Page 5 of Winter’s Poison (The Winter Murders #1)
“L et me go,” Bronwyn said.
“Not until you tell me what you were doing with that woman,” Rupert said. His handsome face was serious, his blond eyebrows furrowed. In that moment, his blue eyes looked beautiful.
“You’re hurting me.”
He lessened the pressure on her wrists. “Talk.”
Bronwyn glared and kneed him in the groin. He jumped and shuddered with pain. She shoved and stumbled away from him, her shoes sliding on the damp ground.
“Bronwyn, wait,” he called.
She almost reached the tree line, when he called, “What I saw could be considered treason. I could report you to the king. Do you want to end up in jail with your pa?”
She froze. Without her to look into this matter, her father would never be freed. And if she were accused of treason and put in jail with him, that would leave no one to investigate.
She turned and waited for him to catch up. He picked up her basket and moved gingerly, picking his way through the rocks and uneven ground. He handed her basket over.
She took it and shot him a frown. “Are you going to report me? Why would you hurt me like that?”
He shot her a dirty look. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m a loyal subject of King Stephen.”
“Are you? Then why were you talking with that woman about de Grecy?” he asked.
“ She came to me . But now that you suspect me of treason, I don’t see why I should tell you anything.”
He frowned in return. “Why should I believe you? I heard you two talking. Who was that person she was talking about, someone of de Grecy’s?”
“I don’t know. I would have learnt more if you hadn’t come crashing through the woods like a boar.”
His mouth thinned into a hard line. “You weren’t so quiet yourself. What if I’d been an enemy? I could have murdered you both.”
“Thank goodness you aren’t,” Bronwyn said hotly, matching his steely gaze.
Their faces were close, she realized. Glaring at each other. She could smell him. Sweat and evergreen and woodsmoke, mixed with hay.
His eyes darted to her mouth. His lips parted as if to say something more, then he stepped back, ran a hand through his red-blond hair, and shook his head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, do you know that?”
She jutted her chin upward. “I have to. My papa’s life is at stake.”
“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? You could have refused this mission of Queen Matilda’s. You’re just a girl. You didn’t have to accept.”
“You’re joking. I can’t refuse a request from the queen. I’d lose my head. Besides, what would you have me do? Just let my father die in prison, or wait for him to die when no culprit is found?”
“I’m just saying, you didn’t have to take up her cause. You could have asked someone more knowledgeable about the ways of court to look into this for you. What if you fail?”
Her chest hurt at the thought. “I can’t fail. I mustn’t.”
“Someone else could do it.”
“Like who? We’re just a family of bakers. We’re nobody to anyone. No one would care.”
Rupert looked at the ground and shifted his feet. He mumbled something.
“What was that?”
“ I would.” He looked at her. “I mean, if you asked me to. I’d do it.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
She didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, she held out her palm.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Offering you my palm and arm. So you can see I’m not hiding a weapon. Would a traitor offer to shake hands?”
He took her palm and shook it, grasping her arm. “You still could be a traitor.”
Bronwyn smiled. “I didn’t tell you that my weapon is in my other sleeve.”
His eyes widened and he dropped her hand. He laughed. “Let me walk you back to the castle.”
The afternoon sun was already fading, and the trees looked black against the blue-grey sky, with clouds stretching across the horizon like tufts of wool.
Bronwyn didn’t realize how long she’d been outside gathering herbs. Her basket was full of rosemary, sage, and even some thyme. The castle didn’t hurt for bread, and the preserved meat was for the aristocrats and rulers, so the rest of the staff had pottage most days.
She and Rupert bid the guards hello as they walked back through one of the gates, then cut across the castle courtyard and to the kitchens, where he stood by from the doorway. “I’ll come by for you later to walk you home.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need an escort,” Bronwyn said. He’d attacked her and accused her of being a traitor. They might have been at peace again, but she didn’t feel too friendly toward him at that moment.
“I’ll be by in an hour. Wait for me.” He left.
She looked after him curiously. What was all that about? First he tries to attack me and then he’s keen to walk me home. Boys are odd , she decided.
She returned the basket and herbs to the cooks, who put the herbs to good use. The smell of roasting meat on the spit hung in the air and her mouth watered. Odo tossed a bread roll in her direction. “Catch.”
She fumbled and barely caught it, then tore into it. He smirked at her clumsy catch and came up to her. “Mind you don’t get too close to that lad, girl. He’s got an eye for the ladies.”
Bronwyn raised an eyebrow, her mouth full of day-old bread.
“Takes an interest and then once the girl falls for him, he’s off chasing another one. I’ve seen it happen. It’ll only end in tears. If you’re smart, you’ll stay on your guard. That’s all I’m saying.”
She thanked him for the bread roll and helped stir soups and pottages. Here in the castle, nothing went to waste. Even the dogs were given scraps to eat.
Bronwyn finished for the day and went to collect her coat at the kitchen entrance, where she found Rupert waiting.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and they walked in companionable silence, through the main gate to the castle, past the guards, and slowly down Steep Hill.
Torches lit part of the way, but much of the hill and the houses around were in darkness, so there wasn’t a lot of light for the pair to see. At one point, she stumbled, and Rupert caught her arm. “Here, you can hold on to me if you like.”
“I’m okay.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs as they walked, trying to keep her fingers warm.
Rupert walked her to the main part of town, where they were met by Alfred, who stood solidly in the road.
“Bronwyn, I was just coming to look for you.” Alfred’s easy smile fell when he saw she was not alone.
“Why? Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Sure, sure. Just wanted to see you back home all right is all. It’s been a long day.” He gave Rupert an unfriendly look. “Thanks, mate. I’ll see her home from here.”
Rupert turned to Bronwyn. “Shall I see you the rest of the way home?”
“Oi, mate, I told you, I’ve got it,” Alfred said.
“I was talking to Bronwyn.” Rupert’s eyes flicked to Alfred and were equally unfriendly. “Bronwyn?”
“I’ll be fine. G’night,” she said.
Rupert bowed his head and watched as she walked away with Alfred, who shot him a dirty look.
“Come on,” Bronwyn said, tugging on his sleeve. She walked on ahead, conscious of Rupert’s watchful gaze.
They walked on into the night. Alfred caught up to her in seconds. She could smell him. He carried the familiar smells of bread and stale ale, and she knew if she saw him better in the light, he’d have a dusting of flour on him.
“I don’t like that squire,” Alfred said sourly. “He acts like he thinks he’s better than us. You shouldn’t walk with him anymore.”
“He was making sure I got here okay. He was doing me a kindness.”
“You don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“You go around walking alone with a lot of men, people will think you’re wanton. Loose. Like a strumpet.”
Bronwyn laughed out loud. “Me? Anyone who sees me will know that’s not the case. Besides, I don’t have time for boys.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too busy trying to find out who killed de Grecy.”
“You’re wasting your time. You should be baking, not chasing after ghosts. What if you never find anyone? Why not tell the queen you want someone else take over? There must be men out there who are better at finding a traitor than you.”
She fumed quietly. “Because I am doing this. Why should I back down? A stranger won’t care for my papa.”
“It’s just… You don’t want people to talk, Bronwyn,” he said.
“People talk as often as they breathe, Al. What do I care?”
“You’ll care when it means the boys don’t want you. They’ll think you’re a bit funny. Touched in the head. Or worse, that you’re a girl trying to do a man’s job.”
She faced him and put her hands on her hips. “Alfred, I don’t know what to make of you. Women and men share jobs all the time, so how is this any different?”
“It’s just…”
“First you don’t want me walking about with boys and then you don’t want me to help my papa, for fear the boys won’t like me. Which is it? My head is spinning from all your talk.”
Even in the darkness, she could sense his face turning red. “I mean, Bronwyn, that you should beg the queen’s mercy and see if she’ll release you from this silly quest. Ask her to let you return from working in the castle kitchens. Or better yet, see if she’ll let you help your ma in the bakery. She needs the help. And you need to stop running around to the castle.”
“You make it sound like I’m having a lark. If I don’t do this, no one will find out who killed de Grecy and my papa might as well be dead.”
Alfred cleared his throat. “The rulers won’t let that happen. They’re just. They’ll look after you. Your family won’t starve.”
“Oh, really,” she said hotly, “and you’re so close to them, you can speak for the king and queen? What are you, their personal servant? Funny, I didn’t see you there when they imprisoned my papa for something he didn’t do.”
They stood in the shadows and torchlight from houses and shops shut for the night, but she could still see Alfred’s face in the flickering lights. Bronwyn glared up at him, cursing that she was mere average height for a woman, and shorter than him. It gave Alfred the advantage to look down his nose at her.
His eyes burned brightly and reflected the torchlights in the darkness from the homes and shops. “One of these days, Bronwyn, you’ll say too much, and that tongue of yours will get you into trouble.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Alfred, I’m getting pretty sick of you telling me what to do. You’re not my papa or my mama. You sound like a gossipy, old woman.”
He laughed, and she turned her back on him.
“Would a gossipy, old woman do this?” He pulled her arm back to face him and planted a kiss on her lips.
She stopped, stunned. My first kiss.
He held his lips against hers as if he expected a reaction. When she didn’t respond, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her closer, kissing her again.
Bronwyn pushed his hands away and stepped out of his embrace. She glared at him, her cheeks warm.
He smiled. “There. That ought to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Shut you up for a minute. You need reminding that you’re a woman.” He looked so pleased with himself, he grinned from ear to ear.
Bronwyn stepped on his foot. Hard.
“Oi, what was that for?” he asked, hopping on one foot.
“I don’t need reminding. And I never asked you to kiss me.” Her feet felt shaky.
“You never have to ask.” He grinned. “I’ll do it again if you like.”
“Don’t.” She stomped away.
“I’ll just wait, Bronwyn,” he called. “You’ll come asking for it again.”
She stomped all the way back to the main road. With every stomp, she grew madder. She thought angrily, Who does he think he is, kissing me like that? He just did it, as if I were a possession to be had, a toy to be played with or in this case, a doll to be kissed. He never even asked my permission, and just made free with my body. These were my lips, not his. She had more angry thoughts, but they had to wait, for she found herself standing in front of the bakery.
She knocked on the bakery door and was let in by Wyot. He slid the wooden bolt and looped the lock back over the door.
“Bronwyn?” Margaret called.
“I’m back.”
“Good, I’ve just put dinner on.”
The three of them sat over a quiet meal of pottage consisting of onions, stewed cabbage, peas and with day-old rolls to mop it up with.
They sipped cups of stale ale and exchanged the day’s news. Margaret and Wyot had made rolls and Alfred had taken Wyot to sell them in the market, whilst Bronwyn’s stepmother had done a brisk trade from the shop. They were surviving, but word had gotten around that her father had been imprisoned, and it was starting to show. Fewer people had come back to purchase rolls that day, and fewer had come to the bakery. Mama with her ear for gossip knew it was because of the rumors.
“What are people saying?” Wyot asked.
“Oh, this isn’t for your ears. I need to talk with Bronwyn about some things. If you’re finished, go wash your hands with soap and get ready for bed,” Mama told him.
Wyot grumbled, stole another roll from the table, and cleared his trencher away, setting it aside for the next day. He climbed the pull-down ladder into the upstairs room, where the family slept, as the heat from the oven rose and kept the room warm in the evenings, and Margaret waited for him to disappear before she leaned in close.
“The women are talking. The rumor is that Alan is in prison for trying to kill the king and queen,” she said.
“He’s not guilty, though. Did you tell them that I’ve been tasked by the queen to look into this and prove his innocence?” Bronwyn asked.
“Ha, no one cares about that. They’ll think it’s just an excuse. No one believes a queen asked you to find a murderer.”
Bronwyn looked down at her ale. “But it’s true.”
“Don’t lose heart, poppet. You find whoever did this and then they’ll see. Make them eat their words.”
Bronwyn nodded.
“I thought Alfred was coming back with you. Where’s he gone?”
Her expression darkened at the thought of him, and against her better judgement, her cheeks warmed.
“What is it?”
“He kissed me.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “He did?” A smile lit up her face. “Tell me.”
Bronwyn didn’t like the excited look in her eye. “We argued, and he kissed me.”
“That’s it?”
“He said it was one way to shut me up.” She frowned at the memory of his words, feeling her anger rise again. He’d looked so pleased with himself, like he’d stolen a prized cake, or like a cat that had eaten a mouse. She wanted to punch him in the nose and wipe that smile off his face. See how he liked kissing with a mouthful of broken teeth.
“Well, I can’t say the boy talks a lot of sense, but his heart is in the right place. And at least he’s shown you what he wants,” Margaret said with a smile.
“What’s that?”
“ You , you silly girl. He wants you. I suppose he should have asked your father’s permission or me first before he started courting you, but—”
“Mama, we’re not courting. We aren’t anything. It was just a kiss.”
She gave Bronwyn a shrewd look. “You say that now, but that’s how it starts. One kiss will lead to another, and then I’ll hear word of you two holding hands and him leading you behind the hay bales, and then I’ll be a grandmother before you’re twenty. We’ll have to plan the wedding soon.”
“Wedding? Mama, no. That’s too much. We’re not anything.”
Her stepmother hardly listened to a word she said.
“Mama,” Bronwyn said. She repeated her name twice before she looked at me. “I’m not getting married.”
“But, Bronwyn, you’re eighteen. You’re in your prime childbearing years. Any older and your womb will shrivel.”
Bronwyn burst out laughing. “Where did you hear that?”
She turned pink. “Women talk. Heloise the midwife told me. And I believe her.”
“Well, I’m not ready to bear children yet. And I’m not ready to get married, either. I don’t want either of those things.”
She looked scandalized. “Bronwyn, you don’t know what you’re saying. Of course you want children. Marrying and bearing children is the natural way of things.”
Bronwyn shrugged. “What if my womb shrivels? Will I die?”
“It’s possible.”
Bronwyn tried not to roll her eyes. “I’ll take my chances. I am not going to marry Alfred. Just because he kissed me doesn’t mean we’re engaged.”
“But that’s how it starts, don’t you see? One good kiss is all it takes.”
“Well, then he needs practice because it wasn’t good at all.” Bronwyn turned her back, her blonde braid flying around her shoulder.
“Just you wait, Bronwyn. One of these days, a man will catch your eye and you’ll be wishing he’d want to kiss you.”
“That’ll be the day.” Bronwyn harrumphed and went to bed.
The next day, Bronwyn slipped out early, darting through the darkness in the streets. Her feet moved of their own accord and she was at the castle in no time. It felt like her family home had become stifling, but not from any physical heat. She wanted to hear no more of Margaret’s talk about marrying, and she most definitely did not want to chance running into Alfred.
He was cute and all and she liked him, but she disliked him pulling her arm and kissing her, as if she were nothing but a prize to be had, or a busybody, gossipy woman to be shut up with a kiss. He had offended her somehow, but she hardly knew how to put that into words.
If Odo the cook was surprised to see her that early, he did not say so. He just nodded hello . As Bronwyn hung up her coat on a peg and walked over to the pots and the pail of water, he stood in her way.
“What?” She looked up at him.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m about to start cleaning pots.”
“No, you’re not. Get over there and start prepping the dough.”
Bronwyn blinked in surprise. “But—”
“You’re a baker’s daughter, aren’t you?” He scratched his double chin and tapped his fingers on the nearest worktable. “Let’s see what you can do. I want to see twelve rolls before the others come in. Get to work.”
Bronwyn blinked, tied on an apron, and pinned her hair back beneath a kerchief and set to work. As she began prepping the dough, she couldn’t hide the growing smile on her face. She’d been moved up from potboy, which was promising. She’d long felt that scrubbing pots was the least of what she could do—all that was needed was a pair of hands—but she hadn’t been about to protest. This was a sign she might be trustworthy. It was a start.
The day began well; she presented twelve rolls within the next hour or so. Odo bit into one and declared it passable, then bid her to make a loaf this time. Bronwyn set to work with gusto, but then an order came down from the queen for three soft white rolls with honey. She exchanged a look with the page who’d delivered the message; they both knew what that meant. Queen Matilda wanted information.
Bronwyn prepared the rolls and made four this time. She split the fourth in half and gave half to Odo, then the other half to the pageboy. When Bronwyn walked into the queen’s chamber with the plate, Queen Matilda lowered her embroidery and watched as Bronwyn set down the plate on a table by her right side. She delicately took a roll, bit into it and said, “I heard there was a strange girl in de Grecy’s room. Sir Nicholas had the guards looking for her all day, yet they didn’t find anyone. You were there, yes?”
Bronwyn told her what Sir Nicholas and she had encountered in de Grecy’s room.
“This girl. Who is she?”
Bronwyn described her. “I’ve never seen her before.” But she relayed what had happened in the woods.
The queen’s eyes widened. “She thought you were working with him?” Her petite hand drifted to her mouth. “Then he was a traitor. Even more important that we find this girl. How she got into this court without being seen is shocking.”
Bronwyn bowed. “My lady.”
Her eyes were hard. “Do not bow to me—you’re not a boy. You’re a young woman with a smart head on your shoulders. I expect you to act like one.”
“Milady?”
“Curtsey. You are the in the presence of a queen. Don’t make me tell you again. And never turn your back on a ruler.”
“So how do I…” Bronwyn backed up a step and tripped on her skirts.
Queen Matilda shook her head in distaste. “Learn to curtsey, then rise and back up. When you are far enough away you may turn and exit. Go.” She waved her hand in a dismissal.
Bronwyn curtseyed awkwardly and backed toward the exit. Once outside her chamber, she had not gone a few steps when she was accosted by Brother Bartholomew.
“Oh! Sorry,” she said.
“Ha, you should be. But of course, you are running around this castle without any help, so it’s no wonder you’re bumping into people,” he said gravely.
“Excuse me?” Bronwyn looked at the man, her mouth twisting in displeasure.
He stood tall and thin, humbly clasping his hands over his thin stomach. He bowed, and much like his demeanor, this was short and stiff. His expression was slightly mocking. She didn’t trust it.
He rose with a smile. She tried not to show her dislike.
“Our meeting is fortuitous. I can help you. I heard about your little plan. I know all about it.”
She raised an eyebrow. She suspected he wanted her to ask what the word fortuitous meant, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She’d ask Sir Nicholas later.
“There’s no need to play coy with me, girl. People were talking about it. You’re the queen’s little spy.” He smirked.
“No, I’m not.”
“Of course you are. Don’t try to deny it. You’re just lucky I heard about your little scheme first. I told them all they were misinformed.”
“He has not been found guilty.”
“Hasn’t he? It is only out of good grace and mercy that our king and queen have decided to delay his punishment and offer you a chance to prove his innocence, because they haven’t the heart to kill a man in front of his child. Never mind that he is suspected of working with a lowly squire to attempt to poison Their Graces. Their little mission for you is a mere formality.”
“But they’ve given me until the feast of Purification of St. Mary.”
“It is because they are kind, and want to appear just. They know, just like everyone else, that you will find nothing because there is nothing to find. Your father planned to kill the king with his poison and killed a good man instead. He was caught and soon, he will die. The best you could hope for is a swift death, and not to be killed yourself.”
Such words, from a Christian monk. “My father did not try to kill anyone. He is innocent. We both are.” Her chin trembled, and her mouth began to curl into an ugly sneer, when she saw the excited light in his blue eyes. He was hoping to get a rise out of her. Bronwyn cocked her head at him.
“You think I am cruel, but I’m doing you a favor. Do you really think anyone in their right mind would answer questions from a baker’s daughter?” He snorted.
“But they’ll answer you?”
“Why, yes. I am popular at court. I come from a distinguished and wealthy family and have many lands, which I have donated to the church.” He bowed his head as if in prayer. “I know my place, and I know my business at court.”
“Your ‘business’?” She scratched her head.
“This is a great game you have entered into, baker’s daughter, but you do not know how to play. Allow me to play for you.”
Her temper rose. “Why is it that men want to do this task for me? Why does no one believe I can find out who killed de Grecy?”
Brother Bartholomew spoke as if it were obvious. “There are queens, there are princesses, and then there are merchants, peasants, and humble bakers.”
His self-satisfied smile made her want to punch his face in. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Brother Bartholomew looked at her oddly. “It is the way of things. You are a mere baker, so you should stay in the kitchen and bake. Leave solving crimes to the men who are best suited to the task. It could be… dangerous for one like you.”
“But not you.”
He sniffed. “I know how to maneuver my way around court, and how to be seen without being detected.”
“What does that even mean?” She was losing her patience.
His mouth lit up with a smile. “That is how I play.”
“But you’re a monk. You shouldn’t be mixing with court politics.”
“I never said I did. But I am a member of this court and you would do well to respect my position.” His smirk grew. “I, of course, will help you solve this matter. You will obviously need my help, for you have no hope of finding out anything that will answer the call of justice.”
Bronwyn gritted her teeth. “I’m smarter than you think.”
“Of course you are. And it’s so preposterous, the idea of a maid like you investigating. I told everyone the very idea was nonsense. Now, come. Tell me what you’ve found out so far. We are on the same side, after all.”
She gazed at him with her best impression of Margaret when she was unimpressed. He had been so quick to accuse her and her father of being traitors, when they had their first audience with the king. And now he was offering to help her? “Why should I tell you anything? From what you’ve said, I know nothing.”
“Don’t be sour. I told them that to throw them off the trail. You may have that busybody look about you, but there is intelligence too, possibly. Now come, tell me what you know.”
Bronwyn did not trust the man one bit. “Why would I share information with a man I’ve only met once before? I do not know you. You were in the throne room when my father and I were interrogated by the king and queen. You had nothing nice to say then, and my papa was put in prison.”
He weighed this in his mind. “That is true, but not my fault. Very well. I shall prove it to you. I shall find out a little nugget about this dead de Grecy of yours and tell you. Then you will have to believe me. I am a man of my word, after all.” He shuffled away.
Bronwyn shook her head and returned to the kitchens. At this point, hours of baking and pot scrubbing seemed like a welcome break.
At the midday meal, she ate quickly and slipped away to visit her father. He scratched at himself, likely from fleas, and his face was a bit drawn. He needed a shave and a bath, but he seemed happy to see her. “Bronwyn,” he said with affection. He reached through the rough and jagged bars to grasp her hand.
She fretted. “Your hand is cold.” She quickly looked at his stone cell. It was not a big space, but it had straw, a chamber pot, and an empty trencher on the floor. “You need a blanket.”
“I need more than that. The air down here is…”
She knew what he meant. The air was thick and dank. The jail smelled of mold, damp water leaking, and urine, but her nose always got used to it. She passed over two rolls she’d made earlier that day.
He took them and munched eagerly. “How goes the hunt for the killer?”
She tried to brighten but faltered. She couldn’t give him false hope. Not when he depended so much upon her. Walking home with Rupert and Alfred felt like she’d been wasting time, dallying with boys when she should have been investigating.
Bronwyn looked at him. “I’m investigating with Sir Nicholas and a new man is helping me, Brother Bartholomew.”
Her father looked at her with earnestness and saw her mouth twisted in a frown. “I know during our first meeting with him, he was suspicious, but he is not so bad as you think. He often comes down to lead us in prayer.”
“He said he would find some information for me.”
“Mayhap he will. But I’d be careful who you trust. You don’t want to get in trouble or give the queen any wrong information,” he warned. “How is your mama?”
“Well enough.” Her face darkened.
“What’s wrong?” her father asked.
“It’s about Alfred.”
“He’s a good lad.”
“He kissed me.” Bronwyn kicked at a loose rock, sending it flying down the corridor. It scared a rat that went scurrying away.
“Did he?” Her father’s face was serious. “What did your mother say?”
“She’s ready to start planning a wedding,” Bronwyn said sourly.
Her father nodded. “She does like a wedding.”
“I don’t love him. I’m not even sure I like him.”
He glanced at her. “In our world, dear poppet, that doesn’t matter. Girls younger than you have been married off for far less. Love doesn’t play into relationships, only commerce.”
“What do you mean? I always thought when a man and woman fell in love they married and… That’s it.”
He smiled. “A lot of times that is what happens. But if the families don’t approve, then there’s trouble. Seems like your mother already approves of young Alfred.”
Bronwyn leaned a hand against the rough bars of the cell, then jerked away, as the uneven edge caught at her sleeve. “ I don’t. He kissed me and didn’t ask first. He just grabbed my arm and did it.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “What did you do?”
“I stepped on his foot. Hard.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl. Good on you. If a man kisses you, you don’t have to take it.” His face fell. “If I weren’t in here, I’d have a word with him. I’m sorry, Bronwyn.”
“No, Papa, it’s not your fault. That’s on me.” Her spirits sank. She hadn’t solved the crime yet, and the days were passing. If she didn’t find the real culprit soon, her father would hang. She could practically hear the rope creak and swing in her mind. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”
They clasped hands again, and she left, more determined than ever. She worked hard in the kitchens, and that night slipped out early so as not to have any more run-ins with Rupert or Alfred. She stuck to the shadows. As she scurried down Steep Hill, she tried to make as little noise as possible.
The next day, she took a blanket to her father and paid the guards a coin to allow it. They didn’t much care, fortunately. Her father accepted it gratefully, along with a roll she’d snuck in her sleeve. His hands were still cold, and he shivered in the dampness of his cell. He looked dirty and unwashed, and her heart went out to him. She had to find out who de Grecy’s killer was—she had to. She just wanted her father to see sunlight again, and for him to feel the sun’s warm rays on his face, even if they were cold in January.
At this point, she was wary about accepting his aid, but she decided to accept all the help she could get and sought out Brother Bartholomew the following afternoon on her way back from the privy. He was chatting and laughing with some of the nobles, and she caught his eye from passing by in the corridor. In two minutes she hung by the circular stairwell and waited. A minute more and he stood at the top of the stairs. “Bronwyn,” he said.
She nodded in greeting. “Have you found anything?”
“I have indeed, baker’s daughter. Come with me.” He motioned her to follow downstairs and they walked one behind the other down the stone, circular staircase, their hands trailing against the hard, chilled walls.
In a small room that was empty but for a small fire in the hearth, he pulled her aside and said, “I’ve learnt something about that night de Grecy died.”
“Tell me,” she breathed.
“I was there at dinner the night he choked on the poisoned roll. He’d made a big fuss about them, how he’d paid so much money to procure these fine, sweet white rolls with honey. But with any dinner like this, you need to consider the players.”
This again. “Living at court isn’t a game, Brother Bartholomew. A man died.”
“Exactly,” he said. “We all assume the rolls were an attempt to poison the king and queen. Unless… It was an attempt to kill de Grecy? He was new to court, and in that short time, had proven himself proud and overbearing. He did not have any friends here.”
Her eyes widened. “You think the green-hooded man attempted to kill him, instead of the king and queen?”
“It is possible. And of course, he was unaware of a rather important detail.”
“What’s that?”
“I have just learnt that Their Graces did not trust mushrooms and would rarely eat them. One of their men told me. Had de Grecy bothered to learn their tastes and habits, he might not have placed them in such danger, or fallen prey to it himself.”
She breathed in. That just made it clearer that this had been no ordinary mistake of mistaking mushrooms. This had been a clear attack. The question was, upon whom?
Brother Bartholomew said, “Out of the group of knights and nobility present the night de Grecy died, there were just five you need to be aware of.”
“Why five? Why not any of the servants here?”
He shook his head. “A servant would not risk their place, or their head, by involving themselves in a plot. The king and queen traveled here with their company, but they did not send out the servants already working here out into the cold. Some servants are loyal to them, while others may only pretend to be. But in all honesty, I think most servants have their own work to do, and get to it. They are kept too busy to be partaking in little schemes, and life at the castle is fairly regimented. If any servant acted out of turn, the others would notice. It would cause comment. The knights however, do what they please.”
“What do you mean?”
“The men hold the money, and most women cannot read. Some can, as a better way to read their little prayer books, but it is a rare gift to know much beyond your own name.”
She disagreed with his assessment of the women but nodded, her face warming. I wish I could read , she thought.
“In any case, there are five men you should know about. They are Gilbert, Bors, Gabriel, Grossetete, and Clarke. You should also suspect Sir Nicholas.”
“Sir Nicholas? Why him?”
He shrugged. “All I know is he had a bone to pick with de Grecy and made no hide of his dislike of him. Didn’t trust him. He came here only lately, you know.”
“When?”
“A few weeks past.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Yes, Brother, tell us why. How do you know so much about de Grecy?” Sir Nicholas came from around the corner and stood behind Bronwyn.
She jumped.
Brother Bartholomew tensed. “Nothing, I know nothing. Excuse me, I’ve got somewhere else to be.” The monk hustled down the stairs.
“Mind telling me what you were doing talking to that self-righteous prick?” Sir Nicholas asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I was getting information. He’d found out something about the night of de Grecy’s death and was telling me when you interrupted.”
Sir Nicholas lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “That man does like the sound of his own voice. Don’t pay attention to anything he says.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked, frowning. Her eyebrows knit together in a little line. This man was not her father, so why did he get to tell her whom she should and shouldn’t speak with? “Or is it because he named you as a man who didn’t like de Grecy?”
He stared down at her, his piggish eyes turning hard. “Mind your tongue, girl. Don’t be talking to your betters like that unless you want a stripe on your hide.”
She glared at him. “Then tell me why you and de Grecy didn’t get on.”
His mouth broke into a smile. “You’re relentless. You’re just like my old charger, Fleur. Good beast, that.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. Just what she needed, to be compared to a horse. “So why didn’t you like him?”
He walked over to one of the windows, looking out through the thin-paned glass.
She followed him and stood at his side, waiting.
“You look out there, and you see the town, you see the houses and shops, you see the city, the people of Lincoln.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“I see roads that need better defenses. Gates that need more men. Places where archers are needed, and where we need more spikes, more blades, more soldiers. This war between Maud and Stephen, it is at our throats, and most of the people working below are too blind to see it. The war will be at our doorstep, and it is only a matter of time before Maud’s forces come here for a fight.”
“What will happen when they do?” She took a deep breath at the thought, and dark visions of burning fires, smoke, and chaos in the streets filled her mind.
“Then you will need to run, and God help you,” he said simply. “War’s no place for a girl. A battlefield has no room to spare for girls, or small children. De Grecy came to us a few weeks ago, begging to parley. I didn’t like him from the start, I make no bones about that. He came begging to be taken in, for sanctuary.”
She waited for him to continue. He was deep within the memory.
“That was the first time we’d laid eyes on each other, and right from the start, I could tell something wasn’t right. A man begging for sanctuary would be humble, honest. He’d come here with his cap in his hands, so to speak. But not de Grecy. He was too cocksure, too full of himself. Too proud.” He shook his head. “Here he was begging sanctuary, saying he’d fled from Maud’s camp and couldn’t bring himself to serve her anymore, but he had no good reason to say why. Just that he’d come to see the light and wanted to throw his lot in with King Stephen. I told him sanctuary could be claimed at church, not here, and he ignored me. Me, the right hand of the Crown.”
“That was rude of him.”
“To say the least,” Sir Nicholas said. “King Stephen took him in; we need all the blades we can get. But I did not trust him. A former sympathizer of the enemy, coming here? Too easy. I counseled Their Graces against it, but they didn’t listen.”
“So when he died?”
“It created confusion, but I thought it was justice. It would be God’s own work if he was poisoned by his own roll.”
“Do you think that’s what happened?” she asked.
“I think he deserved what he got,” he said. “But he wouldn’t have eaten rolls he knew were poison. No man is stupid enough to do that. Someone poisoned those rolls.”
“Perhaps they meant to kill de Grecy, rather than the king and queen. We’ve been so focused on the idea of the poison being intended for Their Graces, but what if it wasn’t?”
He pondered this, playing with his impressive mustache. “You may have a point. What we need to find out is who would have wanted to do it, and who had the means, and the opportunity.”
“You were present at the dinner, and you’re aware of the goings-on at court. Who do you think could have done it?” Bronwyn wondered.
“Anyone. But I can tell you that out of those names the good Brother gave you, I’m innocent.”
She smiled. “Why should I believe that?”
He straightened and squared his shoulders. “I’d never stoop so low as to poison a man. I’m a man of honor. If I’m going to kill a man, I’ll challenge him to a duel or run him through.”
“I believe you.”
“So that leaves just five men for you to investigate.”
“What about their ladies?”
He shrugged. “If Gilbert was seeing someone, he was keeping it quiet. Bors and Grossetete are confirmed bachelors, Clarke does nothing without his wife’s approval, and Gabriel… I’m not sure. He could have done it. I’ll ask around.”
“What happened at the dinner, exactly?” she asked.
“We were dining and drinking as usual, when de Grecy announced he had a little treat for us. He called for the rolls and there was some delay, then they were brought out. He announced they were for the king and queen and took one, passing the plate down. The queen took a plain one, but the king refrained, for he’s never cared much for mushrooms. De Grecy bit into his first and stuffed it all in his mouth, not realizing of course, he should have waited for Their Graces to eat first. The queen ate some of hers and all seemed well enough, but after a minute or so, de Grecy began to cough, then he turned red, then white, and he fell out of his chair. No one knew what to do, and he died.”
“No one did anything?”
He shook his head. “We are knights, not medical men. We lead armies, fight battles, walk and ride in formation. We do not care for the sick.”
“What happened then?”
“There was an uproar. The king demanded everyone put down their rolls and people threw them to the floor. Servants picked them up before the dogs could get them and tossed them into the fire. The king ordered that the head cook and the baker who baked the rolls be brought forward immediately, and you know the rest.”
Bronwyn nodded and turned to go, when he said, “Oh, and of course, there’s Sir Baldwin of Clare.”
“I know that name.”
“You should. It’s his squire you’ve been walking around with.”
“What? I haven’t been walking with anyone.”
He chuckled. “You expect me to believe that, when I see you two walking down Steep Hill every night?”
She paused. “You mean…”
“You know the lad. Rupert. He’s the squire to Sir Baldwin of Clare. A fine knight, to be sure, but… he seemed altogether too calm when de Grecy began to cough and die. I wonder if he suspected or knew what was to happen before anyone else did.”
“You think he could be behind this?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that. But when the man died, I got out of my seat and was ordering the guards to help, and Sir Baldwin sat there peacefully, almost like he was at church. He looked at his bread roll and tossed it to the floor like the others. I wonder about him. But he is a fine knight, and a good rider. Dependable in a fight.”
Or a killer , she thought. Was Rupert squire to a murderer?