Season of Blood Read online

  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.

  SEVENTEEN

  Lying beside him, Kat ran her fingers up his chest, tangling in the hair. ‘Just look at the scars on you. Some of these are fighting scars, but the rest …’

  He grasped her hand and held it against him, stopping its progress. ‘The rest I think you know.’

  ‘How did you manage to live when so many others were imperiled by the king?’

  He swallowed, not wishing to remember, to take away from the warmth of satisfaction that eased his body and soul from her hands and lips. ‘The Duke of Lancaster. He spoke for me. I was one of his household knights.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She reached up and nibbled his neck, pressing soft kisses there. He let her. ‘Strange that King Richard should let you live.’

  He eyed her sidelong. ‘Do you truly wish to discuss this now?’

  She drew back to look at him with a tender expression. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s talk of other things.’

  He relaxed his muscles again, settled in. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Why such a man as yourself has no woman in his life.’

  He laughed. ‘Do you propose filling that gap?’

  She tossed her head back. Her cascade of auburn hair showered around her shoulders, curling around her chin, her breasts. ‘Well, I might. For you must admit, I am your match, Crispin Guest.’

  ‘Because you are clever and resourceful? It will take more than that, demoiselle.’

  ‘Oh? What else must I be? A paragon of virtue? A maiden? If the latter, then that ship has sailed. If the former, then … well. The ship might yet be in the harbor.’

  ‘Are you sure? It seems to me that the mooring was slashed long ago.’

  She tossed herself onto her back. ‘You wound me.’

  He turned on his side and gazed down at her creamy skin. This one was a servant, much like the woman Crispin had loved, possibly still loved, but was married to another. He had let her slip from his fingers because of his own arrogance. But what of Kat? It was possible she was a murderer or at least an accomplice. She was most certainly a thief and unrepentant. But Jack Tucker had been a thief. He had been unrepentant, too. For, like Kat, he had had to make a living. Could she be persuaded to give it up, to live honestly?

  He couldn’t resist drawing a finger from her throat down to the captivating cleft between her breasts. ‘I am a man who lives by his honor and the honor in others,’ he said softly. ‘What would I see in the glass in the morning if I looked the other way at how you make your living?’

  Her gaze was steady. ‘You are a rare one, Master Guest,’ she said quietly, sincerely. ‘So few men can be relied upon to stand by their principles, especially on the gibbet. For the first time in my life … I think I am sorry for what I have become.’

  ‘Every man or woman can be repentant. Any priest can shrive you.’

  ‘But can I go out and sin no more?’

  His hand traveled downward, pushing the sheets aside to glide over her belly, making it twitch, then lower to the soft curls at her legs’ juncture. ‘I am not free of sin,’ he admitted. ‘Far from it. But I try to earn my coin honestly.’

  ‘What could I possibly do to achieve the same?’

  His glance traveled up to her face, to the expression of hopelessness that was briefly there in her eyes before they were shuttered again. She looked away. ‘Perhaps we are hopelessly mismatched after all.’

  ‘Are you willing to give up so easily?’

  She smiled and turned her head again. Her bright auburn tresses fanned out over the pillow, over her creamy shoulders, the dark against the light. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘First … you will have to tell me who your patron is.’

  She laughed, causing a delightful jiggle to her breasts and belly. She dragged the sheet up to cover herself just as Crispin’s interest began to peak again. ‘So that was your plan all along in bedding me.’

  ‘Not at all. There was no ulterior motive.’

  There was a hurt tilt to her mouth. ‘Wasn’t there?’

  ‘Kat.’ He drifted a hand down her face to her chin and took it between his thumb and fingers. ‘You must believe me. I thought we were using each other for pleasure. And in truth, I was on my guard that you would try to beguile me as you have beguiled others …’

  ‘This is an apology?’

  He was mucking it up. He closed his eyes and sighed. ‘A poor one.’

  ‘I realize you are only doing your appointed task. But you must stop asking me, for I cannot tell you.’

  His hand dropped away. ‘You still intend to get the relic for your patron?’

  ‘It is a great deal of money.’

  ‘Money isn’t everything.’

  ‘Why, you dear, naive man. Of course it is.’

  Sighing, Crispin took her face in his hands, trying to make her understand. ‘You said so yourself. You are canny enough to escape this life for one better. I can help you.’

  Her eyes tracked over his face. ‘You would, wouldn’t you? You are a remarkable man. Yet … What makes you think that any promise I gave you now would ever be the truth?’

  ‘Damn you!’ He pushed her back and slammed himself back down to the bed. Running his hand through his hair, he huffed a breath. ‘You are not irredeemable, Kat.’

  ‘The Lord and I have an understanding. He knows who I am.’

  ‘But I would know you, too. And stop you, for what you do is only leading to more deaths.’

  ‘But surely not innocent men.’

  ‘That is not for you to decide!’

  ‘Then who? You? A judge?’ She clutched the sheet tight in her fist at her chest. ‘It is so arrogant to claim you know what is in a man’s heart.’

  ‘I would stop the killing. For me, that is the only goal.’

  ‘You, who bears a dagger and a sword. You, who have killed.’

  ‘Yes. For I kill in defense and righteously.’

  ‘So any killer believes.’

  ‘No. Only one who kills for gain, a man with no conscience. A tyrant ruleth only to please a few. No one else must die for this relic, Kat. Can’t you see that?’

  She levered upward, leaning against the pillows propped up to the wall. ‘With just this one relic, I can live in luxury for years. Don’t you understand? Each time I make my way into a household to steal, it is just one more danger for me. One more chance to get caught.’ She sighed. ‘But of course you returned it to Hailes, didn’t you? Now I must return there and work my wiles again.’

  ‘It is safe.’

  She looked at him closely. ‘Hmm. By that I assume it is not in Hailes.’

  He swore under his breath. He had not meant to give it away. Any other woman would not have caught the nuance of his words.

  ‘And you know where it is.’

  He closed his mouth this time.

  She reached for him but he shied back. Her hands fell to the mattress. ‘Ah, Crispin. You will not tell me by hint or utterance. Tracker, Protector of Relics.’

  ‘It is my curse.’

  ‘Let m
e lift the curse,’ she said, a sly smile fluttering over her lips.

  He leaned back against the wall beside her, arms crossed over his chest. ‘No.’

  ‘I told you how important this relic was. With it I can live freely for years. Can’t you give me that?’

  ‘Not if it means the death of an innocent.’

  She flopped down and turned over, showing her smooth back to him. ‘Then there is little more to say, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Kat …’

  ‘Perhaps you should go.’

  He screwed his hands into fists, but in the end let them fall uselessly to his sides. He glared at her shoulder for a long moment before he hurled himself out of the bed and began to dress. ‘If you let another die, I shall see to it that you hang.’

  ‘Not the most gracious of farewells,’ she murmured.

  He buttoned his cote-hardie almost to the top and slapped his belt back on his waist, securing the sheaths for dagger and sword. He cast one last glance at her back before he stomped to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.

  He hurried down the inn’s steps and out to the courtyard. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. By the slant of the sun he reckoned it must be near Vespers. He stopped at the corner and looked back at the inn. Disgusted with himself and with her, he stalked into the street, making his way back to the Shambles when he saw two familiar figures approaching.

  John Rykener was on Nigellus Cobmartin’s arm, and the latter looked as if he didn’t seem to mind. Crispin gave them the eye and they slowly broke apart. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Lady,’ John corrected softly, since he was still garbed so. ‘Have you been avoiding us? You never returned to your lodgings and, if I didn’t know better, I would say that you were coming from the Unicorn.’

  ‘Well, I …’ He looked back again and turned to John guiltily.

  The man pressed a hand to his hip and tsk-tsked. ‘So I see. What did I tell you, Nigellus?’

  ‘Yes, well. Master Guest’s time is his own. But I take it that the lady was indeed not abducted?’

  ‘That is correct. And most obstinate. She’s a thief and a liar and has no intention of helping me stop those who would try to kill for this relic.’

  ‘Hold,’ said John. ‘Do you mean to tell me that everything she said is a lie?’

  ‘Including her name. She is actually a servant named Katherine Pyke. She took on the name of her former employer.’

  ‘And there is no Simon Wynchecombe?’

  ‘That there is. And he is still in danger for his life.’

  Nigellus moved to get out of the way of a cart slowly making its creaking way down the lane. ‘You’ve seen him then?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘What of the relic? What is it?’

  ‘The Holy Blood of Hailes.’

  Nigellus crossed himself. ‘Mother of God,’ he muttered. ‘And so she stole it from Hailes Abbey?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Though she tried mightily to get her paramours to do it, including Simon Wynchecombe. And yet, two monks have brought the relic back to me, one sacrificing his life to do so.’

  ‘Two have brought it back?’

  ‘Yes. It is back again.’

  ‘Oh, dear. But then … who has hired her to steal it, for I am certain she must have a patron.’

  ‘She does, but will not tell me who. She still intends to collect.’

  ‘You must have her arrested,’ said John.

  ‘And I would, but I fear she is telling me the truth in that she wouldn’t stay arrested long. She appears to have the goods on too many men of high rank.’

  John stomped his foot. ‘What a damnable female.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where do you go now, Crispin? To find Simon Wynchecombe?’

  ‘I know precisely where he is.’

  ‘Then where do you go?’

  He noticed John had slipped his arm into the young lawyer’s again.

  ‘I’m returning to Westminster Abbey. If you’d care to come along, I shan’t stop you.’

  ‘As gracious an invitation as I’ve ever heard,’ John snorted.

  As they walked, Crispin said quietly to Nigellus, ‘I’d have a care, Master Cobmartin. There are areas of London where Master Rykener is known.’ And he made a point of staring at their joined arms.

  Nigellus smiled sheepishly. ‘I understand, Master Guest.’ And yet, he kept a firmer grip on John’s arm, even caressing his hand.

  Rolling his eyes, Crispin said nothing more. What was there to say?

  The air was soft and still, and the pink of the sky seemed to linger as they passed Charing Cross and moved along the wide avenue to the abbey.

  Vespers had not yet rung, and so Crispin knew he still had time to see Abbot William de Colchester, to warn him. Rodney Beaton must know who this patron is. Why else would Kat bother with him? Perhaps he was the intermediary. Of course, she dared not go to court herself, for surely there were those there who knew the real Katherine Woodleigh and would recognize that Kat was not she.

  What a damnable situation.

  He rang the bell, and the usual quiet sweep of cassocks was nowhere to be found. Instead, he heard a distant and incongruous ruckus of running, of shouts beyond the cloister walls. He clasped the gate and tried to stretch, to see what was happening. He yanked on the bell rope insistently until a young porter finally arrived.

  ‘Bless me, Master Guest! Your appearance is most welcomed at this time.’ He unlocked the gate, scarcely noticing John and Nigellus. ‘Come at once, sir!’

  The monk ran. Crispin ran after him, followed by his companions. With his heart pounding, Crispin realized that they were heading for the abbot’s chamber. The young monk gestured for Crispin to enter, and he jumped up the step and pushed through the heavy chamber door.

  The abbot was kneeling beside a man lying upon the floor. By his white cassock, Crispin knew that it was Brother James. And by the blood, he also knew that he was quite dead.

  The ambry where the relic had lain was thrown wide open. He did not need to look to know that it was gone.

  Abbot William, customarily unshaken and sober, looked up at Crispin with a stunned expression. ‘Master Crispin. You are here. I prayed for you to come.’

  Crispin knelt on the other side of the corpse, looking first to comfort the abbot and then to study the body. ‘I am here,’ was all he said. The monk had been hit from behind. His eyes were wide and staring, but staring at nothing of this world. The back of his head sat in a pool of crimson.

  ‘He was slain and the relic taken,’ said the abbot with a shudder. ‘May God have mercy on us all.’

  Crispin rose and stepped around the body to look at the ambry. It had been pried open. There, on the floor, was the iron from the fire, which had been used to great effect. They had known where it was. They had known what it was.

  It went through his head in quick succession. It could not have been Kat. She wouldn’t have had time. She didn’t know where it was. And then …

  ‘Simon!’ He turned to the stunned Rykener and Cobmartin. ‘You must hurry to my lodgings on the Shambles. Warn Simon Wynchecombe.’

  John exchanged glances with Nigellus. ‘You mean this former sheriff is there, at your lodgings?’

  ‘Yes. He is in hiding there. They’ll be after him next if not already. I pray that Jack is unharmed.’

  Nigellus swallowed hard as he stared at the dead monk, but he pressed a shaky yet reassuring hand on Crispin’s arm. ‘We will go in all haste, Master Guest. God keep you, sir.’ He grabbed John’s hand and ran with him out of the chamber.

  EIGHTEEN

  They ran. It wasn’t until they reached London’s gates that John dragged on Nigellus’ hand, slowing him to a stop. ‘Wait. I must catch my breath.’ He doubled over, resting his hands on his thighs. Nigellus did likewise, breathing hard.

  He slowly straightened and locked eyes with the lawyer. When Crispin had sent them away from his Shambles lodgings the first
time, they had waited back at John’s attic chamber. One thing had led to another and … well. John gave him a wary smile.

  Nigellus had no such caution. He grinned with a boyish face that seemed more suited to the servants’ hall than that of a court of law. Though the smile faded on remembering their mission. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

  John nodded, lifted his skirts over the mud and cantered ahead. They soon reached the old poulterer’s shop that Crispin called home. A handsome black-and-white cat sat on the high sill, his tail curled under him, yellow eyes watching John and Nigellus curiously.

  Pounding on the door, John called out, ‘Jack! Jack Tucker, are you there?’

  There were footsteps and furniture moving. It took a while but then the door opened a crack. John pushed through, knocking Jack aside.

  ‘Here now!’ Jack cried. ‘What’s this impertinence, Master Rykener?’

  He stumbled back as John gained the center of the room. ‘Jack Tucker, is Simon Wynchecombe in hiding here?’

  Jack looked from John to a stern-faced Nigellus. ‘Of course he isn’t. Where’d you get a fool notion like that?’

  ‘From your master,’ said John. ‘Crispin told us he was here. Told us to warn him.’

  ‘Eh? What’s this about?’

  ‘Master Tucker,’ said Nigellus, more agitated than he’d been on the road, ‘we were just in the company of Master Guest at Westminster Abbey. There has been a murder. A White Monk. And I fear a certain relic that was being kept there is now missing.’

  Jack’s eyes widened impossibly. ‘God’s blood,’ he gasped. He suddenly looked toward the rafters.

  ‘Crispin believes your sheriff is in danger,’ added John.

  Jack pressed his hand to his chin, rubbing the neat ginger beard there. ‘We’ve got to get him out of here then. But where to put him now?’

  ‘He can room with me!’ said John and Nigellus at the same time. They looked at each other.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. ‘Truth to tell, I think Master Nigellus’ chamber to be more suiting. Though it is very much smaller than here.’

  ‘If necessary,’ said Nigellus with a cagey expression, ‘I can find lodgings … elsewhere. Temporarily.’

  John felt his cheeks warm. Interesting, this young lawyer. And even more interesting, Jack was not fooled.