By Queen's Grace (10 page)

Duncan tossed the sword. Corwin kicked it under the
wagon and backed up a step, dropping the tip of his own sword to the ground, allowing Duncan room to breathe.

“Bastard.” Duncan spat the word, fingering a bloody scratch on his neck.

Corwin tilted his head. “If I remember aright, ‘twas you who sought to kill me. Be thankful you still live!”

Duncan showed his appreciation with a fist flung at Corwin’s jaw. It didn’t connect. In one fluid movement, Corwin dropped his sword and used Duncan’s forward momentum against him. A punch, a kick, a hearty shove-and Duncan lay sprawled on the ground once more, his nose spilling blood into the dirt. He didn’t get up.

Corwin grabbed his sword and spun around. “Anyone else?” he shouted fiercely.

Judith held her breath as three foolhardy souls rushed him.

Corwin was everywhere, his sword flashing in short, sharp bursts or long, curving arcs. They chased around the campsite. Oswuld jumped into the wagon to get out of the way, and was quickly told to get out of his father’s line of sight.

Corwin changed tactics. He kept the men right where he wanted them, giving no ground. Like tightly penned cattle they bumped into each other, getting in each other’s way. One by one they lost their swords to the force or finesse of Corwin’s blows.

Finally, all was peaceful. Corwin tossed his sword onto the wagon bed and hefted himself up to sit on the edge. Breathing hard, he looked over his shoulder. He spared a glance for Judith, then smiled at Thurkill.

“I have not had that long a practice session since leaving Wilmont.”

“But you could still take on the others.”

Corwin’s laugh rang through the campsite. “Aye, but I
would rather not. Oswuld, shake Duncan. He should be ready to wake by now. We need to get your father to the stronghold, and I could surely use an ale.”

She wanted to touch him all over, make sure he didn’t bleed-and he wanted an ale. Men.

“Frightened?”

Did it show so much? “Aye,” she admitted, swallowing hard.

“Try to remain with Thurkill. I shall stay as close as I can.”

The odd comment took her aback, until she realized they were talking about two different things. She’d been frightened nearly out of her skull while watching him fight, not thinkingabout going into the rebel encampment. No matter, her answers might have been the same.

Duncan gained his feet and shuffled over to the wagon.

“Duncan, I will make you a bargain,” Corwin said. “I will ride in on my own horse, with nothing over my eyes. I will, however, go in without my sword. Thurkill, will you do me the honor of guarding this for me?”

Judith wanted to snatch up the sword, tell Corwin to keep it in his hand and be very careful of his back. But she didn’t. She had to trust that he knew what he was doing.

And that he hadn’t missed the look of pure hatred in Duncan’s eyes.

From the middle of the company, Judith could see over the wagon to the road and rebel stronghold beyond. She tightened her hold on her mare’s reins and sidled so close to Corwin that he would be able to hear her if she whispered.

On a hill stood a keep, built of wood in the square, threefloored style commonly found all over England. The structure screamed power and wealth, and if she didn’t know it
belonged to a Saxon, she would have assumed it was built and lived in by a Norman. Or maybe the keep had been a Norman’s seat of power, and the rebels had captured it and made it their own.

No timber palisade circled the keep. Earth works built up to the height of three men stood between the keep and the surrounding fields-fields swarming with men, horses, tents and weapons.

Hundreds of men. Stack upon stack of weapons.

Judith knew nothing of armies. ‘Twas impossible for her to judge whether or not the army was large enough to overthrow the English throne. But far too many men camped within the long shadow of the keep to mistake them for anything other than an invading army. Too many discontented Saxons ready to take up arms and fight for a hopeless cause. Too many who paused to stare at her as the company passed through the encampment.

Her stomach turned at the stench of unwashed bodies and decaying waste. Fields that should be green with crops had been churned into muddy ruin. The men wore somber looks-but their weapons gleamed. Axes and maces stood stacked and at the ready. Lances had been arranged in circular towers, tips pointing toward the sun.

Corwin didn’t seem the least concerned. Nothing in his posture or expression revealed his thoughts, as if entering a rebel encampment was an everyday occurrence for him. His seeming indifference, and the reassuring smile he shot her way, helped ease her disquiet. But she couldn’t help wonder if he feigned calm, if deep inside he wasn’t also terrified that once they reached the heart of the camp and entered the keep they might never get out.

He’d given her his word they would escape. But as Judith once more looked out over the sea of men now surrounding them, she couldn’t foresee escape, only entrapment.

“Take heart, Judith,” Corwin said. “Remember these men think of you as their future queen. They will not harm you.”

“Mayhap not, but neither will they let me go.”

“They will not be given the choice. We will get out.”

“How?”

He chuckled. “Give me a day or two, my lady. In the meantime, enjoy the pleasure of decently prepared food and the comfort of a soft pallet. Just take care you do not come to like the lodgings and deference so much you do not want to leave.”

He teased her, she knew. Maybe he had the right of it, that all she must do was bide her time and wait for Corwin to gather the information he wanted and then arrange for their escape. Sweet heaven, she looked forward to that day, and not only because she would be free of her captors.

She would be alone, completely alone, with Corwin. In the midst of her turmoil over whatever she must endure during the next few days, the utter certainty of having Corwin all to herself afterward thrilled her to her very core.

To be able to talk to him, say whatever she would, without a care to being overheard. To touch him, maybe share another kiss, without fear of being observed and judged.

Aye, she craved those things-and more.

She trusted Corwin’s promise. Knew him to be both an intelligent and an excellent warrior. But more, she placed her fate in those very capable hands because she loved him.

Unwise, certainly, for there was no future possible for them even if she wanted one. Yet she trusted and respected Corwin beyond any other man. And while a niggling voice in her head advised caution, her heart urged her to both romantic and sensual visions of her and Corwin-entwined bodies, whispered endearments, ecstasy. Her desire to know
him fully, as a woman knows a man, had become a merciless ache that only he could ease.

Was that not love? And if so, how did one guard against it if one wished to?

Corwin need not worry about her willingness to escape. For many reasons, she was more than eager.

“What of you, Corwin? You, too, will have a soft pallet.”

He shrugged one of his broad shoulders slightly. “That will depend upon the leader, which is one of the reasons I want you to remain as close to Thurkill as possible. The old man is fond of you and will see to your well-being when I cannot.”

Judith didn’t like the sound of that. “But you will be in the keep,” she said, hearing the near desperate hope in her voice.

“Likely,” he said.

Only likely? But where else.? Out here, among the throng of men-at-arms. Where she wouldn’t see him. Where she couldn’t look to him for a comforting word or reassuring smile. Where no one would watch his back.

She closed her eyes as dread took hold and shook her until her hands trembled. Her concerns had all been selfish. Only now, on the edge of the keep’s bailey, did she think of what could happen to Corwin.

What if the rebel leader didn’t believe that Corwin truly wished to join the rebels? And Corwin had already defied the man by entering the camp with his eyes uncovered.

If the rebel leader ordered Corwin chained, or killed.

Judith fought the darkness threatening to overwhelm her.

“Judith?”

She clung to the sound of his voice, calling out to her from beyond the swirl of terror in her head. She opened
her eyes and searched him out. Right there, immediately beside her-so terribly far away.

“Courage, my sweet,” he said. “If I had thought you endangered, I would not have-”

She shook her head. “Not me. You. Corwin, what if the leader does not believe you truly wish to join the rebellion, or decides that the price you ask is too high? He cannot let you go because you already know too much. What if he throws you in chains or…worse?”

The wagon stopped. They’d reached the keep. Corwin swung down from his horse and came around to help her dismount.

Judith longed to fall into the arms of the knight whose hands wrapped about her waist, on whose shoulders she placed her hands, whose very life stood imperiled by the whims of a single man. Mindful of the men whose curious looks added to her fright, she quelled the urge to cling to Corwin as he lowered her to the ground. He smiled an almost victorious smile. How could he? Here she was, on the verge of tears, praying that he wouldn’t be killed, and Corwin was grinning. She didn’t understand at all.

“You must not worry over me, Judith,” he said, removing his hands and backing up a step, out of her reach. “I truly am quite capable of taking care of myself. Now, take the worry from your eyes and the frown from your lips. “Tis not wise to show fear to an enemy.”

She tried.

“Raise your chin a bit higher,” he ordered. “There. Perfect. Now, let us see how Thurkill fares.”

As she turned toward the wagon, she caught sight of the keep’s stairs. Coming down those stairs was a man-a young and handsome Saxon noble.

Corwin had warned her that she might know the rebels’ leader. She did. With dread twisting in the pit of her stomach, Judith told Corwin the man’s name.

“Ruford Clark.”

C
orwin peered at the blond, bearded man striding toward him with Duncan at his side. Ruford Clark? Corwin couldn’t place the name, so knew he must not be a member of one of the more important noble families.

“Last I saw him,” Judith said quietly, “he was leaving Scotland for France on the King’s orders, or so was the rumor. Banished for attempting to murder his elder brother.”

Not an unusual happenstance. A second son often found himself’without a living when his father died and an older sibling inherited. Many attempted to do away with elder brothers. The crime proved Ruford a ruthless man, but Judith’s actions confirmed his prowess. In the seconds before Ruford reached her, she tucked stray wisps of hair back into her braid and slid the tip of her tongue over her lips. Her spine went lance straight, her shoulders back-a true picture of a royal heiress about to greet a noble, a peer.

Corwin’s gut tightened, knowing she cared what this man thought of her-the man who’d ordered her kidnapped. The man who planned to marry her and make her his queen.

He cannot have her!
Corwin’s vow came fast and furiously.
Never would he allow Judith’s marriage to this upstart. He’d kill Ruford first.

“Lady Judith Canmore,” Ruford said, bowing over Judith’s hand. “Do you remember me, my lady?”

“I believe so,” she said, as if she wasn’t sure, making no move to reclaim her hand. “Are you not supposed to be in France?”

Ruford gave her a strained smile. “I visited, for a time.”

She looked up at the keep and around the bailey. “What is this place?”

“A keep once known as Norgate. I have not yet decided if I should change the name.”

Corwin knew of Norgate, and the Norman who owned it. Apparently, Ruford’s forces had conquered it and made it their own. He would have to find out when and how, and whether the Norman and his family still lived. He didn’t hold much hope.

Judith smiled at Ruford with a dainty shrug,
finally
pulling her hand away. “I fear I know it not,” she said, then tilted her head in inquiry. “Is this keep, then, your reward for joining the rebellion?”

Corwin almost winced at the low blow to Ruford’s pride, delivered with a velvet fist. He knew Judith wasn’t that naive. She knew Ruford was the rebels’ leader, not a follower. Thankfully, Ruford believed Judith’s question innocent, for he hastened to correct her mistake.

“My reward, my lady, will be the crown of England and all the lands that go with it.”

With her expression one of disbelief, she asked, “You? But that is impossible! Oh, dear. You are quite serious, are you not?” She barely paused when Ruford nodded. “This is very unexpected. I had thought the leader would be a baron, at the least. Or mayhap an earl. Someone whose rank
more fitted mine, not the second son of a lowland laird. How…disappointing.”

Corwin could think of several stronger words she might have used. So could the man she’d just proclaimed unworthy of her.

Ruford tilted his head and studied Judith. “You are no longer the pleasant child I remember,” he finally said. -

“One changes as one comes of age.”

“You have certainly become a beauty.” With the comment, Ruford reached out to touch Judith’s face.

She avoided the offensive hand by backing up a stepand collided with Corwin. He gripped her upper arms to steady her.

Ruford’s eyes narrowed. “You must be Corwin of Lenvil. Unhand the lady.”

Corwin obeyed, if slowly. He couldn’t afford to anger the man unduly. For the moment, Ruford held the upper hand.

“I also wished for you to be brought into the keep with your eyes covered,” Ruford said, his ire apparent. “For one who seeks to serve me, you do not heed my orders well.”

“Only a fool would enter an armed camp blind,” Corwin said. “I assure you I am no fool. And as I am certain Duncan has told you, I have not yet decided whether or not I wish to serve you.”

Ruford’s hands clenched into fists. “I should have Duncan run you through for your insolence.”

Corwin scoffed. “Duncan has already tried and failed. Nor would a man who wishes to conquer a kingdom take so rash an action against a man who can be of great aid to him, insolent or no.”

“So great an aid as to warrant the reward of so grand a prize as Wilmont? I wonder.”

Corwin knew exactly how valuable he could be to Ruford. “I have fought with and against Normans. Under both Wilmont’s banner and King Henry’s. I know how Normans fight, how they plan strategy. Tell me, Ruford, have you another in your camp who has fought by the king’s side? Is not Wilmont a small price to pay for such knowledge?”

“Wilmont is a very large fief.”

“So is England, which you seek to rule. Prove to me you are worthy of it and I will help you get it.”

Ruford stared at Corwin for an interminable moment before he said, “Come into my hall. We will talk.” Then he turned his attention once more to Judith. “I have women waiting to attend you. They will see you to the solar, where you may bathe and don suitable clothing.”

Several men bore Thurkill-and Corwin’s sword-up the stairs behind Ruford and Judith. Once inside the hall, Ruford waved two women forward.

Corwin watched Judith climb the stairs, wary of letting her out of his sight, though he knew she’d be safe. No matter what happened to him, unless Judith did something extremely ill-advised, she would be treated in a manner befitting her station.

The hall looked like most Norman halls. Tapestries andbanners hung from the rafters, where the hawks resided. Dogs snuffled about the trestle tables, searching among the rushes for scraps of food.

One would never guess that this hall was occupied by people who didn’t belong here. But then, maybe some of them did. Ruford may have done away with the Normans, but might have allowed the peasants and soldiers to liveif they joined his rebellion. Many would.

Still, something wasn’t quite right here, though Corwin was at a loss to give it a name.

Ruford pointed to a table near the end of the hall. “Put
Thurkill on a pallet near that table,” he told the bearers, then turned to Duncan. “Call out my captains. We will meet as soon as they all gather.”

Duncan rushed off; Ruford headed for the hearth. Left to his own devices, Corwin followed Thurkill. After laying the old man on a pallet, the bearers left Oswuld went in search of large mugs of ale, leaving Corwin to watch over Thurkill.

Corwin lifted his sword from the old man’s chest. He gave a moment’s thought to putting it in his scabbard, but Ruford might take offense, so he laid it at the foot of the pallet. He would reclaim it when Ruford accepted him into his rebellion.

“What think you of our stronghold?” Thurkill asked.

“I think you misled me, Thurkill. From what I observed riding through the encampment, your army is far from ready to take the field.”

“One of the reasons I thought it a good idea to bring you with us. Given your training, you could get them ready.”

Aye, he probably could. But that wasn’t why he’d come.

“Now that we are here and I know who the leader is, I need some answers, Thurkill.”

“Such as?”

“For one, what happened to Norgate’s Norman lord?”

From behind him, Oswuld said, “I can answer that one. The story goes that the Saxon soldiers rose up against their lord-though I have not heard why.” Oswuld handed over a mug of ale. “Duncan, Ruford and two of the men you will soon meet were a part of the uprising. ‘Tis said Duncan was the one who killed the Norman lord.”

Maybe that’s what had bothered Corwin. He saw no signs of a long, hard-fought battle from without. Treachery
had come from within, though he could hardly imagine Ruford as a soldier in a Norman’s service.

“How did Ruford become involved?”

“‘Tis said he was a guest here at the time,” Oswuld said.

A guest?
Ruford had betrayed the lord of Norgate, a man who’d offered him the hospitality of bed and table, by using the lord’s own soldiers against him. Corwin could well imagine Ruford’s tactics.

He voiced his conjecture aloud. “Ruford sensed displeasure among the soldiers and approached the most vexed-Duncan-and convinced him and his fellows to

rebel. Once done, being of noble blood, Ruford set himself up as lord. Then he convinced the soldiers that if they could bring down one Norman, they could bring low all Normans, including the highest of them all-the king.”

“Quite possibly. By the time Father and I arrived, this keep had been well secured and most of the army you saw outside was in place.” Oswuld nodded toward the doorway. “The rest of the captains begin to arrive.”

“You are a captain, are you not?” Corwin asked of Thurkill.

“Aye,” he said quietly, probably knowing he wouldn’t be one for long. Even if he didn’t die, he wouldn’t be of much use to Ruford if his heart ailment kept him abed. Ruford would have to assign someone to take his place.

Like me,
Corwin thought.

As each captain arrived, Oswuld made an introduction. Some greeted him, others didn’t. Each went over to Thurkill and asked after his health, some with genuine concern, others as a mere formality. Corwin noted it all while his head reeled with the notion of becoming one of them.

As a captain, he would be privy to the rebels’ planning sessions. By the time he left, he would know every detail
of how they intended to overthrow the crown. And possibly, he could cripple those plans, maybe cause dissension among the captains. Use Ruford’s own tactics against him. First, however, he had to convince them that they couldn’t possibly win this rebellion without his help.

Eight captains had assembled by the time Ruford joined them, again with Duncan trailing behind. Corwin likened him to a hound, sniffing around his master in hopes of a bone or a pat on the head.

Ruford sat on a bench and waved a hand at Duncan. “Repeat the tale you gave me last eve,” he ordered.

Duncan paced as he told of Judith’s kidnapping, saying how he, Thurkill and Oswuld had watched the abbey for several days. Satisfied they wouldn’t meet with armed resistance, they’d decided to enter the abbey to take Judith. She’d made it easy for them, however, by venturing outside the walls.

With a self-satisfied smile, Duncan said, “She tried to escape. Oswuld and I caught her, though, and we made off with her without incident.” His smile faded. “Unfortunately, Corwin heard her screams and tracked us.”

Corwin remembered Judith’s screams, filled with anger and fear. If he’d been closer, or had answered her distress more quickly, neither of them would now be in the far reaches of northern England in the midst of a rebel stronghold. Judith would be safely ensconced in Romsey Abbey, and he overseeing the structures being built at Cotswold.

He wouldn’t have gotten to know Judith for the intelligent, charming, desirable woman she’d become. She wouldn’t now be in a chamber at the top of the stairway, probably fretting about what was transpiring down here in the hall. He suppressed a satisfied smile at the depths of the concern she’d expressed on the ride through the encampment, and chose not to examine too closely whether
Judith fretted because she cared deeply for him or because he’d vowed to help her escape.

“Your intent was rescue,” Ruford said, dragging Corwin’s attention back to the business at hand.

“Aye,” Corwin said. “Then I overheard Thurkill tell Judith of the reason she’d been kidnapped, of the purpose of your rebellion. I decided not to kill him, but to join him.”

“A rather swift decision, one might think.”

“Mayhap, but one not made lightly, nor one I will regret if this rebellion succeeds and the price of my service is met.”

“Wilmont.”

Corwin nodded.

Duncan snickered. “So he says, my lord. I still mistrust him.”

After a moment’s silence, Ruford said, “I will keep that in mind, Duncan. Pray continue.”

Duncan obeyed, relating the journey’s progress-Judith’s second attempt to escape, obtaining her gown and mare, and the group’s close brush with the sheriff of Hampshire. Ruford seemed to pay little heed. Judging by the direction his gaze continually wandered, Corwin guessed where the man’s thoughts strayed-up the stairway to the chambers above, where the maids had taken Judith.

His own thoughts had strayed up that same stairway far too often, pulling his concentration away from determining the rebellion’s troop strength and the quality of the rebellion’s leadership. Especially Ruford’s.

From their conversation upon arrival, ‘twas obvious Judith knew Ruford Clark, might know him well. At some point, Corwin wanted to hear Judith’s opinion of the man.

Duncan neared the end of his tale. Corwin prepared to
answer whatever questions would come his way. He also had a few questions of his own.

“As you saw, my lord, Corwin refused to cover his eyes, in direct
disobedience
to your order,” Duncan said. “For that insolence alone he should not be allowed to remain among us.”

“How answer you that charge?” one of the captains asked.

“Duncan has the right of it. I refused to enter your camp with blinded eyes.” Corwin waved a hand toward his sword. “As a sign of my goodwill, I put aside my sword. However, I felt no obligation to obey the orders of a man I had not yet met, to whom I have not sworn my loyalty.”

“You swore loyalty to Gerard of Wilmont,” Ruford said. “Yet now you seek to betray him. How do I know you will not betray me?”

Corwin smiled. “You do not,” he admitted. At Ruford’s frown, he chided, “Come now, Ruford. Your rebellion is rooted in betrayal. Does not everyone here betray an overlord by his presence in your stronghold?”

“Not I,” another present said, taking umbrage.

By the frowns on a few faces, Corwin knew he offended more than one of the captains. If they didn’t betray their overlords, then they obeyed an overlord’s orders-and Ruford couldn’t be their overlord. Could he? Corwin pushed that quandary to the back of his mind to mull over later.

“Do we not, each one of us, betray the overlord of us all-the king-by plotting to hand Ruford his crown?”

Corwin wanted to rail at them for falling under Ruford’s spell, to jolt their consciences once more. And maybe he would-later. A carefully placed word here and there could go far to cause dissension within the ranks. For now, however, he desisted.