“Genrose,” he whispered, blinking away his disbelief. He lifted his gaze to the men’s stunned faces. “Do as she says.”
“Aye, my lord. What about Harold?” asked the oldest man.
“Harold is innocent,” Clarise supplied, before her husband could speak. “Question him if you must, but this plot was engineered by Maeve. You have my word on it.”
A thoughtful soldier left his torch for them and turned away, encouraging the others to follow.
The warlord stood gazing at her with amazement. “How did you come by all this knowledge?” he asked her. Simon’s sobs had become mere hiccups.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “I lay in bed, and my mind started churning. I knew that there was something I had overlooked. Something I could almost put my finger on if I thought about it hard enough. And then it came to me. I rushed upstairs to check on Simon, and he was gone.”
He shook his head in wonder. “God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come sooner. Why didn’t you wake me?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “When will you learn to garner your impulsiveness and stay out of danger?”
She felt the flexing of his muscles under her fingertips. “If I hadn’t acted when I did,” she soothed him, “then Simon would likely be dead.”
He took a sharp breath and reined himself in. “She was going to drop him down the waste hole?” he asked incredulously. “Why?”
“I will tell you everything in a moment,” she promised, “but first we need to get a soiling cloth on Simon before he wets you.” She stepped over to fetch the torch and bring it with them.
“Are you hurt at all?” he asked, betraying his concern with worry this time.
“Not even a scratch,” she answered, urging him to follow. “Now hurry, or you’ll need another undershirt.”
He trailed her down the hall to Doris’s chamber. “You wrestled the babe from her, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did. Think you that I would let that woman kill him? I’d have torn her into shreds first.”
Her proclamation impressed him into silence. She motioned for him to lay the baby on Doris’s bed while she foraged for linens. The heavy nurse had yet to return to her room. She would hear the news of Maeve’s arrest from the men-at-arms. And then she would go to Harold to explain matters to him. At last the lovers would be free to proclaim their affection for each other.
“This reminds me of the time I found Simon naked in his box,” he mused, looking down at his son. “Do you remember that night? My first thought was that you’d performed that mischief to avenge me.”
She remembered perfectly. The terror she’d felt for him then seemed unreasonable in light of their newfound love. “Maeve was likely the one to do it. She hoped he would take chill and die as many infants do.”
Christian’s fingers scraped the bristles on his chin. “I remember now that I sent her up to waken you. She had the perfect opportunity to kill him then. Why not take it?”
“She would have been suspect right away,” reasoned Clarise. “Better to drop him in the moat where his body . . . my God, I can’t even speak of it, ’tis so horrifying. I have so much to tell you, Christian,” she added, “but I think you should be sitting when I say it.” She looked around. “Have a seat on the chest,” she said, waving him toward the chest he’d sat on once before.
“Christ’s toes, what do you think me made of?” he exclaimed.
She turned toward his stunned expression. “I think your heart is far more tender than you realize,” she told him earnestly.
He glowered at her. “Think you so?” His bloodshot eyes gave him the appearance of a demon.
“I know so.” She picked up the securely girded baby. “When you hear the extent of Maeve’s wickedness, you will think yourself an angel by comparison.”
He gave a tortured sound that had her looking at him sharply. “What was that? Did you just laugh?”
His expression was composed. “I never laugh,” he said grimly.
“Hmmm.” She trusted her ears more than his words. “We have work to do,” she announced. “As you imagine yourself undaunted, I will tell you what I have pieced together on the way. Would you kindly bring the torch? And the keys, we’ll need Maeve’s keys, most likely.”
“Where are we going?” he asked, bewildered.
She scooped up the baby. “To look for proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“Proof that Maeve sent messages to the abbot. Proof that the two of them collaborated to see you thrust from Helmesly.”
“Maeve and the abbot? I doubt they even knew each other.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge, Christian. Think about it. What was the purpose of the interdict but to breed discontent among the people? The abbot instilled resentment into the hearts of the peasants. He wanted them to fear you. Elsewise he would not have predicted you would kill your lady wife. The idea was to cause the people to rise against you in the hopes that they would thrust you from Helmesly.
“You were too much a danger to Maeve’s plans,” she continued, leading the way toward the east tower. “She feared you would get a boy child on Genrose, which you did, of course. She then plotted to get rid of the baby. With the midwife’s help, she poisoned Genrose with the same infusion of brakefern that they gave to Doris.”
“Why the devil would Maeve do such a thing?”
Clarise touched her husband’s arm before delivering the coup de grace. “Harold is the brother of the late baron of Eppingham. After Simon, he is next in line to the seat of Helmesly.”
“What!” he cried, coming to a startled halt.
She quickly related the scraps of information she had pieced together. “Harold mentioned that his niece, Rose, would ofttimes read to him. I didn’t make the connection at first. All I knew was that they were close.” She urged Christian to precede her down the tower stairs, holding the torch aloft so they could see.
“Genrose never told me Harold was her uncle,” he puzzled aloud. “Neither did Baron John.”
“He was apparently an embarrassment to the family. As no noblewoman would wed him, his family settled on a merchant’s daughter, Maeve.”
“Who soon had ambitious thoughts,” he concluded, his voice echoing in the stairwell.
“Aye, only you ruined her plans by getting her niece with child. She couldn’t run the risk that the baby might be a boy, so she sought to kill him. If you hadn’t saved Simon, Harold would be baron, despite his shortcomings.”
“Especially if the abbot Gilbert sealed his right to rule.”
“Exactly.”
“How much farther?” he asked. The stairs were steep and slick with moisture in the lower regions.
“Maeve’s retreat is down with the storerooms. One more level, I think. I’ve been here before,” she volunteered when they reached the lowest level. “The goods that were stripped from the castle were piled in one of the storerooms like a hidden cache. Sir Roger said Genrose had wanted to give her parents’ riches to the poor. I suspect Maeve was holding on to them for the time when she would rule as baroness.”
They moved from door to door, finding the keys in precise order on the key ring. More goods littered the dusty floor.
“There’s another room around the corner,” Clarise informed him.
As they turned the corner, Christian pulled her back. “Wait,” he whispered. “There’s a line of light under the door.”
His vision was much improved, she thought, to discern the coppery glow. “Try the key,” she whispered. Nervously she patted Simon’s back, though the baby had already dropped off to sleep.
But the key wasn’t necessary. The door swung silently inward, and a pungent odor greeted their nostrils. The room was illumined with tallow candles, betraying Maeve’s recent presence. It was clearly an herbal of sorts, as a number of dried plants were suspended from hooks and littered the tabletops. What drew both their gazes was the cote of carrier pigeons. The birds fluttered in alarm as the couple edged into the room.