Os, Albric at his heels, leapt over the prone forms of Warin and St. Germaine. “Get up,” he said as he ran for the inn.
He tried the front door, but it was locked. Os refused to let a piece of wood stand between him and his wife—especially when she needed him. Shoulder down, he lunged into the door. One time, two times, at the third lunge, the center splintered, and Os barreled through.
Ela grasped the banister of the stairs, her uncovered hair a sea of braids. Her thick cotton nightshift shielded her from prying eyes, but he noticed that her feet were bare. Her green eyes were huge in her oddly pale face. “It’s Natalia—Lady Steffen. She’s dead, Osbert. Dead.”
Logic and calm descended over him, as he’d trained himself to act in a state of crisis. “Where is the body?”
“The body?” Ela’s chin jerked stubbornly. “Lady Steffen is … is … at the bottom of the servants’ stairs.”
“Show me.” Os held out his hand for Ela’s. He saw her tremble, and it took all of his willpower not to scoop her into his arms and tuck her away. She wiggled her toes, as if the stairs were cold. “Do you need a robe, my lady?”
“Nay.” She wrapped her arms around her middle instead of taking his hand. “I will show you …”
The innkeepers, as well as the other guests of the inn, were now gathered either in the hall where the upstairs bedrooms were or down around the front steps. They all wanted to know what was happening and talked over each other so that Ela couldn’t be heard.
Os whistled loudly, cutting through and demanding silence.
“This way,” Ela said, leading the group toward the back kitchen area. She pointed to the still form on the stone floor, keeping her gaze averted. The innkeeper’s wife took one look and screamed, then quickly crossed herself.
The kitchen maid, roused from her cot behind the pantry, came around the giant table, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She saw the crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs and immediately started walking in reverse. “What’s the matter with ‘er neck?” She brought her hands to her throat. “Why is everyone in me kitchen?” Her large bulk hit the chopping counter and she stopped, staring at the innkeeper. “Did ye see her head? ‘Tis on backward!” She broke into loud sobs.
It was just what was needed to get everyone into motion. The innkeeper’s wife consoled the crying maid, while Ela came forward and knelt beside the body. “There’s no pulse, and she’s not breathing.” She looked up at Osbert, her eyes deep and dark green. “She has no aura.”
Albric snorted. “Aura? What are you, some kind of witch that knows how to raise the dead? The woman broke her neck, ‘tis plain as that!”
“No, Sir Albric, I do not raise the dead. However, I do believe in respecting them—which you could learn to do.” Ela bristled with irritation.
Os kept his voice calm and even. “Enough. Albric, help me lay her out … carefully. Ela, do you know what happened?”
“There were no rooms left last night, so I offered to share mine with Lady Steffen.” She glared at him, that stubborn chin trembling.
He kept his expression passive, though on the inside he was punching Albric to the ground for being so insensitive. “When the men told me of Lady Steffen’s affairs, I assumed you would do as much,” he said.
“I woke earlier in the night, to the sounds of her crying. I thought it would be kinder to let her shed her tears in peace. Perhaps I was wrong. Do you think she threw herself down the stairs? She was desolate, Os, just at her wit’s end.”
“Sounds like it was an accident,” Albric said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Os also knelt down, leaning over the body of Natalia, Lady Steffen, to straighten her cloak. Cloak? “Why is she dressed for outdoors? I thought you said she was sleeping.” He patted down her pockets and pulled at the strap beneath her body. He tugged at it until it pulled free.
“When she wasn’t crying, she was snoring. I was sleeping.”
Ignoring Ela’s defiant attitude, he raised the bag and showed it around. “You will all bear witness to what I find inside.” Os unclasped the fabric bag and frowned. Lifting a long strand of pearls, he showed them to Ela.
She gasped. “Those are mine.”
Os exhaled, pulling out a few small rings that he’d also just bought for his new bride. Along with her coin purse. “You were robbed.”
Ela defiance deflated. “I would have given her coin—I was going to ask her to stay with us until she found a home. I—”
Simmering with anger, Os held up his hand and pulled out a vial of wolfsbane. “And in return for your kindness, she was going to kill you.”
Ela sank to the floor, eyeing Lady Steffen’s corpse with new horror. “She brought me water. I didn’t drink it, because otherwise I have to”—she blushed—”you know. Oh! Henry!”
He made the mistake of blinking, and Ela was gone. She raced up the thin set of servants’ stairs, exploding into the hall on the third floor. It took Os a second to follow. She headed for her room—her door was wide open. Os warned her to slow down. He felt a tingling on the back of his neck—something was wrong.
She was already across the threshold when she called his name, then there was a loud crash. He couldn’t run fast enough. Sliding into her room, he saw her struggling with the window sash. “What happened? What are you doing?”
Her hair fell over her shoulders in thick ruby ropes. “Somebody was in my room—and they jumped out the window before I could hit them with the candlestick!”
“Let me see.” Os pulled her away and lifted the jammed sash with a tug and hard tap to the frame. It went up, and she was halfway out before he thought to pull her back inside.
“Let me go!”
“The person in your room is gone—tell me what you saw. Where were they? What could they be looking for?” Her body trembled—with anger, he knew now. Not fear. He rubbed her back just the same.
They both looked at the few bags Ela had packed. They’d obviously been ransacked—but by whom? Lady Steffen, or the man who just jumped to his freedom?
Ela marched over to the water glass and tossed the contents, glass and all, out the open window. “Take that!” She brushed her hands together, then took Os by the arm. “I have much to tell you. We are up to our ears in intrigue. You wanted no secrets between us.”
A ding of guilt pelted his pride. Before he could tell her to not speak of such things in an open space, Warin and Albric were at the door.
“Intrigue?” Warin nodded, his eyes speculative. “The Lady Steffen was murdered.”
“How do you know?” Ela stepped forward.
Albric pointed at her. “Why don’t you tell us? It is your eating dagger that is in her back.”
Os turned around slowly and stared at Ela with mounting fear. For her. For them. “Did you murder Lady Steffen?”
“Oh aye,” Ela said with a smirk. “And the Pope too.”
Everything Os knew to be true in the world came crashing down to his feet with the speed of an oncoming ocean wave, and his life was swept to sea.
“I’ll need to search your things, my lady.” He knew Ela jested when she was feeling vulnerable. But why else would she feel vulnerable unless she was guilty? Had she caught the countess stealing her things? It didn’t feel right.
“There was a man in my room. Mayhap he is the one who put my dagger in her back.” She looked at him as if he were an idiot.
“When was the last time you had the knife?”
“This evening, Os.” Her brow scrunched together. “I don’t remember bringing it upstairs when Natalia and I went to bed.”
“Convenient,” Warin said coldly.
Os growled a warning. Warin took a step back.
Ela tapped her foot. “You look at me when you should be outside checking for footprints or something. I was the one being poisoned, remember?”
“You threw the evidence out the window.” Os fought for logic but felt like he was going to puke.
“So Henry wouldn’t drink the poisoned water.” Ela stopped tapping her foot and peered closely at him. “You are going to treat me like a criminal?”
“I am my liege’s man of business, and it is up to me to ask these questions.” Even-toned voice, even breaths. The betrayal on her face twisted his gut.
“Tell me why I would kill Lady Steffen with my own dagger? It is new, and you had my initials engraved on it. Do I look stupid to you?” Fury crackled around her as she pointed at Os for emphasis.
Albric stepped back next to Warin, stumbling in his haste. “What are ye doin’, wench? Don’t point at me—”
“Albric.” Os used his quietest, most dangerous tone. “Do not speak to my wife that way, or I will kill you.”
Albric gaped.
Warin took Albric by the arm. “We’ll wait in the kitchen with St. Germaine.”
“Who found the knife?” Os kept cool though his temper was boiling.
“I did, Os.” Warin clapped his hand on Os’s shoulder. They left, and Ela stepped after them. He held up a halting hand.
“Fine. Just tell them not to move her body. I would see where this dagger is. Why wasn’t there blood, Osbert Edyvean? A stab should have left plenty of blood, especially if it killed her.”
“How do you know that?”
“I am a healer—do you think I don’t understand a little about dying too?”
She looked disgusted by him, and he allowed his temper to spill over the edge. “That’s right—you are a healer. A miracle worker, if I believe the monk at Sir Percy’s tombstone. You would know just where to stab someone to ensure they were dead.”
She strode past him, elbowing him aside. He was reminded that she was no small and delicate female to be coddled. He followed her down the stairs. The braids of her hair slapped against her back, and her bare feet glowed white.
He knew in his gut that she was innocent, but he couldn’t be impartial when it came to an accusation of murder—the murder of her enemy’s mother, who had also been mistress to the earl, his liege.
Ela stomped down the stairs, biting the inside of her cheek so that she wouldn’t cry silly tears. So Osbert really felt that she was capable of murder?
She healed people. Her hands and heart and the magical gift within her spirit would never allow her to take a human life unless it was self-defense. Or war.
I didn’t know that I was going to be poisoned.
Even then, Ela knew she would never have resorted to a brutal killing. She supposed that she could understand Osbert needing to question her. But she couldn’t ever forgive his cold handling of the situation. She was not a situation, she was his wife.
What had he meant by being a man of business for the earl? Wasn’t he his own man now?
Ela stopped, surveying the scene in the kitchen from the third servants’ step. She ignored the stares she felt—it would do her no good to fall apart. Lifting her chin, she noted the angle at which Natalia lay and the clothes she wore, which included Ela’s new stockings.
Biting into her lower lip kept her from sobbing in pity for a woman who’d never known true happiness.
St. Germaine eyed her, no judgment in his gaze. Albric and Warin were both unwilling to look at her directly, as if she’d sprouted snakes from her head and could turn them to stone. The plump kitchen maid had water boiling for some sort of calming infusion of chamomile and—Ela sniffed the air—lavender.
The innkeeper and his wife huddled close together, wondering no doubt what this would do for their business. Customers didn’t usually take to dead bodies in the kitchen. She felt Os breathing behind her, but he didn’t rush her through her observations.
“Where are the guests?” Ela asked the innkeeper.
“We brought them sweet rolls in the dining area so that they would be out of the way.”
“Good. Can we question them to find out if they heard anything?”
St. Germaine answered with a curt nod. “I asked. They heard your scream. A thump, one of them said. Nothing they could identify.”
Ela took a deep breath and locked eyes with St. Germaine. “I am ready to see the … the body.” The woman who might have been my mother-in-law if I’d gotten my way. She shivered, then knelt down.
Someone had moved the body so that it was on its side. Ela saw her eating dagger sticking out of Natalia’s back. “Only in a half an inch, maybe one. Did it even pierce the flesh through the clothes?”
Albric and Warin scooted closer. “Are you supposed to be touching that?” Albric gestured toward the knife.
Warin shook his head. “I don’t think you are. We should wait for the sheriff to get here.”
“Why didn’t you think to call for the sheriff, eh?” Albric’s distrust was causing his aura to spike with black. Fear. He and Warin both seemed afraid of her.
She felt Os’s calming hand on her shoulder. “Because at Montehue Manor, we don’t have one. My father is the lord of the manor, and his rule is law.” Ela fumbled with the laces on Lady Steffen’s costly dress. “St. Germaine, will you cut those?”
With a grunt of approval, he slid his dagger through the stubborn knots. She pulled the fabric apart, carefully avoiding the area where her eating knife was stuck in the body. “Just a drop of blood at the entry. For certes, this is nothing that would cause death. In fact, I think she was already dead when someone stabbed her.”
She sat back on her heels as she heard Os say, “Ah. Exactly.” Then he came down the steps and into the kitchen.
“Albric. Warin. A word outside.”
Ela stared at the trio as they left her alone in the kitchen with St. Germaine. “I suppose we will finish the examination ourselves.”
He smiled in agreement. “You are doing as fine a job as any physician.”
“Thank you. I do hope you are going to be one of the men the earl asked to stay with us.”
“The earl didn’t ask me, but I would follow Osbert to hell, if necessary. There are few men who are as honorable as he.”
Ela quirked a brow. “Hell. Hopefully our new home won’t be as bad as all that. I’ve never been there, so I can’t make any promises.”
“You will be a good wife for him. I’m pleased.” With that, he got up and went outside after the other men.
“Well,” Ela said as she watched him go. “That is nice.”
She assumed that the sheriff would want to see the body and the evidence for himself. “Did you really fall, Natalia? Were you running, or afraid?” She searched but didn’t find any other clue to Lady Steffen’s demise.
By the time the sheriff came, disgruntled at being dragged from his home just as dawn was rising, Ela had changed into a proper gown and managed to tuck her hair beneath a veil and short wimple. To the outward eye, she looked like a lady.
Inside, she was shaking like she had Old Palson’s tremors. There was no cure for the old man, but when they got too bad, Ela could calm them enough so he could eat without spilling.
The four men still hadn’t returned, so Ela asked the innkeeper to send a boy to find them.
As they waited, Ela acted as hostess, offering the sheriff a hot drink and some oats with honey. She answered his questions honestly, but he had no reason to suspect anything more than a fall down the stairs. He hadn’t bothered to do more than glance at the body, which Ela had rolled to its back.
“Looks like her neck broke,” he said, spooning porridge into his mouth.
“Aye.” Ela smiled and sipped spiced wine to calm her belly.
“Are you kin?”
“She had no family that would claim her. I was …” a friend. “I will pay for the burial so that your village doesn’t have to absorb the cost.”
“Too kind, my lady, too kind. We’ve a nice churchyard, where the poor woman can rest in peace.” He donned his hat and left through the front door just as the knights tumbled in through the back.
Ela rushed to the kitchens, alarmed at the amount of noise they were making. Her mouth dropped open.
“Did we miss the sheriff?” Warin asked, holding his wadded-up tunic to his bleeding lip.
“Oh, my—yea. What happened?” Ela held out her hand, prepared to heal as best she could without making them more suspicious of her. “Should we call him back? Were you set upon?”
Her heart thudded as Warin shook his head. “Nay.”
Albric, his hand to his nose, blood splattering between his fingers, stayed mute. St. Germaine towered over them, no scrapes or cuts. “Did you do this?” Ela was too stunned to think of what to say. She’d never had someone fight for her honor before.
It was a warm feeling to be appreciated … and since nothing was broken that she couldn’t fix, she smiled her thanks.
“Not I.” St. Germaine crossed his giant arms over his chest.
When Osbert entered the kitchens, Ela found she couldn’t breathe. He had a gash over his eye and a dark bruise on his cheekbone. His knuckles were swollen and bloody, and he was grinning like a fool.
“My hero?” Ela put her hand to her chest. “The calm and honorable Osbert Edyvean?” She couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was there before her. He’d fought for her honor. She eyed the men he’d beaten. And won. “Oh, Osbert.”
She held out her hand, forgiving him for being so Osbert the instant their fingers linked. Placing a kiss on each swollen knuckle, she then brought the injured digits to rest against her cheek. “I can heal these wounds, my lord, as a good wife should.”
“You are the best of wives. I am sorry, Ela, to have questioned you.”
“I understand that you are acting on behalf of the Earl of Norfolk. I forget that you have more than one duty.”
“Nay,” Osbert said, crushing her to him. “You are no duty. If you would like to rest, then we will see to Lady Steffen.”
“Are you sure? I will gladly see to everyone’s wounds.”
He scooted her to the side, out of hearing of the others. “I can wait until this chore is done. Albric and Warin can let the innkeeper’s wife tend to their needs.”
“I didn’t realize that you had a vengeful side. I like it. Let me take Natalia’s bag with me. Mayhap the Countess Isabelle, Ida, will want it. They were friends, and I’m sure she will want to know what happened.”
“You’ll leave out the part about how she tried to poison you?” Osbert searched her face, for what, she didn’t know.
“Of course! What good would that do? The misguided woman is dead.”
“She tried to kill you. Her son has tried to kidnap you for a forced marriage.”
“Os, you needn’t worry now—everything is over.” She reached up and rubbed the deep furrow between his brows until he sighed and his shoulders eased. “Not everybody is an enemy.”
“And you are too trusting.”
Ela sighed. “Is this why we never lasted for eternal love? I will compromise if you will. You can protect me if I can be myself.”
His smile, swollen lip and all, made her knees go weak. “All right.” He took her hand and kissed the palm, sending a hot flick of his tongue over her wrist.
Blushing, she shook her finger at him. “Behave.”
Body humming, she took the bag and went up to her room, careful to look inside to make sure it was still empty before going in. She closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of her bed. She missed her sisters. Her mother. Her Gram. And Meg. She sniffed and took unsteady breaths.
‘Tia would have charmed Osbert’s knights with her delicate form and blond tresses. They wouldn’t have tried to set her up for murdering a woman. And Galiana would have stilled their tongues with her beauty and grace, and they would be like loyal pups romping at her ladylike feet.
Me they want to crucify as a witch. Where did I go wrong?
The unsteady breaths turned into hiccups, which turned into tears. She fell back on the bed and cried herself to sleep.
Take the spear. Take the spear, Ana, and make sure it is safe. Boadicea’s words rang through her head as she roused from a place of deep grief.
Left behind for dead, the sounds of the Romans slaughtering the undisciplined Britons reached her just before the scent of blood made her gag. Turning—goddess’s teeth, it hurt, turning to her side—she somehow found the inner strength to get to her knees.
She crawled across dead friends and dead enemies, thinking only of Antonias and Andraste’s spear. The spear had fallen.
The war was over, and the Romans had won.
Ana realized that there would be no more battles against Rome after this—the mighty legions would squash any resistance, and the survivors of this battle would pay dearly for Rome’s pride.
She crawled, careful not to rest on her belly. She used her elbow for leverage because her wrist was broken on one side, and she was missing fingers on the left. Laughing and crying, she thought of Diyani and her warrior rings.
Please Goddess, let my sister wear the torc and be safe.
It was a blessing that she ever found her lover in the midst of the dying and dead.
His face was bloodless.
She placed a kiss on his white lips and almost died when he opened his eyes.
“Antonias,” she whispered, crying that they’d never have the future they’d promised one another.
“Ana. Forgive me.”
She cried harder, so hard the babe in her belly kicked. “I cannot. You chose Rome over Britain.” She kissed his lips again. “Over me.”
“I did not choose Rome—or Britain. I chose you … You fell, Ana.”
“You needed to believe, Antonias—to have faith in me, in Andraste.”
“I love you. We swore, for forever.” The light in his eyes was dimming, and Ana knew his soul was leaving his body until it was time for it to be born again.
“I love you.” Ana dropped quicksilver kisses over his face and mouth.
“Then forgive me,” he pleaded.
“I can’t.”
He died, and Ana wiped the tears from her eyes so that she could see. The spear was calling to her, and she had to bring it home. There was no home.
She was alone. If she just rested for a moment, just closed her eyes …
Telling her that she wasn’t alone? She had responsibilities. Duties.
Traditions to hand down. “I hear you. I’m coming.”
The spear glowed in the mass of men, bronze and gold and silver. How did they not see it? See its worth?
It must be spellbound, and only a true Briton can see the shine. Just as only a true Briton can hold the spear and lead it to victory.
Find the spear. Find the spear.
Ana heard her mother’s voice echo in her head.
Ela sat up, her room dark. “I will find the spear.”