Trying not to let emotion overwhelm me, I thought about that. How had he managed to get her out on the artificial island? Had they had a regular trysting place where they went under the kind cover of darkness, and had he, knowing what must happen as they met for the final time, suggested crossing to the island? They would, he might have said, be even less likely there to attract unwelcome attention, even as he planned to use the lonely location for his own violent purpose.
How had he appeared, that day I led him out to where I had found Ida’s body? I had attributed the emotion in his face and the gruff break in his voice to his sorrow at a young life choked out; I had been wrong. He had been horrified because his careful hiding place had been so swiftly discovered.
What a clever, efficient dissembler the man was. .
Something in me that had warmed to him, trusted him, liked him, cracked and broke.
Hrype felt the sorrow flow out of his silent companion. He was aware of the trend of her thoughts; indeed, his own had worked to the same conclusion. If Sir Alain had fathered Ida’s child — and the possibility could not be discounted — then it was highly likely he had killed her to prevent her condition, and his responsibility for it, becoming known to Lady Claude.
Hrype was aware of the machinations of the men of power in the world, although he did not comprehend their motivation. There were things to which he gladly dedicated, and would probably give, his own life, but political power and position were not among them. He knew he would never have agreed to marry a woman like Lady Claude de Sees. He might not have met her, but he did not need to. He had lain with two women in his life; he felt sympathy and deep responsibility for one of them, and he loved the other wholeheartedly. She was so very different from Claude that the two might have belonged to separate species.
He sighed. There was half a mile to go before they were back in the village, and he knew he must hurry on to the house he shared with Froya and Sibert, for it was late and Froya had probably decided he would not be home that night. She would be alarmed by his unexpected return, and it would take some time to settle her again. The sooner he began, the sooner they could all go to sleep.
He did not want to go home. He wanted to go on with Lassair to Edild’s house. He and Edild kept their secret, as Ida and Alain had kept theirs; Edild would never conceive Hrype’s child all the time their love had to be hidden — she was far too well versed in the power of herbs to permit an unwanted pregnancy — but, despite the fact that he could never say so out loud, it was with her that his heart lay. His instinct was to sympathize with Alain de Villequiers. Steadily, carefully, he inspected this instinct, for he had learned to trust such an awareness that came to him unbidden.
Had Alain killed Ida? He had the motive, and it would not have been difficult for him to persuade her to slip out of Lakehall by night to meet him in some lonely place, for she’d loved him and must have longed for the chance to be with him. Coolly, Hrype tried to imagine Alain winding a length of tough braid around the neck of the woman who bore his child. Drawing it tight, pulling on the ends until the life was choked out of her. Looking down at the dead face. Slipping the inert body into the grave so conveniently at hand.
Hrype thought about it for some time.
He could not convince himself that Alain de Villequier had killed Ida but, on the other hand, he could not have sworn that he hadn’t.
They were in the village now, approaching the track that led up to Edild’s house. Hrype stopped, and Lassair turned to face him. Studying her expression, he knew he had read her thoughts correctly. She looked utterly desolate.
He reached out and laid a swift touch on her arm. ‘We have work to do,’ he murmured.
Her eyes widened. ‘But he is the justiciar!’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘Who do we go to if there is a crime to lay at his door?’
‘Shhh!’ He put a warning finger to his lips. ‘We cannot yet swear that he has committed any crime.’
‘But-’
Again he hushed her. ‘We can make no accusation until we know more,’ he said soothingly.
‘And where will we go to find out what we need to know?’ she asked scathingly.
He smiled to himself. He had always admired her spirit, even if it was still too wild. Once she had learned to control her fire, what a woman she would be.
‘We will find out,’ he assured her. ‘I will come to your aunt’s house tomorrow, and we shall talk together, the three of us.’ She looked slightly mollified. He suspected, however, that her anger and her bitter disappointment in the man she had taken at his own value would not allow her much sleep. To distract her, he said, ‘You made quite an impression on Gurdyman.’
Her expression changed, and he saw both pleasure and apprehension in her face. ‘How do you know?’ she demanded. ‘You had no chance to speak to him privately, and I did not hear you discussing me.’
He smiled. ‘We did not need to.’
She nodded, and he knew she understood. Her cheeks flushed slightly — he knew she was modest and did not yet appreciate her undoubted gift — and, gathering her courage with a visible effort, she said, ‘I thought you’d taken me there for some special purpose. I thought that asking him what he knew about Lady Claude’s household at Heathlands was just an excuse and the real reason for the visit was so that he — Gurdyman — could teach me something.’ She gave a rueful grin. ‘I was very scared.’
‘I know,’ Hrype said gently. ‘And you are right, there was a purpose in my taking you there.’
‘What was it?’ She frowned as she thought back. ‘There was the potion he was making when we got there — was it something with incredible power and I was meant to guess what it was from the ingredients?’ Her face fell. ‘Oh, but I did know what was in it — some of the elements at least — but I’ve no idea what it was for. Is he — can he make the elixir of life?’ The last words were barely audible, breathed rather than spoken aloud.
‘He was making a remedy for gallstones,’ Hrype said expressionlessly. ‘A very painful condition, I am told, and among Gurdyman’s elite company of magicians, not a few suffer and go to him for a remedy.’
‘Gallstones!’ she murmured. He watched as the apprentice healer took over and she said softly, ‘Of course — I thought I smelt billy goats, and saxifrage has that aroma and is commonly used to break up internal stones.’ Then her face fell and she said, ‘But I know about gallstones already, or at least Edild is beginning to teach me.’ She frowned in thought. ‘Was it the chart of his ancestors’ journeys, then? Was I supposed to learn something from that?’
He guessed she believed she had failed somehow, and he could not allow that. For one thing it was untrue, and for another, it would prevent her sleeping almost as effectively as her distress over Sir Alain.
‘No, Lassair,’ he said. ‘Gurdyman showed you his chart because he had already made up his mind about you. I suspect,’ he added, ‘that he shows it to very few people.’ While she digested that he went on, ‘Gurdyman has heard about you from me. He has long wished to meet you and see for himself if what I have told him is accurate. Today he put you to the test.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘I sensed him!’ she exclaimed. ‘I felt him trying to get into my mind. It felt very odd, but I thought I’d better let him get on with it, but then I realized I’d had enough and so I tried to lock him out.’
He studied her. ‘With some success,’ he observed wryly.
‘What?’ Her mouth dropped. ‘You mean I prevented him doing it?’
‘You did.’ He remembered how Gurdyman had caught his eye and winked. ‘I cannot think of many other people who can prevent Gurdyman penetrating their thoughts, especially ones as young as you. It came as quite a surprise to him.’