the sick and dying. Every wound you see on these men is given to them by God Himself to serve as a sign to you. Your actions tonight are an insult to Him.”
“I don’t believe you! They’re evil-they’ve managed to win over two of our women already, and they’ll not be happy till they’ve won all the others. They shouldn’t be allowed to stay on, they should be evicted!” Jack shouted, glaring from one to another. Suddenly he snatched the knife from his belt. Spinning, he rushed at the gate.
“Jack, stop!” bellowed Clifford, but the running man leaped over the gate and pelted toward Quivil.
The leper was overcome with shock to see the maddened smith heading for him. With his mouth hanging open, he lifted the stave in his hand, and Rodde moved to help him, but even as Thomas saw the oaken stick point to the smith, he saw it fall. “Edmund, no!”
It was over in an instant. No one there missed the look of fear disappear, to be replaced by one of gratitude. They all saw Quivil drop his sole weapon of defense, saw the faint smile that passed over his face, and the vaguely surprised expression that succeeded it as the knife slipped in up to the hilt in his chest.
“No!” Rodde screamed, swinging his staff. It cracked into Jack’s head above the ear, and he slumped to the ground at Quivil’s feet, leaving the dagger buried in the leper’s body. “Edmund! How could you?”
Rodde caught at Quivil as he began to topple.
Edmund felt light-headed. Suddenly his knees weren’t strong enough to hold him, and he was thankful for his friend’s arms. He could feel Rodde carefully easing him down to a sitting position.
“Why didn’t you defend yourself? You could have hit him and kept him away!”
Ralph went over to the fallen smith. Jack was lying face down, and as the monk tried to pull him over, he felt a horrible stickiness on the man’s shoulder. Bending, he saw that the back of his head was crushed, and Ralph gave a low sighing groan for Jack’s folly before muttering a quick prayer.
He stood and put a hand on the weeping leper’s shoulder. Rodde’s hat had fallen from his head, and his tousled hair hung loose, obscuring his face. Gently the monk took Rodde’s hands away and lowered Quivil to the ground before closing the sightless eyes.
Baldwin ran out with his servant, leaving the quietly fuming Jeanne in the hall. Out near the kitchen he found Emma, sobbing hysterically and holding her arm.
“It was the hound, your blasted hound! You should have killed it when I said; you should have killed it. It’s mad! Look at me, look at my poor hand, and all because I was trying to stroke it!”
“Edgar, what happened?”
The servant shook his head sadly. “I am sorry, sir, but she says Uther went for her. She tried to be friendly with him, and when she made to stroke him, he bit her.”
Baldwin looked at her skeptically. “Where did he bite you?”
“Here! Look!” she wailed, holding out her hand.
There on her wrist, Baldwin could see the toothmarks by the light of the moon. Blood was drawn on two gashes where the canines had gouged the skin, but they were not the deep wounds of a savaged limb-they were no worse than Baldwin himself had received when enjoying a tussle with the dog. Teeth like Uther’s would do vastly more harm than this. “Is that all?”
“All? What more proof do you need, you unnatural fellow! That dog is vicious, it’s a brute. What do you mean by asking if that’s all! What more do you need? A corpse?”
The knight eyed her with frustration. That she was scared he didn’t doubt, but to say that Uther was in any way ferocious was ludicrous. “Look, Emma, perhaps we should go indoors and get your wounds seen to.”
“Why, so you can try to persuade me I imagined this? Look: blood! The dog must be killed. Now!”
“Where is he?”
Edgar answered. “Hugh took him back to your room, sir.”
“Sir Baldwin?”
“What now? Oh, sorry, Hugh. What can I do for you?”
In answer, Hugh said nothing, but pushed past Emma to a bush by the wall. He stared for a moment, then reached in, and brought out a long stick. Passing it to Baldwin, he stood and stared at Emma with his arms folded.
The knight studied it, and glanced helplessly at the impassive servant. “Well?”
“That’s why Uther bit her. She kept stabbing him with it. I saw her from the window.”
One end of the stick had been sharpened to a point. Baldwin tested it on his finger as he surveyed the maid. “Is this true?”
“The hound attacked me. He’s mad and vicious.”
“Is it true you baited him?”
“Answer him, Emma.”
Baldwin turned to find Jeanne at his side. She was watching her maid with an expression of contempt. “Did you make the dog try to bite you?”
“No, I only had the stick to defend myself.”
Baldwin broke the stick in half and threw it away. “That dog is less cruel than most humans, and you tried to beat him into betraying his nature. You did so to make him appear dangerous so that you could get him destroyed. You are less humane than he is.”
“Emma, you are released from my service. I will not give you a home when I return to Liddinstone. You must find somewhere else to live,” said Jeanne coldly, then she spun on her heel and went back into the hall. Baldwin walked after her.
“Madam, I am sorry if my hound has been the cause of your losing your maid.”
“Can you believe that I would want you to have your best dog killed because of a foolish woman who mistreats him?”
“No, of course not. And I don’t think I could suffer her to live with me, either.”
She shot him a look. Baldwin was smiling broadly, his happiness a mixture of delight at the removal of the block from his path, and new-found confidence. Now he was certain of her answer. He held out his hands to her again. “Come, I think we were about to talk of something important when your maid interrupted us.”
“Yes, Baldwin?” she said, and walked into his arms.
It was unfortunate that Hugh had thought Uther should be freed from his confinement. More so, that Uther felt left out when he saw his master kissing and embracing Jeanne. So it wasn’t surprising that he jumped up at them, although he was surprised at the way his master shouted at him.
Simon and his wife knew nothing of the scene. Upstairs in their room, Simon threw a tunic at his wife. She was still naked on the bed, languidly running her hands through her long blonde hair.
“You should get dressed,” he grinned.
“It was you who delayed the process,” she retorted, spreading the green velvet tunic beside her over the patch where he had been lying only a few moments before. “If you hadn’t decided to attack me as soon as we got up here, I’d be ready now.”
“My apologies, Lady. In future I’ll leave you to dress alone.”
“I don’t think so,” she chuckled, rising from the mattress and pulling a shift over her head. Simon watched her as she clothed herself, smiling to himself. When she was ready, and he had pulled on his hose, shirt, and tunic, he held out his hand and they left the room together.
Simon was filled with expectation. He knew only too well how much Baldwin wanted a wife, a woman who could comfort him and provide him with children, and his friend had selected the widow. All Simon hoped was that she would accept him and be the lady he longed for.
He walked down to the screens. The way was curtained. Margaret paused, her grip on his hand tightening. “Do you think they’ve agreed?”
“That’s in their hands.”
He smiled, but she could see his confusion: he wanted to go in and hear good news, but he wasn’t sure that he would.
“Come, my love,” she murmured, her mouth at his ear. “The anticipation is killing me.”
With a resolute movement, Simon swept the curtain aside and they walked in. In front of the fire sat Jeanne. Baldwin was nowhere to be seen. Jeanne rose elegantly as they approached. “I think Baldwin will be back shortly.”
“He left you here?” Simon asked.
