***
The maid having been dismissed, Eleanor sat next to Isabelle. The widow’s eyes were closed. Her arms hugged her knees close to her body. Blood still stained her hands and fingernails.
“Isabelle?”
“Go away.”
“I think not. You need to hear what I have to tell you.”
“You? What could you possibly have to tell me?” The widow snorted. “Bloodless, unsexed thing that you are.”
“Unsexed? Bloodless? Not long ago you were accusing me of everything but playing mare to George’s stallion. I shall lay that aside, however. What I have to tell you has little to do with sex or love, yet all to do with fear and hate.”
Isabelle blinked, her face grew mottled.
“You did not kill him you know.”
Isabelle put one stained hand over her mouth.
“You wanted to, but the sin was in your heart, not in your deed.”
“How did you know…”
“Henry’s corpse spoke well enough. When you opened your door, you knew it was not your husband. He had been safely banished to the barracks and your maid sent off to sleep elsewhere as well. You had hoped that Robert would come to your room and thought it was he. Were you horrified to see Henry? Did he whisper at your door, disguising his voice?”
Isabelle lowered her hand and stared at Eleanor, then gave her an almost imperceptible nod.
“Tell me where I err. He grabbed you? You clawed at his face? Did you then twist away from him? Somehow you got that knife. A small woman’s knife. And you stabbed him. All you could think about was the time he had raped you.” Eleanor hesitated. Was she right in this or was she about to make a horrible situation worse? She swallowed and continued. “Or was it you who seduced him and drove him wild with lust until he took you and gave you the child you could use to marry his father? Did you stab him to protect your honor or did you want to silence him…”
Isabelle sat up, then spat at Eleanor. “How dare you say I willingly enticed Henry to couple with me! I loathed him more than any imp of Satan.” A light now danced wildly in her eyes. “Yes, I thought it was your precious brother at the door. At dinner, my hand invited him and his cock most willingly accepted.”
Eleanor felt the heat of rage flood her face but willed herself to say nothing.
Isabelle then shut her eyes and her color paled. “When I opened the door and saw Henry’s face, his lust and anger twisting his piggish features, I drew back, but he grabbed me. I clawed at him, but he forced me against the wall. On the chest next to me was the knife I used at dinner. I grabbed it, then struck at his face, his neck, anything I could reach. He drew back at my assault, and it was then I struck him in the side.”
Eleanor bent over and touched the trembling woman on her arm. “You believed you had killed him.”
“He fell backwards. I must have fainted. When my eyes opened, my husband was standing over me. I was lying naked in my bed and he was wiping Henry’s blood from my body. My husband then threw a robe at me and told me to go to the door, that I should scream but not until he had escaped back toward the tower.”
“Henry’s body was outside in the corridor.”
“Aye, and then I heard a sound from the stairwell just as my husband disappeared into the shadows. I shut the door and, when I opened it again, Robert was bent over Henry’s body, his hand upon the corpse to check for life and wound. For cert I knew not what to do. When your brother saw me, he stood, his hand red with Henry’s blood, and gestured for the candle I held to light the hallway torch. I gave it to him, then screamed.” Her voice rose hysterically. “My nightmare had come true. I would be accused of Henry’s death. I knew I would be hanged…”
Eleanor shook her. “Your dream did not come true.”
Isabelle blinked, then continued as if unaware of what she had just said. “I screamed. I did as my husband had bidden me. I did not know otherwise. It was then the corridor filled and the guards came and Robert stood accused of the deed I had done.”
“A deed your husband had done, Isabelle. You may have stabbed Henry in the side, but it was your husband who gave him the fatal blow in the back.”
“If you know what I did, how many more…”
“I tell you that your husband did kill his own son to protect you, and you are still most worried about yourself?” Eleanor could not keep the contempt from her voice. “Fear not. As you heard, Sir Geoffrey took full blame for the murder. Indeed, he loved you very much to have done so. He remained silent about what you might have done, and anything said in confession is cast into eternal silence. It is the corpse that suggested what you did, a corpse soon to be buried.”
“And my guilt?”
“Is between you and God. Your act might be construed as defense of your honor…”
Isabelle snorted and grabbed Eleanor’s hand. Her eyes were dry as sand. “Honor? What honor had I when I showed myself naked at my chamber door in hopes of enticing Robert into my bed? What honor have I left when I whored after your brother to gain a child I will now never have?”
“I meant the rape.”
“Rape? What about the rape of my heart, the ripping away of each meager tenderness I have had from this world?” Tears overflowed down Isabelle’s cheeks like a flooding stream. “Mother, babe, and now sister have abandoned me!”
“And your husband, Isabelle? Sir Geoffrey gave you the tenderness of a father when he took you into his household. Then he married you, as you wished, even though it was a sin. How could you wish to cuckold him, and do you not grieve his loss? I do not understand…”
“Grieve? One can only weep so long over a corpse. He died when his first wife did! And all I wanted was to give my husband the child he could never father himself. Wasn’t that a kindness? He had my lands. He could share my child.” She howled with pain. “But what can you understand about love? When I spoke of you and George, I was mocking you, Prioress. There were no such tales about the two of you. You would never play such lusty games. You are a leech that bled yourself of life and longs only to bleed others, like George who may have loved you. Had Juliana married Robert, she might have kept her womanly nature and remained near to warm me with it, but she chose to follow your example and become just as bloodless as you.” Then she wailed, “Where is the sin in wanting a mother’s love, a child’s smile, a sister’s comfort? Where?”
Eleanor looked down at the long scratch on her hand where Isabelle’s nails had dug into her. The white welt was beginning to fill with blood. What more could she say to this woman who was going mad with grief over loves she had lost and would never find again? The prioress wanted to weep for the woman but found she had no tears left. There was much more she wanted to know but found herself bereft of the words to ask the questions. She shut her eyes as if in prayer, but knew that this was one time she had no idea what to say to God.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“I owe you my life, brother.” Robert stood by as Thomas mounted his horse.
“Nay, Robert. Thank your nephew and your sister instead. Richard had the courage to speak the truth about a grown man who was his grandfather’s dear friend. Not many children could do that. And it was your sister’s idea that I announce, in front of Sir Geoffrey, that Father Anselm had seen the Lady Isabelle kill Henry. Sir Geoffrey was not the sort of man who could let an innocent person take the blame for a murder he had himself committed. Your father and sister agreed on that. Indeed it seems it was always Sir Geoffrey’s hope that no one would ever be accused of the crime.”
“I was and might have hanged for it.”
“Had you faced the hangman’s noose, your own obstinacy might have been more to blame than any other reason, my friend.”
“How could you say that any Wynethorpe was stubborn?” Robert grinned up at the monk. “I cannot imagine how you came to that conclusion.”