By Queen's Grace Read online

  Thurkill raised a hand in the air, calling a halt. When he dismounted, Judith did, too.

  “We will take a respite here,” he called out, then pointed to the river. “Water the horses, and while you are at it, look for a good place to cross.”

  “Do you think you could find a bridge, Thurkill?” she asked, only half teasing. “My boots are still wet from yesterday’s crossing.”

  He answered with a half smile. “I doubt we will find a bridge, my lady, but take heart. After today ‘twill be a long time before we need to cross water again. Your boots will dry, eventually.”

  “So you say. You may never convince my shriveled toes, however.”

  Thurkill’s smile widened.

  Corwin’s warnings were fresh in her memory, but despite her effort not to, Judith smiled back.

  Chapter Eight

  They weren’t riding in circles, but weren’t making rapid progress, either. They’d left the river behind two days ago.

  Corwin leaned over in his saddle. “Tell me again your father knows where he is going.”

  Oswuld smiled. “He knows. Even I have a good idea of where we are. We should skirt Coventry soon now, just west of the town.”

  Corwin straightened, relieved. North of Coventry, they should be able to regain the road. A faster pace would be wonderful. At this rate, if they were going as far north as Corwin suspected, this ride would be very long indeed.

  At least Judith seemed content. She’d not only ceased battling with Thurkill, but helped to nurse him, though in a manner Corwin didn’t care for. Even though he’d warned her, she acted more like a daughter tending a father than a captive ministering to an abductor. The comparison, he supposed, came from watching his sister Ardith see to their father’s needs during his prolonged illness.

  But what could he say? As a man who intended to join the rebellion, he should be glad to see that she no longer prodded Thurkill into a temper. He should be happy she seemed to accept her fate. Or maybe he worried for naught. Maybe her calm, her willingness to help nurse Thurkill, were simply her way of helping the rebels to reach their lord’s holding as swiftly as possible.

  The chill of an English mist wasn’t helping his mood, either. It had settled in early yesterday, and as of today’s midday respite, appeared too solidly entrenched to roll away. Somehow he had to prod Thurkill to a faster pace. When, some time later, the mist became thicker, Corwin urged his horse to the front of the line.

  “Thurkill, do you think we have passed Coventry?”

  “Aye. Mayhap,” he answered with deep weariness.

  “I believe I can find the road from here. ‘Twould be easier going if we did not have to fight the forest for each league.” Corwin glanced up at the sky. “‘Twould also be nice if we found shelter for the night.”

  Judith moaned, a sensual sound. “Shelter,” she said with reverence. “A roof above my head and mayhap a thick layer of straw for my bed. Do not speak of such things, Corwin, if they are not possible.”

  He’d certainly struck the right note. Even Oswuld and Duncan wore wistful expressions.

  “There is an inn some leagues north of Coventry-”

  “Too dangerous,” Thurkill said. “We do not know of the sheriff’s whereabouts, and one word from her ladyship to an innkeeper.”

  “All right, then. If not the inn, then mayhap we can find a farmer willing to extend the hospitality of his loft. We shall simply have to keep him and Judith from speaking together.”

  Thurkill scratched his chin.

  “Find me a soft bed for the night and I vow to turn mute till morn,” Judith vowed.

  “Ah, my lady! One should not make promises one cannot hope to keep.”

  Judith huffed. “I would swear ‘twas you who promised me every comfort and consideration. I am wet, cold and so weary I may fall asleep in the saddle. Keep your word, Thurkill, and I will keep mine. If Corwin can find us shelter for the night, I will say not one word to the owner of either inn or loft.”

  Thurkill gave a sigh of resignation. “No inn, Corwin. Too many people to mark our passing.”

  Within the hour, Corwin found an abandoned hut, built of wattle and daub, covered by a thatch roof. The single room was empty save for a pile of straw in one corner and a stack of wood near the hearth. Perfect, Corwin thought.

  They tied the horses far off the road and had begun to remove saddles and packs when the rain fell, cold as a witch’s heart and sharp as a dagger. To the flash of lightning and the crash of thunder, they hurried to get everything into the hut, and were all soaked through by the time they shut the door a final time.

  Judith stood in the middle of the hut shivering, dripping, forlorn. “Would that we had saved my nun’s robe.”

  “I will get a fire going, Princess,” Duncan said. “You will warm up and dry out soon enough.”

  “I have a tunic in my pack, my lady,” Oswuld offered. “‘Tis of rough wool, and will just cover your knees, though. Still, you may use it if you wish.”

  Temptation flickered across Judith’s face, but Corwin didn’t think he could bear seeing Judith’s uncovered legs all evening and still be able to sleep.

  “Mine is longer,” he said, and unfastened the buckles on the pack that held a few of his belongings. From within a folded oilcloth he drew his full-length, midnight-blue dalmatic and shook it out. ‘Twas heavily creased, but the garment was dry, the sleeves long and the linen heavy enough to keep her warm.

  “Oh, Corwin, ‘tis beautiful,” Judith said with a sigh. She lightly fingered the embroidery on the sleeves-narrow bands of gold, red and green thread stitched in an intricate pattern. “Ardith’s work?”

  “Aye,” he said. “She made it for me so I would have something other than chain mail to wear for her wedding to Gerard.”

  “Oh,” she said, and took her hand away. “Then I should not wear so special a garment. If I should soil it-”

  “‘Tis a favorite of mine, I admit,” he said, handing it to her. “‘Tis also the oldest. Ardith has made me several since.”

  Her eyes darted around the single room. Having been raised in a household of females, Corwin understood. He pointed to a corner. “I will put up a blanket for you to use.”

  Judith resisted the urge to wrap her arms around Corwin’s neck and cover his face with kisses. As soon as he had the blanket in place she slipped’ behind it. Her boots came off with a sucking sound, taking her short hose with them. She peeled off the gown and her shift. Her body was wet, her hair hung down her back in a sodden mass, but the dalmatic was dry, smooth and covered her down to her toes. She wrapped the leather girdle about her waist and draped some of the fabric over it, bringing the hem up far enough so it wouldn’t drag on the dirt floor.

  Judith came out from behind the blanket to find the men had done what they could to get dry, too. Hauberks and tunics lay spread out to dry beside Corwin’s padded gambeson and black sherte. Boots stood lined up like soldiers before the hearth.

  The men had stripped down to their breeches; only Oswuld wore a tunic. The sight of so much male flesh took her aback. Oh, she’d seen men’s chests before. Mostly during high summer, in the fields surrounding her parents’ home, when the men thought nothing of shucking their tunics as they worked. She’d never been confined to a small hut with partially clad males, however.

  The hut was beginning to warm-and smell, of musty wool and old leather and men. Not entirely displeasing odors.

  Judith glanced at Thurkill, who used his saddle as a backrest and drank his potion. She paused to notice the lank lines of Duncan’s back as he poked at the fire.

  Then she feasted on the sight of Corwin. He sat crosslegged on the floor, with a rag in hand, working oil around the metal rings of his chain mail. His long fingers worked quickly, the muscles in his arms rippling as he rubbed. She’d known him to be wide of shoulder and broad of chest, but hadn’t dared think upon how beautifully sculpted those shoulders would be, or how smooth and hard the plane of his chest.
r />   A rumble of thunder shook the hut as Corwin looked up at her, setting her knees atremble.

  “I dare say you look better in that than I do,” he said.

  “Aye, well.” she managed to utter, flustered at the thought that Corwin looked magnificent in nothing at all, though she didn’t dare say so.

  To hide the flush that surely stained her cheeks, she lined her boots up with the others and spread out her gown and shift on the floor nearby. Maybe by morning they’d be dry. Then she could give Corwin back his lovely garment, put on the peasant gown, get back on her horse and endure another day’s ride.

  “Does anyone know where we are?” she asked.

  “North of Coventry, would you say, Thurkill?” Corwin asked.

  “A league or so,” he agreed. “If the weather were not so foul, I would post a guard to watch for the sheriff. I do not think the man will be out and about tonight, however. We can all get a good night’s rest and be off at first light.”

  Judith didn’t voice her doubt. Thurkill slept more each night, and by silent agreement, none in the group woke him up on the mom, but let him awaken naturally.

  “Father, are we now on the road we used to come south?” Oswuld asked, drawing a puzzled frown from Duncan.

  “One of them,” Thurkill answered. “From here either of you should be able to find your way, if the need arises.”

  Duncan gave an exasperated huff. “Now I remember. Damnation, if we had not been forced to take to the forest, we could be in Sheffield by now!”

  “Sheffield? Why that is-” she had no idea of how many leagues “-so far!”

  Oswuld smiled and shook his head. “Not so far, my lady, when you consider how far-”

  Thurkill touched Oswuld’s arm. “Hush, son.”

  “Sorry, Father. I forgot they are not to know.”

  Corwin shifted his chain mail and continued polishing. “‘Tis no longer a secret, Thurkill. You may as well tell her.”

  “Tell her what?”

  “That in all of England, there is but one place where a man might gather an army and not have someone take note. Where every serious rebellion against Norman rule has also begun. Am I right, Thurkill?”

  Thurkill didn’t answer, just sipped his potion.

  With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Judith asked of Corwin, “How far north are we going?”

  “Have you ever been to Durham, Judith? I have, once. Thought it a lovely place.”

  “Durham is almost on the Scots border!” She turned on Thurkill. “You came all the way from Durham to Romsey just to kidnap me?”

  “Aye,” Thurkill admitted.

  Judith tossed her hands in the air. “In the name of God, why? I have three female cousins who live in the south of Scotland, all unmarried, all as royally connected to two thrones as I am. Yet you cross the entire kingdom to get me. Why, Thurkill? Why me?”

  Thurkill lifted a shaggy, gray eyebrow. “You would rather we had disrupted one of your cousins’ lives than yours?”

  “Aye! Nay!” Judith took a calming breath. “Nay, I would not have their lives tossed into upheaval to spare me. I am not so mean-spirited. I simply do not understand why one of them was not chosen. ‘Twould seem the more practical thing to do.”

  “Not really,” Thurkill said. “Your cousins are very well guarded, Judith. They live in keeps with thick walls and fathers who keep very close watch over those who enter their domain. You, however, lived in an abbey. ‘Twas decided you were the easiest to abduct.”

  “I would not have been if the queen were in residence with her guards.”

  “We knew she had gone back to London some time ago. Also to our advantage, two days after we arrived near Romsey, you went out to pick herbs. Saved us from going into the abbey after you, as we were prepared to do.”

  “I see. I was chosen because I was most vulnerable.”

  “Well, not entirely. There were other considerations. ‘Twas also thought you most suited for our purposes.”

  Something other than her name? This was news.

  “How so?”

  “Your knowledge of the English court, for one. Our lord felt he needed someone who knew most of the people, as well as the palace and hall. He also thought you most suited. to his own nature.”

  The chill that snaked down her spine had nothing to do with her wet hair clinging to her back. Corwin had asked her before if she knew who this Saxon noble might be. She’d thought of and discarded the names of several nobles who might have reason to turn traitor. Might Thurkill now give her a clue?

  “In what way?”

  “Because you are convent raised, ‘twas thought you would be the more.quiet and reflective.”

  Judith tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh, your lord is in for a surprise, is he not? Is your lord quiet and reflective?”

  “Nay, but I think he hoped his wife might be.”

  She scoffed. “He wants no wife, he wants a nun. That is truly why you came for me. This lord of yours thought I would sit quietly by the fire by day and do my wifely duty at night, all without complaint.”

  “He will give you no reason for complaint at night, Princess,” Duncan said with a lewd smile, handing her the chunk of bread that would be her evening meal. “Those ladies who have shared his bed sing his praises. You might well be content to sit by the fire by day.”

  A rogue, was he?

  “Thoseladies probably went to his bed to get a good night’s sleep, and sang his praises so they might do so again.”

  “You will know differently when you see him.”

  “He is probably older than Thurkill, with no teeth. And no hair. And he likely smells.”

  That brought laughter from all three rebels. Corwin wore a tight smile and continued polishing his chain mail.

  Thurkill set his cup aside. “If that is all that worries you, my lady, let me tell you our leader is both young and with good looks. We do not take you to some old reprobate who cannot produce his own heirs.” He beckoned to Duncan. “Give this old reprobate another chunk of bread, will you?”

  Again the men laughed, and Judith knew Thurkill had signaled the end of her prying. He would answer no more questions, such as did the lord have light hair or dark? Brown eyes or blue? Was he tall or short?

  She’d known too many young and handsome nobles for those clues to be of help in her pursuit of a name. There was no hope for it. Maybe come morn someone’s name would pop into her head as the likely miscreant.

  For tonight, she intended to sleep soundly. She tugged down the blanket Corwin had hung for her, and claimed the pile of straw in the corner.

  One by one the men found places to lay their heads. All but Corwin. He sat within the light of the banked fire, his skin the color of burnished gold. The muscles in his back twitched with the motion of his hands as be continued to polish his suit of mail.

  Judith tried turning over, burrowing deeper into the bed of straw, pulling the blanket over her head. Nothing she did worked. The man was too great a distraction. She wouldn’t sleep until he bedded down and covered up.

  Giving up, Judith joined him and lifted a mail sleeve onto her lap. “Do you have another rag?”

  Corwin ripped his in two and handed her one of the squares.

  “Cannot sleep?”

  She refused to tell him why. She plied the rag to the metal rings and whispered, “My head whirls with names of young, handsome Saxon nobles who might have a holding in the Scottish lowlands or northern England, who might turn traitor and be their leader. I wish I knew if he were dark or fair, tall or short.”

  “Not worth losing sleep over.”

  The odd note in his voice drew her head up. Corwin wore a deep frown. The muscles in his shoulders and arms had tensed, giving each a hard, well-defined form. They were very nicely formed. She could run a finger along the curve of each one and. She mentally shook herself to regain her focus.

  Corwin didn’t seem angry, just upset. Over what? She’d only been doing what he’d told
her to do-pondering names of nobles, young and handsome men.

  Silly goose, she chided herself, but the thought that Corwin might be jealous refused to go away, especially when she remembered Corwin’s tight smile when Duncan related the tale of his lord’s virility.

  ‘Twas bad of her, she knew, but she asked anyway, “I wonder if Duncan overstates his lord’s prowess?”

  “At this rate you will never finish that sleeve. Have you ever polished chain mail before?”

  Holding back a grin, she again plied the rag.

  “Nay, but then, I have done many things on this adventure of ours I have never done before.”

  “Like sleeping on the ground?”

  Like sitting next to a half-clad man in the middle of the night, knowing he is disturbed if I think of other young, handsome men.

  “‘Twas not so bad once you pointed out to me that I should look for long grass as my bed. After that, I could almost pretend I was back on my cot in the abbey. ‘Tis still fair strange, however, to sleep in the company of others, especially men.”

  He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. “None of them have…approached you, have they?”

  Only you.

  “Oh, heavens no. ‘Tis simply a change from having been in the company of women for so long.” She shifted the sleeve to get a better grip. “Neither had I before washed my face from a stream, nor eaten fish so freshly caught. ‘Tis also easy to lose track of the time of day when one does not pay heed. In the abbey, my days were ruled by the calls to prayer. Out here, only the need for food and rest rules.”

  “You make it sound like a grand adventure.”

  Judith admitted it was, in a way, and she’d grown stronger from the experience, both physically and mentally. She’d faced adversity and won-mostly. “Neither have I ever been so sore and stiff in my life. Or cold and wet. Or hot and parched.”

  Or so frightened that she’d screamed. Those screams had served her well, however. They’d brought Corwin to her.

  “Your hardships will continue, I fear. We have a long way yet to go.”

  “Each day becomes easier,” she assured him. “Truth to tell, I begin to feel a bit useless. You men take care of everything-the horses, catching and cooking our food. The only truly worthwhile thing I have done is help Oswuld with his father’s potions. I wish I could think of another herb I might add to further relieve the pain, but have not.”