Once they had settled with ales in beakers in front of them, she began.
‘Much of what I told you was true. About me, that is. Reduced circumstances forced me to make some difficult decisions. A woman alone can only accomplish so much without becoming a whore. I chose to avoid that route.’
‘And yet, the men you have left behind you …’ He ticked his head at her.
She frowned. ‘You judge me? You, who have committed treason and then found your way through dubious occupations? Look in a glass, Crispin Guest. If I am a whore, then so are you.’
‘Careful, demoiselle. My honor may be tattered but it is still intact. My honor has never been compromised. I have never stolen to live.’
‘But you let that servant of yours do so. Oh, I know about you, Master Guest. I’ve asked. I’ve listened to the tales. People seem to love to talk about you and your exploits. Before you climb onto that high place, do not be so certain you can look down upon me.’
Perhaps she had a point. Jack had started out life as a cutpurse and thief. Crispin had often enough looked the other way when the larder was empty but Jack had produced his meals nonetheless. He folded his arms huffily over his chest and leaned back against the wall with a scowl. ‘So what now? If there is no niece, then who is it that had these affairs? You?’
She teased a circle with her finger on the rough table. ‘Naturally.’
‘And if you do not whore for a living – and that is debatable given the statements of various monks I have encountered – then what is it you do?’
‘I’m surprised you must ask. I’m a burglar.’
He eyed their surroundings once more to make certain no one could hear them. She didn’t seem as concerned.
‘You jest.’
‘I assure you, I do not. No one ever suspects a woman, especially a woman with breeding.’
‘You would have me believe that you break into houses and steal?’
‘Your own spies confirmed it. My “capering about on rooftops.”’
He studied her, poured more ale into her cup then poured more for himself. Yes, she was proud of this feat. Her smile told him so. But she was also an accomplished liar. Was this, too, a lie?
She sipped her ale. ‘But I am also invited into these houses. It’s how I met Simon Wynchecombe.’
‘Did you coerce him to kill for you?’
‘Don’t be absurd.’
‘Demoiselle, the entire circumstances are absurd. And two men are dead.’
‘Two?’
‘Yes. One you saw at my doorstep. A monk. The other back at Hailes Abbey also a monk.’
She drew back. This was clearly a surprise … or more of her theatrics. He couldn’t decide which. ‘A monk at Hailes, you say?’
‘Both monks of Hailes. I think you know Simon Wynchecombe was involved.’
She stood. ‘I may have said too much. Consider our agreement dissolved. There is no need to reimburse me for paying your debts. We are even.’
He grabbed her wrist and rasped, ‘Sit down.’
She pulled but his grip was tight, perhaps too tight. Her hand whitened. ‘Release me.’
‘No. Sit the hell down. I’m not done talking to you.’
Narrowing her eyes, she slowly sank to the bench beside him. Crispin unfurled his fingers and let her go. She rubbed her red wrist.
‘Now. You will tell me everything. Leave out any details and I begin slapping.’
The indignant expression was back. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
He was quick. She must have heard it before she reacted. Her hand went to her face in shock. Other patrons looked but no one seemed to interfere with a man disciplining his wife.
‘That’s a beginning salvo. Try me and there will be more.’
‘I do not like you, Crispin Guest, as much as I first thought.’
He smiled and leaned back, arms folded over his chest again. ‘Well?’
Still she said nothing. Her pout was most appealing. Instead of slapping her again, the thought occurred to him to lick that pout.
‘Let’s begin with why you hired me. You sought Simon Wynchecombe. Why?’
‘He had something I needed. Or I thought he had.’
‘You were his lover, not this fabled Sybil Whitechurch.’
‘As I said.’
‘Why the deception? Why not simply be who you are?’
‘That is somewhat complicated.’
‘I have the time.’
‘Perhaps I don’t.’
‘What did you think Wynchecombe possessed that you needed?’
She studied him and then leaned forward on the table. ‘It’s strange. If I had had the idea sooner, I should have become a Tracker, I think. Not that a man would have hired me. But a woman might … Hmm. That bears thinking about.’
‘And why do you think you can accomplish what I do?’
‘Because it takes cunning. And audacity. I have them both in abundance. And it would require far less “capering about on rooftops.”’
‘Well,’ he said, settling back and appraising her. Her lids had lowered to seductive creases. ‘I have my share of dangerous encounters. My dagger and my sword are not mere ornaments.’
‘But perhaps it is you who provokes violence. You slapped me in anger.’ She raised her face, perhaps to show him the red mark forming on her cheek. He suddenly felt chagrined at doing it. ‘As a woman, I do not provoke such violence. Men wish to succor me. Women wish to befriend me. It has always been so. I might prove even better at this tracking than you.’
He laughed.
‘There is an envious tinge to your laughter, Master Guest.’ She looked into her cup. ‘How did you surmise that there was no Sybil Whitechurch?’
‘The more I thought about the interchangeability of your appearances at the monastery, the more suspicious I became. And your servant had never heard of her.’
She jerked forward. ‘You went to the manor house?’ She stopped herself and sat back, feigning insouciance. ‘But of course you did.’
‘It was easier by the moment to put two and two together.’
‘And if you had been wrong?’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘Ah. Perhaps that is how you succeed where a woman would not. Your arrogance gets you farther than all my confidence.’
He frowned. ‘Answer the question.’
She sipped her ale. ‘Which question was that?’
He rested his hand on the table and curled it into a threatening fist. ‘What was it you thought Simon Wynchecombe possessed that you sought?’
Without the least bit of fear, she rested her chin on her hand. ‘Do you know what amuses me the most? Your confidence that I wouldn’t suss out that Eleanor was a man. Do you think women are so easily deceived? Oh, he is rather good at what he does. And one can only guess what exactly that is. Living in such close proximity, I could plainly tell. But I wasn’t worried for my virtue. I was not anyone he would desire.’
Crispin gritted his teeth for a moment before taking up the cup and drinking. ‘His name is John Rykener and he is a good and loyal friend to me.’
‘They are all loyal. I wonder why.’
‘Because I do not deceive.’
‘Oh, ho! Except when you want to spy on me.’
He could feel his anger rising. ‘I did it to protect you. That was before I suspected what I discovered to be true about you.’
‘And what precisely is that?’
‘That you are as good as a whore, demoiselle. Spreading your lies and your seductions within a monastery, of all places. Shame on you.’
She didn’t do it in fury, but as someone who must take care of business: she dashed her cup’s contents at his face. The ale hit him squarely and then cascaded down his cote-hardie. He didn’t care much about his face, but his cote-hardie was another matter.
She placed the cup back on the table and took up the jug, pouring more. ‘It isn’t nice or proper you calling me a whore,’ she said calmly. ‘I object most strenuously at the characterization.’
He did his best to mop his coat with his cloak. ‘Then what would you call it?’
‘Resourceful. I had a task to accomplish. And if seducing those poor, naive monks would let me arrive at that end, then it was the most expeditious path.’
‘You do have a cold heart.’
‘Not at all. Do you wring your hands over every man you stab? Or every woman you slap?’
‘Sometimes. If it warrants it.’
‘And so, too, do I. So far, it hasn’t warranted it.’
He stared down at the table. It troubled him that she might have a point.
‘Be that as it may, you still have not answered the question.’
‘And by this time, I would have thought that you had reckoned I wasn’t going to.’
He smiled. He couldn’t help it. ‘Yet I would still like to know.’
‘Of course you would. So may I go?’
‘I have no doubt there are men dead because of you. Did you kill them?’
‘Would you believe me if I told you I did not?’
His smile faded, for in truth, he couldn’t honestly say.
She nodded to his silence. ‘Then what is the point in my saying it?’
‘You’re a damnable woman, aren’t you?’
‘I’m the sort of woman that attracts you. Or so your John Rykener said.’
‘John talks too much.’
‘I daresay he does. It’s not his fault. Women talk to me. Even women who are men.’
He had to find solid ground again. He scrambled for it. ‘A burglar, then.’
She raised her cup halfway, paused, then brought it up, taking another sip. ‘I stay fed, and housed, and clothed. I steal from the wealthy. Like Robin Hood.’
‘And give to the poor?’
‘Yes. Myself.’
‘And what would your father say?’
She frowned. ‘Nothing, I expect. He’s dead, after all.’
He lowered his face, hiding it in his goblet. A woman alone. What were her options?
‘Demoiselle. I … concede to your circumstances. But I can’t allow it to continue.’
‘Oh? How do you propose to stop me?’
‘There are the sheriffs …’
She laughed. It was a sound full of merriment but underneath it was a hint of mockery. ‘I can handle them easily.’
He sighed. ‘Why did you want Simon Wynchecombe to steal the Hailes relic for you?’
She stilled. ‘If you knew,’ she said quietly, ‘why so insistent on asking me?’
‘I wanted to hear it from you. I wanted to understand why such a thing needed to be done. I wanted to understand why men had to die for it. Did Simon kill that monk or did you?’
‘I did nothing. If Simon did something bad, it was of his own devising, not mine.’
‘A clever way to divert the blame. I wonder if a priest could unwind that in the confessional.’
‘I have nothing to confess.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘But we aren’t talking about me.’
‘We are now. I think it an infinitely more intriguing subject.’ She used two hands to cradle her chin. And the smile was back, just curving her lips in a captivating bow. The sudden swelling of his groin surprised even him. He adjusted his braies under the table.
‘Demoiselle …’
She stood. He didn’t. It would take time for him to feel comfortable rising. ‘I have taken enough time.’
‘I have more questions.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘What of Brother Rodney Beaton of Westminster Abbey? What has he to do with you? Another pawn?’
She turned her head to the side and breathed deep. ‘Meet me back at the Unicorn in an hour’s time and find out.’
She swept away from the table. Crispin thought of following – his cloak could cover him, he decided. But the promised interview at the Unicorn – the private interview, he thought with another pulsing surge – seemed more advantageous. She was gone in any case by the time he had decided.
He drank the rest of the ale and trudged away from the alehouse, back toward London. He had to talk to Simon, whether he went to the Unicorn or not.
Who was he fooling? Of course he would go.
Down the winding streets, he came upon the Shambles, smelling it before he reached it. He spotted Lenny in the shadows, looking anxious to talk to him, though Crispin wasn’t as anxious for that meeting. He ignored him instead and arrived at the poulterer’s, stomping the mud from his boots on the granite stoop before entering. Jack Tucker and Simon Wynchecombe were facing off, glaring at each other from across the table. Jack rose as Crispin entered.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Crispin, moving toward the fire to warm himself. ‘Is all civil?’
‘Aye, master,’ grumbled Jack. He hurried to get the jug of wine in the larder but Crispin waved him off.
‘I just had an interesting conversation with Sybil Whitechurch,’ he said, his back to Wynchecombe. The former sheriff got to his feet. ‘Or should I say, Katherine Woodleigh.’
‘What?’ said Simon and Jack at the same time.
‘She is one and the same. There is no niece, Jack. She invented her to raise our sympathies and to encourage us on our course: that of finding Master Wynchecombe.’ He turned to face Simon. ‘You indicated that she requested you steal the relic for her. When she discovered it was taken she must have assumed you had done it. Once she saw you hadn’t she was no longer interested, for she knew that I had it. Did she ever tell you why she wanted it?’
Simon calmed himself, ran his hand over his beard and slowly sat again. ‘To sell, I presumed. To escape her poverty.’
‘Did she tell you who this buyer was?’
‘No. And I never asked.’
‘Then who is trying to kill you?’
‘If I knew that I wouldn’t be hiding out here, now, would I?’
‘Could it be her? Would she hire an assassin to dispatch you, now that you know her and her dealings?’
‘And now you will be a target since the same could be said of you.’
‘Hmm. Possibly. I’ll be meeting her again shortly to discuss it. Perhaps she will try to kill me then.’
‘Then don’t go, master!’
‘Don’t be absurd, Jack. Of course I will go.’ He turned back to Simon. ‘Can you tell me how many men have tried to attack you?’
‘One. But secretly. Along the road at night. Stealing into my room at the inn. I couldn’t seem to escape him. I didn’t wish to bring it to my door at home, endangering my wife. I tried to spy the rascal in the light of day but he never attacked then.’
‘Any clue at all? Anyone you could recognize?’
‘No. He wore a long gown. That is all I know. And he was strong. It was most definitely a man.’
‘And he did not speak?’
‘No. That was perhaps the most terrifying of all.’
Simon was a tall man, intimidating, and not afraid to use his fists. If he were frightened of this assassin …
‘How can you be sure you didn’t lead the man here?’ gasped Jack.
‘I can’t be. But I had to risk it.’
‘You had to risk it?’
‘Now, Jack,’ said Crispin, laying a placating hand on his apprentice. ‘Master Wynchecombe will duly compensate us for our trouble …’ He turned to him. ‘Won’t you?’
‘So you want a fee?’
‘I am offering a service at great personal risk. Of course I want a fee.’
Wynchecombe wrestled with the pouch at his belt and withdrew some coins. He threw them at the table. They scattered, some hitting the floor. ‘Here is your Devil’s payment then!’
‘I will do you the honor of not counting it.’ He signaled to Jack, who retrieved all the coins and dropped them into his pouch. ‘Now, I do not think it wise you stay here in the hall. Best get you up to Jack’s chamber. Since you are discommoding my servant, it seems only proper that you treat him with the respect he deserves.’
Jack scowled. Crispin well knew he wasn’t pleased about giving up his chamber for the likes of the former sheriff, but Crispin wasn’t about to give up his own bed. Still, Jack bore it well. He didn’t think the lad would take any of Simon’s abuse anymore.
‘I am leaving then. Jack, I’ll be at the Unicorn. If John Rykener or Nigellus Cobmartin return, make certain Master Wynchecombe is hidden first.’
‘Aye, master. God keep you, sir.’
‘And the both of you.’ He gave them a stern look. ‘Behave yourselves.’
Wynchecombe looked as if he wanted to say something when Crispin turned his back on him and left. It was very satisfying.
He made his way to the Unicorn with too much of a spring in his step. He could very well be walking into a trap. This assassin could be lying in wait for him. He kept his eyes peeled and his ears sharp.
He entered the inn, keeping a low profile when he spotted the innkeeper, and climbed the stairs. He wasn’t certain what room she’d be in. He took a chance and knocked on a door.
A male servant answered, and when Crispin asked about the auburn-haired lady, the servant immediately knew. ‘She’s just there, good master. Two doors down.’
‘You recall her.’
The young man smiled. ‘Indeed I do, sir.’
Crispin thanked him and turned to the proper door. When he knocked, he braced himself. Would it be the assassin who answered? Would anyone answer?
He didn’t wait long until she opened the door herself. She seemed somewhat surprised. ‘I half-expected that you would not come, expecting a trap.’
‘I still expect a trap.’
‘But you came nonetheless. Well, you must come in, then, for your curiosity needs satiating.’
He crossed the threshold and she bolted the door behind him. ‘Wine, Master Guest?’
‘No, thank you. I prefer a clear head.’
‘And one free from poison.’
‘Did you plan to poison me?’
‘No. Not yet, anyway.’ She smiled.
He strode to a chair and sat, leaning back in the seat.
‘Make yourself at home,’ she muttered, and took the chair opposite.
‘And so, demoiselle …’
‘Please. We are friends now, eh? You must call me Kat.’
‘If that is your name.’
‘I assure you it is. Now, let’s see. What is it you wish to ask me? I know. Did I try to kill Simon Wynchecombe? No, you already asked me that. I know! Why is it I wanted that most valuable and venerable relic from Hailes Abbey? And do I still want it? Well, the answer to that, my dear Crispin, is that there is a great deal of money at stake if I capture it.’
‘That I reasoned on my own. What I can’t quite reason is who is paying you?’
‘It’s all very surprising, truly.’
Her mild expression didn’t waver. She was clearly toying with him and would not say. He tried a different direction. ‘This person clearly wishes it for himself, for to display it means declaring what it is and where it is from. They must be of high rank.’
She merely smiled.
‘Never mind that for now. Simon Wynchecombe is more than concerned for his neck and the safety of his family. He does not wish to return home and endanger them. Is there any hope that you can give him that you know who might be out to kill him? Besides yourself, that is.’
‘Why should I be out to kill Simon? And just for the record, I don’t care a fig for his dear wife, for he seemed to care little enough for her while he dallied with me.’
He kept his expression neutral. ‘He is a witness to your attempted larceny.’
‘As I said, I do not fear the sheriffs and I can be out of London like the wind. I have done so before.’
‘Strange that I have never heard of your antics before this.’
‘Well, here is the truth of it, Crispin. I have dealt before in relics with men in high position and they are reluctant to turn me in for fear of implicating themselves. And so my work goes on without mention, without a whisper.’
‘Interesting. How long have you been at this … trade … Kat?’
‘Five years or so. Since I was eighteen.’
‘And who is Katherine Pyke?’
That brought her up short, wiping the smug smile from her face. He leaned forward. No ready answer this time.
She slowly sat back. ‘I have not heard that name before.’
‘Oh, come now, demoiselle. I find that hard to believe. I heard it from one of the monks at Westminster Abbey.’ A memory spiked. ‘And from your servant back in Hailes. The Pykes were servants there as well. Surely you must know them.’
She made an uncomfortable laugh. ‘The name came so out of the blue. I have not seen any of the Pykes in many a day.’
‘And yet the monk said you had a similar look to one Katherine Pyke. Woodleigh, Whitechurch, and now … Pyke? One has to wonder, demoiselle, if “Woodleigh” is yet another alias.’
She couldn’t seem to help the slow crawl of the smile forming on her face. ‘Crispin Guest. What a marvel you are. I think it’s witchcraft what you do.’ Her palace accent slipped. And at its edges were the traces of something coarser.
‘You are Katherine Pyke, then?’
She nodded, leaning the chair back so it balanced on its back legs. ‘The Woodleighs were a mess. The father died two years ago in shame, leaving Katherine a pauper. She didn’t know what to do or how to handle the estates. She relied on me to help her in everything, and so I advised her. The servants left, all but that mad old man. At my say so, she married herself off to the first man who offered, a fat miller in the nearby town. I could have gone with her. She begged me to but I saw a better way, and when the servants all left, I stayed. I had, erm, borrowed, some of her things – her clothes, even bits of jewelry I could stash away. It was easy enough to become her. They were all such fools. But of course, with no tenants and no means of support, I still had to earn a living. I managed to cajole Abbot Robert into dealing with me. I bought fleeces at a reduced rate, offering to pay him later. I resold them at a higher cost and paid him out of that. And so it went. Soon I had him convinced that I was a wealthy patroness, doling back to him what he paid to me. But I began to consider other more lucrative items to sell. I met a traveling merchant selling small relics. Oh, I knew they were fake. Bad ones. But I soon learned how to make my own – much more convincing. And with such a prestigious lady behind them, why, they must be genuine.’
Crispin sighed. ‘I think I’ll have that wine now.’
She rose and went to the sideboard. He noted a silver decanter and two silver goblets. Those were surely not there before when John was her attendant. Her skills at larceny were impressive.
She brought the goblet back to him. He looked it over and noted a shield of arms carved into it. Neither for Woodleigh, nor for Pyke, though it was unlikely that the latter would even have arms. Someone else’s entirely then.
He drank, watching her as she sipped and touched her lips to wipe the wine stain with her fingers.
‘You are proud of your accomplishments,’ he said.
‘And why not? It gives me a special joy to fool my betters, to force them into positions where they cannot do me harm. I’m sure you feel the same when you get the chance.’
‘I certainly don’t get the chance as often as you.’
‘Your honor prevents that, doesn’t it? Your honor. A man carries such a burden. A woman has honor, too, but too many men are willing to cast it aside without so much as a glance back. I wonder. Why is a man’s honor so much more important than that of a woman’s?’
‘Because men must rule. It is ordained by God.’
She glanced at him sidelong. ‘And how well men do it.’ He knew by her tone that she meant the opposite. He set his wine aside. It was good wine. Almost as good as any he’d had at court. How had she managed that?
‘Why are you telling me all this? You say you don’t fear the sheriffs but you have no cause not to fear me?’
‘Yet somehow I don’t fear you.’ She stood and walked around the table to stand over him. ‘You fascinate me.’ She leaned against the table, hips at a seductive angle. ‘I don’t trust you and you don’t trust me. It makes for the perfect partnership.’
‘Partnership? For what?’
‘Oh, come now.’ She smiled … and began to slowly unbutton her cote-hardie.
He got to his feet remarkably smoothly for all the rushing in his ears and the heat flashing in his body. He stood over her and watched the unbuttoning until the cloth fell open, revealing the white shift beneath. She toyed with the laces until she seemed certain his gaze was planted there, and pulled one until it released its knot. The linen fell open and loose.
He stepped forward. ‘Perhaps I should check under the bed for a hidden assassin. The door is bolted as well as the window. I am effectively trapped in here.’
‘Do check,’ she said breathily.
He bent and glanced quickly, seeing nothing there. He smiled when he faced her again. ‘Suppose I don’t find you appealing.’
She pulled the shift open wider. Plump breasts and enticing pink nipples greeted his sight. ‘You don’t?’ she whispered.
Don’t do it, Crispin, said a voice in his head remarkably like Jack Tucker’s.
He ignored it, grasped her by her shoulders and kissed her hard.