The Herald's Heart (23 page)

Talon released Larkin and advanced on Le Hourde. “Why you bastard ... ”

“I?” the man dared to mock even as he retreated in the face of Talon’s ire. “I am no bastard, sir. But methinks, of all folk, you should know one when you see one.”

“You’ll pay for that insult.”

“Here, here, what’s to do?” Cleve rushed between the two men. “I heard a commotion and came fast as I could.”

“Place Baron Le Hourde in manacles and take him to the dungeon.”

“B ... but he’s a baron.”

“And I am King Edward’s herald. The baron stands accused of murder. Until proof can be found either in his favor or against, I will have him held.”

“Aye, sir.” Cleve turned to Le Hourde and almost apologetically took hold of the man, escorting him from the room.

“Amis.” Talon turned to his friend. “Will you return to Rosewood Castle and take charge there?”

“I assume you would like me to question the people and find out what I can about Le Hourde’s recent activities.”

“Also ask after his mistress. If he has one, even if she is a nun, people will know. They may be more willing to speak if they feel he cannot wreak vengeance on loose tongues.”

Amis nodded and left.

At last, she was alone with Talon. She folded her arms across her chest. If he thought he would get a gentle loving from her, he must think again.

“We need to talk,” she said.

He nodded. “Let us go to the solar. Too many ears may hear in this hall.”

He shut the solar door, then reached for her. Larkin stepped away. “Please don’t touch me.”

He dropped his arms, and his shoulders sagged.

She almost felt sorry for him. He looked so defeated and bewildered. She squelched the urge to comfort him.

“What’s wrong?”

“You can ask that when you deny me the justice I’ve longed for these past seven years, when you send your friend—for I do not believe he is your rival—to take charge in my home?”

“Amis is indeed my friend and will betray neither you nor me. He will seek evidence so that justice may rule. Even if that justice proves your memory to be at fault. Despicable as Le Hourde is, not even for you will I condemn a man in haste. As I did with you, I will keep him secure until his guilt or innocence is proven.”

Talon was right, but she did not have to like it. Fury tightened the muscles in her forehead and neck. “Fine, take your time and seek your evidence. When you find it, you will know my accusations to be the truth. He killed my mother and, by some means unknown to me, succeeded in stealing my home for himself. I want it back.”

“Please listen to me.” He turned desolate eyes on her. “Too much has happened to simply give the castle to you. I may believe you are Lady Larkin Rosham, but I am not the only one involved. Imagine what would be thought if I hanged Le Hourde and returned Rosewood to you on your word alone.”

“So appearances are of more import than your trust in me. Your trust is a small, worthless thing.”

“You cannot believe me so callous,” he chastised.

She watched anger burn through the desolation in his gaze.

“Really? Each time my honesty is in question, do you leap to my defense? Do you protest on my behalf? Or do you quibble and quail and claim you need evidence. Have I cause to think you anything but callous when trust is at issue?”

“That is not true.”

“Is it not?” She raised a brow.

He studied her sullenly. “I trusted you in the sea when we nearly drowned.”

“Did you? You let go of me and trusted me to save myself, but you did not believe that I could or would even try to save us both.”

“But ...”

“Mine was the first name you thought of when the earl’s murder was discovered.”

“That was Timoras.”

“But you believed him. Not me.”

“Please, Larkin, we can resolve this.”

“Leave me be. I’ll not suffer your lack of faith any longer.” She left him there, slamming the solar door as she went. She wished she could close him out of her mind as easily. She was tempted to run to the abbess. Mother Clement had always provided comfort and sensible advice. But she knew what the nun would say. “You cannot resolve your problems by hiding here in the abbey.” The abbess would be right. To resolve all the difficulties facing her, Larkin needed proof of her identity and Le Hourde’s perfidy. So she’d best continue searching for it. Maybe when she found it, Talon would cease to doubt her. Somehow she suspected that even gaining his trust could not mend what was broken between them. Nonetheless she must try, for justice and Rosewood Castle at least.

• • •

Talon walked his horse down the track that led to the anchorage, where he’d been told he could find Mother Clement. He’d sat alone in the solar for some time trying to figure out how to persuade Larkin that he always intended to help her regain Rosewood. That he’d always meant to find justice for her family. But his circling thoughts and the ache in his heart kept him from developing any plan. He needed advice and sought out the wisest person he knew.

Mother Clement was seated on a stool outside the unshuttered window as he approached. She spooned liquid from a crock she held to the anchoress’s lips. He dismounted and tethered his horse. The scent of chicken broth wafted toward him. As he approached, he could see Dame Margery’s flushed face, her eyes bright with fever. Her lips moved between sips, as did Mother Clement’s. Did they pray? Was the anchoress’s state so dire that only God could help her?

At three paces’ distance, he stopped and waited for the women to finish their prayers. But they weren’t praying.

“You told me he was dead. That I would never again have to see him.”

“He is dead,” murmured the abbess.

“I swear on the Virgin’s heart that I saw him only days ago. You brought him to me yourself.”

“That was not the same man.”

“But he has guinea hair and eyes the color of purple pansies.”

“Aye, he does.” She cast a glance his way.

So the abbess knew he listened and did not care.

“But, the man I brought you is not the one you fear,” she continued.

“How can that be?”

“The one you fear is dead.”

“Is it his spirit then?”

“Nay, only a relative, seeking answers.”

“He asked me questions. Questions about the candles.”

The abbess put the spoon in the crock and settled the pot upon the ground.

She placed a hand on Dame Margery’s cheek. “You must rest now.”

The anchoress grasped Mother Clement’s wrist. “Nay. Tell me why he seeks answers. Why he asks about the candles.”

“He believes the candles killed a man.”

“How can that be?”

“There was poison in the candles that was released in their smoke.”

“Ah. Was the man who died one that I fear?”

“One of them.”

“’Tis God’s will then.”

“Who can know God’s will?” Mother Clement moved to leave, and Dame Margery pulled her back.

“I know.” A fire of belief and mystical faith blazed in her faded eyes. “I know God’s will.”

“Do not blaspheme, Sister.” The abbess’s shock pulsed through the air in front of the anchorage.

“God save me from such sin; I speak true. I have prayed for years that I might be the instrument of his justice. For my sacrifice, for all that I have given up, He has blessed me to His use.”

Mother Clement turned wary eyes on Talon. “Take care what you say, Dame Margery. Others may not understand your meaning as I do.”

The anchoress followed Mother Clement’s gaze. For a moment, Talon recognized the fear she showed on their first meeting, then her shoulders squared within the frame of the window. The fever-parched lips formed a tight grin. “God’s justice will visit you, too, sir, as it visits us all, the faithful and the faithless.”

Talon shuddered as if she had just pronounced his doom.

The anchoress released Mother Clement’s arm. “I am tired. I will sleep now.” She turned and disappeared inside her cell.

Mother Clement reached for the window latch. “God keep you, Margery. I will check on you soon.” Gentle snores issued from within as she shut the portal.

Talon stepped forward before her and picked up the crock. “Allow me, good mother.”

“Thank you, child.”

He turned with her, stopping to untie his horse. Reins in one hand, crock in the other, he paced with her toward the abbey gates.

“What troubles you, my son?”

“Is it so obvious?”

“I have had too many years of examining souls to be unaware when a person’s silence cries out loudly for solace. Now tell me.”

Still he hesitated. How could this woman, sheltered as her life had been, give him counsel? “So much troubles me that I scarce know where to begin.”

“Begin where your heart tells you.”

“Lady Larkin.”

“Aha, knotty problem indeed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Naught but that she, like much in the world, is more complicated than she appears.”

“Aye, she is that.” How did a man ask a nun about courting a woman’s favor?

“What do you want of her?”

“’Tis a simple matter of her trust in me.”

“Trust is never a simple matter.”

They walked on in silence for a few moments.

“Tell me, Sir Talon, do you trust her?”

“As much as I trust any man, more than most I think.”

“Does she know this?”

“I’ve told her until my voice is sore.”

“Knowing is much more than being told. Look at all those who do not believe in God’s goodness despite hearing His word nearly every day.”

“So how do I make the lady trust me?”

“You cannot.”

The response took him aback. “What do you mean?”

“Even God cannot force faith from men. Belief must come willingly, without coercion, or ’tis worthless.”

“Lady Larkin said much the same.”

“Then she is wise beyond her years.”

“I want to earn her trust, Mother Clement.”

“Why?”

“I ... I need her.”

“The flowers need the rain, my son. Do they strive to earn the blessing of its fall?”

“You speak in riddles, madam.” They neared the gate, and Talon remained uneasy.

“No doubt it seems so to you. Think on what I have said. When you understand, you will have the answers you seek. Until then, be as the lilies of the field.”

She held out her hand for his kiss.

Talon knelt and made his obeisance, then stood.

“Before we part, Mother Clement, tell me about the anchoress.”

“What would you know, my son?”

“Who it is that she fears. And why does she believe herself the instrument of God’s justice?”

The abbess was silent for several moments. Just as Talon decided she would not answer, she spoke.

“Years ago, when she was a novice at the abbey—not an anchoress—the earl was one of several men who found her alone in the woods.”

“They hurt her?”

“Deeply. Her mind was so damaged that only intense prayer saved her from death at her own hand.”

Talon sucked in his breath. “Surely no woman of faith would commit so grievous a sin?”

“We cannot know. But I have seen sorrow and shame turn strong men to self-murder.”

The mention of murder made him pause. “No doubt she is right in believing herself to be God’s instrument, but do you think she did so deliberately?”

Mother Clement jerked to a stop, as if suffering a great shock. “You cannot think that she intentionally created those poisonous candles.”

Talon braced his legs and clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t know what to think, Mother Clement. The earl was murdered. We know the instrument of his death. Of the people who had access to those candles, two, Father Timoras and Lady Larkin, have been proven innocent. I had not considered the anchoress, because, locked away as she is, I could not imagine how she would have gotten the itchweed.”

“And now you think she somehow escaped her anchorage to gather poisonous weeds with which to murder a man she had good reason to hate.”

“No. I think she asked someone she trusted to get those weeds for her. Someone who may not even have known why she wanted them.”

“That is ridiculous.” The abbess snorted and strode toward the gate.

“I don’t think so.” He hurried to keep up with her. “She must be tried in the king’s court.”

“No.”

“’Tis the only way to prove her innocence.”

“No, I say.” The abbess turned on him with surprising vehemence. “Even were she able to be tried, as a holy woman, that duty would fall to a church court. Since she is dead to the world, God can be her only judge. Earthly kings and laws hold no sway over the dead.”

“I doubt King Edward would see it that way. He takes a dim view of murder and a dimmer view of those who hide behind holiness to accomplish it.”

“Then write to your king and ask him. Meanwhile, I will write to the archbishop and the pope. We will see if Edward Plantagenet wants to risk excommunication over the issue.”

Talon couldn’t believe that one woman held sufficient influence to have the king of England excommunicated. But what if she did? What if he’d underestimated the abbess? Edward must be warned. Since he was needed here, Amis would have to go. Then Talon would do what he could to decipher Mother Clement’s advice and restore himself to Larkin’s good graces.

As she descended to the caves, Larkin thought about the various ways the earl could protect the box from water damage. The best method was to keep it away from water. Were there passages that did not flood? Perhaps hidden by rock falls or with entrances as difficult for humans to access as it might be for the sea? In pursuit of such places, she wandered farther than she intended. But, truly, she could find the marriage box here, because, after wriggling her way up into an opening in the roof of an unexplored cavern, she discovered a cave that had no marks from the tide.

She raised her lantern and peered into the narrow opening before her. Did the passage end here, or was there a chamber beyond? Perhaps the passage split again, like the three previous ones she’d explored before finding this unexpected hole. She would have to force her way in to find out what lay beyond. No matter what she found, ’twould be the last exploring she did this day.