“Hugh came to see me.”
Isabel clasped her hands together at her waist and watched him out of fear-filled eyes. “I did not know what I should tell him, so I sent him to you.”
The sun from the window glinted on the blue-black of her hair.
The priest said painfully, “This is difficult for me to tell you, my lady, but…” Father Anselm took a deep breath. “He asked me about Ivo.”
Isabel flinched as if he had struck her.
“Oh, God. He knew about Ivo?”
Father’s Anselm’s face was perfectly white.
“Apparently he heard the story from Alan fitzRobert, who is still in service at Chippenham,” he replied.
Isabel said in a choked voice, “He said nothing about Ivo to me.”
In a low tone, the priest replied, “I can see where he might have found that somewhat difficult.”
“And what did you tell him, Father?” Isabel asked.
She had bowed her head and was refusing to meet his eyes.
“I confirmed Alan’s story,” Father Anselm said in the same low voice as before. “I felt that I had no choice.”
“I suppose not,” Isabel said despairingly.
“My lady, he was going to have to know about it. It was the only way to make him believe that Walter Crespin had reason to kill Lord Roger.”
Isabel lifted her head and stared at the priest for a long, silent moment.
“I am so sorry, my lady,” Father Anselm said wretchedly. “I just did not see any other way…”
Isabel gestured for him to stop talking. “It was not your fault. I should not have laid this burden on you. I should not have sent Hugh to you. God knows, you have already done enough for me.”
The priest’s reply was deeply bitter. “I have done nothing for you, my lady, except to make your life more painful.”
Isabel shook her head in disagreement.
“My lady, I am afraid that I have more bad news. Hugh still does not believe that Walter killed his father.”
Isabel’s eyes widened. “But why? If he knew about Ivo, why shouldn’t he believe Walter guilty?”
The priest took a step farther into the room. His face was stark as he replied, “My lady, he told me that he remembered being present in the chapel when Lord Roger was killed.”
Isabel’s eyes were almost black with pain and fear. “He told me that, too. But he doesn’t remember what happened!”
“My lady…” The priest looked away from her, as if he could not bear to see her face when he imparted his news. “It grieves me more than I can say to have to tell you this, but Hugh has come to the conclusion that it was he who murdered his father.”
Her breath hissed audibly in her throat.
“Why should he think that?”
The priest shut his eyes at the pain in her voice. He said wretchedly, “I made an error and told him about the way Roger treated him after Ivo’s death. It was a mistake, I see that now, but I thought it would explain to him why he had such evil feelings about the Chippenham chapel. All it did, however, was to show him that he had reason to wish his father dead.”
Isabel’s hands were pressed to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she moaned through them. “Oh my God.”
“He deduced that the reason we had Walter take him away from Chippenham was to safeguard him from discovery.”
Over her hands, Isabel’s eyes were appalled.
“You did not tell him the truth?”
“He would not have listened.” The priest took another step forward. “My lady…the reason I came here in such haste is to tell you that Hugh is on his way to Chippenham. He thinks that if he goes into the chapel with this new knowledge, he will be able to remember.”
“Then we must go to Chippenham as well.”
Isabel rose from the window seat.
“I think we must,” the priest agreed somberly. “He cannot be left to remember the truth alone. We must be there to try to explain…”
A spasm of pain passed across Isabel’s face. She breathed in and out once, with great care, then said, “How long will it take us to reach Chippenham if we leave right away?”
“If we leave immediately we can stay over the night at the abbey in Cirencester and be at Chippenham by tomorrow afternoon.”
“We’ll do that, then,” Isabel said decisively.
“We will need an escort,” the priest said.
Isabel shook her head. “I don’t want an escort, Father Anselm. The fewer people who know about this, the better it will be for Hugh.”
“With two armies in the area, the roads are not safe. I don’t mind traveling alone, but I am not a knight.” Father Anselm flushed. “I am not capable of defending you, my lady.”
Isabel made an impatient gesture. “You are a priest. No one will bother you.”
“That may be so, but I cannot guarantee that they would not bother you.”
“I don’t want an escort of knights,” Isabel repeated. “I want to keep this quiet.”
“What about Philip Demain?” the priest suggested. “He is a very capable young man and he knows Hugh. I am sure he can be trusted to keep his mouth closed.”
After a moment, Isabel said crisply, “All right, but just Philip, no one else.”
“I will speak to him,” Father Anselm said. “When can you be ready?”
“I will be ready in half an hour,” Isabel said.
“I will find Philip and ask him to have horses made ready for us,” said the priest.
It was two in the afternoon when Philip Demain set off from Evesham with his two charges. It had taken quite a bit of talking from the priest to convince him that it was necessary for Isabel to leave for Chippenham without waiting for her brother’s return.
“If you won’t escort us, Philip, then we will go alone,” the priest had said.
Philip had seen that he meant it, and had given in. Which was how he found himself cantering through the forests of Gloucestershire with a tired but determined woman and an exhausted but equally determined priest.
Philip had left Thomas’s roan behind and given Father Anselm one of the Evesham stallions, so at least the horses were fresh. The priest had been in the saddle for two straight days, however, and Philip could see that he was aching and sore. And Isabel, who had spent the last fourteen years in a convent, was not accustomed to the exertion of a long ride either.
Neither of them complained, however. In fact, whenever Philip suggested that they might stop for a rest, his companions stubbornly insisted that they push on.
Nothing could have shown Philip the urgency of their errand more vividly than their determination to continue despite their obvious physical discomfort.
They cantered on.
They arrived in Cirencester an hour after vespers, and asked for lodging at the abbey there. Philip saw his two charges taken into the care of the monks before he went to the stable to make certain that the horses were taken care of properly. By the time he returned to the abbey guest house for a meal, it was almost time for compline.
Few travelers were on the roads these days because of the war, and they were the only guests at the abbey this night. Consequently Philip had a room to himself and did not see Father Anselm until the following morning, when he went downstairs for breakfast.
Isabel was already sitting at the table and Philip took the bench across from her. It was sheer physical pleasure just to look at her, he thought.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said politely. “Did you sleep well?”
“Aye, thank you,” she said.
She did not look as if she had slept well, however. There were shadows under her beautiful eyes.
At this moment, Father Anselm entered the refectory. Isabel’s eyes turned to him with a look of unmistakable urgency.
“Eat something, my lady,” the priest said, looking at the untouched bread that lay in front of her. “It will not help Hugh to have you fainting from hunger.”
Isabel frowned, but she picked up her bread and bit off a small piece.
Father Anselm sat down next to her.
Philip looked at them from the other side of the table. He remembered very well Isabel’s words when he and Simon had first brought her the news that Hugh might be alive.