A Conspiracy of Wolves

Wolves had not the leisure to spend their days plotting revenge. They needed to hunt to fill their bellies each day. But men … ‘Had it been my da who’d taken in a young woman as his own and then been wrongly executed for her murder I might sit round the fire with my brothers and sisters plotting a way to punish the privileged pups and authorities who’d murdered him.’

‘Mayhap thou hast more insight into such passion than does Magda. Prince Edward must think so, to trust thee to protect his family from the Northern barons.’

‘I’d not thought of it in that light.’ But he suddenly saw it as she did. ‘Protecting the privileged pups.’

Magda chuckled, but then turned to Owen, taking his hand. ‘Such trust is an honor, if thou dost consider the royal kin honorable folk. Do not make thy decision based only on what thou thinkest of the prince.’

Owen felt the tingling in the center of his forehead. Would he ever understand her power? Did he wish to?

‘If I ponder that I will never sleep this night,’ he said.

‘Magda digressed. Thou hast more immediate concerns.’

He returned to what she’d told him of Warin, Gerta, and their families. ‘But who then are Joss and Wren?’

‘This is how Bird-eye catches murderers? Shaping a tale out of scraps?’

Is that what he did? Surely it was more than that?

‘Might Joss be Gerta’s brother?’ he asked.

‘The lad was ever covered in soot and ash, Magda would not know him now. But he was gentle like Joss. And when Joss came to Magda for the juniper he seemed perhaps familiar.’

‘Juniper?’

‘To remove the wart, he claimed. He asked for savine, in particular, that juniper. Magda offered houseleek instead. He cursed her and left.’

‘Angry?’

‘Desperate. Magda thought he meant to kill himself. Oil of savine is a potent poison.’

Owen knew of it. ‘You did not try to comfort him?’

‘Magda does not presume.’

14 Into the Flames

As Honoria de Staines slid beneath her bedcovers a few hours before dawn she prayed that God would look past her many sins this night and bless her sincere intention to save a young woman’s life. Though this was her usual hour to rest, the guests having departed, stumbling home to their cold beds, and the women of the house sleeping off their long evening, this had been no ordinary night, and she lay with her eyes open, listening for intruders.

Early in the evening she had agreed to shelter the young woman before hearing her tale, moved by her appearance and the terror in her swollen eyes. By the time Honoria understood the danger in which she’d placed all the women who depended on her for their safety it was too late to toss young Wren back out on the streets; she’d made the young woman’s safety her mission.

In danger, wanting to hide. Honoria had taken Wren to the storeroom off the kitchen, kept reasonably warm by its proximity to the hearth and oven. A pallet and blankets were ever ready there for women, often just girls, who needed a place off the street.

‘Who beat you?’

‘My da. One of my uncles is dead because of me.’

Her uncles. Honoria remembered how Wren’s mother had bolted the very day her brothers had paid a visit, leaving her child behind. ‘I cannot promise to keep the little one safe,’ she’d said. ‘Find her a place in a good home.’ When Honoria asked whether Wren’s father might care for her, at least take her in as a maidservant, she’d laughed. ‘You think he is a wealthy customer? He’s with my brothers, as cursed as the three of us.’

‘No one will bother you here tonight,’ Honoria had told Wren. ‘No one in this household.’

‘You don’t want to know what I did?’

‘Are you likely to kill another?’

‘I didn’t kill him, Mistress Alisoun did. But she was there because of me. And Da saw me talking with her.’

Had it been earlier, Honoria would have taken her to Captain Archer. Wren had information he needed. But it had been her busiest time of the evening. She must see to clients. Now, lying in bed, she was alert to every creak and sigh as the house settled into a predawn calm, and cursed herself for not taking Wren to the captain.

Enough. She rose, dressed, went to the kitchen to fetch the bailiff’s man she’d bribed to sleep there, guarding Wren. She’d offered him a free tumble with the woman of his choice if he would stay, explaining the situation. A youth eager to prove his mettle, he’d readily agreed.

‘We’re taking her to Captain Archer.’

The young man was bleary-eyed. ‘Is it morning already?’

‘Almost.’

‘He will not be pleased if we wake the family.’

‘Until he knows who it is we bring before him.’

In the pale gray before dawn Owen woke to pounding on the street door. He stared out the unshuttered window and vowed to remember to close it from now on. There was an autumn chill in the air.

Lucie groaned. ‘So early.’

Striding across the room, Owen glared down from the window at the trio standing before the door, one of them about to pound again.

‘Don’t you dare.’

The man started, then backed up to see who was there. ‘It’s Corm, Captain. Bailiffs’ man. Trouble in the Bedern.’