Nicholas nodded then stepped out of the cell with Simon and turned to reach out to Margaret, then his mother. “Come,” he urged her softly.
Did she not remember him? Had she lost her mind? It would explain why she left.
“Come.” He dropped his hand and stepped aside, but she would not pass. When he stepped out and waited for her, she did not come. In fact, she shook, as if afraid.
“How long has it been since she has been out of the cell?”
“This one?” Harry asked, looking a bit nervous.
Nicholas’ heart dropped to his belly. He felt his blood racing to catch up. “Where was she before?”
“Are you friends with Viscount Bamburgh? Has he sent you?”
“Why would Bamburgh send me?” Nicholas demanded with full authority.
“We know he abhors the mistreatment of slaves, prisoners, and the like.”
“I do not know the viscount,” Nicholas told them truthfully. “But tell me this,” he ordered as he moved closer and leaned in. “She was moved in case he showed up, aye?”
The first man shook his head. “She was moved just before the viscount’s first visit about six months ago.”
“Ah,” Nicholas smiled at himself. “My mistake.” He wanted to kill them both. “Where was she before this?”
The men looked at each other and grew equally pale. Neither wanted to speak. Finally, the first man did. “She was in a hole. A dark, stinking hole. She had no light and barely any room to bend her knees and–”
Nicholas held up his hand to stop him from going on. He’d already heard too much. He watched Margaret hurry to his mother’s side and try to comfort her.
“Why was she treated so poorly? Is there not even a rumor?” Nicholas asked while a thousand emotions from forgiveness to guilt swept across his heart. He should have searched for her. He should be the one comforting her. But he wanted too badly to kill Phillip DeAvoy and his brothers, and Nicholas would have vowed to kill their father if he was still living. He felt too much anger to comfort his mother. Besides, she didn’t know him. She likely went mad living in those conditions. She was afraid of him, afraid to leave.
“Well, the latest rumor is—” Harry began.
“No. Not the latest,” Nicholas directed him. “What is the oldest rumor? That is the one most likely to be closest to the truth.”
“Aye,” both men agreed and thought about it. “I…ehm…” the second man cleared his throat and began again. “I seem to remember something that used to be whispered about when I was a lad.”
“What was it?” Nichols asked him.
“She was a witch—”
“No,” the first interrupted. “The oldest tale is that Leigh was involved in a very close matter with Sir Roger DeAvoy and was thrown into the pit to keep her quiet.”
Nicholas’ fingers cramped at the force of his fists. He tried to remember to breathe, to react calmly. “Why did he not just kill her?”
“I do not know, m’lord. Are you coming?”
Nicholas shook his head. He looked at his companions. They shook theirs, too. “No, we are not leaving her. You will bring us three more beds—”
“Three!” they both exclaimed. “Why three if you two are married—”
“Should we enjoy our marriage bed in front of this woman?”
The warning glint in his eyes must have convinced them to be careful with their response.
“Aye, m’lord. Three beds.” They hurried off, leaving the four of them alone.
“Oh, my lord,” Margaret lamented over his mother. “She must have gone mad. The poor soul.”
“When did you last see her?” Simon inquired.
