“What about the third man?”
Basil traced the carving on his wine goblet with his thumb. He wished he had better news.
“Still unknown.”
“Unfortunate.”
“For awhile I thought it was the chamberlain, but I’ve changed my mind. I believe the third man is more powerful than a chamberlain.”
“Seems logical.”
“According to my spies, my half-brother carouses in the Hall with any number of nobles. In his room, André has no visitors except women.”
“No help on that score.”
“So far we’ve uncovered no physical threat to the king. The trouble is directed against Anglo-Saxons. But continue to keep the king well guarded.”
“I will.”
Basil leaned across the table.
“I want to draw the unknown man into the open.”
“How?”
“I’m accompanying the woman who overheard the plot to tomorrow’s banquet. I’ll make sure we’re seen together. I’d like you to arrange with the king to spend time with Lady Lynnet and me. The conspirators will assume she told me about them and consider me a threat because I have the king’s ear.”
The deputy looked at Basil, thoughtfully.
“Risky. Especially for the lady.”
“She’s protected by friends, as well as by me. I’ve assigned a man to keep an eye on her.”
“What about your safety?”
“I’ll make a point of being alone. Only, I won’t be. My men will be watching.”
Lord Otheur nodded, then rose, ending the meeting.
“You have the king’s gratitude. I’ll make arrangements for tomorrow night.”
Before opening the door, the deputy turned to Basil.
“Be careful. It’s a dangerous game you play.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lynnet spoke to her parents in their chambers. She’d waited impatiently until their servants removed the remnants of the morning meal and left, closing the door behind themselves.
“The sheriff is escorting me to the banquet tonight.”
“You shouldn’t be seen with him.”
She could hear the distaste in her mother’s voice.
“He’s a Norman,” her father added, as if that alone was enough to condemn him.
A chill entered the chamber as a gust of winter air blew through the opened window.
This would be a good time for my ghostly grandmother to appear and give a nod of approval.
Lynnet stiffened her backbone. “He’s the acknowledged son of an earl. He studied at a monastery and holds the confidence of the king. Surely, that’s enough to give the man some merit.”
“He has no wealth.”
“His offer is one of protection. He feels I could be harmed in a large crowd.”
“I suppose I can tolerate him if my friends know he’s there in his capacity as sheriff.”
The haughtiness irked Lynnet. She wished her mother would concentrate on Basil’s admirable qualities instead of his social inequality.
“You and father will be busy with your friends.”
“That’s true.”
“The sheriff wants to make sure I’m not left on my own and spirited off again.”
“I should have realized,” her mother said, “there was nothing personal in his offer. Considering your blindness.”
“Let him carry out his duty,” her father added. He appeared to be brushing crumbs off his clothing.
Lynnet’s heart shriveled, squeezing the joy out of her anticipation.
Although still weak, Evelyn almost felt her old self. She yearned to dress Lynnet for tonight’s banquet, but both her mistress and Isolda would not hear of it. Sitting on a high-backed chair near the warmth of the crackling fire, she kept a motherly eye on things.
Isolda was brushing Lynnet’s waist-long hair with more vigor than finesse, but the result was satisfying. The pale strands came alive and glowed from the oil worked into them. The servant’s plump hands divided the thin, straight hair into three sections and braided them together with a brilliant-blue ribbon.
Realizing Lynnet did not normally weave ribbons into her hair, Evelyn asked, “Who are you planning to impress?”
“No one.”
“Tell me about this sheriff of yours.”
“Nothing to tell.”
After wrapping the braid around Lynnet’s head, Isolda pinned it in place and added a small veil.
Lynnet followed her to the opened chest. Evelyn sat, bemused, as the two women debated various pieces of clothing. A dark-colored, long-sleeved, high-necked velvet was the final choice.
“You seem to be making a lot of fuss,” Evelyn said as she watched Lynnet reject another brooch.
Isolda held up a golden one. “What about this one? It’s gold with five petals and a red stone in the middle.”
“Perfect!”
“Velvet and gold?” Evelyn said. “This man must be special.”
Lynnet wrinkled her nose at her companion. “Special? No. I’m just excited about getting out into society. I’ve been trapped in this chamber most of the week.”
Knowing Lynnet’s penchant for the quiet life, Evelyn laughed. “Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do.”
“The sheriff is just doing his duty. Protecting me.”
“Of course, he is.”
“I’ve cleaned and cooked for him since he became sheriff,” Isolda said in his defense. “An honorable man.”
“I’ll admit he has a captivating voice,” Lynnet said.
“Does it make shivers run up and down your spine?”
“Of fear, maybe,” she protested.
A blush started at Lynnet’s neck and worked its way up to her face. Evelyn decided that more than fear caused those shivers.
Lynnet stepped into the midnight-blue gown with Isolda’s help, settling it over shoulders and hips. The maidservant started tying the fasteners.
“Before we leave London, I’m going to set eyes on this intriguing sheriff. I’m always asleep when he calls.”
Lynnet shoved her hands on her hips and stamped a leather-clad foot.
“When he comes tonight, don’t you dare tease.”
“My, my, aren’t we being touchy.”
Basil impatiently waited while the guests who arrived in the Great Hall before him and Lady Lynnet were presented to the king and his daughter. At last, their turn came.
“Basil of Ipswich, Sheriff of London, and Lady Lynnet, daughter of Lord Wilfgive of Osfrith and Lady Durwyn,” the Master of Ceremony announced to King Henry, Lady Maud and his honored guests seated on the dais.
Tonight was a formal affair. The guests were emissaries from the French court. Only the titled were in attendance in the Hall. Others were being fed in the kitchens. Dogs had been rounded up and shooed out, flagstones swept, and new rushes laid. Musicians played.
Instead of moving them on immediately after being announced as he did with other guests, King Henry leaned forward and took one of Lynnet’s hands in a fatherly gesture.
“Now here’s a charming woman we haven’t seen for a few days. Where are you keeping yourself?”
Lynnet curtsied.
“My companion was ill. I’ve been nursing her back to health.”
“Be careful of your own health. We don’t want anything happening to you.”
“I’m being well cared for, Your Highness.”
“Visit me sometime, Cousin,” his daughter said, leaning forward in her chair to briefly clasp Lynnet’s hand just released by her father. “We had no chance to chat at the dance.”
“I will.”
“Are your parents with you?”
Lynnet turned her head as if she could see. “They’re supposed to be here. They came separately.”
The king turned to Basil.
“Well, Sheriff, are you attending to the king’s business?”
“Remaining diligent, Your Highness.”
“We’re co
unting on you. You’re the man we depend on to keep the peace.”
“I’m honored to have your support,” Basil said loud enough for those around him to hear.
There. I hope that starts them worrying.
Just as the king signaled for the next guests to move forward, the king’s daughter intervened. She made a comment that started Basil’s heart pounding.
“What a good-looking couple you two make,” Lady Maud said. “One golden, the other dark.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Courbet and André rode separately into the king’s forest, meeting under a bare-limbed elm. They remained astride their mounts in order to leave hastily if anyone happened by.
A feeble sun peered out from behind grayed, drifting clouds, barely softening patches of frozen snow. Puffs of steam rose from their breaths as they blew on cold hands. The early-morning air had a bite to it.
“They both have to die,” André said as he ruthlessly controlled his restless mount. “They have the ear of the king. They’re too dangerous.”
“We don’t know that. Neither of us was close enough to hear.”
“They were given considerably more time than others.”
“It looked more like family talk. You saw how Lady Maud joined in. After all, the woman is related.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Well, neither do I.”
They sat, silent, for a few minutes while each thought about the predicament. Any action they took could not draw attention to themselves.
“What about your man on the king’s staff?”
“He’s seen no documents. Heard nothing. If they’re investigating us, they’re playing it close to the chest.”
Courbet circled his mount slowly around while he thought, intending to keep the horse warmed up against the cold.
“That sniveling coward Maximilian left us holding the bag,” André complained.
Irritated, he jabbed a spur into his horse, causing it to rear. Its hooves slipped on the icy ground. André fought to bring it under control.
“It may be just as well Maximilian’s gone. You and I don’t wilt under pressure.”
“He’ll get his own soon enough.”
“I believe the king knows nothing,” Courbet said. “Otherwise, we’d be imprisoned.”
“We must silence those two before Henry finds out.”
“Anything we do has to look like an accident.”
André smirked. “I can invite my brother hunting. You can put an arrow through him.”
Courbet shook his head.
“He’d never go. The only thing you two do together is fight.”
“Then I’ll provoke a fight this evening when it’s too dark to see clearly. I’ll have my man sneak out and stick a knife into him.”
“How will you explain a knife during a fistfight?”
“A disgruntled felon he once arrested. I’ll say I heard a yell about revenge.”
Courbet nodded his head.
“That takes care of your brother. What about the lady?”
“She always has people around her. That makes things more difficult.”
Courbet pulled up his mount. “Whatever happens to her needs to be close to your brother’s death. Otherwise, when she hears about it, she may start crying ‘foul play’.”
“Agreed. We can’t chance people believing her.”
“I’ll see she disappears once and for all tonight.”
André set up the ruse of being progressively drunker as the evening wore on. He made himself obnoxious to those nearby, upsetting everyone enough for his brother to intervene. Although Lady Maud and the king left the chamber almost an hour earlier, the French guests were still at the table. André caught scowls directed his way.
Perfect. Complain to the sheriff and get me thrown out.
He started singing loudly, out of tune, slurring the words of a bawdy song, embarrassing the women. From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother approaching and was not surprised when a hand clamped onto his shoulder.
“Settle down. You’re disturbing the king’s guests.”
André deliberately turned slowly on his stool. He looked up at his brother, hoping he looked bleary-eyed.
“Well, if it isn’t Big Brother.”
“Get yourself to bed. You’re making a nuisance of yourself.”
André knocked the hand off his shoulder.
“Let me be.”
“You need to leave.”
“Get away from me.”
André pretended to take another long drink of wine, deliberately allowing the goblet to tip over when he faked setting it down. Red wine scattered in all directions across the wooden table, making people jump out of the way to keep their clothes from getting splattered.
“That’s it.”
A powerful hand grasped the back of his collar and hauled him up into the air. His stool crashed backwards onto the flagstones.
I’ll need to keep my wits about me. My brother is a strong son of a bitch.
André struggled in earnest, making sure his struggles were believable, but not so much that his brother called for the guards. The fate he planned for Basil depended on their being alone.
André allowed himself to be dragged kicking and protesting across the Hall. He was relieved when Basil turned left, heading towards the bedchambers, instead of handing him over to the guards at the door.
“You can’t bully me with your wharf-rat tricks.”
He deliberately slurred the words. André hoped he sounded so drunk Basil would believe he could not carry out threats. Surprise was an important element. “I’ll get you for this.”
“Shut up,” Basil said. “People are trying to sleep.”
Despite his dragging his feet, Basil had gotten him all the way to his chamber corridor. André gloated. The assassin was hiding in the shadows two-thirds of the way down.
“I always hated you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Basil said.
A shiver went through André. The edge to Basil’s voice sounded as if his brother had already put out coin to buy him a winding sheet.
Well, the feeling is indeed mutual.
“Our father was a fool to acknowledge you.”
“Perhaps he saw in me the honor missing in you.”
Anger surged through André. He swept his leg out, catching Basil sharply on the side of the knee, making him lose his grip and stumble.
Basil’s grunt of pain awoke André to his mistake. He should’ve waited until they were farther down the corridor, closer to the assassin. Temper goaded him into premature action.
Too late now. I need to take the advantage.
Before Basil could recover, André struck him. The blow hit true, snapping Basil’s head back with a satisfying crack. André cocked his right hand and swung again, but Basil turned so it slid harmlessly by.
André found it hard to pretend drunkenness and still fight his brother. He did his best to rain curses and blows. When Basil fell down from a second kick to the injured knee, André pretended to stumble drunkenly down the corridor towards his bedchamber.
“See. I’m better than you,” he called over his shoulder.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Basil push himself to his feet and limp after him. When he spotted the assassin in the shadows, André pretended to fall down drunk to the flagstones. Basil limped up and leaned over him.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, Little Brother.”
The assassin sprang, his knife arched down to stab Basil between the shoulder blades.
“Die, Sheriff. Feel my revenge for false imprisonment.”
The assassin’s words, meant to turn suspicion away from André should any guests overhear, warned Basil. He turned to deflect the knife, receiving a slanting cut across his back and upper arm through the layers of clothing.
André yanked his brother’s arm, pulling him off-balance, hoping to give the assassin another opportunity to strike. Basil rolled on
the stone floor, wrenching his arm from André’s grip, and sprung back to his feet. Even in torchlight, André could see his brother’s blood staining the cold stones.
The assassin and Basil crouched, assessing each other. When the man thrust the knife, Basil swept his uninjured arm upward, knocking it from the man’s hand, and sending it sliding across the floor to slam against the wall. Weaponless, the assassin ran. Basil started after him, but limped so badly he gave up the chase.
When André saw his brother coming towards him, he started singing drunkenly, waving his arms in the air. A door opened cautiously and a head poked out.
“Go back to sleep,” his brother said to the man. “It’s all over.”
Basil grabbed one arm and dragged André to his bedchamber door.
“Let me go, you swine.”
Basil pounded loudly until the manservant answered the door.
“Put your drunken master to bed.”
As Basil turned away, André glanced up from his place on the floor. The assassin botched the killing of his brother, putting himself and Courbet at grave risk.
He cursed long and loudly.
Basil limped to his chamber and roused his manservant. He accepted aid removing his sliced clothing and leaned wearily over the table. In the light of multi-branched candelabra, the manservant cleansed the wounds.
The slice across his back was superficial so the servant wrapped the wound with cloth strips, securing moldy bread and herbal salve over the injury.
The wound on his arm was deeper. Basil had stemmed the blood flow with pressure so now it barely oozed. The servant washed it with linen cloth dipped in water warmed by the fireplace. Basil drank eagerly from a flagon of wine as the servant prepared catgut and needle to sew the ragged edges together.
“My half-brother got drunk and caused a disturbance in the Hall,” he told the servant.
“Again?”
“Drunk, loud and obnoxious. I got him out of there before he did too much damage.”
“Did he do this to you?”
“No. Before I could get my brother to his chamber tonight, I was attacked.”
“By his friends?” the manservant asked.
“No. A felon wanting revenge. He accused me of false imprisonment.”
Basil bit down on wood and pounded the table to keep from crying out while his servant sewed the eight stitches to close the wound. Sweat stood out on his forehead and his heart pounded in his ears until the wound was finally bound.
Out of the Dark Page 10