John Melan barked, “Be quiet and give Lord Hugh a chance to hear himself think.”
Thus abruptly reminded of the change in Hugh’s estate, from the boy they had all seen grow up to heir to an earldom, the men did indeed fall silent. A few of them mumbled apologies.
“I am very glad to see you all again,” Hugh said, and smiled.
At that, the sudden tension in the crowd disappeared. The men grinned back at him.
“Have you come to see Bernard, my lord?” a voice from the back of the group called. “You must know he is falsely accused!”
Hugh’s face became grave. “I have come to see Bernard,” he agreed.
Before the men could ask more questions, another voice commanded attention.
“I think it would be a good idea for you all to stand back to let Lord Hugh get off his horse.”
The speaker began to stride through the crowd, and the men fell away before him, like the Red Sea parting for the Israelites.
Hugh sat on Rufus and watched the tall young man in the blue wool tunic, cross-gartered tan leggings, and soft leather boots approach. He stopped at Hugh’s side and looked up. “It is good to see you again, Hugh.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Or I must say my lord?”
Hugh looked down into eyes that were so blue, they shamed the heavens. “Hugh will do,” he replied matter-of-factly. “How are you, Richard?”
“I am very well,” Richard Canville replied. “Have you come about Bernard?”
“Aye.”
Richard looked around at the men surrounding them. “Well, give Rufus into the care of these louts, and I will take you to my father.”
None of the castle guards appeared to take offense at being called “louts” by Richard. In fact, a few of them actually grinned at him.
Hugh dismounted and handed Rufus’s reins to one of the men, telling him, “He’ll need a bath to get the mud off.”
“White horses is the worst,” the man said mournfully, looking at the filth that matted the hair of the stallion’s legs and belly.
“See to it that he is white again the next time Lord Hugh wants him,” Richard said. His voice was pleasant but unmistakably authoritative.
“Aye, Sir Richard,” the knight replied.
“The rest of you may return to your duties.”
“Aye, Sir Richard.”
The knights began to trickle back to their stations. John Melan accompanied them, leaving the two young men standing alone in the middle of the courtyard.
Richard was the taller man, and looked down on Hugh from his superior height. “My father is in his office,” he said. “I’ll take you there.”
“That won’t be necessary. I know the way,” Hugh returned.
Contrition shone in Richard’s blue eyes. “I didn’t mean that you needed a guide. I just meant that I would keep you company.”
There was the briefest of pauses. Then Hugh said, “Thank you.”
The two young men crossed the Inner bail side by side, neither of them aware of the girl who watched them from one of the tower windows.
Richard was half a head taller than Hugh, and even in the gathering dusk, his hair looked more gold than brown. The imposing width of his shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and legs that were long and strong. His teeth flashed white in his strong, clean-cut face as he smiled down at the smaller, slimmer man who walked beside him.
From the height of her tower perch, all the girl could see of Hugh was his tired, dirty face, framed by his mail coif. Her eyes widened and she glanced once more at the splendid young man who was walking beside her prospective husband.
Then, before anyone could notice her in the window, she withdrew.
Lincoln Castle was a military stronghold. An apartment had been set aside in the upper tower for the use of the sheriff and his family, but most of the castle was, quite simply, a fortress. Hugh and Richard passed through the large empty armory hall, which was used for military exercises when the weather was too poor for outdoor practice, went up a flight of stairs, and arrived at the small room that once had been Ralf’s office.
Hugh braced himself.
Gervase Canville was talking to one of his knights when the young men entered.
“Look who I’ve brought you, Father,” Richard said cheerfully.
The sheriff’s eyes, a paler blue than his son’s, rested on Hugh’s face. They widened.
“Hugh!” he exclaimed. “Is it really you?”
“Aye.” A tense white line formed around Hugh’s mouth, and he swallowed. “How are you, sir?” He remained just inside the door as if reluctant to come farther into the room.
The sheriff lifted his arms and stepped forward as if to embrace his visitor, but noting Hugh’s hesitation, halted and let his arms drop back to his sides.
After a moment, he said, “I could be better. I suppose you have heard that Gilbert de Beauté was murdered?”
“That is why I am here,” Hugh returned.
“That will be all, Martin,” the sheriff said to the man with whom he had been talking. Then, as the knight went out, Gervase gestured Hugh and Richard to one of the benches along the wall.
The sheriff’s office was as Hugh remembered it, a place of work, not of comfort. The furnishings consisted of a few wooden benches, a table upon which papers were spread, and five wooden chests containing the charters and tax documents of the shire.
Hugh sat down on the hard oak bench, and Richard sat beside him.
Without making a single movement, Hugh seemed to draw away from the man next to him.
Gervase rested his hip against the table, looked at Hugh, and shook his head in sorrow. “It is hard to believe that Bernard would do such a thing, but to all appearances, he did.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Hugh said.
Gervase sighed wearily. “These appearances were damning, I’m afraid.”
Hugh didn’t answer.
“Do you know the details of what happened that night?” Gervase asked him.
“I know what John Melan told me,” Hugh replied. “Is there aught that John doesn’t know?”
Gervase’s strongly marked brows lifted in sudden enlightenment. “You are the man whom John went to fetch!”
“Aye. He came to Wiltshire to seek me out.” Hugh shrugged. “I could not refuse to come. Ralf always thought very highly of Bernard.”
“As do I,” Gervase said crisply. “He is an excellent officer. I do not want to lose him.”
“Is it possible for me to see him?” Hugh asked.
“Of course.” The sheriff’s eyes moved from Hugh’s mud-stained boots and leggings to his tired, mud-smeared face. “Where are you staying? At Ralf’s town house?”
“No.”
Hugh took a deep breath. The word had come out too loudly. “The town house has been closed up since Ralf’s death,” he went on more quietly. “I thought I might be able to stay at the castle.”
“I would be happy to offer you the sheriff’s apartment, but I’m afraid it is already occupied,” Gervase said regretfully. “Lady Elizabeth de Beauté has insisted upon remaining in Lincoln until we have convicted her father’s killer, and I had to take her off the bishop’s hands.”
An unidentifiable emotion flickered in Hugh’s light eyes. “Lady Elizabeth is still here?”
“Aye,” said Richard. A hint of admiration colored his voice. “She is here and she is determined to see that justice is done.”
“I understand that you are betrothed to the girl,” Gervase said.
His voice clipped, Hugh replied, “Your understanding is incorrect. My uncle made the arrangement before he consulted me.”
Richard’s head turned suddenly, and he looked at Hugh.
Gervase’s eyes narrowed. “Gilbert de Beauté told me that the match was settled.”
The white line was back around Hugh’s mouth. “It was not agreed to by me.”
There was a brief silence as father and son continued to look at Hugh.