"Ask of me what you will," he offered. Their fingers touched as he took the wine cup, and even that brief touch was enough to sear his skin. He took a deep breath, but it was hard to listen to his brain when his body was sending such urgent messages.
"And would you answer my questions honestly?"
He considered and then smiled. "Mayhap not." Taking a swallow, he handed the cup back to her, watching as she drank slowly.
"My, my," she said softly, "a man who is honest about his dishonesty. Be still, my heart."
"Molly..."
"Do you really want to walk all the way back to the warehouse, Justin?" Her eyes were luminous, reflecting the firelight and his own desire, "You can always stay here. Of course I have only the one bed, but you said you'd not mind sharing, did you not?"
"Molly, there is not a man alive who'd say nay to you. I was daft about you for years, and not very good at hiding it. So, yes, I want to share your bed, God, yes. But I do not want to bring any trouble into your life."
"Piers?" She'd begun unfastening her veil, let it flutter to the floor at their feet. Her hair was coiled at the nape of her neck; she deftly removed the pins and then tossed her head so that it swirled about her face, cascading down her back. It was as dark as he remembered, a midnight river a man might drown in. "You need not worry about Piers," she murmured. "He does not own my body. He merely rents it on occasion."
~*~
Justin leaned over and pressed his mouth to the palm of Molly's hand. She smiled without opening her eyes and made a sound low in her throat much like her cat's purring. Turning his head, Justin realized it was the cat. It had jumped on the bed with them and was kneading the blanket with its paws, clearly staking out its territory. "I have a rival," he said, brushing his lips against her eyelids and then the corner of her mouth and getting an unblinking yellow stare from the tomcat. "I do not think your cat likes me."
"Probably not," she agreed, yawning. "He does not have much use for men." Shifting onto her side, she placed her hand on his chest. "From the way your heart is beating, I'd say I was worth waiting for."
"You seriously need to ask? If it had gotten any hotter in here, the bed would have gone up in flames,"
She laughed softly, and Justin drew her closer. She nestled against his body, her breath warm on his skin. "Good night, lover."
"Good night, Molly." He stroked her hair gently, ignoring Alexander's baleful gaze, and drifted off to sleep before he could do any brooding about Bennet, Piers, or Claudine. When he awoke, several hours must have passed, for the hearth fire had burned down to embers. Molly slept peacefully beside him. She'd kicked the blanket off, her long hair trailing over the side of the bed. The cat was nowhere to be seen. Justin lay still, all his senses on the alert, for his awakening had not been natural. It came again, a muffled sound, but loud enough to have penetrated his dream. He started to sit up, listening intently, and Molly stirred.
"You want seconds already, lover? A girl does need some sleep, you know."
"Molly, listen. It sounds like people are shouting."
She cocked her head to the side, and then swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I hear it too," she said, padding across the room to the window. As soon as she opened the shutters, the noise came clearly to them both. She leaned out recklessly, heedless of her nudity, and then whirled back toward Justin. "Jesus God, fire!"
~*~
People were stumbling out of their houses into the street, some of them dressing as they ran. A few carried buckets. All looked alarmed, for the fear of fire was a primal one for city dwellers. None needed to ask for directions; they had only to follow the spiraling smoke.
As soon as she realized the fire was burning on the waterfront, Molly broke into a run, with Justin right at her heels. When she lost a shoe, she kicked the other one off rather than stop to retrieve it. To their right was the tavern, shuttered and silent. By now she was panting, but she did not slow down, for ahead of them the sky was an unearthly shade of orange.
"No, Jesu, no!" Molly's scream was swallowed up by the roar the fire. Cinders and ashes were raining down upon the street, and the scene was bathed in eerie light, as if night had become day. People were milling about, shouting and gesturing, but not much was being done to fight the fire. One look and Justin understood why. The warehouse was already engulfed in flames.
"Bennet!" Molly lunged forward, only to be stopped by a burly man with a smoke-blackened face. She fought him until Justin caught her, grabbing her wrists and dragging her back.
"Molly, it is too late!"
"No!" She sobbed and scratched his hands, coughing as the wind blew smoke into their faces. It was so hot that breathing had become painful. More embers were being sucked up into the sky, and heads followed their drifting path, watching in horror as they were wafted toward other homes. Molly still resisted as Justin sought to get her farther away from the flames. There was a rumble and the roof collapsed in a shower of sparks and cinders.
"No!" Molly gave an anguished cry, but she no longer struggled against Justin's restraining hold. "Bennet!"
Chapter 9
August 1193
Chester, England
THE WIND HAD CARRIED EMBERS ONTO THE ROOF OF A dockside alehouse, and people hastily formed a bucket brigade, taking water directly from the river. The warehouse had been set apart from the other buildings, deliberately buffered by open space. Piers's neighbors had thought it a shameful waste of good land and speculated that he wanted privacy for his illegal dealings. They benefited now from the isolation of the warehouse, and although people across the street were dragging what belongings they could from their houses, it was soon apparent that Chester would be spared a conflagration.
The city sheriff, Will Gamberell, arrived on the scene and took charge, sending his men into the throng of spectators to find witnesses. By now the crowd was a large one, and it was obvious from their murmurings that many of them had known Bennet. Several women began to weep, and Justin assumed they were his friend's bedmates. He had never felt like this - utterly numb, aware of no pain or grief, only an overwhelming sense of unreality. He watched the sheriff, the wailing women, Bennet's blazing tomb, and it was as if he were unable to accept the evidence of his own eyes and ears. He kept waiting to wake up.
Molly was sitting on an overturned wheelbarrow, her eyes never moving from the hellfire the warehouse had become. She did not speak, and when Justin sought to coax her into leaving, she did not seem to hear him. Her flame-lit face was expressionless, empty of emotion. Although he had his hand on her shoulder, it seemed Justin that she had gone away, gone where none could follow.
After a while, the sheriff walked over. His eyes flicked to Justin, speculative and suspicious before shifting to Molly. "This is likely a waste of breath, but if you know anything about this, now is the time to tell me. Who hated your brother enough to want him dead?" She did not react, and he said impatiently, "Do you understand what I just said? This fire did not happen by mischance, a candle knocked over. It was deliberately set."
Justin drew a breath sharp as a blade. "You are sure of that?"
"The first men to discover the fire said it was burning at both doors, front and rear, and it looked like kindling had been used to get it going. There was a trail of straw across the yard, that wheelbarrow had been left behind, and the air reeked of tallow. Now mayhap this was meant as a warning for Piers Fitz Turold. But it may well be that your brother was the quarry in this hunt. It was no secret that he slept there at night."
Molly gazed at him impassively, saying nothing, and the sheriff turned away with a muttered oath, sounding more vexed than surprised by her lack of cooperation. A stir at the end of the street heralded the arrival of the Earl of Chester and Lord Fitz Alan and their men. Chester nodded in acknowledgment to Justin as their eyes met, and he then beckoned to the sheriff. After a brief inter rogation, he withdrew, apparently satisfied that the city was not in danger. Thomas de Caldecott was one of his escorts. He, t
oo, noticed Justin, stopped abruptly, and then mustered a polite wave before hastening after his lord. Fitz Alan lingered at the scene, letting loose a barrage of brusque questions that soon had the Chester sheriff bristling. To the east, the dawning sun struggled to break through the clouds of grey smoke. Once the alehouse fire was safely doused, a number of its rescuers pushed their way inside to celebrate their success. The crowd was dwindling rapidly.
Justin slid his arm around Molly's waist and got her onto her feet. "Come on, Molly-cat," he said gently. "Let's go home."
She looked at him blankly. "No one has called me that for so long..." Tears welled in her eyes, began to spill down her cheeks, and Justin drew her close. The shoulder of his tunic was soon wet and he could feel her body trembling, but she made no sound, and he'd never seen anything as heartrending as this mute, dazed grieving, silent and wholly without hope.
~*~
People soon started turning up at Molly's cottage: neighbors carrying kettles of soup, fresh-baked bread, and clay pitchers of ale, Bennet's friends and alehouse customers, a few tearful young women with heavily powdered faces and swollen eyes. The parish priest stopped by, too. He was very young and clearly had little experience yet in consoling the bereaved, his fumbling for words of comfort painful to watch.
To them all, Molly offered courtesy, but little else. She spoke rarely, nodded occasionally, but all the while her eyes were turning inward, her dark, dilated pupils reflecting no light at all, hers the unfocused, vacant stare of the newly blinded. Justin stayed by her side, ignoring the curious glances of the mourners, holding Molly's hand tightly, as if the clasp of flesh and blood and bone could somehow serve as a lifeline for them both.
People did not tarry, soon found excuses to slip away, and at last they had all gone but Berta, the alehouse serving maid. As Berta puttered about the cottage, wiping away tears with her sleeve, Molly looked up at Justin, and for the first time in hours, he felt that she actually saw him. "When they find his body," she whispered, "will you..."
"I'll take care of it, all of it," he said huskily and refused to let himself think about what he'd just promised to do,
"I want…"
"What, Molly? Tell me."
Tears were brimming in her eyes again. "I want," she said in a small voice, "to get drunk, so drunk that I never have to sober up…"
So did Justin. He craved oblivion at that moment as he'd never craved anything in his life. He knew Molly had never fancied the taste of ale, but it was all they had and he was pouring out a cupful for her as Berta finally ceased her aimless meandering and went over to answer another knock at the door. A moment later, she let out such a bloodcurdling scream that Justin spilled hail of the ale into the floor rushes,
"Christ Jesus!" He spun around to see Berta backing away from the door, her eyes wide, blessing herself with a shaking hand. And then there was another cry, this time from Molly, and he could only stare in disbelief at the man filling the doorway.
Bennet had never looked worse, his skin so sickly white he seemed bloodless, his eyes reddened and puffy, his hair as tangled as uncombed wool. "Molly," he said and held out his arms as she flew across the cottage into his embrace. They hugged each other so tightly that neither seemed to be breathing, as Berta continued to retreat and Justin stood, frozen, not yet able to credit this incredible mercy by their God. Opening his eyes, Bennet saw Justin for the first time and gave a sigh of relief before smiling down tenderly into his sister's tear-streaked face.
"It is really me," he said. "I am not a ghost, Molly -" His head jerked sideways then, as Molly slapped him across the mouth,
"Where were you? Damn you for doing this to me, Bennet, damn you!" She did not wait for him to react, buried her face in his shoulder again, and they stood motionless for a time, clinging together like shipwreck victims who'd at last reached shore. And as his own eyes blurred with tears, it occurred to Justin that Molly and Bennet had a bond that went deeper than blood. They were survivors, having weathered childhood storms together that would have destroyed either one of them alone.
~*~
Berta had gone to spread the word that Bennet had not died in the fire. Molly, Justin, and Bennet shared what was left of the ale and gathered around the trestle table as Bennet explained that he'd never gone back to the warehouse, deciding instead to spend the night with a friend. "I was already flying high, and we drained a few more flagons dry after I got there. The next thing I remember, it was daylight and I felt so vile I did not get out of bed till noon. I was heading for the warehouse when I ran into Alys, the barber's wife, and she well nigh swooned away at the sight of me. After she stopped stuttering and made some sense, I... well, I did not believe her, not until I saw the smoking ruins for myself."
He fell silent, and Justin understood why. It must have been like gazing down into his open grave. "Thank the Lord that you took it into your head to go looking for a lass!"
"Yes," Molly said, but with none of Justin's enthusiasm. "This friend of yours... by any chance could it have been Monday?"
Bennet looked sheepish. "Well, yes..." he admitted, adding for Justin's benefit, "Moll does not like Monday very much -"
"I like her not at all," Molly said and scowled at her brother. "I thought you said it was done between the two of you. God's Truth, Justin, this woman has feathers where her brains ought to be'. She is greedy, sly, flighty -"
"So she must be blazing-hot in bed," Justin blurted out, for he was still so euphoric over Bennet's miraculous resurrection that he had a drunkard's control of his tongue. Molly glared at him, but Bennet burst out laughing and Justin soon joined in, theirs the shaken, giddy laughter of men reprieved on the steps of the gallows. Molly glowered at them both, and then she began to laugh, too, for they'd all seen enough of life to understand how rare it was to cuckold death.
Bennet ran his hands through his tousled hair, for a moment resting his palms against his eyes, like a man with a pounding headache, or one trying to blot a harrowing vision from his brain. "When I saw the warehouse this afternoon - what was left of it - I truly feared that you might have died for me, Justin. I know I have enemies, but who hates me enough to want to see me fried?" He could not repress a shudder. "God, what a way to die…"
He smiled at them then, as if fearing he'd revealed too much. "One suspect comes to mind - that lump of lard from the French cog. He seemed the sort to nurse a grudge."
"Can we dismiss any jealous husbands out of hand?" Molly gibed, and Bennet made her grin by crossing his eyes as if they were still bairns.
"Of course," Bennet said, sounding more cheerful, "it may well be that I got a message meant for Piers. Wait till he hears about this... Jesu! It could have been worse, though. The fire could have happened last week when he had far more to lose."
Justin had no interest in what Piers may have been smuggling, for he had much more on his mind than the law-breaking of a Chester vintner. "There is another possibility," he said slowly. "The fire might have been set for me."
That got their immediate attention. They both turned to stare at him, Molly looking dubious and Bennet downright skeptical. "I doubt that, Justy," he said, with a smile that was somewhat patronizing. "Who's more likely to have enemies with murder on their mind? Piers and me? Or someone who passes his days in the company of lords and ladies and bishops?"
"There are things you do not know, Bennet, that I have not told you. I am not in Chester to do Fitz Alan's bidding. I am hunting for a large sum of money, money that has already cost the lives of three men, mayhap more." Justin glanced from one to the other. "If this is my fault, Bennet, I'll never forgive myself. I truly did not think I was putting you in jeopardy -"
"You do not know that you have," Molly said briskly. "We know you, Justin. Give you some time to brood and you'll be blaming yourself for King Richard's capture and the flooding in Shrewsbury last spring. Ere you start with the mea culpas, tell us why you think someone wanted you dead, and badly enough to risk setting the entire town
ablaze."
"You know about the ransom being demanded for the king's safe return," Justin said, and they nodded in unison.
"Who does not, with the Crown bleeding the realm white for the ransom," Bennet did not sound as if he considered the ransom money well spent. "What does that have to do with you, Justin?"
"A goodly portion of the ransom went missing in Wales. I am one of the men trying to find it. I was in North Wales ere I came Chester, at the court of the Welsh prince Dayvdd. He is blaming his nephew in the hopes that the Crown will send knights and men-at-arms to put down a rising against him. But it is a lie. The ransom was stolen by three Flemish sailors and the outlaw who hired them. And I am the only one who knows what truly happened. Now ask me again, Bennet, if you think I have a secret worth killing for."
"You've convinced me," Bennet said dryly. "Money is always worth killing for. But why does Fitz Alan not know this, too? Why are you keeping it from him?"
"Because I am no longer in Fitz Alan's service. Whilst I am trying to recover the missing ransom, I answer to the Earl of Chester."
There was a long silence. "God's Blood," Bennet said softly, "what have you gotten yourself into, Justin?"
Justin shrugged, looking over at Molly. She'd so far been silent, her face not easy to read. As their eyes met, she shrugged, too. "I did say you were a man with secrets, did I not?" she murmured. "So you tracked these Flemish sailors to Chester. Did you find them here?"
Justin shook his head. "They never came back to their ship. There is a man who may have some of the answers I seek, but he has balked at talking with me. He is suspicious and who can blame him? Even worse for me, he speaks only Flemish."
"Is that your problem? I can solve that for you just like this," Molly said, snapping her fingers. "A friend of mine speaks Flemish and she is also very good, indeed, at getting men to do her bidding."
"Barbele?" Bennet asked, and when she nodded, he grinned at Justin. "Moll is right. Barbele could lure the Devil out of Hell and yes, I speak from very pleasant experience."