Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

"Your husband is dead."

Cecilia jerked as if Owen had hit her. Then she made the sign of the cross and bowed her head. "He had been ill," she said softly. Without a word, the servant placed a cup of wine in her mistress's hands.

"He did not sicken, Mistress Ridley. He was murdered."

She looked up at Owen, shook her head. "No. He has been ill."

"He was murdered in the same way as Will Crounce. The throat, the hand."

Cecilia's eyes widened at that. "The same as Will? It was not illness?" She lifted the cup to her lips, paused. "Are you certain of that?"

"Quite certain."

She drank. "But he had been ill."

Owen was familiar with shock from his life at war. Cecilia Ridley's insistence on her husband's illness was a sign of it. The Archbishop had said Ridley was ill and that Mistress Ridley had been dosing him. Perhaps she had not wanted her husband to go on the journey.

"He had dined with the Archbishop," Owen said. "Someone waylaid him in the minster yard."

Cecilia Ridley frowned. "But it is guarded."

"The gates to the minster close are guarded, as they were when Crounce was attacked. But many people live inside the walls. Others come and go so regularly the guards think nothing of letting them pass."

"Gilbert carried a large sum of money."

"That had already been left with the Archbishop."

Cecilia Ridley studied Owen's face. "So you think that someone set out to murder both Will and Gilbert?"

"Yes."

She looked down at her hands and was quiet for a few minutes. "Gilbert's finding Will's hand was a warning, then."

"Or a threat."

"Who"-she swallowed-"who found Gilbert's hand?"

"No one so far."

She nodded, still keeping her eyes down. "Where is his body?"

"Archbishop Thoresby has arranged for it to be brought to you under guard."

She nodded.

"Mistress Ridley, this illness of your husband's, how and when did it strike him?"

Her deep-set eyes widened, her hands played with her keys. "When? Well, 1"-she shrugged-"I cannot say."

"The Archbishop said your husband took a physick you had prepared."

A nervous hand flew to her neck. "Gilbert told His Grace about that?"

"When did he start taking this physick?"

She frowned. "I cannot remember."

"He blamed his illness on Will Crounce's murder."

Cecilia Ridley stared at Owen for a few minutes, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. Owen was about to repeat his last comment when she said, "Yes. Will's death was a great shock to Gilbert. He-well, yes, I suppose his illness stemmed from that."

"What were you giving him?"

"I'm not entirely certain. My mother used to give it to us. Something to calm his nerves. He was not sleeping." She dropped her head for a moment, as if hiding emotion.

"Mistress Ridley?"

She raised her eyes to his, brimming with tears. "What am I to do without him, Captain Archer?"

Now what? Owen was no good at comforting. Besides, what comfort could he possibly offer? Her husband was dead. Nothing would undo that. "Is there any family I can send for?"

"No." She wiped her eyes. "No. They would be no use."

Owen stood up. "I should leave you alone for a few minutes. I could go out to the yard, see to my horse."

Cecilia took a cloth from her sleeve, dabbed her eyes, then lifted her head. Her eyes were red, but tearless now. "There is no need for you to go out in the cold. I must go up and see to my daughter. Then we will have something to eat."

Owen watched Cecilia's departing back. She held herself erect, tense. An admirable woman.

"More wine, Captain Archer?" a servant asked.

Owen nodded, held out his cup. "Is there illness in the house?"

The young woman glanced up at Owen and blushed to meet his eye. "Yes, sir. Mistress Anna, she's here for her mother's nursing." She poured the wine and hurried away.

As Owen sat brooding over his gloomy mission, he heard raised voices out in the yard, then running footsteps, dogs barking. The fine hunter drowsing by the hearth perked up, began to bark. Owen got up to investigate, glad for the diversion. He went down the passage between the buttery and the pantry and out back to the kitchen, rounding up Alfred and Colin, who grumbled to leave the warm fire.

"You two have ached for a fight since we began this journey. Be grateful, for pity's sake."

"A fight?" Alfred's eyes went from half closed to wide open with anticipation.

A freezing fog was settling down over the land as the light faded. Owen squinted through the murk and saw a light bobbing out in the direction of the gatehouse. He led his men toward it with caution. As he drew closer, Owen heard an angry voice cry out, "The Devil take you! How can you deny me entrance? I am her husband! If any harm has come to her, it is my place to comfort her. What right had you to bring her here?"

"Peace, my son." The second speaker was this side of the pedestrian archway, a priest. A servant held a lantern, revealing the priest's back.

Owen wondered whether he'd made a mistake coming out without his longbow. He strode up to the priest. In the doorway, blocked by one of the servants holding two huge dogs that strained at their leashes, stood an angry-faced gentleman, who kept just beyond the reach of the dogs. Motioning to Alfred and Colin to stay by the priest, Owen mounted the stairway to the upper window to see who accompanied the man. Two armed men sat their horses, looking nervous. Owen relaxed. They should have no problem holding the gatehouse against the small party. He returned to the priest.

"I merely carry out her mother's orders," the priest was saying. "No one is to enter while Mistress Scorby is in this nervous state."

"Nonsense." The angry gentleman gestured toward the servant who held the lantern. "Jed, tell my father-in-law that I am here."

"1 am afraid he cannot do that," the priest said.

"The Hell he can't. Then you do it, Father. Get Ridley out here."

"He is not here, Master Scorby."

So it was the ill-favored son-in-law. Owen studied him with interest. Scorby had traveled here expecting trouble, judging from the mail shirt visible beneath his cloak. His face, even in the poor light, flickered with emotion.

"And who is that standing behind you?" Scorby said, catching Owen's intense look. "Did you bring in cutthroats to keep me away?"

The priest, surprised, glanced back to see who had joined him. "He's come from the Archbishop of York," the priest said. "He's no cutthroat, but he has two armed men with him who do not seem averse to fighting, should we need them."

Owen knew from the look on Scorby's face that the priest had said the wrong thing.

"So you're fixing for a fight? Men!"

With a clatter of metal, Scorby's men were behind him, knives ready to hand.

Scorby pushed Jed aside. The priest stood firm. "Move aside, Father," Scorby warned.

Owen stepped in front of the priest. "Go inside, Father," he said quietly. "Assure Mistress Ridley that we have the matter in hand." Alfred and Colin joined Owen.

Scorby drew out a dagger.

"Why does the husband of Ridley's daughter Anna come here prepared to break the peace?" Owen asked, keeping his voice quiet, unemotional.

"Because that cursed priest brought her here without my permission."

Owen glanced back at the retreating priest, a small, slender man, then back to Scorby. "Surely the priest did not overpower you in your house?"

Scorby snorted. "I'd like to see him try. No, the coward waited until I was away."

"Then perhaps you have misinterpreted his actions. I will speak with Mistress Ridley, see what this is all about. Meanwhile, I suggest that you head toward Beverley and lodgings."

Scorby lifted his dagger. Owen grabbed the wrist that held the weapon and twisted. Scorby cursed, and his dagger fell to the ground. Owen grabbed Scorby's other hand. The man was not weak, but he could not break out of Owen's strong grasp, though his face grew red with the effort. A bullheaded man who could not size up his opponent and withdraw with grace. Owen had met his type before. Scorby would be trouble. Owen let him go. Keeping his eyes on Scorby, he said, "Alfred, hand the gentleman his dagger. Then we'll escort these three to their horses."