Deadly Inheritance Read Online Free Page A

self-pity.’
    ‘Do not look sceptical, Geoff,’ admonished Joan. ‘Henry was violent, surly and selfish, and no one liked him. He often felt sorry for himself. Moreover, if he was alive now, you would be fighting each other.’
    She was right about Henry’s aggression: he and Geoffrey had fought constantly as boys, and Henry had carried the feud into adulthood. Geoffrey was unconvinced by Olivier’s theory, however. ‘Henry was not the kind of man to inflict harm on himself. He was more likely to vent his anger on others.’
    ‘I agree with you,’ said Joan. ‘I believe he was murdered, too. But I also think it will do no good to investigate.’
    ‘Turning a blind eye to murder is tantamount to inviting the culprit to strike again,’ argued Geoffrey. ‘Or, if the culprit is a villager, telling him it is acceptable to kill his overlords.’
    ‘I was tempted to kill Henry myself on occasion,’ snapped Joan. ‘And there is not one of our servants, villagers or neighbours who did not feel the same way. Unless someone confesses, we will never know.’
    Geoffrey regarded her steadily. ‘Then are you happy with this state of affairs?’
    She met his eyes. ‘Yes. Most people were relieved when he died, including me. It is easier to manage the estate without him. And, of course, you benefited, too.’
    ‘There was a rumour that you killed him, because he stood between you and Goodrich,’ supplied Olivier.
    Geoffrey had known it was only a matter of time before fingers pointed at him as the man who had gained most from Henry’s death. ‘I have dozens of witnesses who will testify that I did not slip off for a few days to murder my brother. Besides, I never wanted to inherit Goodrich.’
    ‘We know,’ said Joan gently. ‘And we have done our best to quell the rumours.’
    ‘Jervil did not mean any harm by his comments,’ said Olivier. He slapped his hands over his mouth in alarm. ‘Damn!’
    ‘Who is Jervil?’ asked Geoffrey.
    ‘Our groom,’ replied Joan, glaring at her husband. ‘The accusation that you killed Henry originated with him, because he thought no one else would have the courage. He meant it as a compliment.’
    ‘Some compliment,’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘No wonder people run when they see me coming!’
    ‘That is nothing to do with Jervil,’ said Joan. ‘That is because Father Adrian has been telling them about the Fall of Jerusalem and the slaughter that followed. He says only the most vicious, hardened and ruthless soldiers survived – and Helbye says nothing to contradict him.’
    ‘Helbye tells people what they want to hear,’ ventured Olivier. ‘They are more interested in tales of terror and death than in stories of mercy and forbearance.’
    ‘I will speak to him,’ said Geoffrey, reaching for his sword and buckling it around his waist. It was an instinctive action, and he barely realized he was doing it.
    Joan eyed it disapprovingly. ‘You will not improve your reputation if you walk around armed like a Saracen. You do not need a sword to speak to your friends, surely?’
    Given what had happened to Henry, Geoffrey was not so sure.
    ‘You must marry soon,’ said Joan, as they sat in the solar the next evening. Geoffrey had spoken to Helbye that morning, but had been unable to persuade the old warrior not to portray him as a bloodthirsty brute. Then Helbye’s wife had given them a large jug of her strong ale, and sensible conversation went out the window. Geoffrey still felt dizzy, even after sleeping most of the afternoon, and he was barely listening. He nodded absently at what he thought had been a question.
    ‘That was easy,’ said Olivier. ‘I thought he would object.’
    ‘He just agreed,’ said Joan, pleased. ‘You saw him nod.’
    Geoffrey glanced up and wondered what he had done. ‘Marry?’ he asked, forcing his muddled wits to concentrate before he found himself in deep water.
    ‘Goodrich needs an heir,’ said Joan, making it sound like it was his fault