For Love And Honor (30 page)

“What would you do without me?” Samira asked,
her gray-green eyes dancing with humor.

“I would sleep more soundly,” her father
replied. “Knowing you were safe would greatly relieve my mind.”

“
Well,
dear
Spiros
and
dear
Lucas,
my
beloved guardsmen,” Samira bowed to each in turn, “we must not keep
Lord William Crispin waiting when he has commanded a feast for our
evening meal. I daresay the ordinary folk of this castle will be
glad to have us as guests. Something tells me they usually get only
dry bread and moldy cheese at night.”

“A moment, please, Samira.” Alain raised his
hand to stop her from opening the door. “Piers, did Rohaise give
you any information on how to get into Joanna’s room?”

“She suggested you fly in through the window,
which is wide enough to admit a man,” Piers replied. “I thought it
was rather a good idea.”

“
Fly?”
cried Samira. “What does that mean? No man can fly.” She broke off,
gazing in astonishment at Alain, who was
grinning.

“Clever Piers,” Alain said. “Will Rohaise
help us do it?”

“She has most of the keys for the inner
castle at her girdle,” Piers replied. “All I have to do is convince
her to give that particular key to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Samira
demanded.

“Scaling the outer wall,” Alain said, still
grinning at Piers.

“Scale the wall?” Samira repeated. “Theo
Alain, to do that you would have to leave the castle, go halfway
around the castle wall to the western tower, and swim the moat. You
cannot think of it. You would freeze to death in the cold water or
in the wind after you left the water. And how could you get up the
wall without help from the inside? Anyway, the guards on the
battlements would soon see you.”

“Perhaps not, if I climbed up on a moonless
or cloudy night,” Alain said. “As for the inside help, you and your
father and Rohaise will provide it.”

“You could be killed!” she protested.

“So could we all,” said Piers, “which is why
I did not want you to come with us. Therefore, the sooner we finish
what we have come to do and get out of Banningford Castle, the less
likely we are to lose our lives. Now, if Rohaise is correct, and
Joanna knows who killed Crispin, one of us has to talk to her, and
the best person for the job is Alain.”

“You will have to get out of the castle
without being seen,” Samira said to Alain.

“Easy enough to do if I go through the
postern gate,” Alain told her.

“I begin to understand.” Samira nodded her
approval. “That’s the key you want Rohaise to give you, isn’t it,
Papa? But will Rohaise have it, or is it in Baird’s keeping?”

“When a castle is attacked,” Piers said, “the
duty of a captain of the guard is to direct the resistance on the
outer walls, which puts him far away from the inner bailey. It
would be only sensible for Rohaise to have the postern key so she
can quickly let family members escape if attackers should reach the
inner bailey.”

“
Would
Baron Radulf trust Rohaise with the key?” Samira asked. “He sounds
like an overly suspici
ous man to me. Does he trust his
wife?”

“
Now,
that is a very interesting question,” said Alain. “Piers, you had
better find the answer to it tonight. We need that key. Without it,
I’ll have to leave the castle through the main gate, as Samira
pointed out, and if I’m not seen going out, you may be sure my
absence will soon be noted and embarrassing questions asked of you
and Samira. Possibly
painful
questions, if you understand me.”

“I understand perfectly.” Piers regarded his
beautiful daughter and thought of Baird questioning her. “I will
get the key from Rohaise this evening.”

Except
for the twin pools of light around the silver candelabra that
Rohaise had set at each end of the high table, the great hall was
as gloomy as it
had ever been. There were spots of color to
be seen during the evening meal, for Sami
ra’s dark-haired beauty was enhanced by her gown
of vibrant blue, Rohaise had put on a wine silk dress and gold
jewelry, and young William Crispin wore a green tunic. They were
the brightest figures at the high table, for Alain and Piers wore
simple dark tunics that fitted well their disguises as Samira’s
guards, and Baird had not troubled to change from his spotted and
soiled leather garb. Servants and men-at-arms were clothed in their
drab everyday wear, and away from the high table the hall was
barely lit by the few smoky torches set into sconces along the
walls.

Alain had
lived for so many years in the warmth and sunlight of the lands of
the Middle Sea, and had grown
so accustomed to buildings
open to light and air that
adjustment to the shadowed, damp world of an English castle was
difficult – and in this particular castle there were searing
memories. Looking around the hall, he could see it in his mind’s
eye not as it was at present, but the way it had been during the
last meal he had eaten at Radulf s table, when Joanna had belonged
to Crispin and Alain’s heart had lain in painful pieces within his
bosom. Still, he could not completely imagine himself back in that
vanished time. He had changed and experienced too much ever to wish
himself to be twenty-one again. Nor could he entirely escape the
brutish realities of the present.

“This is not a banquet ordered by Radulf. I
see no need for such nonsense as those silver candlesticks or for
this,” Baird complained, waving away the servant who presented a
silver basin and a ewer for him to wash his hands. “I have no wish
to smell like a flower.”

“’Tis but the sign of a gracious host,” said
William Crispin, “to see to it that his guests are treated with
courtly manners. You should have changed your clothes, Baird.”

“I am no noble lord,” Baird replied. “I am
but the captain of the guard and a busy man. Lady Rohaise, I’ll
thank you to tell your lazy servants to hurry with my meal and not
dawdle over these foolish niceties. I have work to do.”

Apparently deciding the best way to deal with Baird’s
unrelenting surliness was to ignore him, William Crispin leaned
forward, looking across Samira on his right hand to speak to
Alain, who
sat between Samira
and Baird.

“Sir Lucas, Lady Samira has told me that you
are among her father’s guardsmen at Ascoli and that you are a great
fighter. I wish you would entertain us by describing some of your
battles.”

“Aye,” said Baird. “At least it would be
interesting conversation. Tell us about the battles you have fought
and the weapons you use in that foreign land.”

Not
knowing how much either Baird or William Crispin might know about
the constant warfare in Italy, Alain spoke car
efully,
keeping his
remarks brief and
mentioning only the most familiar weapons and their use. While he
talked, he was aware of Baird’s watchfulness, and he began to
wonder if Baird had recognized him, or, failing that, if Baird was
thinking that he had met Alain in the past but could not remember
when.

“My grandfather would find your stories most
interesting,” William Crispin said when Alain was finished. “It is
too bad you must leave on the morrow and cannot wait for his
return.”

“One night in a place is enough when you are
traveling,” said Baird, picking up his wine cup. “What I would like
to know is why you are here. Why did you chose to stop at
Banningford?” Over the top of his cup his shrewd eyes challenged
Alain.

“
It was
because of me.” Samir
a spoke up be
fore Alain could respond. “I was so severely
chilled and so weary that my good servants here feared I would fall
ill if I tried to go much farther.”

“
So I
have been told.” Baird had grown very still and watchful. Beside
him Alain took a tighter grip on the hilt of the knife he used to
carve his meat. It would serve just as well as a weapon, if he
needed one. Like a hound with a bone, Baird persisted in his
questioning, worrying the subject over and over again. “Why were
you traveling past Ba
nningford? What is so at
tractive here?”

“If you will forgive my saying so,” Samira
responded with one of her quick, dazzling smiles, directed first
toward William Crispin and then at Baird, “there was nothing
particularly fascinating about this castle. It was simply on our
way.”

“On your way to where?” Baird demanded, and
Alain hoped Samira would remember the story they had agreed
upon.

He should have known she was too clear-witted
to be frightened into saying the wrong thing. “My late grandmother
was a Scottish princess,” Samira announced, “a descendant of King
Duncan of hallowed memory. Before she died at Ascoli, where she
lived for many years after marrying my grandfather, this noble lady
made me swear to make a pilgrimage to King Duncan’s grave at Iona.
That is why we are in England now. We are on a sacred pilgrimage.”
She said those last words in so fervent a voice that William
Crispin looked at her in reverent admiration, and even Baird nodded
his approval. But he would not be silenced.

“I wonder you do not stay at the religious
houses along your way instead of at castles,” Baird said.

“In fact,” said Alain, thinking the time had
come for him to intervene, “we have been doing just that. We
planned to spend this night at St. Justin’s Abbey.”

“You should have gone there,” Baird told him.
“It’s not so far.”

“I would not risk my lady’s health when she
was feeling unwell,” Alain replied blandly.

“Hummph.” Baird’s derisive snort told Alain
all he cared to know about the man’s concern for any lady’s health.
After that Baird applied himself to his food and asked no more
questions. Alain could hear Samira talking quietly to William
Crispin, who was insisting that she should call him Will, as did
those who knew him best.

“Only my mother always calls me William
Crispin,” he said.

Knowing Samira would do her best to pry out
of the young man any information he might possess that could be
useful, Alain did not interrupt their conversation. He did listen
to what was being said, and it soon became clear that young Will
believed a version of the events of long ago far different from
Alain’s recollection.

“
I only
know,” Will said, in answer to a delicately probing question from
Samira, “that my father was most foully murdered by a man who
clai
med to be his friend but who lusted after my
mother.”

“Oh, dear,” Samira murmured sympathetically,
“how frightening it must have been for Lady Joanna.”

“She was there at my father’s death,” Will
said. “Afterward she withdrew into isolation out of grief, for she
loved my father dearly. I believe she loves him still. When I visit
her I often find her in prayer, and I am certain she prays for
him.”

At that point Alain made himself stop
listening. He had no way of knowing for certain who had taught
Crispin’s son the false story, though he thought it must have been
Radulf. He could only hope Joanna did not believe it. But if she
did not, why did she allow her son to continue to believe such
lies?

So many questions,
he thought.
Why, and why, and why? Who
has the answers? Joanna? Radulf? Baird? Has Baird recognized me? Is
he clever enough to hide it if he has?

Will and Baird, and Rohaise, too, assumed
their guests would leave Banningford on the following day. But the
visitors, having succeeded in entering, planned to remain for a
second day and night, hoping by then to learn what they needed to
know in order to ferret out Crispin’s real killer. And to free
Joanna. The unraveling of the true story would begin with
Joanna.

Alain
lifted his half-full wine cup to his lips, but set it down
untasted. The work before him later that night would require steady
hands and a clear mind. Without them, he and his companions might
be dead by sunrise. With luck, he might see Joanna before the night
was through. If only Piers could convince Rohaise to hand over the
key to the postern gate
….

On Will’s left side sat Rohaise, and on her
left, Piers.

“Sir Spiros,” Rohaise said, remembering to
call him by his assumed name, “is there aught I can do to make your
stay at Banningford more pleasant?”

“Just one small thing,” Piers responded.
“However, I am not certain I ought to ask it of you.”

“As I told you earlier, I will do anything I
can to help.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, and Piers knew she
was frightened. She took a sip of wine. “Tell me what you want of
me before Lys or Baird or someone else interrupts us.”

“What I must have,” Piers said, his voice as
low as hers, “is the key to the postern gate.”

She went white at his words. She said
nothing; she just picked up her wine cup and drained it. Thus
fortified, she spoke in a perfectly normal voice.

“If you will excuse me, Sir Spiros,” she
said, loudly enough for anyone to hear, “I must just see to one
small matter in the kitchen. I will return in a few moments.”

She left the table, and no one around her
seemed to think anything of her going. Piers waited, believing he
could trust her, yet praying that he had not misjudged her, that
she would not give them away to Baird. He could not touch his food
until she returned.

After what seemed like a very long time she
slipped into her seat again, smiling at Will’s questioning
look.

“Sometimes Lys forgets to bring in the
pudding at the right time,” she explained easily. “Tonight she is
ready. It will be served next, Will. I know how much you like
it.”