“So I suggest, my lady,” she concluded, “that as soon as you are able, you pack up your goods and go and find another man who can appreciate your beauty and your other considerable assets. Leave Ranulf to the peace he deserves and the happy life I hope to give him. And God go with you, my lady, because Ranulf won’t!”
ASBEATRICE MARCHEDout of Celeste’s bedchamber, Ranulf watched the last of the fishermen leave Hedyn’s house, taking the smell of the morning’s catch with him.
“Is that all of them?” he asked Myghal, who had been with him during the questioning of the villagers.
“Aye, my lord.”
Standing at the open window, Ranulf gazed up at the sky. It had been three days since Hedyn and Gwenbritha’s murder—three days he’d spent questioning every adult in Penterwell, except for the time he’d spent at Hedyn’s funeral mass, or sleeping, or grabbing a bite to eat in the hall. He’d barely seen Bea in all that time. Either he was asking questions trying to get answers, or she was nursing Celeste, who finally—thank God—seemed to be getting better. Even more thankfully, neither Bea nor anyone else had fallen ill.
He’d chosen to do his questioning here, in the house where Hedyn and his lover had died, because he hoped that would inspire those he queried to give him answers. He wanted them to think about the dead man and the poor woman who’d been his lover before they’d been so brutally murdered.
Unfortunately, not one of the people he’d questioned had told him anything useful. Nobody had any idea who could have killed Hedyn, Gwenbritha or Gawan, or who would want to. Nobody knew what had happened to the two others who’d gone missing earlier, or if there was anyone who had wanted Sir Frioc dead. To hear the villagers’ responses, it was as if evil spirits had flown into Penterwell to do the dastardly deeds.
“Very well, Myghal,” Ranulf said with a sigh, wondering what he’d do next to try to find the culprits. Perhaps he should lead the patrols of the coast himself, as he’d done before. Maybe his soldiers had missed something, or were protecting their relatives. He hated to think it, but it was possible.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Myghal said quietly, as if wary of interrupting Ranulf’s frustrated thoughts.
“Yes?”
Myghal shifted his feet. “The folks have been asking me when we’re going to get a new sheriff and who it might be.”
Ranulf had been thinking about that, too, and one candidate seemed obvious. “I see no reason why you should not be the sheriff.”
Myghal stared at him as if he was thunderstruck. “M-me, my lord?”
“Why not?” Ranulf asked. “You were Hedyn’s undersheriff for two years and he found you capable, as do I.”
Myghal’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I’m honored, my lord, but surely I’m not…there’s got to be…”
“Would you really rather I named another?” Ranulf asked, sensing there was more than modesty to Myghal’s protestations.
That wasn’t surprising, given that his predecessor had been brutally murdered. “After what happened to Hedyn, I can understand if you’re reluctant, although I’ll be disappointed.”
“It’s not that,” Myghal said. “But, um, you may have noticed, my lord, there’s some that don’t like me in Penterwell.”
“I have noticed,” Ranulf replied, recalling some of the looks he’d noticed Myghal receiving from the villagers. “But I have yet to meet anyone universally admired. It’s also a sad truth that most men who represent the law are often regarded with suspicion. However, I need a man I can rely on, and one just as determined to find out who’s responsible for these deaths as I am. Are you that man, Myghal?”
The younger man straightened his slightly beefy shoulders. “I am, my lord.”
“Then you are now the sheriff of Penterwell, and I am going home.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CELESTE’S MAIDSERVANThurried up to Ranulf as he dismounted in the courtyard and handed Titan’s reins to one of the grooms waiting to take them. “My lord, if you please, my lord,” the young woman said, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else than talking to him.
“What is it?” he asked, frowning. “I hope your mistress’s illness hasn’t taken a turn for the worse.”
“No, my lord, I don’t think so,” Emma said, speaking with great deference and not a little fear. “She wants to see you as soon as possible. She says it’s important.”
Ranulf’s mind was instantly alert, as if an alarm had sounded on the walls. “Really? And what might this urgent matter be?”
Emma’s thin face flushed to the roots of her mouse-brown hair. “I don’t know, my lord. She didn’t tell me. Just said I was to tell you it was important and that she needed to see you.”
“In her bedchamber, I suppose?”
“She isn’t well enough to get up yet.”
Ranulf had not been born yesterday, and it had been ten years since he’d been that green youth of eighteen, anxious for love and blind to a clever woman’s snares, so if Celeste thought to seduce him, she was most certainly going to be disappointed. On the other hand, perhaps it would be best if he made that perfectly clear.
