By Queen's Grace (19 page)

Still, in the heat of a battle, anything could happen.

She’d obeyed Corwin’s command to flee because he’d given her no choice. He’d been right not to. While he made a stand, ‘twas her duty to alert the king and royal guard. Above all, they both knew their duty-preserve the crown and the man who wore it.

So she would do her part, and while she was at it, make sure Henry understood with all certainty that ‘twas Corwin of Lenvil who stood firm between the crown and Ruford Clark.

Corwin drew his sword and rode up behind a line of men ready with lances and shields, wanting Ruford to see his intended prey and head straight for him.

He looked over his company. At the ten knights beside him, most of whom could fight and command as well as he could. At the thirty foot soldiers armed with lance, sword or mace, who knew what to do with few words from a commander.

As the enemy drew closer, Corwin spotted Ruford-not leading his men, but hanging toward the rear. His disdain for the man heightened. He raised his sword and pointed it at Ruford.

“The leader rides at the rear on a black stallion,” he shouted to his knights. “He is mine!”

Corwin’s anger rose, feeding the anticipation of the upcoming fray. He gripped his sword tightly, the metal warming to his hand, becoming an extension of his arm. He could feel the earth shake with the pounding of horses’ hooves, could smell the dust, see his attackers’ faces.

Ruford’s men were well within range when Corwin gave his first command. Half of the lancers stood and, with
deadly accuracy, loosed their weapons. Four horses went down, causing the attacking company to falter and separate. Corwin could hear Ruford shouting commands, urging his troops into a head-on attack.

Corwin unleashed the remaining lances and ordered those men to the rear. Again, Ruford’s men suffered, spreading out farther, yet on they came. Corwin hoped the mercenaries had been well paid and already spent the coin. Most of them would not. live through the melee to come.

The attackers hit the line of swords and maces. The line gave way in several places, trapping most of the enemy between Wilmont’s foot soldiers and knights. The enemy had nowhere to go but down. Corwin waved his knights into the fray, keeping Ruford in his sights, hoping no one killed the man before Corwin could get to him.

He wanted Ruford, and wanted him alive. What better gift to give Henry than the man who’d dared to covet his crown?

Corwin edged around the outside of the circle, ignoring the din of steel striking steel and men shouting-some in triumph, some in pain. Uprooted wheat flew up and into the breeze, stinging his face and obscuring his vision. Yet he held to the sight of Ruford’s blond beard, not hidden by the man’s conical helmet.

Ruford raised his sword, intending to hack at a foot soldier. Corwin shouted his name. Ruford’s sword halted in midstroke. His head came up.

Corwin called out his challenge. “‘Tis me you want, you whoreson of a traitor. Come and get me.”

With London’s northern gate in sight, the knight named Alain pushed his horse to a faster speed. His sword drawn and waving high above his head, Alain shouted for those milling about to clear the way. People scattered. The guards
at the gates objected to his high-flown ways, but Wilmont’s knights paid them no heed.

Judith had ridden through London’s narrow street many times, but not at this pace. Not behind two mail-clad knights shouting at the top of their voices, brandishing swords and clearing the way. Not with people running and screaming all around her, hugging buildings to avoid being trampled under warhorses’ hooves.

Judith held on to her mare and followed, hoping no one suffered a hurt, but more concerned with completing the wild ride. They fairly flew through the town, barely slowing through the turn toward the western gate. Once out of London, the knights returned their swords to their scabbards and headed for Westminster, and the group of buildings on the bank of the Thames-Westminster Hall, flanked by the palace and abbey of the same name.

Judith knew well the ways of the court. ‘Twas midafternoon. If King Henry held to his usual habits, he would be in the hall, hearing petitions. Matilda might or might not be with him, depending on her mood. Judith’s talk with her aunt could wait; warning the king could not.

“Alain, to the hall!” she shouted to the leading knight, and hoped he’d heard her.

Ruford dug his spurs into his horse and charged, blood lust shining in his eyes. Corwin wheeled his destrier and led Ruford away from the battle. He wanted Ruford to himself, one to one, with no one to interfere.

He didn’t go far, nor did his commander’s instincts desert him. Already he could hear the sounds of the melee lessening, his knights shouting orders to back off and close ranks. Those within the circle could either lay down their arms or attack again to a certain death.

Corwin turned to face his opponent, who came on as if
the devil himself nipped at his heels. Maybe some demon did, for the fire of madness burned hot and bright on Ruford’s face. Corwin secured his reins, trusting his destrier to respond to the commands of his knees. He gripped his sword with both hands and braced for the blow to come.

The swords met with a resounding ring that reverberated through the air and Corwin’s arms. The momentum of Ruford’s horse carried him onward, sparks flying as the blades slid across each other. Corwin turned, expecting another headlong rush. But Ruford reined in and turned slowly, tearing the helmet from his head and flinging it to the side.

“‘Tis over, Corwin. You have lost,” he said, a feral smile spreading across his face.

Corwin gave a quick glance toward his soldiers, who even now made prisoners of the mercenaries and gathered up the wounded or dead.

“I beg to differ. Seems to me all that is left to do is capture the leader of an already defeated band.”

Ruford shook his head. “Judith Canmore will not make it to the hall in time to warn the king of my intentions, if she arrives at all. Even now my allies act. The rebellion goes on as planned, though you did force us to hurry. Nay, Corwin, I am not defeated. I will wear the crown of England.”

A cold chill gripped Corwin. Had he sent Judith not to safety, but into the midst of a bigger battle than the skirmish fought here? Corwin stilled the slight tremble of his hands. Ruford was lying; he had to be.

“Your rebellion is doomed, Ruford. Judith does not carry word of the rebellion to the king. A messenger sent from Wilmont has already delivered the information to Henry. He has known for some time of your treachery.”

Ruford’s smile slipped. “No matter. There are others who serve our cause, lords of high rank and vision-”

Corwin interrupted, hoping to deflate Ruford further. “I fear he knows about your allies, too. You should have taken better care than to leave a list of their names on your table, Ruford. Quite careless of you.”

The play of emotions flickering across Ruford’s face was fascinating to watch, confirming Corwin’s guess about the list of names, while raising his concern for Judith. The king had been warned of the rebellion, and told that those lords on the list could be friend or foe. Henry would take precautions. But if, as Ruford suggested, those lords were at court and making a desperate play for the throne, Judith could be endangered.

Corwin had to make quick work of capturing Ruford so he could get to Westminster.

He took the offensive. With both hands wrapped around the pommel of his sword, he charged with all the speed his warhorse could muster in that short distance. Ruford brought his sword up in defense, but the force of the blow sent his sword flying and nearly unhorsed him. Corwin wheeled his destrier in a tight circle and came up on Ruford from behind. With a mighty shove, he knocked him from his mount.

Corwin dismounted and walked over to where Ruford lay facedown in the dirt, not moving. He hoped he hadn’t killed the man, just knocked him senseless. Alive, Ruford would be of more use to him.

Using the toe of his boot, Corwin nudged Ruford in the ribs. With the quickness of a striking snake, Ruford rolled to his feet, brandishing a dagger, and lunged. Corwin protected his chest, but not his arm. The dagger sliced deep through silk and skin. Though a haze of rage and flaming pain, Corwin saw a gleam of triumph in Ruford’s faceand denied him.

With a war cry, Corwin raised his sword, aimed for the
dagger and swept it away-along with part of the hand that held it. Ruford fell to his knees, screaming in agony. Using every measure of his willpower, Corwin backed up, knowing that if he struck again he’d kill the vermin.

Panting hard, blood oozing through the fingers he held over his wound, Corwin glanced over his shoulder. Two of his knights stood nearby, swords drawn, ready to aid their commander if he fell. Corwin didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to falling.

“Pick him up and have his wound bound tight,” Corwin ordered, not trusting himself to go anywhere near Ruford. “I want him to live long enough to make a gift of him to Henry.”

He slid his sword into its scabbard and walked over to where the wounded were being treated, fighting lightheadedness. A foot soldier walked toward him, a strip of linen in his hands.

Corwin took his blood-covered hand from his wounded arm.

The soldier squinted at the wound. “Needs stitching.”

“Wrap it. I will have it looked at in Westminster. How fare the wounded?”

“None of our own will die.”

Ruford had stopped screaming, having passed out. After the villain’s damaged hand was bound, Corwin ordered him tossed over his horse. With three knights as escort, Corwin headed for Westminster. Toward Judith. Praying he hadn’t sent her into the midst of a nobles-led revolt against the king.

U
pon reaching the steps of Westminster Hall, Judith ignored all decorum and swung off her mare. Her skirts held high, she sprinted up the stairs and through the hall’s huge open doors.

She got no farther. Two royal guards barred her way with lances crossed between them. She was pleased to see Henry had taken the rebels’ threat seriously, but was irked by the delay.

“I am Judith Canmore, niece of Queen Matilda. I must speak with King Henry. Let me pass.”

The guard looked over her shoulder, at the three Wilmont knights who’d followed at her heels.

“I am Alain, knight of Wilmont. Judith is who she claims. I will vouch for her.”

The guard snickered. “And who will vouch for you?”

“I will.” The lances parted for the short, pleasantly featured man who came toward her. “Alain,” he said, with a nod of greeting toward the knight. Then he smiled at her. “You must have come from Wilmont, my lady. You wear one of my wife’s gowns.”

She returned his smile, delighted she’d found this
brother-by-marriage of Corwin’s so soon. “You must be Kester, then.”

“I am,” he said, looking once more beyond her. “Where is Corwin? I expected him to be with you.”

Unsure of how much she could say in front of the palace guards, she hedged. “He was but has suffered a delay. My lord Kester, we must see the king forthwith.”

“Certes,” he said, then turned to the guard. “The queen is in her palace chambers. Inform her Lady Judith has arrived.”

Kester offered his arm. Judith grasped it more firmly than court manners dictated. He patted her hand as he led her toward the dais at the far end of the hall.

“The king and queen have been very worried about you,” he said. “Both will be pleased to see you are safe.”

“I am, but Corwin is not,” she said softly. “Even now

he fights a band of rebels mere leagues from London’s north gate.”

Kester halted. Alain came up beside her.

“‘Tis true,” Alain said. “A mounted band of twenty.”

“Is aid needed?” Kester asked.

Alain shook his head. “With Corwin in command, and given the quality and numbers of his men-at-arms and knights, I should think the encounter won by now. By your leave, my lord, I would like to return with a wagon or two to bring in the wounded.”

Judith’s fears for Corwin flooded back. ‘Twas disconcerting, knowing she could do nothing but remain in the hall and await Corwin’s arrival, praying he was unhurt.

“Let us inform Henry of this latest development, then you shall have your wagons,” Kester told Alain.

Kester quickened the pace down the long length of the. hall, the sound of their footsteps ringing off the marble floor up into the vaulted rafters high above. Judith glanced at the
nobles scattered about the magnificent hall. Some she recognized, some not. She would have to converse with some of them later-such were the ways of the court. But for now, she focused on her purpose and on the man who stood near his throne on the raised dais.

Judith hadn’t seen King Henry in years, but couldn’t mistake him, even without the golden crown that banded his high forehead and sandy-colored hair. Though he was of a scholarly disposition and had a light build, Henry’s power shone in his eyes and his stiff, regal bearing-and rang out through a thunderous voice when he was angered.

“Majesty,” Kester called out as they neared the dais, drawing Henry’s attention. “I have the honor of returning Lady Judith Canmore to your care.”

Judith refrained from stating her opinion on the quality of the king’s care. When Henry stepped down from the dais and held out his hand, she let go of Kester and accepted the king’s gesture, dipping into a low, nearly groveling curtsy.

“Your Majesty,” she said, managing a respectful tone.

“Rise, Judith. Let us have a look at the woman who has caused so much concern of late.”

She heard the irritation in his voice and chose to ignore it. Needing the king’s goodwill, she shouldn’t point out that she’d done nothing wrong except crave an hour beyond the abbey walls.

“Your concern is appreciated, sire, but not necessary. For all the while I was gone, Corwin of Lenvil kept me safe. Even now, as he fights a rebel band beyond London’s north gate, he sends me to you to keep me from harm.”

Henry looked to Alain. “Are you sure they are rebels and not outlaws?” the king asked.

“A Wilmont company has not been attacked by outlaws in many a year,” Alain said. “Corwin sent us on our way
before I could get a good look at the attackers, but given the nature and timing of the attack, ‘twould seem Lady Judith’s assumption is sound.”

Henry turned his attention back to her. “Did you recognize any of them?”

Henry truly wanted to know if Ruford Clark led the band.

“They were too far away to distinguish faces. But ‘twas Ruford Clark who vowed to hunt us down. I believe he found us.”

“Be on your way then, Alain,” Henry said. “Kester, see he has all he needs.”

The men left, leaving her alone with the king.

“Judith, I. must caution you to say nothing of this rebellion. Few know, and I would keep it so until all of the knaves are captured.”

“As you wish, sire. Does the queen know?”

“She does. Matilda was present when the messenger arrived from Wilmont. ‘Twas most distressing for her to hear of your ordeal. She is a bit put out that Corwin did not rescue you and send you back to her immediately.”

Matilda might have been put out, but not Henry-not after he’d heard of the threat to his crown. And that, she supposed, was as it should be.

She laughed lightly. “There was a time when I was a bit put out with Corwin, too,” she said, bringing a rare smile to Henry’s face. “But then he told me what he was about, and once I decided I could trust him, his plans made sense. Ever and always, his aim has been to thwart this rebellion, to serve the kingdom and his king in the best way he knew how. Truly, my life was never in danger, but Corwin’s often was, as it is today.”

“Corwin is one of Wilmont’s finest knights. Many a time I have watched him wield a sword, both in the practice
yard and on a battlefield. I assure you, Judith, the man is well able to defend himself.”

“I, too, have witnessed his skill. Yet I worry. If Ruford Clark leads the rebels, I have no doubt he and Corwin will come to blows. Corwin wears no chain mail. I fear he may be among the wounded.”

Or dead.
But she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

The king chuckled and patted her hand. “Set your mind at ease. Corwin will come shortly. He knows there is a reward awaiting him and he will not pass it by, wound or no wound. Here, your aunt comes. She has waited impatiently for your arrival.”

Judith knew a dismissal when she heard one. As much as she wanted to discuss Corwin’s reward, that would have to wait for Corwin. ‘Twas his reward he sought to change, and his place to do the asking. She’d done all she could, for now, by ensuring Henry knew of Corwin’s high sense of duty.

She dipped into another curtsy, then backed away from Henry, not turning around until having to step down from the dais. With her aunt, there was no need for formality. Matilda approached her with arms open.

Judith felt like a peacock, gowned so elaborately in contrast to the queen of England. As was her habit, Matilda wore a gown of rich fabric, but little decoration. Her simple style, plain features and earnest piety had earned her the scorn of the court. The Normans’ blatant disapproval of their Saxon queen, coupled with Henry’s infidelity-which many delighted to taunt her with-drove her to frequent retreats at Romsey Abbey.

Yet Matilda bore it all with quiet dignity and fortitude. She took comfort in her two small children, and in Henry’s respect for her intelligence. When he left the country, he
asked his wife and queen to rule in his stead-not some other noble.

Matilda’s hug was long and hard, too affectionate a display for out in the open in Westminster Hall. Yet Judith couldn’t complain. She needed her aunt’s warmth and help now more than ever.

“I had almost despaired of ever seeing you again,” Matilda said. “‘Twas with a gladdened heart I learned you were at Wilmont. You do look well, if a bit overdone. A

gown of Lady Bronwyn’s, is it not?”

Matilda was nothing if not forthright

“Aye. I admired the gown and she gave it to me. I could hardly insult her by not wearing it.”

Besides, the amber silk gown she’d worn out of Norgate had suffered considerably on the journey to Wilmont.

“We shall have to see if we can find something more. suitable. While we do, you can tell me of your ordeal.”

Matilda meant to take her up to the royal chambers in the palace. Judith meant to remain in the hall.

“If you do not mind, Majesty, I should like to remain in the hall awhile longer, at least until Corwin arrives.”

Matilda raised an eyebrow. “He did not accompany you?”

Judith briefly told of the morning’s events, of the attack and her swift ride through London, then added, “Corwin will surely come to the hall, to report to Henry. I wish to be here when he does.”

“I see. A bench then?” Matilda asked, waving to the side of the hall.

Once they were seated, the queen sighed. “I have often reproached myself for not swiftly answering your letter those many weeks ago. Had I sent someone to fetch you
to court, as you asked of me, none of this would have happened.”

“Perhaps,” Judith said, remembering her anger at Matilda for ignoring the request. “But then, Corwin would not have come to rescue me, and we would not have known of the rebellion, and the throne might yet be endangered. Mayhap ‘twas all for the best.”

“You have endured much in the name of duty.”

And would endure more in the name of love.

“‘Twas not all duty, Aunt.”

“Tell me.”

Judith began at the beginning, on the day Thurkill, Oswuld and Duncan came upon her while picking herbs, and the eve Corwin had again burst into her life and made her miserable. While watching the door for Corwin, Judith told her aunt most everything-from the desperate moments to the nights of bliss in Corwin’s arms. From the pain of watching Thurkill die, to the joy of holding Ardith’s baby. Though Matilda gasped and sometimes blushed through the telling, the queen spoke only at the end, when told of Corwin’s intent to refuse Henry’s reward and ask for Judith’s hand instead.

“Oh, my.”

Matilda’s expression didn’t look encouraging, either.

“I love him so much,” Judith said, fighting frustration both at being born to royalty and that Corwin hadn’t yet appeared. “I do not want to give him up. If Henry refuses us-”

“‘Tis not entirely Henry’s decision,” Matilda said.

“Your marriage must also be approved by King Alexander. In light of all Corwin has done, both might be willing to agree.”

Judith’s heart lightened until Matilda continued, “However, Henry must also deal with his nobles, and from that
quarter will come a hue and cry. You must realize, my dear, with your kidnapping came much speculation on what to do with you when you returned-or your dowry if you did not. Corwin asks Henry not only to give a Saxon a great deal of wealth and power, but to deprive a Norman as well.”

“What if we gave up the dowry, too? I do not think Corwin has even considered it.”

“Impossible. Your dowry goes to whomever you marry.”

“What if I am with child?”

“Few would care. Most would take you for your name and wealth alone.”

“What if I refuse?”

Matilda’s expression told Judith she should know better. She did. A marriage could be forced.

Judith sank back against the wall, not yet ready to admit defeat, but unable to see a way to win. “Vultures, all of them. They are no better than Ruford.”

“Aye, but take heart, for Corwin does have powerful allies, and many admire the man for his accomplishments alone. Him having Gerard of Wilmont’s blessing will silence a few, and this latest escapade will only add to Corwin’s reputation. If he were Norman, they would hail him as a true hero of the realm.”

As if the queen’s words had conjured him, Corwin came through the doorway. No guards blocked his way or questioned his identity. He strode confidently up the center of the hall, followed by two knights who dragged Ruford Clark between them. She noticed the bloody bandaging on Ruford’s hand, and looked for a similar one on Corwin. She saw none.

Pride and relief brought her off the bench. His smile and outstretched hand drew her into the middle of the hall. She
was nearly upon him when she saw the bandage on his arm-soaked through and bloodred against his torn green dalmatic. His face was too pale for comfort.

“You are wounded,” she said as she took his hand and matched his stride toward the dais.

“A dagger scratch,” he said. “‘Twill be fine as soon as stitched. You are all right? Alain passed us on the road, said you encountered no problem getting here.”

A scratch didn’t bleed so heavily or need stitches.

“Nay, none. How were you wounded?”

“Inattention. ‘Twill not happen again.” His smile widened, but he forced it. “Come, I have a present for the king.”

He meant Ruford, of course. Henry would be well pleased. Corwin must keep to his feet for a few more minutes, then she’d get him into a bed somewhere and have his wound attended.

“Before you talk to Henry, you should know I told all to Queen Matilda. She thinks Henry may be disposed to our request, but foresees problems with the nobles.”

An inarticulate sound was his only answer before they reached the dais.

Henry had watched them approach, and now glanced down at her hand clasped in Corwin’s. Though Henry’s eyes narrowed, Corwin made no move to let her go, and she didn’t pull away. Together they bowed to the king, though Corwin’s movements were shaky.

“‘Tis good to see you again, Your Majesty,” Corwin said.

“We believe you in need of a physician,” the king observed.

Corwin let out a burst of laughter. “Aye, Majesty, I am. But once I lie down I may not get up again for a long while, so must finish my tasks first”

Henry glanced over the group gathered before him, then at the few nobles whose curiosity had got the better of them. He motioned a guard forward.