Dragon's Lair (20 page)

He could hardly explain that England's queen had given him the courage to claim the de Quincy name. "Does Bennet know…?" Relieved when she shook her head, he said, "I'd rather you said nothing of this to him, Molly. I know it is unfair to ask you to keep secrets from him, but -"

She interrupted with laughter. "We keep secrets from each other all the time, Justin. How else do we get along so well? You need not worry. I'll keep quiet for your sake... and for the bishop's."

That was the last thing Justin had expected her to say. "For his sake?"

He sounded so confounded that she gave him a surprised look. "Yes, for his sake, too. He tried to do right by you, lover, as much he was able. There are far worse fathers in this world than one who cannot acknowledge you as his," she said quietly, and Justin could not argue with that.

Molly's revelation had brought them both to a halt. Now she tugged at his arm, saying, "Come, let's go home." They walked without speaking for several moments. From time to time, Molly glanced over at him, her eyes narrowed in thought. "So once Barbele gets you the information you need, you'll go back to Wales, to the court of this Welsh prince?" When he nodded, she said, "And you'll go with this Thomas de Caldecott, even knowing that he might have an excellent reason to wish you dead." It was not a question for she already knew the answer, and they continued on toward her cottage in silence.

Chapter 12

August 1193

Chester, England

AS JUSTIN AND MOLLY ENTERED THE TAVERN, BENNET looked up in surprise. "Rather early in the day for the two of you, is it not? Now these poor sots..." With a genial wave of his hand toward the handful of regular customers. "If I did not chase them out at night, they'd never see the light of day, happily living out their lives here. But I've never seen you come by at this hour, Moll. Justin leading you astray?"

Justin hoped he was joking. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Bennet. "Barbele sent me word this morn that we should meet her here at midday. With luck, this may mean she has news for us about Rutger."

Bennet made no further comment, but once they were seated, he joined them with a flagon and several cups. "The sheriff paid me a call this morn," he said. "He was trying manfully to bear up under his disappointment, but I fear my resurrection is a hard morsel for him to swallow. I suspect he did not believe me even after I'd sworn upon our sainted father's soul that I knew nothing about the fire."

Molly's mouth thinned and she muttered "hellspawn" under her breath, but Justin was not sure if it was meant for her "sainted father" or the Chester sheriff or perhaps both. Before she could clarify, she saw someone passing by the open door of the tavern and jumped to her feet. "Beatrix, wait! I need a word with you." Flinging an "I'll be back" over her shoulder, she hastened out into the street.

This was the first time that the men had been alone since Bennet had learned why Justin had not been in the warehouse that night, and the silence that followed was not a comfortable one. Justin raised his cup, set the wine down untasted, and finally said, although he knew how hollow the words would sound, "Bennet, I'd cut off my arm ere I'd ever hurt Molly…"

Bennet gave a noncommittal grunt. "Well, that was not the body part I had in mind for you to forfeit." But then he smiled. "Ah, Hell and damnation, Justin, I cannot pretend it did not take me aback. Once I thought about it, though, I decided that Moll could have done much worse... and has," he added, and Justin knew the same man was in both their minds: the notorious vintner, Piers Fitz Turold. "Just remember that if any hearts get broken, it damned well better be yours!"

They clinked their cups together mutually relieved to have this moment over and done with, and after that, they kept their conversation on familiar ground, trading amiable insults until Molly returned. She'd no sooner reclaimed her seat than the door opened again this time admitting Barbele, trailed by an obviously nervous Rutger. He looked as if he might bolt at any time, but Barbele was having none of that. Ignoring his skittishness, she linked her arm in his and steered him across the room toward their table.

"I have fetched for you this sweet man," she announced, "so he may tell you what he knows." Settling onto the bench, she drew Rutger down beside her and promptly took control of the conversation. "Rutger is sore afraid for his cousin Karl. But he does not want to get Karl into trouble with the law."

"Tell him," Justin said, "that I have no interest in punishing Karl or the others. I want only to find the stolen money and the man who convinced them to take part in the robbery. From what I know, I do not think Karl realized what he was getting himself into."

Barbele at once unleashed a torrent of words upon Rutger, gesturing with animation. England had been a bilingual land for more than a hundred years. Molly and Bennet spoke both English and French, and Justin could make himself understood in three languages, while able to read Latin, too. But Flemish was an utter mystery to him, and for all of Barbele's goodwill, he wished he did not have to rely so completely upon this bossy, blonde stranger.

"Rutger says he does not know very much, but he will tell you what he can. He says their family would be shamed if this becomes known. He is coming to think, though, that not ever knowing Karl's fate might be worse. He wants you to understand that Karl is not a bad man, merely a young and foolish one. He is sure that Karl and Geertje were talked into it by that malcontent Joder. Joder was ever one for dreaming big dreams, and Karl... he has a wife and baby to provide for back in Ypres." So thoroughly had Barbele thrown herself into her role that she now twitched her shoulders in unconscious imitation of Rutger's mournful shrug.

After another rapid exchange between the two, Barbele resumed Rutger's story. "Karl told him that Joder knew a lord who wanted them to do a robbery. They'd be stealing from foreigners and it was supposed to be right easy. No one need get hurt and they'd make much money, more than Karl could ever earn at sea."

"Did Karl ever mention a name? Did he say where they met this... this lord?"

Again, Barbele conferred with Rutger. "No, he never said any names. He thought the man was a lord because he wore a sword and was comfortable giving orders, like a ship's master. He does not know how Joder and the lord knew each other. They met with the lord at the alehouse, the one where you first saw him. He has been going back there every day, hoping he might hear something, hoping Karl might walk in of a sudden."

Barbele stopped, and Justin saw that tears had begun to well in Rutger's eyes. "He says he does not want you to think badly of him, but he did not know what else to do. He'd tried to make Karl see this was madness, he says he truly did."

"Is there anything else he can remember Karl saying about the man who hired them? Anything at all?"

"Karl said he spoke Flemish right well, but he was not Flemish. He was friendly, joking with them as if they were lords like him. Karl liked him, trusted what he told them."

Rutger turned aside as if to clear his throat. He spat into the floor rushes, then kept his head down for several moments as he struggled with his emotions. He had been speaking slowly, tentatively, with long pauses. But now the words came out in a rush, spilling from his mouth as if they'd burn his tongue if he did not get them said. Barbele reached over, patted his hand, and then looked at Justin.

"Rutger says his cousin and Geertje planned to come back after they'd done this thing and gotten their money. Karl was sure he could get their ship's master to take them on again. They even damaged the mainmast so the ship could not sail without them. But that was weeks ago. What has happened to them? Why have they not come back?"

~*~

When darkness fell, Molly lit several oil lamps, but shadows still lurked in the corners of the cottage. The remains of their supper were growing cold, a far cry from the days when there had never been enough food for leftovers. Molly watched as Justin stared down at his trencher, cutting another piece of cod and then forgetting again to eat it.

"Enough," she finally said, rising and grasping his hand. "If you are going to brood, better you do it in some comfort," He offered no resistance and they were soon settled on the bed. "Turn over," she ordered, and when he rolled onto his stomach, she began to knead some of the tension from his neck and shoulders. "You might as well talk about it. You cannot get that missing ransom out of your head, can you?'

"No," he conceded. "I keep going in circles, Molly, never getting anywhere."

"You do have a favorite suspect, though."

"Yes..." he agreed slowly, "I suppose I do. The wind does seem to be blowing in Thomas de Caldecott's direction these days." Propping himself up on his elbow, he said, "This is what I know about the man who stole the ransom. First of all, he had to be in Wales at the time of the robbery. He had to know Wales, and he had to be familiar with Davydd's court, to be trusted enough to learn somehow about Davydd's plan."

"What plan?"

"I suspect that Davydd arranged the robbery in order to blame his nephew for it," he said, and Molly burst out laughing.

"I love to hear about the crimes of the wellborn. They are so much more interesting than the sort of common misdeeds we get to commit here in Chester. Go on, though. What else do you know about this unknown suspect, whom we can call Thomas for convenience's sake?"

Justin grinned and tweaked her nose. "I know he speaks fluent Welsh and Flemish, that he handles a sword all too well, and a man must be taught that skill, Molly; no one is born knowing it. I know he is bold, clever, and without mercy. I know he is either of the gentry or able to convince people he is. According to Rutger, he can be very good company. And he must have been in Chester the night of the warehouse fire."

"So how many of those shoes fit our Thomas's feet?"

"He can wear every shoe but two, and they might also fit. I do not know if he is ruthless enough to kill in cold blood, and I do not know if he speaks Flemish. But his mother grew up in Pembrokeshire."

"You know what we say in Chester, Justin: that if a creature looks like a dog and walks like a dog and barks like a dog, most likely it is a dog."

"You'd need more proof if the dog were facing the gallows. There is another twist to this puzzle, too, for I cannot be certain if 'our Thomas' has allies or not. He may have been in league with Selwyn, Davydd's man. It is possible that Selwyn was the one who told him about the intended robbery..."

He fell silent until Molly poked him, saying, "You do not sound convinced of that. Who else could have told him if not Selwyn?"

"From what I've learned about Selwyn, he was too wary to betray Davydd like that on his own; he'd have needed to be talked into it. But there is a Welsh lass at Rhuddlan who is hopelessly besotted with Thomas. It may be that she overheard something and passed it on to him. I would hope not," he admitted, for he did not want to suspect Angharad, and not just because he liked her. God help Rhun if she were not as innocent as she seemed to be.

"Do you have any other suspects besides Thomas?" she asked, and he smiled ruefully.

"I did for a time. As odd as it sounds, I did entertain the thought that William Fitz Alan might somehow be involved in all this."

Molly's green eyes flashed. "Let it be so, Lord, for that would be a such a boon for Bennet!" Seeing his surprise, she smiled, somewhat sadly. "I know it was not easy for you, being sent off to Shropshire like that, having to leave the only world you knew, the only friends you had. But it was harder for Bennet, for he was the one left behind. I think he has borne a grudge against Fitz Alan ever since. As for me, I find it unlikely that Fitz Alan is guilty. This mysterious outlaw is said to be affable and charming, no? Well, when was the last time you heard those words applied to Fitz Alan?"

"That did occur to me, too. For the life of me, I cannot imagine Fitz Alan skulking around waterfront alehouses, treating Flemish sailors as if they were his peers. Moreover, I cannot find a satisfactory motive for the man, Molly. I could see Thomas doing it for the money, but not Fitz Alan. He already has what most men can only dream of - he is highborn, a baron with multiple manors, sheriff of a prosperous shire, in favor with the Crown. I do not think he would ever jeopardize all of that for material gain."

"So what are the motives for murder and mayhem and robbery? What will men kill for?" She gave him no chance to reply, ticking her answers off on her fingers. "Greed, lust, hatred, love, fear, vengeance. What did I forget? If I had to guess which one of these shoes might fit Fitz Alan's big feet, I think I'd go with... lust."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "Have you seen the Lady Emma, then?"

Molly nodded. "Every year she graces the midsummer fair with her presence."

"Women do not fancy the lady much, do they?"

"I do not imagine that the poor worker bees have much fondness for the queen bee, either. Of course the drones adore her... until after they mate with her and die."

"Whoa!" Laughing, Justin leaned over and hugged her. "Ah, Mistress Molly, I've missed that sharp tongue of yours. And for what it is worth, I am not one of Lady Emma's drones. Now tell me why you dislike her."

"She has a cold heart, overweening pride, and no pity for the less fortunate. She saunters about the city as if she were the Queen of England, with her nose so high in the air she is in danger of drowning every time it rains. But I doubt that she'd ever take Fitz Alan as her lover, and I doubt that he'd take such a risk for her unless she did."

Justin found it very interesting that Molly and Angharad both seemed to share the same opinion of Davydd's consort. "A friend posed a riddle to me about the Lady Emma: 'When is virtue not a virtue?' I think you may have answered it for me, lass."

"Exactly," she said triumphantly. "She deserves no credit for keeping her marriage vows if she remains faithful only because she can find no lovers worthy of her! This friend of yours... is she one of Emma s handmaidens?"