Linda Barlow (57 page)

The wisewoman nodded. "Wait here."

Merwynna went out the cottage door and disappeared around the back. A few moments later she returned, followed by another woman, whose head and face were hidden beneath the folds of a thick hood. As they entered the cottage together, the woman threw back her hood. It was Priscilla Martin herself.

"Merciful heavens! I certainly didn't expect... What are you doing here?"

Pris sent her one of her cool, gracious smiles. She was as beautiful and well-groomed as ever, Alexandra noted with a twinge of the old envy. Not even a year at court and the love of Roger Trevor had convinced Alexandra that she possessed any great amount of beauty herself.

"Alexandra?" Pris was staring in some confusion at Alexandra's rich gown and neatly plaited hair.

"Hello, Pris."

"Merwynna just told me you were here. I didn't know. When she said someone was coming to consult her, it didn’t occur to me that I might be you. I thought, that is, I'd heard..."

"...that I'd been abducted at knife-point and raped? Don't be embarrassed. Everybody's heard that."

But Pris Martin was the first person Alexandra had met who didn't either ask or pointedly avoid asking whether the rumors were true. Her eyes were on the piece of embroidery still clutched in Alexandra's hand. "I'd also heard that Francis Lacklin was dead." Her clear voice was trembling slightly; she looked frightened. "Were it not for that, I wouldn't be here. But Merwynna tells me she's seen him in a vision, alive and well."

Alexandra felt a curious sinking inside her. She realized that she didn't want Francis to have been Will's murderer. "Merwynna is correct. Francis was wounded during our escape from London. He nearly died, but we managed to pull him through."

"You? You saved his life?"

"I didn't have all that much to do with it. Roger has an excellent physician aboard his ship."

"You should have left him to die."

"Why?" She held up the embroidery. "Who is this man with the rock?"

"It is Francis Lacklin," said Pris. "He murdered Will."

Chapter 32

Alexandra sank down once again on her stool. "Tell me how you know. And why, if what you say is true, have you come back, a year after all our questions about Will's death were supposedly resolved, to accuse him now?"

"I realized at the inquest that murder had been done, and that Lacklin must be guilty. I realized also that he was still nearby, since he had obviously strangled the halfwit, Ned. I was afraid he would kill me too. That's why I fled. When he'd heard what happened at the inquest, he would know that I knew, that I had finally understood, and—"

"Wait a minute. Back up a bit. What do you mean, you realized
at the inquest
that murder had been done? The rest of us were busy realizing that it hadn't. It was your testimony that convinced us."

Pris Martin also took a seat. Merwynna moved to the back of the cottage, humming softly to herself. "This is complicated and I'm a bit unnerved," Pris confessed. "I was so certain he was dead, and it was such a weight off my mind. There was a prophecy once, you see, when I was a little girl. I was told that a gray-eyed man would strike me to the heart."

"Maybe it was a metaphor. Maybe it meant you would fall in love with a gray-eyed man."

Pris ignored this reassurance. "I came back because I owe it to Will and to his father, who was kind to me. For a year my conscience has troubled me deeply."

"So, you lied at the inquest?"

Pris Martin shook her head. "No. I went into the great hall that day still believing that Will had died accidentally. I listened to your reconstruction of the events with incredulity. I thought you were highly imaginative. But my attitude changed when the baron showed me the note I'd supposedly written to Will. Do you remember?" Reaching into her girdle, Priscilla drew out a small scorched piece of paper. She unfolded it and handed it to Alexandra.

In great travail am I delivered. You have a son. Do nothing rash, I prithee, before we talk. Do not betray me to your family. Come to me, I beg you, tonight. There is a matter I must discuss with you.

"Yes, I remember. You felt guilty because it was your words that had lured him out that night, when he should have been sleeping off his drunkenness."

"No." Priscilla leaned forward; her voice was intent. "There's the rub.
I did not write that note.
I realized it as soon as I saw it. The hand is very like mine. It was a deliberate forgery. I did scribble a note to Will informing him of the babe's birth, but I did not ask him to come to me. Indeed, I urged him to stay away. I was weak and in pain, and I did not wish him to see me in such a state. Somewhere between my farm and Whitcombe Castle, my note was destroyed and this one substituted."

So that was it. With perfect clarity Alexandra remembered how numbly Pris had stared at this note when the baron had put it in her hands, how upset she had seemed. And how rapidly she had turned and disappeared from Whitcombe.

"Why Francis?"

"He was the only person who knew about Will and me. After Will became a Protestant, we confessed our sin of fornication to Mr. Lacklin, hoping for guidance. He was kind, if disapproving. I thought of him as a friend. 'Twas Francis Lacklin who was with me that night when I went into labor. I dared not summon the village midwife, remember? Only a servant girl and Francis. When the child was born, I wrote the note to Will and asked Francis to convey it to my servant. He must have switched the notes before he did so. He had no fear of being caught, I suppose, because he knew full well that Will always burned my messages. As, indeed, he tried to burn this one."

Alexandra's head was swimming. "He lured Will out with the intention of killing him? But why? Roger had a motive, perhaps, for killing his brother. What reason did Francis have?"

"I don't understand that either. But you were right that Will was not happy with his conversion to the Reformed faith. He did it mostly on my account, and he had begun to feel, at the time of his death, that he might have made a mistake. He was going to discuss it with his father."

"I hardly think Francis would have killed him for that."

Priscilla shrugged. "I know of no other reason."

Alexandra jumped up again, pacing in frustration. "What about Ned? I never believed he was a suicide."

"No. I didn't know the boy very well, but my impression was that he wouldn't have had the wits to hang himself. As for the dagger you said he found in the ditch? I think it belonged to Francis. He had a collection of swords and daggers from various parts of the world. I thought it strange, given that he was preaching the Word of God, but I have heard since that he is considered a notable swordsman, so perhaps that is why he possessed such weaponry."

"Did you actually see the dagger in his possession?"

"Perhaps. The handle was ivory, was it not? And distinctively carved?"

 
"Yes. It was Turkish, I believe."

Priscilla shrugged. "I am not certain. I would not like to swear to having seen the same weapon. It is possible."

"Well, supposing it was his, Francis could have dropped the in the ditch. Ned found it there and gave it to me, and I foolishly blabbed about it. Poor Ned. He trusted me to help him, not to get him killed."

"Don't blame yourself. You had no reason to suspect treachery."

"Francis was in the forest on the day Ned died. He had not gone down to London after all. Alan saw him there. He could have done it, you see. He could have killed them both."

"He did so, Alexandra; I have no doubt."

"But this piece of embroidery." Alexandra held it up. "It shows one man attacking the other with a rock. You couldn’t actually know that, though, could you? You were abed after birthing the babe when Will died."

"The stitch work is more my nightmare than anything else," Pris admitted. "Ever since I saw the forged note, it’s how I’ve imagined Will must have died." She shivered. "Sometimes I think it’s my own death I’m seeing in those dreams. As to what really happened that night, only Francis himself knows."

Oh, Francis! Alexandra's head was throbbing. She had grown quite fond of the man. He loved Roger. Natural or unnatural, Francis' love was a powerful force, the central force, Alexandra suspected, of his life. She put her face in her hands, absently rubbing her fingers over her aching temples. What would Roger do when he knew his closest friend had murdered his brother?
In honor I'd have to avenge my brother's death, would I not? I'd have to challenge him.

But if he challenged the master swordsman, Roger would die.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked, more of herself than of Pris. "Lacklin is a criminal already, accused of crimes even more serious than murder. He's in exile. It's possible he may never return to England."

"I know not. I only came because I thought Will's family had a right to the truth."

"Are you going to the baron?"

"I had intended to, but he is ill. I came first to Merwynna, for advice."

Alexandra glanced over at her mentor. "I haven't seen the baron yet. Alan told me he'd had another heart seizure. Exactly how ill is he?"

The wisewoman shrugged. "I do not know, but I believe his remaining time is short. He is surely in no condition to seek justice for his son's murderer."

"I wish to return to Oxford," said Pris. "As quickly as possible. I don't want to stay here, especially now that you tell me Lacklin is still alive. There's not much in this world I fear, but I fear that man."

"He and Roger are halfway to the Mediterranean by now," Alexandra assured her, hoping it was true. "There's nothing he can do to you, or me, or anybody now."

"Nevertheless, I want to leave. Tonight. You've heard my story now; you can tell it to his father when he recovers."

"Come with me to Whitcombe Castle. You can tell Alan and Dorcas, at least."

Pris looked uncertain. At last she said, "I have uneasy feelings and morbid dreams. But I will stay, if Merwynna says it is safe."

They both turned to the wisewoman, who nodded. "I shall make inquiry of the Goddess."

They sat in a circle at the herb table, clasping hands. Merwynna fell easily into a trance, and for several minutes nothing happened. Then she raised her head and spoke in the harsh voice that Alexandra had heard several times before. She raised a gnarled finger, stabbed it at Priscilla, and said, "Your destiny awaits you. Tarry no longer, but ride out to meet it. In truth, you must be wary..." The Voice paused here and laughed unpleasantly, as if at some sort of private jest "...of gray-eyed men."

I don't like your Voice, Merwynna, Alexandra was thinking, just as the empty dark eyes turned their attention to her.

"Your likes and dislikes are of no consequence," the Voice declared. "I find you most amusing."

"That much is obvious. Someone is certainly having a merry old time creating disaster after disaster in my life."

"You accept no responsibility for the consequences of your own actions? You would blame them all on the machinations of a higher power?"

"Or a lower one," she snapped.

Once again the Voice laughed. Its volume and intensity increased. "You have much to bear, but you are strong. You will need your strength in the months to come. You will need your wits, if you would survive. Trust the water and beware the fire. Embrace the earth, but let it go."

"You said that before, or something similar, and it still makes no sense to me at all."

"No? Then consider your stars, young woman, and do not be so great a fool."

Alexandra swallowed. Her stars? "What of my lover? What have you to tell me of him?"

"The same thing I told you the first time." The Voice cackled. "One who cannot, one who will not, one who dares not, one who dies."

"But that prophecy is fulfilled."

"Not all of it," the Voice said ominously. "In sooth, more will die. In a hail of arrows shall they fall."

There was a pause. Alexandra couldn't bring herself to comment. She'd always thought "one who dies" had referred to Will.

"You yourself will help one to his death," the Voice added almost conversationally. "As to your own fate, we shall see how well you guard this body." The fathomless eyes seemed to be gazing down over Merwynna's gaunt form. "She will need your protection soon. Take care to preserve her, for I need her, and it is tiresome training someone new." The Voice laughed once again. "If you fail me and she dies, I might be forced to turn to
you."