Tavish stumbled back from the bed. The horror of the stalwart old woman lying dead made him shudder. Anger made him determined to—this time—catch the real murderer.
Tavish flipped on his flashlight app for the nth time that night. A quick examination showed that at least death had come quickly. Most of the blood had flowed into the bed covers snarled around her rather than being propelled outward by a beating heart. Only one of the flurry of stab wounds in her chest had sprayed blood on the floor.
And I managed to walk in it.
No helping that now. Blood had already soiled his shirt as well. He wiped his hand on it so he wouldn't leave bloody fingerprints anywhere, and he used the sleeve to wipe his shoes. No sense in creating additional confusing prints.
Who could have done this? Since Agneta had given her men-at-arms a sleeping draught, it wasn't a surprise they hadn't heard her scream. But surely no assailant could have opened the locked door without an extra key. Housekeeper Broca surely had one. If a key had been used, then likely it had been stolen from her.
I can't rule out a demon-possessed patsy climbing in the open window.
Tavish gathered candles from around the room and crouched beside the fireplace to light them with the embers. As he placed them back in their various holders, turning the gray-and-white of moonlight into color, he saw more curiosities to examine. Every possible hiding place had been ransacked. Books had been knocked off shelves, the bowl of hawthorns overturned, the pigeon cage opened. One wide-eyed bird was roosting on one of the wreaths Agneta had hung for protection. The rest had flown.
So... the murderer hadn't been seeking treasure in general. Strands of pearls, gold chains, viking brooches and a myriad of marble statuettes lay scattered and smashed across the floor. No. The villain had wanted one item in particular. The portal key.
Tavish stiffened his back to stiffen his resolve and walked back to the bed, careful not to tread on the blood. Agneta's right hand was raised against her face. Gashes on the palm showed she'd warded off the knife before it found her torso. Her left hand was tangled up behind her in her nightdress. Possibly, she hadn't been able to free it during the attack.
Or maybe she was hiding it.
Slowly, carefully, Tavish peeled the bloody coverings back and dislodged her arm from behind her back. Luckily, enough time hadn't passed for rigor mortis to set in. When he uncurled the fingers, he found it—the gold disk holding the two pieces of the portal key that had belonged to the deceased princesses. He snapped a picture of the coveted treasure in Agneta's hand. Then he pocketed it for safekeeping.
He took pictures from every angle of every detail that could possibly be of use in figuring out what had happened. Without the ability to do advanced crime lab analyses, what could be seen with the naked eye was nearly all the evidence they would have to consider. Sure, he might make use of flies again—but only in the privacy of his wizard's quarters. No fanfare this time. Strictly serious.
Tavish took one more look around the room. What a sad irony that both its guests were still here and both were dead—Hextilda in her coffin and Agneta on the bed.
There's nothing more I can do for the sisters—except figure out who killed them.
Tavish was about to wake up Agneta's men-at-arms when he glanced at his jeans. They would think his clothing strange. Even more so the smears of blood on his sleeves and shirt front. They would know he had been with the princess in the wee hours of the night. They wouldn't wonder why he was with her dead body now. Instead of analyzing all his systematically collected evidence, they would take one look at him and come to their own conclusion.
Who is the most likely suspect? Me.
* * * * *
His throat tight, Tavish inched the door open. Thank goodness for the well-oiled hinges. He exited, secured the lock, placed the key beside the oldest of the snoring knights and tiptoed down the stairs.
Three imperatives lay before him: keep his promise to Agneta to travel to her sister Gunnhildr, keep his promise to himself to find the culprit behind the murders and—at all costs—keep suspicion away from himself. Images of Osgar's frenzied murder of Jock flashed in his mind, and he leaned against the granite wall.
No time to collapse. I must get organized.
First, he'd put his mobile on the charger. Using it as an investigative tool had depleted its power, and he'd be needing it on his trip. Second, tell Kenna the absolute truth and swear her to secrecy. That wouldn't be hard. She trusted him, and she knew what Osgar had done to Jock.
When Tavish reached his floor, he saw neither light nor steam coming from under the laundry room door. Leith would have accepted his explanations without question and washed his bloody clothes. But like all the sensible people in the castle, she was still in bed.
With a sigh, he continued to his door. If not for the risk of Osgar jumping to conclusions, he'd tell the absolute truth to everyone. Once he went down the path of pretending he hadn't already been investigating the crime scene, he'd have to stick to that story. Nothing screamed guilt more loudly than a lie that didn't hold up.
* * * * *
Tavish was in the privy when he heard the warning trumpet. Had the princess's body finally been found?
He'd hidden both his wizard's robes and his twenty-first century Glasgow jeans and shirt in the deepest corner he could find of his quarters. The costume was filthy with mud, yew sap and bits of poor, dead Jock. The rest of his clothing was stained with poor, dead Agneta.
As Tavish secured the drawstring on his fairyland wool trousers and checked that Leith's water vial still hung around his neck, he listened to the patter of running feet in the corridor and shouts from outside. By the time he opened the privy door, his face was composed into an expression of concerned curiosity.
One of Lord Cullen's knights and the guard who'd helped him take down Jock's head blocked his way.
"What is it?" Tavish asked. "What's all the shouting about?"
The knight narrowed his eyes. "As if you didn't know."
Tavish's stomach clenched. Then he wrinkled his forehead as if innocently perplexed. "Huh?"
The guard coughed. "Lady Agneta was found murdered—"
"What?" Tavish reared his head back, miming disbelief.
"Her men informed Lord Cullen you were with her last night, first in her chamber then down in the dungeon. The watchman said you left the castle in the middle of the night, accompanied by a stranger."
Tavish shrugged. "What of it? I was merely..."
The guard gave a tight shake of his head, and Tavish shut up. "Her master of horse told the lord he was preparing rides for you and the princess. His lady had told him you'd both be waiting in her room just after dawn. Yet when the time came, you were nowhere to be found." He shifted his weight. "It's a relief we didn't find your body lying on the floor somewhere or floating in the moat. It does raise a question, though, why you didn't return to the princess as expected, why you didn't find the body yourself."
*****
Tavish huddled in the straw on the floor of his tiny dungeon cell, gripping his forehead. It hurt from banging it against the wall.
How could he have been so stupid? Lack of sleep was no excuse for not taking into account that somebody had to be readying Princess Agneta's horses. In this dimension, journeys weren't so simple as getting into a car and starting the motor.
When he heard rustling outside his door, he muttered, "Go away."
"Oh, Tavish."
Hearing Leith, he scrambled to his feet. He grasped the sides of the tiny window at the top of the door and tried to make out her face. "I didn't do it. I'm not a murderer."
"I know."
Of course, she does. "But anyone with common sense would think I am."
She hung her head. "Prince Osgar is certain you're guilty. This time Lord Cullen is standing up to him. He told him he has to make sure before—"
"Executing me?"
Leith let out a little moan. Tavish wondered whether his death would be as quick as Jock's. If Osgar had time to cool down, he'd probably insist on drawing and quartering. He shivered. He should have jumped down the privy hole and taken his chances with the moat.
"You'll think of something. I have faith in you."
Woefully misplaced.
"Maybe this will help." Leith pressed his mobile into his hands. The screen was on, and the charge was once again at one hundred percent.
Footsteps. Before they could exchange any more words, the guard shooed Leith away. Tavish sank to the floor. She was right. He had to think of something.
Tavish tapped in his passcode and brought up his photo gallery to re-examine the crime scene photos. When he reached one that showed both Hextilda's coffin and the surrounding floor, he gasped. It couldn't be... but it was. A bloody shoe print of a different shape than his. His chin lifted as if of its own accord.
"Guard!" he yelled. "I have a message for Lord Cullen."
After several more shouts, the same guard who'd taken him into custody appeared at the door. "I have a name, Tavish of Grouch."
Ach. Now he'd offended him.
"Quinn. At the Battle of the Wulvers you placed me in charge of the right flank. I've never forgotten."
"Yes, of course. Quinn." Quinn, Quinn, Quinn. Clasping his hands in the most prayerful gesture he could muster, Tavish said, "Please."
Quinn raised his chin. "What's the message?"