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  Had Mauger’s courage been equal to his rage, he would have charged out and killed them all. However, achieving exalted status had always been the strongest drive Mauger had, and public murder could scarcely bring him that. Thus, he went quietly back down the stairs, retrieved his horse from the groom, and rode out toward Hurley, leaving both Diccon and the groom open mouthed in surprise at the expression on his face.

  He had calmed himself sufficiently by the time he reached the ferry in Marlowe to notice the heavy concentration of men-at-arms at the dock. This was so unusual that Mauger stopped one of the men and asked what had happened. The answer, which led to other questions and answers, somewhat assuaged Mauger’s bad temper. Here was obviously a new and very hopeful method of killing both William and Raymond.

  Although Mauger did not really think the merchants of Marlowe would have enough spirit to attack their overlord or his agent, the blame would certainly fall upon them if Raymond was set upon in the town and killed. Raymond’s death would almost certainly bring William out of the keep and into the town to investigate. His death would be harder to accomplish. Mauger snarled over that, but it did not disturb him long. William would surely pick up his duties once Raymond was dead. He would then be out and around the estate, fool that he was, constantly meddling with the serfs and mouthing stupidities about protecting the lord’s share. Lord’s share came first. If there was not sufficient left over, the animals could do without.

  Nonetheless, it was a convenient idiocy. Sooner or later William would ride out alone. He always did so, saying he had nothing to fear from his own people. Perhaps not, but there were lonely stretches between the farms. Something could be arranged, and doubtless it would be blamed on the townsfolk who were known to bear a grudge. After all, it would have been proved that they did away with Raymond. What could be more likely than that they finished the master as well as the hireling.

  That would leave Alys completely in his power, if that little bitch did not close Marlowe against him. She might think he wanted to force her to marry Aubery. How to get her to Hurley? That question made Mauger reconsider his plans for Elizabeth. He had intended a simple accident to overtake her, like falling into the waste shaft or down the stairs. He realized, however, that Alys would never come to Hurley if Elizabeth were not there. Therefore Elizabeth must live long enough…

  Suddenly Mauger began to laugh. If Elizabeth was sick, it would bring not only Alys but William in all haste to Hurley, and that would solve all his problems at once. Alys could be imprisoned and William killed. Then Egbert could put on William’s clothing and ride his horse back onto Marlowe lands to a spot where he had originally concealed the body, reclothe the body, set the horse free… Yes, that would work.

  Mauger had all the plans made by the time he rode into Hurley keep. Unlike the times he had planned in Wales, however, he was not filled with sunny optimism. Hope permitted him to keep his angry, frustrated resentment chained, but it was there, seething under the surface. This would not be sweet and easy as it would have been in Wales. Two murders and his too-quick marriage to Alys so soon after his wife’s and her father’s death would be bound to raise questions. Still, he would wait no longer.

  In Hurley, Mauger dismounted, threw his reins to a groom and made for the inner bailey and the great hall. Raymond would have to be dealt with first, of course. He shouted for wine and Egbert. The servant was at his elbow, even as the sound of his voice died away.

  “William did not die,” Mauger snarled.

  Egbert bobbed his head. “I know. Your lady returned only yesterday from Marlowe where she nursed him during the worst of his sickness.”

  Mauger stared at his man, speechless with rage for a minute. So Elizabeth had helped foul his plans! So much the better. He need not regret her loss. Bitch! Whore, in mind if not in body. He showed his teeth and Egbert stiffened. His master had been very strange since that night at the abbey, but Mauger’s eyes were not on his man and the servant relaxed. He did not, however, fail to pay strict attention to the instructions Mauger was giving him. They were interrupted briefly when Emma came tripping up carrying a cup of wine. He snatched it from her and snarled that she should go tell Elizabeth to await him in her chamber. Emma made the mistake of pouting. Often Mauger called it adorable, and kissed her pursed lips. This time he hit her in the face so hard he knocked her down. He did not even turn his head to watch her pick herself up, but continued to tell Egbert how to arrange Raymond’s murder.

  The voice was low and Emma did not hear much, but she heard enough to deepen her fear of the man who owned her. Emma burned with resentment, the helpless, bitter resentment of a child. Here she felt alone and imprisoned. In a city Emma would know well enough how to find a new protector, but she had no idea where the nearest city was or how to get there. Emma gave Mauger’s message to Elizabeth. She did not dare hint at what she had heard, but because of her sense of outrage she did find the courage to warn Elizabeth that Mauger was in a foul temper.

  The warning was scarcely necessary as the mark of his hand showed plainly on Emma’s fair skin. Elizabeth knew that Mauger’s men had come in well ahead of their master and guessed that he had stopped at Marlowe on his way. There were so many things that could have enraged him. Elizabeth could not guess which was the particular cause. All she desired at the moment was to be able to master her own fear sufficiently to be able to think clearly.

  As a first step, she fixed her attention on Emma, exclaiming softly at the bruise on her cheek and offering to put some salve on it. Emma looked over her shoulder fearfully and Elizabeth realized she was afraid Mauger would come. Swallowing nervously, she went to her chest of medicinals and brought the pot of salve, which she put in Emma’s hand.

  “You are right,” she murmured. “Take it and go. Have one of the maids put it on for you if you wish. There is no need for you to see him again until he calls for you. Perhaps then he will not be angry any longer.”

  Emma fled at once to find a corner in which to hide herself. She did not even ask a maid to help her but smoothed the salve on her aching cheek by touch, shuddering at the thought that Mauger might soon want to use her. Never before had Emma felt revulsion for her sexual duties. She had always been delighted at the pleasure she gave. She was totally undiscriminating and, until now, had liked all men, regardless of age or appearance. Now there was an exception, Mauger who had hurt her and rejected her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Mauger struck Emma, she had been a substitute for Elizabeth. He had, in fact, intended to beat his wife soundly. However, by the time he had finished planning Raymond’s murder, he had reconsidered that. There must be no evidence that he had been on bad terms with Elizabeth so soon before her death and his remarriage. In fact, there should be evidence of his loving concern for her. Thus, Mauger walked quietly up the stairs and into Elizabeth’s chamber, not quite closing the door behind him. She rose from her chair, concealing her trembling as well as she could.

  “Stand there,” Mauger said softly. “Do not turn to look at me. Just stand still.”

  It was so peculiar a thing for him to say, the soft voice so wildly different from what she expected, that Elizabeth did exactly what she was told. She stood perfectly still, her eyes wide with surprise but staring directly ahead of her. Mauger smiled as he stepped around her and hit her hard on the back of the head just behind the left ear. She crumpled forward without a sound, but it would have made no difference if she had cried out because Mauger let out a bellow designed to cover any cry she uttered.

  “Elizabeth!” he shouted. “What ails you?” Then he rushed to the door and flung it wide open, noting with satisfaction that several of the maids were already run­ning toward the room. “Come to your mistress,” he called, then knelt beside Elizabeth and lifted her in his arms. “You stupid sluts,” he snarled, “did you not see that your mistress was not well? She rose from her chair and fell fainting right at my feet.”

  “Tell Egbert to fetch a physician fro
m Marlowe,” Mauger ordered as he carried Elizabeth to her bed. “Where is her chief woman?” he asked, and when Maud came forward he bade her undress her mistress. “My poor lady,” Maud muttered sniffing back tears as she stripped off Elizabeth’s clothes. “My poor lady. I saw all was not well with her when she came home. She was worn white, so thin and trembling. Oh, my poor lady, my poor lady—but she would not go to bed. She said she was well. Dearling, speak to me. Speak to Maud, lovey.”

  “Stop that hen-witted grizzling,” Mauger snapped, although he could have kissed the woman. Not only had she accepted Elizabeth’s collapse but she had provided a logical reason for it. Nonetheless, he had to get rid of her before Elizabeth revived. “You are enough to make a healthy person sick. Get out! I will watch by my wife.”

  Maud was surprised by this mark of attention, but only slightly. Although Elizabeth had never confided in her maid, as many women did, Maud could not help knowing that Mauger did not seek his wife’s bed. On the other hand, there had never been anything to indicate that they were on bad terms. They never quarreled and Mauger seemed content to leave the management of the estate in Elizabeth’s hands. He might prefer that stupid slut Emma abed, but he knew he would be lost without the lady’s care. Perhaps, Maud thought, as she withdrew, it was Elizabeth’s will that Mauger did not act as a husband. She glanced back over her shoulder as she went out and saw a worried frown on his face.

  “Close the door,” he called after her. “I do not want Elizabeth to be disturbed by the noise you make.” Maud was greatly relieved. The lord would see the lady cared for. He was wrong to send her out. The lady was used to her ways, but all would be well.

  Mauger’s worried frown had been owing to his concern that Maud would not shut the door before Elizabeth recovered her senses. It was a near thing. As the latch snicked, Elizabeth lifted a wavering hand to her head and moaned. He let her moan and toss herself into full consciousness, smiling down at her nastily when recognition came into her face.

  “Mauger,” she whispered.

  “Did you expect William?” he asked. “You stupid slut. Did you think I did not know?”

  Elizabeth did not answer. She did not remember anything after Emma’s warning, but she realized Mauger must have hit her because of the pain in her head. It was a terrible shock to hear how badly she had underestimated Mauger. Still, dizzy and confused as she was, she knew that she dared not throw aside her cover. Whatever could be salvaged from this disaster lay in sustaining Mauger’s belief that she was stupid.

  Irritated by her blank stare, Mauger slapped her.

  “Idiot!” he raged but softly so that no sound should pass the locked door. “Did I not tell you that Alys and that hireling must be kept apart? You have ruined everything. You knew I would forbid you to nurse that sanctimonious fool—”

  “But Mauger,” Elizabeth gasped, “you have always urged me to be a good neighbor. When Mary was sick, you sent me to nurse her. How could I guess—”

  The protest earned her another slap. “You are stupid, but not that stupid. I wanted Mary alive so that William could not marry a woman who would give him a living son. You knew I intended to have Marlowe and for that purpose William must be dead.”

  “No!”

  Mauger laughed. “You are that stupid! You really thought I intended to wait until he died of old age.” Then he laughed harder. “Do you mean you never guessed that your brothers’ untimely deaths were—”

  With a gasp of horror, Elizabeth tried to launch herself at her husband, but he pushed her back and held her, a hand over her nose and mouth so that she could neither scream nor breathe. Red-splashed blackness swam before her eyes, her struggles became feebler and feebler. At last, Mauger slipped his hand away from her nose.

  “Lie still,” he snarled, “or I will put a pillow over your face and weep because you died before my eyes and I could do nothing.”

  He would do it. For herself, at the moment, Elizabeth would not have cared. The idea that she had served and coupled with the monster who had arranged her brothers’ deaths and had for years planned William’s death was incredibly revolting. She would have died willingly to blot out the knowledge of her own deliberate blindness and arrogance. All those years when she had laughed inside herself at Mauger’s dullness he had been laughing at her. What kept her quiet and willing to obey was the knowledge that Mauger had not given up. Perhaps if she were alive she could send some warning to Marlowe.

  “Now listen and listen closely, Elizabeth. Your women and therefore the whole keep believe that you suddenly fainted and I have sent for a physician from Marlowe town. He will say you have a disease that could run through the whole keep. I will permit your chief woman in here and you will tell her this yourself. You will tell her that no one in the keep must come near you, not she nor any other servant. I will ‘nurse’ you myself with Emma’s help. Now, if you do not say exactly what I have told you, I will kill the woman and tell the other women that she decided to sacrifice herself and nurse you. Do you understand?”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and nodded as well as she could. There was no doubt in her mind that Mauger would do exactly as he said. Tears trickled out under her closed lids. Mauger watched her suspiciously, then removed his hand from her mouth. Elizabeth lay still, eyes closed. Very softly Mauger stepped back, watching her. He did not care, really, if she cried out. He had the ready excuse that she was out of her senses. His attention was mainly to gauge her submissiveness.

  Hours passed. Both Mauger and Elizabeth were completely silent except for an infrequent soft sob of pain and fear from Elizabeth. Neither was bored, however. Both minds were well occupied until Egbert returned with the “physician”. The man wore the long, sober gown and furred cap of his profession, but his face belied the grave robes. It was hard and seamed with vice, the look in his eyes an insult to any woman they fixed upon. Elizabeth shuddered with horror. There was no hope to be found in this man.

  “Do you desire a ‘potion’ to rid yourself of her?” the “physician” asked.

  Mauger began to shake his head, and then stopped and nodded instead. His negative response had been owing to an initial unwillingness to put himself into the creature’s power by buying poison. Then he realized it was too late to worry about that. The “physician” would have to die as soon as Elizabeth did. That would raise no problems, and the poison might be useful. He could have Emma administer it, perhaps. Everyone in the keep already disliked the little whore. Should there be an investigation of Elizabeth’s death, it would seem that a jealous mistress had poisoned her lover’s wife.

  “And which disease do you desire she die of?” the man asked.

  “Any complaint that would begin with a fainting fit, but I do not intend that the lady should die,” Mauger said pointedly. “I only want to keep her quiet for a little while. She will die only if she is not properly obedient.”

  “I see.” The brightness in the nasty eyes dimmed somewhat. What had seemed a ripe case for blackmail now was much less promising. Dissatisfaction made the cruel mouth even harder. “I will need to examine the lady. Her form will tell me what disorders are most likely to attack her.”

  “No!” Elizabeth cried.

  Mauger laughed and pulled the cover off her, grabbing her flailing arms. “Whore,” he hissed, “your modesty is a little late.”

  Wild-eyed and gasping, Elizabeth lay still until the “physician” bent over her. Then she struck out with her feet, catching him in the chest and face with such force that he tottered backward and fell heavily. Her satisfaction was short lived. Mauger struck her in the temple so hard that blackness enveloped her again. This time she was not unconscious long, but when her vision cleared only Mauger was in the room. Although her senses spun, she clutched to her the remembrance that she had deprived Mauger of enjoying her shame.

  Seeing the flickering of her eyelids, Mauger came closer. “I will call your woman now. If you do not tell her exactly what I told you to say, you will both die. If you co
nvince her and do not again anger me, perhaps you will live.”

  Elizabeth knew that to be a lie, but she had to pre­tend to believe it. She could not guess why Mauger wanted to keep her alive for a time, but obviously he did. Nonetheless, she realized he would kill her at once if he had to and certainly he would kill Maud without the smallest hesitation. Time. If she had a little time… Mauger brought Maud to the bedside. The maid tried to come closer, her hand extended to brush Elizabeth’s hair from her face. Mauger held her back, his eyes on Elizabeth, coldly threatening.

  “Do not touch me,” Elizabeth whispered. “You will take my illness.”

  “I am not afraid,” Maud cried. “I am strong. I will care for you, my lady.”

  “No,” Elizabeth replied. “No. I cannot spare you, Maud. You must see to the women. There is no one else. You must see that the keep does not fall into disorder.”

  “But who will tend to you?” Maud wailed. “I have always attended you, my lady.”

  “Emma can do what I need,” Elizabeth said breathlessly, seeing Mauger’s hand poised to clamp over the maid’s mouth. “Truly it is nothing but to carry the pot and wash me, which is more fitting for her than for you. And she is the most useless creature. She can best be spared of all the women.”

  The slow smile that came to Maud’s face relieved Elizabeth. She had said the first thing that came into her mind and struck lucky. Maud now believed that Elizabeth was using her illness to take revenge on her husband’s mistress, to demean her by making her do the things that only the coarsest, untrained women would do. Maud herself never emptied a chamber pot nor carried washing water.