By Queen's Grace (9 page)

Corwin ripped his in two and handed her one of the squares.

“Cannot sleep?”

She refused to tell him why. She plied the rag to the metal rings and whispered, “My head whirls with names of young, handsome Saxon nobles who might have a holding in the Scottish lowlands or northern England, who
might turn traitor and be their leader. I wish I knew if he were dark or fair, tall or short.”

“Not worth losing sleep over.”

The odd note in his voice drew her head up. Corwin wore a deep frown. The muscles in his shoulders and arms had tensed, giving each a hard, well-defined form. They were very nicely formed. She could run a finger along the curve of each one and. She mentally shook herself to regain her focus.

Corwin didn’t seem angry, just upset. Over what? She’d only been doing what he’d told her to do-pondering names of nobles, young and handsome men.

Silly goose,
she chided herself, but the thought that Corwin might be jealous refused to go away, especially when she remembered Corwin’s tight smile when Duncan related the tale of his lord’s virility.

‘Twas bad of her, she knew, but she asked anyway, “I wonder if Duncan overstates his lord’s prowess?”

“At this rate you will never finish that sleeve. Have you ever polished chain mail before?”

Holding back a grin, she again plied the rag.

“Nay, but then, I have done many things on this adventure of ours I have never done before.”

“Like sleeping on the ground?”

Like sitting next to a half-clad man in the middle of the night, knowing he is disturbed if I think of other young, handsome men.

“‘Twas not so bad once you pointed out to me that I should look for long grass as my bed. After that, I could almost pretend I was back on my cot in the abbey. ‘Tis still fair strange, however, to sleep in the company of others, especially men.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. “None of them have…approached you, have they?”

Only you.

“Oh, heavens no. ‘Tis simply a change from having been in the company of women for so long.” She shifted the sleeve to get a better grip. “Neither had I before washed my face from a stream, nor eaten fish so freshly caught. ‘Tis also easy to lose track of the time of day when one does not pay heed. In the abbey, my days were ruled by the calls to prayer. Out here, only the need for food and rest rules.”

“You make it sound like a grand adventure.”

Judith admitted it was, in a way, and she’d grown stronger from the experience, both physically and mentally. She’d faced adversity and won-mostly. “Neither have I ever been so sore and stiff in my life. Or cold and wet. Or hot and parched.”

Or so frightened that she’d screamed. Those screams had served her well, however. They’d brought Corwin to her.

“Your hardships will continue, I fear. We have a long way yet to go.”

“Each day becomes easier,” she assured him. “Truth to tell, I begin to feel a bit useless. You men take care of everything-the horses, catching and cooking our food. The only truly worthwhile thing I have done is help Oswuld with his father’s potions. I wish I could think of another herb I might add to further relieve the pain, but have not.”

“You polish chain mail rather well.”

The sleeve she’d been working on did look good, though Corwin probably didn’t need her help with this, either.

They worked in silence, side by side. Judith listened to the rain, feeling her eyelids grow heavy. Yet she stayed put, determined to finish the sleeve, unwilling to give up this time alone with Corwin. In the not too distant future, she would have him all to herself, which sent a thrill though her. First, however, they needed to learn the identity of the
rebel leader. She wished she could come up with a name, because she didn’t think Thurkill would reveal it.

“Corwin, if none of the men tells us the leader’s name, then we must go into their encampment, true?”

He sighed. “I hope it does not come to that.”

“But it might.”

“Aye,” he admitted. “Does that frighten you?”

Not as much as it had before.

“A bit, but I trust you to get us out. Besides, after all he has put me though, I want to know who this miscreant is, and let the man know just how very unsuitable he and I would be.” She scoffed. “Quiet and reflective, indeed.”

Corwin knew if he sat beside Judith much longer he’d do something stupid. Like kiss her again. Maybe more. He rubbed harder at his chain mail to keep his hands to himself.

Soon now, if he concentrated, he might be able to move the section he purposely kept spread across his lap.

Judith looked damn good in his dalmatic. She’d bloused it a bit at the waist, billowing the top, but not enough to hide the peaks of her breasts. He’d never be able to wear the garment again without remembering the woman whose body it had covered. And she smelled so good, of crystal rainwater.

She seemed content to sit beside him, to speak of her kidnapping in low, even tones. She seemed no longer afraid. She’d been through a lot, yet spoke of her ordeal in an almost lighthearted manner. It wasn’t over yet. Corwin feared the worst was yet to come.

Judith had spoken of feeling useless, as if her mere presence hadn’t been a boon to Oswuld, a pleasure to Thurkill-Corwin’s own joy. She’d laughed tonight-with a bit of sarcasm and not out fully, but she’d laughed. He wanted to hear it again as an expression of glee. Maybe, once they
were well out of harm’s way, he could make her laugh again. Just for him.

She’d called him kind. If he were kind, she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have a reason to withhold her laughter.

Lightning lit up the hut, thunder shook it. She looked up at the roof.

“Praise be we are not out in this tonight,” she said. “I do hope the horses are all right.”

Corwin snatched at the excuse as a drowning man grasps for anything to help keep him afloat. “I should go check.”

“But it is still raining.”

“I will dry.”

He shoved the chain mail from his lap and headed for the door. He would check on the horses and let the cold, driving rain cool his lust.

F
ive days later, within a few leagues of Durham, Corwin sensed a heightened urgency among the men. They’d stopped for a midday respite, and Corwin’s instincts told him that by nightfall he would be within the rebel encampment.

He and Judith hadn’t talked further about meeting the rebel leader. Both of them knew what would happen if Thurkill didn’t reveal the man’s name. He hadn’t.

Judith currently sat near where Thurkill napped, reading Ardith’s letter again. She found comfort in it, Corwin supposed, for on particularly hard days she would pull it out and linger over it. This morning’s ride had been easy. She, too, must feel nervous, as if something were about to happen. Corwin didn’t blame her. His own nerves were on edge.

“I wonder if Ardith has given birth yet,” Judith said. “‘Tis very near her time, is it not?”

“Very near, but not yet, I think.” He hadn’t felt the merest twinge that would tell him if aught were amiss with his sister. How odd that he’d left Wilmont in order to be half a kingdom away from Ardith when her babe was born.
He was now more than half a kingdom away, but in an entirely different direction.

“Mayhap she will have a girl this time,” Judith mused, tucking the letter away. “‘Twould be nice for her, since she already has a boy.”

“I do not think Ardith cares, so long as the child is healthy,” he said, not having heard his sister utter a preference.

Thurkill stirred, his hand rising slowly to brush against Judith’s gown, drawing her attention. Even from across the campsite, Corwin knew something was very wrong. Judith bent down to hear what Thurkill whispered.

She shook her head. “I do not fear you, but-Thurkill?”

The man’s hand dropped away, his eyes closing again.

For several moments, no one moved. The knot in Corwin’s gut tightened as Judith tentatively put her hand to Thurkill’s chest.

“He still breathes,” she said with a rush of relief.

Oswuld hurried over to his father’s side.

None of them had spoken to Thurkill, or to each other, about the leader’s worsening health, of the amount of weight he’d lost-of the fear that he might one night go to sleep and not wake up the following morn. Thurkill dying now couldn’t come at a worse time.

Corwin needed Thurkill to stand as witness for him during his meeting with the rebels’ leader. Oswuld’s good opinion would help balance Duncan’s animosity, but Thurkill’s words would carry the greater weight.

Getting Thurkill to a place where he could receive a physician’s care became urgent. Corwin debated his options, then decided not to go into Durham, but to get Thurkill to the rebel stronghold. Unfortunately, Thurkill didn’t have the strength to sit his horse.

As much as Corwin hated to do it, he saw no choice but to send Duncan to the stronghold for help.

“Duncan, I realize I am not supposed to know the whereabouts of the rebel encampment until the last moment, but I think, for Thurkill’s sake, we need to act quickly,” Corwin said. “He needs more expert care than we can give him, and soon. Can you reach the stronghold by nightfall?”

Indecision flickered in Duncan’s eyes. Corwin understood the inner war he waged. Duncan hated letting Corwin out of his sight as much as Corwin wished he could keep Duncan within reach.

“Only you or Oswuld can go for help,” Corwin said, pressing Duncan to cooperate. “And Oswuld should be here-just in case.”

Duncan took a deep breath. “Aye, if someone is to go, it must be me.”

“Then go,” Corwin said, with the slightest inflection of a command. “Bring Back a physician if there is one to be had. And a wagon. Thurkill will not be able to sit a horse.”

“‘Tis too far for me to travel both ways today, especially with a wagon in tow,” Duncan commented, relenting.

Corwin had hoped the stronghold was closer. Duncan would now have the entire evening to speak with the rebel leader, and Corwin didn’t want to think about the reception he would get after the man heard Duncan’s tale. But that couldn’t be helped. He’d have to deal with the leader when the time came.

“We shall look for you on the morrow, then.”

“I should be back by midmorn.” With the decision made, Duncan wasted little time saddling his horse and taking to the road.

Corwin joined Judith and Oswuld. The two had made Thurkill as comfortable as they could, and now watched
the old man’s chest, as if either of them looked away he would stop breathing.

Judith glanced up at Corwin. “I thought he told me not to be afraid. I now wonder if I misunderstood, if he was expressing a fear of his own.”

“I doubt you misunderstood,” Corwin said. “Thurkill strikes me as a man who fears very little, not even death.”

“Corwin has the right of it, my lady,” Oswuld said, his gaze never leaving his father. “His words were for you, not for himself. Had he feared dying, he would not have joined the rebellion or made the long trek to fetch you.”

“‘Twas your father’s idea to kidnap me?” Judith asked.

“Nay, my lady. He argued against it, but when the decision was made he
insisted
on going. He would trust no other with the task for fear you might be hurt or misused.” Oswuld got to his feet. “I will mix another potion, for when he wakes. My lady, if you would remain near him.?”

In answer, Judith reached down and picked up Thurkill’s hand. The action wasn’t startling, but brought home just how attached she’d become to the old man.

As soon as Oswuld was out of hearing range, Corwin crouched down next to her. “Judith, for all he is a likeable man, Thurkill is your enemy, the man who kidnapped you.”

She answered softly. “I know. If this heart ailment does not kill him, then he might die on a battlefield or at the end of a rope. I should not care, but I do.” Tears formed in her eyes, but didn’t fall. She waved a hand, as if dismissing her heartbreak. “You need not worry over me, Corwin. My silly emotions are my burdens to bear, and I will.”

He wanted to wrap her in his arms, hold her close and assure her that her emotions weren’t silliness to be waved aside, that the tenderness of her heart was one of her most
endearing traits. Even when she cared for a man who didn’t deserve her affection.

Unable to hold Judith in the way he wanted to, Corwin settled for brushing back a strand of her hair that had come loose from her plait. The better he got to know her, the more deeply he fell under her spell. The longer they were together, the harder it would be to let her go. On the morrow, he would find out what he needed to know. Then he and Judith would ride hard and fast, probably to London, to their own destinies.

Duncan arrived with a wagon and an escort of six men.

“I do not need the wagon. I can ride my horse,” Thurkill declared.

Corwin hid a smile. The old man had awakened this morn with enough vigor to complain about the plans they’d made for him. While Corwin understood the man’s desire to conceal the extent of his infirmity, he wanted Thurkill strong enough to act as counsel, if necessary, when he faced the rebel leader.

“Father, you cannot ride so far,” Oswuld argued, a mark of his worry. Oswuld had never raised his voice to his father during the entire journey, not even when Thurkill had loudly berated him for allowing Judith to escape from near the cave. “Your heart cannot bear the strain. I doubt you can even walk from here to your horse. ‘Tis your stubborn pride that makes you speak foolishly. Do you wish to return to camp alive or not?”

Thurkill leaned forward slightly. “I wish for my son to heed his father’s wishes and bring my horse to me.”

“You ask me to hasten your death, and that I will not do. You want to ride? Then get you on your own horse.”

Thurkill rose on an elbow. Sweat broke out on his brow. When he dropped back down, exhausted from so slight an
effort, Oswuld waved for the wagon driver to come forward. Thurkill didn’t say a word as several men gently lifted him. Corwin jumped into the wagon to help settle Thurkill onto a thick layer of straw covered with a wool blanket.

Once he’d done so, Corwin found Duncan blocking his way down.

“You, too, are to ride in the wagon,” Duncan said. “I have orders to bring you into camp unarmed, with your eyes covered.”

Corwin tamped down his momentary alarm. So Duncan had done a good job of prejudicing the rebel leader’s opinion. Though Corwin considered it a compliment that the man thought him so dangerous, he couldn’t obey such a senseless order.

He glanced at Judith, who’d overheard. Her eyes had gone wide with both surprise and fear. He couldn’t protect her if he didn’t see danger coming. Besides, he’d known all along he and Duncan would come to blows. Better here and now than in the encampment.

“Duncan, if your leader thinks I would ride into his camp in so vulnerable a position, he is mistaken.”

“He is not pleased we brought you with us, distrusts your motives, as I have all along. Those are his conditions for your entering the camp. If you do not do so willingly, we are ordered to force you, or kill you if we must”

Corwin glanced around the campsite, at the men who stood ready to follow Duncan’s orders if necessary. Brigands? Thieves? Farmers? He didn’t know, but never doubted that his skill with a sword was far superior to any of theirs. Nor did he need to fight them all, only make an example of one or two.

“You can try.”

Duncan stepped back and drew his sword. Corwin rec
ognized the stance he settled into as one of a soldier with a bit of formal training.

“Duncan! Do not be a fool,” Thurkill called out. “Corwin will separate your head from your shoulders.”

“I follow your orders no longer, old man,” Duncan retorted. “From the moment he held a dagger at your throat you have believed his tale, but not I. Come down, Corwin. I have been itching to test these skills you say you have.”

Corwin held out a hand toward Judith. “Come into the wagon with Thurkill, out of harm’s way.”

She made slow work of crossing to the wagon. Corwin reached down, clasped hold of her wrists, braced his feet and soon had her safely inside the wagon.

She said softly, “Mayhap you should do as he asks.”

“The leader tests me, is all. No man worth having in his company would submit to such a demand.” He turned to Thurkill. “I will try not to take Duncan’s head off, just nick his hide a bit. You are both to stay put and remain calm. Understood?”

Judith didn’t doubt she would stay put. But remain calm? Her insides churned at the very thought of Corwin taking on six men-seven including Duncan. She’d never been so frightened for anyone in her entire life. If anything happened to Corwin.

“Take care,” she managed to say, and squeezed his hand hard, a poor substitute for the fierce embrace she longed for. She took what comfort she could in the warmth and pressure of his grip, and in the fact that he wore chain mail. ‘Twould protect him better than the leather hauberk that covered Duncan’s chest.

“Not to worry. ‘Twill be over in a trice,” he said, then turned and jumped from the wagon bed. “Oswuld, your assistance if you will.”

Duncan was pacing, sword in hand. He snickered. “For what do you need Oswuld’s help?”

“If you are ordered to kill me, I should give you the opportunity,” Corwin answered.

With growing horror, Judith watched Oswuld help Corwin shrug out of the chain mail. Down to breeches and padded gambeson, Corwin hefted his sword and took a stance opposite Duncan.

Corwin’s eyes narrowed, giving his accompanying grin a feral quality, like a hunter toying with his prey. “Whenever you are ready, Duncan,” he said in a low, lethal voice, sending a shiver down her spine.

Duncan leaped to the attack, his sword raised high for a brutal downstroke. She covered her mouth to hold in a scream, nearly swooned as the sword slashed downward. Corwin never raised his sword in defense. In a swift and graceful move, he ducked the blow and threw an elbow into Duncan’s ribs.

Duncan doubled over. With both hands on the hilt of his sword, Corwin swung the flat of his blade against Duncan’s backside and sent the man sprawling in the dirt.

“Too fast, Duncan,” Corwin said. “Try again, but keep your sword a bit lower.”

She groaned. Duncan was out for blood and Corwin was telling him how to go about it!

Thurkill tugged on her skirt. “Sit, my lady. I cannot see when you move around.”

She obeyed, only because she knew her wobbly legs wouldn’t hold her upright much longer. Duncan was on his feet and making another run at Corwin. She covered her face with her hands, heard a single clash of steel against steel and peeked through her fingers.

Thurkill chuckled. “If Duncan has a brain in his head, he will learn from this.”

Duncan looked too angry to learn. He circled Corwin, who stood his ground, moving only as much as needed to keep his opponent in sight, bringing his sword up when necessary to deflect the occasional jab of sharp, pointed steel.

“Keep this up and we will be here all day,” Corwin observed, sounding bored.

If he’d done so deliberately to prod Duncan to action, it worked. A flurry of blows followed, fast and furious on Duncan’s part, with hardly an effort on Corwin’s.

“Ah,” Thurkill sighed. “To be young again.”

Incredulous, she looked down at the old man, who was thoroughly enjoying the sword fight, watching Corwin and Duncan slash away as if they did so for his entertainment.

“I suppose you could have bested Corwin,” she said, chiding Thurkill.

“Nay, not even on my best day. Look, my lady. He ends it.”

Corwin had, indeed, taken the attack. One step at a time, he advanced on a backward-stepping Duncan, his sword dipping into whatever hole Duncan left open to take thin cuts of flesh and leave deep gashes in leather. Duncan was clearly out of his element and knew it. The anger on his face had been replaced with sheer determination to survive the encounter.

Corwin allowed it, as he’d told Thurkill he would. With a lightning swift series of blows, Corwin soon had Duncan backed up against a tree, the tip of his sword pressed against the vulnerable hollow of an exposed throat.

“Toss your sword toward the wagon,” Corwin told Duncan. “I would hate to have you die because you moved too fast.”