By Queen's Grace (8 page)

The risks were too great, both to their safety and his sanity. Duty demanded he complete his task, and he would. Fate had thrown them together; duty would pull them apart. So much the harder the parting if they became lovers.

And wouldn’t King Henry just love that, if Corwin returned the royal heiress soiled. He didn’t want to imagine the price they both might pay for his indiscretion.

So he would resist temptation. Best to concentrate on duty and get the thing done. Then he could get back to his own life. And Judith to hers.

She could feel him, just in front of her, only a few steps away. If she called out to Corwin, would he come? If she asked him to, would he stay?

He’d taken Thurkill’s guard duty tonight, to let the old man rest. Even the smallest child knew better than to interfere with a man on watch. But out here, so far away from any danger she could imagine, what might he possibly be guarding against?

She understood why the others stood guard, more to keep watch over her than for trouble from without. Corwin knew she wasn’t going anywhere but with him. Where better to watch over her than beside her? So she wouldn’t truly be interfering with his duty if she distracted him.

Distract.
Now, there was a genteel word for wanting his complete attention.

She heard him move, and opened her eyes. To her delight, he’d scrunched down in front of her.

“I did not mean to wake you, only to cover you,” he whispered, and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“My thanks,” she said, preferring he toss the blanket aside, or crawl underneath it with her.

He nodded and put his hands on his knees as if to get up.

She grasped the first subject that came to mind. “Thurkill sleeps?”

“Aye. Let us hope the added rest does him some good.”

“It should, though I fear no amount of rest will matter in the end.”

“So long as he stays alive awhile longer. I would truly hate to make the rest of this trip under Duncan’s command.”

She hadn’t reflected on what would happen if Thurkill died before they reached the rebels’ stronghold. She’d been too mindful of easing his pain. “Thurkill is very ill but has some strength to him yet. He may surprise us all and recover.”

“Ah, Judith, I do believe that is wishful thinking I hear. Have a care, my dear, that your sympathy does not run too deep.”

She shouldn’t care what happened to Thurkill, but she hated to see anyone suffer, and truth to tell, she’d come to like the old man.

“Is it so wrong to want him to live?”

Corwin chuckled. “This from the same woman who threatened gruesome deaths for all of us not long ago?”

Judith’s face grew warm as she remembered. “I was angry and hurt and fearful.”

“I know,” he said. His fingers brushed her forehead, soothing against her brow. “All I am saying is to hold on to some of your anger. You have a tender heart, Judith. Guard it well, or you will be hurt in the end. Sleep well.”

Sleep was long in coming, and when it did, it wasn’t easy. In her dreams Corwin kissed her again, not soft and briefly, but long and hard. He hugged her close, in no hurry to release her from his embrace. She reveled in his amorous attention and felt bereft when she woke to find herself alone.

The full night’s rest had done Thurkill good. His color had improved, and his spirits were high. To her way of thinking, the man shouldn’t be on a horse, wasn’t well enough to take on a rough day’s ride. Today would be rough, for Thurkill had decided to follow the river.

“If I remember aright,” he told them all, “it will take a sharp turn west just south of Banbury. From there we will push through the forest toward Coventry. Mayhap by then the sheriff will have left and we can take to the road again.”

“You had best let me have my own reins, then,” she told him. “If we are riding through brush, there will not always be enough room for me to ride beside you.”

“I do not trust you on your own.”

“You have nothing to worry over until we come to a road. I have no wish to be lost in this forest.” He didn’t look convinced. “Besides, there are three men behind me who can give chase if need be, though I assure you there will be no need, at least as far as Coventry.
Then
you might worry that I may try to go find the sheriff.”

She wouldn’t, of course, having promised Corwin that she would follow his lead, not leave the rebels until he did. She couldn’t very well give Thurkill any hint of her altered attitude, however. He would question her change of heart.

Thurkill glanced at the men behind her, ready and waiting to leave. “All right,” he said, relenting, then waggled a finger at her and scolded, “but make one move to escape and I will tie your hands together and lay you over the saddle like a sack of grain. Understood?”

“Aye,” she said, suspecting his threat all talk with no teeth.

Over the course of the morning, she followed the path Thurkill forged through the forest. More often than not, she heard the rippling, sometimes crashing sounds of the river.
Birds marked their passage with warning calls from the treetops above. At times the forest thinned, making the go ing easy. At others the trees grew closely together, giving Thurkill fits as he tried to pick a path.

Always she was aware of Corwin riding behind her. His destrier’s hooves beat heavily upon the forest floor, unlike her dainty mare’s. The tack of the horse’s trappings jangled in rhythm. Whether he rode close or back a ways, she always knew where he was without looking over her shoulder to check.

She felt safer, more secure than she had since before the kidnapping. That had been, what. three days ago? It seemed longer, perhaps because she’d spent most of those days angry, battling her fears. True, she remained anxious about the future, but not as anxious as she probably should be.

Corwin wanted her to hold on to her anger, but that proved hard to do without the fear to fuel it. And her fear had fled when she’d decided to trust Corwin. What a muddle!

Thurkill raised a hand in the air, calling a halt. When he dismounted, Judith did, too.

“We will take a respite here,” he called out, then pointed to the river. “Water the horses, and while you are at it, look for a good place to cross.”

“Do you think you could find a bridge, Thurkill?” she asked, only half teasing. “My boots are still wet from yesterday’s crossing.”

He answered with a half smile. “I doubt we will find a bridge, my lady, but take heart. After today ‘twill be a long time before we need to cross water again. Your boots will dry, eventually.”

“So you say. You may never convince my shriveled toes, however.”

Thurkill’s smile widened.

Corwin’s warnings were fresh in her memory, but despite her effort not to, Judith smiled back.

T
hey weren’t riding in circles, but weren’t making rapid progress, either. They’d left the river behind two days ago.

Corwin leaned over in his saddle. “Tell me again your father knows where he is going.”

Oswuld smiled. “He knows. Even I have a good idea of where we are. We should skirt Coventry soon now, just west of the town.”

Corwin straightened, relieved. North of Coventry, they should be able to regain the road. A faster pace would be wonderful. At this rate, if they were going as far north as Corwin suspected, this ride would be very long indeed.

At least Judith seemed content. She’d not only ceased battling with Thurkill, but helped to nurse him, though in a manner Corwin didn’t care for. Even though he’d warned her, she acted more like a daughter tending a father than a captive ministering to an abductor. The comparison, he supposed, came from watching his sister Ardith see to their father’s needs during his prolonged illness.

But what could he say? As a man who intended to join the rebellion, he should be glad to see that she no longer prodded Thurkill into a temper. He should be happy she seemed to accept her fate. Or maybe he worried for naught.
Maybe her calm, her willingness to help nurse Thurkill, were simply her way of helping the rebels to reach their lord’s holding as swiftly as possible.

The chill of an English mist wasn’t helping his mood, either. It had settled in early yesterday, and as of today’s midday respite, appeared too solidly entrenched to roll away. Somehow he had to prod Thurkill to a faster pace. When, some time later, the mist became thicker, Corwin urged his horse to the front of the line.

“Thurkill, do you think we have passed Coventry?”

“Aye. Mayhap,” he answered with deep weariness.

“I believe I can find the road from here. ‘Twould be easier going if we did not have to fight the forest for each league.” Corwin glanced up at the sky. “‘Twould also be nice if we found shelter for the night.”

Judith moaned, a sensual sound. “Shelter,” she said with reverence. “A roof above my head and mayhap a thick layer of straw for my bed. Do not speak of such things, Corwin, if they are not possible.”

He’d certainly struck the right note. Even Oswuld and Duncan wore wistful expressions.

“There is an inn some leagues north of Coventry-”

“Too dangerous,” Thurkill said. “We do not know of the sheriff’s whereabouts, and one word from her ladyship to an innkeeper.”

“All right, then. If not the inn, then mayhap we can find a farmer willing to extend the hospitality of his loft. We shall simply have to keep him and Judith from speaking together.”

Thurkill scratched his chin.

“Find me a soft bed for the night and I vow to turn mute till morn,” Judith vowed.

“Ah, my lady! One should not make promises one cannot hope to keep.”

Judith huffed. “I would swear ‘twas you who promised me every comfort and consideration. I am wet, cold and so weary I may fall asleep in the saddle. Keep your word, Thurkill, and I will keep mine. If Corwin can find us shelter for the night, I will say not one word to the owner of either inn or loft.”

Thurkill gave a sigh of resignation. “No inn, Corwin. Too many people to mark our passing.”

Within the hour, Corwin found an abandoned hut, built of wattle and daub, covered by a thatch roof. The single room was empty save for a pile of straw in one corner and a stack of wood near the hearth. Perfect, Corwin thought.

They tied the horses far off the road and had begun to remove saddles and packs when the rain fell, cold as a witch’s heart and sharp as a dagger. To the flash of lightning and the crash of thunder, they hurried to get everything into the hut, and were all soaked through by the time they shut the door a final time.

Judith stood in the middle of the hut shivering, dripping, forlorn. “Would that we had saved my nun’s robe.”

“I will get a fire going, Princess,” Duncan said. “You will warm up and dry out soon enough.”

“I have a tunic in my pack, my lady,” Oswuld offered. “‘Tis of rough wool, and will just cover your knees, though. Still, you may use it if you wish.”

Temptation flickered across Judith’s face, but Corwin didn’t think he could bear seeing Judith’s uncovered legs all evening and still be able to sleep.

“Mine is longer,” he said, and unfastened the buckles on the pack that held a few of his belongings. From within a folded oilcloth he drew his full-length, midnight-blue dalmatic and shook it out. ‘Twas heavily creased, but the garment was dry, the sleeves long and the linen heavy enough to keep her warm.

“Oh, Corwin, ‘tis beautiful,” Judith said with a sigh. She lightly fingered the embroidery on the sleeves-narrow bands of gold, red and green thread stitched in an intricate pattern. “Ardith’s work?”

“Aye,” he said. “She made it for me so I would have something other than chain mail to wear for her wedding to Gerard.”

“Oh,” she said, and took her hand away. “Then I should not wear so special a garment. If I should soil it-”

“‘Tis a favorite of mine, I admit,” he said, handing it to her. “‘Tis also the oldest. Ardith has made me several since.”

Her eyes darted around the single room. Having been raised in a household of females, Corwin understood. He pointed to a corner. “I will put up a blanket for you to use.”

Judith resisted the urge to wrap her arms around Corwin’s neck and cover his face with kisses. As soon as he had the blanket in place she slipped’ behind it. Her boots came off with a sucking sound, taking her short hose with them. She peeled off the gown and her shift. Her body was wet, her hair hung down her back in a sodden mass, but the dalmatic was dry, smooth and covered her down to her toes. She wrapped the leather girdle about her waist and draped some of the fabric over it, bringing the hem up far enough so it wouldn’t drag on the dirt floor.

Judith came out from behind the blanket to find the men had done what they could to get dry, too. Hauberks and tunics lay spread out to dry beside Corwin’s padded gambeson and black sherte. Boots stood lined up like soldiers before the hearth.

The men had stripped down to their breeches; only Oswuld wore a tunic. The sight of so much male flesh took her aback. Oh, she’d seen men’s chests before. Mostly during
high summer, in the fields surrounding her parents’ home, when the men thought nothing of shucking their tunics as they worked. She’d never been confined to a small hut with partially clad males, however.

The hut was beginning to warm-and smell, of musty wool and old leather and men. Not entirely displeasing odors.

Judith glanced at Thurkill, who used his saddle as a backrest and drank his potion. She paused to notice the lank lines of Duncan’s back as he poked at the fire.

Then she feasted on the sight of Corwin. He sat crosslegged on the floor, with a rag in hand, working oil around the metal rings of his chain mail. His long fingers worked quickly, the muscles in his arms rippling as he rubbed. She’d known him to be wide of shoulder and broad of chest, but hadn’t dared think upon how beautifully sculpted those shoulders would be, or how smooth and hard the plane of his chest.

A rumble of thunder shook the hut as Corwin looked up at her, setting her knees atremble.

“I dare say you look better in that than I do,” he said.

“Aye, well.” she managed to utter, flustered at the thought that Corwin looked magnificent in nothing at all, though she didn’t dare say so.

To hide the flush that surely stained her cheeks, she lined her boots up with the others and spread out her gown and shift on the floor nearby. Maybe by morning they’d be dry. Then she could give Corwin back his lovely garment, put on the peasant gown, get back on her horse and endure another day’s ride.

“Does anyone know where we are?” she asked.

“North of Coventry, would you say, Thurkill?” Corwin asked.

“A league or so,” he agreed. “If the weather were not
so foul, I would post a guard to watch for the sheriff. I do not think the man will be out and about tonight, however. We can all get a good night’s rest and be off at first light.”

Judith didn’t voice her doubt. Thurkill slept more each night, and by silent agreement, none in the group woke him up on the mom, but let him awaken naturally.

“Father, are we now on the road we used to come south?” Oswuld asked, drawing a puzzled frown from Duncan.

“One of them,” Thurkill answered. “From here either of you should be able to find your way, if the need arises.”

Duncan gave an exasperated huff. “Now I remember. Damnation, if we had not been forced to take to the forest, we could be in Sheffield by now!”

“Sheffield? Why that is-” she had no idea of how many leagues “-so far!”

Oswuld smiled and shook his head. “Not so far, my lady, when you consider how far-”

Thurkill touched Oswuld’s arm. “Hush, son.”

“Sorry, Father. I forgot they are not to know.”

Corwin shifted his chain mail and continued polishing. “‘Tis no longer a secret, Thurkill. You may as well tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That in all of England, there is but one place where a man might gather an army and not have someone take note. Where every serious rebellion against Norman rule has also begun. Am I right, Thurkill?”

Thurkill didn’t answer, just sipped his potion.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Judith asked of Corwin, “How far north are we going?”

“Have you ever been to Durham, Judith? I have, once. Thought it a lovely place.”

“Durham is almost on the Scots border!” She turned on
Thurkill. “You came all the way from Durham to Romsey just to kidnap me?”

“Aye,” Thurkill admitted.

Judith tossed her hands in the air. “In the name of God, why? I have three female cousins who live in the south of Scotland, all unmarried, all as royally connected to two thrones as I am. Yet you cross the entire kingdom to get me. Why, Thurkill? Why me?”

Thurkill lifted a shaggy, gray eyebrow. “You would rather we had disrupted one of your cousins’ lives than yours?”

“Aye! Nay!” Judith took a calming breath. “Nay, I would not have their lives tossed into upheaval to spare me. I am not so mean-spirited. I simply do not understand why one of them was not chosen. ‘Twould seem the more practical thing to do.”

“Not really,” Thurkill said. “Your cousins are very well guarded, Judith. They live in keeps with thick walls and fathers who keep very close watch over those who enter their domain. You, however, lived in an abbey. ‘Twas decided you were the easiest to abduct.”

“I would not have been if the queen were in residence with her guards.”

“We knew she had gone back to London some time ago. Also to our advantage, two days after we arrived near Romsey, you went out to pick herbs. Saved us from going into the abbey after you, as we were prepared to do.”

“I see. I was chosen because I was most vulnerable.”

“Well, not entirely. There were other considerations. ‘Twas also thought you most suited for our purposes.”

Something other than her name? This was news.

“How so?”

“Your knowledge of the English court, for one. Our lord felt he needed someone who knew most of the people, as
well as the palace and hall. He also thought you most suited. to his own nature.”

The chill that snaked down her spine had nothing to do with her wet hair clinging to her back. Corwin had asked her before if she knew who this Saxon noble might be. She’d thought of and discarded the names of several nobles who might have reason to turn traitor. Might Thurkill now give her a clue?

“In what way?”

“Because you are convent raised, ‘twas thought you would be the more.quiet and reflective.”

Judith tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh, your lord is in for a surprise, is he not? Is your lord quiet and reflective?”

“Nay, but I think he hoped his wife might be.”

She scoffed. “He wants no wife, he wants a nun. That is truly why you came for me. This lord of yours thought I would sit quietly by the fire by day and do my wifely duty at night, all without complaint.”

“He will give you no reason for complaint at night, Princess,” Duncan said with a lewd smile, handing her the chunk of bread that would be her evening meal. “Those ladies who have shared his bed sing his praises. You might well be content to sit by the fire by day.”

A rogue, was he?

“Those
ladies
probably went to his bed to get a good night’s sleep, and sang his praises so they might do so again.”

“You will know differently when you see him.”

“He is probably older than Thurkill, with no teeth. And no hair. And he likely smells.”

That brought laughter from all three rebels. Corwin wore a tight smile and continued polishing his chain mail.

Thurkill set his cup aside. “If that is all that worries you,
my lady, let me tell you our leader is both young and with good looks. We do not take you to some old reprobate who cannot produce his own heirs.” He beckoned to Duncan. “Give this old reprobate another chunk of bread, will you?”

Again the men laughed, and Judith knew Thurkill had signaled the end of her prying. He would answer no more questions, such as did the lord have light hair or dark? Brown eyes or blue? Was he tall or short?

She’d known too many young and handsome nobles for those clues to be of help in her pursuit of a name. There was no hope for it. Maybe come morn someone’s name would pop into her head as the likely miscreant.

For tonight, she intended to sleep soundly. She tugged down the blanket Corwin had hung for her, and claimed the pile of straw in the corner.

One by one the men found places to lay their heads. All but Corwin. He sat within the light of the banked fire, his skin the color of burnished gold. The muscles in his back twitched with the motion of his hands as be continued to polish his suit of mail.

Judith tried turning over, burrowing deeper into the bed of straw, pulling the blanket over her head. Nothing she did worked. The man was too great a distraction. She wouldn’t sleep until he bedded down and covered up.

Giving up, Judith joined him and lifted a mail sleeve onto her lap. “Do you have another rag?”