By Queen's Grace Read online

  Chapter Twelve

  Removing Thurkill to her bedchamber might not be easy. He would need to be carried, and Ruford must give his permission.

  As she neared the table where Corwin and Oswuld and the captains awaited Ruford, Oswuld once more seated himself on the floor beside his father’s pallet. His grim look tore at her heartstrings.

  No matter that Thurkill was a rebel, no ill man should be lying on a pallet at the far reaches of a hall, with no physician or priest to attend him, his breath ladened with the odor of rushes in want of changing.

  If she were in charge here. Judith glanced about the hall. Why shouldn’t she be in charge?

  Ruford could hardly complain if the woman he considered his future wife took charge of the keep’s hall. Or oversaw the meals. Or tended the sick. All duties naturally within a woman’s purview. In doing so, she might give Ruford pause over his choice of a wife, and yet give Thurkill a bit of comfort at the end.

  “Oswuld, is there a physician or priest here?” she asked, voicing her thoughts as her plan took form.

  “No physician,” he said, then snickered. “As for a priest, well, we have what passes for one.”

  “If he is ordained and therefore able to hear your father’s confession, he should be fetched. No man should die unshrived.”

  After giving her his hand to help her stand, Oswuld went in search of the priest.

  “Ruford, I ask a boon of you,” she said, managing to convey that she fully expected him to grant it.

  “Ofcourse, my dear, but hold a moment. I would like you to meet my captains.”

  She bit her bottom lip at the delay, but held her peace as the captains stood. Ruford rattled off names that she wouldn’t remember for lack of concentration. But it didn’t matter. If what she had in mind for the remainder of her stay at Norgate took place, she would never see any of them again.

  “You honor us with your presence, my lady,” one of them uttered.

  Judith graced them with a brief, dismissing nod, then turned back to Ruford. “I realize soldiers consider it most glorious to die on the field of battle. Since Thurkill is denied the honor, I believe we should make his passing more comfortable. Might I borrow a few of your men to carry him up the stairs?”

  Ruford’s brow furrowed. “Up the stairs? To what purpose?”

  “To put him in the bed in my chamber.”

  The furrows deepened. “My lady, I know you mean well, but.the maids worked hard to prepare the bed and chamber for your use.”

  He could not care less about the tender feelings of the maids. Truly, he objected to the honor she did Thurkill. She looked pointedly down at the dying man, then back up at Ruford.

  “Wouldyou care to breathe your last down on that pallet? This man has served you well. He does not deserve to die among overripe rushes.”

  He took a moment to answer. “Nay, mayhap not, but neither should you give up the comfort of your bed.”

  She scoffed. “For the past seven years I have made do with a hard, narrow cot. During the journey here I slept on the ground. A thick pallet will do me fine. Besides, I do not intend to sleep, but keep vigil. I have sent for the priest. In the absence of a physician, Emma can help me tend Thurkill, and no doubt Oswuld will wish to remain by his father’s side. Naturally, anyone who wishes to join us in prayer may do so.”

  Ruford’s dark look conveyed his wish to deny her request, but Judith doubted he’d do so. Not in front of the very people he wanted to have accept her as his wife and their queen. To do that, he must give her the rights given by any noble lord to his lady-the care of hearth and home, the tending of his vassals.

  He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Then have your vigil, Judith. But beware, I have no liking for how you went about it. We will talk about this later, you and I.”

  She matched his volume and tone. “Make up your mind, Ruford. Either I am to be given the rights due me as your wife, or denied them as your prisoner. Idid do you the favor of seeking your permission when I could have commanded-and been obeyed.”

  “You gave me little choice.”

  “As you have given meno choice. Does it sit hard in your mind, Ruford, ignite your anger? Then mayhap you can understand how I have felt since your men tore my world apart.”

  To his credit, his features smoothed as his anger faded. Somehow, she’d hit her mark, but didn’t rejoice. Matching wits with Ruford drained her of energy.

  Ruford turned and pointed to two of his captains. “Her ladyship needs your help to take Thurkill up the stairs. Be quick.”

  Thurkill woke slowly when she shook him gently. “We are taking you up the stairs. We will have you in a clean bed soon.”

  He groaned when the captains picked him up by his hands and feet. Before Judith could reprimand them to be more gentle, Corwin rose from his seat and came around the table.

  “Let us not hurt him more than he already hurts,” he said gruffly, getting down on one knee. “Give him to me.”

  Oh, Ruford wouldn’t like this one bit, Judith thought. He said nothing, however, as Corwin took Thurkill into his arms. Thurkill wasn’t a big man, but neither was he small. Yet Corwin fitted the dying man into the cradle of his arms, then smoothly and gently rose to his feet as if lifting a child.

  “Lead the way, my lady,” he said.

  “Go. I shall be along directly,” she said.

  If Corwin was coming up the stairs, she had one more thing to do. With both hands and most of her strength, Judith managed to lift his sword.

  “Have a care, Judith. ‘Tis finely honed,” Corwin said.

  She’d never had a doubt, not after she’d watched him use the whetstone on it on several evenings. Not after she’d seen the deep sword bites in Duncan’s leather hauberk.

  She’d known Corwin was strong. He’d just proved so once again when he lifted Thurkill. But she hadn’t realized how much weight his muscles could bear until she held his

  sword-the hilt in her right hand, the flat of the blade across her left arm. Only hours ago she’d watched Corwin wield this weapon with one hand, watched it flash with swift strokes as if it were a mere extension of his arm.

  Only hours ago, yet it seemed like days.

  “I gather there is some purpose to this?” Ruford said, staring at the sword.

  So you do not steal it. Though maybe she shouldn’t have worried. She very much doubted Ruford could heft it without difficulty.

  “Corwin yielded his sword to Thurkill,” she said, as if that explained all, then turned to call the maids. “Emma, go up and turn down the coverlet on my bed. Nan, to me.”

  Emma scurried up the stairs, Corwin following at a sedate pace. Nan obeyed, too, if more slowly.

  “The rushes need changing. Gather whatever brooms can be found and put them into people’s hands. I will not eat another meal in this hall until I smell only the food.”

  Nan glanced over at Ruford, seeking permission. Judith held in her temper, vowing that if Ruford did not support her order, whatever words passed between them later would be quite heated.

  To her relief, he gave Nan a hesitant, brief nod.

  With a bob of a curtsy, Nan said, “As you wish, my lady.”

  Judith slowly made her way up the stairway. With Corwin’s sword balanced in her arms, she couldn’t lift her skirt, making the ascent clumsy.

  ‘Twas silly to feel so good-more in control of both herself and her fate than she had in a long time. In a moment or two, if she could once again manage to arrange things to her satisfaction, she would have time alone with Corwin.

  * * *

  Corwin entered the chamber, amazed that Judith had ar ranged things to suit all of their needs so perfectly, unable to remember when he’d last been so proud of anyone. Judith’s handling of Ruford had been nothing short of magnificent. The man was arrogant and overbearing, dangerous and ruthless to be sure, but could be made to back down when caught unaware.

  ‘Twouldmake sense if Ruford conceded more to Judith t
han any other person in the encampment. Her rank surpassed his-one of the reasons he’d brought her here-and he would always be aware of her value to him as a result. Too, Corwin had the feeling Ruford wanted Judith to think highly of him, both as a potential king and as a husband.

  Handsome, with courtly manners and charm, Ruford was likely far more accustomed to dealing with adoring females than obstinate ones. He would court Judith, try to control her.

  But if Ruford thought she’d gone too far, that he’d been made to appear foolish, he would extract revenge in an underhanded manner. Up here in her chamber, with Thurkill to nurse and with Oswuld and a priest to keep her company, Judith might be safest.

  “Rather nice, is it not?” Thurkill said, surveying the room.

  Corwin looked down at the man he still held in his arms. “I thought you had passed out again.”

  “Hardly, though I feared I might when those two oafs picked me up. I thank you for a timely rescue.”

  “Aye, well, Ruford may have my head for it.”

  The young maid, Emma, stood near the bed. She’d turned the coverlet down as ordered.

  Corwin smiled at her. “Emma, you may wish to leave the room while I put this old man to bed. Unless, of course, you are accustomed to the sight of naked men.”

  Her mouth forming a shocked, silent “oh,” she fairly sped from the chamber, closing the door behind her.

  Corwin eased Thurkill down on the edge of the bed and began working on the fastenings of his hauberk. Thurkill breathed heavily. Just the small exertion of being carried up to the chamber had taken a toll, and removing his garments would take more.

  “I truly hate this,” Thurkill said, grimacing as Corwin removed the hauberk.

  Thurkill meant being weak. Dying.

  “I must admit I would prefer to have a young female take my clothing off, too, but you will have to settle for me.” Corwin bent down to pull off Thurkill’s boots. “You realize you are now the envy of every man in the hall. They know you are in Judith’s bed, that she will make a fuss over you. I swear, before long every male in the place will be lined up outside the door professing one ailment or another.”

  The tunic, then breeches and hose. There was little left of Thurkill. All that had gotten the man through the past week had been the strength of his will, for there was none left in his body.

  “They shall have to wait their turn,” Thurkill said, and lay back in the bed, making hardly a dent in the feather-filled mattress.

  Corwin tossed a coverlet over him. “Make them wait awhile, will you?” he said, then shook his head at his foolishness. This man was a rebel, and dying, and the sooner done the better. Judith would be loathe to leave here otherwise.

  “I may linger for days,” the old man said, then closed his eyes.

  Corwin sighed inwardly, torn between liking for this man and the duty he must perform. He opened the chamber door to let Emma back in, and found Judith standing there with her.

  Magnificent Judith, with his sword in her arms and a smile on her face. Would that he were his sword, secure in her embrace, warming to her hands. Would that he were in the bed, the object of her gentle care, the focus of her attention.

  Damn, but he wanted to sweep her up, hold her close, tell her how very proud he was of her. He couldn’t. Emma watched. Thurkill would hear.

  Nor did he have the right. For all Corwin hated to admit it, Ruford’s noble blood made him a more suitable match for Judith than a mere knight

  “Finished?” she asked.

  He stepped aside, allowing the women to enter. Both walked over to the bed-Emma to the head, Judith to the foot. She laid his sword at the end of the mattress, at Thurkill’s feet.

  Judith glanced at Thurkill, then turned to Emma. “Fetch some clean towels.”

  Emma’s large eyes expressed her surprise. “You intend to bathe him?”

  “I intend to let Oswuld do so. Go quickly, Emma.”

  With a nod, the maid obeyed.

  Judith turned to Corwin, her smile fading. “You should go quickly, too.”

  “Aye,” he said, but didn’t move. “Why did you bring my sword up?”

  “I had this foolish notion that Ruford or maybe Duncan would steal it. Then I picked it up and realized neither of them could wield it as you do,” she said, and glanced down at the sword. “Still, I am not sorry it is here. This way I will know all is well when you return to fetch your sword.”

  She walked toward him, a vision in amber silk. Through no conscious thought of his own, he held his arms open. To his utter delight and sorrow, her steps didn’t halt until she stood firmly against him, fingers hooked into the rings of his chain mail, her forehead resting lightly against his chin.

  “Hurry back,” she whispered urgently.

  “I will,” he promised. For more than his sword. For Judith.

  “Ruford is yet angry at me, Corwin. Have a care.”

  “You have a care. Do not allow yourself to be alone with him. Bolt the chamber door if you must.”

  “I will.”

  He had to let her go, face Ruford and the captains. He slid his hands to her shoulders, intending to push away. His resolve deserted him when she moved, tilting her face upward. Tears welled in her eyes, but didn’t fall.

  “If you are going to kiss me, Corwin, do so now. Ruford is waiting. Emma will return. Oswuld and the priest-”

  She sought reassurance; he tried to comfort. They ignited passion. The kiss quickly flared from a gentle touch of lips to an urgent melding of mouths. Hot. Sweet. Heaven and hell.

  He’d kissed Judith once before, but not like this. Not with her wanting it as much as he did, with her kissing him back.

  He gave himself up to his burning desire. The moist heat of her mouth and the sweet taste of her lips. The sheer wonder of a fantasy come to life in his arms. He wanted Judith more than he’d wanted any woman. He would hurt for hours, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t have her, but didn’t let the fleeting thought stop him.

  Right now, for this moment, Judith was his. All his. And he all hers.

  Judith felt her knees wobble, her whole body begin to melt. She clung to Corwin and struggled to stay alert, unwilling to wither away into nothingness and miss a single moment of pure bliss.

  ‘Twas all she’d dreamed of and more. She felt his power-over her body, over her senses. She gave herself to him willingly, completely, knowing he wouldn’t abuse her. Not Corwin. Never Corwin.

  She’d been misled. By her elders. By the church. Submitting to a man couldn’t be wrong if he were the right man. A man like Corwin. Her right man. She’d found him, longed to keep him, and promptly brushed aside the contrary thought that she wouldn’t be allowed to.

  Then all thought fled as Corwin’s hands moved, skimming over her shoulders and her back, down to cup her backside. Just when she’d recovered from the shock of it, his hands moved again, retreating along their former path but coming higher, to frame her face.

  His mouth gentled, then deserted her.

  Of course, the kiss must end. Corwin must leave. But it took a long, deep breath and a great amount of willpower for her not to pull him back.

  “Have a care,” he whispered.

  She couldn’t find the voice to answer, so simply looked deep into his azure eyes and hoped he’d find her agreement there.

  “Corwin?” Thurkill’s voice from the bed startled her, making her leap out of Corwin’s arms.

  Mon dieu, she’d forgotten about Thurkill. His eyes were closed. Had they been all along or had he seen?

  “What?” Corwin answered.

  “Are you thinking?”

  Thinking? About what? Corwin wondered, still dazed. Then he remembered. Rebellion within rebellion. Be a king. Marry Judith. He shook his head at the man’s audacity, and at his own for having probably proved to Thurkill that his feelings for Judith went far beyond attraction to a beautiful woman.

  “Aye, I am thinking, Thurkill. Very hard.”

 
“Thinking about what?” Judith asked, her confusion apparent.

  Corwin thought of explaining, but could hear footsteps on the stairway. There wasn’t enough time. And maybe it was best that she didn’t know. Well, ‘twas Thurkill’s ridiculous idea, and he’d brought it up. Let him deal with it.

  “Ask Thurkill-later.”

  Oswuld entered the chamber, followed by a priest.

  “Ruford grows impatient,” Oswuld told him.

  “Poor man,” Corwin said, and as he’d hoped, the sarcasm brought a smile to Judith’s face. “I will be back.”

  He’d tossed the phrase out to the room in general, but Judith knew Corwin meant to reassure her. She listened to his boots hit the steps and fade away, hoping he’d be back soon. Already she missed him. With a short prayer that Ruford wasn’t so angry at her that Corwin would suffer for it, she turned her attention to her next task.

  Oswuld and the priest had crossed to the bed to attend Thurkill. The priest plopped down on the edge crossed himself and bowed his head. Oswuld backed away so he wouldn’t overhear his father’s recitation of sins.

  The young man looked at her, his face etched with pain. She motioned to him to follow her out into the hall, knowing nothing she could say right now would ease him. Maybe, however, she could lead his thoughts elsewhere, give him a bit of relief. She left the chamber door cracked open.

  “I see you found the priest quickly.”

  Oswuld stared at his feet.

  “Oswuld, what troubles you?”

  He hesitated yet another moment. “The worst sin my father will confess is kidnapping you. Mayhap I should talk to the priest, too.”- Finally, he met her eye. “Both Father and I should ask your forgiveness, my lady.”

  Judith had come to like both father and son. Aye, they’d committed a crime and hauled her across England. But the experience hadn’t been all bad. She’d learned much about herself, her strengths and weaknesses, and had even decided that roast rabbit could be a feast. More, she’d found Corwin again.

  Of course, if Corwin were not already planning their escape, if she was truly forced to marry Ruford, she might not feel quite so forgiving.