The King's Bishop by Candace Robb

wished to force Wykeham to state his suspicion clearly. ‘How else would she get into the Thames, Sir William?’
    ‘Was she likely to despair of finding her lover and jump into the river?’
    ‘No.’
    Wykeham raised his head, gave one nod. ‘I thought not.’
    ‘Therefore she stumbled.’
    ‘Is that what you think?’
    ‘I am more curious to hear what you think.’
    ‘Daniel, Sir William of Wyndesore’s page: do you believe his death was an accident?’
    Alice’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Their deaths are connected?’
    ‘What if they were?’
    ‘That would be a terrible thing, Sir William.’
    ‘I agree. I would ask you to share with me any thoughts you might have on this possible connection, Mistress Perrers.’
    ‘Why? What were Mary and Daniel to you?’
    ‘God’s children.’
    ‘As are we all, Sir William.’
    ‘Just so.’ He turned, offered her his arm. ‘Now I must deliver you to your servant else he shall tell His Grace I have chilled you with my chatter.’
    Chilled her he had, indeed. But to confide in him was out of the question.
    Ned’s company rode from York four days before Owen was to set forth. Archdeacon Jehannes had sketched out the route, but once they climbed up on to the moors the way was not so clear. According to Jehannes, Rievaulx lay in a deep vale surrounded by high moors; but Ned had not expected the track down to the abbey to look so like a ravine, and with no abbey in sight. Surely something of the reportedly magnificent church would be visible from here? In doubt, Ned consulted Don Ambrose, the one member of their party who had been here several times.
    Don Ambrose nodded as he edged his steed away from Ned with a scowl. ‘’Tis the track to the abbey.’
    A friendlier response was not to be expected. The friar had circled Ned warily since York, as if he expected an attack. It had not been so on the first part of the journey, riding up from Windsor. Ned wondered what had happened in York to change the friar’s behaviour towards him.
    ‘And horses can descend without harm?’
    Ambrose hunched his shoulders sullenly. ‘Aye.’
    ‘You are certain?’
    ‘I am not in the habit of lying, Captain.’ He did not meet Ned’s eyes.
    Ned shrugged, ordered the men to dismount. ‘Safer to lead our horses down this slope,’ he said. He trusted the friar only so far.
    The descent was sudden. Ned was uneasy. If attacked, the company would not move quickly, certainly not surefootedly. It was as if they were being swallowed up by the land. The only comfort was that an enemy would be likewise handicapped.
    The vale soon coaxed him into noticing its beauty, thickly wooded and echoing with bird-song. But wild. Could there truly be a community as large as Rievaulx down below? Thinking to ask how far before they should see signs of the community, Ned glanced back at Don Ambrose, who sensed Ned’s gaze and lifted his eyes to meet it. Ned slowed and edged over to the side of the track to let the others pass him. ‘This track is too narrow for carts, Don Ambrose. You stand by your assurance that this is the track to the abbey?’
    The eyes were coldly challenging. ‘I do.’
    ‘But it is not the only way.’
    The eyes slipped sideways. ‘I never said it was.’
    Ned took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Why have you led us down such a dangerous path?’ He was glad to hear his voice so low, reasonable.
    Ambrose looked him in the eye. ‘As God is my witness, I did not lead you, Captain. You paused at the top and asked whether this was the track to the abbey. It is one of them.’
    ‘You might have corrected me when I passed the safer way. You are meant to be our guide.’
    ‘The cart road is farther on,’ The ghost of a smile trembled at the corners of the friar’s mouth.
    Ned gripped the reins in his hand tightly. ‘Damn it, man, if you have some grudge against me take it out on me, not my men!’
    Ambrose glanced down the track at the disappearing backs. ‘All are well so