“I swear it,” Severin said. “What do you say, Hastings?”
“I was thinking more of calling our son Lupine or perhaps Foxglove.”
Severin grabbed her and kissed her hard in front of her four sisters and her mother. When he allowed her a breath, Hastings grinned up at him and said, “How do you like Primrose, my lord, if we have a daughter?”
30
THERE WASN’T A CLOUD IN THE SKY WHEN DISASTER struck. The air was warm and the breeze from the sea some five miles distant was balmy when the first man fell off his horse, crying out as he clutched his belly.
It was over in minutes. Gwent was the last man to fall, his face contorted, his huge body heaving with pain.
Only Hastings and Severin were left.
The horses neighed, stomping, some of them rearing in fright.
Severin leapt off his horse, running to Gwent. “What happened? What is this, Gwent?”
“I do not know,” he said, struggling with the pain, “I do not know.” Then his head fell back over Severin’s arm. Severin cried out. Hastings was beside him in a moment.
“He’s not dead, Severin. Just a moment.” She checked the other men. “None are dead, but all are now unconscious. It has to be some sort of poison. It makes no sense. How could they be poisoned and not us?”
Severin sat back on his heels. “I know,” he said slowly. “Aye, I know. When we stopped at that village fair, the men all wanted ale. You and I wandered about for a little while and then you wanted to visit the forest nearby. Neither of us ate or drank anything. Just the men.”
“But who would do this? Do you think everyone at the fair was struck down?”
“I don’t know, but now I am concerned that it will be fatal.” He rose, grabbed his horse’s reins, and led him off the rutted road, tethering him to a tree. “We must get them all comfortable. Will it hurt the babe if you help me move them, Hastings?”
“Not at all. Let’s move quickly.”
He let Hastings carry the feet of two men who were too large for him to carry. The others he simply slung over his shoulder. They set up a camp not far off the road beside a small meadow filled with daisies and daffodils.
Hastings came down on her knees to examine Gwent. She raised his eyelids, smelled his breath, felt his heart, pressed her fingers against the pulse in his throat. “I just don’t know what it is, Severin.”
“I’m certain that my dear Marjorie could tell you, Hastings.”
Severin’s sword was out of its sheath in an instant, his muscles tensed, ready to fight, but he didn’t have the chance. They were surrounded by a dozen men all armed with swords and bows and arrows. In their center was Richard de Luci, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked about at all the unconscious men. He looked amused.
“You’re dead,” Severin said, staring at the man. “Lord Graelam de Moreton told me you were dead. You slipped on a rabbit bone and struck your head.”
“But you never found my body, did you? I heard about that and laughed and laughed. I have wondered what to do about you, Severin of Louges—”
Severin raised his head unconsciously. “I am now the Earl of Oxborough as well.”
“Aye, you got to her first.” Richard de Luci turned his attention to Hastings, who was kneeling beside Gwent.
“On the contrary,” Severin said, his hand tightening about his sword handle, “her father wanted me. Had he wanted you, doubtless he would have asked you. You were never meant to be anything other than what you are.”
Suddenly, without warning, de Luci was panting, his face suffused with rage. “You damned whoreson! That’s a lie. The old man was witless. I know that Graelam de Moreton pushed him to select you, aye, I know it well. You, Hastings, should have been wedded to me. I should have become the Earl of Oxborough. All that property, all the farms and villages that belong to you now, Severin. Was that filthy old man as rich as believed?”
“Aye, even richer,” Severin said, not moving a muscle, eyeing de Luci closely, seeing the rage diminishing slowly, thinking, thinking.
“Whoreson,” de Luci said again, his hand going to his sword. Then he stopped. He shook his head. He appeared a different man now, calm, still, his eyes no longer hungry and dead. He said in a thoughtful voice, “I have thought and thought about this. I reasoned at first that even with you dead, I would gain naught. The king would take Oxborough and all its properties and possessions. He would wed Hastings to another man of his choosing. Even if I were to wed Hastings after I killed you, the king might be angered beyond reason. He might seek retribution. Ah, but I have found the solution to the problem.”
“There is no solution. I won Hastings. All is mine. All will remain mine. Everything you reasoned is true. You poisoned my men. Will they live?”
“Aye, why not? Marjorie said it would just bring them low for a day or so. I asked her how she knew so much about poisons. She told me that she read many of Hastings’s herbal manuscripts. Well, she read about poisons. I nearly strangled her when I learned from one of my men that she had poisoned you, Hastings. But you escaped death and so did Marjorie.
“You two were to be unconscious as well. Actually, nearly everyone in that village will be vilely ill for a day. We didn’t know which ale stall you and your men would visit, so Marjorie had to poison all the ale. It wasn’t difficult to do, yet you two escaped. How?”