By Queen's Grace Page 14

  “For now, Corwin’s sword remains where it lies. He does not leave the confines of the hall,” Ruford said.

  Corwin nodded slightly, an agreement to the terms.

  The captains also nodded, then walked off toward tables already set with trenchers holding dark brown bread in preparation for the meal.

  “Judith, you will join me at the high table,” Ruford said, his order given in a polite but firm tone.

  For a moment, Corwin thought she might refuse. Instead, she looked down at Thurkill, her true worry apparent. “I will be back later,” she told him. “You had best be breathing.”

  Thurkill managed a chuckle. “I shall do my best.”

  Judith then set her features in regal indifference and walked off ahead of Ruford with the same poise she’d displayed earlier.

  Alone now with only Thurkill and Oswuld, Corwin rolled his shoulders, easing the tension that had set hard in his muscles when entering the encampment.

  He was still alive, and hopefully well on his way to acceptance, despite Duncan. Judith seemed to have found a way to cope with the situation, knew how to handle Ruford to her advantage. All in all, today had gone very well.

  Oswuld got up and brushed pieces of broken rushes from his breeches. “I will fetch us something to eat,” he told Thurkill. “Are you up to more than broth?”

  “Broth will do,” Thurkill said. “Bring food for Corwin, too. I am sure he would prefer to take his meal with us.”

  As Oswuld turned to leave, Thurkill patted the rushes where his son had been sitting. “Come, Corwin. I imagine you now have more questions than when the meeting began. Where did we leave off?”

  Corwin thought a moment. “When you and Oswuld came, this army was already in place.”

  “Most of it, aye. Some came after us, but not many.”

  Thurkill closed his eyes. Corwin wondered if he should continue or let the man rest. Except this might be his last chance to get answers from Thurkill.

  “Among these men are brigands and mercenaries, those who look only for reward-like me. There are also men like you, who would truly like to oust the Normans and put a Saxon on the throne.” Corwin shrugged a shoulder. “Each man has his place in an army. So long as he wields a weapon with some skill and stands his ground in battle, it does not matter why he fights.”

  “Aye, but fighting is easier when one has the skill to do it, good leaders to follow and hope of success. ‘Tis why I agreed to fetch Judith.”

  “You just confused me, Thurkill. I cannot imagine Judith training or leading troops.”

  “Nay, but besides reward or an ideal, men will also fight for someone they admire and respect. Men might fight to make Judith Canmore their queen. Especially if a strong, worthy Saxon stands by her side.”

  Corwin wasn’t sure he succeeded in hiding his revulsion at the pairing of Judith with Ruford. But he saw Thurkill’s point. Out of respect and admiration alone, Corwin would fight for Gerard of Wilmont.

  Dare he ask the question now uppermost in his mind? Would Thurkill give him an honest answer?

  “Thurkill, do you truly consider Ruford a worthy Saxon?”

  Thurkill sighed. “I believed so. But during our journey, away from the stronghold and Ruford’s influence, 1 had time and reason to rethink my beliefs. He does have noble blood, which works in his favor, but now I believe another man might be the better choice.”

  “Who?”

  Thurkill opened his eyes and turned his head slightly. His eyes were clear, his voice firm as he declared, “You.”

  Shocked speechless, Corwin stared at the old man in utter disbelief, noting only on the edge of his awareness that Oswuld returned.

  “From the look on Corwin’s face, I gather you told him,” Oswuld said, setting a large platter on the nearby table.

  “I did,” Thurkill answered. “Here, help me sit up. My back is sore.”

  “‘Twill take another hour off your life.”

  “Son, I am dying. We both know it. At which hour no longer concerns me. Corwin, give me your hands.”

  Still dazed, Corwin took Thurkill’s hands while Oswuld moved to support his father’s shoulders.

  Once he was upright, the old man’s grimace turned to a smile. “Much better. Now I can drink my broth without it running down my chin.”

  Corwin finally found his voice. “Surely you jest!”

  Oswuld handed his father a tin cup. “You drink. I will talk,” he said, then sat on the other side of Thurkill’s pallet. “Father does not jest. He feels the force here may be large enough to take a holding or two, but not London. Others may yet come, rally to a Canmore. But this rebellion is doomed unless a strong leader takes it in hand.” Oswuld smiled wryly. “Too, we noted that you and Judith make a handsome couple, and from the way you look at each other when you think no one sees, neither of you would oppose a marriage. She may have grown fond of Father, but she seeks you out when fearful or otherwise needs someone to talk to. She has forgiven you for not rescuing her, just as she no longer hates us for kidnapping her.”

  Chagrined, Corwin said, “I thought I had hidden my attraction to her rather well.”

  Oswuld shrugged, as if it mattered not. “I doubt that Duncan saw, and you must take care around Ruford. Be that as it may, Father feels that since you are willing to fight a war for the reward of Wilmont, he sees no reason why you should not take the entire prize-both the woman and the kingdom.”

  Corwin shook his head. “You want me to begin a rebellion within a rebellion.”

  Thurkill drank the last of his broth and handed the cup to Oswuld. “King Corwin and Queen Judith. Has a nice sound to it, do you not think?”

  “I think you have gone mad, Thurkill.”

  “Then think on it some more. Oswuld, wake me when the captains and Ruford return,” he ordered, then lay back down on the pallet.

  Oswuld got to his feet. “Come to the table. Our food grows cold.”

  On the platter lay two trenchers filled with chunks of meat covered with thick, brown gravy. While Oswuld tucked heartily into the meal, Corwin picked at his. His stomach hadn’t yet settled from the jolt of Thurkill’s suggestion.

  At the dais, Judith sat next to Ruford, sharing his trencher. She looked neither happy nor unhappy-just sat, and ate, listening to whatever Ruford was saying. She should be here, next to him, sharing his trencher.

  “Corwin, I should like to ask a favor of you.”

  Corwin gave a burst of laughter. “I hesitate to ask what it is.”

  “Nothing so profound as my father’s request, I assure you.”

  “All right, what then?”

  Oswuld took a deep breath. “After Father…dies, I want to bury him next to my mother. Some here will object to my leaving, even if I swear to tell no one of what I have seen or heard here, so I do not intend to tell them.”

  Corwin wondered why Oswuld trusted him with his secret, but didn’t ask. The young man needed help now, not questions.

  “You want me to help you find a way to get your father out of camp without being discovered.”

  “I know the way of it,” he said. “What concerns me is what will happen when they realize I have left. I should like you to show me how to wield a sword as skillfully as you do.”

  Corwin pushed aside his trencher, no longer interested in eating. He almost couldn’t believe that the answer to one of his main concerns might have just come his way.

  “You know a way out of the encampment?”

  “Aye.”

  Dare he trust Oswuld with his own secret? If he had only himself to consider, he might, but with Judith’s safety involved, it might be best to wait before taking the risk.

  But he could help Oswuld.

  “I cannot teach you all I know within a practice session or two, but I can show you a few moves to give you some advantage over an opponent.”

  “That is all I ask. My thanks.”

  * * *

  “You look delightful in that gown, my dear,” Rufor
d said. “The color suits you.”

  Ruford’s effusive compliments were beginning to grate on Judith’s nerves. But then, Ruford had at least noticed the change. For all the reaction she’d received from Corwin, she may as well be draped in black robes. Still, she resisted the urge to ask Ruford if the gown’s color had also suited its former owner.

  “I believe blue is a better color for me.”

  “Then by all means, you shall have blue, in whatever fabric you fancy. The women in our court will follow your lead, and we shall look out from our thrones over a sea of blue.”

  So far, she’d also managed to resist his attempts to elicit a smile or ignite a spark of interest in his plan to make her his queen. Throughout the meal he’d talked more than ate, feeding her while reflecting on how glorious her life would be when his rebellion ended.

  No argument of hers could shake his confidence. Ruford hadn’t a doubt that the rebellion would succeed and he would be crowned king. He had even chosen the man he would name archbishop of Canterbury, who would thus preside over the coronation ceremony.

  Ruford speared a tidbit of venison with his eating knife and brought it to her lips. Judith took the meat with her teeth, being careful not to touch the knife, avoiding the anticipated brush of his fingers against her cheek. He’d done so twice, bringing an embarrassed flush to her cheeks and a shot of revulsion to her stomach.

  She truly hated sitting at the dais, next to Ruford. She would prefer to sit at the table at the far end of the hall, where Corwin and Oswuld now partook of their meal.

  Corwin had looked out of place among the captains, his gleaming chain mail a sharp contrast to their leather hauberks. Though he’d let his beard grow to better fit in, the very set of his shoulders placed him above the others. Strong. Confident. Intelligent. All showed in his demeanor, from the way he held his head to the manner in which he spoke.

  Corwin didn’t appear ill at ease, either then or now, even though Ruford had yet to pass judgment, even though Corwin’s sword still lay near Thurkill’s pallet. She would feel much better when that sword once more rested within its scabbard, the hilt within easy reach of Corwin’s hand.

  “More wine, Judith?” Ruford asked, already pouring the ruby liquid from a silver flagon into her goblet. When he speared another piece of venison, Judith put the goblet to her lips. No more would she play his game. Better not to eat.

  “Not hungry?” he asked.

  “I have grown accustomed to eating quite late in the day. Mayhap later I will have more.”

  “The food is quite good, do you not think?”

  “I am not fond of venison.”

  He put his knife down and leaned back in his chair. “How long do you intend to suffer this ill humor? It will not make a difference, you know. You are here. You will be my wife. Why not accept your fate?”

  “Accept the fate you have decided should be mine?” Judith clasped her goblet more tightly. “You bring me here against my will. You intend to wage a war, with the outcome of usurping the throne. In doing so, you will harm people I love. I know you put no value in family, but I do. I do not understand why you believe I can look favorably upon your scheme.”

  “Your approval is not necessary. Nor, truly, is your cooperation. I had hoped that on your journey here you would become content. Indeed, Duncan led me to believe you were warming to the idea of becoming queen.”

  “You were misinformed.”

  “I believe not. Once given a horse, you no longer tried to escape. Why, if you truly find my plans for you so abhorrent?”

  Because Corwin had. convinced her not to, but she couldn’t tell that to Ruford. There were, of course, other reasons.

  “The farther north we came, the less sure I was of my surroundings. Wandering about lost in a forest with wolves and bears did not appeal.”

  “‘Tis my belief the wolves frightened you less than returning to the abbey,” he countered. “You came because you began thinking like the royal personage you are.” His tone became more urgent. “Envision yourself not as the niece of a queen, entrapped in Romsey Abbey by a family who has let you waste away there. You are free now. Free to do as you are meant to do. To rule. See yourself in the palace at Westminster, with a vast treasury from which to draw funds. Servants to attend your every whim. No one to tell you what you may or may not do, where you may or may not go.”

  Except you.

  “Judith, had I not sent Thurkill to fetch you, how long would you have remained imprisoned in the abbey until yourfamily decided to let you out? And to whom would they have given you? Some lord who cannot offer you anywhere near what I can, no doubt.”

  He would never understand, she realized-no matter how many times she protested she hadn’t been fetched, but kidnapped. No matter if she declared she loved the members of her family, despite their lack of action on her behalf. But most of all, he simply could not understand she had no desire to be his queen.

  No matter a woman’s rank, be she a queen or a peasant, the man who she married gained full power over his wife. What he gave, he could take away.

  Ruford had always been ambitious, had always sought things he couldn’t have. He’d been banished after attempting to gain his father’s lands through murder. Now he sought the crown of England. His greed knew no bounds or restrictions. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who stood in his way, or have another do the deed for him.

  Heaven forbid if Ruford found out what Corwin was truly up to. She pushed thoughts of the certain consequences aside. Ruford wouldn’t find out until after she and Corwin were well away.

  She gave him the response he craved. “As you say, Ruford, you offer much. I will consider what you have said.”

  With a smug smile, he said, “You will not be sorry, my lady, I vow.”

  Judith saw no reason to comment, so took another sip of wine, and was glad she’d taken a small sip when Ruford unexpectedly said, “I understand from Duncan that you have known Corwin of Lenvil for some time. Is he to be trusted?”

  How to answer without damaging Corwin’s efforts or raising Ruford’s suspicions?

  “As I am sure Duncan must have told you, Corwin is the brother of a friend,” she said softly. “He happened to be on the road where I was kidnapped, heard my screams and came after us to rescue me. Only he didn’t, instead deciding to join Thurkill-and you.”

  “He says he does it for Wilmont. A steep price.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “That is for you to decide. I only know I was quite disappointed in him for not rescuing me.” “

  Yet not so disappointed that you spurned him. Duncan said you spoke often with Corwin.”

  She had, but that was easily explained.

  “As I did to Thurkill, and a bit to Oswuld. With Duncan, there was truly no point. Corwin and I spoke mostly of his sister. He also tried to convince me that all would be wellmostly, I would wager, so he would no longer have to listen to me complain. Besides, Corwin is a knight, and is brotherby-marriage to a Norman baron. Given my choice of companions, naturally I spoke most to the person closest to my own rank.”

  “Duncan does not trust him.”

  She gave a short, sharp laugh. “Duncan trusts no one!”

  As if he’d heard his name, Duncan rose from his bench. The captains did, too. Apparently they had finished their meal, for they all headed toward the table where Corwin sat with Oswuld.

  She nodded toward them. “Your captains await you,” she said, hoping to divert Ruford. She feared getting caught in a lie, or a truth.

  “They can wait. We are not yet finished.”

  Deliberately mistaking his meaning, Judith glanced down at the trencher, where two pieces of meat remained on the bread. He might not be finished with his questions, but she was determined to give him no more answers.

  “I want no more,” she said. “You may toss the rest to the dogs if you wish. I should like to speak with Thurkill again before you resume your meeting with your captains.”

  If he real
ized she was purposely being dull witted, he gave no sign.

  “Very well,” he agreed. “However, I would prefer that you do not speak with Corwin anymore, at least until I can decide if he is trustworthy.”

  So, as his queen she could do what she wished, could she? Unless, of course, Ruford objected.

  Two days, she thought. Only two days.

  “As you wish,” she. said, rising from her chair.

  “How long has Thurkill to live, do you think?”

  Judith wished she knew, wished there was something more she could do to prolong his life, or at least make his passing less painful.

  “I shall be surprised to find he yet breathes.”

  “I think he does. Only moments ago he sat up to drink.”

  Surprised that he had noticed, Judith took it as a warning to take nothing for granted where Ruford was concerned.

  “Come,” he said. “You may have your talk with Thurkill and I will make you known to my captains. After I finish with them, we shall talk more, get to know each other better.”

  His last phrase made her skin crawl. Maybe he merely wanted to talk, but Judith had the distinct feeling he wanted more. The upper floor had been divided into two chambers and a garderobe. She’d been given one bedchamber; the other must be Ruford’s. Judith squelched the urge to run up the stairs to her chamber and throw the bolt on the door.

  Corwin had told her to remain near Thurkill, but truly, the old man was too weak to be of much help if Ruford decided to share her bed. Nor could she remain down in the hall for the rest of the night-Ruford would be angry if she refused the comfort of the bedchamber.

  As she pondered the dilemma, she watched Thurkill turn to his side, trying to get comfortable. He shouldn’t be on a pallet on the floor, but in a bed.

  What better bed than hers?

  The thought struck and settled, almost making her smile. She could ease Thurkill’s discomfort and keep Ruford from her bedchamber simply by having Thurkill hauled up the stairs.

  Of course, Ruford’s bedchamber was up the stairs, too.

  Judith took a resolving breath and decided to deal with that unpleasant reality later.