Serpent in the Thorns

11

“HANDS OFF, IT’S ONLY a light wound!” Livith pushed Crispin’s exploring hands away. The arrow had whizzed past the woman’s waist, tearing a bit of the flesh and pinning the dress to the worktable. Livith had torn the dress and shift to free herself, revealing a gaping hole. Crispin saw more blood than wound, and though it looked bad, he knew from experience it was not.

“Did anyone see anything?” he asked, looking around the small kitchen.

Livith shrugged. “I think I seen someone at the back courtyard door, but there’s always someone coming and going. I can’t be sure.”

Eleanor knelt at Livith’s feet and dabbed the open flesh with a wet cloth. “Now you,” she said to Grayce, talking slowly and carefully, “go get me a slice of moldy bread. Find me a good green one now, that’s a girl. Your sister’ll be right as rain, never you fear.”

Grayce chewed on her fingers and rushed away to comply. Eleanor shook her head. She glanced up at Crispin. “Why should anyone want to hurt this girl, Crispin? Didn’t that scoundrel get what he wanted?”

Crispin frowned. “A good question. What did he want? I thought it was to kill the king. It certainly wasn’t to steal the—” He caught himself and nodded ruefully. His eyes met Livith’s. She kept her mouth shut for once. Good. Maybe she was learning. “Why would you be a target?”

“Maybe the bastard thinks we saw something.”

Crispin nodded. His hand covered his mouth and he tapped his lips with a finger. “Yes, that could be it. Did you see anything?”

“I told you. I wasn’t there.”

“But Grayce was. We must get her to tell me what happened.”

Grayce returned and held out the greenish slab of bread. “What you want this for?”

Eleanor took it. “It’s for the wound, dear. It helps it heal.” She pressed the oval piece to the open sore. Livith hissed through her teeth.

Grayce shook her fists and stared at her sister. “Oh Livith!”

“I’m well, I tell you. I’ll be fine. Sit down.”

Grayce rattled her head and sat as ordered. Crispin stood beside her, wondering how to squeeze information from her any more successfully than in their first encounter. He squatted to be at eye level and smiled. “Grayce, Livith will be well, as she said. I need to talk to you about that day. The day you found the dead man.”

Grayce sniffed and looked up. Her wet eyes searched his face, stopped a moment on his smile, another on his eyes, and then wandered aimlessly again.

He took her hand lying in her lap. Jesu mercy! “Grayce, listen to me. You must tell me everything about that day, from the moment you rose to when you think you killed the Frenchman.”

Her wide eyes cracked with red veins. She looked at Livith who looked back at her with unblinking eyes.

“I got up as I usually do, before Livith,” she said. She looked down at Crispin’s hand clasping hers and brought up a trembling smile. “I washed me face and hands, like Livith always told me to. Then I had a bit of ale and bread. I went to the privy and when I come back Livith was gone.”

Crispin turned to Livith. Eleanor patted the ban dage she just finished tying around the girl’s waist. Livith pulled the remnants of the dress back over it. “Where did you go?” he asked.

“I went to get more ale for the jug. Master lets us get some from the kitchens.”

“How long were you gone?”

“My Master was up and he set me to work right away. I didn’t come back.”

“What sort of work?”

“Not the kind you think.”

Crispin made an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for that. That was out of place.”

Livith thrust her shoulders back before she winced from the wound. “That’s all well,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Eleanor helped her pin the gap in her gown. “The Master had me sweeping out the hearth in the hall. That took some time taking out the ashes and fixing up the fire. I had to scrub m’self good afterwards and that’s when I come in.”

Crispin nodded and turned back to Grayce. “Once you’d eaten, then what?”

“I was fixin’ to go up to the tavern and off to the kitchens before the Master got angry. He was always powerful angry in the mornings, especially if he’d been drinking the night before. Ain’t that right, Livith?”

“Aye, he has a right temper, he does.”

“Aye,” said Grayce. She smoothed out her skirt and cocked her head to look at it. “I didn’t want no trouble.”

“When did you see the Frenchman? Did you see him come in?”

Grayce’s brows wrinkled outward. She lifted her eyes toward Livith. Her lips parted in her dull-witted way, but she said nothing.

“Grayce.” Crispin shook her hand but it failed to bring her back. “Grayce! When did you see the man come in?”

She eyed Crispin again, frowned, and pulled her hand from his. “I don’t remember!”

“You must! You saw what happened to him.”

“I killed him!”

Eleanor gasped and drew back into Gilbert’s arms.

Crispin clutched Grayce’s shoulders. “You little fool! You didn’t! Can’t you remember what happened?”

Livith’s hand grasped Crispin’s shoulder like a hawk’s talons and pushed him back. “Stop it! She can’t remember. Not anymore.”

He expelled a long breath and stood. “No. I see she doesn’t.” Livith clutched her side but when she noticed Crispin looking she withdrew her hand. “That hurts you more than you like to admit,” he said softly.

“It don’t.”

He took her shoulder. “Let’s take you to your bed. Where is it?”

“Crispin,” said Gilbert. His brows lowered over worried eyes, eyes that darted toward Grayce who rocked herself and moaned in soothing tones.

“In a moment, Gilbert.”

Livith looked over her shoulder at Crispin. “Master Gilbert gave us a bed in the mews. Our things are down there.”

“I’ll take you, then.”

“No you won’t.” Livith pulled away or tried to, but Crispin’s grip tightened.

“No knight in shining armor, but I still remember how to act like a knight,” he said.

She cocked her head and smiled, an easy slow one. She leaned into him. He didn’t mind the feel of it. “If you will,” she conceded and he led her to the stairs.

The mews were dark. Only one candle in a wall sconce burned. Crispin took it and lit the rest of the way down the steps, but at the bottom of the stairs the light fell on something white and misshapen.

“What’s that?” she whispered.

“It looks like a blanket.”

He pushed the candle forward. A bowl, upturned and near the casks. A spoon lying in a distant corner. Stockings torn apart and lying flayed on the stone floor darkening from a puddle of wine.

Livith made a noise of surprise in her throat and Crispin instinctively pushed her behind him.

He raised the candle. All of Livith and Grayce’s belongings lay scattered, torn, or broken across the cellar floor.

Crispin’s lips pressed tight and he flared his nostrils with a breath. “You’re not staying here.”