrong with you? It’s the middle of the night!”
After lighting a tallow candle stub, he turned to see John leaning against the closed door, crossing his bulky arms over his bulkier chest.
“It’s almost dawn. I have news that won’t keep,” John said.
“Well, what then?”
“About that Sir Adrian. He’s in deep.”
William wanted to jump for joy. All good things come to those who wait. What had Adrian been up to when William saw him near the stews? The whore hadn’t yet delivered her report.
“What happened?”
“They say he killed Lady Anne, the one who lives in his house.”
William struggled to conceal his excitement. “How do you know that?”
“Friend of mine is a servant there. Said Sir Adrian got caught on his way out the door. Lady Anne was found dead in her bed. Stabbed right through the heart with a fancy dagger. He’s been hauled off to prison.”
“Maybe he had a reason for being at her house. Besides murder.”
John shrugged his shoulders. “Not likely.”
“How do you know?”
“They say the dagger bears the initials ‘A.B.,’” John said.
Most excellent. A marvelous detail. How could he best use this turn of events to his advantage? William tapped a finger against his upper lip. Something wasn’t right.
“What time did he kill her?”
“What does that matter?”
“The time, what time was it?” William demanded.
“Don’t know exactly. But my friend said he was in jail by four.”
How could this be? William had been drunk, but not too drunk to count. He’d clearly heard the clock strike two, and had seen Sir Adrian a few minutes later. Sir Adrian could never have returned to York proper, gone to Lady Anne’s house and get carted off to jail in only two hours. How could Adrian be in two places at the same time?
Something wasn’t right.
Another knock sounded at his door.
William tensed. His missing finger ached, as it always did when he got upset. Thank God John was here. Even Hatchet Baldwin wouldn’t try anything with this lout in the room.
He opened the door. A woman in a tattered cloak hurried in. The whore.
She glanced at John, scanned his large frame, then nodded approvingly. She turned to William and held out her hand. “Pay up.”
“John, loan me some coin.”
“More?”
“I need to pay her.”
John smirked. “You run off without paying?”
The whore laughed.
William didn’t appreciate being the butt of their humor. “I paid for that. This is for information.”
John dug into the worn purse at his waist. He handed William a few coins. Painstakingly, William counted out what he needed, then dropped the coins into her outstretched hand.
“I should ask triple for what I know.” She closed her fingers over the coins.
“There. Now spill,” William ordered.
Where could Adrian have gone…this time? Joanna picked at her breakfast of bread and cheese. Shortly after falling asleep with him beside her, she’d awoken in an empty bed with fear lacing her thoughts. The rest of the night had been long and lonely. Now she was tired, annoyed, and her head ached.
What could he be doing? The last time she’d caught him disappearing, he’d been home by dawn. Why hadn’t he sent word?
“Joanna!”
William. How did he know where they lived? She didn’t reply. She feared being alone with him.
“I’ve news, important news about your husband!” William shouted through the door.
Was this a trick? Joanna stood, her hand hovering above the handle.
“He’s in prison!” William cried.
That did it. Joanna opened the door, letting in both William and a burst of freezing air. She shivered, more from concern for Adrian than the cold.
“What happened?” Joanna asked. “How do you know?”
William’s nose was red and his hair mussed. “I had to tell you as soon as I heard. John told me. A friend of his is one of Lady Anne’s servants. Then I talked to John’s friend, who confirmed everything.”
Dread mixed with fear in Joanna’s heart. “What about Lady Anne?”
“Adrian is in prison for murdering her,” William said.
Joanna felt herself dropping to the floor. William caught her and half-dragged her to a stool.
“A mistake.” She held her whirling head in her hands. “It has to be.”
“There’s proof. Are you ready for the rest?”
She’d never be ready for such a tale, but she had to know. She steeled herself to remain calm no matter what William said. “Tell me.”
“Lady Anne’s servants caught Adrian as he was leaving Bedford Castle. In the middle of the night, I might add. One wonders why he was there in the first place.”
Joanna wanted to collapse again, but forced herself to remain upright. Adrian had gone to see Lady Anne last night, leaving her alone. Had he been lying to her all this time, still carrying on his liaison?
She was sure she’d vomit.
“Maybe he had a good reason,” she said, though she didn’t believe her own words. But she wouldn’t let William see her confusion and pain.
“There’s more.” He fairly sang his excitement.
“More?” she repeated.
“Lady Anne was stabbed in the heart. With a dagger.”
No. It couldn’t be true. Believing that kept her from panicking. Clearly her brother enjoyed every moment of this. Despite her shock and disappointment, she’d remain stoic.
“The dagger had the initials ‘A.B.,’” William crowed. “Adrian Bedford.”
Joanna closed her eyes. Could Adrian have done this? She loved him, and though the evidence was clearly against him, she’d do her best to view the situation in his favor. Until she looked into his eyes and saw the truth.
“Did he admit it?” she asked.
“Of course not. But they raised the hue and cry, and the sheriff arrested him.”
She smiled. Perhaps Adrian was innocent. A.B. also stood for Andrew Bedford and dozens of other names. What if Adrian’s twin was the murderer?
William shook her, and she cringed away from his grasping fingers.
“Are you well?” he asked.
She nodded.
“How does it feel to be wed to a murderer?”
“Stop it. I see how gla
d you are to bear these tidings. You make me sick,” she said. “How can you be so cruel? You feed on other people’s misery. Go destroy someone else’s life and leave me alone.”
She opened the door, but he pushed it closed and leaned against it. A frisson of fear ran through her.
“I am sorry to cause you upset, Sister, but what I say is true. You can verify all as I have done.” William acted appropriately apologetic, but Joanna knew he was faking. He was truly glad Adrian was in prison.
“I’m also sorry that your marriage is over,” he said. “Now you’re back where you started. And time is running out.”
William’s gloating made Joanna even more determined to find out the real truth, not the version William put forth.
“You can’t know for sure what happened, nor can John. I won’t believe you. I’m going to find Adrian and talk to him.”
“Suit yourself,” William said with a shrug. “But whether he killed her or not, he can’t help you while he’s in prison. He can’t protect you.
“I’m certain you’ll be hearing from the guild again in a few days. They’ll find that you have relapsed. They’ll think you’ve started drinking again, because of your grief over what your husband did. Then you will lose, Joanna. You will lose all.”
He smiled, and in that moment she hated him.
Chapter 20
Joanna jumped and squealed at the rats darting past her feet as she followed the Keeper of the prison down yet another corridor. She fought back tears as she hurried to keep up with the gangly man. This morning she’d been so shocked, so upset by the accusations against Adrian and the possibility that he might’ve done murder she hadn’t spared a thought as to what prison would be like. How he might be suffering.
The stench alone was enough to make a person faint. She couldn’t identify the foul odors assaulting her nose. Between the smells and the closeness of the air, she couldn’t draw a full breath.
“Ye got some shillings?” the Keeper asked. He scratched his head, making Joanna shudder at the thought of the lice that must be roaming among the mangy strands.
“No,” Joanna said.
“Some groats, then? Who be paying for his food? His sheets and blankets? Food or candles?” The Keeper paused under a spitting torch on the stone wall. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He grinned, then leered at her. “’Course, if there be no coin, there be another way he can earn his keep. I’ll take ye as payment.”
He grabbed her arm.
“No!” she cried. She yanked her arm from his grasp, but knew if he wanted to maintain his hold he could. “Just take me to him. I’ll get you some money.”
“I get paid first.” He grabbed her again and kissed her, his lips slimy and his breath fouler than the air. One hand dug into her arm, the other clutched her backside. Then he let her go.
“That’ll buy ye ten minutes.”
Joanna bit back a scream and the urge to spit in his face. But the Keeper held all the power and had what she wanted. Access to Adrian.
The Keeper clomped down the corridor, whistling. As soon as his back was turned, Joanna used her sleeve to wipe the taste of him from her mouth. Disgusting.
He turned down another hall lined with prisoners’ cells. Some men moaned, others cried out, their agony pitiable whether they were true criminals or not. Hands reached out of the bars, grasping for her. She stayed in the middle of the corridor to avoid their straining fingers.
At last the Keeper stopped.
“In there.” He opened the door with a large, black key. “Five minutes.”
“You said ten!”
“Ten, then. But it’ll cost ye.”
She shuddered at the thought of him touching her again, but what choice did she have?
“Take this. For free,” he said with a chuckle as he handed her his candle. He locked the door behind her with a clang.
The corridor wasn’t very bright, but the cell was dark as pitch. The faint illumination floating down from a small window high in the wall ended well above her head. Something scampered over her feet, making her stumble.
The slow, uneven drip of water was barely audible over the other prisoners’ clamor. Metal clanked nearby.
Where was Adrian? Her eyes adjusted. Beneath her feet, darkened straw—damp or dirty or both—covered the floor. The air smelled old and complex, as though remnants of all the prisoners caged through the ages still lingered. Slowly, she moved forward, the candle slim defense against what might lie ahead.
Adrian sat motionless before her, his chin on his chest, his eyes closed. She held the candle closer, then gasped.
Chains. They’d fettered him to the wall he sat against, manacles encasing his wrists, chains pulling his arms taut over his head.
“Oh, Adrian,” she whispered.
Was he asleep or unconscious? More clanking accompanied his shift of position, but he didn’t open his eyes. The rise and fall of his chest was visible through his shredded tunic. An encrusted bruise marred his forehead. Something, dried blood she guessed, matted his hair. The right side of his face was swollen.
Tears filled her eyes and dripped unnoticed down her cheeks.
What had they done to him?
“Adrian, wake up.” She reached out, then stopped, afraid to touch him and cause him more pain.
He moved again on the filthy straw and moaned softly. His ankles were chained too, his feet were bare. She could see no food or water.
The frequent skittering all around and occasional high-pitched squeaks were enough to drive her mad. Every inch of her skin crawled as if the vermin were on her instead of the floor. Perhaps it was better that Adrian was unaware of his surroundings. But she had to talk to him, and the Keeper had only sold her ten minutes.
“Adrian,” she said.
His eyes opened. A long “aaaah” escaped him as he lifted his head. His arm muscles bulged as he adjusted his body.
“Joanna,” he rasped. “What are you doing here?”
His words came out slightly garbled, as if he’d been drinking.
“Did you do it?” she blurted.
She wished she could seize back the question. She’d meant to ask how he fared, what she could do to ease his conditions. But she had to know the truth.
He shook his head slightly, then winced. “No, but I don’t blame you for doubting me.”
“Look at me. Tell me, and I will believe you.”
His gaze met hers. His blue eyes were clear as glass jewels in the candle’s glow.
“I did not kill her.” His voice was low and hoarse.
She let out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. Adrian was innocent.
“Why were you there?”
His eyes closed again. “I cannot tell you.”
The answer pierced Joanna to the core. He expected her to trust him and believe in his innocence, but wouldn’t ease her concerns by explaining why he’d been at Lady Anne’s house, and in the middle of the night. Chained to the wall, beaten, charged with murder, he still couldn’t bring himself to trust her.
How could she love him?
Joanna wanted to scream. The drip, drip of the water, rustling vermin and Adrian’s silence corroded her already taut nerves. She tried to keep the hurt from her voice. “I came here to see if I could help you. Obviously you don’t need me.”
“I would tell you if I could. But knowledge means danger. I’ve already put you at risk by ending up in here, unable to protect you. That’s all I can say.” His voice faded, as though he lacked the strength to continue.
Joanna had no response. So many times he’d asked her to trust him without reciprocating. All he did was warn her of danger. This marriage was far more difficult than she’d anticipated.
“Is it enough?” he asked.
Not this time.
But her proud, strong husband had been reduced to captivity. He could barely stand, chained as he was. She couldn’t deny him. She wished the only reason she’d help him was because she was his wi
fe, but her concern exceeded duty, despite his actions and his secrets.
Was she a fool?
“As soon as I can, I’ll bring money to buy your way out of these chains, at least. Can I do anything else? Hurry, we only have a few minutes left.”
“Thank you.” He sighed, then coughed. “First, I want you to have this.”
Adrian lifted his hip. Beneath it rested the gold signet ring he always wore. She took it.
“I never gave you a wedding ring,” he said. “This ring is my only possession that means anything. Will you wear it?”
“Why did they let you keep it?”
“They didn’t know I had it. I hid the ring in my mouth at first and would’ve swallowed had they thought to look there. They took everything else, but I refused to let them have this.” His tongue moistened his lips. “I’ll rest easier knowing it’s safe with you.”
“I’ll wear the ring until I can return it. When you are free.” She pushed the jewel into the deepest recesses of her cloak pocket. She’d never forgive herself if the Keeper somehow found out what she concealed.
Adrian nodded, but she wasn’t sure if he believed that day would ever come.
“Now I need one thing more. A kiss.”
She couldn’t contain her surprise. “That’s what you need? Now?”
“Now. Only you can give me something pleasant to think on while I’m here.”
“Aren’t you in pain?”
“I’ve had worse. Kiss me.”
Her kiss. At least he wanted something of her, something intimate. She pushed some straw out of the way with her foot to make a place for the candle, then set it down. The narrow circle of light hid some of the horrors of his cell while highlighting his face, so handsome despite the bruises. She needed to feel his arms around her to give her strength. She could hold him instead, and offer him her strength. Bending down, she slid her hands behind his neck.
“Yes, Joanna. This is what I need. You smell so fresh, your fingers feel so cool,” he whispered. “I prayed you wouldn’t come here, wouldn’t have to see this. At the same time I wanted you to come. I needed to see you.”
She’d do anything to ease his pain. She kissed him.