"Are you actually going to show me the village ditch?" Vincent asked dryly.
Hugh grimaced. "Nay. In truth there is a matter we should no doubt discuss." He had been debating how much to tell Vincent concerning the murder of Calvert and he had finally come to a conclusion.
"If you intend to lecture me further on my duties to Rivenhall, you may save your breath. I have finally acquired enough money from the jousts to enable me to see to my estates. I do not intend to leave them again."
Hugh shrugged. "That is your affair. But as we are neighbors whether we like it or not, you should know that murder has been done very recently on these lands."
"Murder?" Vincent shot him a startled glance. "Who was killed?"
"I discovered the body of a wandering monk named Calvert of Oxwick in one of the cliff caves. I believe he may have been killed by robbers."
"Why would anyone kill a monk?"
Hugh hesitated briefly. "Because he was searching for the Stones of Scarcliffe."
Vincent snorted in disbelief. "That is nothing but an old tale. If there ever were any Stones of Scarcliffe, they have long since disappeared."
"Aye, but there are always those who believe in legends. The monk may have been one."
"And the murderer?"
"He may have also believed in the legend," Hugh said softly.
Vincent frowned. "If a thief killed the monk for the sake of a nonexistent treasure, he has no doubt realized his mistake by now. Likely he has already departed these lands."
"Aye. But in light of the fact that you've decided to return to your manor and assume your responsibilities, I thought you might want to take note of the incident. Neither of us needs a murderer in the neighborhood."
"You wield sarcasm as well as you do a sword, Sir Hugh."
" 'Tis the only weapon my wife has seen fit to leave me today," Hugh muttered.
Vincent was quiet for a moment. The hooves of the horses thudded softly in the dirt. Several of the nuns at work in the convent gardens glanced at the pair. The miller's son waved energetically from the shelter of his parents' cottage.
"Sir Hugh, Sir Hugh," the boy cried happily.
Hugh lifted a hand in greeting. Young John laughed with delight.
Vincent watched the boy disappear into the cottage. Then he looked at Hugh. "They say that Erasmus of Thornewood is near death."
"Aye."
"I shall miss him," Vincent said sincerely. "Other than his demand that you and I not go to war with each other, he has been a good liege."
"Very good."
Vincent glanced around at the repaired cottages. "You have accomplished much here in the past few months, Sir Hugh."
"Aye. With the aid of my wife." Hugh knew a deep sense of pride and satisfaction. Order and stability had been brought to Scarcliffe. In the spring, it would begin to know prosperity as well.
"Tell me," Vincent said, "do you still hunger for Rivenhall, or are you content with these lands?"
Hugh raised his brows. "You are asking if I will take Rivenhall when my oath to Erasmus is severed by his death?"
"I am asking if you will attempt to take it," Vincent corrected dryly.
"Attempt?" Laughter welled up out of nowhere within Hugh. It roared forth from the depths of his being. It rang in the street, drawing the attention of the nuns on the other side of the convent wall.
"I'm glad you find the question amusing." Vincent watched him with wary eyes. "I'm still waiting for your answer."
Hugh managed to control his mirth. "I suspect that Rivenhall is safe so long as my wife calls your wife friend. I do not care to contemplate the endless scolding I would be obliged to endure were I to lay siege to Rivenhall."
Vincent blinked owlishly and then he started to grin. "Something tells me that you have already begun to settle in nicely to the life of a married man."
"There are worse fates."
"Aye. There are."
The following morning dawned dark with ominous clouds. Hugh was forced to light a candle on his desk so that he and Benedict could work.
Hugh was midway through an examination of a list of spices when he noticed that the flame of the taper was shimmering in an odd manner. He put down his quill and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. When he opened them again he saw that the flame had grown very large. Too large.
"Is something wrong, sir?" Benedict leaned across the desk, his expression one of concern.
"Nay." Hugh shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs that seemed to have enveloped his wits.
Benedict's features started to run together. His eyes and nose flowed into his mouth.
"Lord Hugh?"
Hugh forced himself to concentrate. Benedict's face returned to normal. "Have you finished those sums?"
"Aye." Benedict pushed aside the cups of green pottage that had been brought to the chamber a short while ago. "I will have the amounts ready for Julian to take to London on the morrow. Sir, are you certain you are well?"
"Why in the name of the devil is that candle dancing about? There is no draft in here."
Benedict glanced at the candle. "The flame appears steady, sir."
Hugh stared at it. The flame was leaping wildly. It was also turning a strange shade of pink. Pink flames?
He tore his gaze from the candle and focused on the tapestry that hung on the wall. The unicorn woven into the center came alive even as he watched. It turned its graceful head and regarded him with a politely curious expression.
"The pottage," Hugh whispered.
"My lord?"
Hugh looked at the half-empty cup of pottage in front of him. A terrible premonition pierced his fogged brain. "Did you drink any?" His voice was a harsh whisper of sound.
"Of the green pottage?" Benedict's features wavered, just as the flame did. "Nay. I do not care for the stuff. I know Alice believes it to be very beneficial to the humors, but I dislike it. I usually throw it down the nearest garderobe shaft."
"Alice." Hugh grabbed the edge of his desk as the chamber began to spin slowly around him. "The pottage."
"What is wrong, my lord?"
"Get her. Get Alice. Tell her… tell her… poison."
Benedict leaped to his feet. "Sir, that is impossible. How dare you accuse her of being a poisoner?"
"Not Alice." Hugh could barely manage the words. "This is Rivenhall work. My own fault. Should never have let them into the keep—"
As he crumpled heavily to the floor Hugh was dimly aware of Benedict's footsteps pounding out the door and down the hall. And then the unicorn walked out of the tapestry and came across the chamber to gaze solemnly down at him.
"This is how it was for your father and your mother," the unicorn said gently.
Chapter 18
"My Lord, I am going to stick my fingers down your throat. I pray you will not bite them off." Alice crouched beside Hugh, turned his head, and pried open his mouth.
A moment later Hugh groaned and obligingly discharged the contents of his stomach into the chamber pot that Benedict held for him.
Alice waited until the first spasms began to ease and then she inserted her fingers down his throat a second time.
Hugh convulsed violently. The little that remained in his belly spewed forth.
Benedict looked at her, fear in his eyes. "Will he die?"
"Nay," Alice vowed fiercely. "He will not die if I can help it. Get me water, Benedict. A large flagon of it. And milk. Hurry."
"Aye." Benedict grabbed his staff, lurched to his feet, and rushed from the chamber.
"And Benedict?"
He paused, one hand on the door frame. "Aye?"
"Tell no one about this, do you comprehend me? Say that I have requested the water and milk so that I may wash my face."