By Queen's Grace Read online

  Judith hadn’t seen King Henry in years, but couldn’t mistake him, even without the golden crown that banded his high forehead and sandy-colored hair. Though he was of a scholarly disposition and had a light build, Henry’s power shone in his eyes and his stiff, regal bearing-and rang out through a thunderous voice when he was angered.

  “Majesty,” Kester called out as they neared the dais, drawing Henry’s attention. “I have the honor of returning Lady Judith Canmore to your care.”

  Judith refrained from stating her opinion on the quality of the king’s care. When Henry stepped down from the dais and held out his hand, she let go of Kester and accepted the king’s gesture, dipping into a low, nearly groveling curtsy.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, managing a respectful tone.

  “Rise, Judith. Let us have a look at the woman who has caused so much concern of late.”

  She heard the irritation in his voice and chose to ignore it. Needing the king’s goodwill, she shouldn’t point out that she’d done nothing wrong except crave an hour beyond the abbey walls.

  “Your concern is appreciated, sire, but not necessary. For all the while I was gone, Corwin of Lenvil kept me safe. Even now, as he fights a rebel band beyond London’s north gate, he sends me to you to keep me from harm.”

  Henry looked to Alain. “Are you sure they are rebels and not outlaws?” the king asked.

  “A Wilmont company has not been attacked by outlaws in many a year,” Alain said. “Corwin sent us on our way before I could get a good look at the attackers, but given the nature and timing of the attack, ‘twould seem Lady Judith’s assumption is sound.”

  Henry turned his attention back to her. “Did you recognize any of them?”

  Henry truly wanted to know if Ruford Clark led the band.

  “They were too far away to distinguish faces. But ‘twas Ruford Clark who vowed to hunt us down. I believe he found us.”

  “Be on your way then, Alain,” Henry said. “Kester, see he has all he needs.”

  The men left, leaving her alone with the king.

  “Judith, I. must caution you to say nothing of this rebellion. Few know, and I would keep it so until all of the knaves are captured.”

  “As you wish, sire. Does the queen know?”

  “She does. Matilda was present when the messenger arrived from Wilmont. ‘Twas most distressing for her to hear of your ordeal. She is a bit put out that Corwin did not rescue you and send you back to her immediately.”

  Matilda might have been put out, but not Henry-not after he’d heard of the threat to his crown. And that, she supposed, was as it should be.

  She laughed lightly. “There was a time when I was a bit put out with Corwin, too,” she said, bringing a rare smile to Henry’s face. “But then he told me what he was about, and once I decided I could trust him, his plans made sense. Ever and always, his aim has been to thwart this rebellion, to serve the kingdom and his king in the best way he knew how. Truly, my life was never in danger, but Corwin’s often was, as it is today.”

  “Corwin is one of Wilmont’s finest knights. Many a time I have watched him wield a sword, both in the practice yard and on a battlefield. I assure you, Judith, the man is well able to defend himself.”

  “I, too, have witnessed his skill. Yet I worry. If Ruford Clark leads the rebels, I have no doubt he and Corwin will come to blows. Corwin wears no chain mail. I fear he may be among the wounded.”

  Or dead. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

  The king chuckled and patted her hand. “Set your mind at ease. Corwin will come shortly. He knows there is a reward awaiting him and he will not pass it by, wound or no wound. Here, your aunt comes. She has waited impatiently for your arrival.”

  Judith knew a dismissal when she heard one. As much as she wanted to discuss Corwin’s reward, that would have to wait for Corwin. ‘Twas his reward he sought to change, and his place to do the asking. She’d done all she could, for now, by ensuring Henry knew of Corwin’s high sense of duty.

  She dipped into another curtsy, then backed away from Henry, not turning around until having to step down from the dais. With her aunt, there was no need for formality. Matilda approached her with arms open.

  Judith felt like a peacock, gowned so elaborately in contrast to the queen of England. As was her habit, Matilda wore a gown of rich fabric, but little decoration. Her simple style, plain features and earnest piety had earned her the scorn of the court. The Normans’ blatant disapproval of their Saxon queen, coupled with Henry’s infidelity-which many delighted to taunt her with-drove her to frequent retreats at Romsey Abbey.

  Yet Matilda bore it all with quiet dignity and fortitude. She took comfort in her two small children, and in Henry’s respect for her intelligence. When he left the country, he asked his wife and queen to rule in his stead-not some other noble.

  Matilda’s hug was long and hard, too affectionate a display for out in the open in Westminster Hall. Yet Judith couldn’t complain. She needed her aunt’s warmth and help now more than ever.

  “I had almost despaired of ever seeing you again,” Matilda said. “‘Twas with a gladdened heart I learned you were at Wilmont. You do look well, if a bit overdone. A

  gown of Lady Bronwyn’s, is it not?”

  Matilda was nothing if not forthright

  “Aye. I admired the gown and she gave it to me. I could hardly insult her by not wearing it.”

  Besides, the amber silk gown she’d worn out of Norgate had suffered considerably on the journey to Wilmont.

  “We shall have to see if we can find something more. suitable. While we do, you can tell me of your ordeal.”

  Matilda meant to take her up to the royal chambers in the palace. Judith meant to remain in the hall.

  “If you do not mind, Majesty, I should like to remain in the hall awhile longer, at least until Corwin arrives.”

  Matilda raised an eyebrow. “He did not accompany you?”

  Judith briefly told of the morning’s events, of the attack and her swift ride through London, then added, “Corwin will surely come to the hall, to report to Henry. I wish to be here when he does.”

  “I see. A bench then?” Matilda asked, waving to the side of the hall.

  Once they were seated, the queen sighed. “I have often reproached myself for not swiftly answering your letter those many weeks ago. Had I sent someone to fetch you to court, as you asked of me, none of this would have happened.”

  “Perhaps,” Judith said, remembering her anger at Matilda for ignoring the request. “But then, Corwin would not have come to rescue me, and we would not have known of the rebellion, and the throne might yet be endangered. Mayhap ‘twas all for the best.”

  “You have endured much in the name of duty.”

  And would endure more in the name of love.

  “‘Twas not all duty, Aunt.”

  “Tell me.”

  Judith began at the beginning, on the day Thurkill, Oswuld and Duncan came upon her while picking herbs, and the eve Corwin had again burst into her life and made her miserable. While watching the door for Corwin, Judith told her aunt most everything-from the desperate moments to the nights of bliss in Corwin’s arms. From the pain of watching Thurkill die, to the joy of holding Ardith’s baby. Though Matilda gasped and sometimes blushed through the telling, the queen spoke only at the end, when told of Corwin’s intent to refuse Henry’s reward and ask for Judith’s hand instead.

  “Oh, my.”

  Matilda’s expression didn’t look encouraging, either.

  “I love him so much,” Judith said, fighting frustration both at being born to royalty and that Corwin hadn’t yet appeared. “I do not want to give him up. If Henry refuses us-”

  “‘Tis not entirely Henry’s decision,” Matilda said.

  “Your marriage must also be approved by King Alexander. In light of all Corwin has done, both might be willing to agree.”

  Judith’s heart lightened until Matilda continued, “H
owever, Henry must also deal with his nobles, and from that quarter will come a hue and cry. You must realize, my dear, with your kidnapping came much speculation on what to do with you when you returned-or your dowry if you did not. Corwin asks Henry not only to give a Saxon a great deal of wealth and power, but to deprive a Norman as well.”

  “What if we gave up the dowry, too? I do not think Corwin has even considered it.”

  “Impossible. Your dowry goes to whomever you marry.”

  “What if I am with child?”

  “Few would care. Most would take you for your name and wealth alone.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  Matilda’s expression told Judith she should know better. She did. A marriage could be forced.

  Judith sank back against the wall, not yet ready to admit defeat, but unable to see a way to win. “Vultures, all of them. They are no better than Ruford.”

  “Aye, but take heart, for Corwin does have powerful allies, and many admire the man for his accomplishments alone. Him having Gerard of Wilmont’s blessing will silence a few, and this latest escapade will only add to Corwin’s reputation. If he were Norman, they would hail him as a true hero of the realm.”

  As if the queen’s words had conjured him, Corwin came through the doorway. No guards blocked his way or questioned his identity. He strode confidently up the center of the hall, followed by two knights who dragged Ruford Clark between them. She noticed the bloody bandaging on Ruford’s hand, and looked for a similar one on Corwin. She saw none.

  Pride and relief brought her off the bench. His smile and outstretched hand drew her into the middle of the hall. She was nearly upon him when she saw the bandage on his arm-soaked through and bloodred against his torn green dalmatic. His face was too pale for comfort.

  “You are wounded,” she said as she took his hand and matched his stride toward the dais.

  “A dagger scratch,” he said. “‘Twill be fine as soon as stitched. You are all right? Alain passed us on the road, said you encountered no problem getting here.”

  A scratch didn’t bleed so heavily or need stitches.

  “Nay, none. How were you wounded?”

  “Inattention. ‘Twill not happen again.” His smile widened, but he forced it. “Come, I have a present for the king.”

  He meant Ruford, of course. Henry would be well pleased. Corwin must keep to his feet for a few more minutes, then she’d get him into a bed somewhere and have his wound attended.

  “Before you talk to Henry, you should know I told all to Queen Matilda. She thinks Henry may be disposed to our request, but foresees problems with the nobles.”

  An inarticulate sound was his only answer before they reached the dais.

  Henry had watched them approach, and now glanced down at her hand clasped in Corwin’s. Though Henry’s eyes narrowed, Corwin made no move to let her go, and she didn’t pull away. Together they bowed to the king, though Corwin’s movements were shaky.

  “‘Tis good to see you again, Your Majesty,” Corwin said.

  “We believe you in need of a physician,” the king observed.

  Corwin let out a burst of laughter. “Aye, Majesty, I am. But once I lie down I may not get up again for a long while, so must finish my tasks first”

  Henry glanced over the group gathered before him, then at the few nobles whose curiosity had got the better of them. He motioned a guard forward.

  “But for these few, clear the hall.”

  The guard began seeing Henry’s order carried out. Queen Matilda stepped up on the dais, next to her husband. Judith felt Corwin’s body tremble. She ducked under his arm to support him.

  “Proceed, Corwin. With haste,” Henry said.

  Corwin made a backward motion with his hand. “Majesty, I give you Ruford Clark, though I fear him in worse need of a physician than I. I thought you might like to let him have a glimpse of your crown before you do whatever you choose to do with him.”

  The knights who held Ruford laid him on the dais at the king’s feet, none too gently.

  Corwin continued. “I must also tell you that Ruford all but confessed that the names on the list I sent you are those of his conspirators.”

  “Well done, Corwin.”

  “I thought so, too. Deserving of a hefty reward.”

  Corwin’s almost giddy comment brought Judith’s head up. His eyes were far too bright. She touched his neckand found his skin far too warm.

  “Fever,” she said. “Your reward can wait, Corwin. You need to lie down.”

  He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Nay. Must be done now.” He peered up at Henry. “Your Majesty, I know of the reward you offered.for Judith’s return. I claim it, and give it back. If it pleases you, sire, I beg you grant.a boon.”

  The king’s confusion showed. “Did we hear aright, Corwin? You refuse the reward?”

  “Not refuse, only change. You may keep your land and coin if I may have Judith. Only Judith.”

  Stunned, the king bellowed, “Only Judith? Do you know what you ask, man?”

  “I ask for the woman I love. What better prize.could a man.want?” Corwin answered, then went limp.

  If the two Wilmont knights hadn’t stepped forward to help her, she and Corwin would have both fallen to the floor.

  “The fever affects his mind,” Henry commented.

  Judith left Corwin to his knights’ support and stepped onto the dais. She’d never approached Henry in a familial manner, but did so now, having nothing left to lose.

  “‘Tis truly what he wants, Uncle, as do I.”

  He stared at her a moment, then said, “If we grant this request of Corwin’s, we will have another rebellion on our hands.”

  Matilda placed a hand on Henry’s arm. “Perhaps not, husband. I may have a solution if you are willing to give it consideration.”

  Corwin woke to the sounds of a harp and a woman humming. Judith humming?

  He knew he still lived. His arm and head hurt too much to wonder otherwise. As sleep left his eyes, he realized where he was-lying naked in Gerard’s bed, in Wilmont’s chambers in Westminster Palace. He couldn’t remember getting here. Truly, the last thing he could remember was standing before Henry, leaning hard on Judith.

  Had he made his request for her hand? He thought so, and had probably done so badly-just blurted the thing out. In doing so, had he lost all chance of winning Judith?

  Corwin turned his head toward the window and stared at his love. She sat on the floor in a beam of sunlight, strumming the harp in her lap.

  Sunlight? He’d brought Ruford to the king not long before the evening meal. He must have slept the night away. Had Judith stayed with him? At some point, she’d changed gowns again. Bronwyn’s showy silk one had given way to a simply adorned gown of sky-blue linen. One such as the queen would wear.

  If Judith did become his wife, the first thing he would do was have gowns made for her, ones she could call her very own. But no matter what she wore, Judith looked lovely, as she did now. He opened his mouth to whisper her name, then changed his mind, satisfied to look his fill.

  Her hair, as always, refused to remain completely confined within her braid. Soft wisps of dark brown hung forward to caress her cheeks. Dark lashes framed silver eyes that concentrated on the harp. Long, delicate fingers plucked the strings. His Greek goddess. His lover. His life.

  Judith looked up and smiled at him. A smile to die for.

  “Awake at last,” she said.

  She put the harp aside, and with graceful movements, rose from the floor. The nearer she came to the bed, the more he wanted to pull her in with him. He didn’t have to pull. Judith sat on the bed and leaned down for a kiss. Luscious, though too short, it confirmed that he lived. His loins responded instantly to the mere touch of her lips.

  “I began to despair of you,” she scolded. “You will promise not to scare me so again.”

  “I shall try,” he managed to answer through dry lips.

  “‘Tis the most I
can hope for, I guess.” A knock on the outer chamber door distracted her. “Ah, food. I will return anon.”

  While she scurried out of the bedchamber into the sitting room beyond, Corwin ignored the pain in his arm and sat up, leaning against the bed’s headboard for support. His wound had been stitched and a fresh bandage applied. He remembered nothing of that, either.

  When Judith returned, she retook her seat on the bed and put the platter on his lap. “Matilda has been making sure I eat.” She popped a piece of bread into her mouth. “After I refused to come down for the evening meal that first night, my aunt has been sending platters up. Here,” she said, feeding him cheese, “you need this more than I.”

  His head was still muddled, but clearing. “There was no reason for you not to eat your meal in the hall when all I did was sleep.”

  She huffed. “All you did was almost die. You have been near senseless with a fever for two days. How could I leave?”

  “Two days?”

  “And two extremely long nights. I thought…” Her voice cracked. Her expression melted from what he now knew was false cheer into distress. “I thought, for a while, I would lose you.”

  Corwin set the platter aside and gathered her into his arms. “I am here, love.”

  She let out a long sigh. He knew she cried only by the wetness on his chest. He held her close, willing to sit here forever if she needed it to regain her poise.

  Forever. Lord, how much he wanted forever. To hold her, just hold her.

  She turned her head slightly and wiped at her eyes, but beyond that didn’t move.

  “Your knights carried you up here and helped me put you to bed,” she said softly. “The physician came and stitched your arm, but you never moved. Then your fever raged so high the cold cloths grew hot nearly as soon as I applied them. ‘Twas near dawn this morn when your fever. finally gave over.”

  He kissed the top of her head. She took another long breath.