The Poisoned Serpent

12

Cristen was sitting in the castle solar with Elizabeth de Beauté and Lady Sybil when Hugh came into the room. Later he would notice that there were other people present, but in that first moment he saw only her.

Happiness filled his heart.

“You didn’t bring the dogs?” he said from the doorway.

She had sensed his presence even before he spoke and was already looking at him.

“I came in rather a hurry,” she said. “It seemed best to leave them home.”

No one else had eyes like Cristen, he thought. They saw right into your very soul.

He lifted a slim black eyebrow. “Which hapless knight did you coerce into escorting you?”

The hint of a dimple dented her cheek. “Thomas.”

He walked toward her. “I don’t quite understand what has happened. Where is your father?”

Her eyes were steady on his. “Guy put him in charge of the feudal army he called up to go with Stephen to Cornwall.”

Hugh’s stride checked briefly and his own eyes widened.

“Precisely,” Cristen agreed.

Hugh reached her chair, and for a moment he stood there, struggling with his desire to catch her up into his arms.

She read his thought and smiled.

He laughed softly.

“How nice to see you again, Lord Hugh,” a feminine voice said frostily.

With enormous effort, Hugh dragged his eyes away from Cristen and focused them on Lady Elizabeth’s annoyed-looking face.

“It was most kind of you to offer Lady Cristen shelter, my lady,” he said formally.

“Considering that she arrived here as night was falling and had no place to stay, it was the least I could do.” Elizabeth’s long green eyes were as cold as her voice. “She said she was looking for you.” There was a definite note of accusation in her comment.

“Well, now she has found me and we shall burden you no longer,” Hugh said with perfect pleasantness. He turned back to the only person in the room who had any reality for him. “Have your maid pack up your things,” he told Cristen. “I’ll take you to Ralf’s town house. You can stay there.”

An outraged voice announced, “She will do no such thing.”

It was Lady Sybil. “Lady Cristen will remain right here, under my chaperonage,” Elizabeth’s companion continued. She glared at Hugh. “It is impossible for her to reside in your house in the absence of her father or a suitable female companion.”

“I am not staying in the house, my lady,” Hugh explained impatiently. “I am staying with the sheriff. There is no reason why Lady Cristen cannot have the use of my foster father’s house while she is here.”

A masculine voice interrupted from the direction of the doorway. “Hugh! Thank heavens you have returned.”

Everyone turned to look at Richard Canville as he came into the room.

“As you see, Richard,” Hugh replied in a flat, expressionless voice. “I have indeed returned.”

Sybil appealed to Richard to champion her cause. “Sir Richard, will you please tell Lord Hugh that he cannot take Lady Cristen to live in his town house. She doesn’t have a chaperone. It isn’t proper.”

Hugh and Richard looked at each other. Hugh’s gray eyes were perfectly shuttered. After a moment, Richard shrugged, leaned casually against the door frame, and looked at Lady Sybil. “I don’t see the difficulty, my lady, as long as Hugh continues to reside with my father and me.”

“It isn’t proper,” Lady Sybil repeated firmly.

“I have one of my ladies with me,” Cristen said, “but if you feel I need another chaperone, Lady Sybil, perhaps one of your own ladies would not mind bearing my company for a few days.”

“I am so glad that you feel comfortable enough with me to make arrangements for my ladies,” Elizabeth said to Cristen in an arctic voice.

Hugh’s eyes narrowed.

Cristen gave him a warning look.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Elizabeth,” she said gently. “I wasn’t thinking. Of course I cannot deprive you of the comfort of one of your ladies.”

Everyone looked at Elizabeth, whose eyes glittered like twin emeralds. She was obviously furious.

“I don’t see why you just can’t remain here,” she said to Cristen.

“Well, I can if you don’t mind taking in my dogs as well,” Cristen replied. “They will be coming shortly, and I must have them with me.”

“Dogs!” said Lady Sybil in a tone of horror.

“They are perfectly safe as long as you don’t show that you are afraid of them,” Cristen said guilelessly.

Hugh thought of Cedric and Ralf, and smothered a grin.

Cristen’s face was beautifully innocent. “They should be here sometime this afternoon, along with my page and two more of my father’s knights.”

“Well,” Lady Sybil huffed. “If you are to be surrounded by all those people, and if Lord Hugh is indeed staying with the sheriff, then perhaps it would be all right for you to reside in his town house.”

Hugh steadfastly refused to look at Cristen. He knew if he did, he would start to laugh.

“Is the house fit for Lady Cristen?” Richard said to Hugh. “It has been closed up for over a year.”

“It just needs a little airing out,” Hugh said.

“I’m sure I shall manage,” Cristen said. “I shall have Mabel and Thomas and Lord Hugh to help me.”

Lady Sybil still looked upset. Obviously she did not approve of this transfer of residence, but just as obviously she did not want to live with Cristen’s dogs.

“Do not worry, the dogs will make excellent guards, my lady,” Cristen said ruthlessly. “They are very protective of me.”

Hugh began to cough.

“Why don’t you come along with me now, Lady Cristen,” he said when he had recovered his breath. “I will show you the house and you can decide what needs to be done.”

“An excellent idea,” Cristen said briskly.

She got to her feet and looked down at Elizabeth. “You have been most kind, my lady. I appreciate your hospitality more than I can say.”

“You’re welcome,” Elizabeth snapped.

Hugh held out his arm. Cristen took it and they walked together out of the room.

“Well,” Elizabeth said ominously once the door had closed behind Hugh and Cristen, “they certainly seem to be a friendly pair.”

Richard came into the room and seated himself in a chair near Elizabeth’s. “Hugh has been living at Somerford these last six months, I believe,” he said. “He and Lady Cristen have clearly become friends.”

His words were reassuring, but there was a troubled look in his blue eyes.

“He couldn’t wait to get her to himself,” Elizabeth said. “I hope the girl knows what she is about. He’ll never marry her. He’s her overlord, for heaven’s sake.”

“A fine way to thank the man who discovered him and made him the heir to an earldom,” Lady Sybil said severely. “By seducing his daughter!”

“You don’t know that that has happened,” Richard said fairly.

Elizabeth shook out the embroidery work that had been lying neglected in her lap. “I wonder if Lord Guy knows that Lady Cristen is in Lincoln,” she said innocently. She lifted her needle and seemed intent on the pattern she had been embroidering.

“I doubt it,” Richard replied.

She raised her eyes and looked at him. “Perhaps someone ought to tell him. I should hate to see the girl ruin herself without making a push to help.”

“You are always so kind, my lady,” Richard said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Elizabeth took a stitch in her embroidery. “I try to be,” she replied.

“Sir Richard,” Lady Sybil said imperiously. “What is this I hear about a town fair? Surely there is not going to be any kind of festivity so soon after Lord Gilbert’s murder?”

“It is a very small fair, my lady,” Richard replied. “The town holds it every year at this time, before the beginning of Lent.”

“Under the circumstances, I do not think it would be proper to hold a fair of any kind, no matter its size,” Lady Sybil pronounced.

“My father will not allow it to go on at the same time as the trial,” Richard assured her.

Once more, Elizabeth put down her embroidery. “And just when is this trial going to happen?” she demanded. “We have known for weeks who the murderer is.”

“As I believe my father has explained to you, my lady, your father’s eminence demands that the case be heard in a royal court, not the shire court. Lord Richard Basset, the Chief Justiciar of England, has written to inform my father that he will hear the case himself. He is extremely busy and will get here as soon as he can. We can do nothing but wait for him.”

Elizabeth tipped her head back against her chair and shut her eyes. After a moment, she opened them again and looked appealingly at Richard. “I do not mean to sound like a shrew, Sir Richard, but this has been a very trying time for me.”

She was breathtakingly lovely.

“I can appreciate that, my lady,” Richard returned. “Why don’t you let me take you for a ride? It can only benefit you to get some fresh air and exercise.”

Elizabeth’s lips curled into an entrancing smile. “I believe you are right.”

Lady Sybil frowned warningly. “It must be a short ride, Elizabeth.”

“Do not worry, my lady,” Elizabeth returned. “I know what is due to my honor.” She sighed. “It is a thousand pities that the same cannot be said of Lady Cristen.”

“What made you come?” Hugh asked Cristen as they crossed the Inner bail side by side. Her small hand rested lightly on his sleeve, and he could feel her presence with every fiber of his being.

She didn’t reply.

He turned and looked down at the top of her head. He said in a low voice, “Did you know?”

The shining brown head nodded.

“I had a headache,” he offered.

She shot him a slanting look. “It wasn’t just that.”

“No,” he replied slowly. “It wasn’t.” He looked around the familiar environs of the Inner bail. “I didn’t think it would be this hard to come back to Lincoln.”

Her head nodded once more.

“Does Guy know you are here?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she replied ruefully.

As they walked past the stockade that held the knights’ horses, several equine heads lifted to watch them go by. The brisk breeze lifted the horses’ manes from their necks.

“I wonder what Guy is doing in Lincoln,” Hugh said in a puzzled voice.

“He came to find you,” Cristen informed him. “First he got Father out of the way by sending him to Cornwall, and then he came here to find you. I have a feeling that Guy has not yet given up on the de Beauté marriage.”

“He has wasted a trip then,” Hugh said grimly. “I will never marry Elizabeth de Beauté.”

“She is very beautiful,” Cristen pointed out.

“She’s a brat.”

Cristen smiled. “Well…perhaps just a little spoiled.”

Hugh snorted. “More than a little.”

“Did you know,” Cristen said, “that Ranulf of Chester is in Lincolnshire as well? Father heard that he had gone to visit his half brother.”

“Aye, I had heard that.” Hugh inhaled deeply. “Cristen, there is a possibility that Roumare himself might have been involved in de Beauté’s murder. He is the one most likely to profit from the death of the earl, after all. And John Rye, who was one of the castle guard during January, turns out to be a cousin of Roumare’s.”

He told her what he had discovered during his trip to Linsay.

She immediately put her finger on the one thing that Hugh could not explain. “But if, as you suspect, this John Rye did indeed murder the earl at Roumare’s behest, why would he have offered to sell you evidence?”

“I don’t know,” Hugh admitted. “Unless he was just trying to put me off the scent.”

By this time they had reached the market stalls in the Bail, and someone nearby shouted Hugh’s name.

Hugh and Cristen stopped and turned. Edgar Harding of Deerhurst was approaching, his blue mantle blowing in the wind.

“Master Harding,” Hugh said as the man came up to them. “How nice to see you again.”

The Saxon’s gray-blond eyebrows were drawn together in a scowl. “I have a request to make of you, Lord Hugh,” he said abruptly.

Hugh looked resigned.

“It is a complaint against the sheriff,” Harding said.

“Master Harding,” Hugh said gently, “I am not the person to whom you should make such a complaint. I have no authority here in Lincoln.”

“You are Ralf Corbaille’s foster son,” Harding replied fiercely. “Ralf gave his life’s work to Lincoln. His son cannot let all of the good he did be trampled underfoot by a greedy successor.”

Hugh’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

Harding took a step closer to Hugh. “I mean that Gervase Canville is robbing from the town.” He gestured to the busy marketplace behind them. “Did you know that he rented these stalls out?”

“He himself told me about it,” Hugh replied. “He also told me that he used the money from the rentals to increase the pay of the castle guards.”

The Saxon snorted. “Hah! Perhaps he did increase the guards’ pay, but I’ll wager all I possess that the increase in pay does not begin to account for the amount of money he is collecting from renting those stalls.”

Hugh looked into the angry pale-blue eyes of the Master of Deerhurst. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“He never offered me a stall,” Harding said. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him to keep it from blowing. “He should have offered me a stall. I have the largest farm in the area. But he didn’t. Do you know why he didn’t?”

Hugh shook his head.

“Because he knew that I’d discover his scheme,” the Saxon replied vigorously. “I know how much money goes to the castle guard because I make it my business to know such things. And I have found out how much money these fellows”-he gestured to the stalls behind him-“are paying Canville. The two figures don’t add up.”

The wind blew Hugh’s hair across his forehead and he pushed it back out of his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was patient. “Master Harding, the sheriff of Lincoln, like all other sheriffs in the kingdom, must account for his financial dealings to the king. Twice a year Sir Gervase must justify all his accounts at the Exchequer board. If there was some discrepancy, I can assure you that the king’s officers would have found it out by now.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Harding said contemptuously. “Canville doesn’t report half the income from these stalls. It goes straight into his own pocket.”

One of Cristen’s braids blew across Hugh’s arm. He glanced down at her, then turned his attention back to the Saxon. “And what would you like me to do, Master Harding?” There was no anger in his voice. It was perfectly neutral.

“I want you to expose him” the Saxon returned passionately. “I want the rents on these stalls lowered to a reasonable sum. And I want the opportunity to open one myself!”

Hugh surveyed the line of market stalls in silence. Without turning his head, he said to Harding, “How do you know what these merchants are paying the sheriff?”

“I asked them,” came the contemptuous reply.

The wind sent a stray glove blowing past them.

“All right,” Hugh said. “I shall look into the matter.”

“Good,” the Saxon replied with the first sign of satisfaction he had shown since the interview began. “Your father was the only honest leader this shire has ever had. De Beauté was a thief and so is Canville.”

“De Beauté was a thief?” Hugh said in surprise.

“Aye, a thief,” Harding returned emphatically. “Let me tell you, he richly deserved that deadly stab he got in the heart. We shall probably end up with Roumare as our next earl. He’s a thief, too, but at least he doesn’t covet my lands.”

On that note, Edgar Harding of Deerhurst spun on his heels and stalked away.

Hugh remained looking after him, brow furrowed. At last Cristen broke the silence. “Do you think he is speaking the truth?”

“He might be,” Hugh said. “God knows, Gervase would not be the first sheriff to skim money off the top of the shire’s revenues for himself.”

“Master Harding was certainly upset that he had not been given a market stall in the Bail.”

“Aye,” Hugh returned absently, staring down at a long brown hair that had become attached to his red wool sleeve.

Cristen pulled her hood up against the wind. “Do you know what enmity lay between Harding and Gilbert de Beauté?”

Hugh tucked her braids securely into her hood. Then he told her about the land feud between Harding and de Beauté and about how the king had ruled in favor of de Beauté.

“It happened five years ago, but evidently it still rankles,” he concluded. “Ralf always said that if there was one thing Edgar Harding knew how to do well, it was nurse a grudge.”

They began to walk in the direction of the gate.

“Did Harding perhaps hate de Beauté well enough to kill him?” Cristen asked.

“I don’t know,” Hugh replied soberly. “But I will tell you this, Cristen. I can’t help but wonder how Edgar Harding came to learn that Gilbert de Beauté was stabbed in the heart.”