By Queen's Grace Page 7

  “You have proven yourself untrustworthy, my lady. We will go back into the bushes a ways. I will not watch you change your garments, but neither will I allow you to wander far from my side.”

  Judith shoved the gown into his arms. “Then I will not put this on. Duncan stole it, let him wear it.”

  Thurkill leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Either change into the gown yourself, or I will do it for you.”

  “You would not dare!”

  “Would I not?”

  Corwin sighed inwardly and gave up on his chore. He stood up and sheathed the sword.

  “This is the way you show me every consideration?” Judith shouted.

  “I attempt to, my lady, but you try my patience at every turn,” Thurkill rejoined, shoving the gown back at Judith. “Now change, either out here in the open where we can all see, or far back in the woods with only me for company and a rope tied to your arm so I know where you are!”

  Corwin joined the combatants, who were getting nowhere on their own. “Just make Judith talk the whole time, Thurkill. If you can hear her, you will know where she is.”

  “Talk about what?” Judith asked, incredulous.

  “Describe the plants and trees you see,” he suggested. “Or simply continue to complain. You do so rather well and loudly.”

  “She does that!” Thurkill agreed.

  Corwin ignored the glare Judith aimed at him. Sensing Thurkill’s softening of temper, he continued, “Or she might sing. Since Judith has a lovely speaking voice I would think she can manage a song. Unless, of course, she cannot hit a note squarely. Then I would rather listen to her complain.”

  “A song,” Thurkill said in a wistful tone. “Can you sing, my lady?”

  “Certes, I can,” she huffed. “But I will not serve as your evening’s entertainment.”

  Thurkill shrugged as if he weren’t disappointed. “Then think of something to say and go change. Do not go far, and be aware that the moment I cannot hear you I will come looking for you.”

  Judith’s brow scrunched in thought. Then she smiled, too wickedly for comfort, and flounced into the woods. When just out of sight, she began a wholly unexpected recitation in Norman French. The minx! Corwin pursed his lips tightly to hold back laughter.

  “What is she saying?” Thurkill asked.

  “She recitesBeowulf,” Corwin said, his grin spreading despite his best efforts.

  “Beowulf?” Thurkill exclaimed, frowning. “Why in French?”

  Judith, too, must have noticed her captors didn’t understand the language, and so could take no pleasure in the story’s telling. “Well, shedid say she wouldn’t be your entertainment.”

  “Humph,” Thurkill uttered. Slowly, a smile lit his face. “An imp, she is. Ah, if I were younger…”

  Judith interrupted her tale to call out, “Can you hear me?”

  “Aye,” Thurkill answered.

  “Can you see me?”

  “Nay.”

  Judith resumed the story and, Corwin imagined, began to remove the nun’s robe. She would gather fistfuls of the black robe and pull the garment up over her head, baring her body to the fading sunlight and warm breeze. Or did she wear a shift of fine white linen to protect her smooth, silken skin from the coarser wool?

  He’d touched her but the once, this morning when halting her escape. When placing his hands on her shoulders, his fingers had momentarily brushed against her neck. Corwin didn’t think she’d noticed his swift physical reaction, or how he’d struggled to focus on his purpose. If Thurkill hadn’t come along. But he had, thank the fates.

  After turning Judith around, he’d shoved her much harder than necessary, more to break contact with her than for Thurkill’s benefit.

  He must keep duty foremost in his mind. Not allow Judith’s dove-gray eyes to distract him from his purpose. Ignore the apology that explained why she’d once turned him aside, an apology that may have been sincere and only delivered poorly. He shouldn’t be standing here wondering if Judith, this moment, stood gloriously naked within hearing distance.

  “Thurkill, I know where we can get a horse for Judith.”

  “I am not sure I want her to have one. I shudder to think of how far we will have to chase her if she decides to take off again.”

  Corwin could understand Thurkill’s hesitancy, but when the right time came, a successful escape might depend upon Judith having a horse.

  “Mayhap if she is not so sore at day’s end her disposition would sweeten. Besides, if this journey will be as long as I think it will, ‘tis asking much of your mount to carry the two of you the whole way.”

  Thurkill’s eyes narrowed. “Think you know, do you?”

  “Only time will prove me right or wrong. In the meantime, I know of a baron who lives north of Oxford who raises fine horses. I can purchase one of them for Judith.”

  “Buy? You carry so great a sum?”

  “‘Twill nearly empty my purse, but I should have enough.”

  “Humph. How do I know you will not give us away somehow?”

  “Send Duncan or Oswuld with me. Either one could act as my squire and report my every move and word to you.”

  Thurkill grimaced as though pained, and rubbed at the area just below his ribs. “I will think on it.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nay, I just need something to eat.”

  Oswuld came toward them, a metal cup in his hand. He gave it to Thurkill, who drank it without comment. Only the scrunch of Thurkill’s nose told Corwin that the cup contained something other than ale or water. Something bitter. A potion?

  The melodic sound of Judith’s voice drew Corwin’s attention away from father and son. Her recital became louder, then stopped abruptly as she came out of the woods. Gray suited her coloring better than black. The lighter gown hugged her body more closely than the heavy robe.

  Judith would be beautiful if draped in a flour sack.

  She wore a shift. A narrow band of white hung below the hem of the gown. She hadn’t bared her naked body to the sunlight and breeze. Knowing she’d remained covered didn’t completely banish the erotic vision that had formed in his head.

  “North of Oxford, you say?”

  Corwin dragged his attention back to Thurkill. “We shall be near the castle by midmorn, I should think.”

  Thurkill swirled the potion in his cup. “Oswuld goes with you.”

  “Nay, I should go,” Duncan protested. “Oswuld is too trusting. He would not know the baron’s men were about to seize him until the deed was done.”

  “I would not send my son to a Norman holding if I thought he would be seized,” Thurkill said quietly. “Besides, on the morrow you go into Oxford for supplies. I tire of rabbit and squirrel.”

  He quaffed the last dregs from his cup. To Corwin’s surprise, Judith snatched the cup from the old man’s hand. She sniffed at it, then stared at Thurkill for a long time. To his further amazement, she neither threw the nun’s robe at Thurkill nor railed at the old man who she normally upbraided at every turn.

  Instead, she returned the cup to Thurkill and very quietly asked, “What will you and I do while the others are off on their errands?”

  “Mayhap, if I plead sweetly, your ladyship will consent to recite Beowulf for me in a language I understand.”

  “I think not,” she said, and walked off.

  Thurkill followed at her heels, suggesting she consider Song of Roland, leaving Corwin to wonder what the hell had just happened.

  What had Judith detected in the cup to affect her attitude so forcefully?

  Chapter Six

  The following morning, with Oswuld as his companion, Corwin headed for a manor belonging to an ally of Gerard of Wilmont.

  “Who is this man we go to see?” Oswuld asked.

  “Perrin de Saville, Lord of Aimsley.”

  “A Norman.”

  Corwin noted Oswuld’s worry. “All you need do is sit tight and let me do the talking. All will be well.”

/>   Oswuld didn’t look so sure, and Corwin couldn’t blame him. There was much to worry over if something went wrong. For his part in the kidnapping, Oswuld could hang if caught. However, Corwin didn’t want Oswuld riding into Aimsley looking as if he might bolt at any moment.

  “We probably will not deal with de Saville. Most likely he is at court and leaves Sedrick, his steward, in charge.” When that had no effect, Corwin tried another tack. “Oswuld, your father would not have allowed you to come with me if he believed you would not return.”

  “Father is beginning to trust you. I hope his faith is warranted.”

  “Well, he does have Duncan to remind him to have a care.”

  Oswuld’s worried expression eased into a faint smile. “Aye, there is always Duncan, who-trusts no one, not even Father, I wager.”“

  And you?”

  “I will go along with whatever Father decides.”

  Corwin reined his horse to a stop, the better to question Oswuld.

  “Over the past days I have noticed several things about this little band of ours. I gather your father joined the rebellion because he would prefer the rule of a Saxon king. Duncan simply hates Normans and anyone closely connected with them. But you.you do not seem to care. True?”

  “True enough.”

  “Then why bother to join the rebellion?”

  Oswuld shifted in his saddle. “When Father got it into his head to join, my brother and I discussed it. It seemed best if he stayed behind to look after.our interests and I go with Father.”

  Interests? A farm? Nay, more likely a place of business. Corwin could easily see Thurkill as a merchant of some sort. His other son, likely the elder, had stayed behind to mind the family’s finances, sending the younger to look after their father.

  Corwin thought back on last night. Thurkill rubbing his chest. The potion Oswuld had given him. “Your father is ill, is he not?”

  “His heart ails him.”

  “Yet he risks his life.”

  Oswuld let his anger show. “Late one night a group of mercenaries downed a bit too much ale and talked of the rebellion they were on their way to join. After Father heard, nothing we said would stop him.”

  “So you take care of him.”

  “Someone must. He will not do so himself.”

  Corwin fought pangs of sympathy. During his own father’s last years, he’d needed care. Ardith had borne most of the burden, both before and after marrying Gerard. She’d been both bereft and relieved at their father’s death. As for himself, he’d grieved, but had the sole responsibility for Lenvil, and his other duties for Wilmont, to occupy his time and mind. Oswuld wouldn’t have those things, not with an older brother to inherit.

  Bah! Corwin mustn’t let his feelings become entangled with these men. They were rebels, bent on taking over the kingdom. Men, women and children would suffer-and die-if war came. Peasants more than the nobility.

  He kicked his horse into motion, realizing Judith already knew about Thurkill’s ailment. Last eve, after taking a sniff of the potion in Thurkill’s cup, she’d stopped shouting at him, as was her habit. A reminder to her, too, about becoming involved wouldn’t be amiss.

  Corwin had no sooner passed through Aimsley’s gate when Sedrick, the short, paunchy steward, scurried across the bailey to greet him.

  “Hail, Sedrick!” Corwin shouted in English, hoping the steward would follow his lead. He wanted Oswuld to understand every word said to report to Thurkill. To his relief, Sedrick answered in kind.

  “Corwin, lad, there you are! Do you know that most of the shire is looking for you?”

  Damn, so word had spread. It didn’t surprise him. Judith’s kidnapping would be juicy news, retold by travelers and peddlers as they went from town to manor to castle. The sheriff had probably also sent messengers to the larger towns and more important personages in the area, alerting officials to be on the lookout for a royal heiress. Corwin just hadn’t expected the news to travel this far so quickly.

  Corwin dismounted and tried to make light of the situation. “Surely, Sedrick, not most of the shire. How did you hear?”

  “The sheriff himself was here yesterday, told us of the woman being kidnapped and that you were on the hunt. Did you find her yet?”

  Yesterday? The sheriff moved fast-too fast.

  “I am getting close, which is why I came to you. I need another horse, and next to Wilmont stock, Aimsley’s is the best. What have you that is fit for a royal heiress to ride?”

  Sedrick’s mouth widened to a toothy grin. “There is a mare that will do. Sleek and swift What you are after, right?”

  “Dare I hope for gentle, too?”

  “Come look.”

  Leading his horse through the busy bailey toward the stables, Corwin followed Sedrick-who looked at him strangely, then laughed.

  “What is this? You grow a beard?”

  Corwin rubbed at the growth on his face. When he didn’t think about it, it didn’t feel strange. He hadn’t scraped his face in several mornings, thinking if he, too, sported a beard, he might fit in with his fellow Saxons better.

  Had Judith noticed? Did she approve or not?

  “Since embarking on this quest, I have had little time to eat or sleep, much less scrape my whiskers,” he told Sedrick, who seemed to accept the explanation.

  “Who is the lad?” Sedrick asked.

  Corwin glanced back at Oswuld who, thankfully, didn’t look ready to bolt. “Tracker.”

  Sedrick nodded his approval, then pointed to a mare at the far end of the paddock. “Will she suit your purpose?”

  Oh, the mare would suit wonderfully. She was sleek and firmly muscled, with a coat more red than brown, a mane

  of shiny ebony. Judith would be thrilled.

  “She is truly a beauty,” Corwin commented. “I imagine de Saville asks a fortune for her.”

  “He does,” Sedrick acknowledged. “However, considering your purpose, I am sure my lord would be willing to give you the use of her.” He chuckled. “If you do not return her in good order, he can always send a debt collector to seek payment from Gerard of Wilmont.”

  And Gerard would pay whatever price asked, with no hesitation, when given the reason for the purchase.

  “Throw in a saddle and you have a bargain.”

  “Done.” Sedrick shouted at a stable boy to saddle the mare, then said, “My lord might also be willing to lend you a few of his knights.”

  A generous offer, and one Corwin was tempted to take. He could leave Oswuld under guard here, and with a few knights, capture Thurkill and Duncan and force the two to lead them to the rebel encampment.

  Could they be forced? Duncan would slit his own throat first, or fight until someone had to kill him. Thurkill would likely lead a company of knights on a merry chase all over England. Nay, without knowledge of where the rebel encampment might be, the easiest and fastest way to learn the encampment’s whereabouts was to proceed with the plan he’d already set in motion.

  Corwin shook his head. “I thank you for the offer, but believe I can travel more quickly without them. Tell me, has the sheriff a large company with him?”

  “Twelve men, if I remember aright.”

  “Has he searched Oxford yet? I thought to, but if he already has, I will pass by the city and return to the countryside.”

  “I believe he planned to do so today.”

  While the sheriff searched the town, Corwin and the rebels could ride swiftly north. The irony-that he was thinking like a brigand running from the law-struck him as both uncomfortable and funny. But if he wanted the rebels to lead him to their camp, he must keep them from getting caught.

  Then he remembered. Duncan had gone into Oxford.

  Judith rose from where she sat as Corwin and Oswuld sped into the campsite. Both looked harried.

  Corwin led a magnificent mare. Dainty and sleek, reddish-brown in color, she tossed her black mane in protest at the sudden halt.

  “Has Duncan returned?” Corwin call
ed out.

  “Not as yet,” Thurkill answered.

  “Damn,” Corwin said softly as both he and Oswuld dismounted.

  “Is something amiss?”

  “Aye. The sheriff is in Oxford.”

  Judith half listened to the details of Oswuld’s report on how Corwin had obtained the horse and learned of the sheriff’s whereabouts. She ignored the discussion that followed over whether or not to wait for Duncan. She’d become much too engrossed with the beautiful horse meant for her.

  The last time she’d been on a horse of this quality she’d been a young girl. Her father kept a stable of fine horses, and she’d been allowed to ride any she thought she could handle. She ran a hand down the mare’s sleek neck, remembering a gallop over the moors on another mare of fleet foot and high spirits. So long ago.

  She hadn’t thought of those days in so very long. Of her parents. Of a large, busting manor on a holding where she knew everyone and everyone knew her. Of feasts held in celebration of one thing or another, and afterward gossiping and giggling with her female cousins when they should have been sleeping.

  Of home.

  Judith dashed away the tear forming in the corner of her eye. ‘Twasuseless to shed tears over a moment of silly sentiment.

  “Beautiful, is she not?” Corwin said.

  Judith gave him a smile. “Most beautiful. Your friend keeps a fine stable.”

  “Not my friend, but Gerard’s. And, aye, his stock is nearly as fine as that of Wilmont. Can you handle her?”

  “Oh, I believe I can. I admit it has been a long time since I rode a horse of spirit, but ‘tis a skill one never forgets.”

  “Hop up, then. Let us get the two of you acquainted.”

  She glanced over at Thurkill and Oswuld, who were watching from several paces off. Neither seemed ready to mount.

  “We leave?”

  “Not as yet. We will wait awhile more for Duncan.”

  “Mayhap the sheriff will capture him,” she said softly.

  Corwin chuckled. “Not likely, my lady: They look for three men and a woman, not a lone man who can blend in with the city folk.”

  Corwin boosted her into the saddle. Her gown had a generous skirt, but she had to pull it up some. Luckily, for modesty’s sake, the hem covered the very tops of her leather boots. Still, she could feel Corwin’s hands wrap around her ankles as he adjusted the stirrups.