Love at First Sight (23 page)

And he would have, too, had his cursed feet not slipped from beneath him again. By the time Sperville had helped him up, Golde had stomped from the bath house.

G
OLDE GRIMACED
upon entering the wardrobe. Hesper had already removed the soiled bed linen, and without the smell of honey, the small anteroom reeked from the dung the children had placed in her boots. Scooping them up, she strode from the dark little room.

Gavarnie would doubtless complain were he to find such filth in the wardrobe. And while she would claim that her boots were filled with dung from the pig stye, he would yet wonder why she’d brought them upstairs without first having them cleaned. Indeed, he might take Hesper to task for not cleaning them, under which circumstance Hesper was liable to crumble and tell him the truth about her boots.

Golde rolled her eyes. Easier to avoid the entire issue by removing her boots from the wardrobe before Gavarnie arrived. Besides, she had no desire to speak with his toadship at the moment. She’d already explained to Sperville that she’d accidentally spilled honey on herself while treating the pig.

The sound of footsteps halted her midchamber.

“Where have you been?” Gavarnie demanded, his voice echoing from the corridor.

“I was called into New Market to resolve a dispute,” Sir Nigel responded. “I had no idea you’d returned.”

Golde spun and hurried back to the wardrobe.

“Could you not leave notice of your whereabouts?” Sperville complained. “It has taken me half the morn to locate you.”

“Your forgiveness, my liege,” the steward apologized, his voice losing its distant sound. Clearly, the men had entered Gavarnie’s chamber. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

Golde heard the chamber door close and her spirits sank. Unless she wanted Gavarnie to know she was here, along with her boots, she was stranded.

“I received another message at the king’s reception.” Gavarnie spoke in a low tone, then paused.

Another message? Golde wondered.

Of a sudden, Gavarnie asked, “Why does my chamber smell of bull’s wind?”

Golde held her breath.

“’Tis probably pig’s wind,” Sperville sniffed. “Roland must have brought the odor with him when he fetched your clothing.”

“Pig’s wind?” Nigel queried.

“It matters not.” Sperville sounded annoyed. “I, for one, am most interested to know how and when his lordship regained his sight.”

Golde near dropped the boots. Gavarnie could see?

For a moment she felt numb. Then a lump clogged her throat.

He could see! The numbness was quickly replaced by a tingling sensation.

God had wrought a miracle!

“Y-y-you can see?” Nigel spluttered.

Golde hugged the boots to her chest and raised her face to the ceiling. Praise be to God. ’Twas wonderful!

“. . . scarce had a chance to explain before leaving Atherbrook,” Gavarnie was saying. “Nor did I wish to discuss anything in front of the men during the ride home. For all I know, one of them could be party to the plot.”

Golde jerked her head down from where she yet stared heavenward. What plot? And what messages?

Abruptly the stench from her boots invaded her nostrils and she realized where she was holding them. Scowling, she stuck the offensive boots out at arm’s length.

“But . . . you can see?” The steward yet sounded wonderstruck.

“He has already said as much,” Sperville snapped. “Cease interrupting, that our lord may tell us how and when.”

“’Twas the night of the attack.” Now Gavarnie sounded irritated. “’Tis of no consequence. What matters is whether or not I inform the king.”

“Why would you not?” Sperville asked the question, even as Golde thought it.

“’Tis the king who is trying to kill me.”

Golde clutched the boots tighter again, lest they fall from her fingers. The king was trying to kill Gavarnie? Surely, he was mistaken.

“You have lost your wits,” Sperville finally pronounced. “’Twould serve you well to avail yourself of Golde’s magical cures.”

“Golde’s magic,” Gavarnie ground. “She is the king’s agent in the affair.”

Golde suddenly felt as if the floor were spinning beneath her feet. She blinked hard against the dizziness. Had she understood correctly? Did Gavarnie think she was trying to kill him?

“However did you reach such a conclusion?” Sperville’s tone mirrored her own horror.

“Would you deny the attack on my person in the lane?”

“Of course not. But—”

“Consider, my dullwitted man, who lured me to the village that eve.”

“Golde? How could she know you would come after her?”

“She knew,” Gavarnie spat. “The conniving slut.”

Abruptly Golde felt as if a cinch were being drawn about her chest, choking the breath from her. She lowered her arms, uncaring that the boots dangled against her only clean tunic.

A
conniving slut.
Gavarnie’s words echoed in her head. But of course. What else would a man think of a woman who offered herself to him with such ease? She winced as embarrassment, raw and hot, prickled her flesh.

“The wench let it be known far and wide that she was casting fortunes at Sigi’s that day,” Sir Nigel mused. “It seems too neat for coincidence.”

“It is not possible,” Sperville declared. “’Twas I who approached Golde to come to Skyenvic not the other way around. Indeed, ’twas her great-grandmother’s services I sought.”

“Truth tell?” Gavarnie’s tone was mocking. “And how did you learn of Golde’s great-grandmother?

“Sir Varin—”

“Precisely,” Gavarnie hissed. “I’ll wager Sir Varin contacted you with the news he’d found someone to heal my eyes.”

“Allow me to finish” Spindleshanks snapped. “Sir Varin and I first visited Golde’s great-grandmother, a more crotchety old crone than I have e’er met. She was most displeased with her great-granddaughter’s ‘thimblerigging,’ as she put it. She agreed to heal your eyes if Í would bring Golde here, that the old woman could teach her a lesson.”

Golde’s breath knotted in her chest.
Mimskin?

Mimskin had discussed her dishonest practices with Sperville? And now the magpie was confirming for Gavarnie that she was a fake, just as Gavarnie had thought that night at Sigi’s.

Her embarrassment intensified until she thought the entire wardrobe would glow red.

“. . . proves nothing,” Nigel was saying. “Indeed, Sperville, it sounds to me as if you were tricked into bringing the wench here. Unless you, too, are part of the scheme.”

“How dare you accuse me of such! His lordship can see, can he not? Meanwhile, who turned turned tail and ran the night his lordship was attacked?”

“Turned tail?” The steward’s voice shook. “I risked my neck riding full speed to raise the hue and cry.”

“Cease!” Gavarnie commanded. “Someone is trying to kill me. If it is not Golde, then who?”

“There is de Warrenne,” Sperville huffed. “His greed knows no bounds.”

Gavarnie scoffed. “De Warrenne has not the intelligence to piss with the wind. William would never trust him with such a deed. Nay. ’Tis that worthless Varin de Brionne.”

Golde’s belly felt so overfull, she feared she would be sick. To think Gavarnie had made her feel like a Celtic princess while she recovered from the beating at Maid Sigi’s. The memory drove knives in her heart.

“But Sir Varin has yet to arrive,” Sperville reasoned.

“All the better,” Nigel said. “He could scarce be convicted of a crime he wasn’t present to commit.”

“Think what you are saying,” Sperville implored. “The king has made a covenant with Sir Varin to have you killed? William could easily have rid himself of you upon Isabelle’s death by convicting you of murder.”

“Aye. But at the time, William thought my sight would return. Now he has recognized my blindness as more of a liability than he can support.”

“You do not know that for certain. Indeed, for all we know, it could be the king sending the warnings.”

“Pff. If that were the case, why would not William just tell me?”

“Aye, Sperville,” Nigel sneered. “Your reasoning strays beyond the limits of believability.”

In the pause that followed, Golde hugged herself. It felt as if her insides were being clawed and pecked by a host of black crows. ’Twas an effort to draw breath. Would that she could lie down and die where she now stood.

“Let us put Golde to the whip until she confesses all she knows,” Sperville finally suggested.

“Flog her?” Gavarnie sounded incredulous.

“Why not?” Sperville persisted. “She languishes in your bed while you sleep on the floor like a commoner. And all the while, she plots your demise. Indeed, once she confesses, you should stake her bleeding hide in the Solent that her death will be slow and tormented.”

Golde frowned. She should be frightened unto death, should be cursing Sperville’s evil nature. But somehow she knew. Strange, but she knew the chamberlain meant her no harm. She would wager her life on it. So what did he hope to accomplish with such talk?

“Wha . . . wha . . .” Gavarnie managed to stutter at last. “Are you daft? The wench is stubborn as a mule. Likely she would ply me with naught but curses to her dying breath.”

“I have yet to see a man refuse to spill his guts under the lash. She is but a woman. Give her unto Fitz Simon. She will talk.”

“The idea has merit,” Sir Nigel seconded.

Golde narrowed her eyes. Unlike the chamberlain, the steward was more than willing to promote her death. She would bet her life on that, as well.

“I cannot allow Fitz Simon to question her,” Gavarnie snapped. “For all I know, my castellan is part of the plot.”

“Very well, mi’lord. You wield the whip and I shall see to the rest,” Sperville offered.

“Nay!” Gavarnie fair shouted.

There was another pause, and she imagined Sperville drawing himself to his full height, an insulted expression on his face. “I do not understand your reluctance to spill a little blood. Forgive me for saying so, but you sound squeamish as a maid.”

“Whore’s gleet. What if the wench is innocent?”

“You have just spent half the day convincing me of her duplicity. What matter if she is innocent? Are you willing to take such a chance with your life? ’Tis not as if she is royalty. None will ever know what became of her.”

“Sperville’s point is well made, mi’lord,” Nigel agreed.

Golde heard Gavarnie’s fist slam against the bedpost. “I will hear no more of this. Let us get to the business at hand. There are but two options for me. I can tell the king I have regained my sight, or . . .”

“Or what?” Nigel asked.

“Do not say it.” Sperville’s tone was disgusted, as if he knew what Gavarnie was about to say.

Gavarnie’s voice grew harsh. “Would you have me serve a master who has plotted my death? After all I have done for him?”

Sperville blew an exasperated breath. “The Danes have not the leader or the means at present to take England from William. You have said so yourself on many occasions.”

“Better to die like a man than lie docile with an adder.”

A keen sense of urgency roiled through Golde’s veins at Gavarnie’s words. Did he imply he would foment rebellion with the Danes rather than serve a king who’d tried to kill him?

She shuddered at the thought. Gavarnie could not hope to pit himself against William’s might.

“Whatever you decide”—Sperville’s tone was one of defeat—“I will remain your man.”

“As will I,” Nigel declared. “Doubtless, every man here will follow you, once they learn you have regained your sight. I confess, I was beginning to worry there might be those liegemen whose loyalty would waver.”

“You have heard whisperings of discontent?” Gavarnie asked.

“Nay. But I feared de Warrenne’s reasoning might poison the entire castle. Of course, now that you can see—”

“You will tell no one at present,” Gavarnie ordered. “Not until I have made my decision concerning the Danes. Meanwhile, I would have an accounting of my men and their armor.”

“Of course, your lordship.” Nigel sounded excited. “By your leave.”

Once the steward’s footsteps had receded and the door closed behind him, Sperville made a final appeal. “You are wrong, mi’lord. William has no designs on your life. Nor does Golde.”

“You will cease this whining,” Gavarnie snarled. “I would have an accounting of my coin, lest I have need of it.”

The heavy fall of Gavarnie’s footsteps followed the exchange.

“Where are you going, mi’lord?” Sperville asked, his tone disillusioned.

“I go to find Hesper. Golde practices trickery with my children, and the old woman knows the reason.”

Even after the chamber door slammed behind Gavarnie, Golde remained rooted to the spot. If she dared move, she would surely crumble into countless broken pieces.

She must return home. Yet the only place she knew to catch a ship was in New Market. And she dare not go there. The villagers would long remember her as a thief.

Caught up in despair, it did not occur to her that Gavarnie’s coin was kept locked in the wardrobe where she hid. At Sperville’s unexpected appearance, she started. The chamberlain jumped back, and they both gasped in the same instance.