Forsaken Soul by Priscilla Royal Page A

that she still eats. Even the king’s man might notice more than she.”
    The bitter tone whenever Signy mentioned Ralf was not lost on Eleanor. “After you parted from your uncle, you said you delivered the food and drink to the room but did not say if anyone was with Martin.”
    “Hob and Will were there. The three were arguing. When I entered, Will made lewd remarks about me, which caused much merriment for the cooper. I immediately set the tray and jug down on the table. Normally I would stay to make sure all was satisfactory and as requested, but I was both angry and fearful. I wanted to leave.”
    “Was Ivetta there?”
    “She was.” Signy squeezed her eyes shut. “She was there when I brought in the tray.”
    The prioress reached out and took the woman’s hand. “I beg forgiveness for the pain my next question must cause, but I would not ask for such details if I did not think they might help the cause of justice.”
    Signy nodded but kept her eyes shut.
    “Did any of them rudely handle you?”
    Tears edged Signy’s eyes. “Martin grabbed me and told Will to…”
    Eleanor forced herself to remain silent.
    “Hob pulled Will away before he could do more, and the two brothers left the room. Martin and Ivetta were laughing with such foul delight, I was able to escape.”
    “Were you ever alone with any of the three men?”
    “Ivetta was there the entire time, my lady. She had arrived before I did and was alone with Martin after I left. While Martin held me, she was the one to lift my gown so Will could put his hand between my legs…” She burst into tears.
    Eleanor pulled the innkeeper’s niece into her arms and comforted her. Perhaps that would be all she could learn, she thought, but as Signy wept, the prioress’ thoughts shifted from anger to puzzlement. Was there significance in the difference between the tale told by Ivetta and the one she had just heard from Signy?

Chapter Sixteen
    “If you want information, Crowner, talk to Will or Hob.” The innkeeper scowled as he recounted the dead rabbits lying on the table in front of him. “Ask the whore too. I’m a busy man.”
    Ralf shoved the carcasses to one side and leaned toward the man. “The night of Martin’s death. I want details from you.”
    Clearly annoyed at the interruption to his concentration, the man separated the rabbits once more, pointed a pudgy finger at the first one, and started yet another count.
    “Answer my question. I’m not here to watch you pretend King Edward is stopping for his first good English meal since leaving on crusade.”
    The innkeeper’s resigned sigh was as huge as he was. “Martin made the same arrangements he always did when he had Ivetta to himself for the night. He paid for the upstairs room and a proper meal to go with it. Something to break his fast the next morning as well, although he never got to that this time, did he? Now there’s a difference for you!” The innkeeper moved the carcasses to one side and dumped a basket of fish in their place. “Twelve rabbits,” he shouted to somebody. “Skinny. Tell Hanry to bring me fatter ones, or I’ll buy elsewhere.”
    Ralf was sure the conies were poached but had usually ignored this one practice on the assumption that most lords were in little danger of running short of rabbits to feed upon. “Did the harlot come with him or later?”
    “Later.”
    “You got your share first?”
    “I own the room, not the whore. He paid me what I asked when he made his arrangements. Ask her when he gave her whatever he thought she was due—or what, if that means anything to you.”
    The crowner glanced at the fresh, glistening trout. The innkeeper had never cheated on the quality of what he served at the inn, giving fair value for anything sold. He might bluster and rant about prices and business above all else, but he was an honest enough man. Ralf decided he would probably tell him the truth despite his obvious reluctance.
    “So Martin went up to the room