Too many, perhaps, and it had led to her doom.
Her body was shapely, with trim hips and rounded breasts. He didn’t think she’d ever had a child. He hoped not. He didn’t want to imagine any little one crying for his mother, going to bed that night and for many others with damp cheeks and a heart full of sorrow because she was never coming back. She’d gone to heaven—a better, happier place, so the priest had said.
Ranulf shook away that memory and studied the wound on the woman’s neck. It was high and on the left side. Judging from the position of the body in relation to Hedyn’s, the killer had been facing her.
Had she awakened to find her murderer standing over her, ready to strike, Hedyn already dead beside her? If so, she’d been too shocked and terrified to scream, her mouth opening but no sound coming out.
And then the water choking…
He closed his eyes a brief moment. When he opened them again, he noted how high on her neck the wound was, starting just below her ear, as if her assailant had held her head by the hair in his left hand and slashed down with his right.
The poor woman. The poor, terrified woman. At least Hedyn hadn’t seen his doom coming.
“I’ll find them,” he quietly vowed, as if they were still capable of hearing. “I’ll find out who did this and he’ll be punished. I give you my word.”
Then, with respect and care, Ranulf drew the sheet up so that both bodies were covered, allowing them what dignity he could even in death.
WHENRANULF RETURNEDfrom Hedyn’s house, he was more upset and agitated than Beatrice had ever seen him. Grabbing a goblet of wine from the table on the dais that she had poured in anticipation of his return, she rushed forward to meet him.
“Oh, Ranulf!” she cried, pity and sympathy for him overwhelming her other tumultuous emotions. “I’m so sorry!”
“I don’t want any wine,” Ranulf snapped, brushing past her. He threw himself into a chair on the dais and stared at the floor at his feet.
She forgave his brusque manner, seeing it for what it was—his reaction to the death of a good man. She quietly ordered the servants gathered in the hall to leave him in peace. For a moment she thought of going, too, but she couldn’t bear to leave him alone when he was in such a state. He might be angry on the surface, but she’d seen his eyes. There was pain there, too, so she would stay and offer him what comfort she could.
She set down the goblet on the table beside his chair.
“This is not your fault,” she ventured softly.
Ranulf barked a harsh, mocking laugh. “Then whose, if not mine? I’m castellan here, charged with keeping the peace. I think the murder of the sheriff and his paramour could be accounted a failure to do that, don’t you?”
She excused his rough sarcasm, too. “You didn’t do the deed.”
Ranulf jumped to his feet and strode to the end of the dais, then back again. “No, but I should have done more to prevent it.”
She spread her hands. “What more could you have done?”
“I shouldn’t have been so lenient, so damn patient,” he snarled. “I should have put an end to the smuggling and questioned every man in the village about Gawan’s death, and those other two, and Frioc’s as well.”
He began to pace. “But no, like a softhearted fool I waited forthemto decide to trust me. Fool! Stupid, weak-willed fool!”
She couldn’t stand to hear him berate himself so. “Yes, you could have done that,” she agreed, her heart aching as she watched him. “You could have entered Penterwell like an avenging angel, and detained and questioned everyone. You could have thrown any man who smuggled into the dungeon, which would have been more than half the men of the village, and their women, too, if you went after anyone who profits by illegal trade. You could have put a cordon around the village, and forbidden any boat to put out. There are many things youcouldhave done—but you would have made everyone in the village hate and fear you. They would never trust you,ever, and be far more likely to work against you. You might have made things a hundred times worse.”
“How could it be worse?” he demanded. “A good man is dead because I let myself believe these selfish, stubborn villagers would see that I meant them no harm. I let them break the king’s laws. From there, it must seem a small step to murder.”
“And if they had still not given you the answers you sought, what then, Ranulf?” she asked. “Would it have been the rack or hot irons? Do you think that would have helped you get the answers you need? Or would it only have created more enmity, until every man, woman and child in Penterwell wantedyoudead, too?”
His expression changed, from anger to bleak despair. “Why won’t they help me?” he asked as he sat heavily and ran his hands through his hair. “Why won’t they tell me what they know?”
“Perhaps now they will,” she offered. “Maybe this will make them come to you. Let’s hope so, Ranulf.”
He continued to regard her with dismay. “And if not? What should I do then, Bea?”
She knelt beside his chair. “You may have to question everyone, as you suggested, and put an end to the smuggling until you find out who’s done these terrible things, but you must tell themwhy. You must make them understand that you feel you have no choice, not if you’re to discover who killed Hedyn and the others, and to keep them all safe.”
Some of the tension left his body as he looked down at her and gave her a weary smile. “When did you grow so wise, little Lady Bea?” he asked, reaching out to caress her cheek.
“I don’t claim to be wise, Ranulf,” she replied, warmed by his gentle touch. “I’ve met the people of your town, and I think most of them want to believe they can trust you and put their faith in you, that you’ll protect them. But they’re afraid, too.”
