Кэндис Робб - The Apothecary Rose

“I am not seriously wounded, though I cannot vouch for your husband’s mouth.”

“He will have discomfort eating for a few days, but it will heal.”

“I do not know why he took such offense, though it did not help that I could not tell him why I wished an audience with you.”

“Yes. The old friend–”

“Sir Oswald Fitzwilliam.”

“Ozzie?” She put a hand to her white chest. “You have heard from him?”

“More like I have heard of him, my lady. Fitzwilliam is dead.” Her eyes widened. Owen sat up and took her hands. “Forgive me for the shock my news must inflict, but I could think of no gradual way to tell you.”

“Ozzie.” She shook her head. “But I saw him – Who killed him?”

Again, the assumption that Fitzwilliam was murdered, that one of his innumerable enemies had caught up with him. Owen began to despair of ever unraveling the mess of the man’s life to discover the murderer. “You began to say you saw him. When did you last see him? At Christmas? Perhaps he visited you en route to York?”

She averted her eyes. “He was an old friend.”

“A family friend? Perhaps Lord March had entrusted him with a message to you?”

“Yes. Of course. What did you think?”

“Then I could have saved myself a bruise and a wound by telling your husband about Fitzwilliam?”

She looked back at him, frightened. “Oh no. No, I am most grateful that you mentioned nothing. It’s–” She brought a dimpled fist to her mouth. Her eyes glittered in the dusty daylight from the high window. “I am most grateful.” She reached out to him.

“Lady Jocelyn, I would seek compensation in another way.”

She withdrew her hands, as if he’d gotten too hot to touch, and looked at him quietly.

“I want information. Fitzwilliam came to see you at Christmas. What did he talk about? What was he doing penance for at St. Mary’s Abbey?”

She said nothing.

“I know you were lovers.”

She caught her breath and moved to stand up. He put his hands on her shoulders and made it clear that he meant to hold her there. Her bosom heaved. A part of him found it amusing that he had wasted such a perfect opportunity for an afternoon of pleasure. But mostly he was disgusted with the whole business and wanted to conclude it as quickly as possible.

“I mean you no harm, Lady Jocelyn. I merely want to know what Fitzwilliam was up to just before he died. Whom he might have been seeing in York. Tell me what you know and I will release you without mishap.”

“And if I do not tell you?” A teasing tone. She still saw this as a game, a flirtation.

All life was a series of flirtations to her, he supposed. He disliked her kind of woman. Addle-brained. Silly. No good to anyone. “I would prefer not to threaten you, my fair Jocelyn.”

He could see from her heightened color that he was right, that she found the situation exciting, that she would be disappointed when he sent her off without so much as a kiss. And he thought it unwise to disappoint this woman. So he leaned over and kissed the rosebud mouth lightly. “You are most lovely. But I do not mean to compromise you.”

She dropped her head demurely. “Captain Archer.”

“Fitzwilliam’s raptures about you fell far short of the truth.”

Her laughter surprised him. “Raptures. Fitzwilliam. You are a poor liar, though charming. Quite charming.”

Not so silly. “I–”

“Obviously, Ozzie got himself murdered and you’ve been sent by his guardian, that carrion crow, to find out who dared to spill Thoresby blood, however tainted with common blood it might have been.”

Owen felt quite stupid. The flinty eyes had warned him. “Right on all counts, my lady. I am left speechless by your keen wit.”

“I’ll tell you what I know on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“You will leave here tomorrow without questioning any others.”

“And how will you hold me to that pledge?”

“My husband will see that you are seriously injured.”

“Ah. You will cry rape and he will turn his thugs on me.”

“Precisely.”

How could he have been so wrong about her? Silly, indeed. He wished now that were true. “Why are you so concerned?”

“I must have no scandal now that I am in the household of the Duchess of Lancaster. It is an honor to be here. It is everything to Jamie – Lord March.”

“But you would cause a scandal with your threat.”

“I would be the injured party, Captain Archer. It is a commonplace, a woman ravished by a soldier. No one would question it.”

“The Lord Chancellor might.”

“I’m certain that John Thoresby did not choose you for your virtue. Why should he doubt that you would take advantage of me when I came alone to your chamber to make sure someone had seen to your wounds?”

“That was a silly thing to do.”

She shrugged. “People see me as a silly woman. I don’t mind. It suits me. Affords me the element of surprise.”

“Indeed. Well, I can think of nothing I have to gain by causing a scandal, so you are safe with me.”

She smoothed her skirt. “I was with child. Jamie was furious. After waiting for two years, I got pregnant when it was most inconvenient. The Duchess would insist that I stay up north. My stipend would not begin until after my lying-in. Jamie went to Ozzie. Told him that it was probably his child. Ozzie came north and took me to a midwife who, for a fee, halted my future need for her services.”

“Was it Fitzwilliam’s child?”

“I am not certain.”

“What did Lord March use to threaten him?”

Lady Jocelyn looked injured. “He had no need to threaten. Ozzie loved me. He would have done anything for me. He assumed it was his child, and if I did not wish to carry it, he was willing to help me rid myself of it. Safely.”

“Lord March does not care for an heir?”

“There will be time for heirs. At the moment he wants to establish his standing with the new Duke.”

“And you want to establish yours with the Duchess.”

“Of course. They go hand in hand.”

“Of course. This midwife. Where was she?”

“Just outside York, on the river. Magda Digby, the Riverwoman. A horrid creature. A smelly shack. But she was good to me. As you can see, I’m none the worse for the experience.”

“And Fitzwilliam’s pilgrimage to York?”

She wrinkled her nose. “He’d had an unfortunate dalliance with a kitchen maid here. The Duchess learned of it and sent him off to repent.”

“What happened to the maid?”

“She will be married to one of the servants.”

“Her name is Alice?”

“You know about her?”

“One of my – Bertold’s archers was going to marry her before Fitzwilliam got between them.”

“I shall mention it to the Duchess – after you have gone quietly. Is there anything more you wish to know?”

“Did he have any enemies in York?”

She gave a little laugh. “A man of Ozzie’s spirit had enemies everywhere.”

The journey from Kenilworth to York was as unpleasant as a Channel crossing. Owen thought on the pilgrims dead at the abbey and found it easy to dismiss their deaths as the result of traveling to this godforsaken country in winter. By day, the damp north wind howled in his ears, battered his face, chilled him through his warmest clothes. By night, wolves added their hungry cries to the wind’s demon voice. The journey would have gone more pleasantly as part of a company of soldiers. Or at least in the company of Bertold, Lief, Ned, and Gaspare. As often as that thought arose, Owen fought it. His soldiering days were over. He must forget that life.