Chapter Twenty-one

Cait had been annoyed when she’d woken to find Conall gone—and to learn from his steward the reason he’d left—but she hadn’t set off after him. Though she’d often chafed at the restrictions placed upon her as the king’s niece and had been jealous of Conall’s freedom, she did believe that she had gifts. A woman didn’t have to behave the same as a man. She didn’t have to examine pig-eaten bodies to contribute.

And as it turned out, she had just sat down to breakfast when both men returned, in good humor and their eyes alight in a way she’d come to recognize as resulting from a session of public, over-the-top bickering. In fact, she wasn’t sure she had ever seen such an excited look on Conall’s face before.

“We found this hidden among the garments of one of the dead men.” Before she could ask how he was doing, Godfrid spread a document in front of her.

At first, her heart warmed to think that he had come to the house specifically to include her, and then the blood started pumping a little faster when she realized what she had in front of her. Unlike Brodar’s death warrant, which had been written on paper, this was parchment, implying that it was official, since only the most important documents were given such permanency.

Sed est contra usus pactum aeternum hoc sanctae foedus inter Otharus quidam, Ebbonis rex Dublin, et Donnell Mortem Festinamus Mideach Ua Conchobair, princeps est ad herede regni Hiberniae ... This treaty represents an agreement between Ottar, King of Dublin, and Donnell O’Connor, heir to the high kingship of Ireland ...

Godfrid let him get that far before he cut him off, impatient with the Latin. “It’s an agreement between Donnell O’Connor and Ottar in which Donnell agrees to kill my brother Brodar in exchange for Ottar arranging for the death of Donnell’s brother, Rory.” He explained also about the finding of the rope and the signet ring. “This document has to be associated with the contract we found for Brodar’s death.”

Cait wasn’t one to dramatize, but her hand had gone to her mouth in her shock and surprise. “So these men were at the warehouse with Rikard? They killed him and Deirdre?”

“That is what we are thinking.” Conall then looked at Godfrid. “What would be the response of the leading men of Dublin if we told them of this treaty Ottar has made with Donnell?”

“I’m more interested in what King Diarmait might think. Or better yet, the high king himself.” Godfrid met his friend’s gaze. “That said, for the men of Dublin to learn that Ottar was plotting against one of their own—a man who to all appearances has been loyal these five years—and not only plotting against him but with the Irish? It would not sit well.”

“I am interested to see how Ottar is taking the news of these men’s deaths,” Cait said. “We know now that he is involved. They were at Rikard’s warehouse to acquire this treaty, and he has to know that they had the treaty on them when they died. And yet, all Holm has with him is the bloody rope and the ring indicating they were from Brega.”

“He is going to be wondering if Holm has both this treaty and the death warrant for Brodar and isn’t saying, or if we have it.” Conall put his hands together. “Perhaps he already knew that these men never made it out of Dublin and sent that man to search your house, Godfrid! He will be in real fear of discovery now.”

Cait looked down at the parchment. “So ... who killed these two? And why leave the treaty behind?”

“It was well hidden,” Conall said, “and we don’t know the circumstances of their deaths.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Last night, we talked about looking closer at Ottar, Thorfin, and Sanne for Deirdre’s murderer, but I find the idea laughable that Sanne could have killed these two men, or that any one of them murdered four people on the same night.”

“We have no evidence that places him at that warehouse, and he, of all people, would have no reason to murder the two Bregans,” Conall said. “Nor, quite frankly, would Thorfin or Sanne.”

Cait bit her lip. “Brodar may have an ally we don’t know about. We could be looking at two villains, as Conall suggested in the warehouse.”

“Holm was appalled at the thought, but according to Gareth and Gwen, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Conall said.

Godfrid grimaced. “I admit that the risk to Ottar if he was seen wandering the streets in the middle of the night would be very great. More likely, if he is behind their deaths—all these deaths—he sent someone else to do his dirty work.”

“How might we find out?” Cait said. “It isn’t as if one of us can walk up to him and ask him.”

Both Conall and Godfrid looked at her, and suddenly she felt very wary. “You want me to ask him?”

Cait relaxed slightly. Helga had glared at her last night, but Cait was no threat to her or her marriage. She didn’t think it would be too hard to convince the queen of that fact. “You want me to go to Helga and get her to admit ... what? That Ottar was not in bed beside her two nights ago?”

Cait snorted. “You make it sound so easy.” But even as she spoke, her mind began working over the problem.

“Oh, don’t even start. Of course I can do it,” Cait said, which was how, an hour later, she found herself being admitted to Helga’s private chambers in the palace. While the main hall was the province of her husband, just like Sanne in her house or Arno’s wife, Ragnhild, in hers, Helga ruled supreme in the back, in this case, in her own small hall connected to the main building by a covered, stone pathway.

The queen was in her middle forties, with blonde hair going gray and the thick waist of a woman who’d borne her husband many children. While she was well-groomed overall, she defied convention by wearing no rings or other jewelry, and her dress wasn’t adorned with elaborate embroidery. She had a contentment about her that implied she had nothing to prove to anyone anymore.

At the sight of Cait in the doorway, Helga’s eyes initially narrowed, but then she gestured Cait into the room and said in her near baritone, “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” Though it was a warm day, and Cait wasn’t cold, she took the seat next to the fire that Helga offered. Cait’s plan was going to succeed only if she could convince Helga that she was friendly and sincere. She was glad that she’d again put on the dress Ragnhild had given her. Her brother’s cook had conjured a different dress for her to wear yesterday, but it had been ill-fitting and less pretty. “I apologize for not coming to see you sooner, but my brother has been so busy ...”

Helga put on her regal face. “My dear. I was sorry to speak to you only in passing yesterday at Rikard’s funeral feast. How terrible for you that you arrived in Dublin for the first time under such difficult circumstances.”

Cait found herself admiring the woman. Anyone who could remain married to Ottar all this time deserved the benefit of the doubt. Cait had assumed she would dislike her, and in the process of planning her approach to the queen had considered and rejected a half-dozen openings. Now, since Helga had begun the conversation with a reference, however oblique, to the murders, she decided to throw out all of her previous ideas, take the topic, and run with it.

“Isn’t it awful! My brother was showing me the town when we heard that Rikard was missing. One thing led to another, and I found myself standing over the body of not only one of your citizens, but two!”

Helga’s eyes widened. “You were there when they found Rikard and the slave?”

“I was.” Cait pretended to hesitate. “Did the king not speak of the details to you?”

Cait smiled in what she hoped was both a sympathetic and conspiratorial way. “Men like to protect us from trouble, don’t they? But that’s how false rumors get started. Just this morning, I heard someone say that King Ottar himself was out and about in the wee hours of the morning Rikard died.”

“How absurd! He was in bed beside me the entire night.” Then she frowned. “To speak frankly, his attention surprised me, since it’s unusual these days. There’s always a young thing floating about the palace.” She paused and the look she directed at Cait was akin to the spear she’d thrown at her the previous day.

It wasn’t a topic Cait would ever have thought Helga would address directly, but since she had, Cait felt an obligation to do the same. “I would never ever—”

Helga put up a hand. “No need to say more. I realize that now. You have your eye on our Prince Godfrid ... and he on you.”

Helga wagged her finger at her. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I can see it. I don’t care when you met.”

Cait pressed her lips together, endeavoring not to smile. “I don’t think I should say anything more about it.”

“Of course not.” Helga reached out and patted her hand. “Forget I said anything. I was speaking of my husband.” She paused. “Come to think on it, the night was unusual for more than one reason. Sturla knocked on the door to wake us not long after dawn. If anyone was about in the night, it was he.”

Reaching this point had been almost too easy, and Cait wanted to make sure she didn’t give away her pleasure, since Helga, a longtime veteran of a royal court, would recognize triumph when she saw it. Still, as Cait made her eyes go wide and innocent, she wondered if Helga had guessed the reason for Cait’s appearance today and, for whatever reason, decided to hang Sturla out on the line to dry.

Helga turned up her nose—not at Cait so much as at the event. “This business with Rikard, of course. They whispered to each other in the corridor for a good quarter of an hour before Ottar returned to bed. Of course I asked him what it was about. He told me that Rikard the Merchant was missing, but not to trouble myself over it. It was ridiculous, of course, for him to think that I could sleep after that, but it is always better to know than to not know.”

Cait couldn’t agree more, and they were getting along so well, she decided to take one more chance. “You don’t like Sturla?”

That was a Danish way of saying, yes, I hate him! Cait licked her lips. “Would you tell me what troubles you the most about him?”

Helga clasped her hands together in her lap, her eyes moving up and down over Cait. “Where did you get that dress, my dear? It’s lovely, though I must say, of a slightly older style.”

The criticism was well-placed, and Cait took it for exactly what Helga intended: that her questions were enough, and she wasn’t to pry any further, so she repeated the lie she’d told Ragnhild. “You are right that it is older. All of my things were lost in a river crossing on the way here. I had only my traveling clothes when I arrived, and Ragnhild, wife of Arno, Rikard’s business partner, took pity on me and gave me this dress. She’d saved it for many years for a daughter who would never wear it again.”

Helga smiled. “I apologize. My words were meant to wound and belittle. It was unkind of me. I had no idea you had no proper clothing, and I will send you several of my dresses before the end of the day, along with my seamstress to fit them to you. You are staying at your brother’s house?”

Helga gave Cait’s hand another pat, which was meant as a dismissal, and Cait stood. “My lady, I can’t express my thanks to you enough.”

Helga waved dismissively. “It will be enjoyable to dress you. I expect to see you in one at the evening meal tonight.”

Cait curtseyed. “I am looking forward to it.” She left, closing the door behind her and breathing a sigh of relief. She couldn’t help but think she’d escaped by the skin of her teeth.

But she’d gone only a few steps before Sturla appeared in the walkway leading to the main palace building. She pulled up short because he entirely blocked her way.

“Lord Sturla.” Cait wasn’t exactly sure of his station, but it was best to err on the side of caution.

“Yes, it is.” His eyes moved up and down her body, making her intensely uncomfortable. She had a feeling he was doing it deliberately, and she took in a deep breath to clear her head. “One wonders what these new deaths have to do with Rikard’s and Deirdre’s. That’s four people murdered on the same day. It can’t be a coincidence.”

He stopped looking at her body and focused on her face, which wasn’t necessarily better. “What do you know about it?”

She smiled as sweetly as she could, even as her heart began to race. “My brother doesn’t discuss such things with me. You will have to ask him.” Then she let her mouth fall open in feigned shock. “You don’t fear that he suspects you, do you?”

“I don’t know. I believe he mentioned something about you being seen in the warehouse district that night.”

“That’s ridiculous! Who said that?” Sturla’s right hand clenched into a fist.

Cait waved a hand. “Oh, I couldn’t tell you that. It was just something I heard. If you’ll excuse me.” She started forward, aiming for the right side of the pathway, determined not to slow or stop, even if Sturla touched her.

Fortunately, he moved aside at the last moment. Happy to escape, Cait didn’t look back and hastened around the main hall to where she had left her brother loitering near the stables. Godfrid was at the palace too, but the two men had thought they shouldn’t be seen together.

Conall made a humming sound deep in his throat. “I hadn’t intended to attend the dinner at the palace tonight, but since your presence has been all but commanded, I will be happy to escort you.” The humming turned into a rumble. “We are getting close to the truth. I can feel it.”