‘Dame Marian’s prayer book,’ said Lucie, passing it to her.
Jasper showed Alisoun what he thought the funniest illustrations, repeated his description of the minster chapter’s behavior. They laughed together.
Poor Ned. He did not have a chance with Alisoun, not with the mutual affection she saw as their eyes met.
She gave them a moment before asking Alisoun to tell them about her journey, and Marian’s reception.
Rarely did Alisoun have such a rapt audience, and she drank up the attention, giving a dramatic account of the altercation at the bridge, Fitch the Snoop’s humbling, the deepening darkness as they moved along the far bank, the encounter with Porter and Diggs, the children on the roof, the unease when the Neville retainers surrounded them out beyond the Old Baile.
‘Porter and Diggs again.’ Lucie looked at Owen. ‘Will they do more?’
‘I am certain they will try.’
‘They will not appreciate being humbled by a woman,’ said Alisoun. ‘Or Drake, a warehouse worker.’
‘Who’s Drake?’ Jasper asked. Alisoun had mentioned him by name several times.
‘I set his arm once when he broke it in a brawl. He works in Crispin’s warehouse, came along to guide the donkey. I walked with him.’
Jasper frowned. ‘Young and handsome, I’d wager.’
‘And strong!’ Alisoun said with a teasing grin, elbowing Jasper and touching his hand. She continued her account with their reception at St Clement’s, the prioress’s clear reluctance to receive them. ‘All that changed when Lady Maud came forward to embrace Marian and questioned why she was not garbed in the habit of the order. The prioress whined, Brother Michaelo smoothed feathers, they all retired to Prioress Isabel’s parlor, and Crispin, Drake, and I headed home.’
‘Any trouble on your return?’ Owen asked.
‘We were ready for real trouble, but found no sign of Porter and Diggs. Now and then some fool began to follow, but we frightened them off. Nothing more.’
‘Brother Michaelo will spend the night?’ asked Jasper.
‘Yes. Sharing the priest’s chamber. Marian insisted. The precentrice Dame Veronica was very welcoming. I think with Lady Maud’s support Marian will soon take her place among her sisters at Wherwell.’
‘That is for the archbishop to decide.’ Lucie saw how that news erased all the smiles. ‘You remember with Dame Joanna …’ A nun who had run away from St Clement’s some time ago.
‘But she was nothing like Dame Marian,’ Jasper protested. ‘She had brought on her troubles with crime and sin.’
‘She was mad, as her mother before her,’ said Owen. ‘I, for one, could not bring myself to judge her in the end.’
Jasper flushed at the implied criticism, ducking his head.
‘But all you heard were my curses and complaints,’ Owen admitted, winning a cautious grin.
He was a good father. When the prayer book had been put away, Owen spoke of the confessions of Beck and the chancellor. A pair of greedy cowards, Lucie declared them. But she was relieved. Marian was safe, and Owen was surely closer to solving Ronan’s murder. Soon they might all sleep more peacefully.
‘Tell me more about this Drake,’ said Jasper, poking his face close to Alisoun’s.
Lucie leaned to Owen, whispered a request to return to their earlier discussion up in their bedchamber. He needed no further prompting. She asked Alisoun to damp the fire in the hall. ‘Jasper can help you. Let Kate get a good night’s sleep.’
As they climbed to the solar Owen asked whether it was wise to leave them unchaperoned.
‘I choose to trust them.’
On the landing Lucie turned to watch Alisoun and Jasper slip into the hall, hand in hand.
Owen woke in the night to a soft knock on the door. Expecting Gwen, who often came to them with bad dreams, he groped on the floor for his shirt before sticking his head out the door. But it was Kate, who apologized for waking him before dawn but a man had brought Ambrose, who was injured.
‘I will dress and come down,’ he whispered, hoping not to wake Lucie. ‘Bring out the pallet we used for Gabriel.’
Owen was fumbling with the rest of his clothes in the dark when Lucie startled him by opening the shutter on the lantern they kept by the door, for the children. ‘I did not hear you rise,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘How could you with all the noise you’re making stumbling about? What has happened?’
‘Ambrose is here. Injured.’
‘I will come.’
‘But—’
‘No arguments.’
As he stepped out onto the landing Owen saw Alisoun peering round the nursery door. ‘Is there trouble?’ she whispered.
‘Ambrose is here.’
Lucie joined Owen, motioning to Alisoun to go back to sleep, and the two crept down the steps.
In the kitchen, Kate was stoking the fire. Owen did not know the gray-haired man who bent over Ambrose, who lay on the pallet near the fire, but he guessed by the French endearments that this was the one who had followed him from France, protecting him. He looked the part of a soldier, puckered scar on his neck, weathered face, now drawn down in concern for his friend. Owen greeted him, identified himself. The man offered his name, Denis, pronounced as the French would.
Joining him to kneel beside Ambrose, Owen opened the cloak. A cloth wrapped round Ambrose’s chest was so blood-soaked he could not tell the precise location of the wound. Denis indicated a space just below the heart. As Ambrose’s breathing was shallow, but quiet, and he was not gasping, it seemed the lung was spared. God be thanked.
‘What happened, Denis?’ Owen asked. ‘Would you prefer we speak French?’
‘Merci, but no, I had much practice speaking your tongue when Ambrose was first at court. I was walking down the alley to the home of the vicar where I have sheltered – Franz – when I heard Ambrose cry out behind me. I was not aware that he had followed me, but I knew his voice and rushed back to help. The musician Carl had fallen on him, wounding him as you see, but Ambrose fought back before falling to the ground, slicing
