was Thurstan’s son? A tremor of alarm iced Simon’s blood. Precarious as things were, he did not want her blurting it out. “Shh. Stay quiet.” He looked over his shoulder and saw the archdeacon lurking there. “She needs wine.”
Crispin raised one skeptical brow. “I think this harlot has ensnared you, too, with her wanton wiles.”
Too? Simon did not like the sounds of that at all. His skin crawled with apprehension. “We barely know each other.”
“You are solicitous for a stranger.” The archdeacon tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, his expression watchful, vicious. Like a snake with a pair of cornered mice.
Simon stood, enjoying the way he towered over Crispin. “Knights are ever chivalrous of women.”
“A woman such as this one can enslave a man with a look.”
Oh, Simon knew that firsthand. A few moments in her company last night, and he’d been smitten, had even fancied she might be the woman to equal the one in his dream.
Crispin glanced at Linnet. “Did you tire of the bishop and murder him so you could have this young and comely knight?”
“Murder?” Linnet’s face went whiter still.
“He was killed. Struck down,” said Crispin.
“We do not know that,” Brother Oliver said gently. “It may be he collapsed as he did last autumn and hit his head.”
“You think I murdered him?” Linnet said slowly, as though trying to come to grips with it. “Nay, but he was my friend.”
“Oh, I think you were more than a friend,” the archdeacon said silkily. “You were Bishop Thurstan’s mistress.”
“Mistress?” Simon was struck with a ridiculous urge to wipe his mouth, to rub away the kiss they had shared.
“It is not true,” Linnet whispered, expression anguished.
Simon looked away, unable to bear the sight of her delicate features and beautiful eyes. Lying eyes. To think he had come close to seducing his father’s mistress.
“Aye, she was his mistress.” Crispin’s lip curled with loathing. “But perhaps she fancied a younger protector.”
“If so, it was not me,” Simon said stonily. “I only returned to Durleigh yesterday.”
“Yet Brother Gerard saw you follow her from the palace.”
Simon shrugged. “Coincidence. We were here at about the same time, and the Deangate is the quickest route into town.”
“You appeared to wait till she left, then pursued her.” Brother Gerard had the sharp features of a ferret and the fawning, smug manner of a toady.
Simon despised him on principle. “I lingered in the gardens a moment after leaving the bishop. Which I would not have done were I guilty of murder.” A reminder of his service to God could not go amiss, either. “The roses drew me, for I missed their sweet smell while on Crusade in the dry, desolate East.”
The archdeacon’s scowl eased a bit.
“Bishop Thurstan’s death is my fault,” whispered Brother Oliver. “If I had been with him when he was stricken, he would not have fallen and struck his head.”
“Be at ease, Brother,” said the prior. “Whatever happened, it was God’s will.”
Brother Oliver sighed and bent his head.
Crispin nodded. “Thank you for reminding us of that, Brother Prior. Bishop Thurstan’s passing was indeed God’s will.”
Simon released the breath he had been holding and silently gave thanks for the prior’s level head. “I may go, then?”
“For the moment, but do not try to leave Durleigh till this matter is settled. And I would say the same to you, Mistress Linnet.” Crispin pinned her with a searing glance.
“I have nothing to hide.” Her eyes were haunted, but she held her head up as she turned and walked regally from the room.
The archdeacon stared after her, but his lean face was twisted with loathing. Simon almost pitied her, for she had incurred the enmity of the man who would, if only temporarily, wield much power m Durleigh. It was a fact he would do well to remember if he wanted to remain a free man.
“Come, Brothers, we must go to the chapel and pray for the bishop’s soul.” Crispin gathered his robes in one hand and swept from the room, followed by the other priests.
Prior Walter remained behind, as did two muscular men Simon had marked as soldiers. When the priests had gone, Walter posted the guards in the hallway, one at the bedchamber door, the other outside the withdrawing room, with orders to let none pass. Then he turned to Simon. “You must have been close to Bishop Thurstan if your first act in Durleigh was to visit him.”
Simon hesitated, wondering what to make of this bald little prelate with his sharp eyes and even sharper wit. “We barely knew one another.” True enough. “But many of the men in the Black Rose took the cross in response to a penance levied by the bishop. I thought he should know a few of us had survived.”
“A noble gesture.”
“The archdeacon does not seem to think so.”
“Aye, well.” Walter shrugged. “Crispin disapproved of everything Bishop Thurstan did and said.”
“He covets the bishopric, then?” Simon asked.
“Only because he feels he is better suited to the task.”
“What of you?” Simon asked archly.
Walter grinned. “I am not as critical of Thurstan as Crispin, but every man aspires to better himself.”
“A clever answer.”
“A truthful one. I admired what Thurstan accomplished here, though his methods are not mine. As to taking his place…” Walter shrugged again. “I doubt few men could. I would welcome a chance to try, but I would not kill to get it.”
A shrill voice sounded outside in the hallway.
“You have no right to keep me out!” A woman burst into the room. She was not young, but still beautiful. Despite the early hour, her blond hair had been sleeked neatly back, coiled at her nape and encased in a gold wire net. Her fashionable green gown was close-fitting, showing off a slender body.
Close on her heels came the guard. “My lord prior. .”
“It is all right.” Walter’s manner stiffened. “Lady Odeline, is something amiss?”
The lady sniffed and advanced on the prior, followed by a well-dressed youth in his early twenties. “Why have we been refused admittance to Thurstan’s chambers?” she demanded.
Her easy use of Thurstan’s name piqued Simon’s interest. Could this be his mother? If so, she must have been a mere child when
