He had to agree with Gareth’s spirit on the latter point at least. He bent to the closest man, lifting an arm to discover that the hand was cold and the arm moved easily. “How is it that it took until today to discover them?”
Holm waved his hands in front of him. “I haven’t entered the barn recently. The smell of the animals covered the stench of the decaying bodies.”
“Rikard was found two days ago, and these men appear to have died about the same time.” Godfrid shook his head. “That’s four deaths within a very short span.”
Holm folded his arms across his chest. “We don’t know for certain that these deaths are connected to Rikard’s and Deirdre’s.”
“Don’t we?”
“Even if true, that observation won’t exonerate me.”
The moment Godfrid had spoken, he’d put Holm on the defensive, which hadn’t been his intent. “You would have to be a true idiot to dump the bodies of the men you killed in your own barn. And you are not an idiot.”
The tension in Holm’s shoulders eased slightly, though his expression remained pinched.
Godfrid put a hand on his shoulder. “Act as if you are innocent, as if the very idea that you were involved in these men’s murders is absurd, and everyone around you will find themselves willing to believe it too. Nobody thinks you killed Rikard and Deirdre. So therefore you didn’t kill these men either. It is in your best interest to see these deaths as connected.”
Holm’s expression brightened, and he nodded vigorously. “I was asleep with my wife and children two nights ago. Everyone will attest to it.”
“Exactly.” Godfrid returned to the first body. The man had dark, curly hair and bad teeth. He was wearing a cloak over a coat, indicating the air had been chilly when he’d died. His companion was taller, with straight auburn hair that he’d cut short. Godfrid didn’t recognize either man.
“Do you want me to move them to the church for you to examine?” Holm asked.
“No. Bishop Gregory wouldn’t thank me for that.” The men smelled of death and pigpen, which was a terrible combination. “I will examine them here.”
Godfrid had already noted the heavy bruising on the neck of the curly-haired man, indicating that he was strangled by a man’s fingers. In turn, his auburn-haired companion had been stabbed through the heart, as evidenced by the slit in the cloth of the man’s shirt and the blood stain. Though, at this point, it was hard to tell what was blood and what was mud. The manner of death for both men indicated that they’d allowed their attacker to get close enough to kill in a very personal way.
Godfrid began patting down first one man and then the other. The curly-haired man had a purse, which contained real wealth in ten silver coins and a ring with a signet Godfrid didn’t immediately recognize. He held it up to Holm, who shook his head.
But then Conall’s voice spoke from behind him. “Brega.”
“Are you sure?” Godfrid handed the ring to Holm. Rather than examining it, the sheriff looked from Godfrid to Conall as if he feared they would at any moment come to blows.
“Of course I’m sure,” Conall said. “The Bregans killed your father. I would have thought you’d recognize it too.”
Holm clenched the ring in his fist. “Give me a moment, I have ... something to see to.”
Conall watched him go. “He does that every time, doesn’t he?”
“It’s convenient, if nothing else.” Godfrid crouched to the body again. “I’d say welcome, but I don’t want to be here any more than you do. Where’s Cait?”
“Asleep still.”
“We can thank the Lord for small blessings.” Godfrid put out a hand to his friend. “Not that I wouldn’t be pleased to see her again, but—”
“But not here.”
“No.”
“I almost hate to ask,” Conall said, “but how are you?”
“Well enough.”
Conall chuckled. “I always knew you had a hard head. Now we have proof.”
Godfrid snorted under his breath, still moving between the bodies of the dead men. “I’m glad I amuse you.” A moment later, he found the second man’s purse, which contained only coins. Then his coat pocket produced a length of silken rope, expensive and smooth to the touch, and when Godfrid held it up, the light of day revealed it to be stained red along the middle of its length. “Blood?”
Conall took it to examine it more closely. “Could we have just found Deirdre’s killer?”
Godfrid straightened. “I can’t tell exactly without comparing side by side, but I’d say it’s the same type of rope used to tie Deirdre to that chair at the warehouse. It’s a finer weave, meant for a household rather than a sailor’s use.”
Holm, who’d been standing by the stables, couldn’t help but notice that they were huddled over something, and he approached, albeit warily. “Did you find something, my lords?”
Conall showed him the rope.
Holm was jubilant. “I must tell the king that we’ve solved the mystery! It will make up for yesterday’s failures.” He took the rope from Conall and immediately set off for the street at a brisk pace.
“Wait—” Godfrid made to call after him.
But Holm wasn’t waiting. He turned to walk backwards, sketching a wave. “I’ll leave Alf with you. When you’re done, he’ll find men to move the bodies to the graveyard to await burial.” Then he was gone.
“Fool.” Conall shook his head. “If these two killed Rikard and Deirdre, the mystery isn’t solved. Ottar is still going to want to know who killed these two.”
Godfrid’s eyes remained on the entrance to the yard by which Holm had left, but the sheriff didn’t return. “He woke me because he was afraid of being blamed for their murders, seeing as how they were found in his barn.”
“He could still be blamed,” Conall said. “Doesn’t he see that?”
“I wouldn’t be sorry if King Ottar loses faith in Holm, though I find myself starting to like the man.” Godfrid tipped his head. “At the same time, to kill a killer is practically self-defense, and Ottar may see it that way. He might even be happy to assume Holm killed these men because it will put the entire investigation to bed.”
“I can’t decide if that’s to our benefit or not.” Conall tapped a finger to his lips. “You do realize that if anyone else knew what we know, the most obvious person to have murdered these two men is you. Or your brother.”
Godfrid’s head came up. “Are you really suggesting—”
Conall made a slicing motion with his hand. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Given who and what Ottar is, nobody would blame you for taking matters into your own hands. But I would appreciate the courtesy of the truth. Did you have anything to do with these deaths?”
Godfrid fixed his eyes on Conall’s. He wasn’t offended by the question, so much as wanting to make sure Conall heard the plain truth in his voice. He and Conall had come to an understanding months ago, but that didn’t mean they knew everything about one another. On the outside, they couldn’t be more different, but Godfrid recognized a cold practicality in Conall now. He wanted to know the truth, because until he had it, he couldn’t know how to proceed.
“I did not kill anyone. My entire role in this endeavor began the moment I walked into Rikard’s warehouse two days ago.”
Conall had been wearing a very serious expression, but now he grinned. “I almost wish it had been you. We could have amused ourselves covering it up.” He sighed. “As it is, we can speculate all we like, but there’s still too much we don’t know.”
Both men turned back to the bodies, and together they rolled them onto their fronts so Godfrid could strip off their cloaks and coats.
Conall yanked off their boots, and then held up a knife in a sheath that had been hidden in the stabbed man’s boot. “It was good planning, not that it did him any good.”
“I would guess that he was taken out first,” Godfrid said. “It would be good to find the knife that killed him, if it is here to be found.”
While Conall summoned Alf and had him start the search in and around the barn and pigpen for the murder weapon, Godfrid noted that the curly-haired man’s breeches had a slight bulge at the small of his back. He lifted up the shirt to reveal a rolled document. He glanced around the yard, trying not to look furtive but not wanting to be observed either. Fortunately, Alf and Holm’s other men were occupied with their new task.
Godfrid tugged out the piece of parchment and slipped it inside his own coat. Then he rose to his feet and waved at Alf. “We’re done here. Send word if you find anything.”
Conall spoke out of the side of his mouth. “I am a bad influence, I see.”
“We will retire to your house,” Godfrid said. “This we can share with Cait.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Day Three
Caitriona
Cait had been annoyed when she’d woken to find Conall gone—and to learn from his steward the reason he’d left—but she hadn’t set off after him. Though she’d often chafed at the restrictions placed upon her as the king’s niece and had been jealous of Conall’s freedom, she did believe that she had gifts. A woman didn’t have to behave the same as a man. She didn’t have to examine pig-eaten bodies to contribute.
And as it turned out, she had just sat down to breakfast when both men returned, in good humor and their eyes alight in a way she’d come to recognize as resulting from a session of public, over-the-top bickering. In fact, she wasn’t sure she had ever seen such an excited look on Conall’s face before.
“We found this hidden among the garments of one of the dead men.” Before she could ask how he was doing, Godfrid spread a document in front of her.
At first, her heart warmed to think that he had come to the house specifically to include her, and then the blood started pumping a little faster when she realized what she had in front of her. Unlike Brodar’s death warrant, which had been written on paper, this was parchment, implying that it was official, since only the most important documents were given such permanency.
It was written in Latin again, not Danish, and Conall began reading:
Sed est contra usus pactum aeternum hoc sanctae foedus inter Otharus quidam, Ebbonis rex Dublin, et Donnell Mortem Festinamus Mideach Ua Conchobair, princeps est ad herede regni Hiberniae ... This treaty represents an agreement between Ottar, King of Dublin, and Donnell O’Connor, heir to the high kingship of Ireland ...
Godfrid let him get that far before he cut him off, impatient with the Latin. “It’s an agreement between Donnell O’Connor and Ottar in which Donnell agrees to kill my brother Brodar in exchange for Ottar arranging for the death of Donnell’s brother, Rory.” He explained also about the finding of the rope and the signet ring. “This document has to be associated with the contract we found for Brodar’s death.”
Cait wasn’t one to dramatize, but her hand had gone to her mouth in her shock and surprise. “So these men were at the warehouse with Rikard? They killed him and Deirdre?”
“That is what we are thinking.” Conall then looked at Godfrid. “What would be the response of the leading men of Dublin if we told them of this treaty Ottar has made with Donnell?”
“I’m more interested in what King Diarmait might think. Or better yet, the high king himself.” Godfrid met his friend’s gaze. “That said, for the men of Dublin to learn that Ottar was plotting against one of their own—a man who to all appearances has been loyal these five years—and not only plotting against him but with the Irish? It would not sit well.”
“I am interested to see how Ottar is taking the news of these men’s deaths,” Cait said. “We know now that he is involved. They were at Rikard’s warehouse to acquire this treaty, and he has to know that they had the treaty on them when they died. And yet, all Holm has with him is the bloody rope and the ring indicating they were from Brega.”
“He is going to be wondering if Holm has both this treaty and the death warrant for Brodar and isn’t saying, or if we have it.” Conall put his hands together. “Perhaps he already knew that these two men never made it out of Dublin and sent that man to search your house, Godfrid! He will be in real fear of discovery now.”
Cait looked down at the parchment. “So ... who killed these two? And why leave the treaty behind?”
“It was well hidden,” Conall said, “and we don’t know the circumstances of their deaths.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Last night, we talked about looking closer at Ottar, Thorfin, and Sanne for Deirdre’s murderer, but I find the idea laughable that Sanne could have killed these two men, or that any one of them murdered four people on the same night.”
“Ottar could have,” Godfrid said.
“We have no evidence that places him at that warehouse, and he, of all people, would have no reason to murder the two Bregans,” Conall said. “Nor, quite frankly, would Thorfin or Sanne.”
Cait bit her lip. “Brodar may have an ally we don’t know about. We could be looking at two villains, as Conall suggested in the warehouse.”
“Holm was appalled at the thought, but according to Gareth and Gwen, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Conall said.
Godfrid grimaced. “I admit that risk to Ottar if he was seen wandering the streets in the middle of the night would be very great. More likely, if he is behind their deaths—all these deaths—he sent someone else to do his dirty work.”
“Like at your house,” Cait said. “Sturla.”
Godfrid nodded. “That is my conclusion as well.”
“How might we find out?” Cait said. “It isn’t as if one of us can walk up to him and ask him.”
Both Conall and Godfrid looked at her, and suddenly she felt very wary. “You want me to ask him?”
“Not him,” Godfrid said. “Helga.”
Cait relaxed slightly. Helga had glared at her last night, but Cait was no threat to her or her marriage. She didn’t think it would be too hard to convince the queen of that fact. “You want me to go to Helga and get her to admit ... what? That Ottar was not in bed beside her two nights ago?”
“Ideally, yes,” Conall said.
Cait snorted. “You make it sound so easy.” But even as she spoke, her mind began working over the problem.
“If you think you can’t do it ...” Conall let his voice trail off.
“Oh, don’t even start. Of course I can do it,” Cait said, which was how, an hour later, she found herself being admitted to Helga’s private chambers in the palace. While the main hall was the province of her husband, just like Sanne in her house or Arno’s wife, Ragnhild, in hers, Helga ruled supreme in the back, in this case, in her own small hall connected to the main building by a covered, stone pathway.
“Queen Helga.” Cait curtseyed.
The queen was in her middle forties, with blonde hair going gray and the thick waist of a woman who’d borne her husband many children. While she was well-groomed overall, she defied convention by wearing no rings or other jewelry, and her dress wasn’t adorned with elaborate embroidery. She had a contentment about her that implied she had nothing to prove to anyone anymore.
At the sight of Cait in the doorway, Helga’s eyes initially narrowed, but then she gestured Cait into the room and said in her near baritone, “Welcome.”
“Thank you.” Though it was a warm day, and Cait wasn’t cold, she took the seat next to the fire that Helga offered. Cait’s plan was going to succeed only if she could convince Helga that she was friendly and sincere. She was glad that she’d again put on the dress Ragnhild had given her. Her brother’s cook had conjured a different dress for her to wear yesterday, but it had been ill-fitting and less pretty. “I apologize for not coming to see you sooner, but my brother has been so busy ...”
Helga put on her regal face. “My dear. I was sorry to speak to you only in passing yesterday at Rikard’s funeral feast. How terrible for you that you arrived in Dublin for the first time under such difficult circumstances.”
Cait found herself admiring the woman. Anyon
e who could remain married to Ottar all this time deserved the benefit of the doubt. Cait had assumed she would dislike her, and in the process of planning her approach to the queen had considered and rejected a half-dozen openings. Now, since Helga had begun the conversation with a reference, however oblique, to the murders, she decided to throw out all of her previous ideas, take the topic, and run with it.
“Isn’t it awful! My brother was showing me the town when we heard that Rikard was missing. One thing led to another, and I found myself standing over the body of not only one of your citizens, but two!”
Helga’s eyes widened. “You were there when they found Rikard and the slave?”
“I was.” Cait pretended to hesitate. “Did the king not speak of the details to you?”
Helga’s lips pinched. “No.”
Cait smiled in what she hoped was both a sympathetic and conspiratorial way. “Men like to protect us from trouble, don’t they? But that’s how false rumors get started. Just this morning, I heard someone say that King Ottar himself was out and about in the wee hours of the morning Rikard died.”
“How absurd! He was in bed beside me the entire night.” Then she frowned. “To speak frankly, his attention surprised me, since it’s unusual these days. There’s always a young thing floating about the palace.” She paused and the look she directed at Cait was akin to the spear she’d thrown at her the previous day.
It wasn’t a topic Cait would ever have thought Helga would address directly, but since she had, Cait felt an obligation to do the same. “I would never ever—”
Helga put up a hand. “No need to say more. I realize that now. You have your eye on our Prince Godfrid ... and he on you.”
“Do you think—” Cait blinked and started over. “We only just met.”
Helga wagged her finger at her. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I can see it. I don’t care when you met.”
Cait pressed her lips together, endeavoring not to smile. “I don’t think I should say anything more about it.”
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