By Queen's Grace (3 page)

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 of
them?”

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.

Corwin 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.

J
udith’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 onto
it.

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.”

“I
wish
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.”

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.”

Unthinkable. Impossible! “You would need a vast army, well armed and trained and-”

“Aye, my lady, and a man capable of leading our army to victory. We have the leader and are amassing the army.”

“Who would dare.?”

“I cannot tell you, not until we reach the safety of his holding,” he said, and turned back to his rabbits.

Judith’s thoughts churned, not wanting to settle on her part in these men’s plans. But once it gelled, she felt compelled to confirm it.

“This leader of yours, ‘tis he you wish me to wed.”

Thurkill looked up at her. “He is of noble Saxon blood, but not royal. Marriage to you will strengthen his claim to the throne, make the shift of power more acceptable to the royal houses of other countries.”

The royal house of Scotland would be the first to come to England’s aid. “Acceptable to my uncle Alexander, you mean.”

“And others.”

“‘Tis a foolhardy undertaking.”

“‘Tis England’s only hope.”

Judith closed her eyes and drew a long breath. Thurkill wouldn’t be moved by her arguments, nor would the other men. If they’d followed Thurkill on this villainous adventure to capture her-to make her their queen, of all the ridiculous notions-they must believe in the rightness of what they did.

“My lady?”

Judith opened her eyes to see Thurkill standing before her, holding out a chunk of rabbit. Absently, she accepted it and took a small bite. Her hunger had vanished, but she needed to eat, if only to bolster her strength for the ordeal ahead. Mercy, she must not only find a way to escape, but to quickly warn the kings of both England and Scotland of the impending uprising.

She glanced from Thurkill-who’d taken a seat on the log she’d abandoned earlier-to Oswuld and Duncan. They all tucked into their portions of meat as if there would be no meal on the morrow, as most soldiers did. And these men were soldiers, though they fought for a hopeless cause.

Normans had ruled England for more than four decades, held every high position in the land, owned nearly every inch of England. Dislodging the Normans wouldn’t take an army, ‘twould take a miracle, and miracles came few and far between.

The meat went down hard and sat as a solid lump in her stomach, but she finished her portion. She turned to toss the bones in the fire, praying for her own small miracle.

Thurkill gasped. Duncan leaped upward.

“Sit you back down or your leader dies,” commanded a male voice with steady and calm authority.

Recognition thrummed through her. She’d never forgotten
the sound of that voice, the deep, smooth tones of a courageous, handsome knight. Even as she looked to confirm the man’s identity, she wondered if her sight deceived her.

Corwin!
She would know his handsome visage and azure-blue eyes anywhere. He wore no helmet, leaving his shoulder-length brown hair free to frame his high cheekbones and strong, clean-shaven chin.

His highly polished chain mail reflected the orange rays of the setting sun, giving him an aura of breathtaking power. The hilt of his sword flashed from where it rested in the scabbard at his waist. He was a sight to behold, to be sure.

With one hand twisted into Thurkill’s hair, the other holding a dagger pressed hard to the helpless man’s throat, Corwin stared hard at Duncan.

Very slowly, Duncan obeyed Corwin’s command, resuming his seat on the forest floor.

Judith stood up, her heart beating so fast she nearly fainted. By the grace of God, Corwin had found her. Rescue was at hand.

“If everyone remains calm, we may avoid bloodshed,” Corwin said. “Especially yours, Thurkill. My dagger is sharp, and I have yet to decide whether or not to let you live.”

To Corwin’s relief, Thurkill remained tense but didn’t move. Killing the brigands’ leader wasn’t part of hisplan, a plan that had changed in extreme measure when he’d overheard the rebels’ treasonous intention to overthrow the king of England.

Throughout the day he’d trailed this band with every intention of snatching Judith from her abductors. They hadn’t been difficult to track, and had given him the opportunity.
But now, with a kingdom at stake, he couldn’t carry through.

Judith stood across the campsite, a smile gracing her lovely mouth. Wisps of hair had escaped her braid, which was about to come undone, giving a winsome quality to her classically beautiful features. Admiration and expectation shone in those sultry gray eyes he remembered so well.

Her unfettered glee had naught to do with seeing him again, he knew. She expected release from her ordeal. He was about to disappoint her, and the stronger her reaction to what she would perceive as betrayal, the better for both of them.

“You know my name?” Thurkill whispered, dragging Corwin’s attention away from the woman across the campsite to the man held statue still by the dagger at his throat.

“Aye, I know your name,” Corwin said, then glanced at the men who remained seated near the fire. “I know all of your names. You have -been rather free with them all day.”

“All day?” Oswuld asked with disbelief.

“A good portion of it. I heard Lady Judith’s screams when you took her. By the time I finished questioning the nuns you left behind, I had to track you. ‘Twas not difficult, despite your efforts to cover your trail.” He looked down at Thurkill. “I wondered if you were actually that clever, or if you had simply become lost when you began going in circles this afternoon. You are lost, are you not, Thurkill?”

Thurkill neither moved a muscle nor answered.

Corwin continued. “Nor did you have any notion that I followed you. One should never leave one’s rear exposed to attack, Thurkill. But then, given the circumstances, I may not have thought anyone could follow so quickly, either.”

“Who are you?” Duncan asked.

“Corwin of Lenvil, knight of Wilmont. And if you will have me, the newest member of your band.”

He heard Judith’s stunned gasp. The men at the fire stared at him in surprise. Thurkill allowed himself a sharp intake of breath.

“You were also rather careless in voicing your purpose,” Corwin said. “I heard it all and heartily approve.”

“Then release me,” Thurkill ordered, though softly.

“Not yet, I think. ‘Twould be foolish to give up my advantage until I am assured I will not be murdered in my sleep.”

Judith’s hands clenched to fists at her sides. “How.how
could
you? Corwin, this is madness!”

Her distress was understandable, and he was sorry for it, but he couldn’t back down. If there were any hope at all of stopping the rebellion before it started, he had to take this risk. Unfortunately, the risk extended to Judith, but he judged the danger to her slight. These men would crown her England’s queen if they had their way. They’d do all within their power to keep her safe. And she was certainly in no danger from him. He, too, would protect her.

His duty, as he saw it, was to prevent a war by learning all he could of the rebellion, especially the name of the Saxon noble who would dare to be king. Mayhap, if Judith proved trustworthy, Corwin would ease her mind by taking her into his confidence. Surely she’d see the sense in remaining with the rebels long enough to glean the information.