Out of the Dark

by JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

  Within easy reach was a small table with dried fruit and ale. She scooped some berries from the wooden bowl and tossed them into her mouth, savoring the release of their trapped sweetness.

  Lynnet relaxed against the high back of a wooden chair nearby Evelyn’s trundle bed, placed close to the fire for warmth. After a sound sleep and a hearty breakfast, Evelyn seemed considerably stronger and more like herself than she did yesterday.

  Basil’s servant had left a few minutes ago, carrying the dirty linen to the laundress.

  Bless the man for getting that awful woman out of my life.

  Thinking about him brought a secret smile to her lips.

  Isolda had dressed Lynnet this morning without fuss, unlike Fleur who kept mixing everything up and insisting she had it right.

  “I’ve noticed, Evelyn, I no longer hear strange voices since that woman left my service.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I often thought she was talking to herself and not admitting to it.”

  Lynnet inserted the hook through the loop.

  “And I’m feeling better,” Evelyn said.

  “What a blessing.”

  Feeling content for the first time in days, Lynnet leisurely braided the rug, occasionally humming.

  Basil had ordered the informant, Nicolas, to meet with him in the anteroom of the Treasury. When he finished here, he would do another round of the cellar storerooms. Maybe he’d stumble across something, which would lead him to the thieves.

  They sat at a sturdy wooden table, their backs to the closed door beyond which two armed guards stood sentry duty over the king’s gold. Heads bent towards each other, they kept their voices low.

  “Fleur,” Nicolas was saying, “is the mistress of the chamberlain. He, in turn, seems friendly with Count Maximilian de Selsey, brother-in-law to Lord Geoffrey de la Werreiur. Count Maximilian is often in the company of your half-brother.”

  Basil frowned deeply.

  “I know this Maximilian. He’s a weasel.”

  Nicolas nodded his head in agreement.

  “I don’t know if the chamberlain is the third man or not. I’m fairly certain your half-brother and Maximilian are two of the men Lady Lynnet overheard. Your brother sounds like you and Maximilian speaks in a whiny voice.”

  Basil slammed a fist onto the table, making the mugs totter. Bile rose in his throat. He picked up a mug, squeezing tightly as if wringing his half-brother’s neck.

  “It will devastate our father.”

  Nicolas swallowed a deep slug of ale. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  “Others from Chester stay here,” he said. “The culprit could be a soldier garrisoned in the Tower.”

  “Doubtful. I’ve had enough quarrels with André to know his hatred of Saxons.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I have to be absolutely sure. My father is fiercely loyal to the king. A legitimate son connected to treason will tear his heart out.”

  “I’ll keep looking into this.”

  Basil swallowed the rest of his ale in big gulps as if hoping to eradicate the bad taste in his mouth.

  “I hate to point this out,” Nicolas said cautiously. “Your stepbrother is a hothead. That woman should watch out.”

  A cold chill traveled down Basil’s spine. He had had his own experiences with that hot temper.

  “And did you know Count Maximilian left hurriedly this morning.”

  “He what?”

  “The Count ordered his horse saddled just after dawn. He left, taking his soldiers and leaving his wife behind. Lady Rosamund has been ordered to pack everything and return home immediately. She’s upset. She doesn’t want to leave the court.”

  “Gutless vermin! I’ll get someone to follow him.”

  After Nicolas left, Basil rested his forehead on folded arms on the table. The solid wooden door was shut tightly so no one could intrude on this struggle of conscience. The burden of his responsibilities weighed heavily. He might have to arrest his father’s legitimate son. Would he also be forced to jail his friend’s brother-in-law?

  Loyalty to fellow Normans had been hammered in from a young age by his father. He’d learned that lesson well. Loyalty now warred with his allegiance to justice. In the end, he must do what was right for the king, but his path would not be easy.

  He dredged up memories of the first time he’d met his father, the Earl of Chester. His mother had always been silent on that score.

  Basil’s best friend in Ipswich, a raggedy 12-year-old who mostly lived on the streets, had been accused of stealing a rich man’s coin purse. Although his friend had been with him at the time of the theft, the authorities would not listen and dragged his friend to jail.

  The king had appointed the Earl of Chester to hear grievances when he traveled through Ipswich on his way to the court of France. When his friend was brought before the earl, Basil stepped out of the crowd and loudly affirmed that his friend could not be the thief because they were together at that time sweeping floors in the tavern.

  After sending a soldier to verify the story with the landlord, the earl ordered Basil to come near him. He still remembered the fear that gripped him as he approached the flamboyantly wealthy and powerful earl.

  “Who are you boy?”

  “Basil of Ipswich.”

  “You have courage. How did you come by it?”

  “My friend was falsely accused. I stand by my friends.”

  “As do I.”

  The earl leaned a little closer so the others in the hall could not hear.

  “Who is your mother?”

  “Jocelyn. Barmaid at the Golden Goose Tavern.”

  “I know her. How old are you?”

  “Ten.”

  The earl massaged his chin as he spoke.

  “I passed through Ipswich ten years ago.”

  The Earl of Chester’s next words sealed Basil’s fate, wrenching him from a mother’s care and plunging him into a monastic life.

  “By God, you’re the spitting image of my eldest son as a child.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Basil rode recklessly amongst pedestrians and horses and through flurried snow falling on deeply rutted, muddy roadways. His need to escape the confinement of the Tower drove him to take the longer river road where he could gallop his horse rather than the more direct route by city streets. Skill and determination alone carried him safely to his London quarters at the city jail.

  He reined in his winded stallion so sharply its hooves slid on the wet paving stones. He threw the reins to the ragged boy in charge of rubbing down, watering and stabling horses at the quarters. Stepping over a high threshold, he walked rapidly towards a small room at the back. An experienced investigator from his London workforce would be arriving there soon. His man at arms greeted him and would have flooded him with questions except Basil put him off until after the meeting.

  Basil’s unease made the stifling air more bothersome than usual, even though the canvas window drape was drawn back to expose the stormy November day. The demands of the two investigations prevented him from getting out for his early morning rides. Amongst the forest trees, he could escape the stench from the river and the constant din of a castle teeming with people.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It can’t be helped.”

  London is where his father found work for him. It would be the height of foolishness to turn his back on security to quench a longing for the countryside. If the investigations were successful, he’d ask for a select post outside of London. Patience was essential when dealing with the whims of those in authority.

  I can wait and work for what I want.

  Basil entered the meeting chamber, shut the door behind him, plopped into a chair and stretched his misused muscles. He braced his tired head on his hands, his elbows against his knees and rubbed his temples. He still had no answers for the thefts. Nor any hint where the stolen goods ended up.

  Certainly not in the London mar
ketplace. My spies found no evidence of that.

  Apparently, the chamberlain was obeying the order to keep storerooms locked. One man kept an eye on him to determine if he was behind the thefts or even one of the conspirators. So far, he’d done nothing but carry out the duties of his office.

  Even Fleur was keeping out of sight. Basil gritted his teeth, scowling.

  I’ll find that woman. Eventually. She’ll pay for what she did.

  Strangely, rage against Fleur evoked images of a serene Lynnet, stirring desire despite his worries. A heated itch caused Basil to shift uneasily on the wobbly chair. At the same time, a hopeless longing lodged itself in his heart, constricting his breathing.

  “If only…”

  A sharp rap forced his attention back to business. He opened the door to a burly man somewhat shorter than himself, but muscled from years of soldiering.

  “Hail, Sheriff,” Halévy said.

  The sandy-haired man stepped into the small chamber and enveloped Basil in a bear hug.

  “Cavorting with the Tower’s rich and powerful seems to agree with you. Welcome back to the poor end of London.”

  Having been in the military together, they had remained friends over the years.

  Basil dragged a chair to the scarred wooden table where a flagon of wine and platters of cheese and bread were laid out.

  “Sit down. Let me dump my burdens on you.”

  The sandy-haired man laughed.

  “Just what I need.”

  “It’s confidential,” Basil said as he took a seat. “A possible conspiracy against the crown.”

  “God’s wounds.”

  Halévy sat down, poured some wine into a wooden goblet and drank as Basil described his investigations.

  “Only this morning, the suspect left the Tower suddenly for his Wessex estates, leaving his wife behind to bring their baggage.”

  “Craven cur!”

  Basil laid out Halévy’s orders then added, “Report only to me. If anything happens to me, report to the king’s deputy.”

  “Sounds grave.”

  The sheriff nodded in agreement.

  “We’re up against powerful men.”

  Halévy knew the countryside near Count Maximilian’s lands. When dressed as an itinerant peddler, he’d easily blend in with the populace, whether town or country, making him valuable as a spy. An excellent tracker, he could also defend himself if a situation got ugly.

  “If he tries to leave the country, bring him to me,” Basil said. “In irons, if need be.”

  “It’ll be done.”

  “If already gone, follow him to Normandy.”

  The man nodded.

  “Otherwise, watch him. I want to know the people he meets and who sends him messages.”

  “Why don’t I just clap him in irons and persuade him to talk?”

  “Not until I’m sure about a plot against the crown. I need solid evidence. He has money and powerful friends.” Basil ground his teeth. “It galls me to wait, but it’s prudent.”

  The sheriff gave Halévy a leather pouch containing coins.

  “There’s enough for several changes of horses and transportation to Normandy, if need be. It’s also enough to ensure the local sheriff’s aid.”

  Halévy grunted acknowledgment and tucked the pouch inside his tunic without opening it.

  “The count has a head start. You’ll need to ride hard. Wear the king’s colors and use this authorization to secure fast horses.” Basil handed Halévy a parchment delineating his authority.

  “You can rely on me.”

  “That’s all, except become a peddler when near Wessex. We don’t want the count to know of the king’s interest.”

  Halévy got to his feet. He shoved a few chunks of cheese and an end of bread into his pocket.

  “I’ll take two pages with me to courier messages. They’ll be kept in the dark about the mission.”

  The two men clasped hands.

  “Hire as many men as you need.”

  “You’ll get daily reports.”

  Later that afternoon, as Lynnet opened her chamber door, she put a finger to her lips. “Shhhh. Evelyn’s sleeping.”

  “Why are you answering the door yourself?” a deep voice demanded.

  She jerked, surprised. Instead of the expected maidservant laden with food, it was the sheriff whose voice declared bad humor. Unbalanced, she tumbled backward. Before she could fall, Basil had her in his arms, pulling her against a muscled body encased in leather. Her heart speeded up.

  “I-I,” she stammered, feeling foolish. “I thought you were the woman you hired to help me.”

  Before she got another sound out, his mouth clamped tightly onto hers and explored hers in a kiss. Heat built deep in her loins and she found herself rising on tiptoes to run her fingers along his beard. Teasing masculine scents blended with those of horse and leather.

  Lynnet used to think she’d need instruction before her first kiss. In truth, no experience was needed. She released a sigh and pushed herself against him.

  Basil’s short-cropped beard pricked her chin as his mustache nestled against her upper lip. Warmth built. Shivers raced down her sensitized spine and into her curling toes. Sheer wonderment threatened to overwhelm her. Her tongue crept out seeking his.

  Lynnet assumed Evelyn was still asleep. If not, she was making a good pretense of it.

  As fast as it happened, so quickly was she thrust away. She struggled to bring order to her disordered emotions.

  “Forgive me,” Basil said in hushed undertones, his breathing erratic. “Fear for your welfare blinded my judgment.”

  “Do not overly chastise yourself,” she whispered, her emotions a jumble.

  Hearing Basil move farther into the room, Lynnet closed the door behind him and barred it. As she reached out to find the high-backed, wooden chair placed to the left of the door, her hand trembled. She heard the scraping of a chair pulled away from the table and saw his shadowed form folding down onto it. He spoke quietly, as if now mindful of her sick companion.

  “I came to talk about your last servant.”

  “I would just as soon forget her.”

  She was feeling the loss of his lips and didn’t want the detraction of an incompetent servant.

  “I’ve discovered Fleur is mistress to the chamberlain.”

  Lynnet shook her head in disgust.

  “So that’s why he wouldn’t cooperate. He didn’t want his mistress to lose her position.”

  “It may be worse than that,” Basil said. “She may have been hired to spy on you.”

  A cold chill ran down Lynnet’s spine.

  “Those voices making me think I was going mad were deliberate?”

  “I have no proof, but I believe so.”

  “Why?”

  “My guess is it was strictly for money. We believe she was working for one of the men you overheard in the cellars.”

  Lynnet’s stomach knotted. Throbbing built behind her brow.

  “Was Evelyn’s sickness deliberate?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Sadness weighed down her heart. Evelyn came near death because of knowing her. Lynnet glanced to the trundle bed where she could barely make out the form of her companion.

  “A woeful affair.”

  Basil moved on the chair as if he was reaching for something. She heard him chewing, probably on one of the pork rinds left out since last night.

  “I’ll have someone check on the apothecary,” he said.

  “Have you questioned Fleur?”

  “She went into hiding after being released from your service.”

  “Unfortunate.”

  “Be extra careful from now on. Ask who it is before you open the door. If Fleur and the chamberlain and, maybe, the apothecary are corrupted, you can’t trust any stranger.”

  Discomfited remembering what happened after opening the door and what might have happened, Lynnet changed the topic before the heated blush working its way up from
her bosom became obvious.

  “Are you making progress on learning the names of the men?”

  “I may know two of them, possibly three. Until I have more than suspicion, I need to keep them confidential.”

  He wasn’t dragging his feet. I should’ve had more faith.

  She needed to make amends, if only to salve her own conscience for her lack of faith.

  Basil rose and walked towards the door. Lynnet rose.

  “I’d like to stay until Isolda arrives,” he said, “but I cannot. I have work to do.”

  “Perhaps this evening you could stop by.”

  “If I get free, I will.”

  Her parents would be furious, but she wanted a chance to atone, as well as to explore the emotions aroused by Basil.

  A slight frown creased her forehead.

  And learn why he cut them off so abruptly.

  Embarrassed, Basil gladly escaped Lynnet’s chamber. Although she hadn’t condemned him with words, he felt condemned by her restraint. And, yet, she’d responded to his kiss.

  Recalling her tongue seeking entrance warmed him and stirred his manhood. Her vulnerability was his downfall. Exposing herself so completely by opening the door brought an anger, which overrode judgment and transformed into desire. His heart beat faster while remembering her body pressed against his. An upwelling of happiness surged through him as he approached Lord Geoff’s door.

  On the ride back from London headquarters, Basil had reached the conclusion that his friend could not be involved in conspiracy with his brother-in-law. A man so in love with a Saxon woman wouldn’t be out to destroy them. Armed with that belief, he walked the remaining few steps to Lord Geoff’s chamber door and knocked loudly.

  “What a surprise,” Geoff greeted him. “Come in.”

  “Is your wife here?”

  “She’s out visiting.”

  “Good.”

  Basil entered the chamber and collapsed into a chair at the table, scowling at his friend.

  “I have something serious to discuss.”

  “Has something happened to Lynnet?”

  “It’s not Lady Lynnet. It has to do with your brother-in-law.”

  Geoff slammed his fist into the wall.

  “What’s he done now, the sadistic son of a whore? Is he lighting stray cats on fire?”