THE WARLORD (2 page)

"Nay," Kenric said slowly, turning at last to face the priest. Father Vachel backed away from the cold, unblinking gaze. His hand went to his chest, crossing himself against what he saw in those eyes.

"They died by my will."

Five Years Later

Northern England

The winter night was not nearly dark enough for Kenric's mission. His gaze swept over the inky silhouette of Langston Keep, scanning the shadows of the battlements for any unusual movement as he silently cursed the cloudless sky. The bright half moon turned the snow-covered ground a silvery shade of blue, making anyone who ventured into the open an easy target for guards posted within the fortress walls.

"This may yet be a trap," Fitz Alan whispered.

Kenric nodded to acknowledge that truth. He could see his breath in the faint moonlight and he stirred restlessly, trying to ward off the frigid night air and his own misgivings. The woods behind them provided little protection. They would be an easy catch, should an ambush be in order. The very fact that their plan depended on one Scotsman betraying another nearly guaranteed a trap. But Kenric was determined to see this through and Fitz Alan wouldn't challenge the decision. Not when the king had a hand in this scheme.

"The plan seems too simple," Fitz Alan warned in a low voice. "We should have brought men to guard our backs."

Kenric didn't reply. He stared intently at a clump of large bushes that filled a gully leading to the keep. The vague outline of two cloaked figures grew more distinct as they emerged from the brush, the soft crunch of snow announcing their approach. Despite the danger they were in, Kenric nearly laughed aloud when he spotted their quarry. One was tall and broad-chested, the other short and amazingly plump. Kenric's soldiers would roll with laughter when they caught sight of this prize. A bear and a butter-ball were hardly fitting trophies for two of
England's fiercest warriors. Five years of war in
Wales, suffering every discomfort known to a soldier, and this was to be his reward
? .

"Perhaps her face will not be as difficult to look upon as her person," Fitz Alan whispered, his smile heard but unseen.
" 'Tis
the oddest-shaped woman I've ever laid eyes on."

The approaching man raised his head, as if he'd caught the scent of danger. Kenric moved silently to the edge of the brush, disappearing into the black shadows of the forest. Fitz Alan crouched low to the ground, watching the two odd shapes as they walked cautiously toward his hiding spot. They halted less than ten paces away.

"This could be a trap, Uncle Ian."

The soft, feminine voice belonged to the butterball. Her words pleased Kenric considerably. It was a good sign that their prey shared their concern. The woman drew her hood back to look around the tiny clearing, attempting to peer into the dark forest as she whispered her plea.

"I say we escape by ourselves while we can. I'll guard your back well enough should we meet with any thieves. 'Tis obvious he is not coming. Let us be gone from here."

The woman gasped at the same instant her uncle swung around with his sword drawn.

"Put your sword on the ground, Laird Duncan. Slowly," Kenric ordered.

Ian Duncan didn't move. The moon provided enough light for Kenric to make out the Scottish laird's shape, but his expression remained obscured by the night's shadows.

"Do as I say," Kenric warned, nudging the woman's bulk with the tip of his sword. "Else she'll take my blade between her ribs."

Ian lowered the weapon to the ground,
then
pulled his niece to his side, away from the warrior's sword. He looked at Kenric, but nodded toward Fitz Alan. "You were to come alone."

"My man is loyal," he replied with a shrug. "Get the horses, Fitz Alan."

"Lady Remmington will ride with me," Ian said, maintaining a protective hold on the girl. "I left my horse less than a mile from here."

"We have your horse." Kenric picked up Ian's sword then sheathed his own, queerly disappointed that the lady was falling into his hands so easily. He hadn't the slightest desire to get a closer look at his prize. No matter how comely the face, it couldn't possibly make up for the package it came with. She was undoubtedly as homely as his horse or she would have shown herself by now. "The arrangements have been made at Kelso Abbey."

"You are prepared to see this through, to do what is asked of you?" Ian asked. He waited several long, silent moments for an answer.

"Aye."
Kenric's reply was firm. "You can stay at Kelso Abbey until the search parties are recalled or make for your fortress immediately after—"

"I ride for
Scotland tonight," Ian interrupted.

"Why are we going to Kelso Abbey?" Lady Remmington asked, her whisper nearly muffled by the cloak's heavy hood.

"Hush, Tess," Ian scolded. "Here are the horses. Be a good girl and everything will be fine. Quickly now, we must hurry."

"Yes, Uncle," Tess replied obediently.

Fitz Alan returned with the horses and the two warriors mounted. Ian placed the bulky girl on his horse then swung into the saddle behind her. The animals moved almost silently through the forest, their hooves wrapped with rags to muffle the noise. This late at night they wouldn't have to worry about patrols from Langston Keep, but the woods were home to outcasts; thieves and murderers who controlled the king's highways by preying on unprotected travelers. Kenric knew they could handle that threat, but he didn't have time to deal with such a distraction. The night was half spent already and every hour counted.

Tess Remmington gave little thought to thieves. Her worry centered on the pack of soldiers that could thunder out of the fortress at any moment. Her stepfather was going to be furious when he discovered her escape. Just the thought of Dunmore MacLeith made Tess's blood run cold. In outward appearance there was nothing to dislike about the Scot. Tall and fit, he had two wings of gray at the temples of his dark hair that gave him an air of distinction. But Tess, more than any other, knew a heart capable of coldblooded murder lay beneath the deceptive facade. The beast had married her mother a mere week after her father's suspicious death. Even then the odd set of circumstances that put Dunmore MacLeith inside the fortress had seemed a little too convenient. A month later her mother had also been laid to rest in Remmington's cemetery after a "fall" from the tower steps. Everyone knew the baroness planned to petition the church and King Edward for an annulment. Some, including Dunmore MacLeith, had believed she might get it.

Tess wondered again how King Edward could have turned a blind eye toward MacLeith's evil deeds all these years. Could the war in
Wales, problems with the church, and the endless quarrels among his barons keep the king too busy to bother with such a remote barony? Aye, he'd gone and forgotten about her and Tess had no way to bring her cause before him. Dunmore MacLeith sat as lord at
Remmington
Castle
while Tess, the rightful heir, had stayed locked away in remote Langston Keep these past five years.

The only good fortune she could claim of late was the recent discovery of a secret passage that led from her bedchamber to the gully outside the walls. Such passages were common in border holdings of Langston's age, built to allow the family a means of escape if the keep fell to an invading army. Now it provided Tess with a different sort of freedom.
Freedom from Dunmore MacLeith's plans for her life.

Two hours later, the group dismounted outside Kelso Abbey's main gate.

A small side door swung open and, as if he'd been awaiting their arrival, a cowled monk thrust a lantern through the doorway. Tess watched the taller of the two men they had met in the forest step closer to show his face. The monk nodded, turning without a word to point toward a dark path.

Tess drew her cloak closer, trying to shake a sudden chill. The monk looked like an unholy specter of death with his black robes and long, bony finger pointing them forward. She clutched the back of her uncle's cloak and walked as close behind him as the narrow path would allow.

The path led to the doors of a large chapel and the group stepped inside. Tess pulled her hood aside just enough to get a better look at the structure, but she was careful to keep her face hidden, as Uncle Ian had ordered. Ian had said he wasn't sure what kind of men they'd meet with this night and the less they knew of Tess the better. Yet once inside the chapel she couldn't help but gape in wide-eyed wonder at the fine Gothic architecture and
Norman workmanship that made Kelso Abbey one of the church's prize jewels. Tess was sure she'd never seen anything so grand. Beautiful religious paintings covered the walls and ceilings, and most statues were leafed with gold. The soft glow from an uncountable number of precious beeswax candles made the place seem more fairy-tale castle than chapel. An old priest stood near the pulpit, garbed in richly embroidered red satin and gold-trimmed robes, his presence lending an air of royalty to the scene. The priest's face was wrinkled with years of wear, but his eyes twinkled with a smile that grew broader as they passed each row of kneelers.

"Greetings, my son."
The priest walked stiffly toward Kenric, his gait slowed by age. He grasped Kenric's strong hands with thin, frail ones.
" 'Tis
been too many years, but you've grown into a fine man."

"Thank you, Father Olwen
. 'Tis good to see your familiar face this eve."
Kenric smiled grimly at the priest. "I'm sure you remember my friend Roger Fitz Alan. And this is Laird Duncan."

Kenric turned then to get his first good look at the giant Scot. Although Kenric stood well over six feet, Ian Duncan was nearly as tall. The Scottish laird's face was weathered and his blue eyes creased around the edges with the lines of a man who smiled often. Much as he was smiling now at Kenric.

Kenric soon spied the reason for the Scot's humor. Ian's cloak was tossed over his shoulders to reveal not only the
Duncan clan's blue and green plaid, but the handle of a massive claymore that was strapped securely to his back.
So much for disarming the man.
Kenric acknowledged his oversight with a slight nod,
then
his eyes dropped to Ian's side to inspect Lady Remmington. Her back was turned to Kenric and she seemed absorbed by the doomsday paintings on one wall of the chapel. He tried to imagine a short, fat, female version of Ian Duncan and was immediately glad she had the good grace to keep herself covered. Whoever told King Edward this girl was a pleasure to gaze upon had an odd sense of
humor.

The priest interrupted Kenric's thoughts by clearing his throat, a subtle hint that he was waiting for an introduction. Kenric said simply, "Father Olwen, this is Lady Remmington."

The girl's shoulders jerked. She bowed her head,
then
turned to meet the priest.

"I'm pleased to meet you, my dear." Father Olwen stepped forward and took hold of the girl's hands, giving them a firm squeeze. "These circumstances are a bit unusual, but I'm sure we can make your—"

"Excuse me, Father," Ian interrupted. He ignored the priest's look of surprise and pulled Tess back to his side. "Is there someplace I might speak with Lady Remmington in private?"

"Why, I believe there is a—"

"Whatever you need say to the lady can be said right here." This time it was Kenric who interrupted the priest, his expression dark.

"I'm not so sure of that," Ian said uncertainly. "My niece knows very little of this plan. I thought it best to explain the situation once we were safely away from Langston."

"She doesn't know of the marriage?" Kenric questioned sharply.

"Marriage?" the wide bundle croaked.

"Now, lass, don't get all worked up before I have a chance to explain," Ian pleaded, turning the girl toward him to take hold of her hands.

"
Marriage
!" she repeated, her voice louder. She jerked her hands away from Ian and tried to rest them on her hips.

The knights and priest stared in amazement when Lady Remmington's wide girth suddenly sank into a lumpy mass around her feet. They continued to watch in stunned silence as she stepped closer to Ian, her cloak dragging forward to reveal two large linen sacks on the floor. It took only a moment for them to realize the sacks had been slung over her shoulders, carried beneath the cloak to keep her arms under the sleeveless garment and protected against the cold.

"You said
nothing
about a marriage!"

The men turned their heads from the floor to Lady Remmington, almost in unison.

"She isn't fat at all," Fitz Alan whispered.

Lady Remmington still had her back to the men, but Kenric smiled when the newly slimmed figure gave Laird Duncan a good poke in the stomach. Her hood fell back onto her shoulders as she glared up at the Scot, providing a pleasing glimpse of honey-blond hair.

"I wasn't sure how you would take the news," Ian began.

"You knew damned well how I would take the news! And now you've made me swear in front of a priest!" She swirled around to face Father
Olwen,
her hands folded demurely, eyes lowered to the floor. "Forgive me, Father
. '
Tis a sinful word I spoke in anger. I will pray God realizes these are trying times for me and can forgive this transgression. It seems my uncle's plans for this evening and my own differ greatly."