Love at First Sight (35 page)

Golde brushed his hand from her face. Her gaze darted over his features, anxious. “Henri told me of Alory and Ronces’ disappearance. I fear I am to blame.”

Gavarnie clutched her shoulders, studying her eyes. Now that he’d placed his faith in her, she would admit that she’d deceived him?

“What are you saying?” he whispered, scarce able to draw breath.

He would not believe it. Could not. He loved her.

G
OLDE ROLLED UP
a sleeve while hurrying from the wardrobe where she’d helped herself to one of Gavarnie’s black tunics. “Sperville, we must be quick.”

The chamberlain gave her a patient look. “You will abide here, mistress, just as his lordship has commanded.”

Golde headed toward the door, rolling the other sleeve. “Shoes, Sperville. I need shoes.”

“I cannot allow you to leave.” The chamberlain stepped in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.

Golde spun about and raced back for the wardrobe. “My girdle. I’ll not be tripping over this hem all night.” She snatched her corded belt from the pile of rain-soaked clothing and began tying it about her hips. Faith, but Gavarnie’s tunic swallowed her, and she was no small girl. She sailed from the wardrobe and again headed for the door.

Sperville grabbed her arm. “Have your ears failed? I tell you—”

“Your wits have flown if you think I’ll lounge about while Gavarnie and his sons are butchered.”

Spindleshanks winced and his grip tightened. “I cannot let you go. Sir Gavarnie would have my head if aught befell you.”

Golde leveled a deadly stare at him. “Release me, or you will not live long enough for Gavarnie to kill you.”

The chamberlain shook his head. “Be reasonable. You cannot wield a blade. You cannot fight. You would be naught but an added burden for Gavarnie to worry over.”

Golde raised her free hand and pretended to scratch the back of her head with irritation. Men could be so foolish, she thought, grasping the hilt of a small dagger she’d hidden in her bound hair. In one swift move, she pulled the blade free and pressed it to the chamberlain’s throat. “I have not all night. Die now, or live to deal with your lord’s idle threats later.”

Spindleshanks couldn’t cease blinking. “What . . . Where? How did you . . .”

“Leave go or I will slit you ear to ear.”

Sperville recovered quickly and his eyes narrowed. “Very well. I will release you on one condition.”

“You are in no position to—”

“I will accompany you.”

Relief flooded Golde. What would she have done had the chamberlain refused to let her go? She could never have killed him. She lowered the blade and nodded. “As you will. But I yet need shoes.”

GAVARNIE'S HEART WARRED
with his belly for possession of his chest. It had taken an hour to reach on foot what would have been a quarter-hour ride on horseback. But there was no help for it. Mounted, he would present an easy target. As it was, he hugged the lane’s edge, prepared to dive for the forest’s cover should he be detected.

Considering all that Golde had overheard, ’twas possible Gundrada’s missive had been straightforward. That she wanted no more than to ensure his silence until she and Nigel were safely away.

Still, he could not shake the feeling that he was walking into a trap. Like as not, Gundrada was counting on him to come for his sons. Then, once he presented himself, she would kill him.

He crept forward around a tree trunk, feeling for brush and skirting it. Would that he had wings. His head could do naught but create vivid images of Ronces and Alory in the throes of death.

He grimaced. It did no good to think of such.

He paused to listen. The rain had stopped, leaving a cool mist in its wake. The whir of crickets and croaking frogs were the only stirrings.

He continued on. His head yet spun with the knowledge that he’d not killed Isabelle. What if he’d never discovered the truth? And who would have believed that de Warrenne would warn him of danger? Yet that was what the Baron of Adurford had done, if what Golde had overheard were true.

Golde. ’Twas only by the grace of God that she had been witness to Nigel and Gundrada’s meeting. And God had delivered her safely unto him. Was it too much to ask that Ronces and Alory be returned unharmed?

He halted and cocked his head. It sounded like . . .

Voices. Gooseflesh rippled over his body. Whispery snatches of conversation from the road. They wove about his ears like spider’s webs. His muscles tensed and he crouched lower. What were they say—

“Must you walk on my heels?” Golde hissed.

“’Twas not done a’purpose,” Sperville snapped in return.

Gavarnie rose, scowling. Of all the dimwitted . . .

Even as his jaw opened to chastise the simpletons, a man ordered, “Hold, baron.”

Gavarnie froze. The voice was nowhere near him. Rather, it came from the same vicinity as Golde and Sperville.

“Take his sword, Rolf,” the man commanded with ill-concealed contempt. “Lady Gundrada will be most pleased.”

“Wha—wha—” the chamberlain spluttered.

“Mi’lord.” Golde’s tone was underscored with double meaning. “Do not protest. Give them your blade.”

Gavarnie narrowed his eyes. He had been right. ’Twas a trap. Clearly, the assailants thought Sperville was he. And Golde was doing her best to confirm the mistake, the little fool. ’Twould cost Sperville his life.

“This way, baron,” the man ordered. “One false move and we’ll gut you where you stand.”

“Do as they say, your lordship,” Golde begged.

“Shut your mouth, wench, or lose your tongue.” Gavarnie slid his sword from its sheath. There were only two men. ’Twould not be difficult to slip up behind them and slit their throats. Yet . . .

He eased forward, following the slogging sound of footsteps in the muddy lane. The men were taking Golde and Sperville to Gundrada. Ultimately they would lead him to his children.

It was easy to track the foursome. Keeping to the tree line, Gavarnie prowled along behind them. If ever his blindness could have been considered a blessing, ’twas now. His balance was as secure as if ’twere full daylight. Though no one spoke a word, he could distinguish the men’s heavier breathing from Golde’s, could smell the acrid odor of sweat from the men-at-arms. And all the while, he used his sword to avoid ruts, his steps sure and silent.

After some bit of time, one of the liegemen let loose a warbling whistle. Obviously a signal, though even a deaf man wouldn’t be fooled into believing it was a bird. The group continued more slowly now, the whistling more frequent, until at last there came a muffled response.

“Maegus,” a liegeman grumbled. “Give us a light, fool.”

“A moment, sir.”

At the sound of flint being struck, Gavarnie leapt forward. By the time the tinder caught, one liegeman had been dispatched. The second could only blink once at the light before Gavarnie’s blade found his throat.

Sperville had the wherewithal to clamp a hand over the lamp-bearer’s mouth—a lowly servant judging from his coarse, hole-filled tunic.

Gavarnie placed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Then he shook a fist at Sperville and scowled at Golde. She took a deep breath, her eyes filled with . . . if not adoration, then certainly gratitude, and tearful at that.

He couldn’t resist. Pulling her against him, he pressed a hard kiss on her mouth. Her nose wrinkled when he set her away, and his gaze followed hers.

Faith, he was covered with gore from the dead liegemen. That he had not noticed it, or its odor, was grimly exhilarating. He had not been reminded of Isabelle. Had not been rendered witless with guilt, or immobilized by fear.

He raised his gaze to Golde, unable to keep a savage grin at bay. Or mayhap ’twas a sneer, a contemptuous farewell to the horror that had bound him for so long. It mattered not. He was whole again.

Golde laid a hand on his chest and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Take your ease, mi’lord. Ronces and Alory are safe.”

Relief near buckled his knees. “They are returned to Skyenvic?”

Golde placed a finger to his lips. “Lower your voice. They are not at Skyenvic.”

“Then where—”

“Trust me. They are well and unharmed. But I know not for how long.”

He studied her eyes. Even the black one appeared most sincere. ’Twas difficult to doubt her. Yet before he could comfort himself with solid reassurance, she forestalled any further questions by covering his mouth with her fingers. Her eyes shifted in the lamp-bearer’s direction, a silent reminder.

Jerking his head at the servant, he gestured with his sword for the peasant to lead on. Sperville retrieved his blade and stood at the ready.

By the Blessed Virgin, his sons would be rescued. Then those responsible for their abduction would die.

N
EVER HAD GOLDE
felt such discomfort in the wood. This night she felt suffocated by the gnarled trees, clammy from the cool mist. Like she’d been buried.

She stared at Gavarnie’s broad shoulders as she and Sperville walked behind him along a narrow footpath. The servant who led them had not uttered a sound, was doubtless incapable of speech. And she could not blame him.

Gavarnie appeared ferocious. Indeed, the unholy, slavering look of triumph that had claimed his features moments ago had frightened even her. ’Twould not surprise her in the least were he to raise his face to the heavens and howl.

She longed to reach out and touch his back, to temper the wild bloodlust that fair pulsed about him. But she dared not. To tame the beast would weaken him. Instead, she cast sidelong glances at Sperville, who seemed unaware of her existence.

God’s will be done,
she thought, recalling the vivid images that had assailed her when she and Sperville had left the castle.

Ronces and Alory. A campfire illuminated their fright- ened little faces. Gundrada paced before them. She was going to kill Gavarnie.

Though Golde could not see Nigel in her vision, she’d felt his presence. Confident and secure, he was busy planning his rule at Skyenvic, which would never happen. Gundrada would kill him, too. Golde had felt it as surely as if Gundrada’s thoughts were her own.

She’d drawn Sperville to a halt outside the castle gates. In the dark, she’d concentrated until she’d felt herself drawn squarely to Alory’s mind, could feel the boy’s fear and confusion.

Gundrada was going to kill him. Kill his father. Hopeless. He was so small. Lady de Warrenne was so big. And Sir Nigel had always been so kind. Like an uncle. Why was Papa’s steward being so mean?

Twist your wrists
, Golde had commanded.
The ropes that bind you will fall away, fall away
.

She’d repeated it over and again until it felt as if her head would split. And all the while, she’d felt Gundrada pacing, a spider with an appetite.

Then it had happened. Alory’s thumb was free; next, his forefinger.

Patience
, she had counseled.
Loose your brother. Keep your hands hidden
.

And they had!

Her inner eye had settled on a fallen branch behind the boys.
Pick it up, Alory,
she had urged.
That’s it. When Gundrada next passes before you, hit her!