By Queen's Grace Page 23

  Judith stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around Corwin’s neck. “If the prize at the end is you, I will not only stand firm but will help in any way I can.”

  “Take no undue risks,” he said, his fingers undoing the ties of her gown.

  She kissed him, encouraging him, letting his comment go unanswered. She’d already taken the biggest risk of all by falling in love, by giving her heart to Corwin.

  They made love on a feather-stuffed mattress. Judith soared at Corwin’s touch, thrilled to his entry and shattered at his intimate thrusts just as she had on the forest floor.

  Even as the last ripples of completion wafted through her, Judith thought of the days to come. Of standing before Henry awaiting a decision on their marriage. Corwin had allies in Gerard and Kester. Their influence would count for much. But Judith knew of another who might help, one closer to the king than anyone-the only ally Judith might have. Matilda, Queen of England.

  His destrier wanted to run, as though sensing the stall and food awaiting him when they reached the palace. Corwin sympathized but held the horse to a pace comfortable for the foot soldiers within the escort. With London but an hour away, he had no reason to hurry except for his impatience for an audience with King Henry.

  Gerard had, indeed, provided an escort suitable for a royal heiress. A mixture of knights and foot soldiers made up a small army, designed to discourage the most daring of outlaws and to impress all who saw the company.

  No one could doubt the reason for this grand display. Judith rode by his side, clad in a gown of midnight blue and shimmering silver. Judith had admired the gown, and Bronwyn promptly made a gift of it over Judith’s protests. She rode her mare-now truly her own. Another gift, this time from Gerard.

  She’d then stopped voicing admiration for anything, for fear Corwin’s family would hear royal desire in her voice and make her another gift. Judith hadn’t abused her rank. Bronwyn and Gerard both had their own reasons for giving the gifts. Still, Corwin couldn’t help wishing the tactic would work with Henry.

  Corwin knew he’d done nearly all he could to prepare for his meeting with the king. He and Gerard had gone over all the arguments and prepared defenses for each. He’d even shucked his chain mail at today’s noon respite, in favor of a deep green dalmatic most suitable for court, though he wore his sword. Still, it.all came down to his lack of rank, to a mere knight who reached high for a royal heiress.

  Corwin turned at the sound of a horse coming up hard behind him, unconcerned that the rider could be anyone except one of Wilmont’s knights. He knew something more was amiss than a broken-down wagon as soon as he saw the man’s face, which held anger and shock.

  “A group of men bear down on us. I believe they mean to attack!” he said incredulously, pointing behind and to the west.

  Corwin spun his horse around. From across an open field a large dust cloud rose above the heads of perhaps twenty men, coming on hard indeed. He knew who the leader must be without seeing his face. Only one man wanted him badly enough to attack a company of highly trained Wilmont soldiers, so close to London. Ruford Clark.

  Corwin shook his head at the stupidity of it even as he shouted orders for the men to form battle lines across the field.

  Judith’s eyes grew round as she watched the soldiers array themselves for battle. Corwin didn’t want her to see the fighting, nor take the chance that by some strange twist of fate she might be hurt.

  He called out to four knights. “To me,” he commanded. They obeyed immediately.

  Corwin chose the one he trusted above all others with Judith’s care. “Alain, take lady Judith to the king at Westminster. Alert the royal guard to the presence of rebels in the area. We will protect your rear. Do not stop until she is within the palace.”

  “Nay,” Judith cried out. “Come with me. You are not prepared for battle.”

  He wasn’t, but he was still in command. There wasn’t time to say all he wanted to, only a moment for a brief reassurance. He positioned his destrier next to her mare, facing Judith, then grasped her hand and looked deep into her eyes.

  “I send you ahead as a mere precaution. You are not to worry. I will follow you shortly. Understand?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded slightly, but the worry didn’t leave her eyes. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm hard. “Now go. See how fast your mare can run.”

  With two knights ahead of Judith, and two behind, Corwin felt sure she’d be safe. He watched her flight for only a moment before turning to face Ruford and his mercenaries.

  Judith rode with her heart in her throat, pulsing to the speeding rhythm of her mare and the four destriers. Corwin had said not to worry, and she hoped to heaven his remaining knights would protect their unarmored commander.

  Still, she’d known without being told who led the attack on the company. Only one man would dare, the man who’d vowed to hunt them down and make them pay dearly for ruining his plan to overthrow the crown and take it for himself. Judith knew in her bones that Ruford and Corwin would exchange blows.

  Holding tight to the reins of her galloping mare as the leagues to London’s gates flowed by, she prayed so hard for Corwin’s safety she barely noticed anything around her. Judith tried not to envision the worst, of Corwin and Ruford standing toe to toe, swords drawn-Corwin unprotected save for the skill of his sword arm. She’d watched him fight thus against Duncan and three soldiers, and took some comfort in the extent of his skill.

  Still, in the heat of a battle, anything could happen.

  She’d obeyed Corwin’s command to flee because he’d given her no choice. He’d been right not to. While he made a stand, ‘twas her duty to alert the king and royal guard. Above all, they both knew their duty-preserve the crown and the man who wore it.

  So she would do her part, and while she was at it, make sure Henry understood with all certainty that ‘twas Corwin of Lenvil who stood firm between the crown and Ruford Clark.

  Corwin drew his sword and rode up behind a line of men ready with lances and shields, wanting Ruford to see his intended prey and head straight for him.

  He looked over his company. At the ten knights beside him, most of whom could fight and command as well as he could. At the thirty foot soldiers armed with lance, sword or mace, who knew what to do with few words from a commander.

  As the enemy drew closer, Corwin spotted Ruford-not leading his men, but hanging toward the rear. His disdain for the man heightened. He raised his sword and pointed it at Ruford.

  “The leader rides at the rear on a black stallion,” he shouted to his knights. “He is mine!”

  Corwin’s anger rose, feeding the anticipation of the upcoming fray. He gripped his sword tightly, the metal warming to his hand, becoming an extension of his arm. He could feel the earth shake with the pounding of horses’ hooves, could smell the dust, see his attackers’ faces.

  Ruford’s men were well within range when Corwin gave his first command. Half of the lancers stood and, with deadly accuracy, loosed their weapons. Four horses went down, causing the attacking company to falter and separate. Corwin could hear Ruford shouting commands, urging his troops into a head-on attack.

  Corwin unleashed the remaining lances and ordered those men to the rear. Again, Ruford’s men suffered, spreading out farther, yet on they came. Corwin hoped the mercenaries had been well paid and already spent the coin. Most of them would not. live through the melee to come.

  The attackers hit the line of swords and maces. The line gave way in several places, trapping most of the enemy between Wilmont’s foot soldiers and knights. The enemy had nowhere to go but down. Corwin waved his knights into the fray, keeping Ruford in his sights, hoping no one killed the man before Corwin could get to him.

  He wanted Ruford, and wanted him alive. What better gift to give Henry than the man who’d dared to covet his crown?

  Corwin edged around the outside of the circle, ignoring the din of steel striking steel and men shouting-some in triumph,
some in pain. Uprooted wheat flew up and into the breeze, stinging his face and obscuring his vision. Yet he held to the sight of Ruford’s blond beard, not hidden by the man’s conical helmet.

  Ruford raised his sword, intending to hack at a foot soldier. Corwin shouted his name. Ruford’s sword halted in midstroke. His head came up.

  Corwin called out his challenge. “‘Tis me you want, you whoreson of a traitor. Come and get me.”

  With London’s northern gate in sight, the knight named Alain pushed his horse to a faster speed. His sword drawn and waving high above his head, Alain shouted for those milling about to clear the way. People scattered. The guards at the gates objected to his high-flown ways, but Wilmont’s knights paid them no heed.

  Judith had ridden through London’s narrow street many times, but not at this pace. Not behind two mail-clad knights shouting at the top of their voices, brandishing swords and clearing the way. Not with people running and screaming all around her, hugging buildings to avoid being trampled under warhorses’ hooves.

  Judith held on to her mare and followed, hoping no one suffered a hurt, but more concerned with completing the wild ride. They fairly flew through the town, barely slowing through the turn toward the western gate. Once out of London, the knights returned their swords to their scabbards and headed for Westminster, and the group of buildings on the bank of the Thames-Westminster Hall, flanked by the palace and abbey of the same name.

  Judith knew well the ways of the court. ‘Twas midafternoon. If King Henry held to his usual habits, he would be in the hall, hearing petitions. Matilda might or might not be with him, depending on her mood. Judith’s talk with her aunt could wait; warning the king could not.

  “Alain, to the hall!” she shouted to the leading knight, and hoped he’d heard her.

  Ruford dug his spurs into his horse and charged, blood lust shining in his eyes. Corwin wheeled his destrier and led Ruford away from the battle. He wanted Ruford to himself, one to one, with no one to interfere.

  He didn’t go far, nor did his commander’s instincts desert him. Already he could hear the sounds of the melee lessening, his knights shouting orders to back off and close ranks. Those within the circle could either lay down their arms or attack again to a certain death.

  Corwin turned to face his opponent, who came on as if the devil himself nipped at his heels. Maybe some demon did, for the fire of madness burned hot and bright on Ruford’s face. Corwin secured his reins, trusting his destrier to respond to the commands of his knees. He gripped his sword with both hands and braced for the blow to come.

  The swords met with a resounding ring that reverberated through the air and Corwin’s arms. The momentum of Ruford’s horse carried him onward, sparks flying as the blades slid across each other. Corwin turned, expecting another headlong rush. But Ruford reined in and turned slowly, tearing the helmet from his head and flinging it to the side.

  “‘Tis over, Corwin. You have lost,” he said, a feral smile spreading across his face.

  Corwin gave a quick glance toward his soldiers, who even now made prisoners of the mercenaries and gathered up the wounded or dead.

  “I beg to differ. Seems to me all that is left to do is capture the leader of an already defeated band.”

  Ruford shook his head. “Judith Canmore will not make it to the hall in time to warn the king of my intentions, if she arrives at all. Even now my allies act. The rebellion goes on as planned, though you did force us to hurry. Nay, Corwin, I am not defeated. I will wear the crown of England.”

  A cold chill gripped Corwin. Had he sent Judith not to safety, but into the midst of a bigger battle than the skirmish fought here? Corwin stilled the slight tremble of his hands. Ruford was lying; he had to be.

  “Your rebellion is doomed, Ruford. Judith does not carry word of the rebellion to the king. A messenger sent from Wilmont has already delivered the information to Henry. He has known for some time of your treachery.”

  Ruford’s smile slipped. “No matter. There are others who serve our cause, lords of high rank and vision-”

  Corwin interrupted, hoping to deflate Ruford further. “I fear he knows about your allies, too. You should have taken better care than to leave a list of their names on your table, Ruford. Quite careless of you.”

  The play of emotions flickering across Ruford’s face was fascinating to watch, confirming Corwin’s guess about the list of names, while raising his concern for Judith. The king had been warned of the rebellion, and told that those lords on the list could be friend or foe. Henry would take precautions. But if, as Ruford suggested, those lords were at court and making a desperate play for the throne, Judith could be endangered.

  Corwin had to make quick work of capturing Ruford so he could get to Westminster.

  He took the offensive. With both hands wrapped around the pommel of his sword, he charged with all the speed his warhorse could muster in that short distance. Ruford brought his sword up in defense, but the force of the blow sent his sword flying and nearly unhorsed him. Corwin wheeled his destrier in a tight circle and came up on Ruford from behind. With a mighty shove, he knocked him from his mount.

  Corwin dismounted and walked over to where Ruford lay facedown in the dirt, not moving. He hoped he hadn’t killed the man, just knocked him senseless. Alive, Ruford would be of more use to him.

  Using the toe of his boot, Corwin nudged Ruford in the ribs. With the quickness of a striking snake, Ruford rolled to his feet, brandishing a dagger, and lunged. Corwin protected his chest, but not his arm. The dagger sliced deep through silk and skin. Though a haze of rage and flaming pain, Corwin saw a gleam of triumph in Ruford’s faceand denied him.

  With a war cry, Corwin raised his sword, aimed for the dagger and swept it away-along with part of the hand that held it. Ruford fell to his knees, screaming in agony. Using every measure of his willpower, Corwin backed up, knowing that if he struck again he’d kill the vermin.

  Panting hard, blood oozing through the fingers he held over his wound, Corwin glanced over his shoulder. Two of his knights stood nearby, swords drawn, ready to aid their commander if he fell. Corwin didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to falling.

  “Pick him up and have his wound bound tight,” Corwin ordered, not trusting himself to go anywhere near Ruford. “I want him to live long enough to make a gift of him to Henry.”

  He slid his sword into its scabbard and walked over to where the wounded were being treated, fighting lightheadedness. A foot soldier walked toward him, a strip of linen in his hands.

  Corwin took his blood-covered hand from his wounded arm.

  The soldier squinted at the wound. “Needs stitching.”

  “Wrap it. I will have it looked at in Westminster. How fare the wounded?”

  “None of our own will die.”

  Ruford had stopped screaming, having passed out. After the villain’s damaged hand was bound, Corwin ordered him tossed over his horse. With three knights as escort, Corwin headed for Westminster. Toward Judith. Praying he hadn’t sent her into the midst of a nobles-led revolt against the king.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Upon reaching the steps of Westminster Hall, Judith ignored all decorum and swung off her mare. Her skirts held high, she sprinted up the stairs and through the hall’s huge open doors.

  She got no farther. Two royal guards barred her way with lances crossed between them. She was pleased to see Henry had taken the rebels’ threat seriously, but was irked by the delay.

  “I am Judith Canmore, niece of Queen Matilda. I must speak with King Henry. Let me pass.”

  The guard looked over her shoulder, at the three Wilmont knights who’d followed at her heels.

  “I am Alain, knight of Wilmont. Judith is who she claims. I will vouch for her.”

  The guard snickered. “And who will vouch for you?”

  “I will.” The lances parted for the short, pleasantly featured man who came toward her. “Alain,” he said, with a nod of greeting tow
ard the knight. Then he smiled at her. “You must have come from Wilmont, my lady. You wear one of my wife’s gowns.”

  She returned his smile, delighted she’d found this brother-by-marriage of Corwin’s so soon. “You must be Kester, then.”

  “I am,” he said, looking once more beyond her. “Where is Corwin? I expected him to be with you.”

  Unsure of how much she could say in front of the palace guards, she hedged. “He was but has suffered a delay. My lord Kester, we must see the king forthwith.”

  “Certes,” he said, then turned to the guard. “The queen is in her palace chambers. Inform her Lady Judith has arrived.”

  Kester offered his arm. Judith grasped it more firmly than court manners dictated. He patted her hand as he led her toward the dais at the far end of the hall.

  “The king and queen have been very worried about you,” he said. “Both will be pleased to see you are safe.”

  “I am, but Corwin is not,” she said softly. “Even now

  he fights a band of rebels mere leagues from London’s north gate.”

  Kester halted. Alain came up beside her.

  “‘Tis true,” Alain said. “A mounted band of twenty.”

  “Is aid needed?” Kester asked.

  Alain shook his head. “With Corwin in command, and given the quality and numbers of his men-at-arms and knights, I should think the encounter won by now. By your leave, my lord, I would like to return with a wagon or two to bring in the wounded.”

  Judith’s fears for Corwin flooded back. ‘Twas disconcerting, knowing she could do nothing but remain in the hall and await Corwin’s arrival, praying he was unhurt.

  “Let us inform Henry of this latest development, then you shall have your wagons,” Kester told Alain.

  Kester quickened the pace down the long length of the. hall, the sound of their footsteps ringing off the marble floor up into the vaulted rafters high above. Judith glanced at the nobles scattered about the magnificent hall. Some she recognized, some not. She would have to converse with some of them later-such were the ways of the court. But for now, she focused on her purpose and on the man who stood near his throne on the raised dais.