True Love, page 17
Catherine found Gwendolyn in the kitchen and drew her toward the wooden shelter outside the kitchen where the well was housed. They could speak there without being overheard or interrupted by the kitchen help. Before Catherine could begin questioning the maidservant, Gwendolyn began a tirade that was typical of her sharp-tongued ill humor.
“There's a lot of gossip being whispered about you and Sir Braedon,” Gwendolyn said. “They say you spent too much time alone with him last night. You ought to be more cautious where your honor is concerned. If you ruin yourself, it will reflect badly on your father.”
“Sir Braedon is severely injured,” Catherine responded mildly, being used to Gwendolyn's constant scolding.
“Bah! If he was so badly wounded, why wasn't the castle barber called?”
“Because Robert and I were seeing to his care.”
“You didn't go to his room until late evening,” Gwendolyn said. “And while you were with Braedon, Robert was huddling in a window embrasure with his hands all over Aldis. A lot of help he was to his master.”
“Were you watching who went into and out of Sir Braedon's room so closely?” Catherine asked.
“A servant sees things,” Gwendolyn said.
“Yes, I know, and you more than most, for you have sharp eyes and sharp wits, too. Tell me, who besides myself did you notice visiting Sir Braedon last night?”
“Are you jealous? Well, no wonder. I did warn you before that you don't know much about the man. You can't be sure what he's really up to.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He's always asking questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About the other guests,” Gwendolyn answered. “From the first day he came here, Braedon has been overly curious, and that squire of his is even worse, always poking into corners. Even the men-at-arms have mentioned how the two of them are always asking questions. They knew every detail about the plans for the tournament before it even began.”
“That’s only to be expected,” Catherine said. “Since Braedon is at Wortham to fight in the melee, it was only natural for him to want to know what to expect.”
“Then there are the poisons I found in his baggage,” Gwendolyn said. “What does he intend to do with them, eh?”
“When I asked him about them he said they were all herbal preparations carried here in expectation of injury during the tournament,” Catherine said. “Robert has been using some of them to treat his master, so I see little mystery there. Braedon brought those vials here for his own use, and we know he has needed them. Gwendolyn, have you tampered with any of those materials?”
“I'd not touch them even if they were made of gold,” Gwendolyn declared with considerable feeling. “They don't belong to me. Besides, they are dangerous.”
“Have you told anyone they are in Braedon's room?” Catherine asked.
“No, why would I?” Gwendolyn looked at Catherine for a moment before speaking again. “My lady, you have just asked questions of me which as your servant I was bound to answer honestly, and so I have done. Now I have a question for you. If Sir Braedon is so badly hurt, then why did he leave his room late last night?”
“I am sure he did not,” Catherine exclaimed.
“Why should you think not? Because he was stretched on a bed of pain when you and your father left him?” Gwendolyn hooted with derisive laughter. “Either Sir Braedon had a midnight visitor or he left his room, for I saw someone coming out of his door.”
“Who?” Catherine was so shocked that she could barely force the single word past her lips.
“I couldn't see who it was. The stairway was too dark. Shall I draw up a bucket of water for you, my lady?” Without waiting for a reply Gwendolyn lowered the bucket into the well and began to turn the handle to raise it.
“What were you doing on the stairway at a late hour?” Catherine demanded.
“Lord Phelan wanted a pitcher of wine taken to his room. It was after all the excitement on the stairs had died down. I was helping to straighten the great hall when Phelan sent one of his squires to get the wine. For some reason he had cuffed the boy about the ears so hard that the lad was dizzy. I was sure he'd dump the pitcher on the way back and we'd have another alarm like the earlier one, so I offered to take the wine to Phelan.
“I knew I'd be safe enough,” Gwendolyn explained. “I am too homely for Phelan – or Eustace – to want anything extra from me. As I went up the steps I saw a motion out of the corner of my eye, just a flicker of movement in the darkness.”
“Was it man or woman?” Catherine asked.
“I don't know. The person was wearing a dark cloak or robe, the kind of garment that covers you from head to toe if you don't want to be recognized. Whoever it was went up the stairs and disappeared in the dark. At the time, I thought it was probably one of the lady guests, visiting Sir Braedon in secret. Or perhaps Sir Braedon was well enough to visit one of the ladies.”
Catherine did not respond to these remarks. Gwendolyn's words sent a chill to her heart. What could Braedon have been doing, creeping around the castle late at night, garbed in his monk's robe?
“Here's the water,” Gwendolyn said, hauling the bucket to sit on the rim of the well. “Hold the pitcher out so you don't get wet and I'll fill it for you. How is Lord Royce?”
“Improving,” Catherine said.
“Odd, isn't it? No one else got sick on that fish.”
“Perhaps he mixed fish and wine and too much custard injudiciously,” Catherine suggested. “You know he’s overly fond of custard.”
“Perhaps.” Gwendolyn sounded doubtful.
Catherine could feel Gwendolyn's eyes on her until she left the kitchen, and the maidservant's words echoed after her all the way to the lord's chamber.
Was it possible that Braedon had poisoned her father? Gwendolyn was right to say Catherine knew very little about the man she loved. Royce had quarreled with Braedon and sworn to kill him, and the next day Royce was deathly ill. But it was Braedon who had supplied the antidote to the poison that could have killed Royce. Was it all a clever ruse to regain Royce's confidence in his fellow spy? Was Braedon really calculating enough to risk a man's life in order to establish himself as a dependable friend?
Catherine was forced to admit that she did not know Braedon well enough to be certain one way or the other. Her heart told her he was an honest man. But could she trust her heart?
There was also the possibility that Robert had been the person who left Braedon's room, that he had found a way to administer the poison to Royce, thinking to advance Braedon's prestige with Royce when Braedon cured him. Or had someone else crept into Braedon's room and stolen the poison and then used it on Royce? That was the course of events that Braedon had suggested. Recalling the dismay on the faces of both Braedon and Robert when they looked in the clothing basket, Catherine was inclined to believe that was what had happened, .unless master and squire had both been pretending.
By the time she reached the lord's chamber Catherine did not know what to think.
Robert opened the door to her knock and greeted her with an honest, open face. Braedon rose from the stool beside Royce's bed and came to her with an encouraging smile.
“He is asleep,” Braedon reported. “I am beginning to believe he will recover. Did you learn anything from Gwendolyn?”
“No.” Catherine averted her eyes, pretending to concentrate on setting the overfull pitcher down on the table without spilling any water. “I heard a bit too much about Aldis' pitcher-dropping. Gwendolyn does like to scold. But she apparently knows nothing about how the poison was stolen from your basket.” If it was stolen, she added to herself.
“Then we will have to look elsewhere for our answers,” Braedon said. “Someone at Wortham is a poisoner, and I intend to discover who it is.”
“Why don't you return to your room now?” Catherine suggested. “I will stay with my father. If he needs anything I'll send to you. I do think he will sleep more peacefully with fewer people in the room.”
“Very well, if it’s what you want.”
Catherine could tell from Braedon's voice that he was puzzled by her behavior. She couldn't meet his eyes, for she feared he would detect the many doubts and questions seething through her mind.
After Braedon, Robert, and her father's squire were gone she waited just long enough for Braedon to reach his room. Then she ran down to the great hall in search of Cadwallon. He was playing at dice with two men-at-arms and he looked rather bored.
“My father is sleeping,” she said to him. “I have seen Sir Braedon and he is much improved. Would you like to visit him? I am sure he would enjoy your company.”
“I would be delighted.” Cadwallon followed her back up the steps, stopping at Braedon's room.
Catherine continued on to the lord's chamber, relieved to know Cadwallon would keep Braedon occupied and out of her father's room so he could do no more harm to Royce – if he had done him any harm at all.
That was the most important question in Catherine's mind, and one she was free to consider while Royce slept. She knew the well-trained servants would have the evening meal ready when the hunting party returned. The normal noises of daily activities reached the lord's chamber only as distant murmurs and so she took full advantage of the quiet to indulge in some serious thinking.
By the time Aldis knocked on the door and entered, Catherine had reached several conclusions, though she still had many questions to which she was determined to have answers.
“Will you join us in the great hall for tonight's feast?” Aldis asked as soon as she was assured of Royce's continuing recovery.
“I fear I must, or risk being charged with neglect of the hospitality due to our guests,” Catherine said. “I do want to wash and change my dress first.”
“No need to call a servant for that. I will help you,” Aldis offered.
Ward appeared at the door, eager to resume his vigil at his master's side. After giving him instructions to call her if Royce seemed worse, or if he wakened, Catherine headed for her own room.
“I have a message from Gwendolyn,” Aldis said as soon as they were private. “It seems strange to me, but Gwendolyn insisted you would understand the meaning.”
“Why didn't Gwendolyn come to me herself?” Catherine asked.
“There was a crisis in the kitchen. Cook was in a worse temper than usual, and then all the game birds we took today were carried in and they needed to be plucked and gutted and hung at once so they wouldn't spoil, and the added work created yet another outburst. We really must do something about Cook. I do believe the kitchen staff would function better if they weren't constantly terrified.
“Anyway,” Aldis continued, “Gwendolyn claimed she dared not leave the kitchen, and I could see she was right. But she impressed upon me that you must receive her message as soon as possible.”
“What was the message?” Catherine asked.
“I am to tell you that, while Gwendolyn still swears on her life that she did not directly mention certain objects to anyone, she did make a remark to Robert that could have been overheard and she only recalled it after you left her earlier today.”
“To Robert?” Catherine repeated.
“I hope he is not in trouble.” A worried frown creased Aldis' brow.
“Does Gwendolyn have any idea who could have heard her?”
“She said she was in Sir Braedon's room when she spoke to Robert. The door was not completely closed. Gwendolyn left immediately thereafter and she saw someone going down the stairs ahead of her.”
“Who?” Catherine asked.
“Lord Achard. Catherine, does this strange story mean anything to you? I can make little sense of it, though I have repeated it to you just as Gwendolyn told it to me.”
“It means a great deal.” From Gwendolyn's sharp-tongued and probably overloud comments about the poisons in Braedon's possession, to Achard's ears as he passed by the door, to the theft of a packet of hellebore, to poison in Royce's food or drink, it was a trail easy enough to follow. After Achard's attempt to ravish her and his brutal lack of concern for her on that occasion, Catherine did not count murder beyond his ability. It would be only one step further down the path to perdition.
However, there was a flaw in the assumption that Achard had poisoned her father. He had never been alone with Royce, nor had he been sitting near Royce during the previous night's feast. But then, perhaps Achard had an accomplice among the guests. It was a possibility worth considering.
“Catherine?” Aldis touched her arm. “You are woolgathering. Please tell me there's no blame attached to Robert through Gwendolyn's message.”
“No blame at all,” Catherine assured her. “Robert was simply the person to whom Gwendolyn addressed her ill-chosen remarks.”
“I am glad of that.” Aldis smiled. “May I tell you a secret?”
“I would be happy indeed if someone in this castle would deign to reveal a secret to me,” Catherine said.
“Robert wants to marry me, and I want it, too.”
“Marry? You scarcely know him.”
“My heart knows him, through and through,” Aldis said. “From the first time he spoke to me, I was certain we were meant to be together.”
Aldis' words went straight to Catherine's own heart, for her reaction upon meeting Braedon had been similar. Still, Catherine felt obliged to point out the glaring problems that were certain to keep the two apart.
“Aldis, your father left you no dowry. And while I am sure my father will provide for you if you marry in a way that pleases him, you cannot forget that Robert is only a squire.”
“He is older than most squires because he owns nothing except his clothing,” Aldis said. “Despite his gentle birth, Robert cannot hope to be knighted until he finds a way to acquire the armor and the warhorse and sword every knight must have. He dreams of performing a valorous deed that will earn him the equipment he needs. Until that day, we must wait to be together, and pray all will come right for us.”
“Are you willing to wait?” Catherine asked. “It could take years. Some squires never achieve knighthood.”
“I know.” Aldis' bright smile dimmed a little and her eyes glistened with moisture. “But I will marry Robert, or no one. And I must tell you, Catherine, that I cannot believe either Robert or Sir Braedon would ever do anything the least bit dishonorable.”
“There we are in total agreement,” Catherine said, putting an arm around the girl. “I have many questions about Braedon, yet my heart sees him for a true and honest man.
“Now my dear, we must go below and deal with our guests. Please say nothing to Robert about Gwendolyn's message. We don't want to upset him unnecessarily.”
While the guests feasted in the great hall Braedon donned his monkish disguise again and returned to Royce's bedchamber. At Royce's command Ward admitted him, then went to stand guard outside the door.
“I am glad to see you looking so much healthier,” Braedon said.
“Thanks to you.” Royce responded somewhat grudgingly. “Though I would prefer not being indebted to you, I am not so churlish that I cannot thank you for saving my life.”
“We have much to discuss.” Abandoning the subject of Royce's animosity toward him, Braedon pulled a stool closer to the bed and sat on it. “We must act quickly, before other lives are endangered.”
“Agreed.” Royce studied the younger man's face. “Have you a suggestion?”
“You won't like it,” Braedon said. He took a deep breath and continued, “According to Robert, there is some gossip about Catherine and me.”
“Damn you,” Royce whispered.
“Let us play upon that gossip. You and I have been seen to be friendly; now let us be seen quarreling.” He went on to explain what he proposed to do. “Thus, we may flush out the villain,” he finished.
“Have you no concern for my daughter's honor?” Royce demanded.
“Have you no concern for her life?” Braedon countered. “You have invited dangerous guests into your home and allowed Catherine to mingle with them with no advance warning to her. You gave that cold-hearted man, Achard, permission to court her and when he almost raped her, you did not call him to account for his evil intentions.”
“How much more shall I call you to account for what you have done to Catherine?” Royce asked in a fierce whisper.
“My point,” Braedon said through gritted teeth, “is that we must discover who are the disloyal nobles and hand them over to King Henry's justice before something terrible befalls Catherine.”
“More terrible than finding herself in your bed?”
“Damn it, Royce, your daughter is your weak point and well you know it! So does Achard; that's why I am certain he is still determined to marry Catherine. You may do to me what you want after this is finished. In the meantime, we have a duty to the king, and I for one would like to see Catherine survive the next few days. I will overlook your present inability to keep your mind on our mission, given that you are still recovering from poison.”
“You will overlook?” Royce's voice was drenched in mockery. “That's mighty generous of you, considering that you are under my command.”
“Do you agree to my suggestion?” Braedon asked, trying to keep his anger under control.
“I expect to be well enough to get out of bed by tomorrow,” Royce said. “Let us undertake this final plan then, and bring it to fruition on Whitsunday, after the great feast to celebrate the day.”
“A good deed for a holy day,” Braedon said. “If all goes well, by sunset on Whitsunday we will have the traitors in chains.”
“If all goes well,” Royce said, and a cold, deadly smile curved his mouth when he glanced at Braedon.
Chapter 12
On Saturday the guests divided themselves into two groups, some planning to pursue hunting, that favorite sport of nobles, while others, less addicted to vigorous activities, decided to revisit the Wortham fair, which was in its final days.
