Juliana Garnett (41 page)

At last John was placed atop a horse to finish his journey to Newark, finally reaching the bishop of Lincoln’s castle on the banks of the Trent. The abbot of Croxton rushed to his side to minister to his body and soul, for it was plain the king was close to death.

Numb by this time from all the disasters, Rolf could only wait for the inevitable. During the next three days John declared his eldest son, nine-year-old Henry, as his heir and commanded all those with him to swear fealty to the boy. Letters were sent out to the sheriffs and constables of royal castles, bidding them accept Henry as their lord and king. After appointing a guardian of his younger son, Richard, the king entrusted the guardianship of Henry to William the Marshal, Earl of Pembroke.

It was, Rolf thought wearily, the best possible choice. William was known to be fair and just.

At midnight of October 18, 1216, a whirlwind swept through Newark with such force that houses shook like dry
leaves. People cried out that the devil had come for the king, and indeed, in that terrifying hour, John died.

Rolf learned of it from John of Savigny, a monk who had kept watch beside the king’s body on the morning after his death. Having gone to deliver a letter to one of the sheriffs and only just returned, Rolf was angered to hear that the servants of the royal household had fled with everything of value they could carry.

Rolf formed a guard to escort the king’s funeral procession from Newark to Worcester, where John had requested that he be laid to rest in the Church of the Blessed Mary and St. Wulfstan. They passed unhindered across England, Rolf’s troops and a large band of foreign mercenaries escorting the king’s body to its final resting place. Rolf had the morbid thought that it was fitting that the escort should be composed mostly of the foreign mercenaries who had been brought to England at John’s command to fight against English rebels.

After the king’s interment Guy turned to Rolf and asked, “What do we now, milord? Prince Louis will continue to fight.”

Rolf stared past him into the rain. “Fight for what? He can no longer pretend that he is aiding England’s deliverance from a tyrant. The tyrant is dead. No Englishman will fight to seek bondage under a foreign conqueror.”

“Then we may return to Dragonwyck.” Hope sprang into Guy’s eyes, and a smile touched his lips. “We may retrieve Lady Annice, and peace will come to England at last.” He took a step toward the door, then turned back impatiently. “Are we for Gedney and the lady?”

Rolf leaned a shoulder against the stone wall and gazed steadily at Guy. “I would know,” he said bluntly, “of your sentiments toward my wife. You speak of her frequently, and ’tis always with just such a light in your eyes. Did you have ought to do with her abduction after our wedding? Was it at your word that she was taken to be returned to Thurston?”

Guy stared back at him. Gloomy light filtered through the open door smelling of rain and smoke from coal fires. A heavy silence lengthened, until finally Rolf shifted slightly and his sword clanked against the stone wall.

“Well?” he demanded. “I would hear what defense you may have to offer.”

Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Guy said, “I have no defense, milord. ’Tis true that I gaze fondly at your lady, but ’tis not for the reason you might think.” He paused and turned his face slightly toward the open door. Rain swept in on a gust of wind, misting his face as he stared out past the church steps, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Whatever you may think of me, I would not betray you. I have not done so, nor will I.” He looked back at Rolf, and there was a bleak light in his eyes. “If I am guilty of anything, ’tis of not being honest with you about my reasons for caring so steadfastly for Lady Annice.”

Rolf’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and his gaze narrowed. “Then pray, be honest now, for it may well save us a battle inside the church.”

Throwing up a hand, Guy said, “Nay, lord. I cannot fight you. Not even when your assumption that I would dishonor either you or your lady rakes sharply on my temper.”

“You’d best explain,” Rolf growled, “ere I spit you where you stand.…” He drew in a deep breath to calm his raging temper. Filled with the residue of frustration and tension from the past months, he realized that he was releasing the pressure by attacking his knight. That he might or might not have just cause ceased to be important, and he slowly released the hilt of his sword and shook his head.

“Sir Guy, though I cannot say that I have trusted you fully this past year, I have no evidence that you would betray me in any way. Before, I would have trusted you with my life, and in truth, you always proved worthy of that trust.”

Guy smiled faintly, and some of his tension eased visibly. He put out his right hand to show it free of a weapon, and after a pause Rolf reached to take it, their clasp sealing an unspoken pledge not to fight. They stood for a moment while the wind blew rain in on them and tugged at the folds of their cloaks.

“Perhaps,” Guy said, “ ’Tis time to share a confidence with you, milord. It may explain a lot of your concerns.”

“Yea,” Rolf replied. “Mayhap it will. Let us go seek a
warm fire and wine, and if you wish to unburden yourself, I will listen.”

Taking a deep breath, Guy said quickly as if he would lose his courage, “Your lady is my half sister, milord. Hugh de Beauchamp was my father, and I am his bastard son.” He put up a quick hand when Rolf’s eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion and said hastily, “Lady Annice does not know. I had never met her before the road from Stoneham, though I knew of her, of course. I—thought it best—that she know nothing of me. In truth, until you revealed that her father was Beauchamp, I did not know she was my sister.”

For a moment Rolf stared at him in the scented candle-gloom of the church; then he nodded slowly. Yea, that explained much. He smiled and put a hand upon Guy’s shoulder.

“You can tell me of it while we sup, Sir Guy. I would be interested to learn why Annice still does not know of it.”

Guy’s smile was thin, but there was a relieved light in his eyes. “Aye, lord. I will be glad to tell it all over a cup of wine.”

As they left the church and their dead king, Rolf had the fleeting thought that there would be more war, but it didn’t matter. The battles to come would be to insure the little Prince Henry—nay, now King Henry III—his rightful place as heir. But Louis would be turned back, and England would once more belong to them. Yea, out of evil had finally come good, and with able counsel the new king might bring peace at last to England’s shores. It was long past due.

Pulling his hood over his head to shelter it from the rain, Rolf said aloud, “I go first to seek my lady, then to retrieve my son from Thurston of Seabrook. With John dead, only Seabrook stands between me and Justin. I intend to dispose of him swiftly As a family member, do you go with me, Sir Guy?”

Guy flung him a broad smile. “Yea, lord, I go most willingly on both quests.”

J
ust before dusk, when the vespers bells began to ring, Annice heard a voice call to her from the bushes edging the small garden of the nunnery. She rose and turned toward the sound, giving a start of surprise and pleasure when she recognized Gowain.

“Gowain. Come in at once—let me unfasten the gate for you. Will you stay to break bread—?”

“There is no time for questions, milady. I have come to warn you. The French are near. You must flee at once.”

“The French?” Cold dread chilled her spine, and she forced herself to remain calm. “Of course. I shall fetch Belle and the others. We must hurry.”

“Nay, milady. Take no time for others.” Gowain put a hand upon her arm. “Gareth of Kesteven bade me see to you, and I dare not tarry. Your escort awaits in yon grove.”

“I understand,” she said firmly, “but I am not leaving without Belle. And the abbess must be warned. Mother Sarah will want to get the others to safety.”

A note of panic crept into Gowain’s insistent words.

“Nay! I cannot allow it … I will warn them. You must flee, milady, ere the French come upon you too swiftly.”

Despite her protests, Gowain pulled her firmly with him and into the grove behind the small wooden quarters that housed the nuns. Neat gardens lay sleeping in the autumn sun, and birds called in the trees as if the entire world were at peace. It was hard to believe that danger was close.

“Really,” Annice protested as she was shoved into the waiting arms of a captain and mounted atop a horse, “if the French are so near, why can we not hear them?”

The captain of the guards said grimly, “They are storming the walls of Dragonwyck, my lady. Patrols range nearby. I am to take you elsewhere for safety’s sake.”

Dragonwyck. Annice clutched at the high saddle bow and glanced down at Gowain. His face was worried, and he gave a short bob of his head. “ ’Tis true, milady. Dragonwyck is besieged. I used the secret gate to slip out and bring you warning.”

“And these men—?”

“Have been here as long as you have,” the captain replied shortly. “The Dragon set us to guard you from the first night.” He bent to grab up her reins, but Annice snatched them away.

“I am fully capable of riding alone, Captain,” she said. “I will not be a burden. But I do insist upon bringing along my maid. Gowain, go fetch Belle to me at once.”

Obviously caught between Annice’s determination and his orders from Gareth, Gowain hesitated an instant too long. Annice dug her heels into the horse’s sides, and it bounded forward toward the line of buildings dozing behind walls in the late-afternoon sun.

Cursing, the captain gave chase, barely catching her as she reached the high wooden fence surrounding the nunnery. He signaled to Gowain impatiently. “Go inside to fetch her maid and be quick about it. I have no desire to meet up with the French in such an unprotected place.”

“Captain,” came the urgent call from one of the soldiers, and they turned. In the distance, down the winding curve of narrow road that led from the nunnery to a cleared patch of
field, could clearly be seen the unmistakable glint of sunlight from knights’ armor and weapons.

“Too late,” muttered the captain, and without regard for her protests, yanked Annice’s horse into a run. She clung to the saddle as her mount was pulled along, racing down the narrow twist of road and barely managing to duck tree branches dangling dangerously low. Fear struck her deeply as she heard the shouts of the soldiers in the rear, and then the sound of battle being engaged. The captain pulling her horse had drawn his sword and was obviously searching for a safe spot for his charge.

A faint whistling sound captured Annice’s attention, and she looked up just in time to see an arrow descending from the sky. It plummeted in a swift, accurate strike like that of a hawk, piercing the captain’s chain mail and striking him from his saddle. With only a faint, choked cry, he fell to the ground. His riderless horse swerved wildly, while Annice’s horse ran amok.

Leaning over the lathered neck, she strained to reach the dangling reins before the horse could trip and send her sprawling. It took much effort, but finally she caught them up and straightened in the saddle. Then her heart flipped. There, in the road before her, waited several armed men. She reined her mount to a halt and dared a backward glance. None of her guard was in sight.

And in the distance, rising above the burnished September leaves of gold and brown, rose a thick black cloud of smoke. It came from the direction of the nunnery.

Sir Guy stared at the ruins with helpless rage and grief. It was obvious that the little nunnery had been ravaged weeks before. A raven sat atop a blackened stone, head tilted to one side as it eyed the intruders with dislike. Spreading its wings, the bird let out a raucous screech of defiance, then lifted into the air. The sound of its wings flapping against the wind faded into the gray sky.

Rolf turned to Guy slowly, as if dazed. “There is no sign of the abbess or any inhabitants.” His hand curled into a fist on his saddle bow. Fire-blackened timbers stuck out at odd
angles, pointing accusing fingers to the sky. Tangles of brush and uprooted trees indicated a fierce struggle.

Clearing his throat, Guy said in a strangled tone, “There should be some sign of the men you left behind as her guard. No doubt, they got her to safety ere the nunnery was overrun.”

“God’s grace, I hope so.”

Guy recognized the fear and strain in his lord’s tone. He was afraid for her, also. There were too many dangers about in this land still beleaguered with battle and death. Too many mercenaries still roamed forests and fens, and they had witnessed too much destruction on their journey to Gedney. All of Lincolnshire was a wasteland. Here and there could be seen small signs of recovery, but they were too few. They were almost home when they learned that Dragonwyck was under assault.

Though under siege for a time, the keep still stood. One of the towers had crumbled from the onslaught of the siege engines. The fighting had been fierce, and the castle balanced on the brink of falling when word came of the Dragon’s approach. Knowing of le Draca’s ruthless reputation, the French disappeared in the night. Gareth of Kesteven, castellan in Rolf’s absence, met his lord at the smoldering gates and gave them the first indication that more disaster loomed.