No Dark Place (19 page)

I have to do this
, he thought.

He shut his eyes and there, ramrod stiff, straining to remember.

Inside his brain he heard the sound of a single high-pitched scream. Was it himself he was hearing?

His breath came hard and painful, hurting his chest. The hand that was not holding the candle was clenched into a fist at his side.

I was here when it happened
, he thought.
I know that I was here
.

Had he been kidnapped because he had seen what had happened? Had Walter taken him because he was a witness to Walter’s murder of Roger?

It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault
.

If that was what had happened, then why did he feel so guilty?

“Oh God,” Hugh said out loud. “Why can’t I just
remember?
”

A few minutes later Hugh left the chapel, closing the heavy door behind him.

An unexpected breeze chilled his fingers. His candle went out. A fraction of a second later, he was on the floor and rolling.

The heavy
thud
made by a dagger burying itself deep in wood sounded clearly in the small passage.

Someone had thrown a knife at the place where
Hugh had just been standing and it had pierced the chapel door.

Hugh crouched in the spot where he had finished his roll, perfectly immobile, trying to not even breathe. Someone had extinguished the flambeaux that illuminated the staircase, and the landing was pitch dark.

He knelt there in the blackness, listening.

The sound of someone breathing came out of the darkness to his right. The would-be assassin was on the chapel side of the landing, about ten feet away from him.

This meant that Hugh was closer to the stairs.

Cursing the fact that he had left his dagger in his bedroom, Hugh balanced his weight on his toes and prepared to make a dash for his life.

A step sounded on the wooden floor, then came the sound of the dagger being ripped out of the wood of the door.

By then, Hugh was at the staircase, racing down and down in the inky darkness, keeping his feet by instinct alone.

He didn’t stop at the Great Hall but continued on down to the floor below. At this hour, the guardroom would be filled with sleeping knights, making it far safer than the empty hall above.

Flambeaux lit the section of the staircase that connected the hall and the guardroom, and Hugh hurled himself downward toward safety.

He tumbled into the guardroom, which was in darkness, pressed himself against the cold stone wall, and waited.

The only sound he heard was the snoring of the knights.

He waited some more.

After about ten minutes, he moved cautiously to the wall, where he had seen a sword hanging earlier in the evening. He reached up, felt the cold steel blade, moved his hand to the hilt, and removed the sword from its hanger.

Once he was armed, he moved back to the door and stepped out onto the landing of the staircase.

No one was there.

He reached up and removed a flambeau from its iron holder. Holding the sword in his left hand and the flambeau in his right, he retraced his way up the stairs until he had reached the level of the Great Hall.

All was silent.

No one bothered him as he crossed the Great Hall and went on up the staircase that would lead him back to the room he was sharing with Nigel.

Once Hugh was safely back in bed, he crossed his arms behind his head and stared, wide-eyed, into the dark.

He had not thought that Guy would be stupid enough to attack him in Guy’s own castle. He remembered Nigel’s words on this subject, however.
Guy sometimes acts first and thinks later
.

Whether it was Guy or one of his henchmen, someone had clearly intended to remove Hugh from the world this night.

Hugh frowned, thought some more, and decided it
would be wisest to say nothing of the incident outside the chapel to Nigel, who would only berate him for being fool enough to venture out on his own.

At last, as the first streaks of dawn were staining the sky, he turned on his side, closed his eyes, and prepared to try to get some sleep.

The following morning before breaking fast, Hugh sought out Alan.

“I have one more question for you,” he said to the knight, who was standing before the fire in the Great Hall waiting for the tables to be set up.

“What is that?” Alan asked warily, lowering his voice so he could not be heard by those around him.

“Who found Roger’s body in the chapel?”

Alan looked surprised. “Why, it was the priest,” he said. “Father Anselm. We reckoned that your father must have been laying there for at least an hour. That was what gave Walter the time to get away.”

“I see,” said Hugh. “Thank you.”

Lady Cecily, full of smiles and chatter, sat beside him at the breaking of fast. After the meal was finished, Hugh got rid of her by the simple expedient of saying that he was going to the garderobe. Instead, he went out into the courtyard.

He walked around to the back of the castle, to where the kitchen garden he had seen from his window was located. Next to the kitchen garden was a small walled-in pleasure garden.

He had known it would be there.

Slowly he walked to the gate of the garden and let himself in.

There were no flowers this time of year. The beds were full of bare stalks and the rosebushes were all wood. Hugh shut his eyes and the sweet scent of summer blossoms drifted to his nostrils.

He opened his eyes and stared at the wooden bench that was placed in the middle of the garden. A picture formed in his mind of a woman sitting there in the sun. A little boy came running down one of the paths, and she stood up, bending down to him, her arms outstretched. The child ran right into her arms.

Hugh smelled the scent of roses.

His lips formed the word
Mother
.

He stood there for a long time, staring sightlessly at the empty bench. Then he turned and walked out of the garden, back to the castle to look for Nigel.

He went first to the Great Hall, where he was accosted by Sir Richard Evril, who informed him in a very clipped tone that Lord Guy desired to speak to him. He followed Richard up the stairs, through a small, sparsely furnished anteroom, and into what was obviously the family solar, where Guy awaited him.

The earl was standing at the unshuttered window, looking out, when Hugh came into the room. For a long moment he didn’t move, making Hugh stand and regard his back. Finally he turned around. Slowly, he looked Hugh up and down.

“I thought we should have a little talk,” he said at last.

Hugh looked back at the man who had twice tried to kill him, the man who was responsible for the death of Geoffrey, and didn’t reply.

“What were you doing in the pleasure garden?” Guy said abruptly.

Hugh remained where he was by the door. “Trying to see if I remembered it,” he said.

“And did you?”

“Aye,” Hugh said. “I believe that I do.”

There were dark pouches of dissipation below Guy’s gray eyes, but the eyes themselves were clear and alert. “Hear me, Hugh Corbaille,” he said in a hard voice. “I have thrown in my lot with Stephen. I didn’t want to choose sides, but you forced me to it. Stephen may be weak in some things, but he will support me—with arms, if he has to. Wiltshire is too important for him to give it up.”

“That is so,” said Hugh. His expression was contained, giving nothing away.

Guy took a step away from the window into the room. He put his hands on the back of a carved chair and stared at Hugh over it. “I am telling you this because I know that your mother’s family is of the empress’s party.” Guy leaned a little forward. “I have summoned you here to give you this warning. Do not go to Mathilda to uphold your claim.”

The day outside the window was gloomy and overcast. The light in the solar was dim. The two men stood for a moment in silence, looking at each other across the bare wooden floor.

“And if I do?” Hugh asked.

“You will regret it,” Guy replied in a hard voice. “My own feudal army equals anything Robert of Gloucester can put in the field. And Stephen will aid me as well.” The gray eyes narrowed dangerously. “If it comes to a fight between us, you may well end up dead, Hugh. Think on that before you do something rash.”

“Is that a threat?” Hugh asked softly.

Guy’s full lips were set in a hard, implacable line. “You may take it that way if you wish.”

Hugh moved forward one step, bringing him fractionally closer to Guy. He stared into the eyes that were so like his own and demanded, “Did you have anything to do with the death of your brother?”

Guy held his gaze unflinchingly. “I did not. If you came here seeking vengeance, I am not the man you want.”

The two pairs of gray eyes held for a long, strained moment. Then Hugh slowly nodded.

There was the slightest relaxation of tension in Guy’s face. “I have been the Earl of Wiltshire for fourteen years,” he said. “You will not supplant me, even if you are my brother’s son.”

“If I am no threat to you, then why have you twice tried to have me killed?” Hugh inquired. His voice was merely curious.

Guy’s eyes flickered with surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“The knight who was killed at the tournament was
riding my horse, and there are those who will swear he was downed by a blow to his back, not his front.”

“Nonsense,” Guy said impatiently.

“Someone fighting on his own side killed Geoffrey,” Hugh said. “And you had a number of men fighting on his side.”

“I don’t know where you have gotten this ridiculous notion, but I had nothing to do with the death of Nigel Haslin’s knight!” Angry color flared in Guy’s face. “Look to one of his own companions if you suspect he was betrayed. Perhaps one of his fellow knights held a grudge against him. But don’t try to lay his death at my door!”

Hugh looked thoughtfully at the flushed, angry face of his uncle. Guy glared back at him.

Hugh said, “Someone tried to kill me last night.”

Guy’s whole face hardened. “How?”

“I went to the chapel in the morning hours. I wanted to see if I would be able to remember anything. When I came out, someone was waiting for me with a knife. I was lucky to get away.”

“You didn’t see who it was?”

“The landing was pitch dark. He had extinguished the flambeaux.”

Guy cursed.

Hugh said neutrally, “As far as I know, you are the only person who would benefit from my death.”

“I am not an assassin,” Guy said furiously. “And as far as
I
know, you are making these stories up in order to discredit me.”

“Your reputation is rather vulnerable,” Hugh agreed.

“I had nothing to do with Roger’s death,” Guy said grimly.

“Someone killed him,” Hugh said.

Guy made an impatient gesture with his hands. “It was the knight. Why can’t you just accept that and let well enough alone?”

“Because I am like a dog who has buried a bone and can’t find where he put it,” Hugh said wearily. “I must keep digging and digging until I find what I want.”

“Well, you will not find me,” Guy said.

“Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” Hugh replied pleasantly. He rubbed the back of his neck as if it ached. “I will be leaving Chippenham this afternoon, Uncle, so let me take this opportunity to say farewell to you.”

“Don’t hurry back,” Guy said sarcastically.

Hugh gave him a long, level look, then turned and left the room.

T
he wind increased while the Chippenham household was at midday dinner, and by the time Hugh and Nigel started out on their return home, the temperature had dropped fifteen degrees. Both they and their escort were chilled to the bone by the time the walls of Somerford came into view.

Hugh had been silent for almost the entire ride, and Nigel did not attempt to force a confidence. From the expression on Hugh’s face, he had known he would meet with little success.

In fact, for the first time since he had met Hugh, Nigel was wondering if he had done the right thing in telling the boy who he was. Now that Guy had won the king’s backing, it did not look as if Hugh had any chance of winning the earldom that was rightfully his. It seemed to Nigel’s discouraged mind that the only thing that his disclosure had done for the boy was to bring him grief.

It was growing dark by the time Nigel’s party rode through the outer gate of Somerford. Grooms came running to take their horses, and Nigel and Hugh went wearily up the castle ramp and into the Great Hall.

Supper was finished and the tables had already been cleared away. The household knights sat around the fire, engaged in their usual pursuits of chess and dice. Thomas was plucking the strings of his lute.

Heads turned as Hugh and Nigel, followed by the knights of their escort, came into the room. One of the knights by the fire sent a page running up the stairs to relay the news to Cristen and her ladies that the lord of the castle had returned. Nigel and Hugh moved to stand by the fire and Nigel held out his cold hands to its warmth.

A few minutes later, the dogs came racing down the stairs. They were followed by Cristen.

Nigel turned from the fire when he saw his daughter. “How are you, my dear?” he asked, smiling at her. “Has all gone well in our absence?”

“I am fine, Father. Everything at Somerford is fine.” She reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “It is good to have you home.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Welcome home, Hugh,” Cristen said, turning to the slim silent figure who was letting the dogs sniff his hands.

Hugh nodded.

Jesu
, Nigel thought.
Is the boy ever going to talk again?

“You must be hungry,” Cristen said practically.

“Aye,” Nigel replied. “I think we all could do with something to eat and drink. It was a long, cold ride. It almost feels as if it might snow.”

By now Hugh was patting the dogs. He said nothing.

He ate the bread and meat that he was served, however, and drank a cup of ale. Cristen talked easily the whole while, detailing the things that had happened while they were gone.

“Emma Jensen came to see me about a bad cough her eldest son has developed,” she said. “I gave her some of my elixir of horehound. I hope it helps.”

“I’m sure it will,” Nigel said comfortably. “Your potions are always efficacious, my dear.”

“Not always.” For the first time, Nigel saw her shoot a worried look at Hugh. He remembered the boy’s words to him the previous night about his headaches.
Cristen knows
.

Hugh put down his ale and finally spoke. “I hope you won’t mind if I go to bed, sir. I am rather tired.”

He looked more than tired. He looked exhausted.

“Go ahead, Hugh,” Nigel said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Cristen,” Hugh said.

For the briefest of moments, the eyes of the two young people met. Then Cristen said softly, “Good night, Hugh.”

Hugh walked to the door that led to the solar and family bedrooms. He went inside, closing the door behind him gently.

“Dear God, Father,” Cristen said. Her face was pale.
“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Nigel said wearily. “He came to me this morning and said that we had to leave Chippenham. He’s scarcely said a word since.” Nigel hesitated, then added, “He was awake all night with a headache, Cristen. I could tell that he was in a great deal of pain. He told me he’s had them before.”

She bent her head and replied, her voice very low, “I think this whole business of trying to remember his past is tearing him apart.”

Nigel said harshly, “All the while that we were riding home I was thinking that I should never have told him who he was, that I should have simply let him go on being Hugh Corbaille. He was better off so.”

At that she lifted her head and shook it in emphatic disagreement. “If being Hugh Corbaille had been enough for him, he wouldn’t have come here, Father. You were right to tell him. No matter how painful it may be, he needs to rediscover his past. It’s the only way he can make himself whole.”

Nigel rubbed his eyes. He felt almost as exhausted as Hugh looked.

Cristen got to her feet and went behind him to massage his shoulders.

“Aahh,” he said with grateful pleasure. “That feels good.”

The rest of the knights around the fire had gone on with their activities, although all ears were intent on the conversation between Nigel and Cristen.

Thomas said abruptly, as if he could contain
himself no longer, “If Hugh is truly the son of Lord Roger, then isn’t he
entitled
to be the Earl of Wiltshire?”

“He is entitled by right of inheritance,” Nigel returned somberly. “But the king has the final say in such matters, Thomas. And it seems that the king is supporting Guy.”

There was a grumble of discontent among the knights.

“Guy was responsible for his brother’s death,” Ranulf said. “He should not be allowed to profit from murder.”

“There is no proof that Guy had aught to do with Roger’s murder,” Nigel pointed out.

Again came the grumble of discontent.

Cristen removed her hands from her father’s shoulders and signaled to one of the pages. “Take the dogs for their last visit outside, will you, Brian?”

Brian whistled and Ralf and Cedric obediently trailed after him to the door.

Cristen said briskly, “I am going to bed, Father, and I recommend that you do the same. You look tired.”

Nigel braced his hands on the carved arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. “I am tired,” he admitted.

He offered her his arm and, after bidding good night to the knights, the two of them crossed the floor to the door that led into the solar.

Cristen’s maid was waiting for her in her bed
room, and she helped Cristen out of her over-and undertunics and into her velvet robe. Then she brushed out the girl’s long hair and plaited it loosely into a single braid.

“Thank you, Emily,” Cristen said with a smile. “You may go to your own rest. I will see you in the morning.”

“Good night, my lady.”

After the girl had left, Cristen went to the door to make certain that Brian had returned the dogs. They were both curled in their usual places by the solar brazier. Ralf lifted his head to look at her, then closed his eyes again to go back to sleep. Cedric never stirred.

Cristen turned back into the room and got into her bed under the covers in order to keep warm. She turned the hourglass on her bedside table and started the sand falling. In a half an hour’s time, Nigel should be fast asleep. She would give him an hour, just to be sure.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking. Outside it had begun to rain. She could hear the drops bouncing off the packed earth of the courtyard beneath her window.

When all the sand had run from the top of the glass into the bottom, Cristen got out of bed, picked up the candle she had left burning, and let herself out into the solar.

This time both dogs raised their heads when they saw her.

She ignored them and crossed the floor to the door that led to Hugh’s bedroom. She pushed it open without knocking and went inside.

The room was dark. The only sound she heard was the drumming of the rain against the closed shutters. She held her candle in steady hands and looked toward the shadowy, silent bed.

“Hugh?” she said softly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded harsh and strained.

She carried her candle over to the small table that was next to the bed. Hugh pushed himself up on his elbow and looked at her out of shadowed eyes. His hair was tousled, his shoulders bare.

She sat on the edge of the bed and regarded him gravely. “What happened at Chippenham?” she asked, her voice very quiet. “Why did you return so quickly?”

For a long moment she thought he was not going to answer her. Finally he said reluctantly, “I had a conversation with one of Roger’s former knights.” Exhaustion was etched in every line of his face, but she knew he had not been sleeping. “What he said was enough to cause me to doubt that Guy is guilty of his brother’s death.”

The single candle flickered in a sudden draft, then burned steadily once again. The rain still drummed steadily against the closed wooden shutters of the room.

“What did he tell you, Hugh?” Cristen asked.

He pushed himself upright, so that he was sitting with his back against his pillows. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. The bedcovers were pulled up to his waist, but his upper torso was bare. The light from the candle shone on the gold cross he wore around his neck.

He was so slender that it was always a surprise to see how well-muscled he was.

“Where’s your bedrobe?” Cristen asked practically. “It’s cold in here.”

He made an irritable gesture. “I don’t need it.”

She looked around, then stretched toward the bottom of the bed, reaching out an arm. She grabbed the worn red velvet robe that Adela had made for Hugh’s sixteenth birthday and handed it to him.

“Put it on.”

He took it from her and impatiently flung it around his shoulders.

“Now,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

Speaking in an emotionless monotone, he told her what he had learned from Alan. He stopped, however, before he had quite reached the end.

There was a faint frown between Cristen’s delicate brows. “So Ivo stayed to try to protect your mother?” she prompted.

He nodded. His lips were folded into a tight, tense line.

“Hugh?” Her voice was gentle but implacable.

“He stayed,” Hugh agreed. Then, visibly controlling all his sense of horror, he managed to get it out.
“Roger castrated him, Cristen. After that, once he was left alone, Ivo killed himself.”

“Oh my dear God,” Cristen whispered.

Hugh’s eyes were so dilated that they looked almost black. “So you see, Walter Crespin had good reason to kill Earl Roger. And you can also see why Roger’s knights transferred their allegiance so easily to Guy. They knew that Guy had had nothing to do with his brother’s death. Nor had they any cause to feel overly loyal to their former lord.”

Cristen reached out and took his icy hands into her own warm clasp.

“Aye, I can see all of that,” she said quietly. “But what I don’t see, Hugh, is why Walter would want to kidnap you.”

“I think…” His voice quivered. His hands clutched hers. He stopped and when he spoke again, his voice was steadier. “I think I was in the chapel when Roger was killed. I remember…things. Perhaps I was taken because I knew too much.”

“Oh, Hugh,” Cristen said. Her voice was full of an aching sadness. “This is so much for you to bear.”

“I have you,” he said hoarsely. “I can bear anything, Cristen, as long as I have you.”

They stared at each as the seconds ticked by unre-garded. Then he pulled her forward, into his arms.

There was desperation in his embrace. His face was buried in the warm fold between her neck and her shoulder. His lips moved on her bare skin. Their touch burned like fire.

“Cristen.” His voice was like a groan.

She slid her arms around him and held him close. He was quivering like a bow that has been strung too tightly. “It’s all right, Hugh,” she said. “It’s all right.”

His lips moved from her throat to her mouth. His kiss was hard and urgent with need. She yielded to it, yielded to him and the almost frantic passion that was driving him.

She loved him so much. She didn’t mind it that he hurt her, she was only fiercely glad that she was able to give him this release that he so desperately needed. When he finally lay still against her, she cradled him against her breast, buried her lips in his black hair, and whispered, “Go to sleep, Hugh. Go to sleep, my love.”

Long after he had fallen into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion, she lay awake, listening to the rain beating against the shutters and thinking of what he had told her and of what it might mean.

When Hugh finally awoke, the candle was almost burned out and the rain was still pelting against the shutters. He felt the softness of Cristen beside him and remembered instantly what had happened.

Cautiously, he raised himself on his elbow and looked at the sleeping face of the girl laying beside him. Her long lashes lay quietly on her cheek and her loosened hair streamed across the rumpled bed covers.

He shut his eyes in pain.

What have I done?

He remembered his frantic possession of her just hours before, and his mouth was taut with pain.

How could I have done that to Cristen?

When he opened his eyes, she was stirring, as if she had sensed his distress. He watched her, his heart hammering. If she should turn from him in revulsion, he would want to die.

Her lashes lifted and she looked at him. The first expression he saw in her great brown eyes was surprise. Then, as her memory returned, the surprise turned to a look of guilt.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked.

He stared at her in utter stupefaction. “It is I who should be asking that question of you,” he said at last.

She shook her head in disagreement. “It was my doing. I could have stopped you if I had wanted to.” She smiled tentatively. “I didn’t want to, you know.”

He looked at her for a minute in silence and then the glimmer of an answering smile softened his grim young mouth.

“We will have to get married now,” he said.

She reached her hands up to touch his face. “So we will,” she agreed. “So we will.”

It was an hour before dawn when Cristen finally left Hugh to creep back to her own room. This time the dogs got up to come and greet her when she came into the solar. She patted their heads without speaking, then slipped through the door into her bedroom.