Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

She was right about Henry’s aggression: he and Geoffrey had fought constantly as boys, and Henry had carried the feud into adulthood. Geoffrey was unconvinced by Olivier’s theory, however. ‘Henry was not the kind of man to inflict harm on himself. He was more likely to vent his anger on others.’

‘I agree with you,’ said Joan. ‘I believe he was murdered, too. But I also think it will do no good to investigate.’

‘Turning a blind eye to murder is tantamount to inviting the culprit to strike again,’ argued Geoffrey. ‘Or, if the culprit is a villager, telling him it is acceptable to kill his overlords.’

‘I was tempted to kill Henry myself on occasion,’ snapped Joan. ‘And there is not one of our servants, villagers or neighbours who did not feel the same way. Unless someone confesses, we will never know.’

Geoffrey regarded her steadily. ‘Then are you happy with this state of affairs?’

She met his eyes. ‘Yes. Most people were relieved when he died, including me. It is easier to manage the estate without him. And, of course, you benefited, too.’

‘There was a rumour that you killed him, because he stood between you and Goodrich,’ supplied Olivier.

Geoffrey had known it was only a matter of time before fingers pointed at him as the man who had gained most from Henry’s death. ‘I have dozens of witnesses who will testify that I did not slip off for a few days to murder my brother. Besides, I never wanted to inherit Goodrich.’

‘We know,’ said Joan gently. ‘And we have done our best to quell the rumours.’

‘Jervil did not mean any harm by his comments,’ said Olivier. He slapped his hands over his mouth in alarm. ‘Damn!’

‘Who is Jervil?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Our groom,’ replied Joan, glaring at her husband. ‘The accusation that you killed Henry originated with him, because he thought no one else would have the courage. He meant it as a compliment.’

‘Some compliment,’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘No wonder people run when they see me coming!’

‘That is nothing to do with Jervil,’ said Joan. ‘That is because Father Adrian has been telling them about the Fall of Jerusalem and the slaughter that followed. He says only the most vicious, hardened and ruthless soldiers survived – and Helbye says nothing to contradict him.’

‘Helbye tells people what they want to hear,’ ventured Olivier. ‘They are more interested in tales of terror and death than in stories of mercy and forbearance.’

‘I will speak to him,’ said Geoffrey, reaching for his sword and buckling it around his waist. It was an instinctive action, and he barely realized he was doing it.

Joan eyed it disapprovingly. ‘You will not improve your reputation if you walk around armed like a Saracen. You do not need a sword to speak to your friends, surely?’

Given what had happened to Henry, Geoffrey was not so sure.

‘You must marry soon,’ said Joan, as they sat in the solar the next evening. Geoffrey had spoken to Helbye that morning, but had been unable to persuade the old warrior not to portray him as a bloodthirsty brute. Then Helbye’s wife had given them a large jug of her strong ale, and sensible conversation went out the window. Geoffrey still felt dizzy, even after sleeping most of the afternoon, and he was barely listening. He nodded absently at what he thought had been a question.

‘That was easy,’ said Olivier. ‘I thought he would object.’

‘He just agreed,’ said Joan, pleased. ‘You saw him nod.’

Geoffrey glanced up and wondered what he had done. ‘Marry?’ he asked, forcing his muddled wits to concentrate before he found himself in deep water.

‘Goodrich needs an heir,’ said Joan, making it sound like it was his fault it did not have one. ‘And the sooner you make a start, the better. If you die without one, the estate will pass to Baderon, our overlord. But fitzNorman will counterclaim, because part of Goodrich lies in the forest.’

‘And Wulfric de Bicanofre will become involved, too,’ added Olivier. ‘Some of the manors we own were once under his lordship – before the Conqueror divided them up.’

‘The only way to prevent a dispute is to provide heirs,’ said Joan. ‘At the moment you are the only thing standing between our neighbours and extra land. You should marry – to protect yourself, if for no other reason.’

‘Later,’ replied Geoffrey tiredly.

Joan scowled. ‘No, soon. Within a month.’

Geoffrey gaped at her. ‘ A month ?’

‘It is the price you pay when you inherit an estate that is strategically important and wealthy. There are several candidates to choose from.’

‘Henry did not marry within a month of inheriting Goodrich,’ Geoffrey pointed out resentfully.

‘He started thinking about it, though. As we said, he set his heart on Isabel fitzNorman – much good it did him.’ Joan’s eyes lit up. ‘Are you interested in her? She would certainly be the best, and an alliance with fitzNorman would solve numerous problems.’

‘After what Henry did to her?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily. ‘I doubt she will be very keen.’

‘She did dislike Henry,’ agreed Olivier. ‘But her father is a practical man who knows good value when he sees it.’

‘Speaking of which, did you speak to Helbye about stopping his tales of slaughter?’ asked Joan. ‘You will have greater value, and will be easier to sell, if people think you are polite and gentle.’

‘ Sell ?’ echoed Geoffrey, horrified. ‘I am not an animal.’

‘You are a commodity,’ countered Olivier. ‘Much like Baderon’s prize ram, which is the envy of the region. Both represent a way to greater wealth.’

‘Lord!’ breathed Geoffrey, shocked.

‘You said you wanted to be appraised of all the details surrounding Henry’s death,’ said Joan tartly. ‘And his wedding plans were certainly a factor: it is possible he was killed because someone thought he was looking in the wrong direction. Like you, he had six heiresses to choose from. FitzNorman was furious at what happened to his daughter, but, even so, Isabel would be my first choice. He is Constable of the Forest, and a favourite of the King.’

‘Then Isabel is out,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘I do not want to attract the King’s attention. Besides, if fitzNorman did kill Henry, he may believe that what worked for one brother will work for another. I do not want to be stabbed when he decides I am not appropriate for his daughter.’

‘He has a sister,’ said Joan tentatively. ‘Margaret – a gentle woman with a sizeable dowry . . .’

‘How old a sister?’ asked Geoffrey suspiciously.

Joan was dismissive. ‘That does not matter. Since she is a widow, she knows her duties and will require little training.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘For the same reasons as Isabel.’

Joan pursed her lips. ‘Then there is Hilde, Baderon’s daughter. He would not normally be interested in us, but he has been ordered to secure peace in the region, and combining his estates with ours would certainly keep fitzNorman quiet.’

‘He has already tied three of his daughters – and several of his knights – to useful alliances, and is looking for a match for his son Hugh, as well as Hilde,’ added Olivier.

‘I will not marry Hugh,’ said Geoffrey flippantly.

Joan ignored him. ‘Baderon offered Hilde to us once. He may be prepared to do so again.’

‘Why did Henry refuse her?’ asked Geoffrey warily.

‘He wanted someone pretty,’ said Olivier bluntly. ‘And someone . . . well, someone who does not behave like a man. I can see his point: Hilde seems just as happy wielding a battleaxe as a needle.’

‘There are rumours that she may be barren,’ Joan continued. ‘In which case, she will not suit our needs at all. But people have unkind tongues, and the rumour may have arisen because she is older than her sisters and not yet wed. I shall make enquiries.’