Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (61 page)

“No,” he whispered. “It never is. Except for once in
a lifetime.”

He began to move inside her again, and this time
they rode on and on and on together, for hours or days, neither
ever knew. Or cared.

Chapter
9

Angwyld Castle, five days
later.

Lord Reginald paced up and down Angwyld Castle’s
great hall. He walked with a pronounced limp due to his deformity,
and he stomped his steel-booted feet hard in anger with every step
so every link in his chainmail shirt rang and rattled, sending
metallic echoes up and down the vast stone chamber. He carried a
razor-sharp Norman scrimisar axe on a twelve-foot pole, which he
slammed into the ground at every other step. The Duke quavered at
every impact.

The Duke was a brave man much seasoned in battle,
but Lord Reginald scared even him, especially today. The ruthless
old Norman had lost all patience a day earlier, and it was only a
matter of time before he started calling for peoples’ heads.
Starting with the Duke’s.

“Where the devil are they?” he boomed at his
despairing host for the umpteenth time. “They were due in three
days ago at the latest. The weather has not been severe enough for
this kind of delay! Something has happened! Damn it Angwyld, why
have you not sent out your garrison in search of them?”

The Duke wrung his gauntleted hands. Since the
Normans had invaded a generation ago he’d himself been in the habit
of wearing a full suit of mail day in and day out himself, but
seeing the fully armed, armored—and furious—Lord Reginald waving
his twelve-foot polearm around inches from his head made him wonder
if perhaps he also should have gotten into the habit of always
wearing a helmet. “Forgive me, Your Lordship, but I thought it best
to wait until you arrived. When I received the abbess’ message
estimating the date of my daughter’s safe arrival, I merely thought
of it as exactly that—an estimate. Travel can be treacherous
through the West Country with the spring rains. They could be stuck
in mud on the king’s highway, or a river or stream could have
overflowed its banks, a ferry bridge could have washed out—any of
those things can cause a delay of three days, sometimes
longer.”

Lord Reginald slammed his heavy polearm into the
ground, and the entire great room shook. “Nonsense! My mercenary
Robert de Tyre is an experienced cavalryman and footsoldier. He can
ride through unpaved wilderness faster than the King’s own army can
traipse upon the high road. Robert de Tyre does not delay travel by
three days or more, ever. Unless he is dead.” He paused, and at
that moment his humpback seemed to grow a foot. “Or if perhaps he
has betrayed us.”

The Duke’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

The deformed old Norman scoffed. “Shall I draw you a
picture, Your Grace? Your daughter is a beautiful maiden, and my
employee is a rugged, handsome man. Robert de Tyre is loyal to me
to a fault—which is exactly why I chose him over all my other men
to recover my bride for me. Even so, he is also a young man and a
bachelor. And young male bachelors do have a tendency to lose their
faculties around beautiful young women.”

The Duke reddened, then choked. “You aren’t
saying—“

Lord Reginald collapsed into a waiting chair. “I am
merely speculating. As you say, there could be a dozen reasons for
the delay—weather, bandits, Saxon outlaws with an axe to grind,
perhaps even a bear. But I know my mercenary well, and if he indeed
has failed me in this endeavor, odds are a hundred to one it’s
carnal in nature. Anything else, I know from experience he has both
the brawn and brains to handle.”

Now it was the Duke’s turn to pace. “If you knew the
man had a weakness for women, then why the devil did you send him
after my daughter in the first place?”

“Your Grace, you misunderstand me.
I chose Robert de Tyre precisely because I knew that he alone of my
men does
not
have
a weakness for women. That, and because he is by far my swiftest
horseman, my most savvy traveler, and my most skilled soldier and
henchman. If there ever was a better man for the job—not to mention
a safer risk when it came to your daughter’s virtue—I didn’t know
of one. But as I’m sure you know by now, Your Grace, as do I,
nothing is ever safe or predictable where beautiful young women are
concerned. We might hedge our bets as best we can, and still come
up short.”

The Duke slumped down into the chair opposite Lord
Reginald. His face had gone gray, and he seemed to have aged ten
years in the past ten minutes. “What do you propose we do now, Your
Lordship? My best men shall be at your disposal. You need only give
the word.”

The old Norman smiled, revealing a mouthful of
blackened teeth. “That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. For I have
more men at my disposal than King Henry himself. And they are far
better soldiers than the King’s men. Mercenaries always are, you
know. The best men always follow the money.”

****

Robert and Sabina rode south-southeast, towards the
Dover coast. They had been riding for days now. Sabina had lost
track of exactly how long. Now they were approaching Sussex, and
once there the cliffs of Dover would only be another day or so’s
ride away.

The provisions from the abbess had long ago run out,
and now they depended mostly on wild game that Robert shot with his
arrows for food. Sometimes they were able to buy bread and cheese
from peasants and farmers they passed along the road.

Three days earlier they had purchased new travelling
clothes from a wandering peddler, who also happened to be a
Scotsman. Instead of buying his regular wares they procured his
personal family tartans in exchange for a handful of gold and
spices. They wrapped themselves in the rough plaids in the highland
fashion, knotting them at their shoulders the same way Sabina’s
Scottish nursery maid had always worn her tartans. That way, any
passerby would just assume they were a pair of Scottish nobles
peaceably passing through the English countryside on their way to
Calais.

“From now on, we are Lord and Lady McDonough of
Glasgow, travelling to visit our cousins in France,” Robert had
instructed Sabina after they donned the tartans. “It won’t be long
before Lord Reginald sends his bounty hunters after us, and then
every sheriff in the land will post wanted signs with descriptions
in hopes of collecting bounty themselves. We can’t risk being
recognized.”

Sabina chuckled then. “Well, with my West Country
accent and fair hair I can probably pass for Scottish, but I’m not
sure that many people will be willing to accept a Scotsman who
speaks with a French accent and looks an awful lot like a
Norman.”

“If anyone asks, tell them I speak only Gaelic.”

“That might backfire,” Sabina said. “Lots of people
in England speak Gaelic fluently. They might try to talk to you in
your supposed native tongue, and then what would we do?”

“Then tell them I’m a deaf-mute,” Robert growled.
“Come on. We can’t afford to dawdle. Even if we make it to Sussex
tonight it’s another three days’ ride to Dover, and then once we’re
there, we might have to lay low for a few days more until I can
secure us passage across the Channel. Are you still willing to part
with your mother’s jewels? We might have need of them at Dover,
especially since we’ll have to keep our departure a secret.”

Sabina reached inside the secret pocket on Arthur’s
saddlebag and withdrew the small box of her mother’s jewels. Now
that she knew she’d never see her beloved Angwyld again, the
ancient Celtic jewelry was the only tangible thing she had to
remember her mother by. It was said to date from before the time of
King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, had been passed down in her
mother’s family for countless generations, from eldest daughter to
eldest daughter. There were gold brooches set with pearls and
diamonds, necklaces made of gold, silver and lapis lazuli, even a
pair of earrings that were said to have come all the way from Rome
in the times of the Caesars. And now the whole collection would
likely be handed over to a mercenary ship’s captain—a greasy,
immoral class of people if there ever was one. Who knew what would
happen to them then? At least Sabina had known that they would have
been put to use serving God and the poor had she given the
collection to the abbey.

“Sabina? Are you willing to give them up or not? Our
lives might depend on it, you know.”

Sabina bit her lip and nodded. If she was willing to
give them to Glastonbury in exchange for cloister, she might as
well be just as willing to give them to anyone else. She handed the
jewelry box over to him.

“Good.” He fingered the fine rosewood box with its
gold inlay. “The box is valuable too. We’ll hang onto it
separately. It might come in handy as well.”

“I’d like to keep it if I can,” Sabina murmured. “It
was my mother’s.”

“We’ll see.” Robert steered Amir further ahead of
Sabina and Arthur until he came to the top of a small hill. He
looked out over the horizon, which was full of rising storm clouds.
“A storm’s blowing in from the sea,” he said. “Looks like it could
be a bad one. Though I’d rather not risk staying in a town, we
won’t be able to camp outside through that kind of weather. And we
won’t find any caves in this part of the country, either, I’m
afraid.”

“Then where shall we go?”

Robert paused to think. “A former colleague of mine
owns a small merchants’ tavern not far from here. We served in a
garrison together, back when I was working for Sir Walter the
Penniless just before he left on Crusade. I think we can trust him
to keep our secret for us—for a price, of course.”

“Sir Walter the Penniless?” Sabina asked. “I think
I’ve heard of him. Wasn’t he the one that led the commoners’
Crusade? The one that didn’t require anyone to make a fealty gift
to Rome?”

“Right you are,” Robert said, riding onward. “That
Crusade army is the only one that will accept common peasants. Sir
Walter the Penniless is its supreme commander, though calling
himself ‘The Penniless’ is a bit of a misnomer. He may not be of
noble blood, but he’s as rich as a king. I’ll give you three
guesses how he earned his fortune.”

“Hmm. Let me see. Mercenary work?”

“Indeed, milady. Sir Walter spent some time in the
Holy Land doing reconnaissance for the Templars, before the
Crusades began in earnest. He managed to stumble upon a very
lucrative spice trade network while there, captured it for his own,
and secured a king’s ransom in pepper and saffron. Sir Walter has
more spice holdings than any man in Europe, which is the main
source of his wealth. Though I suppose if you look at it a certain
way, ‘The Penniless’ is an appropriate name, since Sir Walter
doesn’t carry gold or silver, or almost any kind of coin on his
person. He pays for everything in spices.”

“Even you, I suppose?”

“Yes, milady, even me. Though I
was only in Sir Walter’s employ for a short time, so I didn’t have
a chance to earn more than a few peppercorns. My colleague, Master
Cuthbert, did far better. He traded his pay for a very prosperous
tavern and attached dairy farm, both of which he now runs for a
tidy profit. One of the reasons his tavern is so successful is it’s
a very, shall we say,
discreet
place for meeting and doing business. In other
words, it’s perfect for us.” He brought Amir to a stop, looked back
over his shoulder at Sabina. “Though I should probably warn you
that we must both be very careful. Master Cuthbert’s tavern can be
a little rough. That kind of establishment has a tendency to
attract some rather—ahem—
interesting
characters, if you take
my meaning, milady.”

Sabina wasn’t at all sure what Robert meant by that
remark, but she was certain she was about to find out.

Chapter
10

Just outside the town of Rye in
West Sussex, later the same day.

Dusk was falling, and a light rain fell as Robert
guided Amir down a narrow, overgrown bridle path that jutted off
from the main highway. Sabina could see the few small thatched-roof
hovels that made up the tiny provincial town of Rye in the foggy
distance, along with the single stone tower that served as the Earl
of West Sussex’s castle keep. They couldn’t be more than a mile or
so from town. Why did Robert suddenly want to ride through the
woods?

Robert rode Amir a few yards into the tangled
undergrowth and stopped. “Are you coming, milady? I know you don’t
care for riding through pathless forest, but Master Cuthbert’s is
less than a mile from the forest’s edge. And Cuthbert’s only guests
are those who know how to find his inn through the undergrowth. He
doesn’t advertise. We shall be perfectly safe there, I promise
you.”

“If you say so,” Sabina murmured as she forced
Arthur into the woods. Arthur hated thick leaves and brambles, and
this bridle path—if you could even call it that—had plenty of both.
Arthur took three or four steps, then refused to go any farther.
“Is there any way to get to this place besides through trackless
woods? Arthur refuses to take another step.”

Robert rolled his eyes and dismounted Amir. “There’s
nothing I can’t stand more than a stubborn horse. Methinks we shall
have to get you a new mount, milady. Arthur just isn’t holding
up.”

“But I love Arthur! He’s my father’s best
horse!”

“Your father’s best horse has seen better days,
milady. Fifteen days’ riding through rough wet country is enough to
tax any horse, save an Arabian like Amir. You can ride Amir the
rest of the way. I’ll handle Arthur.”

He helped her down from Arthur’s back and up onto
the massive Arabian. As much as she hated to admit it, Sabina knew
Robert was right. Arthur wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he
wasn’t accustomed to long days of travel in poor conditions,
either. Arthur had once been her father’s favorite battle steed,
but that was long ago.