The Poisoned Serpent (13 page)

“Don’t be a fool,” Harding said contemptuously. “Canville doesn’t report half the income from these stalls. It goes straight into his own pocket.”

One of Cristen’s braids blew across Hugh’s arm. He glanced down at her, then turned his attention back to the Saxon. “And what would you like me to do, Master Harding?” There was no anger in his voice. It was perfectly neutral.

“I want you to expose him” the Saxon returned passionately. “I want the rents on these stalls lowered to a reasonable sum. And I want the opportunity to open one myself!”

Hugh surveyed the line of market stalls in silence. Without turning his head, he said to Harding, “How do you know what these merchants are paying the sheriff?”

“I asked them,” came the contemptuous reply.

The wind sent a stray glove blowing past them.

“All right,” Hugh said. “I shall look into the matter.”

“Good,” the Saxon replied with the first sign of satisfaction he had shown since the interview began.
“Your father was the only honest leader this shire has ever had. De Beauté was a thief and so is Canville.”

“De Beauté was a thief?” Hugh said in surprise.

“Aye, a thief,” Harding returned emphatically. “Let me tell you, he richly deserved that deadly stab he got in the heart. We shall probably end up with Roumare as our next earl. He’s a thief, too, but at least he doesn’t covet
my
lands.”

On that note, Edgar Harding of Deerhurst spun on his heels and stalked away.

Hugh remained looking after him, brow furrowed. At last Cristen broke the silence. “Do you think he is speaking the truth?”

“He might be,” Hugh said. “God knows, Gervase would not be the first sheriff to skim money off the top of the shire’s revenues for himself.”

“Master Harding was certainly upset that he had not been given a market stall in the Bail.”

“Aye,” Hugh returned absently, staring down at a long brown hair that had become attached to his red wool sleeve.

Cristen pulled her hood up against the wind. “Do you know what enmity lay between Harding and Gilbert de Beauté?”

Hugh tucked her braids securely into her hood. Then he told her about the land feud between Harding and de Beauté and about how the king had ruled in favor of de Beauté.

“It happened five years ago, but evidently it still rankles,” he concluded. “Ralf always said that if there was one thing Edgar Harding knew how to do well, it was nurse a grudge.”

They began to walk in the direction of the gate.

“Did Harding perhaps hate de Beauté well enough to kill him?” Cristen asked.

“I don’t know,” Hugh replied soberly. “But I will tell you this, Cristen. I can’t help but wonder how Edgar Harding came to learn that Gilbert de Beauté was stabbed in the heart.”

L
ady Elizabeth had been right about Hugh wanting Cristen to himself. He would send for Thomas and Mabel shortly, he told himself as he guided Cristen through the side streets of Lincoln toward Ralf’s house.

“I am trying to picture you growing up here,” Cristen said as Hugh turned into the Patchmingate. She looked around at the mix of stone and wooden houses that lined the street. “How did you spend your days when you were a child?”

“I went to school until I was sixteen,” he replied. “After that, Ralf took me with him to the castle.”

Cristen looked at him curiously. “What school did you attend?”

“I went to the Minster school here in Lincoln.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

“The education was quite rigorous,” Hugh said. “We studied the usual
trivium
, Latin, rhetoric, and dialectic, but we had the
quadrivium
as well: arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music.”

“It sounds more like an education for a clerk than a knight,” Cristen commented.

“Ralf was a great believer in education,” Hugh explained. “He was not born into the baronial class, you see, but he was fortunate enough to go to school at Saint Mary-le-Bow in London. He did so well that he caught the eye of the old king, who took him into his household. Henry appreciated Ralf’s ability and his loyalty, and eventually gifted him with three manors and appointed him Sheriff of Lincoln. Ralf always said that his brain was as important in gaining him his success in life as were his military skills.”

It was less chilly here in the town, with the houses to buffer the wind from the street, and Cristen pushed her hood off her head. “What kind of boys went to school with you?” she asked.

“All kinds,” he replied. “There were boys who were studying to be clerks, naturally, but a number of the sons of the town’s freemen also attended.”

Two small boys chasing a stuffed leather ball dashed out in front of them from between two houses. Their high-pitched shrieks filled the air.

Hugh said, “There were also a few younger sons of the local barons.”

The ball rolled in front of Hugh’s feet and he picked it up and threw it back to the children. He shot a quick, sideways look down at Cristen. “Richard Canville was one of them.”

“Richard Canville?” Cristen glanced up at Hugh’s contained profile. “Richard Canville is not a younger son.”

“He was once. His elder brother died.”

“Oh.”

A faint frown puckered her delicate brows. She glanced once more at Hugh’s unrevealing face.

“It was Richard Canville who rescued us yesterday
afternoon,” she said. “We arrived at the castle very late in the day with no lodgings reserved. Thomas was furious with me for refusing to spend another night on the road. When we saw Sir Richard and Lady Elizabeth on their way to evening service, Thomas stopped him and asked if he knew where we might find you.”

Hugh said, “Richard has the happy facility of always being in the right place at the right time.”

Cristen’s frown deepened. “You don’t like him,” she said.

Silence from Hugh.

Finally he replied. “No, I don’t.”

They had reached the street where Ralf’s town house was located and Hugh turned onto it. Cristen followed.

“Why don’t you like him?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

They walked halfway down the block without talking. They were almost at Ralf’s town house when he stopped and looked at her. “What did you think of him?”

“I have only met him briefly,” she returned. “I haven’t really had a chance to form an opinion.”

“Everyone likes Richard,” Hugh said.

“Then why don’t you?” she repeated.

His face wore its most shuttered expression. It was not a look he often showed to Cristen.

“He tells people it’s because I’m jealous of him,” Hugh said.

“Ah.” The soft syllable was long and drawn-out.

Hugh stared straight ahead. “He tells people a lot of things about me. All very regretfully, you know. It saddens him unbearably that I won’t be his friend.”

“I see,” said Cristen quietly.

At last she said, “I imagine you must have been competitive when you were boys.”

“Richard would compete with me for the air that I breathe,” Hugh said.

“He’s bigger than you are,” she said.

Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “Eventually I learned to compensate for that.”

“Men,” said Cristen, and shook her head.

A woman came out of the house they were standing in front of, carrying a market basket over her arm. She glanced at Cristen and then at Hugh, and a broad smile broke like a sunrise across her face.

“Hugh!” she cried in a deep, hearty voice. “How wonderful to see you again!”

Hugh turned when he heard his name. “How are you, Mistress Romage,” he said.

“I am the same as ever I was,” the woman replied with a laugh, coming up to them. “But you! By all that’s wonderful, I hear that you’re a lord.”

Hugh said to Cristen, “This is Mistress Romage, Lady Cristen. She and her family have lived next door to Ralf’s house for as long as I can remember.”

Cristen bestowed a friendly smile upon the woman, and the three of them stood chatting in the street, Mistress Romage informing Hugh in detail about what had happened during the last year to every single member of her large family. Finally the talkative neighbor went off to do her marketing, and Hugh and Cristen walked up to Ralf’s doorway and went inside.

They stood in the main hall, which had seemed so desolate to him only days before. He held her hand and looked around the achingly familiar room.

“It’s freezing in here, Hugh,” she said briskly. “You need to start a fire.”

“All right,” he said slowly. “There should be wood out back.”

She freed her hand. “Go and get some. In the meanwhile, I am going to open these shutters. It’s warmer outside than it is in this room.”

He nodded and obediently headed for the kitchen and the back door. When he came back into the solar, his arms laden with wood, it was bright with sunlight pouring in through the newly opened windows. Cristen was dusting a table with her scarf.

Hugh looked at her, at her bent head, her long brown braids, her competent hand whisking away the accumulated dust of a year, and all of a sudden the tight fist that had formed in his stomach when they walked inside relaxed.

It is going to be all right
, he thought with relief.
Cristen is here
.

He went to the fireplace and started the fire. Then he took her upstairs and showed her his old bedroom, and Ralf’s and Adela’s, and the extra room that had been kept for guests. She had him open all the shutters so that the sunlight could come inside. They went back downstairs to the kitchen, which looked out upon the small backyard.

Hugh stared at the big kitchen fireplace where Adela had so often stood, stirring one of the pots hanging over the fire. If he closed his eyes, he thought he might smell the aroma of lamb stew. It had been his favorite meal, and she had frequently made it for him.

For the first time since her death, the memory of Adela did not stab him to the heart. Instead, a faint nostalgic smile touched his mouth. Cristen was peering up at the smoke hole in the roof, trying to see if it was still open. He walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

She leaned against him.

“That night,” he said, knowing she would know which night he was referring to. “I spent it here. I felt so…alone. And I had a headache.”

“I felt it,” she said softly. “That is why I came.”

His arm tightened. “I’m glad you did.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know if Thomas will ever forgive me. He hardly spoke to me the whole time we were traveling.”

“He’ll get over it,” Hugh said. And he bent and lifted her into his arms.

She looked up into his face, her brown eyes smiling. “Where are we going?”

“Not upstairs,” he said. “It’s too cold. We’ll go into the solar in front of the fire.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “That is an excellent idea.”

He took off his cloak and spread it on the rug that Adela had made. Then he took one of the chair cushions and put it down to use as a pillow for her head. The fire was roaring by now and waves of heat wafted into the room. He went to the windows and fastened the shutters halfway so that no one could look in. Then he came back to Cristen.

She had taken off her mantle and dropped it on a chest. At his touch, she lifted her arms and put them around his neck. She raised her face for his kiss.

Passion roared through Hugh. He didn’t think it would ever stop, this all-consuming need he had for her. The feel of her soft mouth under his, of her baby-fine skin under his fingers, the silkiness of her long hair, the way her eyelashes lay against her cheeks. Never would he be able to get enough of her.

They collapsed together onto his outspread mantle and stretched out, young body pressed against young
body. She rained small kisses all along the length of his jaw. He shivered.

“Cristen,” he whispered. His hands fumbled feverishly with her clothes. “Oh God. I have missed you so much.”

“And I have missed you.”

Somehow they managed to get their clothes out of their way. And then he was inside her, where he belonged.

They clung together as passion beat through them in great waves, rising like the tide in a hurricane toward a final deluge that flooded them both and left them breathless and shuddering and complete.

And afterward, as she lay quietly against him, Hugh’s soul was filled with the enormous peace of being with her, of just holding her and kissing her gently, of feeling her there with him.

Heaven
, he thought drowsily,
could not be better than this
.

“Hugh,” Cristen said gently. “It is getting late.”

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“I don’t want you to. But we can’t take the chance of someone walking in and finding us.”

His hold on her tightened. “We have to be married, Cristen.”

She kissed his shoulder. “We will be,” she said.

Reluctantly he loosened his grip. “Now that you are here in Lincoln, it should be easy for us to get away to Keal.”

“I thought of that,” she said.

He separated himself from her and sat up, pushing his fingers through his disordered hair. “Perhaps we ought to leave straightaway, before Guy learns that you are here and tries to send you home.”

She didn’t move from where she was lying as she asked, “Have you had a chance to speak to the priest at Keal to find out if he will marry us?”

He looked away from her, his mouth tightening. He shook his head.

“Perhaps you should do that, Hugh, before we go there together.” Her voice was very soft. “If Guy catches us before we are wed, he will separate us for sure.”

“The priest will marry us,” Hugh said grimly. “He will have to. If he tries to refuse, I will kill him.” He sounded deadly serious.

“Well, that will certainly solve our problem,” she said.

At last he looked at her. After a moment, his mouth relaxed into a crooked grin. “All right, I won’t kill him.”

“Thank you.”

His grin faded. “I would leave for Keal right now and make certain all is in order, but I’m afraid to leave you here. What if Guy sends you home while I’m gone? We need to take advantage of your being in Lincoln. It will be much harder to get you to Keal from Somerford.”

He picked up the belt he had discarded earlier and began to put it on.

Cristen still didn’t move from where she lay. “I’m quite certain there must be some poor sick soul here in Lincoln who will benefit from my skills,” she said serenely. “Even if Guy orders me home, I shall be forced to remain out of pure Christian charity.”

He looked up from buckling his belt. Her head was still resting on Adela’s pillow and her loose hair, which Hugh had unbraided, was streaming over her shoulders, a mantle of silken fawn.

“Didn’t I ever tell you that I have taken a holy oath never to turn my back upon someone who needs my healing arts?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe you ever have told me that.”

“Well, I shall certainly tell Guy,” she said.

A log in the fireplace fell with a hissing shower of sparks.

“Cristen,” Hugh said with reverence. “You are a dangerous woman.”

She smiled with satisfaction.

“I’ll leave for Keal right away,” he promised, and reached for his boots.

A single strand of brown hair drifted across her mouth, and she blew it away. “You can’t do that, Hugh,” she said. “What about Bernard? When is his trial going to take place?”

Hugh dropped the boots, his fascinated eyes focused on her mouth. “As soon as the chief justiciar arrives.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon, I should think.”

The lips he was watching with such close attention set into a firm line. “Then you don’t have time to go to Keal right now. Not if you are going to save Bernard.”

He shook his head. “Nothing is more important than our getting married.”

At that, she sat up. “Right now, Bernard is more important.” She held out her hand to him. “I promise I will stay right here, Hugh. You don’t have to worry that I will leave you.”

He regarded her hand as it lay in his.
Everything about her is so fine, so delicate, except for these sturdy, capable hands
, he thought.

He said, “I don’t trust Guy.”

Her reply was absolutely calm. “He cannot make me leave here against my will.”

At that, he looked up into her eyes. A faint smile touched his mouth. “In all your life, I don’t believe anyone has ever been able to make you do something you didn’t want to do.”

Her brown eyes were luminous. “It’s a gift,” she said.

He kissed her palm and gave her back her hand.

“All right. I’ll delay going to Keal until after Bernard’s trial.” He shook his tousled hair back off his brow and added bitterly, “Not that my presence is going to help him very much. All I have are suspicions. I have no proof of anything.”

“You’ll find out the truth,” she said. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”