Telling Guiscard to set Phillipe to watch the door was another clever move, Bell thought, following his master into the private chamber. Had Henry asked for one of his other secretaries, Guiscard might have thought secrets were being kept from him and he would certainly have been jealous. The young clerk, Phillipe, was no threat. Ahead of him, the bishop stopped and turned. Bell stopped also, looked in the direction of the bishop’s gaze—and froze.
Enormous eyes, the color of a slightly misty sky, an infinitely deep, soft gray-blue, met his. Above them arched nut-brown brows, which were almost touched by long, thick, curling lashes. A straight nose, but with a barely tilted tip, which begged to be kissed, perched above a mouth to which lips must go next: full, soft, perfectly arched, with corners that had been curved up to greet the bishop but tucked themselves back at the intensity of his scrutiny.
Bell blinked, looked away from her face to the cloak she had removed and carried now over her arm, but what he saw was a firm and shapely bosom and, falling over her shoulder, tresses of thick, shining, honey-gold hair exposed by the loosening of her veil. The cloak. Bell forced his eyes to look at something that was not part of a seemingly perfect woman. The cloak was a decent, sober brown, modest until one noticed it was of the very best cloth and lined with fur. A whore…perhaps, but no common woman for all of that.
“Magdalene,” the bishop was saying. “This is Sir Bellamy of Itchen, my knight. I suppose you would call him my man-of-all-work. He hires and trains men-at-arms, he corrects those who will not listen to gentler remonstrances; he was the one who drove out the harpies that were infesting the Old Priory Guesthouse before you came to take it. I want you to tell him your tale—the tale you told me, not the one you told Brother Paulinus. He also knew and liked Baldassare—”
“Baldassare?” Bell echoed. “You do not mean to tell me that he was the one who was killed?”
“I am afraid so, but I am not sure,” Magdalene said.
“What do you mean, you are not sure?”
“No, no,” the bishop put in. “Do not begin in the middle as you did with me. Remember, the whole story.”
The warning. Bell thought, was not only for the woman. He colored faintly—the curse of his fair complexion—knowing that the bishop had seen how hard her beauty had struck him. And her displeasure, Bell thought further and felt his color deepen, was not because of what the bishop had said but because she, too, had seen his admiration, and did not welcome it. Well, beauty or not, she was safe. He was not going to meddle with William of Ypres’s woman.
“Very well,” Magdalene said.
“Not here, though,” the bishop remarked. “I will need this chamber for business. Take him back to the guesthouse with you. Perhaps he can think of things he wishes to ask your women. One of them might have noticed something you did not. And, oh, I just remembered some other business I need to discuss with him. Wait outside.”
“Yes, my lord,” Magdalene said with a cold look at Bell.
I hope what you tell him is to keep his hands off, she thought as she closed the door behind her. Because Guiscard called me “whore,” doubtless that self-satisfied churl will think I will yield my body to ensure a favorable report from him to the bishop.
Within, much the same ideas, only from the opposite point of view, were being voiced. “Have a care,” the bishop was saying. “I know she is a woman of almost transcendent beauty and it is hard, even for me, to question what she says. You must. You must discover who killed Baldassare and discover what he was carrying and who has it now. You must get the pope’s messages back for me or, if they have been destroyed, discover that fact so that I can send to Innocent, tell him what happened, and ask him to send duplicates.”
“Can you tell me what you think was in the messages?”
“What I think he had was the result of the challenge Matilda made to the king’s right to the throne. It is almost impossible that Innocent could deny Stephen’s right since his legate already approved it, but the letter will quiet doubts. I can see that Matilda’s party might not want the pope’s final approval of Stephen to become public if they plan another rebellion. Still, it is hard to believe that would be worth killing over.”
“It might be,” Bell said slowly. “It might make the difference between a large number of men swearing to Matilda because they once promised the old king to support her. The pope’s decision would ease their consciences and keep them faithful to King Stephen.”
Winchester sighed and shrugged. “Perhaps. The only other thing he might have been carrying is the answer to Stephen’s request that I be made papal legate, and I cannot see how that could be important to anyone but me.”
“You think not, my lord? I am not sure the new archbishop would want a legate to overshadow him, nor that Waleran de Meulan would want you to hold the church in your hand while he tries to name his cousins to earldoms and bishoprics.”
“Theobald of Bec is no murderer,” Winchester said shortly. “Perhaps Waleran would not stop at murder…. Oh, Lord be my help. That was what she meant when she said William of Ypres would be glad to see my enemies discomfited.”