Bone of Contention Read online

  Loveday sighed. “I am glad you didn’t take offense.”

  “I think Master Reinhart was just shocked to see you with me. Remember, he said he had been seeking you for two days. Then you suddenly appear in the company of an infamous whoremistress. I suppose he leapt to the conclusion that I had abducted you.”

  “Yes, and that we were cozily sitting at a table eating sweet buns, the abductee and the abductor.” Loveday shook her head. “Oh, let it go. I will have to deal with him sooner or later because I think he wants me to marry Tirell—”

  “Yes. I heard them talking about it.”

  Loveday made a dismissive gesture. “It is out of the question. First of all because I cannot think of Tirell as other than a brother, and secondly because he will want to manage Noke and Otmoor and I will not have it. I wish it were tomorrow already. I must find out what happened to Niall.”

  “Hmmm. Yes.”

  They crossed the street to return the cups to the alehouse and then started back toward the Soft Nest. After they had walked in silence as far as St. Friedesweide, Loveday said anxiously, “You will come to Noke with me, will you not?”

  “Oh, yes,” Magdalene replied much more positively than before. “There are some questions I want answered, like what has happened to William’s men. Why didn’t they insist the servants let Giles de Milland in? There are only two possible reasons I can think of. The first is that they did go off with Niall—but I can’t imagine him taking William’s men without permission—or else…Niall is hiding in Noke and told his men not to give him away to Giles.”

  “Do you think that is really so?” Loveday asked eagerly.

  “Why? Are you so eager to see a man who stabbed another in the back?”

  “Oh, pish tush.” Loveday sniffed with disdain. “He did it for me. He cannot have had any other reason.” She was silent for a moment then said, “I wonder if I could convince Father Herveus to marry us at once. Then if Niall did have to go to a safer place until this stupid matter of St. Cyr is settled—and once the king and all his useless nobles are gone I am certain I can deal with the sheriff of Oxford—I will not need to worry about—”

  “Loveday,” Magdalene protested, “have you forgotten you need the king’s permission to marry?”

  What Magdalene was thinking, however, was if Loveday married Niall atop the murder of St. Cyr—and it was still not at all clear why Waleran de Meulan should favor a low beast like St. Cyr with a sweet plum like Loveday— Waleran might be roused to serious anger. He would surely accuse William of complicity in both the murder and the marriage. And Magdalene remembered suddenly that the last thing William had said to her was that he was going to ask in the Court about St. Cyr. A cold knot formed under Magdalene’s breastbone.

  “So the king will fine me,” Loveday said, a small smile curving her lips. “I can pay. And I will be married…and safe.”

  The cold spread across Magdalene’s chest and up her back. It was she who had given Loveday shelter from St. Cyr. William would be livid with fury.

  Chapter 9

  23 June,

  Soft Nest and Noke Manor

  Although Magdalene tried in several ways to divert Loveday from the idea of instant marriage, and succeeded so far before Loveday retired to bed that she was willing to consider waiting, Magdalene was not at all happy. She was intensely relieved to hear Bell’s rhythmic tap on the door, and she told him her deduction and presented the problem to him in an undervoice as he came into the room. While she closed the door and dropped the bar across to lock it, he watched her, and when she turned to him, he looked down at her and grinned.

  “Trying to put me off?”

  His words were slightly slurred and he smelled of ale, but his voice was as low as hers had been. Magdalene saw at once that slurred words or not, his eyes were well focused and clear. She shook her head and stepped forward into his arms. Bell’s grin widened.

  “I think that’s the truth,” he said, leading her around the bed so they were sheltered by it if Loveday should peer through her bedcurtains. “If you were playing with me, you would have thought of a bigger puzzle. And you are right. Niall is far more likely to be at Noke than have fled to London or Rochester. As for preventing the marriage, that is easy. You told me Niall was a good man and devoted to Lord William. All you have to do is tell him the trouble the marriage will cause and he will refuse to marry.”

  Magdalene sighed and turned her back to Bell who, without needing to be told, began to unlace her gown. “I thought of that myself, but you don’t know Loveday as well as I. It may take more strength and cleverness than Niall has to outmaneuver her. She is the most redoubtable girl.”

  She pulled off the gown and untied the bows that held her undertunic closed at neck and wrists. Meanwhile Bell had unbelted his sword and propped it where he could reach it from the bed. Then he began to remove his clothing without assistance although more slowly than she, but that was because he would pause in what he was doing to caress her and murmur a litany of praise as he shed each garment. He seemed to forget he still had his shirt on when she was naked, and he might never have removed it at all, becoming instantly amorous after he pulled off his chausses and saw her, if she had not escaped from him and climbed into the bed.

  Magdalene had intended to ask what he had discovered in the alehouse, but he had outsmarted her. All those kisses and touches, all those murmurs of praise and desire when she was half clothed had done their work. When he threw off the shirt and stood naked before her, his standing man as erect as it could get, red head bare and gleaming moistly in the light of the night candle, Magdalene simply pulled aside the light coverlet and held out her arms.

  Later, she hoped that Loveday had been too soundly asleep to be easily wakened. They had both forgotten her completely, and Bell’s groans, which rose in climax almost to singing, had not been at all moderated. And then she chuckled softly and rubbed her head against his shoulder. No use blaming him. If Loveday had wakened, it was as likely her own cries that had done it.

  “Can you talk?” she asked softly, “or shall we wait until morning?”

  Bell yawned hugely. “No need to wait. I’ve little enough to tell you. The Broached Barrel was a total waste. No one had seen St. Cyr there last night and that was not because no one recognized him. He was fairly well known—not liked, but known. Apparently he was a quarrelsome drunk.”

  “And Niall? Did you ask about him?”

  “Of course. He was not there last night either. The landlord and alewife both knew him, but he had not been in the house for several days.”

  “If neither murderer nor victim was seen at The Broached Barrel, why was St. Cyr’s body found there?”

  “Because neither had been seen there?” Bell asked doubtfully. “I even went out to look at the place where the body was found— I said I was curious and one of the servers took me out and showed me. I thought maybe the yard would have some feature that would make it peculiarly fitted for murder, but it was the same as the back yard of any inn or alehouse. Less fitted, really, because there are tables and benches there and anyone could come out of the alehouse at any time…” His voice faded and he yawned again.

  “Never mind, love.”

  Magdalene patted the thigh against which her hand had been resting, felt his shaft stir slightly as her fingers grazed it, and hastily removed her hand. She enjoyed coupling with Bell more than with any other man she could remember, but enough was enough. She needed to think. Only he had drained her as thoroughly as she had drained him and she tightened her jaws against a yawn as large as his.

  Her thoughts began with the notion that tables and benches might mean possible interruption, but they also might indicate a place people could meet without mistake: “At the table behind The Broached Barrel” would be a clear direction. But she could not grasp why that thought was so unpleasant, and, wondering about it, slept.

  As so often happens, Magdalene knew at once upon being wakened why thinking of a meeting
behind The Broached Barrel was distasteful. Loveday’s voice not only brought her awake but made her think of Niall, and it leapt into her mind that if Niall had arranged to meet St. Cyr behind the alehouse, the murder was not a thoughtless act of fury but planned. Bell, too, had responded instantly to Loveday’s voice and had probably been completely awake before her. He was just releasing his sword when Magdalene’s sidelong glance caught him.

  “Yes? What is it Loveday?” she asked.

  “It is light. It is morning. When can we leave for Noke?”

  Bell groaned and Magdalene giggled.

  “I have set out bread and cheese and ale,” Loveday said. “Should I run to the baker for sweet buns or get a quarter pasty at the cookshop?” She sounded a little aggrieved because at home her own kitchen would provide such extras.

  “No, no,” Magdalene assured her. “The bread and cheese will be enough.” She poked Bell, who had sunk back onto the pillows with closed eyes and a deep frown. “You might as well get up,” she said softly into his ear. “She will be at you every moment until you do. I told you she was a most redoubtable girl.”

  “She is a pain in the arse,” he muttered. “If Niall is at Noke, he will not disappear like morning dew, and if he is gone the sooner or later that we arrive cannot matter.”

  “Were you never young and eager?”

  “Not when my head ached from ale.”

  “Get up and I will give you something for it,” Magdalene promised as she slid out of the bed.

  She found clean undergarments in the chest and made a mental note to have the ones she had worn washed. It was not common to change or wash underclothes so frequently, but it was a habit from when she charged several times the price of a common whore. The crisp feel of the clean clothes, added to the sweet scent of the rose leaves and lavender with which they were stored, did much to let her clients forget how often the body under the clothing had been used. The freshness induced in them the illusion of an innocent new partner and that they were getting their money’s worth.

  Her riding dress was stained from the journey to Oxford, but it had been brushed free of dust, and more than that was not necessary. Behind her she could hear Bell’s litany of curses as he struggled from the bed and also began to dress. She donned her gown quickly then went to the shelf where she had stored a cloth-wrapped bundle of medicinals. She was no great physician, although she knew the herbs that would flush out a woman’s womb and a few other remedies. Among those the one most often used was the potion to soothe men who had drunk too much, and she had taken an adequate supply of the ingredients in case William should need them.

  She mixed it for Bell and he drank it, waving irritably at Loveday to be quiet when she asked if she should get one of Florete’s men to saddle the horses for them. Wincing and peering at her from one half-open eye, Bell told her not to be a fool. Early morning was one of the quiet times for a whorehouse, the men would be asleep.

  “Well, I can saddle my own mare and likely Magdalene’s gelding, too, but your destrier is beyond me—”

  “Sit down and shut up!” Bell snarled, placing his elbows on the table and supporting his head in his hands.

  “Why does he drink so much if he knows he will feel this way the next day?” Loveday whispered impatiently.

  Magdalene, who had quietly been eating her bread and cheese and sipping her ale, put on a reproving face. “He was doing his civic duty,” she said as soberly as she could, although her voice quivered slightly. “You cannot get men to talk freely in an alehouse without buying them drink, and if you do not drink with them, they are likely to become suspicious and not talk anyway.”

  Loveday did not look convinced. After sitting a while longer until Magdalene finished her bread and cheese, she slid out from behind the bench and stood up. “I will go saddle my mare and your gelding,” she said. “That will save some time.”

  “Remember your veil,” Magdalene urged softly. “There are men leaving at this time of day. You remember you need to go out the front door and then around through the alley at the side of the house to the back.”

  Loveday nodded and went out. Bell groaned softly again and sat up. “If Niall did kill St. Cyr, we should let him marry that girl. It will be punishment enough.”

  Although she smiled broadly, Magdalene made no reply. She knew how long it took for the hot spices she had mixed with the ale to calm a roiling belly and the leachings of willow bark to ease a pounding head. Well within that time, and before Loveday had saddled both horses and come in to voice her impatience again, Bell reached for the jack of ale, refilled his cup, emptied it, opened and closed his eyes several times, then sighed and stood up.

  “I will survive if we go now,” he admitted.

  * * * *

  Nonetheless the first part of the ride to Noke was accomplished in near silence until, a league and a half out of Oxford, the sun disappeared, clouds gathered, and rain began to spatter down. Fortunately Loveday was acquainted with every foot of the way, and she led them to shelter in a pleasant barn. By the time the downpour was over, Loveday was more impatient than ever, and she rode somewhat ahead, as if she could draw the others into a faster pace by keeping a distance between them.

  When they first set out Bell had uttered an occasional grunt when Monseigneur’s gait jarred him. While they waited for the rain to end, the exercise having sweated the drink out of him, he told Magdalene that those who had wagered that Salisbury would not come to the Council at all were gloating over the winnings they would soon collect. It was not good news, but Magdalene only shook her head. At the moment she was more concerned with a personal advantage that might arise from the problem.

  They had turned from the main road north onto the side lane that led to Noke before she broke a long silence to ask, “What shall we advise Niall to do if we find him at Noke?”

  “Find a good excuse for what he did,” Bell responded dryly, “although I cannot really think of any good reason to stab a man in the back.”

  “I was afraid you would say that,” Magdalene said. “So, if there is no good excuse and if Niall did go off to London or Rochester, do you think in all the fuss over Salisbury failing to come to the king’s summons the murder of a nobody could slip by unnoticed?”

  Bell turned his head to look at her. “You are very eager to get Niall away from Oxford and very hot against an immediate marriage to Loveday. Is it possible you have a personal reason to prevent the marriage?”

  Magdalene, who had been watching Loveday, now looked at Bell. He met her eyes at first, then looked away. She said, “It is none of your business if I do.” Her voice was thin with fury. “I am a whore. It is my calling. It is none of your business who shares my bed when you are not in it. But if one hint of that jealous lie comes to Loveday’s ears, you can seek another lodging in Oxford…and in Southwark too.”

  Bell opened his mouth and then closed it, swallowing joy and an intense relief. If Magdalene did not want Loveday to hear his suspicion that Niall was futtering her, then she did want Loveday and Niall to marry and did not care in any special way for Niall. Nonetheless the thought of that young, strong body entwined with Magdalene’s, as his had been only a few hours past, lit a fire in his belly.

  “I do not like your being a whore,” he said sullenly.

  “Well, it is ten or twelve years too late to consider that.” Magdalene laughed, good humor restored. “I was a whore long before we met and nothing will change it.”

  “If you swore—”

  “It would make no difference.”

  “I would believe you.”

  She stared at him, then smiled. “Until I bought a new gown or wore a pair of earrings that you did not recognize. Then you would want to know for whom I was dressing or who gave me the earrings. You might not even tax me with infidelity, but you would eat yourself up…as you are doing now.” She sighed and shook her head, but Bell could sense the anger under her resignation. “I am no different. I will never be different. No matter wh
at man I entertain before or after, what I give to you is all yours, no part of it tainted with what I give to others…if I give to others. When I am with you, I think only of you. What tortures you choose to inflict on yourself are your doing, not mine.”

  It was all true, Bell thought, furious with her and himself. But it had been so sweet, the way she welcomed him, the joy they had found together, the pillow talk… He wanted that for himself alone. When they lay together in the Old Priory Guesthouse, he knew that Magdalene—except perhaps in the few moments when she came to climax—listened with one ear for any sound of disturbance in her domain. It was her business, not another man, with whom he shared her. Here she was not responsible for anyone and she had given herself to him completely.

  He glanced sidelong at her face and it was only an exquisite mask, drained of the laughter and friendliness, the intelligent animation she usually offered him. He stared out between Monseigneur’s ears, wondering how he could still have been such a fool, wondering how he could redeem the easy bond that had existed between them.

  Bell did not give a single thought to breaking the bond completely, to leaving Magdalene and finding another woman. He knew what that was like during the time he lived at Winchester with the bishop or was sent to other places on the bishop’s business. With or without another woman, all he did was think about Magdalene, wonder what she was doing, make comparisons—always unflattering—to whatever woman was with him, and suffer agonies of jealousy. He was at peace only when he was with her, even their quarreling gave him joy.

  Suddenly, what he was not seeing between Monseigneur’s ears pierced his self-absorption. “Loveday!” he roared, kicking his stallion hard in the ribs. The horse leapt forward and thundered down the lane, around a curve to the right and a sharper one toward the left…and Loveday was there, surrounded by four rough-looking men bearing axes. Bell drew his sword and shouted for Loveday to ride away.