Lost Innocents (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 3) by Denise Domning Read Free Book Online Page A

Instead, he paused. Imbecile or not, there was nothing helpless about this Johnnie's defense. The youth had lowered his head so his ears and skull were out of Meg's reach as he used his arms and shoulders to deflect the woman's blows. Then, at precisely the right instant, Johnnie gave a swift jerk. Meg tumbled off his back with a frustrated shriek. As she sprawled onto the turf behind him, the youth began again to lumber toward Amelyn.
    "What's happening?" Edmund shouted out, having returned as far as the edge of the manor's demesne.
    Not wanting his clerk's presence to alter what might next happen, Faucon held up a hand. It was a clear command that Edmund should stay where he was, and a wasted gesture. As always, his clerk ignored him and lifted his heels into a trot, his quiver-like basket of tools bouncing against his back from the strap slung over his shoulder.
    At the well, Meg was back on her feet. She launched herself at the idiot with a raging cry and grabbed the neck of his tunic. Given her modest stature, the woman's hands were larger and stronger-looking than Faucon expected.
    Twisting and writhing, the youth sought again to throw off the cook. This time, Meg held tight, beating at his head with her free hand. Unable to shuck her, Johnnie continued forward, carrying her with him until he fell to his knees next to Amelyn. Meg caught a hank of his knotted hair and pulled. Johnnie bleated. However much pain she caused him, it wasn't enough to stop him from wrapping his arms around Jessimond. Using his elbow like a lever, he tried to pry the dead girl from her mother's grasp.
    "Nay, Johnnie! Leave be," Amelyn shouted.
    As she fought for control of her daughter, her gloved hand brushed the sleeve of Meg's gown. The old woman yelped in panic, her fear of contagion greater than her need to punish the simpleton. Releasing Johnnie, she stumbled back and collided with the oldster. As the ragged ancient started to fall, he cried out and caught Meg at the waist in instinctive reaction. The old woman pivoted, her arms raised and fists closed. Instantly, the rustic released her and tumbled to the ground. There, he stayed head turned to the side and arms raised to protect himself from an attack. Meg ignored him, shifting to once again watch the idiot and the leper. As she did, she scrubbed her hand against her skirt.
    "Johnnie, it's me," Amelyn cried as she battled the youth, now clutching Jessimond's body close to her. "I am Amelyn, and Jessimond is my daughter."
    That stopped the simpleton. Without releasing the dead girl, Johnnie shifted until he could stare under the leper's hood. The crease between his brows returned.
    "That's right," Amelyn said to him, her soothing tone owning a mother's lilt. "It's me, Amelyn."
    That crease deepened. Releasing the corpse, the idiot sat back on his heels. Once again, he began to make that clicking sound. Then with a swift sweep of his arm, he knocked the hood off Amelyn's head. With a frantic cry, the leper grabbed for it and missed as it came to rest between her shoulder blades, exposing her face and neck.
    Pity raced through Faucon. Jessimond had been her mother's image. Although Amelyn was in her middle years she remained a beautiful woman, despite the reddened, misshapen lumps that told the tale of her progressing disease.
    "Lord save him, he touched the leper!" Edmund cried as he halted a little distance behind Amelyn and the well. He let his basket of tools slide off his arm. As it tumbled to the ground he folded his hands and bowed his head.
    "You touched her?!" Meg shouted, echoing the monk's shocked protest.
    Then the old woman laughed, the sound deep and satisfied. "God be praised, you touched her! My prayers are answered. I won't have you back now and there's no one who can force you on me, not for any reason. Starve, you dulcop, and know that I'll happily watch you die." With that, Meg whirled and started back toward her lady's kitchen at the same raging pace by which she'd left