Sharon Penman - Dragon's lair

"Such a waste," he said somberly, raking the tip of his boot through the ashes, cinders, and soot that had once been wool worth its weight in gold. Wasted lives, wasted riches, wasted opportunities. How could he tell the queen that the bulk of the ransom was beyond recovery? Even if he somehow managed to retake a portion of the stolen goods, would that be enough for Eleanor?

Thomas had come over to stand beside him in the road. "What now?" he asked, and Justin shrugged. He would that he knew.

Upon their return to Rhuddlan Castle, Justin paid another visit to young Rhun, but it was more a courtesy call than an interrogation. Even if the lad's memory did come back, did it truly matter except to Rhun? What could he know, after all?

Justin continued to use either Padrig or Thomas as his interpreter, and by day's end he'd questioned all of the men who'd been sent out to search once word reached Rhuddlan of the ambush. He learned that Dayvdd was not held in the highest regard by those who served him. He learned that the Welsh reputation for being recalcitrant and blunt-spoken was well earned. They viewed him with suspicion and scorn, doubly damned as both a foreigner and an Englishman. He did not learn anything that even remotely resembled a clue, any information that might help him to solve this frustrating crime or dispel his misgivings.

Dinner that evening was not a pleasant experience. Once again Justin was banished to the far end of the table, and once again he watched in brooding silence as Davydd and Lord Fitz Alan dominated the conversation and Lady Emma kept her eyes downcast and her opinions to herself. The talk was mainly of Llewelyn, and the prince and sheriff took turns damning him to the hotter reaches of Hell. Justin was surprised to discover that Llewelyn had been raised in Shropshire; his widowed mother had wed a Marcher lord when he was ten. What he learned next was even more surprising, that Llewelyn had begun his rebellion against Davydd at the tender age of fourteen. It was becoming quite clear to Justin that in his letter to the queen, Davydd had greatly underplayed the threat posed by Llewelyn. The truth was that the Welsh prince was scared half out of his wits by his nephew's rebellion.

Before retiring for the night, Justin went to the stables to check on stallion, for Copper was his most prized possession, his heart's pride. Seeing no reason to hurry back to the hall, he found a brush and was currying the chestnut's burnished reddish-gold coat when Angharad appeared. She was looking for Thomas, she said; not finding him, she stayed to chat, overturning a bucket for a seat and arranging her skirts as gracefully as if she were sitting on a throne.

"You seemed downcast at dinner, Iestyn," she said forthrightly, flavoring her French with an appealing Welsh lilt and making use of the Welsh form of Justin's name. "Will the queen punish you if you fail in your mission?" When he shook his head, she smiled brightly. "I am glad you will not be blamed, for I do not think this will come to a good end."

"Nor do I, Angharad."

"Mind you, I cannot complain for myself. This robbery brought Thomas back much more quickly than I dared hope." This time her smile was impish. "So you might want to consider me a suspect, for I was one of the few to benefit from the ransom's loss."

Justin smiled, too. "Few, indeed… you and whoever took it."

"You do not think it was Llewelyn?"

"I do not know," he admitted. "Most likely it was. My trouble is that I've never been able to accept the easiest, most obvious answer. I want it all to make sense, to fit the puzzle pieces together. And in this case, there are several pieces missing."

"And they are…?" she prompted.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. It often helped to muse aloud about the more baffling aspects of a case, and he saw no harm in testing speculations and suppositions upon an audience, especially an audience as attractive as Angharad. "Well… I am bothered by the burning of the wool. Something does not feel right about that. It seems to be such an extreme measure to take."

"I know," she said. "I thought so, too, As for Lord Davydd… when he was told about the wool, I thought he was like to have an apoplectic fit, he was so distraught. I think it was only then that he realized the queen will blame him as much as Llewelyn for the loss."

"As well she should," Justin said ungenerously. "If he had not sent the ransom off in two hay-wains with no guards to speak of, the robbery would not have been possible. I could not imagine a man making a decision so foolish until…"

He let the sentence trail off, deciding it would be indiscreet, but Angharad shared his opinion of the Welsh prince."..until you met Davydd," she said, and they grinned at each other.

"Actually," she confided, "he surprised me by how well he took the news at first. He has always been one for raving and ranting, cursing his lot and bewailing his ill fortune whenever he suffers a setback. But to give him his due, when they brought word of the robbery, he was quite calm and composed. It was only after he learned of Selwyn's death and the loss of the wool that he unraveled like a ball of yarn."

"I suppose it has been hard on the Lady Emma, putting up with his foul tempers."

"The Lady Emma," she said, "knows what a wife's duties are." Justin was not sure what to make of that cryptic remark. Deciding to keep on fishing, he said innocently, "Then Davydd is indeed a fortunate man, having a wife who is as biddable as she is beautiful. I should be so lucky."

Angharad took the bait. The look she gave him was a cool one. "It never ceases to amaze me," she said, "how easily you men are beguiled by a pretty face. There's not a one of you who wouldn't embrace mortal sin as long as it took a shapely female form."

Justin concealed a smile. "Especially if it took a shapely female form."

Angharad pretended to scowl. "I do believe you have been having fun at my expense, Master de Quincy."

"Yes, Mistress Angharad, I do believe so, too," Justin agreed. But when their eyes met, they both began to laugh.

"There is no need to be underhanded," she chided. "If you have questions about the Lady Emma, ask mc. How else can I know if I am willing to answer them or not?"

His first question was not one she was expecting. "You do not like her much, do you?"

"I do not like her at all."

"Why not, Angharad?"

"Well… I could tell you. But I do not think I will." Her dark were teasing. "I think it best that you find out for yourself why I love that lady not." Rising, she smoothed her skirts without haste. Justin waited until she'd almost reached the door.

"Tell me this, then. I have been watching Fitz Alan, and I think your Thomas is right; he is smitten with Emma. Do you think she has been encouraging his attentions?"

"My Thomas. I like that," she murmured. "As you knew I would. Tall, dark, handsome, and devious… a dangerous mix. I think I shall have to keep a close watch on you, Iestyn." She started to saunter off, then glanced back over her shoulder. "Of course Emma encourages his attentions. She needs male admiration the way I need air to breathe. But to answer the question you were really asking… No, she is not an unfaithful wife."

"Are you so sure of that?"

"Yes," she said, "I am."

"Why is it," Justin asked, "that I do not think that you're praising her virtue?"

Angharad tilted her head, regarding him with a delphic smile. "I have a riddle for you," she said. "When is virtue not a virtue? If you can answer that, you'll know why I do not like the Lady Emma."

Justin could catch the scent of her perfume even after she'd gone; like her presence, it lingered. He stood there for a time, not moving until Copper nudged his shoulder. "Sorry, boy, I have no apples." Turning, he stroked the stallion's velvety muzzle. "Are you wondering what I was doing? Was I flirting, gossiping, or investigating?" Copper snorted softly, nudging him again, and Justin laughed. "Damned if I know!" And yet he sensed, for reasons he could not have articulated, that the Lady Emma was one of those missing puzzle pieces.