“He lives,” said Crispin. He quaffed the wine then lowered the bowl, grabbed the jug, and splashed more wine in the cup. “I’m becoming concerned that I will not be able to bring the culprit the full attention he deserves.”
Gilbert’s red nose hovered over his bowl. “You already know who did it?”
“Yes. I have proof right here.” He patted the arrows snug against his side.
Ned shuffled forward and laid a round loaf on the table. Crispin felt his belly rumble at the sight and realized he hadn’t eaten since Jack’s early-morning repast. He tore a hunk from the loaf, clamped a piece in his teeth, and took the bread into his mouth. He chewed and then dipped the edge of a hunk into his wine and sucked up the dripping crumbs.
“Then why don’t you go straight to the sheriff with it?”
“That’s not the direction I intend to go.”
“I don’t understand you, Crispin. You’ve got proof. Let the sheriff do his duty.”
“This is my kill,” he said quietly. Gilbert stared at him strangely and Crispin realized what he’d said. He tried to smile. “What I mean is, I’d rather do it myself.”
Gilbert shook his head and thumbed the rim of his bowl. His lips were slick with wine. “After all you’ve been through, why do you keep trying?”
Crispin knocked back the bowl. He set it down empty and grabbed the jug. His voice was hard. “I want to win.”
“It’s a stark game you play.”
“It’s a never-ending game.” He drank and caught Gilbert’s sorrowful expression. He patted him on the back until the burly man looked up at him. “Don’t worry over me, Gilbert. I can take care of myself.”
“Aye, you keep saying that, yet Eleanor and I keep putting you back together. I’m afraid there will come a time when the king gets ahold of you again and they’ll be no putting you back together.”
Crispin chuckled without mirth. “The king no longer frightens me.”
Gilbert opened his mouth to speak but the rest of his words never made it across the table. He rose halfway to his feet with a stunned expression on his face. He looked past Crispin’s shoulder.
“Gilbert? What—” Crispin followed Gilbert’s gaze and turned to look. He rose abruptly from the bench. The bread dropped from his hand.
Grayce staggered into the tavern’s hall. Her face had collapsed into a grimace of anguish.
Gilbert was at her side first though Crispin was on his heels. “What’s wrong, girl?”
She looked from Gilbert to Crispin. “Oh help us! Good masters, help. Livith!”
She broke down and dropped her head in her hands. Crispin stood at her other elbow. “What of Livith?”
She lifted her head. Her face was streaked with tears. Her lips parted stickily. “Oh Tracker! You must help her! She’s been shot!”
11
“HANDS OFF, IT’S ONLY a light wound!” Livith pushed Crispin’s exploring hands away. The arrow had whizzed past the woman’s waist, tearing a bit of the flesh and pinning the dress to the worktable. Livith had torn the dress and shift to free herself, revealing a gaping hole. Crispin saw more blood than wound, and though it looked bad, he knew from experience it was not.
“Did anyone see anything?” he asked, looking around the small kitchen.
Livith shrugged. “I think I seen someone at the back courtyard door, but there’s always someone coming and going. I can’t be sure.”
Eleanor knelt at Livith’s feet and dabbed the open flesh with a wet cloth. “Now you,” she said to Grayce, talking slowly and carefully, “go get me a slice of moldy bread. Find me a good green one now, that’s a girl. Your sister’ll be right as rain, never you fear.”
Grayce chewed on her fingers and rushed away to comply. Eleanor shook her head. She glanced up at Crispin. “Why should anyone want to hurt this girl, Crispin? Didn’t that scoundrel get what he wanted?”
Crispin frowned. “A good question. What did he want? I thought it was to kill the king. It certainly wasn’t to steal the—” He caught himself and nodded ruefully. His eyes met Livith’s. She kept her mouth shut for once. Good. Maybe she was learning. “Why would you be a target?”
“Maybe the bastard thinks we saw something.”
Crispin nodded. His hand covered his mouth and he tapped his lips with a finger. “Yes, that could be it. Did you see anything?”
“I told you. I wasn’t there.”
“But Grayce was. We must get her to tell me what happened.”
Grayce returned and held out the greenish slab of bread. “What you want this for?”
Eleanor took it. “It’s for the wound, dear. It helps it heal.” She pressed the oval piece to the open sore. Livith hissed through her teeth.
Grayce shook her fists and stared at her sister. “Oh Livith!”
“I’m well, I tell you. I’ll be fine. Sit down.”
Grayce rattled her head and sat as ordered. Crispin stood beside her, wondering how to squeeze information from her any more successfully than in their first encounter. He squatted to be at eye level and smiled. “Grayce, Livith will be well, as she said. I need to talk to you about that day. The day you found the dead man.”
Grayce sniffed and looked up. Her wet eyes searched his face, stopped a moment on his smile, another on his eyes, and then wandered aimlessly again.
He took her hand lying in her lap. Jesu mercy! “Grayce, listen to me. You must tell me everything about that day, from the moment you rose to when you think you killed the Frenchman.”
Her wide eyes cracked with red veins. She looked at Livith who looked back at her with unblinking eyes.
“I got up as I usually do, before Livith,” she said. She looked down at Crispin’s hand clasping hers and brought up a trembling smile. “I washed me face and hands, like Livith always told me to. Then I had a bit of ale and bread. I went to the privy and when I come back Livith was gone.”
Crispin turned to Livith. Eleanor patted the ban dage she just finished tying around the girl’s waist. Livith pulled the remnants of the dress back over it. “Where did you go?” he asked.
“I went to get more ale for the jug. Master lets us get some from the kitchens.”
“How long were you gone?”
“My Master was up and he set me to work right away. I didn’t come back.”
“What sort of work?”
“Not the kind you think.”
Crispin made an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for that. That was out of place.”
Livith thrust her shoulders back before she winced from the wound. “That’s all well,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Eleanor helped her pin the gap in her gown. “The Master had me sweeping out the hearth in the hall. That took some time taking out the ashes and fixing up the fire. I had to scrub m’self good afterwards and that’s when I come in.”
Crispin nodded and turned back to Grayce. “Once you’d eaten, then what?”
“I was fixin’ to go up to the tavern and off to the kitchens before the Master got angry. He was always powerful angry in the mornings, especially if he’d been drinking the night before. Ain’t that right, Livith?”
“Aye, he has a right temper, he does.”
“Aye,” said Grayce. She smoothed out her skirt and cocked her head to look at it. “I didn’t want no trouble.”
“When did you see the Frenchman? Did you see him come in?”
Grayce’s brows wrinkled outward. She lifted her eyes toward Livith. Her lips parted in her dull-witted way, but she said nothing.
“Grayce.” Crispin shook her hand but it failed to bring her back. “Grayce! When did you see the man come in?”