Dragon's Lair

Chapter 21

October 1193

Chester, England

Sitting up, Molly stretched with feline grace. Her dark hair was loose, appealingly disheveled, her green eyes so wantonly inviting that Justin was seriously tempted to rejoin her in bed. "You look," he said, "like a succubus.

Molly yawned and stretched again. "That had better be good," she warned, with a sleepy smile, for she was not intimidated by his superior education. She liked it that he knew so many things that she did not, confident that she had her own area of expertise, hers the learning that came from life, not books.

"Well… a succubus is very good at being bad." Leaning over the bed, he kissed her upturned face. "The Church warns us about these she-demons, who come to men in their sleep and steal their seed."

"And men, being so chaste and pure, naturally resist fiercely. Anyway," she said huskily, "I've already stolen your seed… or have you forgotten?"

"Not even on my deathbed, Molly-cat."

"Then why must you be away so soon? I know you and Bennet have some foolish idea that Piers is a seething cauldron of jealousy. It is simply not so. But be that as it may, Piers will be in Shrewsbury till next week."

"Ah, Molly, I wish I could stay," he said, with such heartfelt regret that she stopped trying to lure him back to bed, at least overtly. Watching as he finished dressing, she wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, letting the blankets slip just enough to keep testing his resolve.

"So be it," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "London is beckoning, and you must be off with your report. I wonder, though, what you'd say if I were to ask you who it is that you are reporting to." He looked so uncomfortable that she sighed again, this time for real, "Relax, Justin, I am not asking." She paused and then added, "… Not yet."

"I will tell you, Molly," he promised, "… when the time is right."

She pouted to make it clear she was not impressed. "I thought you were not leaving until this afternoon. So why are you up and dressed already?"

"There is something I need to do this morn. Suppose I meet you and Bennet at the tavern about midday?"

He was expecting her to probe further, but instead she smiled. "Right gladly." Something in his expression alerted her, though, and her smile faded. "You are going to see the bishop, are you not?"

"No, I think it best that I do not."

Picking up his mantle, he kissed her again and then headed for the door. But before it closed behind him, he heard her call out, "Justin… go see your father!"

~*~

When Molly sauntered into the tavern, she saw Justin sitting alone at a back table and, with a nod to Berta, headed in his direction. "So where is that brother of mine? The sheriff hasn't hauled him off for watering the wine or some such nonsense?

"No… he insisted upon going to the cook shop and getting us what he rather ominously called our 'last meal.' Of course he's been gone so long that he may well have gotten into trouble, which — knowing Bennet — is probably wearing skirts."

Molly pulled up a stool. "Did it go well?" When he looked at her quizzically, she prompted, "Your visit with the bishop."

"I did not see him." in order to fend off her scolding, he had to admit that he had stopped by the bishop's palace, but Aubrey was away, having departed for his manor at Wybunbury on Monday past. He did not volunteer that he'd been greatly relieved to find Aubrey gone, and Molly did not press, satisfied that she'd gotten him as far as his father's door.

"So why do you look so disquieted, then, if you did not quarrel with the bishop?"

Justin was not sure that he liked this eerie ability of hers to read his moods with such ease, "I do have something on my mind," he admitted, but Bennet's arrival interrupted any further revelations.

Bennet had spent money he could ill afford on a variety of foods: freshly baked bread, a crock of pottage, and several hot pies, two made with river eels and pike and one that tasted suspiciously like capon, forbidden on this meatless Friday. Bennet swore it was barnacle goose and therefore permitted, since the barnacle goose was said to hatch in the sea. That had always sounded fishy to Justin, a ploy to evade the strictures of Lent, and although he said nothing of his skepticism, he contented himself with the eel pie.

When they'd eaten their fill, Bennet called Berta over and instructed her to pack some of the food for Justin, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied his boyhood friend.

"Your mission was a great success. Whilst you've been sparing with what you've told us, we know you accomplished what you set out to do; you recovered the missing ransom. It's true you have no evildoers to drag back to London, but when are princes ever arrested, even Welsh princes? I daresay he'll get what he deserves, though, since kings hold grudges even longer than cuckolds. As I see it, the only thing you've failed to do is to solve the death of de Calde… whatever his name was. Aside from not being able to thank his killer, what does it matter? So why do you not seem better pleased by it all?"

"Actually," Justin said slowly, "I did solve his killing… or at least I thought so when I left Wales."

He had a very attentive audience as he briefly related to them what he'd learned from Angharad in the gardens at Rhuddlan Castle. They listened raptly and were vastly amused when he told them about the love potion, both laughing until they had tears in their eyes.

Molly recovered first. "So much for those Church elders who would have us believe the Almighty has no sense of humor! This was divine justice if ever I heard it. And the Welsh girl, she has no idea what… Oh, Jesu, you did not tell her, Justin?"

"Of course I did not! Why would I do anything so cruel? I never thought I'd be grateful to Davydd for his botched attempt to blame Llewelyn, but it was that dagger he had planted in de Caldecott's chest that kept Angharad from guessing the truth. She is a clever lass, and if not for her belief that he was stabbed, she'd eventually have realized that her love potion killed him. I do not think she could have lived with that knowledge…"

"Well, she need never know," Bennet pointed out pragmatically. "But what did you mean when you implied you now have doubts?"

"I've been prodding my memory, trying to recall all I could about that evening. I remember seeing Thomas and Angharad in the window seat, drinking, as she said. But he did not become ill right away. By the time he finally left the hall, more than two hours had passed since he'd drunk her wine, and I've always heard that mandragora acts very swiftly. Rolf said as much, too, and I got the impression that he knows more about poisons than any honest man should, So this morn I visited the apothecary shop near the abbey. I had to find a couple of coins to get his cooperation, but he did confirm it. It was not Angharad's mandragora that killed de Caldecott. If she'd given him too much, as I first thought, he'd have been stricken soon after… and he was not."

Justin slumped down in his seat, no longer trying to hide his frustration. "It is not that I want Angharad to be responsible. But at least it was an answer and it made sense, Now… now it will forever remain a mystery."

Bennet and Molly exchanged knowing glances, theirs the cryptic communication of siblings who need not rely wholly upon words. "You think,?" Bennet asked and Molly nodded.

"We know how you hate puzzles, Justin," she said fondly. "But this is one puzzle we can solve for you. My guess is that whilst the Welsh girl thought she was buying mandragora, she was really getting bryony. It is a common ruse, for bryony is much cheaper and more easily obtained. You remember Toothless Maud?"

Justin did. "People said she was a witch, and we'd run for our lives every time we saw her. Why?"

"Toothless Maud sold love charms and potions, and rumor had it she knew which herbs would help a scared girl get rid of an unwanted babe. She also did a brisk business selling mandragora for the lovelorn… only it was bryony. She shaped the root to look like mandragora and her customers went off happily with it, none the wiser. It would not do much good in enticing an unfaithful lover back, but enough of it can easily kill. And unlike mandragora, bryony takes a few hours to act."

Justin considered this for a few moments and then smiled ruefully.

"People kept telling me that nothing in Wales is as it first seems. I ought to have guessed that even the mandragora would be false."

~*~

Molly and Bennet walked with Justin to the stable where he'd kept his stallion. Copper was now saddled and ready to go. It was Justin who seemed loath to leave. "Remember," he reminded them again, "that if you need to reach me, I rent a cottage on Gracechurch Street. If I am away, Gunter the smith or Nell at the alehouse is likely to know when I'll be back. And they are friends of mine, so they can be trusted."

"Might not the bishop know your whereabouts, too?" Molly teased, and Justin gave her a warning look before silencing her with a very thorough kiss. A quick embrace with Bennet, and he swung up into the saddle, looking down at them both for a word less moment before urging Copper out into the street.

They waved and Molly called out a cheeky "Godspeed, lover!" When she glanced at her brother, though, she caught his unguarded expression, and she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"He'll be back, Bennet. You wait and see. He'll be back."

~*~

Just was surprised by the austere, subdued surroundings. The cottage would have been perfectly adequate for his needs, but he was accustomed to seeing Claudine in more luxurious settings. "Are you comfortable here?"

It seemed ridiculous to be making polite conversation like this, but there was no denying the awkwardness between them. Was it because they were meeting in a nunnery? That they'd been apart since the summer? Or that there was so much still unspoken between them?

"Comfortable? As well as could be expected."

Had Claudine's response been drenched in sarcasm, he would not have blamed her, for he was acutely aware how foolish he must have sounded. How could she possibly be comfortable under the circumstances, exiled from family and friends, knowing that a baby's birth was too often followed by the mother's death. But there had been no edge to her voice. She was not acting like the Claudine he knew. The high-spirited, carefree flirt had been re placed by a stranger, a wan, forlorn stranger with downcast brown eyes and rounded face, swallowed up within the folds of a voluminous, drab gown that obscured all evidence of her pregnancy.

"How are you faring, Claudine? Have you been getting enough rest, the food you need?"

"Why? Do I look as sickly as that?"

"No, of course — "

"I do," she said mournfully, "I know I do. My face is as swollen as a melon, my hair is as dry as straw, and look at my ankles…" She lifted her skirt for him to see. "You could encircle them with your fingers, and now they are huge! Little wonder I heard from you only once in all these months…"

Justin was astonished, "Claudine, I was in Wales, you know that! I'd gladly have written every week if I could have found a courier to take my letters to Godstow."

When she glanced up, he saw tears glistening on her lashes. "I am sorry. I know how petty I must sound. Your life was at risk in Wales, and here I am bemoaning my swollen ankles and sleepless nights. It is just that I've been so lonely. You are the first visitor I've had, the only one…"

"Only because no one knows that you are here, love." Joining her on the bench, he took her into his arms. "If the queen had not sent me to recover that stolen ransom, I'd have been camping outside your door, scandalizing the nuns and making you yearn for a royal crisis to get rid of me for a few days…"

As he'd hoped, that earned him a smile. She let him draw her into a closer embrace, cushioning her head against his shoulder. "You always know what I need to hear, Justin," she murmured. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," he said and tried to ignore the twinge of guilt her words stirred up, for they'd never even discussed fidelity. Theirs had been a day-to-day liaison, with no talk of tomorrows they both knew they'd never have. Their love affair had not survived his discovery that she'd been spying for John, but to his dismay, he'd found that he could still want a woman he could not trust. Her pregnancy had changed everything and changed nothing. The bond between them, flesh unto flesh, had become much more. He was shackled to her by honor more tightly than ever he'd been by desire. But the gulf between them was still there, and marriage was an option she'd not even considered.

"There were times when I was not sure of that, she admitted, with a raw candor he'd never gotten from her before, "times when I wondered if you welcomed the chance to stay away."

Justin was utterly taken aback. "Claudine, that is not so. Your welfare and that of our baby matters greatly to me. How can I convince you of that?"

"I know that we are neither plight-trothed nor wed, nor can we be. I cannot expect you to take a monk's vows. But I need you to make me a promise, Justin. A man is not permitted in the birthing chamber, I know that. Can you be close at hand, though, just in case all does not go… well with me and the baby?"

Justin had not fully realized until now how very frightened she was. Thankful that he'd never told her his own mother had died in childbirth, he tilted her chin up, kissed her gently on the mouth. "I will always be there when you and the baby need me, Claudine. That I promise you upon the surety of my soul."