Page 8 of Winter’s Poison (The Winter Murders #1)

B ronwyn spent the next day in the kitchen, rolling out dough, making sweet pastries and rolls for the lords and ladies, and gladly taking her turn at rotating the spit of a large haunch of beef slowly roasting over the fire all day. She liked it as the hot grease and fat dripped and spat from the fire, perfuming the air. It was hot, sweaty work, and the delicious smells made her mouth water. But best of all, it served as a distraction, and at that moment, was better than running around after possible murderers. She wanted the time to do a dull task that kept her busy and let her mind wander.

And then she saw him lounging by the kitchen entrance: a man wearing the exact same green cloak she’d seen the day de Grecy had been killed. Was it the murderer, come back for more? She dropped the bit of dough she was rolling with a pin. “Hey!”

Boys stopped and looked at her. She waved the rolling pin and ran toward the green-cloaked man. “Oi!”

The green-cloaked person stood leaning against a worktable, chatting with one of the boys when he saw her walk up. “What are you doing—hey!”

She took him by his cloak. “You messed with my rolls. You killed de Grecy!”

The man brushed her hands away, patting down his green cloak and pulling down the hood to reveal his face. He didn’t have black hair at all. He stood tall and thin, with a medium build and broad shoulders. In another setting, he might’ve been handsome, but his fair skin was pinched with anger and his blond hair had a rakish wave, his eyes narrowed with annoyance. “Who are you and why are you touching me with your dirty hands? Clear off, wench.”

“All right, what’s the problem here?” The baker Odo came up. “Who started it?”

“This was the cloak the poisoner wore in the kitchen the night de Grecy was killed,” Bronwyn said. “It was him. I’d recognize this cloak anywhere.”

The youth balked. “Are you joking? This is my cloak. What poison? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Odo, talk some sense into her.”

She glared at him, and realized, this wasn’t the same man who had pushed her, or had messed with the bread rolls that night. “I’m sorry. I… Where did you get that cloak? I thought you were the one who messed with my family’s bread rolls that night.”

The young man grimaced. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t kill anyone.” He backed away. “Odo, who is she?”

Odo frowned. “Haven’t seen you around much lately, Roger.”

Roger shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” He leaned in close. “I’ve been on a secret mission for the king.” To Odo, he asked, “What’s she wittering about?”

Odo scratched his double chin. “A man was killed a little over a week ago. De Grecy.”

“And what is that to me?” Roger asked.

“A man wearing a green cloak like yours was seen poisoning his bread rolls and killed him.”

Roger’s eyes widened. “You don’t think I did it?”

“The girl here and another cook saw a man wearing your green cloak do it. Whoever he was scared Mistress de la Haye half to death.”

Bronwyn met Roger’s eyes. “Well?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at here, but I didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t. And besides, my cloak was stolen. I’ve been wearing my old, grey one for days now.” He touched the green folds. “I just got back. I’ve been out riding for days. I just got back a few minutes ago and came here to find something to eat. When I got back from my errand I found the cloak stuffed in a corner in my room, all dirty. It stinks like horse and I had to wash it twice to get out the smell. Whoever stole it’s in trouble.” His voice carried.

“What was the errand?” Bronwyn asked.

“None of your business,” Roger said.

“Why should we believe you?”

He snorted. “Because I almost got a whipping for losing the blasted thing. My lord was in a foul mood that day. It’s cold and he thought I was careless to lose his gift. It’s not my fault it got stolen, but he thought I didn’t like it or wasn’t paying attention to my things. Anyway, I’ve been riding around the towns and villages for days looking to get more men to fight for King Stephen.”

Rupert said from one of the kitchen entrances, “It’s true. I saw Roger arrive at the stables half an hour ago.”

Roger glanced behind at him and said, “See? I had nothing to do with de Grecy’s death. I wasn’t even here when it happened. I was outside the city. You’re wasting your time. What’s a girl like you doing asking questions, anyway? You shouldn’t point fingers at your betters.”

Bronwyn raised her chin. “I’m on a mission for Queen Matilda.”

Roger burst out laughing. His laughter was loud, raucous, and made her cheeks turn red. “You? What’s the queen want with a kitchen maid? Is she really that desperate or are you telling lies?” He slapped his knee.

“It’s true.” She huffed.

He mimicked her and stood up straight. “What a joke. I’m hungry. Fetch me a roll.”

“Fetch it yourself.”

He peered into her face. “Fetch it for me now like a good maid, or I’ll show you what happens when others cross me.”

She glared up at him, her eyes burning into his. She breathed in his sour breath beneath his hot glare.

“Whoa there, Roger, you can’t get enough of the ladies, you have to chat up kitchen maids? Come on.” Rupert lightly cuffed Roger on the arm and got his attention. “There’re some pretty girls amongst the queen’s ladies now. Come see.”

Roger looked at him with interest, then back at Bronwyn, the spell broken. His thick eyebrows narrowed. “If I see your ugly face again asking stupid questions, I’ll make it the worse for you. You hear me?”

Bronwyn said nothing. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“I’m gonna tell Brother Bartholomew about this,” Roger said. “See if he doesn’t give you a hundred Hail Marys and Our Fathers for telling lies about me. You should go confess.”

She narrowed her eyes. Anything she did would simply provoke him further. She knew she’d lose a fight if one began. He looked about twice her size.

His mouth withered. Instead, he knocked her dough off the table along with a spare plate, sending it clattering to the floor. Roger smirked as the sudden noise made her tense. He pulled his green cloak closer around him and walked off.

Rupert shot Bronwyn a look and went after him.

She cleaned up the mess, getting rid of the now-filthy dough and washing the plate. As she worked, a boy said at her shoulder, “You should stay away from Roger.”

She looked at the youth, a potboy of around ten years old. Young enough to hear things, old enough to know when he shouldn’t. “What’d he do?”

He said, “My friend Henry tripped him by accident and he stole his clothes when he was washing and he had to go out naked to ask for some, right when the queen was walking by.”

For anyone that would’ve been humiliating, but for a young boy? Bronwyn could only imagine it would be worse. “So he torments people.”

The boy nodded.

“Do you know what happened the night de Grecy died? I don’t know if you were here in the kitchen, but…” He rubbed the side of his face, smearing a speck of dirt on his cheek. “Roger didn’t have the cloak then.”

“You stole it?” she asked.

“No, it weren’t me. I didn’t take it.” He looked around to see if others had heard. “He threw mud at us that day, so we were going to rub it in his fancy cloak, but when we went to his room, someone was there so we left. Then he came in saying someone had taken his cloak and blamed us, but we didn’t know where it was. Odo and Godfrey told him to leave unless he could prove it.” He smiled and walked away.

She worked the dough, making rolls and loaves for hours in frustration. All these questions and yet she was no closer to finding out who was behind de Grecy’s death. The next morning, she slipped away and visited her father in the dungeon. She gave him a bit of bread and asked how he was. He accepted it and ate it quickly, swallowing.

“Papa? Are you all right?”

He had a harried look in his eye. He leaned close and whispered, “There are knights in here.”

“Oh?” She glanced around at the other cells. There were men in there, dressed in tunics and dirty chainmail.

He said in a hushed tone, “They are Maud’s men.”

“Maud?” Bronwyn whispered back.

“Loyal to the empress.”

She nodded in understanding. Her father had never spoken openly of his feelings toward King Stephen or Empress Maud, but his shifting gaze told her he was uncomfortable in the presence of the knights. “How many?”

“When the king retook the castle, I heard his men captured seventeen knights and imprisoned them here. He gave them the chance to swear allegiance to him or stay in jail, and six accepted his offer.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Gilbert, Bors, Clarke, Gabriel, Grossetete, and Clare.”

Bronwyn tensed, her shoulders stiffening. Just the men Brother Bartholomew had warned her about. Were they all traitors to the Crown? And if de Grecy was one of their number, why would they dislike him so? Why would they single him out for such animosity?

He swallowed. “Their leader is here.”

“Who’s that?”

“William de Roumare, the Earl of Cambridge.” Her father glanced to his left. “He’s in one of the next two cells over. He’s the empress’s man.” He paused. “Bronwyn… There’s something you should know. There’s talk of a rebellion. Did you hear anything of that in your hunt?”

“No.”

“It might just be talk, but… one of the men said something about de Grecy working with a traitor in the castle. That means that whomever de Grecy was working with is still around. If he knows you’re looking for him, he might try to hurt you.” Her father’s face clouded. “I think… I think you should stop looking for this killer.” His eyes darted left and right. “Leave it be.”

“What are you talking about? I can’t do that.

“You must.” He said louder, “Leave off, girl. You’re chasing after something that doesn’t exist. Go back to the kitchens, where you belong.”

“But, Papa…” Bronwyn started.

“I mean it. Go on, before I smack your behind. Don’t think I won’t do it from behind these bars,” he said, his voice carrying.

Snickers and laughter could be heard from the neighboring cells.

She backed away. “Papa?”

“Go. Say a prayer for your soul.” He turned his back on her, shivering in the damp.

Bronwyn fled. She ran up the stone steps and up the curved staircase, bumping into a lady. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She curtsied, badly.

Bronwyn vaguely recognized the woman from Queen Matilda’s retinue. She wore a veil over her hair and her pale face was pinched with annoyance as she lifted her chain and gave an indignant sniff. The woman tutted, then looked her up and down and said with a French accent, “What are you doing in the jail?”

“Visiting my papa.”

She blinked. “What did he do?”

“He is being blamed for a poisoning attempt on the king and queen.” Bronwyn swallowed. The lady’s grey eyes pierced her like an arrow and she could not look away, nor allow a lie to cross her tongue.

“Then he is either dumb or a fool. Which are you, girl?”

Bronwyn held her tongue and stared at the stone steps.

The woman let out a small noise. “Move aside. You are in my way.”

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

“Countess. I am the Countess of Cambridge, Lady Hawise. My husband languishes in those dirty cells you come from.” She looked down her nose at Bronwyn.

The staircase was so narrow, Bronwyn couldn’t move past without the lady letting her by, so she shuffled down the steps and stepped aside to let her pass. Lady Hawise gave a little huff and held her head high as she swept past in a long, navy-blue woolen dress, closely followed by an armed guard.

Bronwyn watched as the guard kept by the countess, a sheathed sword at his waist as he marched loudly in heavy boots, chainmail, and a tunic that smelled as they passed by. They moved to one of the cells as she inclined her head. “My lord.”

“Wife.”

Bronwyn left them, feeling eyes on her. She passed the main dining room and saw Lady Alice laughing and talking with some of the other nobles. Bronwyn loitered in the entrance until she caught Lady’s Alice’s eye and the lady came over.

“Oh, good, you’re here. I’ll be wanting some sweet rolls, girl.” She spoke loudly then steered Bronwyn into the corridor, away from prying eyes. “Tell me what you know.”

“Is it true they’re planning a rebellion?” Bronwyn asked.

Lady Alice breathed in. “Yes. That is what I heard was going to happen.” She looked at Bronwyn shrewdly. “I was to meet de Grecy and make contact with him and his person here inside the court. But I was delayed and then found out he was dead.”

“So you haven’t been able to find out who he was meeting with,” Bronwyn said.

“No. But it’s no business of yours in any case.”

“It is. Someone killed de Grecy and I need to find out who, or else my papa will be killed for it.”

“Then help me, and I will help you,” Lady Alice said.

“How?”

“There is something I want. Help me and I’ll try to make it so that your father is released.”

“What is it? Name it,” Bronwyn said.

“There is a young man who is… attractive. Arrange an introduction.”

“Who is it?”

“If I knew that, would I be asking you for help? No,” Lady Alice said.

“What does he look like?”

“He is a young knight, I think. No more than twenty years of age, I would guess. Handsome, a pleasing face. Sharp eyes. I like it when he laughs. He has hair that touches his shoulders and looks like gold in the light, like a lion’s mane. You know him. He almost caught me in the woods that time we were speaking together.”

Bronwyn knew at once whom she meant. The boy who liked to tease her with a cheeky grin and who had saved her more than once. The young man whose hair shone in the sun and who unlike Alfred, hadn’t tried to kiss her. So why did her chest tighten at Alice’s request?

“Help me and I’ll help you, if I can,” Lady Alice said. “If you care about your father, that is.”

“Of course I do.”

They agreed and parted ways. That evening, as she finished in the kitchens and prepared to walk home, a familiar face greeted her at the entrance. “Hullo, mistress,” Rupert said with a teasing smile. “Ready for your escort home?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Bronwyn’s face. “Rupert, I wonder, have you met Lady Alice Duncombe?”