By Queen's Grace Page 3

  “Took you long enough,” Thurkill complained.

  Oswuld smiled. “She is a smart one, Father. Nearly gave us the slip, she did.”

  Mercy, Oswuld sounded proud of her!

  Duncan nodded in agreement, then grumbled, “Aye, she did. Has a mouth on her, too.”

  Judith bristled, but kept her mouth closed.

  “She can complain all she wishes and it will not change a thing. Let us be off,” Thurkill said.

  The dread returned, with full and shattering force. These men were truly about to take her away. She’d wanted to leave behind the bleakness of the abbey, but not as someone’s prisoner.

  “I beg you to reconsider, Thurkill,” she said, her voice shaking, tears far too close to the surface. “Have you no mercy in your heart?”

  “None. Hand her up.”

  Thurkill reached out a hand. Duncan and Oswuld grabbed her arms.

  Judith screamed.

  The woman’s first scream rang with anger, the second revealed her fear.

  Or so Corwin judged from the distant sounds-too far away to be sure and too close to ignore.

  He reined in his horse and signaled the company behind him to halt. Sitting quietly, resting his gauntlet-covered hands on his thighs, he tilted his head to listen. No more screams-only the rustling of a summer breeze through the surrounding woodland and the shuffling of soldiers’ feet on the dusty road.

  William rode up beside him, with his sword already drawn. “Trouble ahead?”

  “I hope not,” Corwin answered, but he wouldn’t be amazed if he found trouble, or at the least suffered another delay. The journey from Wilmont to Cotswold should have taken a sennight to complete, but had now dragged out to nearly a fortnight. A broken wagon axle. A horse gone lame. A nasty illness bringing most of the men low for days. The weather. All had conspired against him.

  At least he’d been able to find a highly skilled carpenter in Romsey who, along with his assistants, now walked at the end of the entourage. The man could do with wood what a sculptor could do with clay or stone. Gerard was sure to be pleased with the man’s work.

  Now, so near to Romsey Abbey, another delay loomed.

  He must investigate, of course, not so much to aid a woman in trouble as to ensure no harm threatened the company of men and wagons in his charge.

  Corwin turned in the saddle and called to Geoffrey, “William and I will go ahead and see what is happening. Keep the company here until we return.”

  Geoffrey nodded.

  Corwin nudged his horse up the road, setting a cautious pace, hoping that whatever situation lay ahead could be resolved quickly. He wanted to deliver his sister’s letter to Romsey Abbey, then be off to Cotswold. If he pushed the company, he could reach the manor by nightfall.

  He crested the hill to see a group of five nuns. One of them, the shortest, seemed to be sobbing into her hands. The others hovered over her as if comforting her.

  William sighed. “Only nuns,” he said, sheathing his sword.

  “Aye, nuns,” Corwin echoed.

  To his chagrin, he wondered if one of the taller blackrobed women might be Judith. Likely not, because all of them wore veils, and unless her circumstances had changed drastically, Judith wouldn’t be veiled.

  He’d thought of Judith too many times over the past few days, probably because of the letter he carried tucked securely between his chain mail and the padded gambeson beneath. Often, he’d envisioned her as the heart-faced, sweet-voiced maiden who’d been so kind to Ardith, whose dove-gray eyes had sparkled with interest in him. Then he would recall their last encounter-Judith’s nose high in the air, firmly declaring him unworthy of her notice.

  His embarrassment had stung hard, still rankled, even though he knew she’d been right. He might be Saxon, as was Judith. He might be an excellent warrior and a loyal servant of his lord, a man of good family and honorable reputation. Nothing, however, could change the fact that Judith was of royal birth and he wasn’t.

  Truly, he had no wish to see Judith Canmore again, not even to confirm if she’d blossomed from an adorable girl into a beautiful woman.

  Corwin urged his horse to a faster pace, wondering what had made one of the nuns scream. Near them, several baskets lined the side of the road. A few were tipped over, the plants the nuns had been gathering strewn about. Obviously, something had caused one of them a fright, but he sensed no danger now.

  As he and William approached, the nuns turned to look. Their expressions of stark fear caused him to slow again. He’d expect wariness-but fear?

  True, he and William probably seemed fearsome, clad in chain mail and looking the worse for their troubled journey. To ease the nun’s minds, he slowed his horse to a walk.

  “Hail, good sisters,” he called out. “Can we be of aid?”

  The nuns looked from one to the other, still fearful of his intent. Then the one who’d been sobbing, her ageweathered face red and wet, held up a halting hand. Corwin honored her request for distance.

  “We mean you no harm, Sister.” Corwin dismounted and tossed his horse’s reins to William. He held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of peace. “We heard your screams. Are you in need of our help?”

  “You are not one ofthem?”

  Them?

  “I am Corwin of Lenvil, knight of Wilmont, currently escorting a company of men and supplies to Cots wold.” He smiled, hoping to ease her further. “Had I not come upon you on the road, we might have met within the next hour, for I intended to stop at Romsey Abbey. My men and I can escort you back there, if you wish.”

  The nuns bent toward each other, conferring, deciding on his trustworthiness, most likely. Soon their heads bobbed in agreement and the little wizened nun came bustling toward him. Her expression changed from fearful to merely guarded.

  “I believe I have heard of you, Corwin of Lenvil,” she said. “Your sister is Ardith of Wilmont, a friend of both Queen Matilda and Judith Canmore, is she not?”

  “You have the right of it, Sister.”

  The nun glanced at the road behind him. “Have you many men with you?”

  ‘Thinking he understood her continued wariness, he shook his head. “Not so many, and good men all. You and your companions need not fear to be among them, Sister.”

  She dismissed his assurances with a wave of her hand. “I do not fear your men. I had only hoped.oh, dear.” The nun looked both disappointed and confused for a moment, then continued. “We must return to the abbey to summon the sheriff. If you would be so kind as to let us ride in one of your wagons, we would be most grateful.”

  Wondering why the nun felt the need to summon the sheriff, Corwin took in the scene before him, paying closer attention. This time, he saw the fresh hoofprints from several horses.

  “What happened here, Sister?”

  “We were accosted by a group of ruffians.” She went so pale Corwin thought she might faint. “They.they took Judith.”

  Corwin knew only one woman named Judith. As much as he hoped the nun referred to some other, he knew better. Still, he asked, “Judith Canmore? Those were her screams I heard?”

  “Aye.” Tears flowed freely down her wrinkled cheeks. “She tried to run away, but the men caught her.”

  Corwin could honestly say he knew what terror Judith must be feeling. When his twin had suffered being kidnapped, their link had flared. He’d felt Ardith’s horror and fear, making his hands tremble and his brow sweat.

  What he’d done then for Ardith he must do now for Judith. Effect a rescue. All manner of questions begged answers, but he asked only the important ones.

  “How many men?”

  “Three.”

  “All mounted? All armed?”

  “Aye, and all Saxons.”

  The revelation didn’t surprise him. Most of the brigands who roamed the roads were disgruntled or disavowed Saxons, keeping themselves alive by committing theft.

  “They took the road?”

  She nodded.

  Corwi
n glanced up the road, then chided himself for looking for a plume of dust. There wouldn’t be one. The brigands had a good lead on him, but if he hurried while the trail was still fresh, he could catch up with them quickly.

  Or was he moving too fast? If the queen’s guards.nay, Matilda must not be in residence or the nun would be inclined to send the guards after Judith, not the sheriff.

  “Was Judith hurt?” he asked.

  Distressed, the nun crossed herself. “Her.her robe was torn. I fear the men who chased her did not treat her gently.”

  Resigned to the need for haste, Corwin turned to William. “Bring the wagons up and take the good sisters to the abbey. Have the abbess summon the sheriff.”

  William raised a surprised eyebrow. “You mean to go after them alone? Let me accompany you.”

  Corwin swung up into his saddle. “There are only three men. With luck I can have Judith back to the abbey within a few hours at most. If I do not return by morn, take the company on to Cotswold. I will join you there as soon as I am able.”

  He felt a gentle hand on his calf.

  “We will pray. God go with you,” the nun said.

  Corwin reached down and covered her hand with his own. “Your prayers are most welcome. Is there aught else I should know?”

  She was silent a moment, then said softly. “‘Twas not happenstance the brigands took the unveiled one among us. They knew who Judith Canmore was and meant to have her.”

  He’d never doubted it. Not for one moment had he thought that a group of brigands had happened upon the nuns and decided to take the unveiled one among them for sport.

  Corwin urged his horse forward, his ire rising with the horse’s increasing speed. What the devil had Judith been doing out here, so far from the abbey, without a guard? Surely she knew of the dangers she faced if caught outside the abbey walls. The woman should know better than to be wandering about.

  Judith certainly hadn’t been given permission to leave the abbey, of that he was sure. Being of royal family herself, having had the duty of caring for Matilda as a young woman, Abbess Christina knew well the dangers and wouldn’t allow Judith to leave the cloister without protection.

  Judith had sneaked out disregarding not only her own safety but that of the nuns. Thoughtless of her. Irresponsible.

  The tracks Corwin followed came to an abrupt end. The brigands had left the road and taken to the woodland. He entered the forest where the hoofprints ended, where the brush had been disturbed. A few feet off the road, he stopped to pick up a small piece of roughly woven wool. A piece of Judith’s black robe.

  Corwin rubbed it between his fingers, wondering if she’d purposely dropped it for someone to find or if it had simply torn loose.

  He shouldn’t have to chase after her. She needn’t now be in the hands of rough men. This whole incident would have been avoided if Judith had simply used her sense and remained where she belonged.

  Corwin was in the mood to tell her so.

  First, however, he had to find her.

  Chapter Three

  Judith’s hope for an immediate rescue dimmed along with the fading day. Thurkill obviously knew this area well. They’d long since left the road and ridden swiftly through the woodland, at times on trails and others not. Judith doubted that even a skilled tracker could find her now.

  With no rescue imminent, she must devise her own escape. She prayed for an opportunity to arise soon, at a place where she might find aid, giving her a chance at success.

  Heedless of her discomfort, Thurkill had pressed hard all day. They’d stopped only once for a brief rest and a meager meal. Her backside had gone numb from the constant abuse of the horse’s rough gait. Her hands and arms grew weary from holding tight to Thurkill’s leather hauberk to prevent herself from falling off.

  A grunt escaped her lips when the horse stopped suddenly, tossing her forward against Thurkill’s back.

  “We will camp here for the night,” he said. “Slide off, my lady.”

  Judith didn’t hide her anger. “I do not think I can. I have no legs. For one who promised me every comfort, you do a miserable job of providing it.”

  “We will find you your own horse soon.”

  The prospect thrilled her, for with her own horse the odds for a successful escape rose.

  Duncan helped her down. Her hands pressed to her lower back, Judith hobbled over to a nearby log and eased her sore, weary body ontoit.

  Thurkill had chosen a small clearing in which to spend the night. The men set about their chores. Thurkill took the horses to water in a nearby babbling stream, Oswuld gathered wood for a fire, Duncan set out rabbit snares.

  “You should get up and walk about, my lady,” Oswuld told her. “You will find your legs sooner.”

  Judith glared at him until he turned red and walked away. She wasn’t about to move until she was sure she could walk about without falling on her face. She’d suffered quite enough indignities today and refused to suffer more.

  Mercy, but she was tired. Beyond the physical pains, she’d also waged a heady battle with her emotions. She’d bounced from anger to frustration to fear far too many times today.

  When the nagging pain in her thighs could no longer be ignored, she took Oswuld’s advice. If she didn’t walk, she would stiffen to stone.

  Judith paced in front of the log, working out the stiffness and knots in her body. She cursed her idiocy, wondered how she could find her way back to the abbey, and said another prayer for the sheriff to come quickly.

  Duncan returned with two rabbits dangling from his hand. Thurkill returned from caring for the horses. The evening meal wasn’t long off now. For tonight, she was stuck here.

  Back at the abbey, the nuns would be sitting down at the trestle tables in the. refectory. They would give thanks for their food, then, in silence, eat what was put before them. Had Sister Mary Margaret returned-safely to the abbey? Had the abbess sent for the sheriff? Was anyone looking for her? Did anyone care enough to miss her?

  Judith shook her head to clear the maudlin thoughts.

  “A bite of bread, my lady?” Oswuld asked.

  Oswuld’s courtesy had her bristling once more. She took the crust of brown bread and ate it without thanking him. Just because he strove to be polite didn’t mean she must also put on her manners. She would never forgive Oswuld his part in her capture, nor did one trade pleasantries with the likes of brigands.

  “Mayhap a walk to the stream to wash away the road dust would suit you,” he suggested, waving a hand toward the stream. “I will take you down, if you wish.”

  “Iwish to return to the abbey where I might have a long, hot bath and clean, unripped garments!”

  Oswuld sighed in exasperation. Judith didn’t sympathize.

  “I fear the stream is all I can offer, my lady. Do you wish to go or not?”

  She did, and led the way.

  “Guard her close, son,” Thurkill called out from across the clearing, where he tended the cooking rabbits.

  Oswuld nodded, not losing stride.

  “Guard me close, he says,” Judith complained. “Where does your father think I am going, I wonder? He batters me all the day long to the point of immovable joints, then worries that I might run away.”

  “He takes his duty and your care to heart, Lady Judith. Truly, none of us wish you to come to any harm.”

  She turned on him. “No harm? Every muscle in my body screams for mercy. The skirt of my robe is tattered beyond repair. I have been chased through brambles and frightened nearly witless, thanks to your nefarious band. You snatched me from the safety of the abbey and are taking me to.” Her voice caught. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat before she continued, “&h;I know not where. Think on all you have put me through today and tell me again that you mean me no harm.”

  He did think, for just a moment, his mouth curving into a frown. Then he shook off his thoughts and had the gall to say, “All will be well, Lady Judith. You will see.”

&nbs
p; She tossed up her hands in frustration and took the last steps to the stream. A splash of cold water drew the heat from her face but did nothing to ease her upset. Oswuld allowed her a moment of privacy to care for bodily necessities before they returned to the campsite.

  The men sat near the fire, watching the roasting rabbits turn brown. Oswuld guided her to a nearby boulder, where she perched to wait for her share of the meal. Her stomach grumbled loudly, but no one paid it any heed. Mercy, the meat was taking a long time to cook. She dragged her attention away from the juice that dripped and hissed in the fire.

  “You owe me an explanation, Thurkill,” she said.

  Scrunched down beside the fire, Thurkill gave the rabbit another turn before answering. “I do at that, Lady Judith, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to give it.” He stood and scratched at his beard. “Where to start?”

  “You might begin with why I have been abducted.”

  Thurkill smiled. “To make you our queen, of course.”

  “What?” she blurted out.

  “You find that hard to believe?”

  “‘Tis possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” she said, voicing her immediate reaction.

  “But true, I promise you.”

  Judith opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again. Her reasoning simply wasn’t keeping up with this absurd conversation. A queen, indeed! She thought back on all of the assumptions she’d made today about these men and their purpose. Obviously, she’d missed some vital link in her conclusions.

  “Queen of what?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “England.”

  She leaned forward. “England already has a queen-my aunt Matilda.”

  “Matilda will no longer be queen when Henry is no longer king. His reign will end soon if all goes well.”

  Judith trembled with horror. Thurkill calmly, with a smile on his face, spoke treason.

  She could manage no more than a choked whisper. “You intend to displace King Henry.”

  “And put a Saxon on the throne.” Thurkill’s smile faded. “These Normans have ruled our land far too long. We intend to send them all back to Normandy and reclaim the lands they stole from us at the Conquest.”