"No need to beg pardon, lad," the master soldier said quietly, and not for the first time this day blinked away pain.
Harboring his own ache, Josce turned his mount and rode into the yard. So many horses staying at Coneytrop gave Will and his brothers plenty to occupy their time. They were hard at their currying at the yard's center. No doubt that frog of theirs was grateful for the respite.
Will grinned when he saw them come. "You're back at last, sir," he called out in greeting. "We've all been awaiting you."
"Aye, now we can eat," cried Rob, the middle lad.
"Eat," squeaked Dickon, the youngest. He dropped his brush and dashed forward to catch Josce's reins.
Josce swung down from his saddle and started toward the house. As he passed the kitchen, Aggie's girls appeared in the doorway. It yet astonished him that any place could exist with but ten servants to its name, six of those being only children. The only two not related to Richard and Aggie were the pigherd, a hermit of a man who preferred his charges over humans, and the shepherd, a lad from the hamlet outside Coneytrop's walls; the scullery lad was the son of Aggie's deceased sister.
Mabil and Pippa were Aggie's daughters. Of them, Mabil was a truly winsome lass. She also had her eye on the best looking of Nick's younger soldiers. For that reason had Josce taken the lad with him into Knabwell this morn. A flirtation between Haydon's soldier and Coneytrop's maid would only worsen an already hopelessly complicated situation.
Standing in the kitchen's doorway, Mabil giggled, then leaned against the jamb. There was nothing subtle about the promise in her posture. Aggie appeared behind her, a frown on her face.
"You'll come in here right this moment, missy," she scolded, grabbing her daughter by the back of the gown and dragging Mabil into the concealment of the kitchen, being no less intent than Josce on keeping Harry and Mabil apart. Aggie took a stance in the doorway, arms crossed, feet planted, her posture daring any of them to get past her to her daughter.
As Josce crossed her path he peered around her into the darkness of the kitchen, only to realize that he sought Elianne. He straightened with a disgusted start. He wouldn't look for her.
He hadn't seen Elianne since she left him at the pool, not at the communal dinner last even, or when the household broke its fast this morn. He tried to tell himself that this was a good thing. After all, it suggested he'd been wrong to suspect her. If she were truly the innocent she seemed, then the dictates of vengeance demanded he keep his distance. It didn't honor his father's memory to lust after the sheriff's daughter.
Looking neither right nor left, he climbed the stairs, entering the hall doorway just as something struck the screen's inner face. The distinctive clatter of dice across a wooden floor followed. One man groaned, while a goodly number more hooted in triumph.
Josce stepped around the screen. It wasn't just Haydon's men squatting about that panel. Aggie's Richard looked cozy indeed with the troops belonging to his master's enemy.
All of them scrabbled to their feet as they saw who came. Richard grinned at his guest. "God be praised that you're back. Your lady stepmother has awakened several times and called for you. Best go to her at once."
Right this moment? Josce eyed the waiting tables and their benches at the hall's center, longing for time and peace in which to settle his thoughts. What if Beatrice yet clung to madness? His head throbbing, Josce strode across the hall for the bedchamber. At the bedchamber ell, he stopped, his hand raised to knock.
"Out! Out!" Although Lady Beatrice's raised voice was barely more than a hoarse croak, but there was no mistaking her hysteria.
Josce reached for his sword, but before he could yank it from its sheath, the door shrieked opened. Elianne, fabric clutched in her arms and her gaze aimed behind her at the bedchamber, stepped into his arms.
Instinctively, his free arm closed around her, dragging her back against him to protect her from whatever threat had Beatrice screaming. Elianne cried out and struggled against his hold. Josce only tightened his arm around her as he scanned the bedchamber, looking for the threat.
All he could see were Sister Cecilia and Sister Ada staring back at him, their faces alive in surprise. They sat upon two of the three stools that had been placed beneath the open window where they could make good use of the day's bright light. A basket of handwork stood beside the stools.
With the realization that there was no danger, Josce's awareness shifted to the woman in his arms. Elianne yet strained against his hold. God help him, but she felt as wondrous in his arms fully clothed as she had at the pool. It wasn't wine he needed to cleanse him, but Elianne's hands once more stroking his skin.
And that thought, more than anything else, made his arm around her loosen.
Elianne exploded from his embrace and whirled, the half-formed garment she carried crushed against her chest. Sunlight streamed through the bedchamber's open door to find bright blond in her honeyed hair while shadows marked the pretty lift of her cheekbones and the fine line of her nose. Color, hot and red, burst to life on her cheeks as distress raced through her gaze.
“What do you think you're doing?” she cried out, her question a hoarse croak. She shot a glance behind her. Sister Cecilia and Sister Ada had left their seats to take a stance at the foot of the bed, from whence they watched Josce and Elianne, their gaping having become frowns.
There was naught for Josce to do save explain as much to the nuns as Elianne. "I heard Lady Haydon shout. I thought there was trouble."
The color in her face deepened. "Aye, your lady shouted. At me,” she said shortly. “Now let me pass.”
As he stepped back, she turned her whole body to the side so there'd be no chance they might touch again as she slipped past him into the hall. Her rejection cut into Josce's chest the way the nun's knife had cut into his kin, but there was naught for him to do save let her go. He strode into the bedchamber, feeling as alone as he had the previous day.
In the chamber he couldn't help but be startled anew by the sheriff's bed. The day's bright sun set the golden threads in the curtains to sparking. So detailed were the carvings on the bedpost capitals that the wooden roses entwining them seemed to grow before his eyes. The bed curtains were pulled wide. Lady Beatrice lay close to the edge.
At some time between yesterday afternoon and now, the nuns had stripped her of her traveling attire. Sunlight glowed on the pale curve of her bare shoulders where her streaming hair didn’t cover them. Her face was still a sickly white, the rings beneath her eyes just as black as they’d been yesterday.
Her expression was hard as she eyed her stepson. For the first time, no doubt because Josce now accepted that his sire truly was gone, he regretted he hadn’t done more to win her affection. Where her emotions went so went his connection to his sisters.
“Come close,” Beatrice called to him, her voice low, as if it cost her to speak.
“I’ll bring you a stool, sir,” Sister Cecilia said, rushing to do as she offered.
Two steps took him to the bed’s side. Cecilia put her stool in place and Josce settled upon it. Beatrice sent her caretakers a commanding sidelong look.
“Perhaps we’ll wait outside?” Ada suggested.
The matting on the floor crunched beneath their shoes as they retreated from the room. Beatrice waited until the nuns closed the chamber door, then rolled farther onto her side to face him. “Why are we here?” she demanded, the animosity she ever bore him filling her quiet words. “Why do I lie in the foul sheriff’s bed? Why must I endure the presence of that wretched man’s wretched daughter?”
“Because the prioress wouldn’t allow me to stay at your side, and the vow you wrenched from me wouldn’t allow me to release you to them,” he replied flatly.
Her brow creased as if she didn’t remember the events of yesterday, then a touch of sheepishness took light in her eyes. “That was wrong of me.” It was a quiet admission.
Then, as if she’d surprised herself, her gaze once more hardened. “No ma
tter why we’re here, I won’t stay another moment. Damn them, but those two sisters wouldn’t remove me from this place without consulting you first. At least they heeded me when I bid them change the linens. Now you go out there and tell them that we return to Knabwell and the priory this very afternoon. I’ll not tolerate another moment in that man’s bed, or his home.”
“On the contrary my lady, you’ll stay just where you are,” Josce replied, no longer willing to tolerate her highhandedness.
Her eyes widened. “Do you dare refuse me!”
“I do, and when I’ve told you why, you’ll agree.” Giving her no chance to protest further, he launched into his explanation.
“It wasn’t until after you lost your senses that the sheriff came to the ice house as you suggested he would. When I met him I offered the man the threat we intended, giving him a fortnight to produce the murdering thieves. Despite my harshness toward him he insisted I bring you to stay in his home, even excusing himself from staying with us. Now, madam, ask yourself why the sheriff would invite a hostile force to live in his house.”
Beatrice blinked and frowned. Irritation and dislike dissolved. When it was gone there was nothing to disguise her native intelligence.
“Ah, so our sheriff has some hidden purpose,” she replied, “and thus must we remain lodged here despite our feelings for him. So, what have you learned of his secret intent thus far?” she asked of him, a new sharpness in her gaze.
Josce gave a shake of his head. “Nothing, but then it’s been only one day. However, I do know much more about the thieves who did this deed.”
Aye, he now knew that the bandits had coldly murdered his sisters. The means of their deaths had been his to see when the bindings were removed for the extraction of their hearts. His sweet sisters’ throats had been slashed. Now, sickness gave way to new rage over the horrible insult done them. His vow to spend his life avenging theirs now seemed all the more holy.
“Tell me.” The eagerness to deal out her own revenge lent new color to Beatrice’s pale cheeks. “If you think to spare me by holding back a word, think again. I’ll not have you coddling me.”
“As you will. These thieves attack but once a year. Until this last attack, their victims have always and only been merchants traveling alone, men who’ve been separated from the usual pack trains that traverse the shire.” It was the members of the town council who’d given Josce this information. “In this last attack, a spice merchant was the chosen victim, a man who rode with five armed guards and three journeymen. Knowing that your lord husband traveled with six of his own soldiers, and discounting the journeymen as more merchant than warrior, that means the thieves must have been at least twenty in number. Any fewer and they couldn’t have bested the combined strength of Haydon and merchant.
“Aye, and if I’m right in this guessing,” Josce went on, “the bandits must have lost half their own ranks. I spoke to Knabwell’s coroner, who is no admirer of his lord sheriff, by the by.” Like the other royal servants, the shire’s coroner scorned his sheriff as inept and boorish. “A bonfire was set at the battle scene. Along with the burned bodies of the spice merchant and his men were the skulls of twelve more.”
“But, six of those were our men, no?” Lady Beatrice interrupted.
“Nay, none were our men.” Josce hesitated, for this is where the tale turned peculiar. “All of our men’s bodies and their belongings were left untouched, from their weapons to their purses to their horses. Haydon’s own now rest in St. Stephen’s churchyard, one of Knabwell’s parishes. The town council saw to their burial, absorbing the cost, no doubt hoping to escape Haydon’s anger over the murder of our lord and ladies. They also stored our men’s possessions until all could be returned to us. Nor was your lord treated any differently. His armor was complete, not even his signet missing.”
Digging into the purse that hung from his belt, Josce pulled out his sire’s heavy silver ring. Two small rubies were inlaid at either side of its carved face. He held it out, offering it to Lady Beatrice.
She reached for it, but before her fingers curled around it, she snatched back her hand. “You keep it. Whoever next holds Haydon’s title will have their own ring made.”
When her words were out, Beatrice’s breath caught. For the first time since Josce joined her at Haydon tears glistened in her eyes. Her face softened in grief. “He was a good man, your sire,” she said quietly. “Shame on me for the cold wife I made him.”
His throat tight, Josce’s hand closed about the ring. “Madam, I will wear this proudly all the days of my life, grateful for the man who made me and the fine and loyal woman who was his mate.”
Beatrice blinked the pain from her gaze, then loosed a breath of harsh amusement. “Don’t think one act of kindness indicates that I’ve softened toward you. You remain the bane of my existence. Why couldn’t you have been like other bastards, grasping and demanding? If you had, then your lord sire would long ago have set you out into the world to make your own fortune. Instead you adored him while he doted on you, treating you as if you were his heir.” Much to Josce’s surprise, there was little of her usual bitterness in this speech.
“Enough maudlin sentiments,” she said, waving away her words and softness as if they were nothing. “Instead, tell me what sort of thieves leave such valuables behind them.”
Josce leaned back on the stool a little as he spoke. “Would that I knew. All I can conjure is that the bodies and wealth of our dead were left untouched as an apology, or a message.”
Beatrice looked askance at him. “That’s mad. What sort of message would murderers and thieves want to leave?”
All Josce could do was spill his own confused thoughts on the matter. “Each time I consider it I see someone trying to convey that they didn’t choose to attack our kin and wouldn’t have drawn swords against your lord husband if he hadn’t forced the confrontation.”
As he heard the words exit his mouth, Josce had to agree with his stepmother. It was mad to think there was any sort of method to this. If the thieves hadn’t wanted to slaughter a nobleman, they could have retreated when the baron joined forces with the beleaguered spice merchant. After all, if the twelve dead attackers were any indication, the two forces had been well matched. Against that, any sensible commander should have withdrawn. Seven years of careful robberies committed without detection said that the commander of these bandits was both sensible and cautious. So, why had he and his men fought on?
Lady Beatrice shuddered. “Why would anyone burn their own dead? It isn’t human to leave them naught but cinders, with no countenance for God to look upon come judgment day.”
Josce grunted as her comment stirred him from the pondering of his conundrum. “The coroner says that over the past seven years there have twice been bonfires out of which have come more skulls than members of merchant parties. I can only surmise that they burn their dead so that none may see their faces.”
It was as if lightning struck. Josce caught his breath, then leaned forward, grabbing the edge of the bed at the force of his comprehension. “Papa recognized them.” His words were a raging breath.
“What? How do you know that?” Beatrice demanded in confusion.
Josce looked at her, his head spinning against his new understanding. “My father knew his attackers. That’s why they couldn’t retreat. Once he’d seen them, they had no choice but to fight on to protect their identities. In doing so, they sacrificed many of their own.”
Excitement took fire in Beatrice’s gaze. “Aye, it makes sense,” she cried. “With what you assume of their troop’s size, we must believe this the best armed and trained band of thieves in all England. That takes resources beyond the reach of castoff soldiers or the gaggle of rogue bachelor knights who ofttimes plague travelers and merchants. And with that thought in mind, we also know where we must look to find these thieves.”
Her smile was grim. “Right here in this shire, among those of Baldwin’s own class. Baldwin was acquainted with m
ost of the knights and all his peers in this shire. As well he should be, since my dowry lands lie here,” she said, telling Josce something he already knew well enough.
“Who?” she demanded, hatred firing in her eyes. “I want to know who among the shire’s well-to-do can afford to maintain such a troop. Who among my neighbors took my babies’ lives simply because they traveled with their sire and could bear witness to who did what?”
Josce shook his head. “Nay, it’s not who can maintain such a troop, but who until a few weeks ago had more men than they needed, but are now missing half of those they should have.”
“Aye,” Beatrice said, sounding pleased indeed at what they’d uncovered. “It’s absent men we seek.”
That his sire might have been betrayed by one of his own class stirred Josce's anger to a new heat. “Then upon the morrow, my purpose will be to discover who’s unexpectedly gone missing in this shire. By tomorrow’s sunset, my lady,” he promised, “we’ll be far closer to those who committed this outrage.”
“Why wait so long as a day?” Beatrice sniffed. “Ask the sisters right now.”
She waved away her own suggestion. “Nay, Sister Cecilia’s common-born and has lived all her life within Knabwell’s walls. And, although Ada’s father was a knight, after all her years at the convent she’s not likely to know how many men someone at the shire’s far edge might keep. It’s the sheriff we need to ask.”
Josce laughed at that. “Is that why we’re here? Does the sheriff suspect, or even know, which of his betters commits these acts? It could be he allowed the robberies to continue in order to protect his own position.”
It made sense and explained much. As a grain caught between the powerful man he dared not betray and the kin of the powerful man who’d been slaughtered, du Hommet would do what he could to soothe both sides, all the while hoping he survived his predicament.
“I’ll place our questions before the sheriff upon the morrow’s morn, my lady.” Feeling their interview at an end, Josce started to rise.
The Warrior's Maiden (The Warriors Series Book 2) Page 9