By Queen's Grace Page 20

Corwin sifted through the papers on Ruford’s table. He tucked away the list of names he’d found earlier, along with a sheet of scribbled sums, and yet another list of supplies. Perhaps, once studied, the writings might reveal clues to the depth and breadth of the rebellion. He also took one of the rolled parchments-a map of central and northern England.

  Where is she?

  He’d been in the bedchamber longer than necessary, coming early to ensure he would be here when Judith arrived with Ruford. Too much time to think of how Ruford would surely react, of what might happen if he didn’t have the key on him, of all that could go wrong. Of the danger to Judith.

  Oswuld had assured him the horses would be saddled and packed, waiting for them in the stable. Few people would be wandering about the bailey, being inside the hall finishing their meal. Judith foresaw no problem in getting Ruford to come up to the bedchamber-and Corwin agreed, though he didn’t like what Ruford would be planning on doing when he got Judith into the chamber.

  Corwin opened the shutters fully, doubting Ruford would notice. The man’s focus would be elsewhere, on Judith.

  Finally, he heard footsteps in the passageway. Corwin drew his sword and pressed up against the wall near the door, where he wouldn’t be seen until the door closed.

  The latch clicked and the door opened. Judith entered the chamber and walked across the room to the window, as he’d told her to do. Ruford, following her, grabbed the edge of the door and let it swing closed behind him.

  “Good eve, Ruford,” Corwin said softly.

  Ruford spun around, his shock quickly replaced by anger.

  Before he could speak, Corwin warned, “Move or call out and I shall change my mind about letting you live.”

  “What are you about?”

  “I have decided to grant her ladyship’s request for rescue. Judith, fetch your cloak.”

  Smart lady that she was, Judith walked around the edge of the room so she wouldn’t get close to Ruford.

  “Are you all right?” Corwin asked, knowing she was, but having to make sure.

  “I am fine now,” she said, giving Ruford a scathing glance. “I know not if it holds import, but Duncan did not come into the hall for the evening meal.” And with that, she hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Ruford crossed his arms. “If you think you can use me as a shield to get you through the hall, you are mistaken. My soldiers will have you surrounded within moments.”

  “I do not need you, Ruford. Only the key you likely have hanging round your neck for the door behind the tapestry. You can either give over or I can take it. One means you continue to live, the other permanent silence.”

  Ruford’s face twisted with fury. “When I am king, you will be the first I punish severely.”

  “Then I have naught to worry over, for even if this rebellion had any hope of success, you would not be king. Truly, Ruford, I am amazed you thought the lords with whom you plot treason would allow you to wear the crown.”

  Ruford’s eyebrows rose in surprise. At his silence, Corwin continued. “They will let you do the fighting and take the risks. When all is done, they will pat you on the head and give you some token reward-if they let you live. The most high ranking of the lords will wear the crown, not the second son of a lowland laird.”

  “Judith is royal. Her rank-”

  “Would not have helped you. Your allies do not know about Judith, do they? Kidnapping her was your idea, to give your claim strength. Unfortunately for you, the lady strongly objects to your villainy.”

  “Whatever reward Judith offers you, I can offer you more. Wilmont and.name your price.”

  Ruford would never understand personal honor and loyalty that couldn’t be bought. ‘Twould be a waste of breath to try to explain.

  Corwin held out his hand. “My price is already met. The key, Ruford.”

  “She let you have her, did she not? All those hours she pretended to nurse Thurkill, she was beneath you.”

  Fury flared hot and bright. With one step forward and a flash of his sword, Corwin nicked Ruford’s ear. Ruford clapped a hand to his head and fell to his knees.

  Corwin took a long breath, amazed at his action. He’d never attacked an unarmed person in anger before, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel remorse. “The next time I will take your head. The key!”

  Ruford reached beneath the neck of his tunic and pulled it out. With a furious tug, he broke the ribbon and sent the key flying beneath the table.

  The door’s latch clicked. On the edge of his vision, Corwin watched Judith tentatively enter the chamber. A hooded, woolen cloak of deep brown covered her amber gown. Oswuld, with his blanket-wrapped bundle over his shoulder, stood behind her.

  “You bitch!” Ruford spat out. “All the while you played the innocent maiden with me, you were rutting-”

  Corwin put his boot to Ruford’s shoulder and shoved hard. His victim toppled from his knees and sprawled on the floor. Killing Ruford would be so easy, but if Corwin committed murder outright, he’d be no better man than the villain he slew.

  He reined in his temper. “Judith, the door is behind the tapestry in the far corner. The key is under the table. Try the lock. Oswuld, let us tie and silence this wretch before he gives me more cause to run him through.”

  As Oswuld gently laid his father’s body on the bed, Judith found the key, beginning to understand what Ruford had accused her of that had sent Corwin into a rage.

  “I will hunt you all down,” Ruford threatened. “If it takes me the rest of my life, I will-”

  Judith shuddered at the confidence in his voice, grateful Corwin silenced further threats with a towel. Her hands shook as she pushed aside the tapestry and fumbled with the key. Freedom lay just beyond the door. The thought steadied her hand, and the lock snicked open.

  “It worked,” she said, and opened the door to an unlighted passageway. “We will need a candle or torch.”

  “No time,” Corwin said. “Oswuld, go ahead of Judith. I shall finish trussing our goose and be right behind you.”

  Judith peered down the dark, narrow passageway, seeing not freedom but terror. If one of them should misstep.

  Oswuld joined her behind the tapestry. “Come carefully, my lady. The stairs are but a few feet ahead and steep. Hold on to the walls for balance.”

  She took his advice and followed Oswuld into the abyss. She’d taken two stairs downward when Corwin closed the door behind him, snuffing out what little light had come from the room above. ‘Twas like being suddenly blinded in a room with no air.

  “Corwin?” His name almost caught in her throat.

  “I am right behind you, Judith,” he said, his voice soothing and reassuring. “The stairs bend to your right. Listen for Oswuld’s steps. Take one at a time. You do fine.”

  One stair at a time. Judith set her resolve and moved her foot. One stair. Another. Corwin followed close behind, not more than two steps away. A bend to the right. Ever downward.

  “There, see the light at the bottom from under the door?” Corwin asked. “Only a little way now and we will be out. Have a care on the last step. ‘Tis steeper than the others.”

  “Hold a moment, my lady,” Oswuld said, then opened the door a crack.

  Light, blessed light. She took the last few stairs with haste. So did Corwin. He brushed past her to open the door farther and peer out.

  “Seems peaceful enough,” he said. “Wait here while I fetch the horses.”

  She wasn’t waiting anywhere. “I will help. ‘Twill go faster if we both go.”

  “Judith,” he said.

  She waved away the argument he was about to give her.

  “I know. ‘Tis dangerous. I am coming with you anyway.

  We waste light. Let us go.”

  He studied her for a moment, then told Oswuld, “We will be right back.”

  Judith kept up with the brisk pace Corwin set, glancing around the bailey. She saw only two people, both near the keep’s stairway. No
one walked the earthworks.

  “No guards?” she said.

  “Ruford does not fear an attack, so sets no guard. I might feel confident, too, with an army camped outside my front steps.”

  They entered the stable without mishap. Judith lifted her skirt and fairly ran toward her mare. She stopped abruptly when Duncan came out of one of the stalls, his sword in his hand.

  “In a hurry, Princess?”

  Corwin answered for her. “Aye, she is. Let her pass,”

  he said, his words accompanied by the slide of his sword from its scabbard.

  “I went through too much trouble to fetch her to let her go,” Duncan said. “She stays.”

  “Move aside, Judith,”. Corwin said.

  She slipped into the stall with Oswuld’s horse, knowing what would happen next, confident Corwin would make short work of disarming Duncan. Still, Duncan’s smile unnerved her.

  “You will not find me an easy opponent this time,” he said. “I watched you with Oswuld. You teach well, and I learn quickly.”

  Duncan made good on his statement. This time he didn’t lunge at Corwin, but attacked with more finesse. Their blades clashed, steel ringing upon steel in a burst of swift strokes, Corwin taking the defense, no discernible expression on his face. She wished he would just end the thing, do one of those awe-inspiring moves she’d witnessed, and send Duncan’s sword flying so they could leave.

  But he didn’t, and the longer the two fought, the more she realized something was very wrong with Corwin. He held his own, but that was all. Then he grimaced, clutched his stomach and staggered back a step. He regained his footing, but lost all advantage.

  Had he been wounded? Even as she wondered how it could have happened, she looked about for a weapon. There wasn’t one, and even had there been, she wouldn’t know the first thing about how to wield it. She’d get herself killed, and maybe Corwin, if she tried to interfere.

  But there was one who could interfere.

  Judith slid slowly down the row of stalls to Corwin’s destrier.

  The huge warhorse was nervous, his muscles twitching with each clash of steel. Being very careful of his rear hooves, she made a warning, shushing noise, then eased in beside him. Mercy, if he moved at all, the mere bulk of him would crush her against the side of the stall. She ran her hand over his hide as she eased forward. He tossed his head, but held still.

  “All right, you big beast,” she whispered, reaching for the bridle that bound him to the stall. “Let us see how well you can protect your master.”

  With the bridle untied, the destrier needed little urging to back out of the stall. Once out, he turned toward the sound of battle. He snorted and pawed at the dirt, but held his ground.

  “Shoo. Go. Do something!” she urged the horse, while peering around the edge of the stall. Corwin still took the defensive, losing ground.

  She screamed when Corwin yelled, dropped to the - ground and rolled. The horse echoed her scream, then charged. Duncan had only time to turn and face death with wide-eyed horror before being tossed into the air, flying high before returning to earth with a heavy thud. The destrier reared, hooves high off the ground. Judith turned away, unable to watch the destructive power of the weapon she’d wielded.

  Then there was silence. She leaned against the side of the stall, her eyes closed, her stomach in a tangle, fighting tears of anger and fear and sorrow. She couldn’t let go now. They had yet to make good their escape. If Corwin was able.

  Judith heard him coming and opened her eyes as he cradled her cheeks in his hands.

  “I do not know whether to thank you or give you a severe tongue-lashing. He could have as easily killed you as Duncan.”

  She didn’t trust her voice, so she whispered, “I knew not what else to do. Are you wounded?”

  He answered her fear with chagrin. “Nay, I am fine now. The pain is gone.”

  “What happened?”

  “Truth to tell, I am not completely sure. In her letters, has Ardith ever mentioned anything.unusual about our being twins?”

  The completely unexpected change of subject caught Judith off guard. How could one event possibly have anything to do with the other? “Beyond her belief the two of you are closer than other siblings might be, nay, not really.”

  “Then explanations are best left for later. Come, let us get the horses and leave before we lose the light.”

  The sun had set hours ago, giving over to pale moonlight. Judith guided her mare among the trees, keeping close to the horse that bore Thurkill. Oswuld led the way; Corwin followed behind her, listening for pursuers. There had been none so far.

  They broke out of the woodland onto a road, and Judith braced for what she hoped would be the last nerve-rending upheaval tonight-saying farewell to Oswuld. Corwin rode up beside her as Oswuld turned to face them.

  “This is where I leave you,” he said, then glanced south. “This road will take you into Durham, and beyond.”

  “Where do you go?” she asked.

  “First to Sunderland. We buried my mother there when I was a child. Hopefully, I can lay Father to rest beside her. From there?” He shrugged and grinned. “I suppose that will depend on whether or not Ruford yet seeks my hide.”

  Corwin grinned back. “You need not worry too much over Ruford. I assure you, he is making plans to seek my hide first.”

  “Probably. Have a care he does not find you.” Oswuld then turned to Judith. “It has been a privilege, my lady. You have a care, too.”

  “And you,” she managed to answer. “I hate parting, not knowing whether you will be safe.”

  “All will work out, my lady. And if you should ever need me, ask after me at White Swan Inn, south of Coventry. My brother will know where to find me.”

  Corwin reached out and grasped Oswuld’s hand. “Should you ever need help, or find yourself in need of a living, go to Bury Saint Edmunds. Most anyone there can direct you to Wilmont, or Lenvil.”

  “I may have to take you up on that offer, my lord. Fare thee well,” he said, then turned his horse north, bearing his father’s body behind him.

  Corwin turned south. Judith followed.

  “I had thought to make Durham tonight,” he said. “But if you are as bone weary as I, what say we find a decent spot to halt and lay our heads until sunrise?”.

  Not only bone weary but nerve wrought, she welcomed the suggestion. “Oh, please, aye.”

  Corwin led her back into the woodland, and stopped at a spot not far off the road. They tied the horses to a low tree branch. As they pulled off the saddles, Judith glanced over at Corwin. He showed no sign of weakness, or of being in pain.

  “What happened to you in the stable?” she asked.

  Corwin carried his saddle to the edge of a patch of long grass, wondering how much to tell Judith. Warnings for silence remembered from his childhood urged caution.

  He took Judith’s saddle from her hands and placed it within the nest of grass. He wanted her close, but not too close. Of course, given what he was about to tell her, she might put further distance between them. Would Judith turn from him in horror, or try to understand, as Gerard had for Ardith’s sake?

  “When Ardith and I were children, we discovered we shared a rare accord with each other. In times of great danger, or great pain, a.link between us flares.” Though he could give many examples, some of which he was far from proud of, he gave the easiest to understand. “For instance, when we were children, I fell out of a large tree. Ardith was not with me, but knew I had fallen and broken my arm. She felt the pain of it.”

  Judith looked. at him quizzically, then asked, “She felt your pain?”

  “Aye. The same is also true when Ardith is in great pain. I feel it, as I did today.”

  “You are saying that, in the stable-”

  “Ardith could not have chosen a worse time to give birth.”

  Judith’s face went blank, then her eyes went wide, her mouth opening in a silent intake of breath. “Oh, my.”
<
br />   “Now, before you get the wrong idea-nay, I do not know what giving birth feels like. ‘Twas more an awareness of something amiss, then a shot of pain.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, I thought myself too far away from her to feel anything, and it took me by surprise. The shock threw me back to when her firstborn arrived. She was at Wilmont, I at Lenvil, yet I spent an hour unable to do much but sit. This time, it caught me short and hard in the middle of a sword fight.”

  “You are both-all right”

  “I believe so,” he said, hoping Ardith was fine. “I had planned to go to London straightaway, but if you have no objection, I think we will stop at Wilmont first. I need to check on Ardith, and talk to Gerard before facing Henry.”

  “I have no objection.” She rubbed her face with her hands. “Truly, a visit with Ardith might be most welcome.”

  Judith looked ready to fall over. She’d been through much today.

  “I am rather proud of you, you know.”

  She managed a smile. “I thought you were still angry with me for loosing your horse.”

  He shook his head. “You probably saved my life, though I admit you scared me when you risked your own.”

  “You risked yours for me.”

  “‘Twas a duty I took on when I set out on this venture. I asked you to go along with it, vowing no harm would come to you. I keep my vows.”

  She took a deep breath and looked away. “Of course, your duty comes before all, does it not?”

  It should, but right now duty seemed a lonely thing.

  “I vowed to protect the Canmore heiress. But it is Judith-a woman rare and precious-for whom I would give all without a fight should she ask the sacrifice of me.”

  He hadn’t meant to start her tears flowing, truly had no idea for which reason she cried-she had several. Faced with her tears, he couldn’t do anything else but take her in his arms until the sobs subsided.

  Longing, deep and intense, washed through him like an ocean wave, threatening to pull him under. He couldn’t succumb. Judith was far too upset, too vulnerable. Even knowing it, he wanted to kiss her tears away, take her to another place where no pain existed, only ecstasy. Duty battled with desire. His wish to comfort argued with selfish need.