Suzanne Barclay - The Champion

“Mistress?” Simon was struck with a ridiculous urge to wipe his mouth, to rub away the kiss they had shared.

“It is not true,” Linnet whispered, expression anguished.

Simon looked away, unable to bear the sight of her delicate features and beautiful eyes. Lying eyes. To think he had come close to seducing his father’s mistress.

“Aye, she was his mistress.” Crispin’s lip curled with loathing. “But perhaps she fancied a younger protector.”

“If so, it was not me,” Simon said stonily. “I only returned to Durleigh yesterday.”

“Yet Brother Gerard saw you follow her from the palace.”

Simon shrugged. “Coincidence. We were here at about the same time, and the Deangate is the quickest route into town.”

“You appeared to wait till she left, then pursued her.” Brother Gerard had the sharp features of a ferret and the fawning, smug manner of a toady.

Simon despised him on principle. “I lingered in the gardens a moment after leaving the bishop. Which I would not have done were I guilty of murder.” A reminder of his service to God could not go amiss, either. “The roses drew me, for I missed their sweet smell while on Crusade in the dry, desolate East.”

The archdeacon’s scowl eased a bit.

“Bishop Thurstan’s death is my fault,” whispered Brother Oliver. “If I had been with him when he was stricken, he would not have fallen and struck his head.”

“Be at ease, Brother,” said the prior. “Whatever happened, it was God’s will.”

Brother Oliver sighed and bent his head.

Crispin nodded. “Thank you for reminding us of that, Brother Prior. Bishop Thurstan’s passing was indeed God’s will.”

Simon released the breath he had been holding and silently gave thanks for the prior’s level head. “I may go, then?”

“For the moment, but do not try to leave Durleigh till this matter is settled. And I would say the same to you, Mistress Linnet.” Crispin pinned her with a searing glance.

“I have nothing to hide.” Her eyes were haunted, but she held her head up as she turned and walked regally from the room.

The archdeacon stared after her, but his lean face was twisted with loathing. Simon almost pitied her, for she had incurred the enmity of the man who would, if only temporarily, wield much power m Durleigh. It was a fact he would do well to remember if he wanted to remain a free man.

“Come, Brothers, we must go to the chapel and pray for the bishop’s soul.” Crispin gathered his robes in one hand and swept from the room, followed by the other priests.

Prior Walter remained behind, as did two muscular men Simon had marked as soldiers. When the priests had gone, Walter posted the guards in the hallway, one at the bedchamber door, the other outside the withdrawing room, with orders to let none pass. Then he turned to Simon. “You must have been close to Bishop Thurstan if your first act in Durleigh was to visit him.”

Simon hesitated, wondering what to make of this bald little prelate with his sharp eyes and even sharper wit. “We barely knew one another.” True enough. “But many of the men in the Black Rose took the cross in response to a penance levied by the bishop. I thought he should know a few of us had survived.”

“A noble gesture.”

“The archdeacon does not seem to think so.”

“Aye, well.” Walter shrugged. “Crispin disapproved of everything Bishop Thurstan did and said.”

“He covets the bishopric, then?” Simon asked.

“Only because he feels he is better suited to the task.”

“What of you?” Simon asked archly.

Walter grinned. “I am not as critical of Thurstan as Crispin, but every man aspires to better himself.”

“A clever answer.”

“A truthful one. I admired what Thurstan accomplished here, though his methods are not mine. As to taking his place…” Walter shrugged again. “I doubt few men could. I would welcome a chance to try, but I would not kill to get it.”

A shrill voice sounded outside in the hallway.

“You have no right to keep me out!” A woman burst into the room. She was not young, but still beautiful. Despite the early hour, her blond hair had been sleeked neatly back, coiled at her nape and encased in a gold wire net. Her fashionable green gown was close-fitting, showing off a slender body.

Close on her heels came the guard. “My lord prior. .”

“It is all right.” Walter’s manner stiffened. “Lady Odeline, is something amiss?”

The lady sniffed and advanced on the prior, followed by a well-dressed youth in his early twenties. “Why have we been refused admittance to Thurstan’s chambers?” she demanded.

Her easy use of Thurstan’s name piqued Simon’s interest. Could this be his mother? If so, she must have been a mere child when she bore him.

“It was by my order, Lady Odeline. We are investigating the circumstances of the bishop’s death.”

“Surely it was an accident.” Tears magnified the eyes she raised to the pnest. “Oh, cruel fate to take my brother from me. He was the only one who loved me. The only one who sympathized with my trials.”

“Brother?” Simon whispered. He felt his mouth fall open in astonishment and closed it with a snap This was Thurstan’s sister? His own aunt?

“Whatever will we do?” She clutched at the boy who now stood beside her. “Where will my son and I go? We have nothing. No home, no money. Nothing.”

Simon’s compassion for her faltered. Clearly she cared more for her welfare than the loss of her brother. But then, her selfishness should not be surprising. Thurstan had cared more for satisfying his pleasures than for his holy vows or for the fate of any child he might sire.

“I am certain the bishop provided for you,” said Walter.

“Nay.” Lady Odeline was sobbing now. “He always said his money would go to build a chapel for his remains. And to the abbey. We will have nothing.”

Walter sighed. “Jevan, take your mother above stairs to her chambers that she may rest.”

“Nay, I would remain here and pray for my brother,” Lady Odeline said.

“Tomorrow, when the matter of his passing has been settled, you may sit vigil here,” said the prior.

Rage dried her eyes, and her cheeks went red as fire. “You would deny me this?” she demanded.

Walter met her glare with coolness. “Regrettably. Nothing must be disturbed till we know what happened.”

Simon looked to see how Jevan was taking this and found the boy staring at him. He was a head shorter than Simon with the lean build of a whippet, glossy black hair and pale skin. His eyes were narrowed to angry slits, glinting with blatant hatred. He knows I am Thurstan’s son. Simon felt the shame burn up his neck to his cheeks.

“Jevan!” the lady cned. “We will take this up with the archdeacon.” She swept from the room, her son at her heels.

Walter sighed. “Spoiled and willful. The lady is Thurstan’s youngest half sister. Doted on by her mother and always in trouble. A scandal led to her exile from court. Had Thurstan not agreed to let her stay here while Jevan studied at the cathedral school, they would both have been homeless.”

“Jevan is studying to be a priest?”

“A clerk. Thurstan feared that without discipline and a trade, he’d turn out like his father.” Walter paused. “The man was a drunkard, killed in a back alley brawl. Come,” he added. “Let us see if Brother Anselme has learned anything.”

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