Secret Thunder

by Patricia Ryan

  The big wolf leapt; Luke ducked and rolled, slashing out with the knife. A canine yelp told him he'd done at least a little damage. A ripping sound, along with a hot sting of pain on his shoulder, told him the damage wasn't one-sided.

  The great beast turned and charged again. Luke dropped the useless knife and wrapped his hands around a big rock, slamming it into the wolf's head as it leapt. A chilling howl rose from it as it staggered back. Heaving the rock overhead, Luke delivered a final, mortal blow; the animal trembled and went slack.

  Still holding the bloodied rock, Luke turned to face the three remaining wolves, all stealthily retreating. He lifted it high, roaring at the top of his lungs for good measure. The wolves darted away, three streaks of silver dissolving into the night.

  Throwing down the rock, Luke located the knife and slid it beneath his brother's gag, slicing it off with one stroke.

  "That's six," Alex said.

  "Six what?" Luke cut through the ropes knotted around Alex's wrists and ankles.

  "Six times you've saved my life. And I haven't saved yours once." Alex sat up awkwardly, with a little help from Luke. "You'll have to slow down, so I have a chance to catch up."

  "If I slow down," Luke observed, "you'll end up dead, and you never will have the chance to catch up."

  Alex grinned crookedly. "Good point. Anyway, thanks." He clapped Luke on the shoulder, igniting a jolt of pain that made him gasp. "Damn," Alex muttered, looking at the blood on his hand. "Son of a bitch got you."

  "You, too." Luke peeled aside the shredded remnants of wool clinging to the gash on his brother's calf. Luckily, it was shallow.

  "Then there's Orrik's handiwork," Alex said, indicating Luke's head wound and swollen eye and the purpling knot on his own forehead.

  "I wouldn't mind paying him back for that," Luke grunted as he got to his feet.

  "And I can't say I'd mind helping you." Alex let Luke help him to stand up and mount his horse. He laughed like the Devil when Luke told him how Leola had coaxed his whereabouts out of Firdolf. "He's been sniffing around her all summer."

  "You're not jealous?" Luke asked as they rode across the clearing toward the woods.

  "Serves me right. I've been greedy, keeping both girls for myself. Besides, she did it for me, and I actually think she's a little sweet on that fellow. Of course," he added with a grin, "she's a little sweet on just about anything in chausses. She and her sister both. Don't tell me they haven't rubbed up against you from time to time."

  "I won't," Luke said dryly.

  Alex laughed again. "But I take it you resisted their charms."

  "I'm married."

  "You sound like Father," Alex said, his voice quietly mocking. Before Luke could retort, he added, "That's a compliment. He was a good man, and he knew what was important in life. There are worse fates than being like him." As they entered the woods, he asked, "Where to now, brother?"

  "Foxhyrst," Luke answered immediately. "I'll turn myself over to Alberic and demand to be taken to London for trial by King William."

  Alex made a face. "Wouldn't you rather go back to Hauekleah and give Orrik a spoonful of his own tonic?"

  "And then what? I've admitted publicly that I killed Caedmon. Do you think Faithe can simply go on as if nothing has happened? I've deceived her horribly. I've got to make up for all the lying and covering up, got to undo the damage and win her back."

  Alex shook his head in resignation. "All right, but why put yourself in Alberic's hands? The man despises you. Why not ride to London on your own and present yourself to the king?"

  "Protocol demands that I surrender myself to the sheriff and that he brings me to the king. Don't worry. Alberic hates me, it's true, but he would never risk William's wrath by taking matters into his own hands."

  "I hope you're right."

  "I'm going to do everything the proper way for once, so that there can be no question of my good intentions. I've got to get everything out in the open—be tried in the king's court, explain things, and be officially exonerated." He took a deep breath. "When all of that is behind me, I can work on... winning Faithe back. Regaining her love."

  "Assuming you've lost it."

  "Any other assumption," Luke said grimly, "would be the most pathetic wishful thinking."

  * * *

  Upon returning to Hauekleah, Faithe woke up young Bert, who slept in the stable. He blinked in drowsy confusion when he saw her standing over him in the dark, holding her mare's reins. "Milady! Is that you?"

  "Tend to Daisy." She handed him the reins. "I rode her too hard."

  "Wh-what hour is it, milady?" Bert asked as she walked away.

  "Nearly matins, I should think." Nearly matins, she reflected as she made her way by moonlight to Hauekleah Hall. It was the middle of the night, and she was as exhausted as her horse, and greatly troubled. She'd covered many miles searching for Alex, only to find no evidence that he'd been that way. This did not bode well.

  Detouring to the kitchen, she procured a wineskin and some bread, then lit a lantern and carried it out the back door to the moonlit croft. As she approached the storehouse, she hesitated. Nyle was nowhere to be seen. When she saw the keys dangling from the door handle, she was truly puzzled.

  She knocked on the door. "Luke?"

  No answer came.

  "Luke?"

  Dread crept up her spine. She couldn't shake the image of Vance hanging from the rafters of this very storehouse. Her fingers shook as she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

  Holding the lantern before her like a talisman, she stepped into the storehouse. "Luke?"

  Faithe dropped the wine and bread when she saw him, bound and gagged on the dirt floor. The realization that he wasn't Luke but Baldric, brought a moment's relief, but...

  "Where is Luke?"

  Baldric, thrashed and grunted. Setting the lantern down, she pulled off his gag and began untying him. "Where is my husband? What's happened to him?"

  "Obviously," intoned a voice from behind her, "he's escaped."

  Faithe turned to find Orrik blocking the doorway, his hands fisted on his hips, his eerily luminous eyes fixed on Baldric.

  "I... I'm sorry, Master Orrik, truly I am, but he tricked me! He used them kids. They told me—"

  "You whine like a weasel, Baldric. Have you no shame?"

  Baldric stood and rubbed his wrists, looking terrified. "'Twasn't my fault, master, I swear it!"

  "Of course it was your fault," Orrik said with deadly calm. "Didn't I tell you not to talk to him? Didn't I tell you not to open the door?"

  "Aye, but I just..."

  "You just disobeyed me. And now our prisoner has escaped. And it's all your fault."

  "I... I can explain! Truly I—"

  "Go," Orrik commanded, and pinned Baldric with his steely gaze. "I'll deal with you on the morrow."

  The bailiff stood aside just enough for Baldric to creep through the doorway.

  "What was Baldric doing here?" Faithe demanded. "I specifically told you he wasn't to come anywhere near—"

  "Nyle fell down on the job," Orrik said. "I had to replace him, and Baldric was the only man available."

  "I'm sick to death of your lies, Orrik!"

  "My lady—"

  "What have you done with Luke? Did you hang him?"

  Orrik's face darkened. "On my mother's soul, I did no such thing. I haven't laid eyes on him since I locked him up in here. And I daresay I never will again. Neither will you." He nodded knowingly. "Aye, we've seen the last of your lord husband, I'll wager. He's well on his way to Bulverhythe Harbor by now. By the time the sun has risen, he'll be on a boat, crossing the Channel. A man can disappear very easily on the Continent. He'll never be brought to justice now, but the Normans would have mucked up the job anyway. 'Tis just as well this way." He spat on the ground. "Good riddance to—"

  "Shut up, Orrik."

  He stiffened his stance, but gentled his voice. "Now, my lady, don't be getting all—"

/>   "All what?" she demanded in an unsteady voice. "My husband has... has disappeared, and all you can say is—"

  "He didn't disappear, Faithe. He escaped. There's a difference."

  "And what of Alex?" she demanded. "What happened to him?"

  "I already told you. He got on his horse and rode—"

  "I've spent half the night riding west, Orrik, and there was no sign of him."

  Orrik looked momentarily stunned. "You didn't believe me? You went out at this time of night, alone—"

  "Of course. I have no reason to believe you anymore. What really happened to Alex, Orrik?"

  He thrust his jaw out. "He rode away, just like I said. If you didn't find him, 'twas merely because he was fleeing like a rat, worried I'd change my mind and come after him."

  She sighed heavily. "I'll never find out the truth from you—about Alex or Luke."

  "Your husband escaped, and that is the truth."

  "I'm sick of listening to you."

  She lifted her lantern and tried to squeeze past him through the doorway, but he blocked the way. "He tricked Baldric and escaped, and do you want to know why?"

  "Shut up! I'm tired of your explanations, your... your heartless logic."

  "The truth can be heartless, my dear, but it is the truth, and it bears a little respect now and then. Luke de Périgueux escaped because he couldn't face the king's court. He knew that if his vicious crime were scrutinized in the open, he'd be found out for what he is—a murdering beast, without conscience or remorse."

  "Shut up!"

  "Not that his beloved King William would have meted out the punishment he deserved for such an offense. He might not have even been found guilty—officially. But they would have known. They all would have found out what he really is. That's what he fears. That's why he escaped."

  "Shut up!" She slammed a fist into his chest, but he didn't even flinch.

  "Don't you see? That he escaped proves his guilt. He's afraid to stand trial."

  "Perhaps he's merely afraid of what you'll do when my back is turned."

  Orrik shook his head. "I can't believe you're still defending him. He admitted killing Caedmon, yet you still think him the beleaguered innocent. You still want to give him the opportunity to avoid punishment for what he did."

  "I want to see justice served."

  "So do I," Orrik said solemnly. "But it's too late for that. Luke de Périgueux has eluded justice." He closed his hands over her shoulders and said quietly. "All we can do now is go on with our lives. In a way, he's done you a favor by sneaking off this way. You'll never see him again. You can put him out of your mind. Forget he was ever here."

  Forget Luke? The notion was too ludicrous to contemplate. She could no more put him out of her mind than she could forget to breathe. He'd become a part of her. Everything he was, everything he'd done, was intimately connected with her now.

  "I need to find out the truth," she told Orrik.

  "You need to forget," he said. "But for now, you need to sleep. 'Tis late. You're tired. We'll talk again in the morning, when you're rested. I'll come by around terce."

  By terce she'd be halfway to Winstow, looking for the truth, but it would be the height of folly to share her plans with Orrik. "I'll see you then," she said and went upstairs to her chamber to wait out the rest of the night.

  * * *

  It was midday by the time she arrived at the oil merchant's shop. She found Dunstan upstairs, tending to his sister. The poor woman's wasting disease had transformed her into a virtual skeleton covered in skin the color of yellowed parchment.

  "'Tis only a matter of days now," Dunstan whispered as he closed the curtain that separated Audris's sickroom from the kitchen.

  "I'm sorry," Faithe said as she took a seat at the table.

  "I pray that God will take her soon." He poured them each a tankard of ale. "I've made some soup."

  "I'm not hungry," she lied, remembering the stew.

  "Is all well at Hauekleah?" he asked.

  "Hardly." Faithe told Dunstan about the discovery of the pin, Luke's horrible confession, and his subsequent escape from the storeroom. The young reeve appeared deeply shaken by this news. "When I was here last," she said, "you told me many things... but you kept some to yourself. I know you were trying to protect my feelings, but I need to know everything now."

  "Nay, milady

  "Something happened while you and Caedmon and Orrik were waiting for William's forces to cross the Channel. I think it had something to do with... a woman. A prostitute. You wouldn't tell me then. You must tell me now."

  "'Twould tarnish his memory," Dunstan said. "The man was... he was ill."

  "Was he mad?"

  Dunstan stared into his ale. "Some diseases ravage the mind as well as the body. I've seen it with Audris. The things she says, when she manages to talk to me... most of the time, they make no sense. Caedmon... he was getting that way. Those headaches maddened him."

  "I understand he suffered from seizures and double vision."

  "Aye, but 'twas more than that. He'd complain of the oddest things, like not being able to taste his food. He seemed drunk a lot of the time, even if he hadn't had a drop."

  Faithe leaned across the table. "Tell me. I appreciate that you want to safeguard Caedmon's memory, but he's dead, and Luke is alive. I need to understand what happened that night in Cottwyk, for his sake as well as my own. If what you're keeping from me has a bearing on that—"

  "It may." Dunstan took a deep, unsteady breath. "'Twas about a fortnight before Hastings. King Harold and most of his men were in the north, fighting the Danes who invaded right before William, but he'd commanded some of us to remain in the south. We were spending the night at an inn in a tiny village—Ixbridge, I think it was. We all slept downstairs, but Lord Caedmon, because of his rank, got a private chamber upstairs. There was a woman there, a woman who... sold herself. Her name was Matfrid. He spent the night with her." Dunstan looked at her inquiringly, as if asking whether she wanted him to go on.

  Faithe nodded. Hear this out. Don't let him see how this affects you, or he'll never tell you the rest.

  "During the night, we heard screams. Horrible ..." He shook his head. "We went upstairs to Caedmon's room, and..."

  "He was attacking her?" Faithe asked in a choked whisper.

  Dunstan nodded. "With a knife."

  "Oh, my God."

  "We got it away from him. He'd cut her face."

  Faithe covered her mouth with a hand and squeezed her eyes shut.

  "We had to pay her two shillings and move on," Dunstan said. "That was the only time he'd been like that. I mean, he'd been more hostile than usual before that, picking fights with us and all, but after Ixbridge... well, we knew then that something was very wrong with him."

  "Orrik was there that night?"

  Dunstan nodded. "He ordered us to keep quiet about it. Caedmon was subdued after that. He didn't call much attention to himself till he disappeared from Hastings."

  Faithe let out a pent-up breath and rubbed her forehead.

  "'Twas wrong to keep it a secret, I know that now. But you must understand, Orrik was only thinking of you, He loves you like a daughter. If he's made mistakes, it's been for that reason only."

  "I know," she said. "That's what makes all this so hard."

  * * *

  Orrik was waiting for Faithe in the doorway of Hauekleah Hall upon her return that afternoon, a folded sheet of parchment in his hand. "Where have you been, milady? I've been worried about you."

  "You worry about me far too much," she said meaningfully. "I know about Ixbridge."

  His eyes widened and then closed. "Faithe

  "You had no business keeping that from me, Orrik—especially in light of what Luke said about Caedmon. If he attacked a woman once, he could do it again. Luke was telling the truth about what happened in Cottwyk. You knew it, but you said nothing. Why, Orrik?"

  At length he opened his eyes. He looked more melancholy than she'd
ever seen him. "I was only thinking of you, Faithe. De Périgueux means nothing to me, less than nothing. He's the enemy. You're..." He took a step toward her, arms outstretched; she stepped back. "You're my little girl, Faithe. My wee lass. I didn't want you to be hurt."

  "Losing Luke would hurt me, Orrik—worse even than finding out... what Caedmon did. Caedmon was sick, and his illness drove him mad. Didn't you think I could understand that?"

  "I didn't want you to have to," he said hollowly. "Only Dunstan and I knew what Caedmon had become. I didn't want you to know, and I didn't want it to become public knowledge, what Caedmon did in Ixbridge. I thought 'twould be better than way."

  "Ignorance is never better."

  He nodded slowly, his gaze on the sheet of parchment in his hand.

  "What is that?" she asked.

  He handed it to her. "A letter from Lord Alberic."

  The seal was broken. She looked at Orrik.

  "You weren't here," he said reticently. "I thought it might be important."

  She unfolded the letter. Alberic's clerk always wrote to her in Latin rather than French, assuming, perhaps, that she couldn't understand the vernacular of her new Norman masters.

  "It's about de Périgueux," Orrik said. "He turned himself in to Lord Alberic."

  "What? When?"

  "This morning."

  "You see? He wasn't afraid of a fair trial!" Faithe scanned the letter as Orrik briefed her on its contents.

  "According to Alberic," the bailiff said, "your lord husband showed up at Foxhyrst Castle shortly after dawn, demanding to be taken to London and tried in the curia Regis—William's own court. However, Alberic seems to have other plans."

  "Oh, no." Faithe swiftly read through the letter. The king's court, Alberic maintained, was overburdened with matters involving King William's barons and knights. Such matters could just as properly be considered the responsibility of the king's commissioners—his sheriffs and itinerant justices—who were authorized to dispense high justice in the king's name. Since Alberic's jurisdiction as sheriff encompassed Hauekleah, he would take it upon himself to pass judgment on the murder of Lord Caedmon. A panel of jurors was being assembled so that the matter could be adjudicated in Alberic's shire court at Foxhyrst Castle beginning tomorrow morning. Lady Faithe was welcome to attend the proceedings, or to send a representative if she preferred.