Where Love Has Gone Read Free Page B

drowned.”
    “Indeed?” Desmond looked for confirmation to
his own squire, whom he knew was a sober and responsible
fellow.
    “The general opinion,” said Richard, “is that
Lady Aglise fell to her death from the cliffs along the north shore
of the island and was swept out to sea, or else she was trapped on
the sand at the eastern end of the island by an incoming tide.”
    “Yes, that was the way of it,” Ewan
exclaimed. “By one means or the other, she drowned.”
    “Aglise has been living on Jersey for more
than two years,” Desmond said. “Surely, she knew about the tides.
Richard, from your tone I receive the impression that you don’t
agree with the general opinion.”
    “Everyone I spoke to confirmed the lady’s
beauty,” Richard said. “She was also, apparently, a flirtatious
tease, who enjoyed setting male hearts aflutter. I do wonder if she
has simply run off with a lover, as you first suggested. Though why
her sister would have no inkling of what Aglise was planning, I
cannot guess. Supposedly, the sisters were on affectionate
terms.”
    “Perhaps, Lady Aglise teased some poor fellow
beyond bearing and then rejected his advances, so he killed her out
of thwarted passion,” Ewan said, blushing a little at his own lurid
imaginings. “Perhaps, her body was flung over the cliffs into the
sea, never to be seen again.”
    “Bodies that go into the sea near land,”
Desmond told the squire, “usually wash up on shore in due
time.”
    “Well,” Cadwallon said, his voice muffled as
he pulled a fresh brown wool tunic over his head, “as I see the
situation, we have two possibilities to consider. Either the girl
is dead, or she’s living elsewhere. If she’s dead, someone in this
manor house will have a good idea what happened to her. If she’s
still alive, someone will know in what direction she has gone.
Judging by the alert sentries we found at the gate, this is not a
place that anyone can leave unobserved. Nor do I think it’s easy to
sail away from the island without being noticed. So, Ewan, keep
asking questions. Take care not to drink too much wine. Keep your
head and listen well to what the men-at-arms say.”
    “Sir?” Richard looked to Desmond for
instructions.
    “Cadwallon is right,” Desmond agreed somewhat
reluctantly. “Pay close attention to what goes on around you. At
this moment, we don’t know much more than we did yesterday, and the
most casually dropped piece of information may lead us to the
truth.”
     
    Caen, Normandy.
    The court of Henry I, king of England and
duke of Normandy.
     
    So, the noble baron of Wortham dared to
suppose he could uncover and prevent the plans that The Spy and a
few others had been commanded to set into motion on the first day
of May.
    Normandy ought to belong to Louis VI of
France, and so should the nearby islands. The Spy and his
associates were secretly working toward that goal. And they would
prevail. He knew it with all the confidence that was so much a part
of his nature.
    The Spy smiled darkly, pleased with himself
at the information he had cleverly extracted from Lady Irmina
during the last hour. Such a foolish creature, to talk so freely
about something she wasn’t supposed to know. Some women just could
not keep their tongues from wagging. She had never guessed at his
true intentions.
    He, of course, was always careful of what he
revealed. The Spy had worked in secret for years, ingratiating
himself with King Henry, making a place for himself at the royal
court. Neither Henry, nor his spymaster, Royce of Wortham,
suspected his true purpose, of that The Spy was certain. No hint of
suspicion had ever attached itself to him.
    Royce of Wortham simply was not equal to the
clever men who pretended loyalty to Henry, but who actually owed
their allegiance to Louis of France. As proof of his ineptness,
Royce had no idea that, thanks to Lady Irmina’s tendency to drink
too much wine and to babble carelessly, The Spy was now aware that
a man