Priscilla Royal - Tyrant of the Mind

To make matters worse, Thomas had noted a change that evening as he walked from chapel to dining hall. Softness had crept into the air that boded well for warmer bones but ill for a man accused of murder. The storm was showing signs of abating, the snow would melt, and that meant a messenger could be sent for the sheriff all too soon.

He broke off a slice of the cheese on his trencher and swallowed it, this time letting the rich flavor fill his mouth with some pleasure as he watched Isabelle and Juliana look over at each other, briefly and at the same time. Neither smiled. Isabelle turned away and gulped more of her wine. Juliana lowered her head and closed her eyes.

If anyone were lost in prayer, Thomas decided, it would be this woman. Sister Anne, however devout she might be, had learned to nap while seeming to be awake after all her years caring for the sick. She could be doing so now for all he knew, but not the Lady Juliana. He sighed. Tyndal might benefit more from her being there than she would from residing at the priory.

She could truly be a saint. Priories often prospered with such in residence, whether in the shape of a living being or in the bonier form of a relic. The long line of eager penitents begging for her touch or wise words would shatter her solitude. And if she were mad rather than a saint? Well then, she might not find the peace she sought at Tyndal, but she would find kindness. Sister Anne and Prioress Eleanor would make sure of that.

A bang shattered Thomas’ musings. The door to the dining hall crashed against the wall as a soldier rushed through it to the high table.

Adam jumped out of his chair. “Satan’s balls! Have the Welsh set siege to the castle?”

The soldier knelt. Thomas could see him sweating despite the cold. “Forgive the rude entry, my lord. Although the Welsh have not broken truce, the wicked murderer has attacked. Another man has fallen victim to him.”

Adam paled. “Who?”

“Sir Geoffrey, my lord. We found him behind the stables. He was stabbed and left to die.”

***

Anne shook her head as she watched the men carry Sir Geoffrey away with great gentleness on a litter.

“Will he live?” Adam asked, his voice catching.

“He has lost much blood, my lord, and is still unconscious. The wound itself may heal well enough if it does not fester, but he was bleeding for some time. God was merciful, however, for the cold may have slowed the blood loss enough.” She looked around. “It was fortunate he was found in time at all. On such a cold night, no one else would have come here.”

“We must be grateful for a stable boy’s loose bowels, it seems,” Adam said, his tone flat.

“When did you say you had last seen your husband?” Eleanor turned to the Lady Isabelle. The woman’s gaze was as fixed as if she were seeing a vision in the dark stain of her husband’s blood in the snow. “My lady?” she asked again.

Isabelle looked up. “Forgive me, but I did not hear what you said.”

“At dinner you said Sir Geoffrey had not come to escort you to table, that you had not seen him since midday. Do you remember if he said anything to you at all about his plans for the day? Perhaps he mentioned something last night or this morning which would cast light on what has happened?”

A light flush spread over Isabelle’s face. “My lord husband does not share my bed while I have my courses. We were not together last night, nor in the morning.”

Eleanor looked at her father with a question in her eyes.

Adam shrugged.

“Perhaps you know where he slept last night? If you would rather tell me in private…” Eleanor gestured toward their lodgings above the hall.

Isabelle shook her head. “I do not know. He never speaks to me of women he might lie with for his health.”

God will surely forgive such public deceit to protect the private humiliation, Eleanor thought, then asked: “You saw him at midday, did you not?”

“Briefly. I was resting and suddenly he came into my chambers without knocking, looked around as if searching for something, and left.”

“He said nothing to you?” Or was he just checking to see how drunk you were this day, Eleanor thought.

“He smiled at me as if pleased but said nothing.”

“Has his behavior been unusual in any way?” Eleanor pursued.

“He has been much distracted since we came to discuss the marriage of Jul-my stepdaughter, that is, to your brother.”

Adam frowned. “Our negotiations over rights were not so dour as to cause him grief. Your husband and I have long been friends and the marriage was to have been of mutual benefit. He had nothing to fear from me and he knew that. It was Henry who seemed most upset by the talks. Perhaps something else had distressed your lord husband?”

“If so, I knew nothing of it. He did not discuss his concerns with me.”

“Nor would I,” Adam muttered, turning his head at a sound of footsteps coming through the stable.

As Brother Thomas approached the solemn group, the joy on his face was obvious. “Your men have guarded Robert well, my lord. Despite their fondness for him, they have chained him in his room at night and never left him alone, nor has he attempted bribes or asked for a lax watch. He could not have done this deed.”

“Then he is innocent of Henry’s murder as well, father,” Eleanor said in a low voice. “Surely this is the act of the same man. The air at Wynethorpe has never fostered such a pestilence of unlawful death.”

Adam turned to his daughter and for the first time since her childhood she saw tears flowing down his cheeks in public. “He is surely free of blame for this act and may be of Henry’s murder as well, but I cannot free him until we find those guilty of one or both acts. My son was found with the dagger and Henry’s blood on his hands. I cannot free him until his innocence is without question.”

“Then, my lord, the answer is quite simple,” Eleanor said, straightening her back and looking around at the assembly. “We will find the person who did it. And soon.”

“Simple? Simple!” Thomas threw out his hands in disbelief as he and Sister Anne strode down the corridor. “If I did not know our prioress better, I would swear on God’s very breath that she has lost her wits. It is no simple task to find who killed Henry, perhaps pushed our priest down the stairs and has now stabbed Sir Geoffrey. And to do it all, I might add, before the sheriff gets here and takes Robert off to some dungeon until he can be tried and hanged.” He took a deep breath. “Perhaps the most mercy we can hope for is that they’ll let us pull his legs to break his neck and put a speedier end to his misery.”

“Do you have a brother?”

Thomas skidded to a stop from the shock of the unexpected question. “Why ever do you ask?”

Anne’s smile was a gentle one. “Not to pry. I meant only to ask if you have never loved someone so much that you would move heaven and earth to save that one person’s life?”

Thomas paled as the image came to mind of one he had loved that deeply, but he said nothing. Not even the kind Sister Anne would understand his love for Giles.

“I see the answer on your face, Thomas,” Anne said, putting her hand on his arm. “Then perhaps you will understand how our prioress feels about her Robert. She has told me of their closeness. In the years after she was taken to Amesbury, it was Robert who wrote her missives full of love as well as family news. It was he who remembered special occasions and sent her special gifts. A frog for her birthday once, I’ve been told.”

“A frog?”

She formed a rather large circle with her hands. “A big one. He was quite proud of catching it, our prioress said, and her aunt let her keep it in the garden pond. I’m told it became a veritable Methuselah of frogs and serenaded the nuns at Amesbury for longer than any thought possible.”