True Love (23 page)

“Improving,” Catherine said.

“Odd, isn't it? No one else got sick on that
fish.”

“Perhaps he mixed fish and wine and too much
custard injudiciously,” Catherine suggested. “You know he’s overly
fond of custard.”

“Perhaps.” Gwendolyn sounded doubtful.

Catherine could feel Gwendolyn's eyes on her
until she left the kitchen, and the maidservant's words echoed
after her all the way to the lord's chamber.

Was it possible that Braedon had poisoned her
father? Gwendolyn was right to say Catherine knew very little about
the man she loved. Royce had quarreled with Braedon and sworn to
kill him, and the next day Royce was deathly ill. But it was
Braedon who had supplied the antidote to the poison that could have
killed Royce. Was it all a clever ruse to regain Royce's confidence
in his fellow spy? Was Braedon really calculating enough to risk a
man's life in order to establish himself as a dependable
friend?

Catherine was forced to admit that she did
not know Braedon well enough to be certain one way or the other.
Her heart told her he was an honest man. But could she trust her
heart?

There was also the possibility that Robert
had been the person who left Braedon's room, that he had found a
way to administer the poison to Royce, thinking to advance
Braedon's prestige with Royce when Braedon cured him. Or had
someone else crept into Braedon's room and stolen the poison and
then used it on Royce? That was the course of events that Braedon
had suggested. Recalling the dismay on the faces of both Braedon
and Robert when they looked in the clothing basket, Catherine was
inclined to believe that was what had happened, .unless master and
squire had both been pretending.

By the time she reached the lord's chamber
Catherine did not know what to think.

Robert opened the door to her knock and
greeted her with an honest, open face. Braedon rose from the stool
beside Royce's bed and came to her with an encouraging smile.

“He is asleep,” Braedon reported. “I am
beginning to believe he will recover. Did you learn anything from
Gwendolyn?”

“No.” Catherine averted her eyes, pretending
to concentrate on setting the overfull pitcher down on the table
without spilling any water. “I heard a bit too much about Aldis'
pitcher-dropping. Gwendolyn does like to scold. But she apparently
knows nothing about how the poison was stolen from your basket.” If
it
was
stolen, she added to herself.

“Then we will have to look elsewhere for our
answers,” Braedon said. “Someone at Wortham is a poisoner, and I
intend to discover who it is.”

“Why don't you return to your room now?”
Catherine suggested. “I will stay with my father. If he needs
anything I'll send to you. I do think he will sleep more peacefully
with fewer people in the room.”

“Very well, if it’s what you want.”

Catherine could tell from Braedon's voice
that he was puzzled by her behavior. She couldn't meet his eyes,
for she feared he would detect the many doubts and questions
seething through her mind.

After Braedon, Robert, and her father's
squire were gone she waited just long enough for Braedon to reach
his room. Then she ran down to the great hall in search of
Cadwallon. He was playing at dice with two men-at-arms and he
looked rather bored.

“My father is sleeping,” she said to him. “I
have seen Sir Braedon and he is much improved. Would you like to
visit him? I am sure he would enjoy your company.”

“I would be delighted.” Cadwallon followed
her back up the steps, stopping at Braedon's room.

Catherine continued on to the lord's chamber,
relieved to know Cadwallon would keep Braedon occupied and out of
her father's room so he could do no more harm to Royce – if he had
done him any harm at all.

That was the most important question in
Catherine's mind, and one she was free to consider while Royce
slept. She knew the well-trained servants would have the evening
meal ready when the hunting party returned. The normal noises of
daily activities reached the lord's chamber only as distant murmurs
and so she took full advantage of the quiet to indulge in some
serious thinking.

By the time Aldis knocked on the door and
entered, Catherine had reached several conclusions, though she
still had many questions to which she was determined to have
answers.

“Will you join us in the great hall for
tonight's feast?” Aldis asked as soon as she was assured of Royce's
continuing recovery.

“I fear I must, or risk being charged with
neglect of the hospitality due to our guests,” Catherine said. “I
do want to wash and change my dress first.”

“No need to call a servant for that. I will
help you,” Aldis offered.

Ward appeared at the door, eager to resume
his vigil at his master's side. After giving him instructions to
call her if Royce seemed worse, or if he wakened, Catherine headed
for her own room.

“I have a message from Gwendolyn,” Aldis said
as soon as they were private. “It seems strange to me, but
Gwendolyn insisted you would understand the meaning.”

“Why didn't Gwendolyn come to me herself?”
Catherine asked.

“There was a crisis in the kitchen. Cook was
in a worse temper than usual, and then all the game birds we took
today were carried in and they needed to be plucked and gutted and
hung at once so they wouldn't spoil, and the added work created yet
another outburst. We really must do something about Cook. I do
believe the kitchen staff would function better if they weren't
constantly terrified.

“Anyway,” Aldis continued, “Gwendolyn claimed
she dared not leave the kitchen, and I could see she was right. But
she impressed upon me that you must receive her message as soon as
possible.”

“What was the message?” Catherine asked.

“I am to tell you that, while Gwendolyn still
swears on her life that she did not directly mention certain
objects to anyone, she did make a remark to Robert that could have
been overheard and she only recalled it after you left her earlier
today.”

“To Robert?” Catherine repeated.

“I hope he is not in trouble.” A worried
frown creased Aldis' brow.

“Does Gwendolyn have any idea who could have
heard her?”

“She said she was in Sir Braedon's room when
she spoke to Robert. The door was not completely closed. Gwendolyn
left immediately thereafter and she saw someone going down the
stairs ahead of her.”

“Who?” Catherine asked.

“Lord Achard. Catherine, does this strange
story mean anything to you? I can make little sense of it, though I
have repeated it to you just as Gwendolyn told it to me.”

“It means a great deal.” From Gwendolyn's
sharp-tongued and probably overloud comments about the poisons in
Braedon's possession, to Achard's ears as he passed by the door, to
the theft of a packet of hellebore, to poison in Royce's food or
drink, it was a trail easy enough to follow. After Achard's attempt
to ravish her and his brutal lack of concern for her on that
occasion, Catherine did not count murder beyond his ability. It
would be only one step further down the path to perdition.

However, there was a flaw in the assumption
that Achard had poisoned her father. He had never been alone with
Royce, nor had he been sitting near Royce during the previous
night's feast. But then, perhaps Achard had an accomplice among the
guests. It was a possibility worth considering.

“Catherine?” Aldis touched her arm. “You are
woolgathering. Please tell me there's no blame attached to Robert
through Gwendolyn's message.”

“No blame at all,” Catherine assured her.
“Robert was simply the person to whom Gwendolyn addressed her
ill-chosen remarks.”

“I am glad of that.” Aldis smiled. “May I
tell you a secret?”

“I would be happy indeed if someone in this
castle would deign to reveal a secret to me,” Catherine said.

“Robert wants to marry me, and I want it,
too.”

“Marry? You scarcely know him.”

“My heart knows him, through and through,”
Aldis said. “From the first time he spoke to me, I was certain we
were meant to be together.”

Aldis' words went straight to Catherine's own
heart, for her reaction upon meeting Braedon had been similar.
Still, Catherine felt obliged to point out the glaring problems
that were certain to keep the two apart.

“Aldis, your father left you no dowry. And
while I am sure my father will provide for you if you marry in a
way that pleases him, you cannot forget that Robert is only a
squire.”

“He is older than most squires because he
owns nothing except his clothing,” Aldis said. “Despite his gentle
birth, Robert cannot hope to be knighted until he finds a way to
acquire the armor and the warhorse and sword every knight must
have. He dreams of performing a valorous deed that will earn him
the equipment he needs. Until that day, we must wait to be
together, and pray all will come right for us.”

“Are you willing to wait?” Catherine asked.
“It could take years. Some squires never achieve knighthood.”

“I know.” Aldis' bright smile dimmed a little
and her eyes glistened with moisture. “But I will marry Robert, or
no one. And I must tell you, Catherine, that I cannot believe
either Robert or Sir Braedon would ever do anything the least bit
dishonorable.”

“There we are in total agreement,” Catherine
said, putting an arm around the girl. “I have many questions about
Braedon, yet my heart sees him for a true and honest man.

“Now my dear, we must go below and deal with
our guests. Please say nothing to Robert about Gwendolyn's message.
We don't want to upset him unnecessarily.”

While the guests feasted in the great hall
Braedon donned his monkish disguise again and returned to Royce's
bedchamber. At Royce's command Ward admitted him, then went to
stand guard outside the door.

“I am glad to see you looking so much
healthier,” Braedon said.

“Thanks to you.” Royce responded somewhat
grudgingly. “Though I would prefer not being indebted to you, I am
not so churlish that I cannot thank you for saving my life.”

“We have much to discuss.” Abandoning the
subject of Royce's animosity toward him, Braedon pulled a stool
closer to the bed and sat on it. “We must act quickly, before other
lives are endangered.”

“Agreed.” Royce studied the younger man's
face. “Have you a suggestion?”

“You won't like it,” Braedon said. He took a
deep breath and continued, “According to Robert, there is some
gossip about Catherine and me.”

“Damn you,” Royce whispered.

“Let us play upon that gossip. You and I have
been seen to be friendly; now let us be seen quarreling.” He went
on to explain what he proposed to do. “Thus, we may flush out the
villain,” he finished.

“Have you no concern for my daughter's
honor?” Royce demanded.

“Have you no concern for her life?” Braedon
countered. “You have invited dangerous guests into your home and
allowed Catherine to mingle with them with no advance warning to
her. You gave that cold-hearted man, Achard, permission to court
her and when he almost raped her, you did not call him to account
for his evil intentions.”

“How much more shall I call you to account
for what you have done to Catherine?” Royce asked in a fierce
whisper.

“My point,” Braedon said through gritted
teeth, “is that we must discover who are the disloyal nobles and
hand them over to King Henry's justice before something terrible
befalls Catherine.”

“More terrible than finding herself in your
bed?”

“Damn it, Royce, your daughter is your weak
point and well you know it! So does Achard; that's why I am certain
he is still determined to marry Catherine. You may do to me what
you want after this is finished. In the meantime, we have a duty to
the king, and I for one would like to see Catherine survive the
next few days. I will overlook your present inability to keep your
mind on our mission, given that you are still recovering from
poison.”

“You will overlook?” Royce's voice was
drenched in mockery. “That's mighty generous of you, considering
that you are under my command.”

“Do you agree to my suggestion?” Braedon
asked, trying to keep his anger under control.

“I expect to be well enough to get out of bed
by tomorrow,” Royce said. “Let us undertake this final plan then,
and bring it to fruition on Whitsunday, after the great feast to
celebrate the day.”

“A good deed for a holy day,” Braedon said.
“If all goes well, by sunset on Whitsunday we will have the
traitors in chains.”

“If all goes well,” Royce said, and a cold,
deadly smile curved his mouth when he glanced at Braedon.

On Saturday the guests divided themselves
into two groups, some planning to pursue hunting, that favorite
sport of nobles, while others, less addicted to vigorous
activities, decided to revisit the Wortham fair, which was in its
final days.

Royce descended to the great hall in time to
see the hunting party off.

“I would gladly stay behind to keep you
company, Royce,” said Lady Edith, “except I have promised Lord
Achard I will hunt with him today. You don't mind, do you? I didn't
know you would recover so quickly.” Her eyes were a clear, pale
blue, her lashes blonde like her hair, and she batted those lashes
most beguilingly at her host.

“Please go and enjoy yourself, my lady,”
Royce said, taking her hand. “I am not yet so hale that I will not
take to my bed to rest before the evening meal.”

“Then, surely, I ought to keep you company,”
the lady murmured with a smile meant only for him, “and provide
entertainment for you while you lie resting.”

“Give me a day or two more to fully recover
my strength.” Royce's eyes twinkled as he carried her hand to his
lips.