14
July 18, 1193
Locksley Castle
Joanna awoke before the sun rose, thinking about the murder—not surprising since she had dreamed about it all night. Her experience with event planning, stressful as it was, felt trivial compared to the responsibility of solving the murder of an innocent girl. Joanna lacked the life experience and the skills to do this right.
But she knew that despite her shortcomings, investigating this murder had fallen to her. Not because she had asked for it, not because she wanted it, but because the universe had given her the task, and she had to believe she would have the intellectual capacity and the resources to solve the crime.
Without the benefit of DNA, microscopes, fingerprints, or computers, she would have to rely solely on her own powers of deduction, and that was something she did every day, whether it meant revising a story, handling a botched cake delivery or dealing with jilted brides.
Guy, Walter, Roger, Gwen, Sirsalon, and Bess had all left the great hall early last night. If Walter and Bess were having an affair, then the person with the best motive to kill Bess was Gwen or possibly Walter himself. If Bess had threatened to tell Gwen about the affair, Walter definitely had motive.
As the first rays of light peaked through the shutters, Joanna threw off the blankets and shivered. She couldn’t stay in bed any longer. She needed to get up and dress—provided she could figure out how to reach the bodice laces.
The door flew open and Elaine entered. Joanna jumped in surprise.
“About time you were up,” Elaine said. “Some of us have been working all night.”
Joanna pondered how long Elaine had been waiting outside her door for signs of stirring.
Elaine picked up the clothes Joanna was to wear and motioned for her step into the skirt. “Do you want a fire?”
As much as Joanna did want a fire, she heard in Elaine’s tone that there was no time for one. “While that would be nice, I think I should get started with my investigation.”
Elaine slipped the bodice over Joanna’s head and began lacing up the back, pulling the bodice tighter than Joanna would have liked.
“Aren’t there some clothes I could get in and out of myself?”
“You need to dress like nobility to get respect. The peasants won’t think much of a lady in servant’s clothes investigating a murder.”
“I doubt they think I’m a lady, regardless of what Guy said.”
“Then there’s no need to give them further evidence, is there?”
Once the dressing was done, Elaine motioned for Joanna to sit down so Elaine could brush her hair. Although Joanna’s forehead was still sore, she noticed Elaine brushed more carefully around the wound today. Joanna took several sips of the ale Elaine brought her and wished for tea. Breakfast would have been nice, but early morning meals didn’t appear to be common practice at Locksley.
“Where will you start today?” Elaine asked.
“Walter and Gwen are missing, so that puts them at the top of my list of suspects. However, I’d like to take another look at Bess and talk to Maude again.”
“Maude’s been working all night. If you hurry, you should still find her with Bess.”
Several minutes later, Joanna entered the room on the first floor of the keep where Maude was tying a rag under Bess’s chin to keep the mouth from gaping. Maude had washed the blood away and carefully arranged Bess’s hair, tying it at the side with the remaining length curling on her shoulder. Even though Bess’s skin had turned a pale gray in death, she looked peaceful. Joanna wanted to remember the girl this way instead of the way she had found her last night.
“You’ve done well,” Joanna said.
Maude shrugged. “We each have our services to give. This, at least will give her family some comfort. I had to work all night as there was much to be done. There usually is when so many bones are broken, especially about the head. I did what I could with her hair, given the circumstance. If I have my choice, Bess will be the last woman I care for who’s fallen to her death.”
The reference reminded Joanna that Maude had also laid out Marian’s body. “You said last night that when Marian died, her injuries were similar to Bess’s?”
“Yes, with some differences. This is a silly thing to note, but it might be helpful to you. The back hem of Lady Marian’s dress was torn and her ankle was broken. Of course, many bones broke in the fall. But Bess had no torn hem or broken ankle. And there’s something else I didn’t discover until the benefit of the morning light. Bess was pregnant.”
Joanna’s mind flashed back to the way Bess had held her stomach yesterday, the way she had seemed easily winded. A pregnancy would make sense. The idea was so tragic, though, that Joanna felt sick and was glad she hadn’t eaten breakfast after all.
“How far along was she?”
Maude shrugged. “A few months. She wouldn’t have been able to conceal it much longer. The news of this would shame her family.”
“I want to be sensitive to their loss,” Joanna agreed, “but if we’re going to catch her killer, we may not be able to keep the pregnancy secret for long.”
After telling Maude goodbye, Joanna stepped into the bailey, now bustling with life as the castle inhabitants went about their morning chores, and worked her way through the crowd toward Marian’s tower. She wanted to see what the crime scene looked like in daylight.
She entered the tower door that opened onto the bailey. The door pulled toward her easily when she tugged on the metal ring attached in the center. After a quick glance back at the bailey, Joanna closed the door behind her. Her eyes needed to adjust to the dark before she climbed the stairs. The ground-floor room contained nothing but a table, some chairs, and a few barrels. The tiny slit of light that entered from the arrow loop revealed numerous cobwebs.
The circular stair led to her right. With skirts in hand, she ascended the steps carefully. On the second floor, there were two doors, one to the left and one to the right of the steps. The one on the right was ajar. Through the opening, Joanna saw the long, dark corridor that ran underneath the wall walk and led to the gatehouse. Tiny rays of light peeped through the arrow loops. Someone could have easily slipped into the tower using this second floor entrance without being visible to anyone in the bailey.
As Joanna continued up the stairs to the top of the tower, she allowed herself a disbelieving laugh at the idea that she was trying to solve a crime based on techniques she had seen on TV. She really could use some help. If she ever had to solve another murder, she hoped she had some sort of law enforcement officer to assist her.
The next floor also had doors on the left and right. The door on the right opened up to the wall walk. The door on the left was locked. Joanna climbed another flight of stairs until she found herself on top of the tower and at the scene of the murder. The stone wall on top of the tower and the castle walls was a sawtooth pattern with openings one could easily see step into for shooting arrows or falling, as Joanna had witnessed last night. She remembered from her research that these openings in the call were called crenels. As she circled the top of the tower, she looked for anything of interest on the stone floor or walls.
Identifying the crenel Bess probably had fallen from, Joanna braced her hands on the stone and leaned out, confirming Bess’s landing place in the courtyard. Heights didn’t normally bother her, but the blood stains on the cobblestones below served as a reminder of how fleeting life could be. Both Marian and Bess had died here.
Bess had stood about where Joanna was now with the man a bit farther back. Where had he gone after he pushed Bess off the edge? Still looking at the crenel, Joanna took a long step backward to place herself in the killer’s position. The floor gave way beneath her and she fell, landing heavily and sliding on her right elbow as it collided with the wooden floor in an effort to save her head.
The pain was immediate and she let out a choice word. She pushed herself up slowly, mentally taking stock to see what was hurt. H
er tailbone was going to be sore, but what really smarted was her elbow. Had she broken it? No, she could flex it. Rotating the arm, she saw the sleeve was torn and her elbow was bleeding. Elaine would not be pleased. Joanna’s foot ached as well. She checked her ankle, but she had only scraped the skin at the ankle bone.
Apparently a floorboard was loose. She pressed on the board, noting it swiveled both toward her and away from her, probably due to a rotting subfloor. No wonder she had fallen. She rolled carefully to her side, preparing to get up, when she saw a dark brown stain on the wood a few inches beyond where she had scraped her elbow. Perhaps the killer had slipped after pushing Bess, which would explain his sudden disappearance. But how would she prove it? Search the castle for skinned elbows? The killer would have scraped himself up pretty badly to leave that much blood on the boards, which meant he would have a nasty scab, a blood-stained shirt, and a bandage.
Now Joanna needed to find Marian’s room. Descending the stairs, she began her search. The door to the third floor room was locked with spider webs stretched across the door. It hadn’t been opened in a while. But the door on the second floor presented a different opportunity. Not only was the doorway clear of cobwebs, but a key was lodged in the lock. Someone had been in this room very recently.
Before entering, Joanna turned the key back and forth. Given the smoothness of the lock and the balance of the door, this room had been opened and closed many times. Removing the key, Joanna entered, closing the door behind her. She knew she was the only person in this tower, but she didn’t like the idea of someone being able to sneak up behind her through the open door.
Turning around to take in the room, Joanna realized with horror that she was not alone. The bed curtains were tied back, which meant she had no trouble seeing the dead body of Walter’s wife Gwen lying on the turned-down blankets.
Joanna didn’t scream. Instead, she stopped breathing for so long that she wondered if she would ever breathe again. Gwen’s pale skin and cloudy eyes indicated she had been dead several hours. There was nothing anyone could do for her now. Although Joanna’s heart raced, she willed herself to be calm. If she called anyone else, the crime scene would be disturbed and she might lose clues. Two women were dead in less than twenty-four hours. The killer must be stopped.
But to stop a killer, she had to see a little better. Setting the key on the table, Joanna tried to open the shutters to the inner bailey, but they were stuck. She had to brace her foot against the wall and pull with both hands before they opened. The shutters at the outside window were similarly warped and difficult to open. With sunlight streaming in, Joanna could see no dust had collected on the surfaces in the room. Someone cleaned this room regularly.
Her hands shaking, Joanna approached the body. The face had a bluish tint with multiple bruises forming on the neck, probably indicating strangulation. The skirt Gwen wore at dinner had been removed and cast onto the end of the bed. Her bodice hung loosely over her chemise. Lifting the body carefully, Joanna saw that the bodice had been partially unlaced. Gwen wouldn’t have been able to do that herself, so someone else had been in the room with her. Her messy brown hair indicated a struggle. Her fingernails were also broken and bloody. Mixed in with the blood were black flecks Joanna didn’t recognize.
Although Joanna did not feel the same level of empathy for Gwen as she did for Bess, the sadness of a life lost lay heavily on her heart. No one deserved to die this way. Confident Maude would provide any further details necessary about the corpse, Joanna turned back to an examination of the room.
At a table set up as a primitive vanity with a hand mirror, Joanna grimaced as she checked her reflection. Her bruised forehead and short hair coupled with a medieval gown looked downright silly. She should grow her hair out. Adjusting the mirror to better view herself, she caught sight of Gwen’s body in the reflection and quickly replaced the mirror on the table. Worrying about her own appearance at a murder scene was completely inappropriate.
An untarnished silver hairbrush also lay on the vanity. Someone must be polishing the silver as well. Regular cleaning indicated regular use. This confirmed Joanna’s suspicions—there was no ghost, only real women meeting a lover for a night of passion. Picking up the brush, she noticed a long blonde hair in the bristles. Gwen had brown hair. Marian’s hair must have been dark like Joanna’s given their similarity in appearance. What blonde would have used this brush?
Bess.
Joanna returned to the bed and studied the linens around Gwen’s body. A few long, brown hairs lay on the blankets, and the hair color matched Gwen’s. But on one of the pillows something glinted in the sunlight—a long blonde hair, identical to the one Joanna had found in the brush. Bess again.
Returning to the trunk, Joanna knelt before it and opened the lid to discover clothes. As she removed the articles, she noticed wrinkles and the occasional food stain. These items must have been worn recently. Joanna sniffed them and detected human sweat. How many women in the castle right now wore pieces of Marian’s wardrobe?
After replacing the clothes in the trunk, Joanna peeked under the bed to discover a small chest which, unlike the other items in the room, hadn’t been disturbed in some time. When she pulled it out, it was covered with a thick layer of dust.
The unlocked chest appeared to hold odd treasures from Marian’s life. Joanna found a few pieces of jewelry which were heavier and uglier than she would have thought possible as well as several ornate rings. As she picked up a heavy necklace, a jewel fell off and clunked to the bottom of the box. She rummaged for it. Her fingertips rubbed something smooth and supple—a piece of parchment. She would hang onto that in case Elaine didn’t come through with the writing materials Joanna had requested. When Joanna fished out the parchment, something metallic landed inside the chest beside the jewel—a ring.
It was the strangest ring Joanna had ever seen. The thick band appeared to be a combination of iron and bronze. She slipped it on her forefinger and puzzled over its odd design. There was no gemstone. Instead, a square piece of metal with sharp indentations protruded half an inch from the band and lay parallel to it. Wearing this ring would be very uncomfortable, not to mention unattractive. However, it could do a lot of damage if she punched or slapped someone while she was wearing it. Maybe it was a type of medieval brass knuckle. But why would Marian have one of these?
Joanna held out her hand to study the ring from a different angle. It almost looked like a key. In her research on medieval doorknobs, she had come across an Internet article describing how the third-century Romans wore their keys as actual rings. But the third century was seven hundred years ago. Surely such a practice was outdated by now. Joanna reached for the room key on the table and compared it to the one on her finger. The ring had to be a key. But what did it open? She closed the lid of the chest and tried to slip the key in the hole, but it didn’t fit, nor did it fit in the lock for the trunk of Marian’s clothes. Joanna slid the ring off her finger and into her tie-on pocket along with the parchment and pushed the chest back under the bed.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs caught Joanna off guard. Someone was coming—likely Gwen’s lover or her killer. Joanna needed to get out of sight.
The only safe place to hide was behind the door. Joanna flattened herself against the wall as the door swung open, concealing her in the corner. She heard two footsteps, a sharp intake of breath, and a man’s voice letting out an oath that sounded more like a wail. Joanna peaked around the door to see Walter’s pale face as he viewed his wife’s body. While he might have murdered Bess, Walter’s distress at Gwen’s demise was evident. He turned quickly to Joanna when she spoke his name.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded
“I found her like this a few minutes ago. She’s been dead several hours.”
“But how…?” Walter’s face hardened. “I know who did this. And he will pay!”
Walter bolted down the stairs of the tower with Joanna following close behind. He
must have seen Guy emerge from the chapel the same time she did, because he drew his sword and pointed it at his employer, yelling, “Murderer!”
Guy looked genuinely surprised as he drew his own sword, deflected Walter’s blow, and quickly disarmed him. Roger leaped to restrain the crazed widower while Guy looked to Joanna for explanation.
“Gwen’s dead.”
His wide eyes registered his surprise.
“I went up to check out the tower,” Joanna continued. “The door to Marian’s room had the key in the lock. Gwen was on the bed. Strangled—probably last night.”
“I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done!” Walter let out an anguished wail then dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs.
“Lock him up before he hurts himself or someone else.” Guy’s voice held more sadness than anger when he gave the order.
As Roger dragged Walter toward the dungeon, Guy stared at Marian’s tower and drew a long breath. “Let’s have a look then.”
No one spoke as he and Joanna made their way to Marian’s room. When he reached the open door, Guy paused to gaze at Gwen’s body before entering. If he had killed her, he was doing a masterful job of acting shocked and sorrowful. Joanna marveled at the gentleness with which he closed Gwen’s eyes.
“Strangled with hands, not rope.” Guy pointed to the bruising on Gwen’s neck. “This was done from behind. You can see the marks of the killer’s fingers here. He would have encompassed her neck between his thumbs and forefingers, and his fingers would have crushed her wind pipe.”
As he spoke, he stepped behind Joanna and lightly encircled his hands around her neck, demonstrating the stance. She shuddered, thinking what Gwen must have suffered and moved away quickly. “Why not strangle her from the front?”
“It’s harder to resist an attacker from behind. She would have clawed at his hands and arms. From the looks of her fingernails, he was wearing gloves. That’s what these black flecks are from.”
Guy’s knowledge made Joanna immediately suspicious. “How do you know all this?”
“I’ve seen people strangled before.”
“When?”
“Anytime and anywhere men were angry enough to kill but didn’t have a weapon.”
She wanted to ask him if he had killed in this way, but he looked so grieved over Gwen she didn’t have the heart to do so. If she were a real murder investigator, she would ask those hard questions regardless of how people felt. But she was only a wedding planner pretending to be a detective.
Footsteps indicated people coming up the stairs. Two servants entered, saying Roger had sent them to assist in the removal of the body. Guy ordered them to wrap Gwen in one of the blankets on the bed and take her to Maude. With four people in the room, there was little room to maneuver. In order to get out of the way, Joanna stepped behind the door where she had hidden when Walter came in. She was watching the commotion around the bed so closely that she didn’t pay attention to her surroundings and scraped her elbow against the wall. Wincing, she examined the damage. She had rubbed off a bit of the scab and left some blood on the plaster. But what was this? Several inches above her fresh blood stain was another one that had turned black. Bess’s killer had stood here, probably to hide if someone opened the door. The stain on the wall suggested that whoever killed Bess killed Gwen.
Elaine, who waited for Joanna outside the tower, noticed Joanna’s elbow right away and upbraided her for ruining the dress. She led Joanna to a small room on the second floor of the wall between Marian’s tower and the gatehouse, furnished simply with a bed and small trunk. Elaine retrieved a bandage and motioned for Joanna to sit on the bed while Elaine dressed the wound.
Joanna nodded toward a small bouquet of wild flowers resting on the pillow. “Where did you get those?”
“I have a secret admirer. Several nights a week I find those on my bed. For the life of me I don’t know who he is.”
Joanna knew exactly who he was, but she didn’t want to say anything to Elaine yet. An idea was forming of how to reveal the information in a way that would have the most impact.
“I’d be more impressed with him if he revealed himself,” Elaine complained. “Secrets are only good for so long and then they’re a sign of cowardice. Now, tell me about your investigation.”
Joanna related the clues she had uncovered about Bess’s murder and what she knew of Gwen’s death.
“So the man who killed Bess fell and scraped his elbow on top of the tower, hid in Marian’s room and then killed Gwen,” Elaine surmised.
“Yes, I’m sure it was the same person,” Joanna confirmed. “But it’s even more complicated. There was a key left in the door. I doubt it was Gwen’s—probably the killer’s. He walked in on Gwen in the process of changing her clothes. He helped her take off her bodice, which means she would have trusted him. She was strangled from behind. Once she was dead, the killer hid behind the door, in case anyone opened it, and then followed the soldiers back down like he’d been with them all along.”
“So, we check the elbows of every man in the castle. The man with the injured elbow is the killer.”
“Maybe, but it’s a common injury. We need a motive before we make any accusations. Why would someone want to kill Gwen except to keep her quiet? And as for Bess, the only motive for her murder I’ve been able to come up with so far is aborting her pregnancy. Did anyone know about it?”
“I suspected. Those of us who’ve had children recognize the signs.”
“How many children do you have, Elaine?”
“Two. You’ve met Gripple. The other boy doesn’t live at the castle.” Elaine’s tone indicated she would not welcome questions about the other son. “I’ve found the writing supplies you asked for. I had to swipe them from Walter. Not many of us read and write around here.”
“Who does?”
“Guy, Walter, Gwen, Felix the clerk, and Sirsalon.” Elaine tied the last bit of bandage. “There now. You should be all fixed up.”
Joanna nodded and checked her arm, satisfied. “Thank you. So far, Walter’s our best suspect, although why he’d kill both his wife and his mistress I don’t know.”
“I still think Guy did it.”
“I know you do, Elaine. But we’ve got to pursue all possible suspects. I’ll go talk to Walter.”
As Joanna walked through the bailey toward the dungeon below the keep, she saw Guy and Roger training at sword fighting in the yard close to the stables. Guy certainly seemed to have recovered quickly from the shock of another dead woman in the castle. The two men attacked each other with a vengeance. She supposed such earnest and passionate combat was necessary to simulate the battlefield, but the fight looked a little too real to her. Both men demonstrated incredible strength, but Roger focused more on power and passion while Guy relied more on speed and agility. The confrontation was like a dance they knew well, and Joanna wondered how long they had practiced with one another over the years. Roger, who seemed detached and irritated in all other situations, was engaged and focused as he thrust, parried, and slashed. Guy, on the other hand, looked amused, as though he watched everything and everyone else in the castle instead of Roger. He nodded toward Joanna and smiled rakishly when he saw her staring at him. Embarrassed, she reminded herself to keep moving. She had a suspect to interrogate.
Joanna greeted the guard at the dungeon door. As she descended the steep stairs, she heard Walter weeping and saw him rocking back and forth, clutching his knees. As soon as he recognized her in the darkness, he turned toward the wall.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I understand you’re upset, Walter, but two women have been killed in less than a day. We’ve got to find out the truth of what happened.”
“Are you really interested in the truth?”
“Of course.” She hoped she had the courage to expose the killer, whoever he was, and she hoped it wouldn’t be Guy. “Walter, where were you last night?”
“Gwen and I got into an argument
before supper. She was having an affair with Gisbourne. I’d suspected for quite some time.” Walter’s voice was edged with bitterness. “I knew when I married her that I wasn’t her first choice. Gwen was in love with Gisbourne back when they were young. But he dropped her when he was made Earl of Huntingdon and married Marian a few months later. Gwen never forgave him for it. Marrying me was her assurance she wouldn’t die a spinster.”
“And you didn’t think it was awkward, marrying your boss’s former girlfriend?”
“I didn’t work for him then. I had land of my own. But I’ve always had a bit of a gambling problem, and a year and a half ago I lost my funds—had to give up the estate. That was a difficult blow for Gwen and me. Gwen took it harder than I did, although I should have taken it very badly since it was my father’s land I lost.”
“Who did you lose it to?”
“Who do you think? Guy promised that if I worked for him I could earn my manor back. I should have seen his scheming then. He took my land and my wife and now my freedom. I swear to you, when I’m released from this cell, I’m going to ruin him.”
“How did you know that Gwen and Guy were having an affair?”
“Bess told me yesterday afternoon. She’d hinted before that there were things I should know about my wife and the earl, but I’d ignored her. I didn’t want to know, I suppose. But Gwen was acting strangely yesterday, so when I saw Bess, I told her I wanted to know everything. Bess had been cleaning Marian’s old room for Guy to use as a meeting place for his trysts. Bess said Guy and Gwen were playing dress-up in Marian’s tower, laughing at the people who think there’s a ghost up there. Before supper, I confronted Gwen and she admitted it was true. But while you told your story in the hall, she slipped out, saying she didn’t feel well. I went after her. I should have gone straight to Marian’s room and pulled her out of there by force, but I didn’t have the courage, so I had some wine in our room. I was drunk enough to confront her and Guy in the tower when I saw someone riding away. I thought it was Gwen. I got on my horse and went after her.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?”
“No. I was out most of the night, looking for Gwen. I followed the rider toward Sherwood but lost them. I stopped at Nottingham to look without any luck. Then, I gave up and stayed the night at an inn.”
Joanna sat down on a barrel. “It looks bad for you, Walter.”
“It’s Gisbourne, don’t you see? The man has slept with every woman in the castle under the age of forty.”
“Not every woman.”
“He’ll get to you, too. He always has his way, and he only keeps people around him who give him what he wants.”
“But why would he kill Bess and Gwen?”
“Because he’s evil, that’s why!”
Joanna pursed her lips in thought. “Why did Bess want to tell you about Gwen and Guy? Were you and Bess sleeping together?”
“I’ve got better taste than that!”
“But if Gwen was having an affair, you might have looked for satisfaction in other places.”
“I’ve committed my sins, but not with Bess. I’ve always thought a man got what he paid for.”
Walter’s allusions of what he did for amusement reminded Joanna that if she weren’t in the middle of a murder investigation, she would be uncovering fodder for a steamy novel.
“One more question and then I’ll leave you alone. Would you please show me your elbows?”
“Why do you want to see my elbows?”
“Please?”
Shrugging, Walter pulled up his shirt sleeves one at a time, revealing smooth skin all the way up to his shoulders on both arms. She nodded. Despite his rather implausible excuse for leaving the castle, his uninjured elbows attested to his innocence. However, she couldn’t recommend his immediate release until he calmed down. The last thing the castle needed was more violence.
Joanna was tired, so tired that she felt sick. If she were home, the only remedy would be to lie on the couch and take a quick nap. The closest she could come to that here would be to go back to her room, recline on her bed, and hope sleep or an epiphany brought some relief.
The door of Guy’s bedroom was open as she walked past it on the way to her own. The bare skin of his muscular back caused her to pause and stare. Since he faced away from her, she could gaze appreciatively without his noticing. But as she shifted in the hall to get a better view of his physique, she caught sight of a servant wrapping a bandage around Guy’s right elbow.
Praying no one had noticed her, Joanna ducked into her room and quietly closed the door. Everyone in the castle thought Guy had killed the two women as well as Marian two years before. Joanna was the only one who doubted. But now, she had seen his bloody elbow. She had her proof.
Or did she?
Guy wasn’t a gentleman by twenty-first century standards and probably not even by twelfth-century standards. He killed people—she’d watched him kill Sir Horace. But Joanna’s instincts told her Guy would not kill a woman. Could her instincts be trusted? Guy was undoubtedly a player with a fetish for his dead wife’s bedroom and clothes. He probably expected Joanna to be the next look-a-like to join him in his weird little fantasies, but she would never be seduced by anyone that dysfunctional. Despite her track record, she did have standards. Guy had a bloody elbow—that elevated him to prime suspect number one. But Joanna had a bloody elbow and she hadn’t killed anybody. Guy seemed to know exactly how Gwen had been killed. Did that come from life experience or from actually murdering Gwen?
An afternoon nap was no longer an option. Joanna had to sit down and sort out her information. At work she used a whiteboard or corkboard to map out her thoughts. Perhaps she could rig up a similar system here. The table and chair had been moved closer to the fire. On the table lay a linen-wrapped bundle that contained various pieces of parchment, two quills, and a jar of ink. She could write on the scraps and lay them out on the table or the bed. Perhaps a pattern, motive, or suspect would become apparent in the process as it did on her favorite procedural TV shows.
When she removed the first scrap of parchment, she noticed a smaller piece underneath it had been written on. The script was so difficult to decipher that she almost dismissed it until she caught the name Jill, although it looked like Iill since I’s and J’s were written similarly. The note read,
At the tournament, meet me in the mason’s tent. —Jill
“Joanna?”
Guy’s voice at the open door made her jump. He wore a loose-fitting, long-sleeved tunic that covered both his bare chest and bandaged elbow.
“You startled me.” Joanna flipped Jill’s note upside down. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“That’s because I didn’t. What have you found?”
He couldn’t mean Jill’s note, could he? No, he must be talking about her murder investigation.
“Quite a few interesting pieces of information.”
“Such as?”
Joanna pointed toward his elbow where the bandage was evident underneath his sleeve. “Did you hurt yourself?”
He gestured at her arm. “I could ask you the same.”
Joanna tried to keep the tone light but watched for his reaction. “I fell on the steps.”
“Roger got in a good blow when I was distracted by a beautiful woman walking by.” He winked at her as he sat on her bed. “Tell me about this interesting information.”
“I’m not sure I should. You haven’t been completely honest with me.”
Guy had the audacity to look surprised. “Me?”
“You told me Marian’s room had been locked ever since her death, but that’s not true. Bess cleaned that room regularly, so she had access to a key. Gwen also had a key to let herself in and lock the door behind her. The killer had one to let himself in. What’s more, I think Gwen was in Marian’s room last night because she planned to meet you. What sort of bribe were you using to get her to sleep with you?”
“I don’t have to bribe anyone. I told y
ou before I like my women to enjoy themselves, and they always do. As for Gwen, in my experience, a woman doesn’t wander into another man’s arms unless there’s trouble in her husband’s bed.”
The door opened and Roger appeared. “There’s news of Robin Hood.”
Does anyone in this castle knock?
She could tell from Roger’s body language that he intended to speak with Guy in private. Guy gave Joanna a smile that promised later attention before he followed Roger across the hall into his room, closing the door behind him.
Guy clearly thought he was making progress in seducing her. The air did crackle with electricity when they were together. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.
Joanna retrieved Jill’s note and read it again. There must be a spy in the castle working for Robin. While this idea implied yet another layer of deception, it was also comforting. The spy, whoever he was, provided a connection to Jill. Hoping the news Roger had of the outlaw wouldn’t affect her sister, Joanna tucked the note under the jar of ink and took out the quill. Getting the hang of the quill fairly quickly, she recorded the facts of the case. The writing process soothed her, and she spent most of the afternoon at it. Once every detail was recorded and the evidence was laid out on the table, Joanna rearranged the parchment pieces until she had a general timeline of what had happened. Her thoughts hadn’t changed since she had talked the murders through with Elaine, but having the facts easily visible helped.
Writing also exposed holes in her timeline. Why was a key left in the door to Marian’s room? Gwen wouldn’t have left it there because it would have exposed her secret affair. The killer must have left the key, probably because he was surprised to find Gwen there. Joanna had sometimes left her keys in her front door or in her car when she was distracted, so she imagined the killer might have reacted the same way when he opened the door and found Gwen. He had killed two women without anyone seeing him—except Joanna. She had seen his silhouette. It wasn’t enough to identify him, but it might be enough for him to consider her a threat and come after her next.
She needed a nap. The fatigue she had fought all afternoon could no longer be denied. She had to rest, but given the way people kept walking into her room, she needed a little protection. Finding the room key Elaine had left her on the table, Joanna locked her bedroom door from the inside.
■ ■ ■
Refreshed from her nap, Joanna attended supper with a new zest for correctly identifying the murderer, even if it was Guy. Justice must be served, and Joanna had been chosen as its instrument. Strange as it was that such a task had fallen to her, she readily admitted solving two murders was more stimulating than helping a bride select flowers. She might even get a book out of the experience. But she had another mission as well. Jill would be waiting for her at the tournament tomorrow. Joanna needed to know as much as she could about what Guy had planned in order to protect Jill and herself.
Without Walter and Gwen at the high table, Joanna sat at Guy’s right and Roger on his left. The mood of the room was understandably somber given the two deaths. Although some of the servants conversed quietly at the lower tables, Joanna, Guy, and Roger ate in relative silence.
“I had a troubling report today,” Guy mentioned halfway through the meal. He leaned toward Joanna as he spoke, keeping his voice low. “The Bishop of York was robbed on his way to Nottingham. Robin Hood and his band of two hundred men stole all the sacred relics the bishop carried. This is very out of character. Until now, Robin has restricted his actions to pranks against me or the sheriff.”
“What kind of pranks?”
“He makes embarrassing speeches in the Nottingham town square. Or, he harasses the sheriff’s men in the forest. Most often, though, he rescues whichever one of his men has been captured. It’s all a game to him. He’s never been capable of taking anything seriously. But this robbery today is something new. It required strategy and planning I never knew he was capable of, and I know him better than anyone. It’s as if someone else is directing him.”
Joanna remembered the conversation she and Jill had shared while watching Prince of Thieves on their birthday. Good for you, Jill. I bet you’re having a really good time.
“Who do you think his advisor is?” Joanna asked.
“If I knew that, all my troubles with the sheriff would be over.”
“Troubles?”
“The sheriff doesn’t trust me, and to be fair, he shouldn’t, because if I had the opportunity to win the king’s favor and become sheriff myself, I would. Capturing Robin Hood tomorrow would go a long way toward garnering royal notice.”
“How exactly do you plan on rescuing my sister? I know you want to use me to draw Robin out, but I feel like I could be more help if I understood the greater plan.”
Roger snorted in disgust.
“It’s quite simple.” Guy took Joanna’s hand in his and flashed her one of his charming smiles. “I want you to attend the tournament and enjoy yourself. I’ll have men in place, watching whoever approaches you. When they see your sister, they’ll capture her before Robin has a chance to interfere. They’ll bring her back to the castle to await our return.”
“What about Robin Hood?”
“Let’s see how it all plays out, shall we? For now, you have an eager audience awaiting you. Tell us another story.”
That was as far as she was going to get with that line of questioning. Putting her concerns aside for the moment, Joanna returned to her spot in front of the high table on the dais and looked out at the servants and stable hands who quieted with anticipation at the entertainment she would provide. Taking a deep breath, Joanna caught Elaine’s eye. A story had been forming in the back of Joanna’s mind all day, and she hoped telling it would result in Elaine’s secret admirer revealing himself.
Not used to sharing a tale without having made multiple written revisions to it, Joanna worried as she spoke that some parts were too rushed or didn’t have enough detail. But the audience seemed to follow her with rapt attention. Having people hang on her every word was intoxicating. When the story ended, the crowd indicated their approval with loud applause. What mattered even more than the crowd’s reaction, though, was Elaine’s. She left the hall during the applause with Sirsalon close behind her. Joanna hoped he would profess his love. Elaine deserved to know. When Joanna returned to her seat, Guy looked confused.
“Elaine and Sirsalon,” she explained. “Didn’t you know?”
Roger made a low growling sound that might have been a laugh, but Joanna thought it sounded more ominous as he commented to Guy, “Perhaps you’ve been too distracted to notice what goes on around here.”
“Are you insulting me?”
“No,” Roger said, obviously backpedalling. “I only meant that in your grief you might have missed the pain others were in.”
“And what pain am I missing?”
Roger twitched in his chair. “I have work to do.”
Guy shook his head in irritation as Roger hurried out of the hall. “Roger’s been my squire since we were children. Charm was never his strong suit, but I usually ignore his terrible manners because he’s a fierce soldier and a cold man in battle.”
The servants began to clear the tables. Guy stood and held out his arm to Joanna. “May I walk you back to your room?”
Was this when he was going to seduce her…or kill her? Joanna took his arm and they walked toward the keep. If he planned to seduce her, maybe he would be more tolerant of her questions, especially the uncomfortable ones.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” Joanna began. “Today, you admitted you and Gwen were lovers, but when I asked you about Bess, you denied sleeping with her. Do you still?”
“No.” Guy opened the door to her room and followed her inside, closing the door behind them. That they were in her room, not his, didn’t escape Joanna’s notice. He had boxed her in. She had nowhere to run.
“I’m glad you admitted it, especially since I found strands
of long blonde hair that matched Bess’s on the bed.”
“The sheriff should hire you.”
“So you did give Bess the ring. Why did you lie and say it was stolen?”
“When a man enjoys the company of more than one woman, he doesn’t like the women to know about each other.”
Joanna thought of Mark and felt the familiar anger still burning inside her remembering how he had treated her. Surely, if one of Guy’s women had found out about the others, she could also be harboring anger perhaps to the point of violence. Time to judge his reaction on another fact.
“Did you know Bess was pregnant?”
Guy froze. “She was?” His voice sounded hoarse.
“Maude confirmed it when she examined the body.”
Guy dropped into the chair next to the table. “I wish I’d known. Marian never gave me a son. I’ve always wanted an heir to leave this castle and my title to. Without a son, all my land will go the sheriff. He’s the last person I want to have this place.” He sighed. “Why does life never work out the way we plan?”
She wondered the same herself. But his answer hadn’t told her one way or the other if he killed Bess. He might have killed her, not knowing she was pregnant, and feel badly about it now, or he might be innocent and genuinely mourning the lost pregnancy.
“What’s this?”
Guy lifted a piece of parchment from the table, and Joanna felt a moment of panic. She had foolishly left Jill’s message on the table. What if Guy saw it? Then Jill, Joanna, Robin Hood, and the spy would be in immediate danger.
“It’s what happens when you don’t let me have my journal.”
One corner of Guy’s mouth turned up in amusement as he continued to read. She had to distract him so that he wouldn’t find Jill’s note. Joanna ran her hand gently down the back of his head. He tossed the piece he was reading back onto the table and closed his eyes. She moved her hands to his shoulders and began to massage them, noting the hard muscles underneath his doublet.
“That’s very interesting behavior from a woman who says she no longer wants a man in her life.”
How did he know that? She’d been playing along quite well, she thought.
“I believe the line was, ‘Men dally with me like a plaything, but I’ll be a toy no more.’ That was part of something you meant to be a poem, but poems have to rhyme. The word choice is rather sentimental and awkward, too.”
A multitude of responses to his critique came to mind. She could tell him about free verse poetry, defend the line, show indignation that he read her journal or tell him that his behavior proved the point she made in the poem…
“You keep writing about a book you’re going to write,” Guy continued. “But this journal, as you call it, is really a book in which you write about how you want to write a book. Why don’t you write the story and dismiss the self pity?”
He tipped his head back to look up at her face. She swallowed hard.
“You may think I’m a murderer, Joanna, but time and the facts will prove differently, if you care to investigate further. And I suggest you do. I’ve read your innermost thoughts in your little black book and I know who you are and what you desire.”
Her temper flared. “Do you? And who am I, exactly?”
“At first, I thought you were mad. But you have a presence of mind that suggests not madness but knowledge of another time. I considered sorcery, but if you did possess magical powers, you certainly would have used them by now. No witch would have put up with Sir Horace as long as you did before I had to step in.”
“And you certainly took your time,” Joanna countered.
“Given your knowledge of Nottingham Castle, you might be a spy for King Richard. If so, rescuing you places me in a position of favor when the king returns and might secure me the title of sheriff. All these things work to my advantage, but there’s one fact I can’t dismiss. Your book contains a list of future predictions that wouldn’t benefit you in any way if you shared them.”
Guy reached back for her hand and gently pulled her around to sit in his lap as he studied her with his deep blue eyes.
“You’re an intriguing woman,” he purred. “You’re also heartbroken, bored, and desperate for an adoring audience. I’ve provided the audience and a cure for boredom. Only your heart is left, and I think you’ll find me very adept in mending that as well.”
He was good—he was very good, but she wasn’t going to fall for it.
“I’m surprised you can remember my name given all the women you’ve slept with.”
“Don’t dismiss a connoisseur. All my women come willingly, and you will as well. You’re already writing about me, as this table bears witness.”
She pulled away to stand by the fire. “I’m not writing about you. I’m writing about the murder.”
He grinned rakishly. “I’d prefer a poem.” He rose and walked to the door. “And make sure it rhymes.”
When the door closed behind him, Joanna let out a growl. She wanted to kick something in frustration.
Someone knocked on the door.
“What?” Joanna called in irritation, half expecting Guy to walk back in.
“Pardon me, my lady,” said a young maid Joanna didn’t recognize. “My name’s Aidelthryd. Elaine’s busy and I asked if I could have the honor of helping you undress. I wanted to meet you in person.”
Her first fan. Joanna brightened at this thought and invited Aidelthryd in. With her smooth skin, curly brown hair, and wide green eyes, the girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen. How long before Guy seduced her, too?
“You tell the most wonderful stories,” Aidelthryd gushed as she helped Joanna with her clothes. “And you lead such an exciting life! Your tale tonight was so romantic—the proud knight who loved the tanner’s widow but couldn’t tell her! My favorite part was when the widow’s servant girl caught the knight leaving the flowers at the doorstep. No…I really loved how the servant tricked the widow into catching the knight leaving his flowers. Then they declared their undying love for each other. I wish I could tell stories as beautiful as that.”
Joanna smiled at the compliment. “Where’s Elaine?”
“With Sirsalon, of course. That’s why I wanted to speak with you. They’ve been in love for ages but never done anything about it until tonight, thanks to you. I’m hoping you can help me with something like that. There’s a lad named Myron who works in the stables. He doesn’t notice me. Could you tell a story about him and me and then we can be together like Elaine and Sirsalon?”
“Stories don’t always get us what we want,” Joanna warned.
“Yours do.”
“Elaine and Sirsalon were a special case. They already loved each other. The story told them it was all right to act on that love.”
Aidelthryd batted her long eyelashes in confusion. “I don’t understand how that’s different from Myron and me.”
Logic was not going to win this argument, so Joanna changed her tactics. “Are you sure this Myron is the man you want?”
“Of course.”
“Does he love you?”
“He will when he hears you tell a story about me.”
Joanna shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. A story never made two people fall in love. A story is an act of love, something you tell because you love something or someone...or because you lost that love, and you miss it.”
A flash went off in Joanna’s brain. She had gotten everything wrong back home. She had used her writing as a way to find love—that was why she’d joined the writer’s group after all—when what she loved most, outside of her family, was actually writing. Why had she allowed a string of losers, especially Mark, to let her forget the act of creation that brought her more joy and fulfillment than anything else in the world? Why had she allowed her writing group to dictate her future? She was born to write and she was going to do it, whether anyone approved or not.
Joanna didn’t need a rich husband, a supportive boyfriend, or eve
n a conniving patron like Guy to provide the proper environment or audience. She had everything she needed to write within herself. When she got home…if she got home…she would start writing immediately and she wouldn’t let anything stand in her way.
“Lost love. That sounds so depressing!” Aidelthryd lamented.
“Oh, but it’s exactly the opposite! Don’t you see?” Joanna’s exuberance felt like it would overflow. “It means that when you love a story, that love will never go away or leave you. A story is forever.”
By this time, Aidelthryd had folded Joanna’s clothes and put them on the chair. “All the same,” she pouted as she banked the fire, “I’d rather have you tell a story that made Myron kiss me.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Tell Myron how you feel. Then you’ll be writing the story yourself.”
The maid looked dubious but nodded and excused herself.
Joanna crawled into bed, still giddy with the realization that the fulfillment she sought had been hers all along. If a story really was about love lost or gained, then she had plenty she could write about from her own experience. Discounting all her unhealthy romantic relationships, Joanna had experienced more love stories than she could possibly record: her mother sending flowers after every breakup, her father changing the oil in her car when he came to visit, her sister calling multiple times a week to talk late in the evening. Joanna had an amazing family. She was on this trip in part because of her parents’ financial gift. Her sister was right now plotting how to rescue her from Guy. These were amazing stories that needed to be told, and she wanted to tell them. To do that, she had to go back to the twenty-first century. She didn’t want to be telling stories about the love of a family she had lost. She wanted to tell stories about the love she still had.
It was settled. Tomorrow, she would walk away from Locksley Castle and leave with Jill. The sisters would be together again. Joanna wouldn’t get her purse back, but it was time to cut her losses. Everything in the purse could be replaced. She needed to escape without anything to weigh her down. She’d been carrying too much baggage anyway.
In her absence, perhaps Elaine, Maude, or someone else would read her notes and use them to find Bess’s and Gwen’s killer. But there was one piece of information no one should find—Jill’s note. Guy had come too close to seeing it tonight. That couldn’t happen again. Even if Joanna was gone, Guy might use the note to find Robin Hood’s spy within the castle.
Joanna crawled out of bed, relit her candle in the fire, and took the light to the table. After she found Jill’s note, she tossed it into the flames. Satisfied it was destroyed, she returned to bed, blew out the candle, and assured herself she had done everything she could.
Although her brain raced, Joanna forced herself to relax. But with the stillness came aches and pains. She took stock of her sore hips from riding a few days before, her wounded head, her elbow, her cheek, and her ankle. What had she done to her ankle? She couldn’t understand why it was so sore.
As she felt sleep coming, she expected to dream of her family. Instead, she dreamed she stood on the castle tower with Guy. Millions of stars twinkled in the black night sky, but she didn’t feel at peace. She was angry. She shouted at Guy. He reached for her. She stepped back, not wanting him to touch her. But the floor gave way beneath her. She wrenched her ankle and felt herself fall back…back…there was nothing beneath her. Clawing the air, Joanna screamed. Guy reached for her, leaning over the edge of the tower, his face a shrinking mask of horror and shock as she fell into the darkness.
Joanna awoke with a start. Marian’s broken ankle was the key to her demise. She must have slipped and fallen off the tower. Marian’s death was an accident!
If Guy hadn’t killed Marian, he might not have killed Bess or Gwen either. Joanna felt momentary elation at his innocence. She had been right! But if Guy was innocent, then who was the murderer?
She was back at square one with two women dead and their killer at large. If she didn’t solve the murders, no one would. How could Joanna run away with Jill while leaving a murderer to kill again?