The Herald's Heart

by Rue Allyn

  “Impossible,” Timoras said. “The earl was most careful of his health. Other than his face, he refused to allow any exposure of his skin when out of doors. He told me that he feared contact with the itchweed that abounds in this area.”

  “Aye, he did hate the three-leafed plant,” Cleve agreed. “I heard tales that when young, he took so ill with the rash that the priest was called to give last rites. His recovery was so miraculous, he gives yearly to the abbey.”

  “Really? Do you know of anyone who might have seen the earl when this happened?” Talon asked.

  Cleve shook his head. “All in Hawking Sedge who might be old enough to know have died.”

  “Pity.” Mother Clement’s gaze turned distant. “Comparison of the symptoms may have proven useful.”

  Talon watched as the holy woman sipped her ale. “Then I must thank you, Mother Clement. I will have a groom escort you to the abbey.”

  “I am sorry I could not be of more help.” She rose and began gathering her things.

  Talon rose with her. The others followed his lead.

  As they walked toward the door, Alice came running into the hall. “Thank the good Lord you are still here, Lady Abbess. I have the most dreadful rash. I beg ye look at it and give me something to ease the itching.”

  “Of course. Sit down, please.”

  They returned to the table, where candles still cast light on the surface. The cook sat and laid both her arms flat out, palms upward.

  Talon choked on the bile that rose to his throat.

  Larkin covered her mouth and turned her head.

  The priest ran from the room.

  Mother Clement peered closely at the running sores that bubbled and oozed over the woman’s skin.

  “I canna chop, stir, or knead,” she sobbed. “What will become of me if I can no longer work?”

  “Calm yourself.” Mother Clement patted the woman’s shoulder. “’Tis naught but itchweed.” She bent and searched in her bag, pulling out a cork-stoppered jar. “Rub this salve over your arms and anywhere else that the rash shows. The rash should disappear within three days. Do not touch any food or other people until the rash goes away.”

  Timoras returned and sat by the abbess.

  “Thankee, Mother Clement.” The cook nodded, took the salve, and made to rise.

  “A moment,” Talon put his hand on her shoulder to keep her from leaving.

  At his restraint, the woman turned startled eyes on him. “Aye, sir?”

  “How did you come by this rash?”

  “I ... I don’t know.” Her eyes widened.

  “Have you been outside, away from the village and lanes?”

  “Nay, Sir Talon. I been too busy setting the kitchen to rights, feeding the entire keep, and helping Larkin when I can to do much more than stumble to me bed after the fires are banked at night.”

  “I am sorry for that and will get you more help. Now, are you sure you did not go near any three-leaved plants?

  “I tell ye, I’ve not had time to blink, sir. Tonight was to be my first full rest in a long while.”

  “What kept you from it?”

  “Why, cleaning up the mess left from the earl’s death in the chapel. The men came and removed his body, as you ordered, but none of those silly maids from the village would go near the place. Larkin is here as you ordered. Someone had to put things to rights and scrub out the stench.”

  Mother Clement’s expression turned avid. “Tell us exactly what you did.”

  The woman thought for a moment. “First, I picked up the candlesticks. I loaded the stubs—there were so many—in my arms and went out to the kitchen. I put the stubs in a bowl to be melted down and used again. Then I got tallow candles, so I could see to clean.”

  “Why tallow candles, Alice?”

  “The earl, sir, keeps the beeswax candles locked in his counting room. He uses them for his chapel alone, and only he or Father Timoras replaces them.”

  “Thank you; continue with your tale.”

  “I got a bucket of water, soap, and scrubbing brush too. I returned to the chapel, put the new candles in place, and lit them. Then I scrubbed every stone in the place. I dusted the altar and other items. I took my bucket and brush back to the kitchens and emptied the bucket. After picking up beeswax and a clean cloth, I went back to the chapel to polish the altar. That’s when I noticed the rash and came straight here.”

  Talon’s gaze met Mother Clement’s. “Tell me,” he asked, “who supplies candles to the keep?”

  Alice answered. “Whatever we don’t make ourselves, the earl orders special from the anchoress. Larkin delivers those things. That’s how she makes her living.” The cook’s voice trailed off, and along with everyone, else her eyes turned on Larkin.

  “You cannot possibly think that I would ...?” Larkin said.

  Talon felt his blood turn to ice. He wanted so badly to believe in Larkin. He’d consented to her continued searchings, even though it meant he would lose all he hoped for. She had deceived him for the last time. He would risk nothing more for her. His heart threatened to crack with the pain of betrayal. Once again, he had laid himself open only to have what he wanted most snatched away. He held up his hand to silence her. “Alice, quickly, go and get the bowl of candle stubs from the kitchen.”

  “Aye, Sir Talon.” She sped from the room.

  “Mother Clement, can you determine if the candles contained itchweed?”

  “Aye, Sir Talon.”

  “Will it take long?”

  “Nay, not if enough wick remains to light and burn a candle for a few moments.”

  “’Tis good that we may soon know the truth of what killed the earl,” Timoras said.

  “Aye,” Talon said. “But will that truth lead to any others?” He begged Larkin with his eyes to say what she’d done before it was proven. To show some small amount of remorse for taking a life, even one as loathsome as the earl’s.

  But Larkin remained silent, her back straight and her stare defiant. Since the moment he’d met her, she had done little but lie and deceive. If she denied her guilt, he could not possibly believe her.

  The cook returned and placed a bowl full of candle stubs in front of Mother Clement.

  Using a cloth that she pulled from her bag, Mother Clement picked through the stubs until she found a fist-tall piece of candle with a good wick. She set the candle on the table. “Stand back and cover your faces. If smoke comes from the candle, none must breathe it.”

  She took a brand from the fire and touched it to the candle. The wick sputtered and caught. By the time Mother Clement returned the brand to the grate, a small stream of smoke issued from around the candle’s tall flame. Approaching from behind the stream, the abbess reached out and placed her arm directly into the path of the smoke. When a good-size smudge appeared, she withdrew her arm and snuffed the candle.

  “Is that all?” Timoras asked.

  “Nay,” she replied. “Now we wait.”

  “What for, Lady Abbess?” asked Timoras.

  “To see if I develop the same rash as the cook.”

  “What do you think will happen?” Talon knew but asked anyway. Mother Clement’s word was unassailable. He’d seen her concern for Larkin, even experienced the abbess’s gentle wisdom himself. Yet despite her concern for Lady Rosham, the abbess offered herself as the means to prove the cause of the earl’s death. In the process, she could well condemn Larkin as a murderess.

  “Only God can know for certain. But if I develop a rash, then we too will know what killed the earl.”

  “Preposterous,” Timoras objected. “Candle smoke cannot give a rash or kill.”

  “True, Father, were this normal candle smoke. But I believe it is not. I believe the whole candle, especially the wick, has been soaked in oil crushed from the berries and leaves of itchweed.”

  “But how is that possible?” the priest asked, clearly frustrated by something he did not understand.

  Talon continued the explanation
all while staring at Larkin, praying that he was wrong. “Whoever murdered the earl knew that exposure to itchweed had once nearly killed him and hoped this time the earl would succumb.”

  “Indeed, Sir Talon, the murderer must have known the earl’s habits as well,” said Mother Clement. For these candles could not kill even such a one as the earl were they not placed in a room where the smoke could not escape easily. Father Timoras, did the earl spend long hours in prayer?”

  “Aye, Mother Clement, from the moment he arose ’til noontide every day, sometimes more.” Timoras’s mouth pursed and his brow wrinkled. “I still don’t understand how smoke could kill anyone, let alone the earl.”

  “’Tis a matter of the earl’s sensitivity,” explained Mother Clement. “Some of the ancient healing texts in the abbey contain accounts of people stung by bees who sicken and sometimes die.”

  “Now you say that a bee sting killed the earl?”

  “No Father, that is just an example. Many healers believed that those bees had excessively strong venom. Some few believe that the particular person who died was weak in relation to the bee venom. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, yes. But what have bees to do with the earl and itchweed?”

  “The earl was weak, if you will, in relation to the oils in the itchweed that cause the rash. In addition, I believe that the smoke intensifies the problem because the oil is inhaled.”

  “That is incredible.” Timoras leaned back, disbelief still writ clear on his face. “Whoever would do such a thing is most deceitful.”

  “’Twould seem so.” Talon still looked at Larkin.

  Timoras continued as if he hadn’t heard him speak. “The person must have had access to the candles and itchweed, and known the earl’s past and habits and when I would be gone. More often than not, I would join the earl in his prayers. Had I been here, I might have saved him,” Timoras ended in a guilty screech.

  “Now, don’t think yourself responsible for the earl’s death. You did your duty as the earl requested.” She patted his arm.

  The priest squared his shoulders. “Indeed, Mother Clement, you are correct. I am not responsible. There is only one person I know of who could be.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Timoras stared accusingly at Larkin. Cleve’s face pinched with concern. Mother Clement gave her casual study. But only Talon’s stony visage caused her to quail.

  She slid her gaze to the priest. “How dare you accuse me when you had more chance than I to place poisoned candles in the chapel, since I never entered the room in my life.”

  The father’s expression was smug. “But when I left, the candles in the chapel were already half used. Those could not have been poisoned, since the earl and I both had prayed in the chapel while they burned.”

  “You have no proof of that,” she protested. The lack of proof would not matter to Timoras; he would condemn her anyway, as would many others. Nor would it matter that the earl had been a cruel, evil man. Murder was murder and punished by death. Experience told her that justice occurred rarely. Would it hurt to die? Would God forgive her, even though she was not a murderess or a liar? She’d done her best to live a good life. And all would be for naught if she did not defend herself. Did not make all effort to prove her innocence.

  “I saw the candles replaced, Larkin,” Cleve muttered. “Indeed, I recall the earl had to get new candles himself, and him being angry at Timoras because of it.”

  At the guard’s words, her head spun. She gripped the wooden seat beneath her to steady herself. “But the candles were wrapped and sealed. Only the earl or Father Timoras may break the seals. Talon, I could not have done this.” She turned to him because proof would matter to him. He believed in her, trusted her. At least he said he did.

  “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.