A single strand of brown hair drifted across her mouth, and she blew it away. “You can’t do that, Hugh,” she said. “What about Bernard? When is his trial going to take place?”
Hugh dropped the boots, his fascinated eyes focused on her mouth. “As soon as the chief justiciar arrives.”
“And when will that be?”
“Soon, I should think.”
The lips he was watching with such close attention set into a firm line. “Then you don’t have time to go to Keal right now. Not if you are going to save Bernard.”
He shook his head. “Nothing is more important than our getting married.”
At that, she sat up. “Right now, Bernard is more important.” She held out her hand to him. “I promise I will stay right here, Hugh. You don’t have to worry that I will leave you.”
He regarded her hand as it lay in his. Everything about her is so fine, so delicate, except for these sturdy, capable hands, he thought.
He said, “I don’t trust Guy.”
Her reply was absolutely calm. “He cannot make me leave here against my will.”
At that, he looked up into her eyes. A faint smile touched his mouth. “In all your life, I don’t believe anyone has ever been able to make you do something you didn’t want to do.”
Her brown eyes were luminous. “It’s a gift,” she said.
He kissed her palm and gave her back her hand.
“All right. I’ll delay going to Keal until after Bernard’s trial.” He shook his tousled hair back off his brow and added bitterly, “Not that my presence is going to help him very much. All I have are suspicions. I have no proof of anything.”
“You’ll find out the truth,” she said. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”
Again he picked up his boots. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I know you.” She pushed her hair behind her small, perfect ears and frowned. “You had better help me rebraid this, Hugh. If Thomas and Mabel arrive and find me looking like this, they will know exactly what we have been doing.”
Distracted, he dropped the boots once more. “I’ll get a comb,” he said. “There should still be one in my room upstairs.” He got to his feet. “It’s a good thing I learned how to braid rope,” he told her. “It’s a skill I have had to call upon these last few days.”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“I’ll tell you about it after I get the comb,” he said, and went on stocking feet out of the room.
14
The following day, Hugh paid a visit to Bernard Radvers in Lincoln Castle. Once again, he and Bernard sat side by side upon the chest. Outside the day was overcast, and little light came in the one high window. Bernard’s cell looked even bleaker than it had on Hugh’s previous visit.
Bernard himself was not looking well either. His blue eyes were glazed and he had a dry, hacking cough.
I have to get him out of here, Hugh thought.
“Are you ill?” he demanded of Ralf’s old friend.
Bernard shrugged indifferently. “I’m well enough, Hugh. It’s just this cursed cough.”
“I know someone who has a talent for curing coughs. I’ll get her to mix you up some of her special elixir.”
Bernard rested his head against the cold stone wall. “To say true, Hugh, some promising news about this murder will do me more good than any elixir. Have you found out anything that may lead us to the real killer?”
“I have a few clues, nothing definite,” Hugh said.
“I see.” Bernard did not try to hide his disappointment.
Hugh stretched his legs in front of him and contemplated his spurred boots with bemused attention. “Bernard, have you ever noticed anything that might make you suspect that Gervase is stealing money from the shire’s taxes?”
Bernard stared at Hugh’s profile in astonishment. “What are you talking about?”
Hugh glanced at him. “Edgar Harding of Deerhurst confronted me yesterday and accused Gervase of not reporting to the Exchequer all the money he was earning from the market stall rentals in the Bail.”
Bernard scowled. “I don’t believe it. Gervase may be a bit hasty in his judgments, and he lacks Ralf’s sense of mercy, but I would swear that he is honest.”
“He owns a very expensive town house, which is staffed by an impressive array of servants,” Hugh commented in a voice that was carefully neutral.
Bernard shook his head in dismissal of Hugh’s implied accusation. “Gervase is not a poor man. He owns a number of very profitable manors. He can well afford that town house.”
“The Canville manors are not any greater than Ralf’s were, and Ralf did not live like that,” Hugh countered.
They heard a rustling sound in the far corner of the cell as one of the resident rats scurried into its nest. Ignoring it, Bernard said, “Ralf’s tastes were simple, as were Adela’s. Gervase likes things a little grander.”
“Perhaps.” Hugh did not sound convinced.
At that moment, a particularly nasty coughing fit caused Bernard to double over. Hugh said with a frown, “Have you a fever?”
“I don’t know.” Bernard gave one more cough, then cleared his throat loudly and drew in a deep breath.
“In regard to this accusation of Edgar Harding’s,” he said. “Did you know that the Saxon hates Gervase and would probably do anything he could to discredit him?”
“Nay,” Hugh replied slowly. “I did not know that.”
“Well, it’s true. I would examine anything Harding says against the sheriff very carefully if I were you.”
“What does Harding have against Gervase? I know he hated de Beauté because he won their land dispute, but surely that doesn’t have anything to do with the sheriff.”
Bernard gave a single cough before replying, “He dislikes Gervase because last year William of Roumare’s steward complained that he had caught one of Edgar’s men poaching on Roumare land, and Gervase had the man arrested and hung. Harding was convinced that the man had been treated so harshly because he was a Saxon. He has borne a grudge against Gervase ever since.”
Someone walked by the high barred window that was the only outlet to fresh air in the cell. The window was at the level of the man’s feet, and the sound of spurs jingling sounded like bells of freedom ringing through the dark, dank room.
Hugh lifted his eyebrows. “Is there anyone Edgar Harding does not have a grudge against?”
Bernard was looking wistfully at the window. “Not that I know of. He is a most contentious man.”
“Contentious enough to kill in order to obtain revenge?”
Bernard’s eyes jerked away from the window and back to Hugh. “Kill? Kill who? De Beauté?”
Hugh said soberly, “He knew that the earl was stabbed in the heart, Bernard. I did not think that was common knowledge.”
“Everyone knows it was a knife.”
“Aye, but do they know the precise location of the stab wound? Or that it was but a single blow? John Melan didn’t know those things when he came to fetch me. I discovered those facts from Gervase.”
Bernard stared at Hugh, his brows knit.
“Who else knew the details about the knife wound?” Hugh asked.
“Those who saw the body before it was covered,” Bernard replied. “Myself, Richard Canville’s squire, and Gervase himself.”
“Who washed it and laid it out for burial?”
“One of the lay brothers at the Minster.”
“I had better have a talk with him,” Hugh said. “What about de Beauté’s daughter?”
“I shouldn’t think they would have let her see her father until he was decently laid out, but I can’t say for sure.”
The rats in the corner began to make scratching noises on the hard dirt floor.
Hugh said, “Well, Edgar Harding certainly knew about the wound. I think I had better find out just where the Saxon was on the night that Gilbert de Beauté was murdered.”
“It won’t hurt to do that,” Bernard agreed soberly.
A little silence fell as each man pursued his own thoughts. It was Hugh who spoke first. “Just who is this boy who has become Richard’s squire?”