Iseult slipped her small hand into Hugh’s. He gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze.
“I came to see you, Rye,” he answered, “but when I arrived I found that, except for a single serving maid, your wife and children had been abandoned. I thought it would be best for me to remain with them until you returned.”
Rye gave a bark of scornful laughter. Then he swung down from his horse. Holding his reins in his hands, he looked around. “Where are the grooms?”
“They ran away when they thought Mama had smallpox,” Nicholas replied steadily.
His father went rigid. “Smallpox? Jesus wept, why didn’t you tell me? Is there smallpox in the manor?”
Rye looked over his shoulder at the gate, as if he would like to ride right out.
Hugh said ironically, “You can relax, Rye, you are perfectly safe. It seems that it wasn’t smallpox after all.” He lifted a mocking eyebrow. “I’m sure you will be relieved to know that your wife is almost completely recovered.”
John Rye grunted. Then he handed his horse’s reins to his son. “Take care of Jake,” he commanded. “I want to have a few words with Lord Hugh.”
Nicholas shot Hugh a troubled glance. “All right, Papa.”
Hugh looked down at the little girl standing so close beside him and said gently, “Go along with your brother, Iseult. Your father and I want to talk.”
She nodded, and the sleek braids that Hugh had plaited that morning bounced on her shoulders. “All right, Hugh.”
“Shall we go inside?” Hugh said to Linsay’s owner.
Without answering, Rye headed purposefully in the direction of the stone hall.
The two men walked into a sweet-smelling room that was strewn with fresh rushes and herbs. A fire was roaring in the fireplace and the shutters had been opened to let in the sun.
John Rye looked around in bewilderment as if he did not recognize his own hall. Then he strode toward the fireplace and the chairs and benches that were set in front of it. He did not sit down, however, but stood holding his hands out to the welcome heat of the flames.
Hugh crossed the floor more slowly and sat in one of the two armchairs.
John Rye turned around and scowled at his guest.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said sarcastically.
Hugh did not reply.
The other man spread his legs and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “All right,” he said with belligerence. “You had better tell me what you are doing here.”
“I thought I already told you,” Hugh replied softly. “I came to see you.”
Rye’s scowl deepened. “What about?”
Hugh’s eyes were steady before Rye’s truculent stare. “I am inquiring into the death of Gilbert de Beauté. In order to make a thorough investigation, it is vital that I speak with all the knights who were serving in the castle guard at the time that he was killed. I tried to see you in Lincoln, but I was told that you had taken early leave of your duty.”
At that, John Rye’s eyes slid away from Hugh’s.
Hugh continued, “I was told that you had to go home because your wife was sick.”
“Well,” Rye blustered, “so she was!”
He was still refusing to look at Hugh.
“Aye,” Hugh said, “but she did not become ill until after you left Linsay to pay a visit to William of Roumare.”
“She was sick before that.” Rye’s eyes suddenly swung back to confront Hugh’s as he recognized the trap he had just fallen into. “Who said I went to see Roumare?” he demanded.
Hugh ignored the question and continued to pursue his own line of thought. “That is not what I have heard. According to her serving maid and your children, Lady Berta enjoyed perfect health until she became ill with a fever three days after your departure from Linsay.”
Rye set his jaw. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it is despicable to question a man’s children behind his back?”
Hugh regarded him with detached curiosity. “What made you so anxious to leave Lincoln that you cut your guard duty short, Rye? Your wife wasn’t ill. What was it?”
John Rye moved away from the front of the fireplace and flung himself into the chair that faced Hugh’s. For a long moment, he stared at Hugh broodingly. “Oh, all right,” he finally admitted. “I went to see Roumare. I knew he would want to know what had happened to de Beauté and I thought he might look kindly upon the person who brought him such welcome news.”
A log fell off the fire onto the hearth and Hugh got up to push it back.
“You did not leave Lincoln until several days after de Beauté’s death,” he said as he gave the log an expert kick. “Surely Roumare had heard the news before you reached him.”
Dark red flushed into Rye’s face. “I thought I would take a chance on being first.”
With the log safely back where it belonged, Hugh returned to his chair. “I don’t believe you,” he said.
Rye’s face grew even redder. “You tell me, then,” he demanded. “Why do you think I went to see Roumare?”
“What do I think?” Hugh repeated thoughtfully. “I think you went to see him about the death of the Earl of Lincoln, all right, but it was not to take him the news.”
Rye’s lips tightened. His eyes looked suddenly guarded. “What was it for, then?”
“I think you know who killed Gilbert de Beauté, and it was not Bernard Radvers,” Hugh replied.
The only sound in the hall was the roaring of the fire.
The wary look in Rye’s eyes did not change. Finally he said, “And what if I do know something? What would such information be worth to you?”
Hugh dropped his gaze to hide the surprise he did not want to betray. This was not the answer he had expected. “What do you think it is worth?” he said slowly.
“A lot of money,” Rye returned. He showed his teeth in a sharklike smile. “More money than you have access to, Lord Hugh.”
“The kind of money that a man like William of Roumare can pay?” Hugh said.
Rye’s smile died.
“If you have information pertinent to the earl’s murder, you had better tell it to me,” Hugh said briskly.
“I know who killed Lord Gilbert all right,” Rye retorted stubbornly. “It was Bernard Radvers. And I’ll tell you something else, my lord. He killed the earl for you.” He pointed an accusing finger at Hugh. “Bernard wanted Hugh de Leon to be the next Earl of Lincoln and that is the reason he killed the man who was standing in your way.”
Hugh said wearily, “If Bernard wanted me to be the next earl, he would have waited until after I was wed.”
“Bernard miscalculated,” Rye said.
Hugh stood up. “I think rather it is you who have miscalculated, John Rye,” he said. “William of Roumare is not the only one with money to spend for information. Think on that, and if you want to talk to me, you can find me in Lincoln.” He turned and strode across the sweet-smelling rushes to the doorway. “Please make my farewells to your lady wife.”
Nicholas and Iseult were waiting for him in the courtyard. As soon as he came out the main door of the hall, they ran to meet him.
“You aren’t leaving, are you?” Iseult asked anxiously.
“I am afraid that I must,” Hugh replied, fastening his cloak.
The little girl’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t want you to leave. I like you, Hugh. Please, won’t you stay with us for a while?”
Hugh paused and looked into the child’s blue eyes, then said with quiet patience, “Your mother is well now, Iseult, and your father is home. They will look after you better than I ever could.”
“No they won’t,” she replied tearfully. “They never talk to me like you do. All they ever do is tell me to do things.”
Hugh squatted on his heels so he was on the same level as the child. “I’m sorry, little one, but I can’t stay. I don’t belong here.”
Her lip trembled again.
“Don’t be a baby, Iseult,” Nicholas said.