"So what are the motives for murder and mayhem and robbery? What will men kill for?" She gave him no chance to reply, ticking her answers off on her fingers. "Greed, lust, hatred, love, fear, vengeance. What did I forget? If I had to guess which one of these shoes might fit Fitz Alan's big feet, I think I'd go with… lust."
Justin raised an eyebrow. "Have you seen the Lady Emma, then?"
Molly nodded. "Every year she graces the midsummer fair with her presence."
"Women do not fancy the lady much, do they?"
"I do not imagine that the poor worker bees have much fondness for the queen bee, either. Of course the drones adore her… until after they mate with her and die."
"Whoa!" Laughing, Justin leaned over and hugged her. "Ah, Mistress Molly, I've missed that sharp tongue of yours. And for what it is worth, I am not one of Lady Emma's drones. Now tell me why you dislike her."
"She has a cold heart, overweening pride, and no pity for the less fortunate. She saunters about the city as if she were the Queen of England, with her nose so high in the air she is in danger of drowning every time it rains. But I doubt that she'd ever take Fitz Alan as her lover, and I doubt that he'd take such a risk for her unless she did."
Justin found it very interesting that Molly and Angharad both seemed to share the same opinion of Davydd's consort. "A friend posed a riddle to me about the Lady Emma: 'When is virtue not a virtue?' I think you may have answered it for me, lass."
"Exactly," she said triumphantly. "She deserves no credit for keeping her marriage vows if she remains faithful only because she can find no lovers worthy of her! This friend of yours… is she one of Emma s handmaidens?"
"Yes… but how did you know the friend was female?"
"Because that was a woman's riddle. Unless the woman is blood-kin, men are more interested in her lack of virtue." They smiled and leaned toward each other, their lips almost touching when there was a sudden pounding at the door.
"It's me," a familiar voice announced. "And I'm giving you fair warning, as I do not want to see anything that will rob me of sleep at night!"
Justin swung off the bed, crossed the chamber to unlatch the door for Bennet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Molly straightening out the blanket, smoothing away the indentations of their bodies, no more eager than he was to flaunt their new intimacy in front of her brother. Not for the first time, he found himself hoping that he had not made a great mistake by bedding Molly. He of all men ought to have remembered the dangers of unintended consequences, and if he did not, he knew Claudine, cloistered and pregnant, would have been more than willing to remind him.
Sliding the bolt back, he let Bennet in, saying, "We've just gotten done with supper. There is fish left if you're hungry." Molly had moved to the table and was already spooning some of the food onto a trencher for her brother. They joined him around the table while he ate, breaking off chunks of bread to soak up the garlic sauce. Only after he finished the last mouthful of cod did he relax against the cushion in Piers's high-backed chair.
"We've all heard that old saying, that dogs do not eat other dogs. Thankfully, it does not hold true for thieves and cutthroats."
Molly's head came up quickly. "You've found out who fired the warehouse?"
Bennet's smile somehow managed to be both grim and complacent. "Chester has more than its share of lawless men. But if you had to pick the greediest and the most foolhardy, Moll, who would it be?"
She gave that a moment's thought, then her mouth dropped open. "No! Not the miller brothers?"
Justin glanced from one to the other. "Millers who are thieves, too? I know people take that as gospel. But most millers have so many opportunities to cheat their customers that they have no need to resort to outright law-breaking."
Bennet was grinning. "Nay, they are not truly millers. Hubert and Kenelm are petty thieves who've always yearned to be infamous evildoers. They are big and strong enough to be hired when someone needs brawn or brute force, but no one would use them for anything that requires brains. They'd steal mother's milk from a newborn babe, though, and that is God's Truth. One day a while back, I'd caught them trying to rob a cupshotten friend of mine and threw them out of the tavern. Soon after, a couple of customers started complaining about getting cheated at the Dee Mill, and one of them asked the tavern and the world at large if there was any thief worse than a miller. I was still thinking about those two louts and blurted out their names. We all laughed, but it stuck and ever since, they've been known as the miller brothers."
"And you are sure the miller brothers are the ones who set the fire? Do you know who hired them?"
"No names," Bennet admitted, "but they were hired by another 'lord,' and I think we can safely assume he is the same one who was lurking around waterfront alehouses with those missing Flemish sailors. So it looks like you win the wager, Justin. The miller brothers were working for your enemy, not mine."
"How did you find out about them, Bennet?"
"The usual way a crime is solved around here — they were sold out by their own. Their cousin Edred came running to me as soon as he heard about the reward being offered. According to him, they were paid to burn the warehouse down and told to do it in the middle of the night, which proves the intent was murder. They got some of the money then, the rest to come afterward. But when Hubert went to the agreed-upon meeting place, the 'lord' never came. I suppose he was only willing to pay if there'd been a pile of charred bones."
Molly flinched. "Bennet, stop it," she said, and he gave her an apologetic smile before turning back to Justin.
"Anyway, the miller brothers were hung out to dry in a very cold wind. It seems they were not the total idiots we thought they were. Even they realized that it was not a good idea to make an enemy of Piers Fitz Turold, and they were planning to depart Chester as soon as they were paid. So… they panicked when they did not get paid and tried to borrow money from Cousin Edred. The rest you know."
"What happens to the miller brothers now?"
"I expect that we've seen the last of them, even if they have to beg their bread by the side of the road. They know they have far more to fear from Piers than from the law."
Justin was toying with one of the table knives, running his thumb along the dulled edge. It was not as blunt as he thought, though, and a thin, crimson thread became visible on his skin. This was not the first time that someone had sought to kill him. Gilbert the Fleming had come very close in Gunter's stable, Durand de Curzon had dumped him in a Windsor dungeon, in danger of being hanged as a spy, and to this day, he was not sure how he'd managed to win John over. But nothing had ever filled him with so much fury — or so much regret — as the attempt to murder him in the fire at Piers Fitz Turold's warehouse.
Becoming aware of the silence, he glanced up, found that friends were watching him intently. Before he could speak, though, Molly reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "Lord help us, Bennet, he has that remorseful penitent's look on his face."
Bennet cocked his head to the side, "By God, lass, you're right. Have some mercy, Justin. This was not your fault. We know that and you know that, so talking about it again will be even more tiresome than your confessions usually are."
Justin did his best to match their banter, insisting that his parish priest always called his confessions "thought-provoking and compelling," but his words rang false even in his own ears. What if he'd been followed to Molly's cottage?
He looked so troubled that Molly did her best to distract him as soon as Bennet had risen and was no longer looking at them, bringing his hand up to her mouth and licking the scratch on his thumb as delicately as a cat. He smiled at her, but his eyes remained somber, and she sighed, let his hand slide out of hers.