Secret Heart

by Speer, Flora

  Not deeming the dungeon secure enough to hold his slippery prisoner even in his present diminished condition, Roarke ordered Walderon confined in one of the smallest guest chambers on an upper level, a room with only one narrow slit window that was too small to let any man in or out. He posted three of Garit’s best men at the door to guard it.

  Jenia, meanwhile, made certain that Sanal was comfortably established in her room, with her maid to see to her needs. When Jenia entered her own bedchamber, she found a large tub of steaming water awaiting her.

  “The moment the sentry called out your approach Lord Garit ordered the fires built up in the laundry as well as the kitchen,” the maidservant attending her said, “so there would be enough hot water for everyone when you arrived.”

  “Bless him for his thoughtfulness.” With the maid’s help, for her hands were still causing her some slight problems, Jenia stripped off her clothes and sank into the water with a sigh of pleasure.

  “Shall I wash your hair?” the maid asked.

  “Yes, please. My fingers aren’t nimble enough yet.” Jenia sat back and let the maid tend to her. When her hair was clean the maid toweled it dry, combed it, and pinned it atop her head. Then she took a bowl of herb-scented soap and washed Jenia as if she was a helpless baby.

  “My lady? Will you stand now, so I can rinse you?” the maid asked, rousing Jenia from a delicious somnolence.

  “I’ll do it,” Roarke said. He lifted Jenia to her feet, holding her upright so he could pour a pitcher full of warm water over her. The maid, smiling and obviously amused, handed him a large linen towel and he wrapped Jenia into it. She was so drowsy, so relaxed, that she made no objection.

  “You bathed, too,” she murmured, noticing his clean tunic and hose and his damp hair.

  “I went directly to the laundry. Lord Giles and I shared a soaking tub. It’s a wonder the laundresses didn’t spread both of us on a bush to dry.”

  Jenia matched the laughter in his voice with her own sleepy chuckle.

  She knew when Roarke laid her gently into the bed, and she heard servants moving about, scooping up the bath water and tossing it out the window. She even heard Roarke latching the door behind the servants as they departed with the empty tub. But during all that time she existed in a dreamlike state, warm and safe, and totally comfortable for the first time in days, for her hands no longer pained her.

  Then she felt Roarke next to her in the bed, his skin warm against hers as he gathered her close, and she gave herself up to his tender kiss just before she fell into a profound sleep.

  Chapter 24

  Jenia was in the great hall the next morning when one of the squires came to her.

  “Lady Jenia,” the squire said, “my name is Lasert. Lord Giles assigned me to oversee the care of the prisoner who was discovered in the dungeon a few days ago.”

  “Oh, yes. So much has happened that I forgot all about him. How is he? And who is he?”

  “He’s recovering nicely, my lady. His name is Alric. He is one of the kitchen workers who carries in the large platters at feasts, and he has been asking for you. I promised I’d relay the message, though I told him I wasn’t sure you’d see him.”

  “Of course, I’ll see him.” It was properly Sanal’s duty to visit servants who were ill or injured, but Sanal needed comforting herself and was in no condition to comfort anyone else. “Where is he?”

  “In the servants’ quarters, my lady. Shall I go with you?”

  “Yes, please, Lasert. Can you tell me anything more about him?” she asked as they left the hall.

  “Only that he was beaten before and after he was imprisoned on Walderon’s orders. According to the other servants, he was in the dungeon for almost three months. Not nearly so long as you, my lady.”

  “When one is locked into a tiny cell, time ceases to matter. Each day is an eternity.”

  “I thank the heavenly blue sky above that I know nothing about being imprisoned,” Lasert responded, looking at her with great sympathy on his youthful face. “Here we are, just down this short flight of steps.”

  The former prisoner was sitting on a bench in the servants’ hall, leaning his head back against the wall. He was a large man, with pale hair going grey, and watery blue eyes. He appeared worn and ill.

  “Don’t bother to stand,” Jenia said, seeing him struggling to rise when she approached. “Squire Lasert said you wanted to speak with me.”

  “To thank ye, mostly, my lady. I’ve been told ‘twas you who ordered me to be well cared for after you and Sir Roarke found me. I’ll be ever grateful to both of ye. I feared I’d die in that cell.”

  “Why were you imprisoned, Alric?” Jenia sat beside him and signaled to Lasert to remain with them. “What had you done to draw Walderon’s notice?”

  “What I shouldn’t have done, my lady,” Alric said. “Walderon disliked the taste of a dish I presented to him one midday. In his anger he struck me so hard that I dropped the platter. I made the mistake of muttering a curse against him. I was whispering at the time, scarcely making a sound at all, and I was down on my knees to clean up the mess, but Walderon has ears like a demon of the darkest forest and he heard what I said. So he ordered me beaten and clapped into that dungeon cell without even a blanket to cover myself at night. My joints are still aching from the cold and damp. But at least I’m alive, and I’m warm now. I’ll be back to work soon. I’ve no wish to be a burden, my lady.”

  “I’m sorry you were treated so badly,” Jenia said, patting his arm as she prepared to take her leave of him. “Thury will soon have a new master, you know. I trust he will be a kinder lord than Walderon.”

  “By rights, Lady Chantal ought to be mistress here,” Alric said. “That’s really why I wanted to talk to ye. The other servants have been telling me the story of how ye and Lady Chantal were in the same dungeon as me, at the same time I was there.”

  “Yes, we were.” Jenia sat back on the bench. “Alric, do you know something that I need to hear?”

  “Ye see, my lady, a person who’s locked into a dungeon cell gets frightened. Ye’ll know about that, I expect.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Jenia said. “It’s terrifying, especially because no one tells you what is happening.”

  “Just so,” Alric agreed. “Well, being afraid as I was, I used to listen at the grate in my cell door. Every time I heard footsteps, I’d scurry to that door and put my ear to the grate, hoping to learn what they were planning for me, so I could prepare myself to face it.”

  “I understand. I often did the same. So did Chantal.” Jenia spoke softly, seeing the residual fear in Alric’s face and wanting to encourage him. Lasert made an impatient gesture, but she shook her head at him and turned back to the servant. “Alric, are you telling me that you overheard something important while you listened at the door?”

  “Aye, my lady. Leastways, I think it could be important.”

  “What is it?” Jenia asked in her kindest, gentlest voice.

  “One night,” Alric said, “I heard screams from below. A little later I heard two men talking on the steps. Then I heard Burke’s voice saying it didn’t matter what anyone in my cell might hear, because I’d never be released, so I couldn’t repeat the words to anyone who mattered, and I’d likely forget what I’d heard, anyway, because I’m just a stupid servant.

  “Well, my lady, I’m a contrary man, ye see, especially when I’ve been insulted, so I decided right then that I would remember what was said. I repeated that conversation to myself over and over, so I’d not forget it. And now it seems to me that telling ye what I heard is the best way to repay ye for yer kindness in releasing me and ordering that I be cared for.”

  “Telling me would be a kindness, indeed,” Jenia said, fighting back a growing excitement. “Alric, what did you hear that you thought was important enough to remember?”

  “Speakin’ just outside my cell door, Burke said, ‘Bury her with the servants and when the fellow in this cell dies, he can sleep
on top of her in the same grave, as if they were lovers.’ Then Burke and the man with him laughed together and they went away, one tramping up the steps and the other going down. Next I heard a scuffle and angry voices and a door slamming, and then nothing more.”

  “Dear heaven,” Jenia whispered. “That must have happened on the night when Chantal died. The scuffle you heard would have been me, struggling with Mott. The scream was mine, too, I’m sure. I screamed at Mott to leave Chantal alone.”

  “I don’t know no Mott,” Alric said.

  “Of course, you don’t. He stayed hidden, so no one would recognize his face. Alric, I cannot tell you how helpful you’ve been. Rest now and get well. I promise, I will recommend you to the next lord of Thury as an honest and faithful retainer.”

  “Thank ye, my lady,” Alric exclaimed. “I’m just glad I could repay yer kindness to me.”

  Jenia took her leave of him and hastened away from the servants’ quarters before she could begin to weep.

  “My lady,” Lasert said, catching up with her, “Does Alric’s story mean what I think it does? Lady Chantal is buried—”

  “In the servants’ graveyard,” Jenia finished for him. “Find Lord Garit and Sir Roarke and ask them to join me in the solar as soon as possible.”

  “Dear heaven!” Sanal exclaimed. She was in the solar when Jenia arrived there and Jenia had asked her to stay and listen to the tale Alric had told, in hope that her aunt might be able to supply additional details.

  “Do you know something?” Jenia asked, too impatiently and too loudly. Inwardly she sighed, wishing that she wouldn’t have to pry answers out of Sanal as she’d had to do with Alric. But then, the two were not so different; Alric terrified after beatings and an unjust imprisonment, Sanal reacting like a frighten rabbit after years of marriage to Walderon. Watching the unhappy emotions chasing across Sanal’s face, Jenia silently cursed Walderon for all the evil he had wrought. She made herself speak to her aunt as quietly and calmly as she’d done with Alric, and she took one of Sanal’s hands in hers. “I will be most grateful if you can help me complete this last part of my quest.”

  “Quest?” Sanal’s wide grey eyes met Jenia’s gaze.

  “I swore a solemn vow to see Chantal’s murderer brought to justice, and then to find her body and see her properly buried.”

  “Of course.” Sanal pressed Jenia’s fingers. “You could do no less. Let me think, now. From what you’ve told me, Chantal has been dead for not quite two months.”

  “That’s true, though it seems much longer to me,” Jenia said. Behind her, she heard Garit shift position impatiently, his boots shuffling on the solar floor, but he wisely held his tongue and left the questioning to her. “Aunt, can you tell me anything that might be helpful?”

  “I know of no servant who has died within the last two months,” Sanal said. “So, if Chantal really was buried in the servants’ graveyard as Alric has claimed, then you will find her in the most recently dug grave. I’ll warrant there’s no marker on the spot. Walderon will certainly want the location forgotten as soon as possible, so you will have to look a bit to find it.”

  “Thank you, aunt.” Jenia hugged Sanal.

  “I’ll see to it,” Garit declared in a tone that allowed no dissent. He headed for the solar stairs, bellowing orders to his squire as he went. “Anders! Find two shovels and two pairs of old gloves and meet me in the outer bailey. We have digging to do.”

  “Wait.” Jenia moved to face him before he could leave the solar. “I will go with you.”

  “No,” Roarke said. “My dear, she has been buried for too long. You don’t want to see what she has become.”

  “I must,” Jenia told him, whirling away from him before Roarke could catch her arm to stop her. “I saw her last; I will identify her, so there can be no doubt.”

  “I wish you would not,” Roarke persisted, though in a way that told Jenia he knew his protest was useless.

  “If you want to help,” she said, “then speak to the castle mage and tell him to order the crypt prepared. There’s an empty tomb down there that was originally intended for Chantal’s father. But he was buried in a simple grave near the battlefield where he fell – buried there on Walderon’s orders, may I add. Let Chantal lie next to her mother.”

  “Aye,” Garit said, nodding his approval. “That makes good sense. We don’t want to delay reburial for more than a few hours at most.”

  “Lord Garit, your words have just suggested to me something useful that I can do,” Sanal said. “I will go to the stillroom and find fumigating herbs. We are going to need them.”

  Jenia and Garit encountered no difficulty in locating the grave they sought.

  “All of the other graves have grass growing on them,” Garit said, “so this little mound must be the place. Jenia, are you certain you want to be here?”

  “Yes,” she replied firmly, though she was quaking inside. “I owe this much to Chantal.”

  Garit and Anders began to dig, working carefully. They were surprisingly deep before they uncovered an object that was enfolded in a coarse, brown cloth. Tossing aside their shovels, the men began to dig with their gloved hands, gently removing the dirt until it became clear that they had found a body. This they lifted out of the hole and laid on the ground. After removing his gloves, Garit knelt to turn back the portion of the cloth covering the face.

  Then Jenia was on her knees next to Garit. Anders joined them, all three of them weeping.

  Jenia had feared Chantal’s face would be so ruined that she wouldn’t be able to say with certainty whether or not this was her cousin’s body. Mercifully, Chantal looked to be asleep, with her eyelids closed and her expression serene. She was pale as white marble and her eyes and cheeks were sunken, but she was not terrible to look upon.

  “Chantal,” Garit whispered, and lightly stroked his love’s face and her thick, red-brown hair. He bent his head on a sob.

  “Yes, it is. Beyond any question or doubt, that is Chantal.” Jenia put an arm across Garit’s shoulders and leaned against him.

  “She’s perfectly preserved,” Anders whispered in unconcealed awe, “Like an ancient statue.”

  “Oh, Chantal was no statue,” Jenia responded with a choked laugh. “As a little girl, she was naughty and mischievous, and when she grew up she was determined to follow her own path, to make her own choices. But she was ever sweet and generous of heart.”

  “That she was.” Garit reached out to cover Chantal again. At the sound of a polite cough behind him, he looked up.

  “Lord Garit, Lady Jenia,” Elwin said, “Sir Roarke sent me, and Lord Giles sent Lasert, to carry Lady Chantal to the chapel. We’ve brought a stretcher to use, and Lady Sanal sent an embroidered coverlet.”

  “Thank you.” Garit rose and stepped aside to let the squires do their work. Jenia stood beside him, both of them very straight and still. Garit did not weep and Jenia was impressed by his cool self control. He was greatly changed since she’d first met him, a man of new-found strength and firmness in the final loss of love.

  By nightfall Chantal had been prepared for her second burial. Jenia and Sanal used the herbs that Sanal had gathered from the stillroom and the garden, and they wrapped her in a fresh shroud of fine linen that Sanal had also provided from her store of fabrics to be embroidered.

  “It’s the very least I can do,” Sanal murmured when Jenia thanked her. “I should have done more, and sooner. Perhaps if I had shown some courage, my poor niece would still be alive.”

  “Or all three of us could be dead,” Jenia responded. “I am certain that is what Walderon eventually intended.”

  “If you and Lord Garit will allow me, I’ll keep vigil with you tonight,” Sanal offered.

  “Thank you,” was all Jenia could manage to say through the tears that choked her voice.

  At sunrise the next day the castle mage offered a brief service with as many folk attending as could fit into the small chapel. Afterward, Chantal was formally en
tombed in the family crypt.

  A somber funeral feast was held at midday, at which Alric was given a place of honor at one of the lower tables. In late afternoon the friends gathered again in the solar.

  “We will leave for Calean City tomorrow morning,” Roarke announced. “I want to see Walderon completely divested of his Power and securely ensconced in a royal prison as soon as possible, and I am duty bound to make a full report in person to King Henryk.”

  “We are in total agreement there,” Garit said. “I have a report to make, too.”

  “Jenia,” Roarke continued, “you must go to Calean with us. King Henryk will want to hear your version of the story.”

  “I will gladly leave Thury,” she responded.

  “Lady Sanal,” Roarke said, turning to her, “I expect that you will be prepared to ride with us, also.”

  “No!” Sanal declared with a firmness most unusual in her. “I will not travel to Calean in company with Walderon. I refuse to see Walderon, or to testify against him while he glares at me in that frightening way of his. Even now I am afraid of him.

  “But I must ask you, my lords,” she said, looking around the solar at the three men gathered there, “will I be forced to share Walderon’s fate?”

  “Of course not.” Lord Giles patted her hand. “We all know how badly Walderon treated you and how he kept his most devious affairs secret from you. After we tell King Henryk so, no one will dare to blame you for Walderon’s misdeeds, least of all the king, who is a very reasonable man.”

  “All the same, I refuse to visit Calean,” Sanal said, still in the same firm tone.

  “In truth, your decision has answered a question for us,” Roarke told her. “Before we joined you ladies here in the solar, we were discussing which of us should remain at Thury to act as seneschal until King Henryk can send a man to serve in that post.”

  “What are you saying?” Jenia asked.

  “The solution to the problem of Thury is simple enough, given Lady Sanal’s refusal to accompany Walderon,” Roarke said. “Lord Giles will remain here to hold the castle until King Henryk can appoint a temporary seneschal. Later, of course, the king will bestow Thury on a deserving – and honest – nobleman. In the meantime, Lady Sanal, you may remain here as chatelaine.”