surge of apprehension coursed through her as she returned, so that she had to force her feet to an even pace.
He waited in the hall. She had not expected that. But she was quickly learning to be wary of his unpredictable behavior. Within it lay many traps, all of them with hard, sharp teeth. He said he meant her no ill, but once he learned her secrets, he would change his mind.
Melisande again matched the rhythm of her steps to calming breaths. She smoothed her face to her mask of nothingness. As she followed him, each footfall on the stone floor echoed quietly, like the faint swishing of leaves on a gusty day. She counted them as she did when descending into the cavern below. In its turn, the enforced pace brought her more composure. Mayhap she would survive one more encounter.
* * *
Bones on the floor. Alain snickered to himself. Did they truly think he believed that?
Mayhap Gerard did fancy the girl. There was a certain intimacy in the way they talked. Well, he had to do it. He could hardly concentrate on necessities as it was. He'd make a point of talking about it with her. Alain walked past the dais and turned to climb the wooden stairs.
Shouts rang from the bailey like bells. He spun in his tracks, sped toward the hall door, meeting Gerard running back in. His eyebrows rose sharply with the unspoken question.
"They found a knight dead!"
"Norman or Saxon?"
"Norman, I think. I have not seen. In the new tower."
Alain had put a man there the night before, thinking of the vulnerable bolt hole. He rushed past Gerard out into the bailey, up the slope and inside the tower. Ahead, four men bent over, about to lift the body.
"Leave him there!" Alain ran up to the startled men, who rose and stood back from the body. "Is this how you found him?"
"Aye, lord, here."
"Have you moved him at all?"
"Robert lifted his head, but no more," said Hugh. "He is dead, lord."
"Who?" But he saw for himself. Not the guard he had expected, but his knight, Jean Nouel. Alain knelt beside him. The light from a small horn lantern shone on the blood that had oozed onto the stone floor and matted Jean Nobel's blond hair. A lump hardened in his throat as he brushed his fingers over Jean Nobel's eyelids to close them. A good knight. A friend.
"He could have fallen, Alain."
Alain looked up at Chrétien and shook his head. But to be sure, he scanned the unfinished floor, its beams spanning the tower above the vaulted arches of the undercroft. Above that, blue spring sky.
"Is this the way his head was found?"
"Nay, lord," said Robert, and gently moved the dead man's head back to the way he had found it, flung back and to the side. Robert's fingers grazed tenderly across the bloody hair on his friend's head. "It could only be that his neck was broken."
"How, then?" Alain felt for the bones in the neck. He slowly nodded. A man could not move his head that way, and the neck bones were fractured. The jaw, as well, as if Jean Nobel had landed on it.
Alain stood, crossed his arms. "He fell, I am sure, but that does not explain the wound on the back of his head."
He caught the glimpse of Edyt's yellow braid, falling over her shoulder as she came up and bent down to the broken body.
"Do not trouble yourself, Edyt You can do naught."
He saw then the merest flicker of something beyond that of a woman doing duty for her Norman lord, before the mask slipped once more into place. He could not define it. Fear? A sadness, for a man she had not known?
Something stalked this hall. Not merely something that sought to rid the place of the intruders. Something familiar to her, and to those who lived here with her. What were they hiding? He grew impatient with their infernal silence, their half-answers that had little meaning. Anger surged.
"You have sent for Father Hardouin?"
"Aye, lord, he comes."
"Then do what must be done. You may have use of the hall. I am sorry, Robert. I know he was your friend."
"Aye."
"Edyt, you will come with me."
"But lord,
He waited in the hall. She had not expected that. But she was quickly learning to be wary of his unpredictable behavior. Within it lay many traps, all of them with hard, sharp teeth. He said he meant her no ill, but once he learned her secrets, he would change his mind.
Melisande again matched the rhythm of her steps to calming breaths. She smoothed her face to her mask of nothingness. As she followed him, each footfall on the stone floor echoed quietly, like the faint swishing of leaves on a gusty day. She counted them as she did when descending into the cavern below. In its turn, the enforced pace brought her more composure. Mayhap she would survive one more encounter.
* * *
Bones on the floor. Alain snickered to himself. Did they truly think he believed that?
Mayhap Gerard did fancy the girl. There was a certain intimacy in the way they talked. Well, he had to do it. He could hardly concentrate on necessities as it was. He'd make a point of talking about it with her. Alain walked past the dais and turned to climb the wooden stairs.
Shouts rang from the bailey like bells. He spun in his tracks, sped toward the hall door, meeting Gerard running back in. His eyebrows rose sharply with the unspoken question.
"They found a knight dead!"
"Norman or Saxon?"
"Norman, I think. I have not seen. In the new tower."
Alain had put a man there the night before, thinking of the vulnerable bolt hole. He rushed past Gerard out into the bailey, up the slope and inside the tower. Ahead, four men bent over, about to lift the body.
"Leave him there!" Alain ran up to the startled men, who rose and stood back from the body. "Is this how you found him?"
"Aye, lord, here."
"Have you moved him at all?"
"Robert lifted his head, but no more," said Hugh. "He is dead, lord."
"Who?" But he saw for himself. Not the guard he had expected, but his knight, Jean Nouel. Alain knelt beside him. The light from a small horn lantern shone on the blood that had oozed onto the stone floor and matted Jean Nobel's blond hair. A lump hardened in his throat as he brushed his fingers over Jean Nobel's eyelids to close them. A good knight. A friend.
"He could have fallen, Alain."
Alain looked up at Chrétien and shook his head. But to be sure, he scanned the unfinished floor, its beams spanning the tower above the vaulted arches of the undercroft. Above that, blue spring sky.
"Is this the way his head was found?"
"Nay, lord," said Robert, and gently moved the dead man's head back to the way he had found it, flung back and to the side. Robert's fingers grazed tenderly across the bloody hair on his friend's head. "It could only be that his neck was broken."
"How, then?" Alain felt for the bones in the neck. He slowly nodded. A man could not move his head that way, and the neck bones were fractured. The jaw, as well, as if Jean Nobel had landed on it.
Alain stood, crossed his arms. "He fell, I am sure, but that does not explain the wound on the back of his head."
He caught the glimpse of Edyt's yellow braid, falling over her shoulder as she came up and bent down to the broken body.
"Do not trouble yourself, Edyt You can do naught."
He saw then the merest flicker of something beyond that of a woman doing duty for her Norman lord, before the mask slipped once more into place. He could not define it. Fear? A sadness, for a man she had not known?
Something stalked this hall. Not merely something that sought to rid the place of the intruders. Something familiar to her, and to those who lived here with her. What were they hiding? He grew impatient with their infernal silence, their half-answers that had little meaning. Anger surged.
"You have sent for Father Hardouin?"
"Aye, lord, he comes."
"Then do what must be done. You may have use of the hall. I am sorry, Robert. I know he was your friend."
"Aye."
"Edyt, you will come with me."
"But lord,
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