A heavy sigh answered him. “He is well,” a woman’s voice said. “Put this around you and I will pull you up.”
Jocelin was too dazed to fully realize what was happening to him. The woman’s hands guided his body through the neck and up to the cool night air. The air—the first real breath he’d had in many hours—began to clear his mind. His body was cramped and stiff. When his feet touched the ground, he unbuckled the pulley strap.
The stableman and his fat wife stared at him. “Love,” she said. “you must leave at once.” She led the way through the darkness to the stable.
With each step, Jocelin’s head cleared more. As he had never before in his life experienced love until recently, neither had he known hate. Now, walking across the courtyard, he looked up at Edmund’s dark window. He hated Edmund Chatworth, who now lay with Constance.
When they were in the stables, the woman spoke again. “You must go quickly. My husband can get you over the wall. Here—I have packed a bundle of food for you. It will last you a few days if you are careful.”
Jocelin frowned. “No, I cannot go. I cannot leave Constance with him.”
“I know you won’t go until you know,” the old woman said. She turned and motioned for Jocelin to follow her. She lit a candle from another one on the wall and led Jocelin to an empty stall. A cloth was draped over several bundles of hay. Slowly she pulled the cloth away.
At first Jocelin did not believe what he saw. He had seen Constance once before when he thought her to be dead. He knelt beside her and took the frigid body in his arms. “She is cold,” he said with authority. “Fetch blankets so I can warm her.”
The old woman put a hand on Jocelin’s shoulder. “All the blankets in the world won’t help. She is dead.”
“No, she is not! She was like this before and—”
“Don’t torture yourself. The girl’s blood is gone. She has none left.”
“Blood?”
The woman moved the cloth back and held up Constance’s lifeless wrist, the vein exposed, severed.
Jocelin stared at it silently. “Who?” he finally whispered.
“She took her own life. No one else did it.”
Jocelin looked back at Constance’s face, finally realizing that she was gone. He bent and kissed her forehead. “She is at peace now.”
“Yes,” the woman said, relieved. “And you must go.”
Joss pulled away from the woman’s clutching hand and walked purposefully toward the manor house. The great hall was covered with sleeping men on straw pallets. Jocelin was silent as he slipped a sword from the wall where it hung amid a mixture of many weapons. His soft shoes made no noise as he went up the stairs to the fourth floor.
A guard slept in front of Edmund’s door. Jocelin knew he would have no chance if the guard was to waken, for Jocelin’s wiry strength was no match for a seasoned knight’s. The man never uttered a sound as Jocelin rammed the sword through his belly.
Jocelin had never kille
d a man before and this one gave him no pleasure.
Edmund’s door was not locked. He felt safe in his own castle in his own room. Jocelin pushed the door open. He didn’t enjoy what he did, nor did he wish to linger over it as some would have done. He grabbed Edmund’s hair in his hands. Chatworth’s eyes flew open—and then widened as he saw Jocelin.
“No!”
It was the last word Edmund Chatworth spoke. Jocelin pulled the sword across the man’s throat. In death, the earl disgusted Joss as much as when alive. Jocelin tossed the sword to the side of the bed and walked to the door.
Alice could not sleep. She had not been able to sleep properly for weeks—not since the jongleur had stopped coming to her bed. She had threatened him repeatedly, but to no avail. He had just looked at her through those long lashes of his and said nothing. Truthfully, she was a bit intrigued by a man who treated her so badly.
She threw the curtains of her bed back and pulled on a bedrobe. Her feet were soundless on the rush-covered floor. Once in the hall, Alice sensed something was wrong. Edmund’s door was open, the guard before it sat in an odd position. Curious, she walked toward him. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark, and the hall was lit only patchily by the torches along the wall.
A man left Edmund’s room, looking neither right nor left but walked straight toward her. She saw the blood on his doublet before she saw his face. Alice gasped and put her hand to her throat. When he stopped before her, she hardly recognized him. Here was no laughing boy, but a man who looked at her with boldness. A small chill of fear went up her spine. “Jocelin.”
He walked past her as if he had not seen her or did not care that he had. Alice stared after him, then slowly walked to Edmund’s room. She stepped over the dead guard, her heart pounding. When she saw Edmund’s body, the blood still running from the slashed throat, she smiled.
Alice went to the window, her hand on the sill, covering a stain made by another’s innocent blood on the day before. “A widow,” she whispered. A widow! Now she had it all—wealth, beauty and freedom.
For a month she had been writing letters, begging for an invitation to King Henry’s court. When it had come, Edmund had laughed at her, saying he refused to spend the money on such frivolities. In truth, he would not be free at court to toss serving girls from windows as he was in his own castle. Now, Alice thought, she could go unencumbered to the king’s court.