Page 46 of Lord of the Forest

The other woman gave a derisive snort. “Ridiculous. Wherefore would he wish to have you poisoned?” She pulled a peach from her basket and toyed with it.

Lancelot regarded her levelly. “Because I’m an obstacle to him inheriting Emborough Hall in Milforde.”

“Nay. A diversion was all he wanted. To suggest he planned your murder is slander of the most heinous kind.”

“Despite forgetting much of what I once knew, I imagine that would be up to a court to decide.”

“Oh, you are both the utmost fools. Walter would never use me like that, to further such wicked ends. Most likely, it was a jest. Besides which, you, sir, do not look like a man who has been poisoned. You should both be ashamed of yourselves, for telling such falsehoods.”

Before anyone could react, she had flounced out through the cell’s open door and was swallowed up in a blast of bright sunshine.

Icy unease trickled down Clemence’s spine. “Should I go after her? She’ll warn Walter.”

Lancelot’s grip on her hand tightened. “You cannot constrain her. And I doubt she’d be prepared to testify against him, no matter how much persuasion can be applied. There is a woman who would rather believe in a pretty lie than an ugly truth. I wish Walter well of her—they make the perfect pairing.”

Clemence’s heart sank. What if they had just lost their best witness? “I’m sure Sir Kester would be able to get the truth out of her.”

He stroked her hand in a way that soothed and aroused at the same time. “I won’t have you putting yourself at risk. Have I not made that clear? Anyway, what mean you by coming here? This is no place for you, my sweet.”

“Ungrateful cur!” She gave him a push. “I have come to do what sweethearts do—I bring succor. I come to minister to you.” She indicated he should sit down, then began unpacking the contents of her basket.

“No pheasant pasties, I trust.”

She loved the teasing warmth in his voice. That he could find humor in his current situation was admirable. “Nay. I bring egardouce of fish, soft cheese, manchet, and chicken galantine. All prepared with my own fair hand, so you may trust it. If Walter really did poison you, how could he have known only you would have the pheasant?”

“It must have been a gamble. Mayhap he cared not if he poisoned one man or several.”

Clemence removed the pig’s bladder cover from her pot of honey electuary and offered Lancelot her spoon. “Take a sip or two of this to ease your throat. Mayhap Walter bribed the cook at the Black Bull to poison whatever you chose.”

He obligingly swallowed the contents of the spoon, then licked his lips. “You make your remedies palatable. Of a certain, you must be the most perfect woman in the world.”

She sniffed. “For a man who has spent the past three years living like an outlaw in the forest, you have quickly refined your speech and manners. And your ability to flatter with sweet words.”

“I would that I might flatter you with my body, too, but it could prove awkward.” He shuffled his feet, and the chains clinked dismally. “I would value a bath—but cleanliness, it seems, is not deemed important in a place such as this. My warders could never be hunters—the prey would smell them a mile away.”

She pulled a face, then removed a folded piece of linen from her basket, opened it, and sprinkled the contents onto Lancelot’s bedding. “Southernwood against the vermin. Shall you try my salve, too, if your ankles are sore, or would you rather eat first?”

“I would give a kingdom to run my head beneath the pump.”

She shook her purse, which emitted a satisfying clink. “I’ll see if the turnkey is amenable to you having a wash. While you wait, I bid you, eat your fill.”

It was a relief to be out of that cell and breathe the better air again. Sucking in a few breaths, she handed a coin to Perkin, where he lounged against the whipping post, and bade him bring a pail of water.

The idea of washing Lancelot’s hair for him filled her with excitement. Though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, she ached to touch him, to delve her fingers into those lush, dark locks, and massage away his tensions and worries. It would have to be cold water and lye soap, but he wasn’t one for luxuries. Had he remembered anything more of his former life during the time that he’d been imprisoned?

By the time Perkin returned with a pail of water, Lancelot had finished eating and was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Clemence waved Perkin back outside, then turned her attention to Lancelot. “Am I never to train you out of such bad habits?” she scolded. “I have a cloth here steeped in lavender water for you to use.”

“I should have known.” He eyed the basket. “No doubt yon basket also contains fresh linens and a newly-mended doublet, in addition to a knife sharp enough to shave me.”

Her cheeks heated—her basket contained two of those things. But she no longer had her knife—only her sewing snips.

“Stop teasing me and lean forward.” She made him kneel before the bucket and partly dipped his head in so she could massage the soap into his hair. Ordering him about, having practical things to do, distracted her thoughts from the ghastly reality of their situation—he was being held for murder, and she had, as yet, no idea how she was going to prove his innocence. She really should have obeyed her father and brought Sir Kester with her—mayhap, even Master Hardy. It had been selfish of her to want this intimate time alone with Lancelot.

Pushing the horrifying thoughts aside, she pressed her fingers into Lancelot’s abundant hair, working the soap into his scalp, and was rewarded with a soft purr of pleasure from deep in his chest.

“I should like to do this to you,” he muttered. “But I’d not be content with washing just your hair.”