Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman

gratefully for the food.
    Except Catherine. She stared down the table at her father-in-law, who was stuffing his mouth as if stoking a fire. He hadn’t even looked at her when he came in, hadn’t greeted her at all. At the moment, she was too relieved to be insulted. And what had been the text of the Saxon prayer that everyone reacted to it as if the meal had been profaned instead of blessed? She wished she could have stayed up in her alcove with Willa and the baby.
    At the other end of the table, Edgar was wishing, once again, that he had never brought her to Scotland.
    Adalisa knew that it was her place to make cheerful conversation to aid in the calm enjoyment of the food. She surveyed the grim or nervous faces around her and decided, perhaps tomorrow. So the meal took place with only the sound of chewing, gurgling and occasional fights among the dogs for the bits dropped to the floor. Adalisa tried to eat, but nothing could get past the tightness in her throat. She concentrated on keeping back tears. Years of practice helped her.
    At the far end of the table, next to Catherine, Solomon watched Adalisa. It seemed to him that Edgar’s stepmother was a delicate French rose, planted in a desert and somehow expected to bloom. He wondered if, after so many years, she still felt like a foreigner in this land.
    They had reached the fruit and nut stage when Robert arrived, with his dog. He was wearing old leather breeches and a tunic without sleeves that was stained with sweat. Waldeve glanced at him and his jaw set. He put down the sticky sweetmeat he had been gnawing.
    “You look like a neyf,” he said. “No. Worse. Like a slave, without pride or sense.”
    Robert shrugged.
    “I’ve been away from my holdings for weeks,” he stated. “They needed tending to. I need to work to survive on the pittance of land I have. I’m too busy for family dinners. The only reason I’ve come at all is that I have news for you.”
    He raised his voice, although the hall was quiet enough for him to be heard in a whisper.
    “There was a messenger waiting for me,” he told them. “He had information he was afraid to deliver here.”
    For a moment Waldeve’s shoulders sagged, as if an iron yoke had been dropped on them. He regained himself quickly though.
    “And what did your cowardly messenger fear to tell me?” he asked.
    Robert looked around the room, savoring the attention.
    “The horses have been found,” he said. “At Hexham. Alexander’s still wore the bridle the king gave him at Carlisle.”
    The silence became uproar. Men shouted and pounded their knives and cups on the table. Alexander’s wife shrieked and began to wail. Æthelræd didn’t bother to try to push through the confusion to get to Robert. He simply stepped up onto the table, making it creak alarmingly, sending dishes flying and spattering sauce across the room. He jumped off the other side and faced his nephew.
    “Where are they?” he asked. “Who has them? Who did it?”
    “At the priory,” Robert answered. “In the care of the priest. I don’t know. They were left in the church, tied to the rood screen, in the middle of the night.”
    That brought the room to silence again. Edgar shivered and crossed himself. So did many others. Solomon and Catherine looked at each other. Would no one tell them what was happening?
    Waldeve leaned forward over the table. A pitcher of ale tipped over, causing a foamy waterfall to spill to the floor. His mouth opened and closed twice. Finally, he found the word he wanted.
    “Why?” he asked. “Who is playing with me like this?”
    For once Robert almost pitied his father. He seemed to have aged in the past few moments, crumpled. Adalisa put a hand on her husband’s arm. He turned and stared at her as if at a stranger. Then he looked at Edgar.
    “Is it God?” he asked. “Is this a divine punishment for my sins?”
    The question startled Edgar. When had his father ever worried about his sins? And what answer