A Mortal Bane(155)

“I thought Knud knew more than he was saying,” Bell said. “I intended to question him again, but….”

He leaned farther forward over the table, as if totally absorbed in what Guiscard was saying. He seemed to be putting all his weight on his hands, which should immobilize him, but Magdalene saw how the table cut into his thighs and she realized he was balancing himself against it so that his hands were really free. Unfortunately, Guiscard was no more deceived than she.

“Stand back,” he snarled, and the red bead marking the point of his knife against the bishop’s throat enlarged into a thin trickle of blood.

Bell straightened up. “Sorry,” he said. “I was—”

“You thought you were distracting me by letting me talk and were about to leap on me. You are a fool. I am not. You were misled because I was willing to talk, but I have time, until the bells ring for Tierce. There are several ships in the river that will sail on the tide. I thought it would be safer to wait here, but you are getting too cocky.”

“Ships?” Bell echoed, eager to distract him.

Guiscard laughed once more. “How surprised you look. I have kept myself informed of every sailing on every day we were in London for near a year. Safe is better than sorry, but I am afraid you will make a mistake and I will have to kill Winchester before—” He cut his words off and added quickly, “I would rather get away than kill him. You had better go and order his litter now, and do not warn those in the outer room, either, or call your men. You may succeed in stopping me, but the bishop will be dead before I am.”

[page]Magdalene had held her breath when Bell leaned forward. She had seen from the angle of his body that he intended to throw himself across the table and try to push Guiscard to the right, toward her and away from Winchester. Although the bishop had not apparently moved, she thought she had seen a shadow under his chair shift very slightly, and she hoped he was setting his feet so he could lunge away from the knife.

Guiscard had been too wary, however. Worse, Magdalene knew the abortive effort had fixed his attention on Bell so firmly that Bell would not be able to try again to attack him. She caught her lip between her teeth and bit down hard when Guiscard’s slip about not wanting to kill Winchester “before” confirmed her fear that he intended to murder the bishop no matter what. And if Winchester were dead, her easy life and prosperity might also be over—and one of the few churchman who had at least tried to be fair to a whore would be lost. Bell, too, if Guiscard could somehow manage it.

She stood as still as the stones themselves against the wall, hardly breathing. Guiscard did not care enough about her now to try to hurt her, but if she interfered, she would be the only one close enough on whom to vent his rage. Was it worth the risk to try?

“The key to your chest,” Bell said desperately. “You never gave it to me.”

He moved an open hand slowly toward Guiscard, who instinctively started to relax his grip on the bishop’s head. But he did not make that mistake, either, and instead, shouted, “Out! Get the litter!”

In the same moment, never having answered the question she had asked herself, Magdalene took two steps forward, threw the scarf she had been holding between her hands over Guiscard’s head, and yanked him toward her with all the strength she had.

As she pulled, she screamed, “Jump!” at Winchester, who showed himself as brave as he was clever. Instead of trying to wrench himself to the left, away from the prick of the knife but against the pressure of Guiscard’s hand, he rose straight upward, knocking his heavy chair backward with the force of his movement. The knife scored a long line down his neck, but because Guiscard’s left hand had lost its grip on his head as he rose, he was able to lean away from the pain, and the blade did no more than slice the skin.