his most damning sin is the way he wields his love like a club."
That caught Justin's attention. "What do you mean?"
"From what Agnes says, he has ever favored Geoffrey over Daniel. Unequal love like that is a burden, both to the one loved and the one not loved. Imagine what it was like for Daniel growing up, knowing that he could never measure up to his brother no matter how hard he tried. Is it surprising that he soon stopped trying?"
"No," Justin conceded, "I suppose not." And oddly enough, he suddenly found himself thinking of John, for he, too, had grown to manhood in the smothering shadow of a better-loved brother.
Nell was studying him pensively, for neither his preoccupation nor his bleak mood had escaped her notice. She'd been intrigued from the first by his eyes, a clear grey that darkened to slate when he was angry and was shot through with silver whenever he laughed. Now they put her in mind of a December sky, a color without warmth or cheer or even hope. Reaching out, she surprised him by brushing a lock of black hair off his forehead, a gesture that was almost maternal. "Do you want to talk about whatever is troubling you? I can keep a secret when need be, Justin, better than most people realize."
Justin was half tempted to take her up on her offer, but somehow it seemed a betrayal of Claudine to talk about her to another woman. Why he should care about keeping faith with a woman who'd played him for such a fool was a question he could not answer, one he could only ignore. "Some troubles need to ripen like cheeses ere they can be brought out into the open," he said, as lightly as he could, and instead, he told her about the rest of his day, about the scene in the Aston household and then the meeting down on the quay with the father and sister of Melangell. He'd begun to think of her by name now, always as Melangell, not just as the murdered girl or the peddler's daughter . Nell listened intently, asked sensible questions, and for a time, he forgot to glance over at that notched candle, forgot to wonder why Luke had not yet returned. Nell agreed with him that there was more to Melangell's death than met the eye. It was not likely to have been a random killing, she declared, unconsciously echoing Luke's verdict. He must search for a motive, find out who had reason to want her dead. And he must also seek out the little sister again, for if Melangell had a secret worth killing over, Cati would be the one to know. Sisters share, she insisted, and Justin nodded somberly, seeing again Cati's slanting black eyes, too knowing and guarded for a child of eleven. She would not be easy to win over, this wary Welsh wood-sprite. She was not like Melangell.
He stayed at the alehouse until the curfew bells echoed across the city and Nell announced she was closing, ignoring the pleas from patrons for one more round of drinks. Collecting Shadow, he crossed the street, circled around the smithy, and headed across the pasture toward the cottage. Light shone through chinks in the shutters and he remembered that he'd not extinguished the lamp in his rush to catch up with Claudine. That would have been poor payment for Gunter's kindness, if he'd burned down the blacksmith's cottage by his carelessness. Reaching for the latchstring, he opened the door and then stopped abruptly, for Luke was sitting at the table with a flagon.
"I bought some wine on my way home," the deputy said. "There is enough for us to have one last drink... if you've a mind to?"
After a moment, Justin shrugged. "Why not?" Glancing once at the rumpled bed and tangled sheets and then away, he joined the other man at the table, watched as Luke poured the remaining wine into two cracked cups.
"Where were you?" Luke asked, with a casualness that was almost convincing. "Over at the alehouse?"
"Yes." Justin paused. "Did you see Claudine back safely?"
Luke nodded, and a silence fell between them, as charged as the
That caught Justin's attention. "What do you mean?"
"From what Agnes says, he has ever favored Geoffrey over Daniel. Unequal love like that is a burden, both to the one loved and the one not loved. Imagine what it was like for Daniel growing up, knowing that he could never measure up to his brother no matter how hard he tried. Is it surprising that he soon stopped trying?"
"No," Justin conceded, "I suppose not." And oddly enough, he suddenly found himself thinking of John, for he, too, had grown to manhood in the smothering shadow of a better-loved brother.
Nell was studying him pensively, for neither his preoccupation nor his bleak mood had escaped her notice. She'd been intrigued from the first by his eyes, a clear grey that darkened to slate when he was angry and was shot through with silver whenever he laughed. Now they put her in mind of a December sky, a color without warmth or cheer or even hope. Reaching out, she surprised him by brushing a lock of black hair off his forehead, a gesture that was almost maternal. "Do you want to talk about whatever is troubling you? I can keep a secret when need be, Justin, better than most people realize."
Justin was half tempted to take her up on her offer, but somehow it seemed a betrayal of Claudine to talk about her to another woman. Why he should care about keeping faith with a woman who'd played him for such a fool was a question he could not answer, one he could only ignore. "Some troubles need to ripen like cheeses ere they can be brought out into the open," he said, as lightly as he could, and instead, he told her about the rest of his day, about the scene in the Aston household and then the meeting down on the quay with the father and sister of Melangell. He'd begun to think of her by name now, always as Melangell, not just as the murdered girl or the peddler's daughter . Nell listened intently, asked sensible questions, and for a time, he forgot to glance over at that notched candle, forgot to wonder why Luke had not yet returned. Nell agreed with him that there was more to Melangell's death than met the eye. It was not likely to have been a random killing, she declared, unconsciously echoing Luke's verdict. He must search for a motive, find out who had reason to want her dead. And he must also seek out the little sister again, for if Melangell had a secret worth killing over, Cati would be the one to know. Sisters share, she insisted, and Justin nodded somberly, seeing again Cati's slanting black eyes, too knowing and guarded for a child of eleven. She would not be easy to win over, this wary Welsh wood-sprite. She was not like Melangell.
He stayed at the alehouse until the curfew bells echoed across the city and Nell announced she was closing, ignoring the pleas from patrons for one more round of drinks. Collecting Shadow, he crossed the street, circled around the smithy, and headed across the pasture toward the cottage. Light shone through chinks in the shutters and he remembered that he'd not extinguished the lamp in his rush to catch up with Claudine. That would have been poor payment for Gunter's kindness, if he'd burned down the blacksmith's cottage by his carelessness. Reaching for the latchstring, he opened the door and then stopped abruptly, for Luke was sitting at the table with a flagon.
"I bought some wine on my way home," the deputy said. "There is enough for us to have one last drink... if you've a mind to?"
After a moment, Justin shrugged. "Why not?" Glancing once at the rumpled bed and tangled sheets and then away, he joined the other man at the table, watched as Luke poured the remaining wine into two cracked cups.
"Where were you?" Luke asked, with a casualness that was almost convincing. "Over at the alehouse?"
"Yes." Justin paused. "Did you see Claudine back safely?"
Luke nodded, and a silence fell between them, as charged as the
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