By Queen's Grace (20 page)

“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.

“Alain has been wonderful. He came up several times, said to tell you when you woke that your men are all cared for and anxious to see their commander recover. Matilda has visited often, as have Kester and Bronwyn.”

“Bronwyn?”

“Aye. She followed us by a day. When Gerard told her that her younger brother was about to make a splash at court, she could not stay away.”

“Sounds like my sister.”

Judith laughed lightly. “She is unique, and quite lovable. Oh, and Kester, bless him, had the foresight to send a messenger to Wilmont to tell Ardith why her arm pained her. I sent another this morning to let her know your fever broke.”

He’d have to send yet another message to Ardith, apologizing profusely for not having his chain mail on. But then, he hadn’t been expecting a battle of weapons with Ruford, only a battle of wits with Henry.

Corwin heard the strength returning to Judith’s voice. He almost hated to question her, but he’d lost two days he couldn’t afford to lose, not if he hoped to win her.

“What of Ruford?”

“Dead. Hanged himself in a Tower cell. Several of the lords who were involved with Ruford were here at court, Henry thinks to make a concerted move. They are now in the White Tower, and troops have been sent to fetch the others.” She lifted her head. “Clovis of Norgate was a conspirator, but he began to weaken in his resolve, so they killed him and made his keep Ruford’s stronghold.”

“Word of the rebellion is out, then?”

“Not really. Henry has taken care to keep it secret until all of the conspirators are captured.”

Corwin brushed at a tendril of her hair. “And what of us?”

She smiled. “Matilda was right. Henry is inclined to approve our marriage, and has sent to King Alexander for consent. Once we have it, all we need do is placate a few of the noisier Norman nobles.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Perhaps, but Matilda thinks it possible.” She huffed. “These Normans are an unusual lot. Do you know, some of them do not believe you are ill? They wonder if I have not locked myself in these chambers so I can have my wicked way with you whenever I wish.”

A truly sterling notion. “Since I am no longer sick, what say we prove them right?”

“Your arm-”

“Will heal. I need you more than I need the arm.”

“The platter.”

Corwin gave it a shove off the bed. “What else?”

With a wicked little smile, she said; “My gown.”

With the gown, he needed her help. The spirit was willing but the arm was weak-but only the arm. He was as randy and ready as a stud stallion by the time she lay naked next to him.

Between kisses and gentle touches, he told her, “In this very bed, Gerard and Ardith first loved.”

“Did they?” she said a bit breathlessly. ‘Twould not take long to make Judith ready, thank goodness, and she would have to do most of the work. He didn’t think she’d mind.

“Aye. Gerard moved Ardith in here with him and they rarely came out. ‘Twas a shock to all at court, and many speculated on what they did all day, and all night.”

Her hand drifted down to stroke and pet him to madness.

“And what did they do?”

“Made love. Talked and got to know one another well. Made love. Gerard taught Ardith how to wield a dagger. Made love.”

“I know how to wield a dagger.”

“Then make love to me. Come atop.”

Judith obeyed swiftly, coming astride him and taking him into her in one fluid motion.

“And they are now wed, and happy beyond reason,” she said, tossing her head back, giving in to the motion he guided with his hands on her hips. “‘Tis a good omen, is it not?”

She lost it then, melting around him.

He didn’t believe in omens, only in hard work and duty, and now love. If the ecstasy on her face was an omen, however, aye, ‘twas a good one.

Corwin gave himself over to his release, hoping to God Judith was right.

“N
early time, Judith. Are you prepared?” Matilda asked.

Judith turned from the window to face her aunt. Ever since Corwin’s fever had vanished-five interminable days ago-Queen Matilda had insisted Judith reside in the ladies’ solar within the royal chambers. Corwin had agreed, although reluctantly, hoping their obedience to royal dictates might aid their cause with King Henry.

So she’d gone along with it, and wished she hadn’t. She’d seen little of Corwin. Their formerly long talks had been reduced to mere greetings in passageways or short visits under the watchful eyes of others-touches forbidden. ‘Twas for the best, she supposed, to placate and silence a rumor-filled court. Still, she missed Corwin more than she could bear.

And Corwin missed her, too. She could see his growing impatience, hear it in his voice. If she didn’t do something, and soon, Corwin would take action. He would confront the king and demand his due, and that could be disastrous.

This eve, with the aid of the queen, if all went well, the waiting would be over-with Corwin safe. Judith would
finally be free to love him as she wished to-forever and without restraint.

“As prepared as I can be with shaking hands,” she confessed.

“Understandable. ‘Tis rare for you to perform for so

lofty and large an audience.” Matilda brushed a wisp of stray hair back into Judith’s braid. “You must only remember to sing with your heart, and you will do well. Is all arranged with Lady Bronwyn?”

Judith smiled, thinking of Bronwyn’s overjoyed eagerness to conspire with Judith and Matilda. “Aye. She is

most willing. to help and knows her part. She cannot wait

to give Corwin his gift.”

Matilda laughed lightly. “I imagine. She has been angry about Henry’s stalling. We now know King Alexander will abide by Henry’s decision. All of the lords who are suspected of being involved in the rebellion are locked in the White Tower. There is no longer a need for secrecy except in Henry’s concern for his nobles’ reaction. Between you and Bronwyn, by the end of the night, only the most petty will dare voice an objection.”

“Bronwyn will not get into any trouble, will she?”

Matilda shook her head. “Nay. Henry will know who to blame, and the worst he can do to me is send me back to Romsey Abbey. A punishment I shall gladly undertake.”

The nobles knew of Corwin’s rescue of Judith Canmore,

but nothing of the rebellion-by strict order of the king.

Tonight, they would know all.

“I just hope Henry does not send me back to the abbey.”

Matilda smiled. “Have faith, my dear. Remember that all of the men who have shared your trencher lately are prospective husbands. That should both set your resolve and calm your shaking hands.”

‘Twould help.

Judith grabbed the harp Matilda had gifted her with and followed the queen out of the palace and across the yard to Westminster Hall.

She made straight for the dais, bowed to King Henry, then took her chair. After giving a brief greeting to the man seated next to her, a baron, or so she thought, Judith sought out Corwin.

Near midhall, looking more handsome than ever, he hovered about the seat he would take at the trestle table that stretched down the length of the room. Upon his recovery, Corwin had trimmed his hair and shaved his beard, to better fit in with the Normans. This eve he wore a rich dalmatic of scarlet and gold. With his confident bearing and knowledge of court manners, Corwin looked more like a Norman baron than a Saxon knight.

Bronwyn was nowhere to be seen. Her husband, Kester, sitting high near the dais, knew of their plans and didn’t look worried. A good sign.

Servants began streaming into the hall, bearing platters of food and flagons of wine and ale.

Her stomach churning with nervousness, Judith ate little, and did her best to converse with her supper companion. All the while, a song ran through her head-the tale of a hero of the realm that only she could tell.

When at long last the platters had been cleared from the king’s table, when only flagons and goblets of wine remained, Queen Matilda leaned over to whisper to her husband. Judith reached down for her harp.

Smiling broadly, Henry stood and held his hands up for silence. “Ladies and lords,” Henry said in the booming voice that belied his size. “Lady Judith has agreed to grace us with a tale.”

Sounds of approval rippled through the hall. Judith rose and moved to a chair at the side of the dais, praying her
tale pleased more than the king. She must convince the nobles of the court that her knight was worthy of an heiress.

Lovely as ever.
The thought flitted through Corwin’s head as he watched Judith adjust the harp in her lap.

The man who’d shared her trencher this eve, the fifth man in as many days, thought so, too. His eyes had devoured Judith even as he’d eaten his meal. Corwin’s fist yearned to connect with the man’s leering gaze, but flattening a baron in full view of everyone would only get him arrested and tossed in a Tower cell.

Tonight, after the evening meal, his suffering would end. At Corwin’s insistence, Kester had arranged an audience with King Henry. Purposely, he’d put on a dalmatic of scarlet and gold, Wilmont’s colors, to remind Henry of the powerful baron Corwin served, and had prepared a retort for every objection Henry might voice.

And if Henry denied him, both his and Judith’s horses were well rested and waiting in the stables. He knew of a remote manor where they could hide until Henry came around. And if Henry didn’t, well, he hoped Judith didn’t object to an extended visit to Italy.

Either way, from this day forward Judith would share a trencher only with him.

Every eye in the hall gazed at Judith. Silence reigned but for the sweet strains of the harp. Then Judith’s voice rang out, clear and strong.

“‘Tis a new tale I give you, of a hero, and a villain, and the struggle between them. A tale of honor, of duty, of love.”

Judith looked at him then, gazed straight into his eyesand smiled.

A cold shiver ran up his spine.
She wouldn’t.

Every fear Corwin had ever known paled beside the terror clenching his heart as she began her tale. Of a lady
kidnapped from an abbey and the rough men who held her captive. Of the daring knight who rode to her rescue.

Corwin prayed as he’d never prayed before that she would stop there. But she went on, putting herself squarely between him and the king and the court. He didn’t want to think about what punishment she might suffer for so boldly defying the king’s wish for silence on the rebellion.

Corwin knew what she was doing, and he couldn’t allow her to take the risk. If the silence was to be broken, then he would do it. If there was a punishment to be handed down, he would take it. But as he put his goblet aside, intending to interrupt Judith’s tale, Corwin looked at the king’s face and didn’t move. Never had Corwin seen Henry quite so enthralled, as was the rest of the court.

With an expression of voice that was Judith’s alone, she wove the threads of the tale into a beautiful tapestry-a tale of betrayal and rebellion against the crown. Of Corwin’s decision not to rescue Judith, but to risk his life to save a kingdom, to protect a king.

As Judith moved through the days of the ordeal, Corwin once again stood before her and told her of his plan, and heard once more her words of trust. He relived the hard days and uneasy nights of their journey, heard his vow to keep Judith safe-and of his promise of escape, to take her to safety, to warn his king of the danger to the throne.

Once more he fought Duncan, refusing to enter the rebel stronghold blinded, yet went in without his sword, risking certain death if unmasked by the rebel leader-Ruford Clark.

She told all-of how Ruford recognized Corwin’s courage and so admired his skill with a sword he agreed to grant a large reward if he’d train the rebel soldiers. Of the rebel captain who offered Corwin the rebel army, and the
throne, if only he would take it. And Corwin refused, for he loved his king.

Of the night of the escape, of how he’d taken Judith from the stronghold to a place of safety. Of how he’d loved her all the night long, giving her comfort and relinquishing his heart.

Of the brief stop at Wilmont, and then the ride to London.

Of the attack on Wilmont’s troops, of Corwin’s wounding and yet bringing Ruford into the hall to toss at the king’s feet. Of Corwin refusing the king’s reward, asking instead for a desire of the heart, and collapsing into fever.

‘Twas their tale she told, and yet, if he separated himself

from it, ‘twas also a tale for the ages.

Judith hit a resounding chord, and let it fade away.

While all around him began to stir, coming out of the enchantment Judith had cast on them, Corwin stared at Henry. The king glanced at his queen, a wry smile upon his face. Matilda merely lifted a shoulder and smiled back.

From the far reaches of the hall came a man’s voice. “Lady Judith, you must finish!”

Judith smiled indulgently. “I am not at liberty to divulge the rest without the king’s consent.”

“You could, at the very least, add that Corwin survives!”

To the laughter of the court, Judith said, “Aye, he does survive, much to my relief and joy.”

“The reward!” called another. “Surely you can tell us of the reward.”

And yet another chimed, “Aye, the reward! Majesty, the man deserves his reward!”

A clamor rose, from cups banging on tables. Nobles and servants alike demanded a reward for the hero of the realm.

King Henry rose slowly from his chair, bringing an end to the noise. Corwin held his breath.

“‘Tis true, Corwin of Lenvil deserves a reward, and a rich one, for no one else in this hall or without has, with only his wits and the edge of his sword, ended a bloody war before it could begin. Every one of us owes him a debt of gratitude.”

Henry paused and with narrowed eyes, waved a hand at Corwin. “But as Lady Judith told you, this man, whose devotion to duty and love of his king we celebrate this eve, has spurned the land and coin offered and asked for another prize. ‘Tis unusual, and rich, and within my power to grant. Shall I give it to him? Shall I give Corwin of Lenvil his heart’s desire?”

The court’s frenzied agreement was both immediate and ear shattering.

King Henry raised his hands for silence. “Lady Judith, finish your tale,” he commanded.

Judith picked up her harp. “All of it, sire?”

“Aye. ‘Tis time the court knew who among them sought to betray them.”

Judith tilted her head. “And the reward?”

“‘Tis also your tale, Judith. Give it the ending you wish.”

Corwin closed his eyes, hardly daring to believe his ordeal had come to an end. Judith had done it-brought a court to its knees, all with a harp and a song.

He wasn’t naive. He knew that on the morrow, or even later this eve, some of those nobles who’d gotten caught up in the tale and resulting frenzy would come to their senses and complain to Henry. Henry would, however, simply remind them that any objection should have been voiced earlier.

When again Corwin looked at the woman he loved beyond
his own life, she’d begun to strum at the harp strings. Again she sang, of Ruford’s cowardly suicide, of the seven lords now locked in the tower for aiding the ignoble Ruford’s quest to wear the crown of England.

Then tears welled in the silver eyes that gazed deep into his, but her voice never faltered as, in her song, King Henry granted Corwin the desire of his heart-the hand of Lady Judith Canmore.

In the shocked silence, Corwin heard from far back in the hall the unmistakable whoosh of wings and the tinkle of bells. A peregrine falcon glided through the hall, its wingspan wider than the trestle table, trailing scarlet ribbons and golden bells. Corwin recognized it as one of Wilmont’s. He’d taken a swan with it not a month ago.

The magnificent bird swooped along the length of the table. As it approached the dais, it screeched and flew sharply upward to the vaulted rafters high above, there to circle.

Before Corwin had even wondered how the bird came to be in Westminster Hall, King Henry stood up and shouted with ire. “Lady Bronwyn, what is the meaning of this?”

Corwin’s head snapped to where his sister, smiling hugely, flounced forward from the far end of the hall, in one of her highly decorated gowns, a leather glove on her hand.

“A gift, sire,” Bronwyn called, “from Gerard of Wilmont to Corwin of Lenvil on the occasion of his worthy vassal’s betrothal to Lady Judith Canmore. Her new master has but to call the falcon to claim her.”

His heart so full of joy he could hardly contain it, Corwin snatched a tidbit of venison from his trencher, then leaped up on the trestle table, thrust his arm in the air and whistled thrice.

The falcon made a steep dive for his arm. Corwin tensed for the landing, giving a brief thought to sharp talons, then decided he didn’t give a damn for his garment or arm. She landed as she always did, with force and a cry of triumph. Corwin gave the falcon her tidbit and wrapped the ribbons loosely about his arm.

He leaped down, only to be hit with force again, this time from Judith. Corwin wrapped his free arm around his heart’s true desire, nuzzled the silky strands of her hair and whispered in her ear.

“My dearest, sweetest love, you and I must have a talk about these tales you tell. First, however, we must thank the king.”

She sighed and looked up at him. “I gather I am in for a lecture. But I cannot care, for now we
can
talk-and more.”

Corwin wanted nothing more than to take Judith and the falcon and run from the hall with both. But he couldn’t, not without a word to Henry. The king may have been pressed into a decision, but he didn’t look unhappy about it. Indeed, Henry looked with open admiration at the falcon.

Corwin then realized why Gerard had sent the bird. Not for him, but for the king-an appeasement. Though Corwin coveted the falcon, Henry had given him Judith, and Corwin certainly didn’t mind giving up one to have the other.

Besides, he knew who he could talk out of another one.