“He has not been dead long,” Thierry noted.
“Long enough for his skin to cool.”
“But not for his blood to dry.” The other knight scanned the forest, apparently listening. “Is that a single horse?” Amaury listened and nodded agreement. Thierry pointed and Baird pursued the sound.
In the meantime, Amaury lifted Denis’ cloak, then grimaced. “He did not even have time to draw his dagger.”
“Aye, he was surprised, even in this copse that your lady says is rife with brigands. Why was he not on his guard? Was he such a fool as that?” Thierry looked around them, his silence so pointed that Amaury had to speak.
“This copse is where my brothers stole his destrier last night.”
“And yet he was here, alone, and unprepared to defend himself. Why?”
“Seeking the horse, perhaps?”
“Seeking to avenge himself without witnesses perhaps.”
Amaury had to cede the possibility.
Baird returned then, leading a bay palfrey. The mare was a fine one, her coat glossy with good health, but she was startled. She would not approach the fallen man. “Would that she could tell us what she had seen,” Thierry mused, soothing the horse with a stroke.
“The attackers did not take the horse,” Amaury noted. “This cannot have been a robbery gone awry.”
“The mare could have evaded them. She is young and healthy.”
Amaury stared down at the fallen man. “Or Denis could have been deliberately murdered.”
“But why? And by whom?”
Amaury gestured to the man’s sheathed dagger. “His attacker drew close enough to inflict that blow, yet Denis did not attempt to defend himself.”
“Someone he knew,” Thierry said and Amaury nodded.
“And trusted.”
Thierry continued. “He has no younger sibling to claim his legacy. Who would benefit from his demise?”
“Someone with a secret he wished to be kept, one that Denis knew, perhaps.”
“Someone who avenged a deed done by Denis,” Thierry suggested.
The two knights looked down at the fallen man, and Amaury wished again that he could be certain that Sebastian was far to the north. He lifted Denis to the back of the palfrey and secured him there, relieved that Isabella had retreated to safety.
“You look reluctant to continue,” Thierry noted when Amaury hesitated before swinging into his own saddle.
“I go to meet my bride’s father,” Amaury admitted. “A man who despised my father and threatened him.”
Thierry grinned. “And you arrive with his murdered son. I do not envy you this first family meal.”
“His sole son,” Amaury corrected. “And it is not folly to suspect this encounter may not proceed well.”
“At least the lady will be on your side. She is your wife, after all.”
“Aye,” Amaury agreed, reassured. “There is that.” For Isabella was neither witless nor whimsical. They would stand together and see their future assured.
He might have wished that the first test of their union had not come so soon, but he could scarce change the situation.
“Ride on,” he said and waved his small company onward.
