Seeking The Truth - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 11)

by Shea,Lisa

  “So you did go willingly with Coll that evening?” asked Laurence, his eyes sharp on hers.

  Morgan nodded. “My mother’s testimony is accurate; she met up with us as we were leaving. In fact Coll and I rode on one horse. We arrived at the den sometime after dusk, and Edward presented me with the contract.” She took in a deep breath. “I signed it.”

  “What then?” asked Laurence, nodding. He seemed to be ticking off the facts in his head, matching them against evidence he had gathered.

  Morgan chuckled wryly. “I gambled. I drank. I played, I lost. I had little of the money left by the end of the evening. I asked Coll to take me home again.”

  “So then what happened?” prodded Laurence, leaning forward slightly.

  Morgan looked down at her hands. The pain was infiltrating her body in earnest, her head feeling as if lightning were dancing within, her stomach throbbing with a deep seated ache. She reached for her empty mead mug and a soldier was at her side in an instant, refilling it. She downed it in one long gulp.

  “Edward said he would ride with me, and took me into his room to gather some things,” she muttered, turning the mug in her hands. She would not look up, not see the pain or concern echoing in her friends’ eyes. “He gave me a glass of liqueur, one he did not drink himself. It must have been drugged. I suddenly found myself hazy and lethargic. He threw me on the bed. He tried to rape me.”

  The room went silent around her, and she willed herself not to look up, not to see the reactions in the ring of faces.

  “What then?” pressed Laurence gently.

  Morgan’s face hardened. “My father did not raise a weakling, and Oliver has taught me well since then. I defended myself. Even in my drugged state I went for him with my knee, my knife, anything at hand. I must have screamed; Coll came barreling in. The next thing I knew, we were out in the main den area, and it was bedlam.”

  “So Edward did not in fact rape you,” mused Laurence, looking her over with relief.

  Morgan shook her head, then winced, pain skyrocketing through her skull. “No,” she agreed. “However, he did then pin my hand down to his table, using his stiletto, to keep me still while he dealt with the chaos.” She held up her bandaged hand as evidence.

  Laurence’s face shadowed, and his eyes moved to the injury. “The bastard was a fiend,” he muttered, half under his breath.

  Morgan nodded in agreement. “I knew either I acted or I would be lost. I wrapped my free hand around the hilt, drew it out of the table, and I stabbed Edward through the heart with it.”

  There was a long silence around the table, and she felt every pair of eyes on her, looking over her wounds, her face, her scars.

  “So you killed Edward,” stated Laurence finally, looking slowly from her to the men arrayed across from her.

  “Yes,” confirmed Morgan, her voice echoing certainty.

  “You would swear to this at an inquest,” added Laurence, looking into her eyes.

  She brought her eyes up to meet his, her demeanor serious. “I will swear to this in any way you wish me to, for it is the truth, so help me God,” she vowed with heat, her eyes not swerving. “I drove that knife into his heart, and I would gladly do it again if that situation repeated itself.” Her voice grew hoarse. “He said that I was his possession, that he could do with me as he wished,” she spat out. “He would have raped me, have beaten me, and he is responsible for every bruise you see on my face and body. That man deserved to die.”

  Laurence looked at her for a long moment, then nodded, satisfied. “How about the other deaths? You were not involved with them?”

  Morgan looked down. While she would certainly speak up to shield the others with truth, she would not resort to lies. “I remember very little of what went on around me,” she admitted quite honestly. “I would have to guess that once chaos began, that it sucked in gambler and dealer alike.”

  Laurence nodded thoughtfully. “That could be true,” he agreed quietly. He looked at her for a long moment, examining her eyes.

  “I believe you,” he offered finally. “It seems like just the kind of foolery you would get yourself into. Your mother corroborates that you went willingly. Clearly your possessions and this document prove you were there. Your injuries reflect that you were not treated well by the men. And you accept the responsibility of killing Edward …”

  Morgan nodded without hesitation, then closed her eyes sharply against the miasma which swept over her. It was a long moment before she could bring herself to speak. “Absolutely.”

  Laurence tapped his finger against his lip for several considering breaths. His eyes then moved from man to man around the table, looking at each one in turn. He spoke to Morgan, but his eyes were firmly on Sean’s as he coolly voiced his next question.

  “And you have no idea at all how you came to be back here again?”

  Morgan went to shake her head no, then thought better of it. “None at all,” she confirmed in complete truthfulness. “My last memory is of plunging the stiletto deep into Edward’s heart, and watching the spark die from his eyes. Then my world turned into blackness.”

  Laurence pursed his lips, gazing into Sean’s eyes, and then coming to a decision, he nodded abruptly. He brought his eyes back to meet Morgan’s, and they now held a gentler cast.

  “Whatever happened after that, I know few will mourn the death of a man like Edward. There are many women who ended up in situations such as yours over the past few years, innocent women who lacked your … skills … to escape from them.” His lips pressed into a thin line for a moment. “Some of those victims were known to me.” He gave himself a small shake. “You may find you are brought flowers and fruits in thanks for your deed.”

  His eyes went to scan the men at the table again, giving each one a long look. “As to the others who were slain, all appear to be violent criminals who had so far managed to evade our attempts to catch them at their wrongdoing.” He paused for a moment, giving his next words extra weight. “Whatever happened out there, in that den of hell, it brought a new measure of safety to our community. I will consider the investigation closed.”

  The men gave slight nods in answer, some of the strain releasing from their features.

  Morgan knew she should be swimming with relief, but it seemed the words only exacerbated the intense throbbing in her head. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to corral the pain, putting a hand up to press gently against her temple.

  Daniel immediately stepped up at her side.

  “I have to ask that I move her somewhere quiet,” he insisted in low but firm voice. “She really needs her rest.”

  “Of course,” agreed Laurence with equanimity. “I believe I know where to find you, should I have further questions?”

  Morgan nodded carefully, her head somersaulting in earnest now. Laurence stood, bowing to her, then turned and strode from the room. His soldiers followed along behind him in a smooth flow.

  The moment they were gone, Lady Donna stood and swept the room with a stern glare. The servants and other castle members hurried from the room. Lady Donna waited a long moment before moving to the sideboard, pouring a pair of mugs of mead. She moved over to sit before Morgan, taking the seat Laurence had just vacated. She put a mug down before Morgan, then took one for herself. Lady Donna downed her mug in one gulp and Morgan watched her for a long moment, a shiver of discomfort competing with her other aches. She tossed back her own drink, then met Lady Donna’s gaze evenly with her own. She had a foreboding of what Lady Donna’s mind held, and she took in a deep breath, resigning herself.

  “You know I have been tolerant, even encouraging, of your independent streak.” Lady Donna looked across at her bodyguard with serious eyes. “However, for you to go out to a gambling den in the middle of the night, to go riding with Coll of all men! You were drinking – alone – in the bedroom of a dangerous criminal. You have killed a man. All of these events display a serious lack of judgment. Your choices reflect badly on your ability to pr
operly maintain the role of bodyguard for me.”

  Morgan nodded even as Lady Donna was making her statement. It was all crashing down around her – her family’s respect, the one job she adored, her standing in the community. She had always been lauded as the one who stood up against Coll, protecting the girls of the village from harm. What would be said about her now?

  “I understand,” bit out Morgan hoarsely, the pain growing.

  “Your sabbatical is now extended for another full two weeks,” instructed Lady Donna firmly. “That is an order, not a request. We can talk again after that, and see what role you might play in our household going forward, if any.”

  Morgan saw Sean move to stand, put his hands on the table, and her eyes flew up to his. She shook her head fiercely, willing away the waves of pain that followed. She would not let all of their planning and sacrifice go to naught. When her brain was working again they would sit down and figure out a plan, a solution. For now, it was best to keep things as close to the vest as possible. They had two weeks to figure something out.

  She turned back to Lady Donna. “As you wish, M’Lady,” she agreed with docile calm. She carefully nodded to the rest, then turned and walked to the sideboard. She took up a fresh mug of mead then headed outside, Daniel walking quietly with her.

  Daniel’s voice was low. “You really should go back to bed,” he cautioned, moving with patient slowness as she staggered through the grass. “You perhaps do not fully appreciate the extent of your injuries.”

  “If I lay in bed I will just stare at the ceiling, getting frustrated,” answered Morgan with a low chuckle. “At least let us go sit by the sparring field. I can get rest just as easily there, and I can give you some help in learning the basics, if you wish.”

  Daniel looked at her sideways. “Your aunt told you not to work for a week or two.”

  She smiled gently at him. “This is not work,” she corrected. “This is a thank you for your medical assistance.”

  They reached the sparring area and Daniel helped her down to the stone bench. He left the area, and in a little while she saw him returning, wearing his armor. She was not surprised to see the other men walking at his side, their eyes steady on hers.

  Sean spoke as soon as he drew close. “Morgan, how are your injuries?” His eyes swept down her body, his face going crimson with growing anger. “God’s blood, if I had any idea -”

  Morgan cut him off with a look. “I am fine, really,” she insisted, then winced as the call of a nearby robin sent a spike of pain through her head. She gave a low chuckle. “All right, then, I do have some aches. However, they will heal. I will mend, and I will be my old self again in no time.”

  She settled herself back on the bench. “In the meantime, Daniel here wants to become a soldier, so let us see what we can do to help him out. It is the least I can do to repay him for his fine herbal tea and poultices.”

  Daniel nodded hesitantly, and in a moment the men had set up around him. Sean helped him get his feet into position, his arms holding the sword at the proper angle. Oliver moved slowly back and forth, demonstrating to Daniel how the attacks would come, how the guards would deflect them. Roger chimed in with advice, adjusting a move here, a turn there. Morgan watched them all, her eyes sharp, her brow creasing. Time flowed on, Daniel obediently moved through each set of instructions, and she watched his eyes.

  She stood, suddenly, and all motion stopped as the men turned to gaze at her in concern. Oliver was at her side in a moment, looking down at her.

  “Is it the pain, Morgan? Did you want help to return to your room?” He glanced at the mead by her side. “Maybe a drink will help?”

  Morgan held her gaze on Daniel’s, his young eyes mature, shadowed.

  “You really do not want to be a soldier,” she stated quietly, no question in her voice.

  His voice was tremulous. “My mother says -”

  Morgan shook her head soundly, wincing at the pain and nausea that followed, grateful for Oliver’s steady arm beneath her own. She met Daniel’s eyes again, her gaze certain.

  “Daniel, life is too short to do things because others expect you to. You have to choose a path which will bring you joy, and which will make the best use of your talents. I could see it in your eyes, in every move you made, in every turn. You could be a good swordsman, certainly. You do not want to be, though. It would kill you slowly to follow in this path.”

  “Yes,” agreed Daniel, his voice nearly a whisper. “Yes.”

  Sean looked down at the boy, his eyes shadowed with concern. “Your mother should not have pressed you into something you had no interest in,” he muttered in a low voice. “Where do your interests lie?”

  “Herbs,” responded Daniel promptly, his eyes showing the slightest glimmer of hope. “I know them all, know their uses, can grow even the most challenging of plants. I was told -” He bit off his comment, flushing, turning to look toward the keep.

  Peter smiled at Daniel, moving over to pat him on the shoulder. “Do not worry, lad. One of the parts of becoming a man is choosing your own road to follow. Your mother will come to accept it, in time.” His eyes twinkled. “If you truly want to be an herbalist, then you are in luck. I know the best man in the entire region. Giles’ father – Matthew – is renowned for his skills. I am sure he would love to take on a new student.”

  Daniel’s eyes flared in surprise, and he took a step back. He looked from man to man in near panic. “No,” he ground out, his voice sharp. “I mean, I appreciate your offer, but no.” His face went through a cascading series of emotions, as he shook his head, glancing again at the keep. “It is impossible. I am sorry.” He turned and half ran back toward the main building.

  Sean shook his head, his face somber. “I will have to talk with Cassandra,” he muttered. “For the boy to be that afraid of her, that concerned about following his dreams, is not healthy. I realize it was hard on her, raising him alone, but he needs to live his own life, not her vision.”

  Oliver gave a sharp cry, and all eyes turned as Morgan nearly collapsed backwards. He had his arm around her in a second, catching her, guiding her back toward the stone bench. Sean was kneeling by her side in a moment, offering the mug to her, and she gratefully took a long drink.

  Sean’s gaze was steady on her. “Good God, Morgan, we have to get you to bed,” he pressed her with serious earnestness. “What are you trying to prove by being out here with us?”

  She took in another long draw of the mead, and when she lowered it Sean started in surprise. She knew he realized that her eyes were not feeble and weak, but were full of sharp rage, of towering fury. Her gaze was directed at the keep, and her breath was coming in long draws.

  “God’s Teeth, Morgan, what is going on?”

  Morgan put down the mug beside her, turning to look directly at Sean, holding him with her gaze.

  “How did Giles die?” she demanded, her anger held under tight rein.

  He looked at her in bafflement. “What?” A pained look flashed into his eyes. “I would rather not talk about it, and why does it even matter?”

  Morgan shook her head, her voice becoming harsher. “After all you have put me through, I think a few answers are little enough to ask in return.”

  Sean flushed, then nodded. “All right,” he agreed hoarsely, “I will not question your reasons.” He took in a long breath, then blew it out, looking between Peter and Roger with hooded eyes. His voice came low and flat.

  “Giles committed suicide.”

  Morgan dropped her eyes, seeing why Sean was reluctant to answer. Their friend had committed a mortal sin, had been buried in unconsecrated ground as a result of his actions. She imagined it weighed heavily on the friends’ minds.

  This was no time to be delicate, however, if what was beginning to form in her mind were true. “Why did Giles commit suicide?” she pressed.

  Sean shook his head, clearly confused by the direction of her questions. “Why does anyone commit suicide? He was depressed,
he felt his life no longer worth living. He had left the troops three years earlier to return home with his mother. I always assumed it was that idleness that got to him. He had loved being a soldier; it was an important part of his nature. I knew his family was very wealthy, yes, but money cannot buy you satisfaction or happiness.”

  Peter spoke up, his voice somber. “It was not that,” he corrected quietly. “Giles was miserable in his marriage.”

  Roger turned in surprise. “Giles was married? When did that happen?”

  Peter looked around at the gathered men. “It was why he left the troops and went home,” he explained. “He wanted it kept quiet. I wrote to him occasionally; I had served with him for many years before you two came along. Each response was more and more distraught. His new wife had a child from a previous marriage, and the woman was draining his coffers at a prodigious rate. He was at his wit’s end. In the end, the strain grew too much for him, I am afraid.”

  Morgan’s throat was tight. “What was his wife’s name?”

  “Cass,” responded Peter, looking between the men in growing confusion. “You cannot think - Giles died over a year ago. Surely you cannot believe there is any connection.”

  Roger had grown pale. “Giles died fourteen months ago,” he clarified, his voice rough. He looked away, his face echoing uncertainty.

  Sean rounded on Roger. “What is going on here? What secrets are you hiding from us?” His eyes sharpened. “Morgan had to get you drunk in the rose garden for a reason. I doubt she was asking about Eli’s loan shark. What did you tell Morgan, that you could not tell me?” he pressed.

  Roger hesitated a long moment, looking into his friend’s eyes. Finally he nodded. “Eli made me swear never to tell you, but he is dead now, and I am beginning to suspect the cause.” He paused again, taking in a deep breath. “Cassandra came to Eli, with Daniel, fourteen months ago. She said she was recently widowed, that she loved Eli and wanted to be with him. Eli set up a separate household for them, on the outskirts of London, and maintained it secretly so you would not know.”