By Queen's Grace (11 page)

Corwin leaned forward. “And I, Ruford, can help you
obtain that crown with less bloodshed. I know many of the Norman nobles, have visited their holdings. I can tell you whose forces are the weakest or strongest. In many cases, I can enter a keep without being questioned.”

“‘Tis true, my lord,”. Oswuld interjected. “When we bought Lady Judith’s mare, no one stopped us at the gate. Truth to tell, the steward greeted Corwin with pleasure by name, as one would a friend.”

“And think on this,” Corwin added. “I could lead a company of men right up to the doors of Westminster Palace or the royal residence in White Tower. I can damn near hand you the crown of England.”

An exaggeration, to be sure. The king’s guards were not so complacent. The lie, however, brought a spark of greed to Ruford’s eyes.

“My lord, I must protest-”

Ruford.cut off Duncan’s words with the wave of a hand. “I will hear more,” he said.

Corwin knew he had his man.

Judith lounged in the tub of steaming hot water, a jewelencrusted, gold goblet-nearly empty of wine-dangling from her fingers. She tried hard not to think about what could be happening in the great hall between Corwin and Ruford, tried to simply enjoy the luxury of a bath in a comfortable bedchamber. She was almost succeeding.

A tapestry depicting the hunt covered nearly a full wall of the chamber, overshadowing the large bed with its invitingly thick mattress, on which lay a huge bear pelt Her gaze skimmed over the heavy oak table, two chairs and a low-burning brazier. In the corner ofthe room stood an intricately carved chest, from which the maids had pulled an amber silk gown. She didn’t ask about the gown’s former
owner, fearing the woman had died, along with her husband.

Somehow, Ruford and his forces had managed to capture a Norman keep. Ruford wouldn’t have let the Normans go free, not if he wanted his shameful acts to remain secret.

When Corwin had asked her to think about who might be the leader of the rebellion, Ruford Clark’s name had been one of the first she’d come up with, then promptly discarded. Not only had she believed Ruford still in France, she simply hadn’t envisioned him as a man with the means to take on so grandiose an undertaking as the overthrow of England. Though Ruford could be charming, he didn’t have the forceful personality necessary to draw followers. She doubted he had the funds to pay them all. Unless, of course, Ruford had simply promised huge tracts of land to each of his soldiers. In land was power, and those who craved land would do most anything to get it.

If so, then these soldiers were fools. Once Ruford obtained England, he’d be loathe to give up a hide of land to anyone.

But then, Ruford would never sit on the throne, so all this conjecture was for naught.

All she need do was get through the next day or two until Corwin arranged their escape. Then they’d warn the kings of both England and Scotland, dooming Ruford’s rebellion.

Judith glanced over at Emma, a woman of about her own age, who sat on the bed and busily plied a needle and thread to the silk gown, taking tucks where necessary so the garment would better fit Judith’s form.

Nan, the older of the two maids, poured rose-scented oil into the bath. The aroma drifted up with the steam, filling Judith’s head with visions of a flower garden at summer’s height.

“Here now, my lady, you must not fall asleep,” Nan said kindly. “After your bath, his lordship wishes you to go down to the hall. The cooks are preparing a special meal to celebrate your arrival.”

Judith opened eyes that she hadn’t realized she’d closed-shouldn’t have closed. Though the maids seemed harmless enough, she shouldn’t let down her guard while in Ruford’s sphere.

Mercy, she shouldn’t be enjoying this pampering so much, either, but as Nan slid a brush through her freshly washed hair, Judith submitted without protest.

As Corwin had suggested would happen, these people treated her with all of the deference due her rank. A bath in scented water. A gown of silk. A feast prepared in her honor. Would there also be entertainment in the hall this night? Likely. Ruford wanted her to feel as if she were a guest, not a captive.

Her first inclination had been to rip Ruford apart for his presumption, to be uncooperative and let everyone know of her displeasure at being kidnapped and brought here against her will. As much as she wanted to rage, now that she knew the identity of the rebel leader, she thought better of it. She must be more subdued in her rebuke.

Acting the shrew would only grate against Ruford’s thin layer of patience. If he became angered, he might punish her by locking her away, which would only make it harder for Corwin to get to her when the time came for their escape. Having to be somewhat nice to Ruford galled her. She’d make no secret of her vexation at his high-handed tactics, but she wouldn’t invoke his temper, either.

Corwin and Ruford were down in the hall, supposedly talking about Corwin’s desire to join the rebellion. She heard no loud voices or clashes of steel coming up the stairway. A good sign.

Emma rose, shook out the gown and inspected her stitches, then held it out.

“‘Tis finished, my lady. What think you?”

“‘Twill do,” she said flatly, bringing a frown to Emma’s face.

“You are not pleased?”

The woman looked fairly crushed. Judith stopped herself from apologizing for hurting Emma’s feelings. She held out a hand toward the maid. “The chemise, if you will.”

Emma helped Judith into a chemise of fine white linen, then the gown of amber silk. Both felt smooth and soft against Judith’s skin, so different from rough peasant weave, but not comforting. She sat on a stool, allowing Nan to plait her hair and weave into it ribbons of the same color as the dress.

Emma fairly beamed. “Ah, my lady! You look just as a queen should. Lord Ruford will be so pleased!”

Judith doubted that Emma had ever seen the likes of a queen. As for Ruford’s pleasure, the man could go hang. Judith couldn’t help wonder, however, if Corwin might take notice of her much changed appearance.

Ever since the day of the kidnapping she hadn’t taken many pains with how she looked. Not that she could have, lacking so much as a brush for her hair. Neither her black nun’s robe nor the gray peasant gown had done a thing for her-but the amber silk did. The silk molded to her body in places the robe was designed to hide. The fabric moved in soft, subtle folds when she moved, unlike the shifting bulk of the peasant weave.

Her hair shone with renewed vibrance, reflecting the gleam of the amber ribbons, and felt as soft as the down on a duckling.

Such vanity, she chided herself, but not too harshly. For the first time in her life she wanted to look good to impress
a man. To draw his attention and hold it captive. See appreciation, perhaps desire in his eyes. For just one moment, she wanted to be the center of Corwin’s world, make him forget about his quest and see only her.

Emma and Nan looked at her with such pride in the changes they’d helped wrought, thinking she would be the woman to help their lord rule England. They wanted her to be their queen. ‘Twouldnever happen.

Yet the pretense might work to her advantage over the coming days. Just as had happened with her kidnappers, if Ruford thought her complacent, she might not be guarded tightly.

As for his followers, if they wanted a queen, Judith could give them one. Heaven knew she knew how, having had the best teacher-her Aunt Matilda, Queen of England, the woman these people wanted Judith to replace.

“G
or, and will you look at
her,”
one of the captains said.

Corwin noticed the sweet suffering in the man’s voice. Indeed, Ruford and all of his captains took note and looked toward the stairway.

Obviously, Judith had come into the hall.

A silence ensued, bordering on reverence. Corwin carefully steeled his resolve to show no untoward reaction to Judith. He shouldn’t even look, but couldn’t help himself.

Lovely. Delicate. Regal.
Each word accurately described the woman who stood at the bottom of the stairway.

Gowned in flowing amber silk, the vision that was Judith began a slow glide across the rushes toward the table where Corwin sat motionless, held captive by her beauty.

Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, Judith in her transformation was stunning. She’d been beautiful when draped in a nun’s robe, and no less lovely when garbed in rough peasant weave. The silk, however, hugged her body as none of her former garments had, revealing a shape molded to please the eye and invite a man’s hands.

Judith held her head high and her shoulders back. Her steps landed firmly. To those who shuffled aside to let her
pass, she gifted nearly imperceptible nods of acknowledgment, accompanied by a faint smile.

A smile to die for.

She approached the table. For a short, painful moment Corwin’s gaze locked with hers. Then he turned away, fearing she would see unerringly into the depths of his heart. She already possessed his loyalty and devotion. ‘Twould be foolhardy to let her know she could have far more.

‘Twould be foolhardy to allow the rebels to see how much he desired the woman Ruford planned to marry.

Ruford looked pleasurably stunned at the change in Judith’s appearance. He rose and held out his hand. “My lady, words fail me.”

“You may save your flattery for some other, Ruford,” she said. “I do not forget I am a prisoner here, not a guest.”

Ruford’s hand dropped back to his side. “Truly, my lady, you are my most welcome guest. Did your maids not perform their duties to your satisfaction? Is not the chamber given you one fit for a lady?”

“From the moment your men captured me I have been a prisoner. I spent several long, hard days on horseback on a journey I did not wish to make. You bring me here against my will. Did you expect me to be pleasant about it? Surely you did not believe a bath and a decent chamber would allay my distaste at being kidnapped!”

“Did not Thurkill tell you why?”

“Oh, he spouted some silliness about my becoming queen of England. Truly, I do wish you had chosen another and let me be.”

Judith flounced around Ruford, coming into Corwin’s line of sight. She knelt down in the rushes next to Thurkill, in flagrant disregard for her silk gown, and put a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.

“How fare you?” she asked.

“I will live,” he said.

Corwin wasn’t sure Thurkill would last the night. No physician had been summoned, leading him to believe there wasn’t one within the rebels’ encampment. A mark against Ruford. Every army should include several healers.

Judith beamed down at Thurkill. “I am gladdened to hear so. You and I have a score to settle, and I want you healthy enough to bear the brunt of my anger.”

Thurkill patted Judith’s hand. “Do not fight so hard, my lady. All will be well. You will see.”

“Thurkill speaks true,” Ruford said. “When our task is done, and you sit on England’s throne, I believe you will forgive us the inconvenience we caused you.”

Judith rose and sighed. “How many Saxon rebellions have there been over the decades? Three, mayhap four? I see no reason why yours should succeed where others failed.”

Lord, Corwin hoped Judith knew what she was doing. Hoped she knew Ruford well enough to know how far she could push him without drawing an angry response. To his relief, Ruford looked at her quizzically.

“Is that what bothers you? You think this rebellion will not succeed, that you will not obtain the crown? Believe me, my lady, I have studied those rebellions and know why they failed. I will not make the same mistakes.”

Judith crossed her arms. “I find that very hard to believe.”

Ruford smiled. “Then I shall endeavor to convince you. Come, our meal is nearly ready. Mayhap, over wine and venison, I can give you hope.”

Judith glanced around the table at the captains, at Corwin, but didn’t linger on any one man. “I did not mean to interrupt. You are finished here?”

“We can resume our talk after we eat.”

The captains rose from the benches at the dismissal. “My lord,” the more vocal of the captains said, “we have not decided Corwin’s fate.”

Corwin wondered why the man thought he had any say in the matter. True, Ruford had called the captains together, but from what he’d observed, concluded that the summons had been a token gesture. Only Ruford’s opinion mattered.

“For now, Corwin’s sword remains where it lies. He does not leave the confines of the hall,” Ruford said.

Corwin nodded slightly, an agreement to the terms.

The captains also nodded, then walked off toward tables already set with trenchers holding dark brown bread in preparation for the meal.

“Judith, you will join me at the high table,” Ruford said, his order given in a polite but firm tone.

For a moment, Corwin thought she might refuse. Instead, she looked down at Thurkill, her true worry apparent. “I will be back later,” she told him. “You had best be breathing.”

Thurkill managed a chuckle. “I shall do my best.”

Judith then set her features in regal indifference and walked off ahead of Ruford with the same poise she’d displayed earlier.

Alone now with only Thurkill and Oswuld, Corwin rolled his shoulders, easing the tension that had set hard in his muscles when entering the encampment.

He was still alive, and hopefully well on his way to acceptance, despite Duncan. Judith seemed to have found a way to cope with the situation, knew how to handle Ruford to her advantage. All in all, today had gone very well.

Oswuld got up and brushed pieces of broken rushes from his breeches. “I will fetch us something to eat,” he told Thurkill. “Are you up to more than broth?”

“Broth will do,” Thurkill said. “Bring food for Corwin, too. I am sure he would prefer to take his meal with us.”

As Oswuld turned to leave, Thurkill patted the rushes where his son had been sitting. “Come, Corwin. I imagine you now have more questions than when the meeting began. Where did we leave off?”

Corwin thought a moment. “When you and Oswuld came, this army was already in place.”

“Most of it, aye. Some came after us, but not many.”

Thurkill closed his eyes. Corwin wondered if he should continue or let the man rest. Except this might be his last chance to get answers from Thurkill.

“Among these men are brigands and mercenaries, those who look only for reward-like me. There are also men like you, who would truly like to oust the Normans and put a Saxon on the throne.” Corwin shrugged a shoulder. “Each man has his place in an army. So long as he wields a weapon with some skill and stands his ground in battle, it does not matter why he fights.”

“Aye, but fighting is easier when one has the skill to do it, good leaders to follow and hope of success. ‘Tis why I agreed to fetch Judith.”

“You just confused me, Thurkill. I cannot imagine Judith training or leading troops.”

“Nay, but besides reward or an ideal, men will also fight for someone they admire and respect. Men might fight to make Judith Canmore their queen. Especially if a strong, worthy Saxon stands by her side.”

Corwin wasn’t sure he succeeded in hiding his revulsion at the pairing of Judith with Ruford. But he saw Thurkill’s point. Out of respect and admiration alone, Corwin would fight for Gerard of Wilmont.

Dare he ask the question now uppermost in his mind? Would Thurkill give him an honest answer?

“Thurkill, do you truly consider Ruford a worthy Saxon?”

Thurkill sighed. “I believed so. But during our journey, away from the stronghold and Ruford’s influence, 1 had time and reason to rethink my beliefs. He does have noble blood, which works in his favor, but now I believe another man might be the better choice.”

“Who?”

Thurkill opened his eyes and turned his head slightly. His eyes were clear, his voice firm as he declared, “You.”

Shocked speechless, Corwin stared at the old man in utter disbelief, noting only on the edge of his awareness that Oswuld returned.

“From the look on Corwin’s face, I gather you told him,” Oswuld said, setting a large platter on the nearby table.

“I did,” Thurkill answered. “Here, help me sit up. My back is sore.”

“‘Twill take another hour off your life.”

“Son, I am dying. We both know it. At which hour no longer concerns me. Corwin, give me your hands.”

Still dazed, Corwin took Thurkill’s hands while Oswuld moved to support his father’s shoulders.

Once he was upright, the old man’s grimace turned to a smile. “Much better. Now I can drink my broth without it running down my chin.”

Corwin finally found his voice. “Surely you jest!”

Oswuld handed his father a tin cup. “You drink. I will talk,” he said, then sat on the other side of Thurkill’s pallet. “Father does not jest. He feels the force here may be large enough to take a holding or two, but not London. Others may yet come, rally to a Canmore. But this rebellion is doomed unless a strong leader takes it in hand.” Oswuld smiled wryly. “Too, we noted that you and Judith make a
handsome couple, and from the way you look at each other when you think no one sees, neither of you would oppose a marriage. She may have grown fond of Father, but she seeks you out when fearful or otherwise needs someone to talk to. She has forgiven you for not rescuing her, just as she no longer hates us for kidnapping her.”

Chagrined, Corwin said, “I thought I had hidden my attraction to her rather well.”

Oswuld shrugged, as if it mattered not. “I doubt that Duncan saw, and you must take care around Ruford. Be that as it may, Father feels that since you are willing to fight a war for the reward of Wilmont, he sees no reason why you should not take the entire prize-both the woman and the kingdom.”

Corwin shook his head. “You want me to begin a rebellion within a rebellion.”

Thurkill drank the last of his broth and handed the cup to Oswuld. “King Corwin and Queen Judith. Has a nice sound to it, do you not think?”

“I think you have gone mad, Thurkill.”

“Then think on it some more. Oswuld, wake me when the captains and Ruford return,” he ordered, then lay back down on the pallet.

Oswuld got to his feet. “Come to the table. Our food grows cold.”

On the platter lay two trenchers filled with chunks of meat covered with thick, brown gravy. While Oswuld tucked heartily into the meal, Corwin picked at his. His stomach hadn’t yet settled from the jolt of Thurkill’s suggestion.

At the dais, Judith sat next to Ruford, sharing his trencher. She looked neither happy nor unhappy-just sat, and ate, listening to whatever Ruford was saying. She should be here, next to him, sharing his trencher.

“Corwin, I should like to ask a favor of you.”

Corwin gave a burst of laughter. “I hesitate to ask what it is.”

“Nothing so profound as my father’s request, I assure you.”

“All right, what then?”

Oswuld took a deep breath. “After Father…dies, I want to bury him next to my mother. Some here will object to my leaving, even if I swear to tell no one of what I have seen or heard here, so I do not intend to tell them.”

Corwin wondered why Oswuld trusted him with his secret, but didn’t ask. The young man needed help now, not questions.

“You want me to help you find a way to get your father out of camp without being discovered.”

“I know the way of it,” he said. “What concerns me is what will happen when they realize I have left. I should like you to show me how to wield a sword as skillfully as you do.”

Corwin pushed aside his trencher, no longer interested in eating. He almost couldn’t believe that the answer to one of his main concerns might have just come his way.

“You know a way out of the encampment?”

“Aye.”

Dare he trust Oswuld with his own secret? If he had only himself to consider, he might, but with Judith’s safety involved, it might be best to wait before taking the risk.

But he could help Oswuld.

“I cannot teach you all I know within a practice session or two, but I can show you a few moves to give you some advantage over an opponent.”

“That is all I ask. My thanks.”

* * *

“You look delightful in that gown, my dear,” Ruford said. “The color suits you.”

Ruford’s effusive compliments were beginning to grate on Judith’s nerves. But then, Ruford had at least noticed the change. For all the reaction she’d received from Corwin, she may as well be draped in black robes. Still, she resisted the urge to ask Ruford if the gown’s color had also suited its former owner.

“I believe blue is a better color for me.”

“Then by all means, you shall have blue, in whatever fabric you fancy. The women in our court will follow your lead, and we shall look out from our thrones over a sea of blue.”

So far, she’d also managed to resist his attempts to elicit a smile or ignite a spark of interest in his plan to make her his queen. Throughout the meal he’d talked more than ate, feeding her while reflecting on how glorious her life would be when his rebellion ended.

No argument of hers could shake his confidence. Ruford hadn’t a doubt that the rebellion would succeed and he would be crowned king. He had even chosen the man he would name archbishop of Canterbury, who would thus preside over the coronation ceremony.

Ruford speared a tidbit of venison with his eating knife and brought it to her lips. Judith took the meat with her teeth, being careful not to touch the knife, avoiding the anticipated brush of his fingers against her cheek. He’d done so twice, bringing an embarrassed flush to her cheeks and a shot of revulsion to her stomach.

She truly hated sitting at the dais, next to Ruford. She would prefer to sit at the table at the far end of the hall, where Corwin and Oswuld now partook of their meal.